The Hand

~o0o~

She set the book on the little table and rose to follow him. Entering the kitchen from an open archway off the corridor, Hermione was surprised to see a house-elf preparing the meal.

The kitchen was very much like the one at Grimmauld Place, only yellow, with old wood cupboards and white tile counters. Cooking herbs grew on the glass shelves in the bay window over the kitchen sink. The dining room area had a large wooden table and six chairs, dish cupboard and hutch that were a dark mahogany, and a wrought iron candelabrum hung from the ceiling. Several matching wrought iron wall sconces were set at even intervals along the walls. Wormtail sat in a chair at the far end of the table and quickly averted his gaze from Professor Snape as he entered the room. Neither Snape nor Draco acknowledged Wormtail as they entered, nor when they sat down at the opposite end of the table facing each other.

Wormtail slouched in his chair as he stared at Hermione, whereas Draco leaned back in his chair with his arms on the armrests, his napkin draped on one knee, looking at nothing in particular. Snape on the other hand, leaned forward, his elbows on the table and his hands steepled in front of him. Not sure where she was to sit, and not wanting to be in either chair next to Wormtail, nor wanting to sit at the head of the table and face him, Hermione stood timidly on the side of the room. Wormtail leered at her from his end of the table and indicated the chair between himself and Snape with a sloppy smile.

"Sit down, Miss Granger," Snape snapped as he kicked the chair out at the head of the table between himself and Draco. Hermione took her seat, careful to keep the dressing robe closed as she did so. As soon as Hermione placed her napkin in her lap, the house-elf began serving the meal.

Hermione had half expected to see the plates magically appear in front of her as they did at Hogwarts. However, the tiny elf balanced four plates and soup bowls easily, managing to place each plate and bowl carefully in front of each person sitting at the table. Hermione watched each man as the house-elf served them, going first to Draco, then to her, then Snape, and then Wormtail, even though Wormtail sat the closest to the kitchen area. She began to make note of the dynamics in the household while she ate, watching the three men in silence, trying to read their body language and expressions.

Draco sat casually in his chair, one arm on the table, his body rigid, his back straight, keeping his eyes either on his food or on Snape. Snape was sitting forward with his elbows on the table as he ate, his hair obscuring his face from both Hermione and, she supposed, from Wormtail. Wormtail slouched in his seat, slurping his stew messily as he ate and playing with his bread, dipping it the broth of his stew.

Once the meal had been served, the house-elf did not approach the table again. The elf busied herself in the kitchen and then disappeared into the pantry. Hermione sighed, thinking that was probably where the tiny elf had her bed.

Snape apparently tolerated Wormtail but neither liked him nor respected him. Snape only spoke to Wormtail to curtly demand the salt or pepper and to snap at him to stop slurping. Draco snickered and scowled each time at Wormtail with obvious dislike and scorn. It was apparent that Draco felt he was superior to Wormtail. Draco had been deferential to Snape all day; however, at the table, he looked over at Snape with the look of an equal. Snape glanced up at Draco frequently, and occasionally at Hermione, but seldom at Wormtail.

Since Wormtail thought that Snape wasn't looking at him at all, he glared at Snape frequently with his head lowered over his bowl. When Wormtail wasn't glaring at Snape, he was leering at Hermione lustily, rarely looking at her eyes, but rather at her chest and shoulders, trying to see what was revealed when the dressing robe shifted as she ate. Every time her dressing gown slipped open, which the silky material seemed to do whenever she reached for her glass, Wormtail licked his lips, and he always seemed to notice when she blushed under his scrutiny. His stares were making her extremely self-conscious, and she repeatedly felt the need to adjust the robe to cover her exposed skin above the low cut night-slip.

Sitting in her chair in the potions lab, she'd been able to ignore the fact that she wore nothing more than elegant lingerie and was thus scantily clad, but sitting at the table, Hermione became quite aware of the revealing and sensual nature of her attire, and she couldn't wait for the meal to end. Wormtail's stares were so overt and perverse, he made her nervous. Hermione began to wonder why Narcissa Malfoy would have provided her only lingerie to wear, unless she was using them to get back at her. She tried to focus her mind away from the lecherous Rat and switched her attention back to Snape and Draco.

