Interlude

A/N: For your information, 479,001,600 is 12! or the number of ways that the twelve uses for dragon blood could be combined in different orders. In other words, a book so pointless and dull that it should have been illegal to print.

A shorter chapter this time, but it will answer a question about Hermione's attack that many of you have probably been wondering. And the next chapter will be coming sooner than usual.

Hugs and kisses to my betas sshg316 and Southern_Witch_69.

Chapter 6

Interlude

--Time unknown--

She was dreaming.

"Don't say that," he said in a choked voice. "I will be gone in the morning. This phantasm whom you love now will fade to dust in the light of day. He doesn't know how to be this to you; he is afraid."

--4:00am, June 28, 1998--

Hermione awoke, disoriented and more than a little confused. Her head pounded as if a herd of Hippogriffs were prancing about in her skull.

A weary glance over at her Muggle clock radio and a grope at her new silver bracelet (easily the best and most precious present she had ever received) revealed that she had three more hours before she needed to be anywhere.

Hermione rolled over and went back to sleep.

--8:00–8:30am, October 30, 1998--

Hermione woke up slowly, then more quickly once she felt the soreness in her lower abdomen and the shooting pains in her head that foretold a wicked hangover.

"Urrrrgh..." she groaned.

"I did warn you that you might regret it in the morning," a disembodied voice spoke.

She clasped her bracelet and then rolled over, wincing at the soreness around her stomach. Severus Snape slowly came into focus. He was dressed for the day with his forbidding black robes and black vest impeccably buttoned to his throat. In his hands he held a glass of water and a small vial of cornflower blue liquid. On his face was a small smile of amusement.

Hermione sat up slowly, wincing when the bright sunlight hit her eyes. Looking down, she saw that her two-piece nightgown was rumpled, evidence of a fitful night's sleep. The buttons on her top did not line up properly. She was also in Spinner's End. In Severus' bed.

She groped at her bracelet again. The last thing she had recorded was her intention to give him a serious talking to.

She peered through the open door to the living area and saw the empty bottle of scotch whiskey and two glasses on a table. Next to the table was the couch on top of which she saw several rumpled sheets and a blanket.

The talking must not have gone very far; she had never reacted well to alcohol.

I must have passed out, and he let me take the bed. Oh gods, how embarrassing!

Nevertheless, she took the time to notice that Severus' bed was remarkably comfortable, and the sheets smelled crisp and new.

Hermione started when Severus made his way over to the side of the bed and set the glass down at her side. He poured several drops of the blue liquid into the water and stirred thoroughly.

He proffered the glass to her, the liquid inside the color of a summer sky. "Let that teach you to ever drink that much again."

Hermione never looked away from his eyes as she drank the potion. It tasted faintly of overripe strawberries and delicious cream. She frowned when she had emptied the glass. "That didn't taste like a hangover cure."

Snape scoffed. "As if I would use the common stuff brewed for the masses."

Had Snape just used the word "stuff"?

She smiled. "We must have had quite a celebration."

"The best in my life."

Her eyes snapped up to his, but his window to uncharacteristic honesty had closed well before she'd had time to react. "I, er, I'm sorry that you ended up sleeping on the couch."

He shrugged, though he looked slightly uncomfortable. "Think nothing of it."

She blinked, her vision beginning to clear and the headache fading, though not as fast as she had expected. The soreness in her lower abdomen remained. She swung her legs off the side of the bed. Her feet hit the floor, her body twisting, and she froze.

"Severus?" she asked, her tongue unnaturally awkward.

"What is it?" he replied, a hint of irritation in his voice.

"I feel..." She stopped, her eyes were riveted upon his long, slender fingers. She felt as if she had been Confounded. "Would you ever lie to me?" she asked.

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?" He sounded annoyed.

"I..." She paused, a rolling feeling of dread in her stomach making her wonder if she really wanted to know. She looked up at him, into his eyes and saw puzzlement and growing irritation. "Never mind," she muttered.

"Miss Granger, I assure you that I do not have the ability to read minds, whatever rumor may say to the contrary. Now, unless you wish to translate your vague ramblings into something intelligible, I suggest that we stop wasting time and review our plan for tomorrow night. That is, unless the amount of whiskey you downed last night has permanently addled your mind."

Hermione's mouth went dry. He had said worse things to her, but nothing had ever made her legs feel as if they would collapse under her. For a brief moment, she entertained the thought that she was mistaken. She was so confused that it was a distinct possibility.

"I... I have to go to the loo." Severus was a dark blur in the corner of her vision as she raced to the bathroom with stumbling steps. She forced herself to close the door quietly before falling to the floor, her back pressed up against the cold side of the tub.

She was breathing much too quickly. Hermione covered her face with her hands, her fingertips digging into the ridge of bone above her eyes as she concentrated on inhaling slowly through her nose.

In the end, there was nothing more that could be done to delay. She glanced over once at the closed door, as if the whitewashed wood held some merciful answer. Blinking sharply, she took a deep breath and hooked both thumbs under the waistband of her pyjama bottoms. Her legs wriggled about like snakes as she worked them and her knickers down over her hips to bunch on the floor by her ankles.

She had already seen, involuntarily, when she was shoving the nightgown down her legs, and the sudden tightness in her throat had made her light-headed. She forced herself to look again at the insides of her thighs, so that there could be no mistake.

A pungent, coppery scent assailed her nostrils as she lifted her head, staring into nothingness. For a moment, red-hot fury ripped through her so ruthlessly that she had trouble breathing. But then two tears traced silent tracks down her cheeks, and her anger was gone, a mere memory, as if knowing that it had frightened her.

She waited for more tears and realized that there were none left to shed. The chilling certainty had frozen her grief more surely than had the suspicious soreness in her lower abdomen, which had felt nothing like a stomachache. More surely even than the odd sensation that had filled her soul when she'd first opened her eyes this morning and had seen him there.

Her knuckles turned white as she buried her hand in her hair. Pain prickled throughout her scalp.

I hate whiskey.

"Are you nearly finished yet?"

Hermione flinched as the voice through the door struck her like a slap. She pulled herself to her feet and splashed some water on her thighs. She toweled herself dry, scrubbing her skin red and raw.

As she dressed, the sleeve of her robes caught upon the protruding edge of her bent wrist. She let go of the garment, eyes riveted upon the cloth snagged upon the imperfection of the twisted joint.

She couldn't remember what the Death Eaters had done to her, but it had surely been horrific beyond her wildest nightmares to have left such a mark.

Like an automaton, she removed her quill from behind her ear and forced herself to write.

Then she groped for the door blindly, pushing it open slowly like the door of a tomb.

Severus' bored, complacent face greeted her from the other side of the empty bedroom.

"At last," he said. "Would you like some breakfast before we begin, Miss Granger?"

They must have tortured her across the edge of insanity and used every method they could dredge up from their black souls to cause pain.

Yet the Death Eaters had not taken her virginity after all.

"Yes," Hermione whispered. She found herself unable to say anything else.

Later, as the blackness crept into her mind as she picked listlessly at a piece of toast, she welcomed it like the embrace of a lover.