Snape and Draco had had an easy camaraderie between them in the potions lab that all but dissolved at the dinner table. She expected that had everything to do with their mistrust and dislike of Wormtail. In the lab, Draco had worked side by side with Snape. Draco hadn't said much as he worked, but Snape had been giving constant instruction to him on steps and techniques throughout the afternoon. Hermione admitted to herself that she would have loved to be able to stand at the worktable with them, but the potions Snape had given her had made her drowsy.

The hearty stew and fresh bread were delicious, but the meal was eaten quickly and in relative silence since Hermione assumed that neither Draco nor Snape wanted to converse with Wormtail or to have him overhear anything they were would say to each other. She wasn't quite through eating when Snape shoved his bowl aside and stood.

"Get up, Miss Granger," he said, pulling her chair from the table. Hermione scrambled to her feet, barely given enough time to set her spoon down as he pulled her along with him from the eating area, stopping to bark a final order to Wormtail before they reached the doorway. "We are going to the sitting room. Go to your room when you are done eating, Wormtail.

Wormtail looked up at Snape. "I could come with you?"

"I don't need you," Snape growled, his face completely impassive.

"The Dark Lord has me here so that I can assist you," Wormtail sniveled, his eyes roaming across Hermione's body as if he could see her body and legs through the material. "I want to help you with..."

"Yes." Snape smirked nastily, interrupting Wormtail's plea. "The Dark Lord placed you here; however, I do not need your assistance at this time. If I do, I will let you know." He turned Hermione by her shoulders and propelled her toward a door on the adjacent wall from the one they had entered through.

"But I can help teach the boy," Wormtail called after them.

Draco turned and glared at Wormtail. "What could you possibly teach me, Rat?"

"I could teach you to transform?" he asked, almost pleading.

"I don't want to be a rat," Draco spat, turned his back on Wormtail and followed Snape and Hermione from the dining room. "And if I did transform, I am sure it would be something that would eat you."

Passing through a swinging bookshelf into a small sitting room, Hermione stood in the center of the room, watching Snape as he perused one of the bookshelves.

"Well, sit down, Granger," Draco snapped, taking one of the chairs by the lamp.

She sat gingerly on a chair, looking around, mentally assessing the room. The sitting room reminded Hermione of a section in the library, deep in the bookshelves. The walls were mostly bookshelves, except for a medium-sized Floo, two windows, covered by heavy, dark green drapes, and two doors. So, the doorway that led to the corridor was actually a section of the bookcase that opens – a concealed door... and one of the other two might lead outside... possibly. No doubt Snape will have heavily warded any door that would lead outside like he did the bedroom doorway – he told me so, she contemplated. There's a heavy latch on both doors, but only one has a peephole... but still, that's not a likely escape...

Looking over the furnishings, she noted they were old and worn, consisting of two padded dark wood chairs, a chaise and a couch all in dark upholstery and a few small rickety looking tables. A floor lamp and a candelabrum that hung from the ceiling and the fire in the Floo provided the only light. The best thing Hermione could say about the room was that it was dust free.

Snape walked over to her finally, thrusting a book at her. "Read this and take note to compare the differences from the one you had earlier," he said and then walked across the room to sit next to Draco. Both men sat quietly reading books, taking up the only seats closest to the lamp. This chair has its back to the bookcase nearest the door and is poorly lit for reading, she noticed. The chaise would allow me to use the light of the Floo.... She chose the chaise, but the light from the Floo was barely bright enough to see the pages.

After a short while of squinting at the book, Snape rose and loomed over her. Hermione looked up at him expectantly and flinched when he drew his wand with an irritated scowl. She cringed as he swished the tip of his wand in the direction of her shoulder, but instead of being struck by a curse, the small table on the other side of the chaise beside her, instantly transformed into a lamp. "Thank you, sir," she said gratefully at his kindness.

"You could have simply stated that you required better light, Miss Granger," he snapped at her as he returned to his place on the couch.

Hermione bristled at his contemptuousness, feeling as if she were sitting in his classroom rather than his sitting room. Still, he'd made a lamp for me... It wasn't as if I asked him to – he just did it. Why bite my head off then? her mind warred before she silently turned back to her book.

The book was newer, written by Marjorie Beaumont, which classified many rare and magical plants and their known uses in potions. The writing style was humorous with cute anecdotes occasionally written throughout the text. She quickly realized that the plants were written in alphabetical order, although in random categories. She scanned through the book, concentrating on the plants she'd read in Dilys Derwent's book, mentally noting several differences.

Every once and a while a shuffle could be heard from behind one of the bookcases. Hermione looked up each time, thinking Wormtail was entering the room. "Don't concern yourself, Granger. It's just the Rat," Draco said, mocking her. "Unless you'd like to spend time with him?"

Hermione glared at him. "No," she said simply, returning to her book.

After a while, Snape stood and walked back over to her. "Get up, Miss Granger."

Hermione looked up at him, confused. "I really..."

"I don't care what you want, Miss Granger. Get up." Snape reached down and pulled her from the chair, guiding her to the far, wall and the bookcase opened, revealing the staircase. Draco snickered as they passed. Snape propelled her inside and to walk up the stairs in front of him, turning her toward his bedroom. "You'll retire now. It's time to take your potions."

She turned, glaring at him, tired of his surly attitude. "I want to know what you are giving me, or I won't take them."

"And I already told you I don't care what you want." He opened the door and propelled her inside with a firm grip. She shuddered as they passed the warded doorway. She stopped in the middle of the room, turning to look at him, furious. "I told you, I'm not going to waste my poisons on you," Snape snapped impatiently. He looked rather offended, which only made her angrier.

"I do not want to be drugged senseless by potions," she spat. "I know you are adding sleeping draughts and calming draughts, possibly other things to make me – complaisant and sleepy. I'd rather be conscious than unconscious, sir."

He narrowed his eyes, his smile a wicked smirk. "I'd prefer you to sleep soundly."

"A natural sleep is better than a drugged one," she retorted angrily.

"Didn't it occur to you that the potions I give you are for your benefit, Miss Granger?" he asked, emphasizing each word with is silky voice, his eyes flashing angrily. "I do not wish to have my sleep disturbed by your moaning and tossing. So you will take them." He pulled several bottles of her potions from his pocket.

She drew back reflexively. "I want to know what the potions are and what is in them. I feel so sluggish and weak all the time, and I'm not getting any stronger."

"For me to tell you that you would have to be told what was done to you, the extent of your injuries, and what I did to you to be able to heal you." He stood rigid and stared down at her. "Are you sure you want to be aware of what those men did to you – the details?" he drawled the words slowly, emphasizing each word with a hard edge to his voice. Hermione shook her head. "I thought not."

"But, sir, wh..." She barely stopped herself before she could finish the word, hoping that he'd missed her slip. The look in his eye said clearly that he had not. After a taking in a shaky breath, she continued, "I'd like to know what I am being given, sir."

"And why should I tell you?" he asked, his rich honey-toned voice, strictly controlled and dangerous.

"I think you're giving me potions with hypha facia, kava kava, kudzu, lacknery root, whickwheat, wormwood, lobelia and valerian root. I can taste them. But wh – I see no good reason for you to do so, sir, other than to make me more..." She was about to say susceptible or nonresistant and changed her mind, "compliant... pliable to your..."

His face became a hard scowl, his eyes narrowed; he leaned in toward her, stopping only when their faces were a few inches apart. "Regardless of what you may believe, Miss Granger, or what you assume, being a Death Eater does not automatically equate one as a rapist." She could feel the anger radiating off him, and she nearly recoiled in fear. "I hardly have to make women who come to my bed – compliant – with potions," he continued, saying each word slowly and resonantly. Hermione sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at him as he towered over her. "They – come – quite – willingly," Snape growled in a low, silky drawl as he leaned down to look her in the eye.

She swallowed, her breath caught, her chest restricted while her heart raced, and her eyes stared into his, entranced. Hermione fell back on her elbows, and Snape leaned over her, both fisted hands on either side of her. "And if I ever entertained any designs to have sex with you," he said, controlling the timber of his voice, rolling each word deliberately to reflect both a cool indifference with a rich honeyed drawl, making her breathing deep and her stomach flutter. "Believe me, I'd have you begging me for it." He then stood up abruptly, watching her, his dark eyes alight, his expression dangerous, yet amused.

She knew he could easily see that tone of his voice had quite an effect on her. "Now then, when I give you your potions, I expect you to be – compliant – and take them... or I can always force you to," he said, continuing with the same inflections in his voice that he'd used before, sending shivers down her spine. "Believe me, it would be my pleasure to do so."

Hermione nodded and sat up on the side of the bed. He smirked as he watched her, staring at her for a moment as she held the dressing gown closed across her chest. He measured out her doses and held the vials toward her one at a time, and she drank the contents of each, her eyes never leaving his. His eyes never wavered from hers as she swallowed each dose, but she knew that he was seeing all of her, using his peripheral vision effectively. He gently pulled her to her feet, still keeping his eyes firmly on her face, turned her around. "Be assured, I have not been forcing myself on you while you sleep," he continued in his soft silky drawl as he helped her remove her dressing gown. "In bed, Miss Granger – now."

~o0o~

Severus stood, watching her climb into bed, then turned and left. He extinguished the light in the room and waited in the dark in the doorway. She settled down in the bed and lay there. He knew she was fuming, but that only amused him. She's still the little know-it-all from school... cocky, undisciplined, spoiled... But there's a maturity to her as well. He had been surprised and mildly impressed when she'd listed the herbs he'd added to her potions to make her docile and compliant and to help her sleep more soundly. She'd only missed three. If it weren't for the additives I put in her potions, she'd most likely be feisty and argumentative. Some of that is beginning to show even now. However, she wasn't healing as quickly as he thought she should. If she doesn't improve soon, Draco will have to get his family Healer again.

When he finally stumbled to bed, the girl was sound asleep. Thankfully, he sighed. He pulled the blankets off her, gazing appreciatively at her. The night-slip clung to her body and the low neckline exposed much of her. Her body was lithe and well formed, her breasts pert. Idly he ran a finger down her body, caressing one breast, fingering her nipple through the silky material and trailed his touch down near the juncture of her groin, sliding down and up on her thigh. He smiled as her body reflexed and responded sensually to his gentle touch. He pulled his hand away when she moaned in pleasure. Well, at least her dreams will be more pleasant tonight, he mused wickedly. If she is going to wake me when she dreams again, at least it may be something worth seeing.

He wished that he could examine the parchment that had dumped her at his feet, wondering what spells and enchantments it held, curious about its validity. Her soul mate, her heart's desire... and it chose me. Why? She's less than half my age; although, a twenty-two year difference is not uncommon among wizards. Still, she's Muggle-born and isn't fully acquiesced to our ways, regardless of being trained at Hogwarts. He was half Muggle. Unlike her upbringing, my mother had well prepared me for entry to our world, much to my father's indignations, he thought as he lay in bed next to her. She isn't likely to be accommodating to whatever the Dark Lord decides to do with her, and I'm not looking forward to dealing with her indignant and defiant behavior. Still this parchment, the fact that it transported her to me... And her timing – it couldn't have been worse. The Dark Lord is intrigued by this unexpected development – even pleased. That in itself isn't going to bode well. Shite...

~o0o~

Hermione woke slowly, listening to the sounds of the shower, allowing the groggy, drug-induced sleep to fade. She would simply lie here until he dressed and left, then get up and take a long hot bath. The water turned off, and she closed her eyes, listening to him move around.

Through half closed lids, she watched him disrobe and dress, thinking about just how different his body was from Ron's or Viktor's for that matter. Not that she ever saw Viktor completely nude, but the sleeveless, thigh-length robe and leggings he wore to exercise and stretch in left him quite exposed. And she'd seen Ron nearly nude once when she'd accidentally walked in on him at the Burrow one summer.

Snape opened the third panel of the wardrobe and took out a green night-slip and dressing gown. Watching him slyly, she saw her robe, the one she had on when she had been transported to him, hanging on a hook on the inside of the wardrobe door. Hope sprang in her as she realized that inside the pockets might be something that could help her either escape, which she doubted, or to contact one of her friends. That is if he hasn't removed everything from my pockets.

She shut her eyes before he turned, walked to the bed, laying the slip and dressing gown at her feet, and then he turned and left the room.

She listened intently with her eyes shut for any sounds before easing from the bed. She still hurt a great deal and still felt very weak, but she was able to walk around better than before. She walked up to the wardrobe and tried opening the door. Tiny prickles hurt her hands, but the door swung open easily. Inside hung five night-slips and dressing gowns, two black, one midnight blue and one in Slytherin green that matched the one on the bed. Ignoring the discomfort, she fingered her robe noticing that the contents still seemed to be in the pockets. Heavy footfalls interrupted her as she tried to reach inside for her D.A. Galleon in the inside pocket, and her fingers brushed it before the steps stopped just outside the bedroom door.

Quickly, she closed the wardrobe and scurried into the loo. She sat on the edge of the tub and turned the taps to fill her bath. She heard him move in the bedroom as she lay back soaking and closed her eyes, trying to remain calm. Giving up, she wet her hair and tried combing out the tangles with the brush he'd given her. She looked up startled to see him leaning against the doorframe, watching her try and comb out her hair with the warm soapy water.

He smirked at her efforts and then pulled a knife from his pocket, walking over to her. He seized her head, cutting a thick strand of her hair. "Hey, ouch," she protested, reflexively moving one arm from her chest to her head.

"Just be glad that I only needed this much. I could have simply given you a complete trim," he said mockingly. "Now finish up. You will be staying in the room today. I have work I need to do with Draco, and you'll only be in the way." He stopped in the doorway, staring at her. "I have warded my personal belongings. There are three books on the bed and your clothes. I'll have the elf bring you something to eat."

"You're going to impersonate me with Polyjuice Potion!" she accused him, rubbing her head.

"Hardly," he said and exited the loo.

After her bath and getting some leeway with her hair, Hermione re-entered the bedroom. The curtains were open; however, the leaded panes of the glass were so old and distorted she couldn't make out anything from outside, other than vague shapes and colors. The majority colors that she could see were grayish-browns, brownish-greens and pale blue skies. She tried the wardrobe again, and the tingling feeling of the wards was far more intense. It took several tries to open the wardrobe and even more to pull the Galleon from the hidden inside pocket. The prickling sensations from Snape's wards lasted for several minutes, and she opened and closed, shaking her hands repeatedly to shake the feeling between tries. Her wand was not in any of her pockets, and most of the items from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes were missing, but everything else was still there. The hats and cloak she'd got from the shop were lying neatly on the top shelf of the wardrobe. Well, a Shield Hat or Cloak won't help me now anyway – nor my Headless Hat. Even the pink Pigmy Puff is missing. Ah, well. What did I expect anyway? Of course he chucked out all that stuff. It probably irritated him that I had so much of Fred and George's products in my pockets anyway.

She carried the Galleon to the bed and stared at it. With her wand she could make the writing and numbers on the coin say anything she wanted. As a little girl, Hermione had been able to make things happen by wanting them to. Now, she really wanted to make the coin read: I'm fine. Snape... What? I'm with Snape? Oh, that would go off well. Harry would love that; he'd go ballistic. I'm in Snape's house? She laughed at that idea. That's not any better. It's best if I stick with I'm fine. She tried pointing her finger at the coin, thinking, I'm fine, HG, over and over. Suddenly the door opened and she ducked the coin under her leg.

The house-elf came in with a tray. "Oh! Hi." The elf simply nodded and set the tray on the bed. "Thank you, I appreciate you bringing this up here." The elf looked at Hermione as if she'd just turned green. "I don't know your name. I'm Hermione."

The elf looked nervous. "I is Peren, but I is not to..." the elf said and hit herself hard on the head. "I is not to talk to you." The elf banged her head into the bedpost so hard she was momentarily dizzy and made the juice on the tray spill a little.

Hermione jumped down and wrapped her arms around the elf. "Please, please don't hurt yourself." Peren looked at her, her green eyes wide. "If you nod or shake your head – that's not talking, is it?" The elf shook her head. "You could always use charades, and I could guess what you are trying to say," she suggested. Peren looked at her confused. "Charades, gestures, hand movements, act out what you want to tell me. We could make up hand signals."

Peren nodded happily. "You would do this just to talk with me? Miss is liking house-elves?" she asked and then banged her head on Hermione's knee.

Aghast, Hermione rolled up her towel and gave it to the elf. "Here, use this to punish yourself; at least you won't get hurt. You can hit yourself once for each transgression."

Peren hit herself with the towel. "This is not a sufficient punishment, Miss." She hit herself again, confused.

"It is if I say it is," Hermione countered. "My best friend, Harry Potter, has a house-elf, and he's friends with one named Dobby. Dobby said that a wizard could decide on the punishment. I choose this."

Peren shook her head. "Harry Potter gave Dobby clothes, he makes Dobby a disgrace. Course, Dobby was a bad house-elf, Miss; he was always in trouble." She picked up the towel and whacked herself four times, then froze, listening, turned and ran from the room, pausing to wave a silent bye before she disappeared.

Hermione spent the day alone, reading from Dilys Derwent's and Marjorie Beaumont's books or trying to activate words on the coin. The best she got with the coin was a vibration. Hermione, you're pathetic.

After dinner, Snape had Draco and Hermione read with him in the sitting room again. This time he handed her a small book entitled, Herbaceous Potion Species of Northern Europe, by Clady Lamont.

After a while, Draco stood and said he was turning in. Snape merely nodded.

Yawning, Hermione rose and walked over to stand by Snape's chair. "Please, sir, I want to contact my friends," she said, carefully choosing her words and tone.

He didn't even look up. "I don't care what you want."

"But it has been over a week," she pleaded. "They will be worried and I..."

He looked up slowly as she spoke, then cut her off, "It has been over three and a half weeks – almost four."

Hermione's mind reeled, unaware that she'd visibly paled. She looked at him stunned. "Over three and a half – four weeks... It can't be... No," she stammered. "What is the date?"

He turned to face her, his face hard, and she looked at him, her eyes pleading. "It is the twenty-seventh of July."

Hermione felt the blood drain from her face as she mentally counted, then nearly swooned. It's been almost a month! My breasts have continued to ache, as they do sometimes before my cycle, and my abdomen has continued to cramp. I have been nauseous every morning... but that's because of his potions – it has to be.... However, she hadn't actually been counting the days. "Oh, Circe... No!"

"What is it, Miss Granger?" he asked, looking up at her.

He was regarding her, trying to gauge her reaction, but she was lost in her thoughts. I should have... the first week of the month... possibly the second week, maybe – with stress... "Should've been the second week," she said aloud, not meaning to. I can't – cannot be... It's the potions. Three weeks late! It has to be the potions...

Snape sneered at her reaction. "No, I assure you, it is not the second week of July... It's nearly the end of the month. You were unconscious for over three weeks, Miss Granger."

She stared at him in disbelief. Shocked by his revelation, the room began to spin, sounds became muted, and the room suddenly became unfocused, slightly fading. She stared at him, aware that he rose and stepped toward her, his expression hard. She realized that she'd asked questions, but the sudden dizziness quenched any fears of his ire. His hands grabbed her upper arms, digging into her flesh as she faltered, and her knees gave way. Effortlessly, he swept her into his arms, carried her up to his room, and tossed her unceremoniously onto his bed. "For someone who considers me to be her heart's desire – her soul mate, I would think that living with me for almost a month would have been more welcomed news."

"Is that why you brought me here?" she asked, unable to breathe normally.

"You came to me. You arrived at my feet, just as I appeared at the place where the Dark Lord summoned me. You are the one who asked that cursed parchment to show you your soul mate – your heart's desire. Not me. I brought you here because the Dark Lord told me to. I was to heal you after you had been tortured, beaten, abused – yes, raped – repeatedly, I might add. It was either me, Rodolphus Lestrange or Lucius Malfoy. The Dark Lord gave you to me because he believes that you came to me of your own accord." He turned and stormed from the room, uttering, "Ungrateful bitch," as he slammed the door.

For the next several days, Snape was uncommonly cold towards her. He rarely spoke to her except to demand something and even threatened to spank her one afternoon when she'd asked questions. The look on his face made her recoil, and she chose to keep quiet. She was never left alone in any room except the loo, and whenever she was downstairs, he never let her out of his sight. He stood in the doorway with his back to her or stayed in the bedroom when she took her bath. In his potions lab the chair had been changed into a hard stiff-backed wingback chair. A similar one had been made of the chair she was to use in the sitting room. She tried to figure out what potions Draco made each day and tried memorizing the spells Snape taught him. But from her chair, it was hard to make out the ingredients for the potions, and without a wand she couldn't try out the spells. On one afternoon, in the room down the hall from the potions lab, she had tried asking him questions about the spells he was teaching Draco. Snape was so angry that he made her stand in the corner and watch as Snape taught Draco advanced charms and spells, including many that were Dark Arts. Silently, she fumed, wishing she could at least participate in the lessons he gave Draco.

The only bearable part of the days were in the evenings spent sitting in the sitting room, when he gave her books to read or when she finally went to bed at night.

Snape left as soon as she laid down each night and was up and dressed when she awoke.

Draco was amused by Hermione's treatment, often laughing softly.

Peren avoided her.

Wormtail leered at her lustily at every opportunity and tried several times to corner her and speak to her. Snape allowed him to, only stopping him from actually touching her. Wormtail asked her questions, always with blatant sexual innuendos, that alluded to the times when he had been around her when he'd been Ron's rat, if she was dating anyone, interested in someone special, and commenting on how much she had grown and matured. Hermione brushed off his questions tartly or answered in as few words as possible. He rarely looked at her eyes when he spoke to her, but his eyes raked down her body lustfully. He made her skin crawl each time he was near her.

One afternoon as they sat in the sitting room before dinner, Snape inhaled sharply, grabbing his left forearm. "Draco, I leave her in your charge. You know the rules regarding her," he said, standing to go.

Draco looked up from his Dark Arts book. "Yes; no questions, no wand, no killing her. Got it down," he said with bored glance and went back to his book. Snape nodded and disappeared. "But by all means, please ask away, Granger. I'd love to paddle your behind." Hermione glared at him as he laughed.

She watched Draco practice the wand movement from the book, aiming at an orange on the table in front of him. "You're doing the wand movement wrong," she suggested in as nice a tone as she could muster and not sound contrite.

"How dare you speak to me, Mudblood," he snarled.

She forced her face to remain calm. "You do realize that the pictures in your book are of a left-handed wizard," she said in an off-handed manner.

"Yes, Granger, I am aware of that," Draco snapped.

"And that you will need to reverse the movement if you are using your right hand," she said politely, trying to feign indifference.

"How do you know that?" he asked, casting her an angry sideways glance.

"Professors' McGonagall and Flitwick, first day of class, first year of school," she said as nicely as she could. "If you recall, they asked if anyone was left-handed, then explained to those who raised their hands that the wand movements had to be done in reverse to the diagrams in our books."

"Fine, if you're so smart, you do it," he challenged.

"I'm not allowed a wand, remember?" she asked. "Rule two, I believe." Turning to face him, she continued. "Try switching hands – use your left."

He looked up at her contemptuously. "You can't do that!"

"I can, and I have," she said nonchalantly.

"Show me," he said. Hermione, looked at him, her brow creased, then swirled her left index finger in the movement, saying the words perfectly. Surprisingly he laughed. He copied her, holding his wand in his left hand and tried the wand movement. On his third try, the spell worked, slicing the peel of the orange, but without enough force to cut the orange in half.

"If you practice, you could be ambidextrous," she remarked, trying to make it sound like a compliment.

"Are you?" he asked, curious.

"With some spells," she said with a shrug. "We practice the ones we know with both hands – just in case."

"Potter is ambidextrous?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yes," she answered. "So are Ron and Neville." She rose and started to walk across the room toward the bookshelf that hid the stairs to the first floor. She was feeling a bit dizzy and weak.

"Where do you think you are you going?" Draco snapped, irritated.

"I need to go to the loo," she said, swaying slightly. "I'll come right back." She had started spotting a few days ago and was relieved to finally need the pad-cups and straps. Although her cycles were usually heavier, she figured her cycle was different simply because she skipped a month or so due to Snape's potions.

Walking up the stairs, she was stopped by Wormtail as he was coming down. "You probably miss your friends, don't you?" he asked.

"Yes, I do," she replied curtly.

"Ronald must miss you. I would if you were my girl," Wormtail said, blocking her way up, his hand on her waist.

"I'm sure he does," she said, pushing his hand off her.

She tried to pass him, but he blocked her way. "He must be worried sick, wondering where you are," Wormtail said.

"He's fine. Now let me pass. I need the loo," she said briskly. He moved slightly, and as Hermione passed him, his hand slid down the curve of her bum.

"You are so beautiful," he said. She glared at him, and he looked at her with beady eyes, leering at her.

She tried to continue up the stairs, but he reached out a hand and grabbed her dressing gown, practically ripping it from her shoulders. The thigh-length night-slip left nothing to the imagination, and he eyed her lustfully. "Leave me alone," she snapped.

"Such a pretty girl you always were, prancing around in his sister's room in your knickers and dressing gowns," Wormtail said and grabbed her wrist with his sliver hand, hurting it. "You were always so nice to me, petting me when I was a rat. Your fingers always felt soo good. That was before you went and got that cat – but I don't hold that against you. You just like animals, don't you?" he asked and pulled, trying to make her come down to him.

The force of his silver hand made Hermione slip on the step, and she heard bones crack in her wrist as she landed hard on the stairs, bouncing roughly down several steps, landing almost between Wormtail's feet. Hermione cried out in pain. "Now that's the ticket, eh?" Wormtail was now looming over her, and he tried to lean down to give her a kiss, lowering his body closer to hers, placing his sliver hand on her abdomen to hold her down. Pain seared through her under the pressure of the magical hand, and her scream of pain was muted when Wormtail had covered her mouth with his other hand. "Oh, doll, don't be like that," he said.

Hermione kicked him, aiming her foot into his groin as hard as she could, then turned, trying to scramble up the steps. "Leave me alone," she snarled as Wormtail fell and rolled, crashing down the steps to the first landing. What is Draco doing? Why isn't he coming in here? "Just leave me alone," she yelled at him as she pulled herself toward the top of the stairs. She felt heady, her dizziness was worse, and she felt a thick trickle of something warm flow down her legs and looked down, wiping it with her hand, realizing that she was bleeding fairly heavily. She placed her hand against the wall trying to steady herself as she took each step, leaving bloody handprints. The door closest to her was Wormtail's room; the loo was directly ahead of her, Draco's room was the next-door down, just a few steps down the hall from Snape's bedroom. She knew that she wouldn't be able to get into either Snape or Draco's rooms because of the wards. The loo was her only escape. She pushed herself off the wall, stumbling a few times as she made her way down the hall to the loo, thinking that she was going to faint again. Not with Wormtail trying to molest me, no – please. At least get in the loo and close the door. She could hear him coming up the stairs.

"Oh, my pretty, you shouldn't have done that," Wormtail said, coming into the hallway. The blood running down her legs had increased greatly, which made the floor slippery, and she stumbled, landing hard on her knees, then slumped to the floor at his feet. He knelt down beside her. "You are bleeding. I can help you. I will heal you," he said, sliding her night-slip to her hip, his silver hand making a painful trail from her mid-thigh on up.

Finally, Draco showed up, taking in Hermione's position on the floor, the blood and Wormtail pawing at her. "Bloody hell, Rat! What have you done?!" He had his wand out, and he Stunned Wormtail, making him fall on her. Hermione screamed in pain as his sliver hand was pressed down on her hip under his weight. Draco waved his wand, throwing Wormtail off her, and she groaned, clutching her abdomen in agony. The last thing Hermione saw before she passed out was Draco kneeling beside her, his face actually concerned.

Author's Notes: