Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to JKR. I make no money from this piece of fiction. No copyright infringement is intended.

Hermione looked around the room with boredom. The meeting had gone on for over an hour, and still, there seemed little chance of it finishing any time soon. Not when they were deciding the fate of one newly awakened Severus Snape.

She watched as the man beside her, a fat man wearing a badly fitting toupee, began to lean forward, his eyelids drooping. She could see a bead of sweat run down the back of his neck and into the collar of his robes. It glistened in the fluorescent lighting, and she found herself fascinated by it for lack of anything better to observe. She gently fanned herself with the memo she held, the lurid green paper flicking back and forth fast enough to give her the beginnings of a migraine if she looked at it for too long.

Hermione felt a sharp nudge in her side and turned. The woman to her right looked at her sharply before turning her gaze, once again, to the head of the table. Hermione followed suit, resisting the urge to jump as she realised the Minister's eyes were focused solely upon her. He was waiting for something. An answer.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat the question?" Hermione asked, flushing.

The Minister scowled at her, his thin lips pursed.

"I asked, Doctor Granger, for your professional opinion on Severus Snape's condition." He placed his hands, bony and wrinkled with age, upon the top of the glass table. They were crossed in a gesture of authority, a gesture that said, 'obey me'. "Now, if you would be so kind as to answer. Time is money."

"I beg your pardon, Minister," she said, forcing the tremors from her voice. "Snape is doing well. Better than we expected after the damage he suffered. His neck wound has completely healed with no signs of re-opening, and his heart rate is down."

"His physical condition does not interest me, Doctor. I am concerned only with his mind."

"His mind is in perfect condition. No dip in IQ, as far as we have been able to ascertain. He is alert and responsive to stimulus. The amnesia, however, still plagues him." Hermione shrank back a little under the Minister's icy glare, but ploughed on. "Although his residual memories have not been wiped, they remain locked in his subconscious. So far, we've only managed to trigger a few. Though I am confident that, once he gets his hands on a cauldron and the relevant texts, he'll have total recall."

"I hope, for your sake, Doctor Granger, he does. Three weeks without change. That doesn't work in your favour. Not when the public pay for his incarceration in ICU." The Minister's smile was feral, showing far too many teeth and too little warmth to be anything but sinister. And Hermione knew what happened to those who displeased the Ministry.

"All evidence points towards that outcome," she said, wringing her fingers nervously in her lap.

"Is he well enough to be released from ICU?"

"Yes. He's beyond the danger of infection. His immune system is back up to par."

The Minister turned from her, addressing the assembly. His long, greying hair shone in the strip-lights, which, coupled by his hungry expression, gave him the look of a wolf. A wolf closing in for the kill. Hermione shivered at the thought.

"A request for Snape's release from ICU will be brought forward to the Wizengamot and passed by the afternoon. From there, he will be transferred to one of the Safe Houses until his memory regains full functionality. Potions supplies, books and other material will be Portkeyed into the house the next morning." His eyes focused once again on Hermione. They narrowed, a malicious glee set deep within them. "Doctor Granger is to accompany him. It is her duty to initiate total recall, which is expected by the second Monday of the month at the very latest. Punishment for failing to comply will result in the termination of her duties and the allocation of another. The house will be guard-locked for security. Do you understand, Doctor?"

Hermione's eyes widened in horror. Guard-locked meant no way out, no escape. She would be stuck in there all alone with him. And what if she couldn't initiate recall? Termination did not refer to her employment. Limply, she nodded her head.

"Good. Transfer will be set in motion. Project duties will be sent after recall."

The Minister said nothing more. He swept from the room, his long cloak, the usual Ministry blue, snapping behind him. Everyone began to file out, their expressions grim. Hermione couldn't help but feel a weight descend on her shoulders. They were depending on her to get it right. If she failed, she wouldn't be the only one for the chop.

It didn't take Hermione long to assemble her things. Her house was poky and small with little in the way of furniture. No, all she had to do was stuff a few clothes in her bag: her toothbrush, her hair brush. The Ministry would provide everything else. And it wasn't like she had any treasured possessions, or any photos of her loved ones. They had been taken long ago.

Within the hour, Hermione was packed and back up at the ICU. With a grim set expression, she waited as the nurses and mediwitches fussed around Severus. Dressed in a heavy-weight cotton shirt, matching trousers and a loose-fitting robe, all Ministry blue, he stood by the bed, wincing slightly as they began to pull the monitor wires from his skin. His hair, marginally less greasy than it used to be, had been pulled back into a low pony-tail. Some of the shorter strands had come loose, and he kept pushing them back out of his eyes, irritated beyond belief. There was a small bag, leather and brown, beside his bed. Hermione assumed that held his possessions, or what was left of them. She watched as he picked it up, waving away the nurse who, having completed her torturous exercise of pulling the wires free, had begun to fuss with his robe, grumbling to herself as it refused to remain closed.

Forcing a smile onto her face, Hermione approached Severus, dragging her bag behind her.

"Good evening, Hermione," he said, his deep voice crisp with annoyance.

She resisted the urge to wince as he spoke her name. It still made her uncomfortable. It's just a matter of getting used to it, she thought. See, it's not nearly as bad as before. You just need to give it time.

"Evening, Severus." She glanced down at the bag by his feet. "I see you've packed."

"Not quite. That busy-body nurse did it for me. As if she didn't have anything better to be getting on with. Bloody woman," he said with a scowl. "I don't even know where we're going. She refuses to tell me."

"The Ministry are sending us off to a Safe House. They've deemed you well enough to leave ICU."

"What about my memories? I can't be well if they're still missing."

"That's why they're sending me with you. They're hoping I'll be able to trigger a few more recalls." And set a heavy price if I can't. She looked down at her hands, unwilling to let him see the fear in her eyes. "Your potions skills are still in there somewhere, and we need to coax them out."

"So I'm a bought man, I see."

"Isn't everyone, in one way or another?"

"Indeed." She saw him look round, his black eyes locking onto something. "It looks like we have a visitor."

She followed his line of sight. True enough, they did. A man in blue robes, the same as Severus' only of slightly better quality, was making his way towards them, a battered briefcase with a Ministry crest clutched in his hand. He was handsome enough, his stylishly long hair held back in a pony-tail, as was the fashion. But he had a haunted look in his eyes, one that she'd seen all too often.

He smiled as he approached them.

"Eddie Carmichael," he said, holding out a hand as he introduced himself. Hermione took it with little enthusiasm. "I take it you're Doctor Granger?"

"Yes. And this is Severus Snape, my patient." She released his hand, eager to be free of his overly tight grip.

"Excellent." He clapped his hands together, the sound echoing through the ICU. He opened his briefcase, removing a blue transfer disk from its depths. The old Portkeys had been done away with when Scrimgeour fell from power and replaced with Ministry issue disks. "All packed and ready for the off?"

Hermione nodded, as did Severus. Carmichael pressed his palm to the slightly lighter patch of blue in the centre of the disk, activating the Portkey. No need for wands anymore, not with the new Portkey network. Each disk was keyed specifically to the owner.

The disk began to glow. "Hands on," he said, and they complied, grasping onto the curved edge just in time. Hermione felt the familiar tug at her navel as the Portkey activated. She closed her eyes, the spinning motion making her slightly nauseous.

They grounded with a bump. Hermione just about managed to stay on her feet, but it was a close run thing. Severus was not so lucky. He lay sprawled on the floor about three feet away, his knees having buckled under the landing pressure. Blinking as she tried to regain her sense of equilibrium, she walked over to Severus and offered him her hand. He didn't take it; he was too proud to accept her assistance, no matter how much he needed it.

"Well, here we are," said Carmichael, slipping his fingers from the centre of the plate to the edge. "Home, sweet home." He lit his wand, the tip illuminating the room in which they'd just landed.

It was a hallway of some description. Overly plain was the first thing that struck her. The walls, a dull shade of off-white, were bare save for a single abstract painting about half way along. The floor, light laminated wood, curved up to bare stairs in front of them, the red runner beneath their feet slightly crumpled from their impact. Hermione turned to where she presumed the door to be but found only darkness. It took a while for her eyes to adjust, but she came to realise that it was not darkness. It was a curtain. She walked towards it, taking the heavy black velvet between her fingers and pulling it back. Light flooded the space, rendering the Lumos spell quite unnecessary. The door was as grim as the rest of the room – off-white with two long windows running down either side.

"The door's locked," said Carmichael. "As are the windows. You need the authorisation code to get out."

Hermione grimaced. The Ministry had pulled out all the stops on this one. Windows too. And to think, the purpose of safe houses was once to stop another getting in.

She turned to face Carmichael again, the tightening hand grasping the handle of her luggage the only outward sign of her frustration.

"When will the Ministry be arriving with the equipment?" she asked.

"Tomorrow morning. There is food in the cupboard and more personal items in the various rooms. Shopping will arrive every Saturday night. The Ministry are fronting the weekly expenditure."

"How kind of them." Hermione couldn't quite manage to keep the sarcasm from the voice. It earned her a stern look from Carmichael. "And if we need to contact anyone?"

"There is a direct line to the Ministry offices in the kitchen. Emergency calls can also be taken there. Personal calls must be done on the occupant's, your, mobile phone. The Ministry will not be paying the top-up fees, so the money will be wired from your account to cover it."

"And wand use?"

"There are no specific limits. The Ministry's placed a spell logging system throughout the house. Transfiguration spells have been blocked under the departmental safety act: decree number twelve, section eleven, paragraph six. But all other spells should be fine." His eyes darkened a fraction, and he lowered his voice. "Though I would advise against overuse. Snape has not been provided with a wand for legal reasons. We do not wish to give him cause for complaint, or the opportunity to get his hands on your wand before he experiences recall. It would be dangerous. Who knows what spells he would remember."

The Unforgivables.

A small shudder ran through her at the thought. Trapped in the house, alone, with a man who probably knew more Dark curses than any other wizard alive, did not sound appealing. Even if he couldn't remember them.

She glanced over at Severus. He was stood a little further down the hall, contemplating the painting. His expression was one of fierce concentration, his stunningly dark eyes focused solely on the painted canvas. She slipped her hand into her pocket, forcing her wand deeper. Out of sight, out of mind. Out of his mind.

"Anything else I should know?"

"Not that I can think of. The Ministry will be sending bi-weekly updates through the one-way Floo system." Carmichael gathered his briefcase closer and pressed his hand to the centre of the disk. "I've got to be going. Good luck."

Hermione watched as he began to fade, whisked away by the Portkey. When his shadow had finally disappeared, she turned to Severus, tapping him on the shoulder. He started, so absorbed in the painting that he seemed to have forgotten everything around him.

"Come on. We've got the rest of the house to explore."

Severus grasped his bag and followed her up the stairs. Their footsteps were loud upon the stairs, every creak magnified by the quiet that surrounded them. Hermione ran her hand up the balustrade, only to pull it back covered in a thin sheen of dust. Clearly, the Ministry didn't believe in dusting.

At the top of the stairs lay the landing. It was much the same as the hallway, only with five doors aligning its bare walls. Two on either side and one at the very end. Severus twisted the golden knob on the first one and pushed open the door.

It was the sitting room. Thankfully, this room seemed to have been decorated. The light walls had a slight flowery pattern to them and were adorned with shelves full of interesting ornaments and artefacts. A great window took up the far wall, the gauzy curtains turning the view of the surrounding countryside into a striking silhouette. In the centre of the room sat a slightly battered sofa. It faced towards the fireplace, and two matching chairs created a small semi-circle around the tiny coffee table.

They tried the door opposite and found it to be a serviceable, if sparse, kitchen. Everything was an unsettling shade of chrome, and Hermione backed out before she began to get dizzy from the sheer number of reflections the furniture created.

The second door down was the bathroom, complete with both bath and shower. In there they found several bottles of shampoo, deodorant, toothpaste and other toiletries. There was a small-first aid box in there, too, which made the room smell of TCP when opened.

Hermione was starting to feel a little uneasy. There were only two rooms left, and she had the sneaking suspicion that only one of them was a bedroom.

The fourth door confirmed her suspicions. It was an office. In the centre of the room sat a large oak desk, complete with lamp, quill and chair. Shelves covered the walls, filled with book after book on every subject imaginable. There were both magical and Muggle works. Fiction and non-fiction. A whole wealth of ideas and concepts just waiting to be explored. Hermione's fingers itched at the thought, as did Severus', both eager to learn something new.

Resisting the urge to explore the shelves further, Hermione tore herself away from the room. She stared ominously at the door left unopened. It was just the same as all the other doors; the same size, made of the same dark wood, yet it seemed so much more imposing than the rest. It dared her to open it, to face whatever horrendous things lay beyond.

Hermione steeled herself, carefully avoiding Severus' gaze. She could feel it on the back of her head, boring a hole in her skull. He had to have come to the same conclusion as her, and she didn't want to see how he'd taken it. If the last three weeks had taught her anything, it was that he still had his formidable temper. She remembered walking in on him one day when he was bellowing at one of the poor mediwitches, telling her to remove herself from his presence before he did something he'd regret. Even without a wand, he was terrifying. Drawn up to full height, he'd loomed over the woman, bringing her almost to the brink of tears before she admitted defeat and scurried away. Of course, he'd calmed down by the time Hermione had plucked up the courage to see him, but there was still something of his rage there. She had seen it flickering in those dark eyes of his.

Taking a deep breath, Hermione placed her hand on the gold knob and twisted. The door clicked and swung open without a sound.

The room was a light crème colour with royal blue decoration. Great blue curtains hung either side of a large bay window that looked out onto the moors beyond. A lamp stood in the corner by the bed-side table, its clouded glass lampshade casting softly diffused light over the surrounding area. A dresser sat against one wall and a mirror hung from another, reflecting the bed. The large, four-poster bed was clearly meant for more than one occupant.

Hermione heard Severus cough slightly beside her, and she forced her gaze up to meet his. She was surprised to note that a slight blush coloured his cheeks.

"I... er, I'll take the sofa, if you would prefer it," he said, sounding a little unsure of himself.

Hermione shook her head. She was a grown woman, for God's sake. She could handle this like an adult.

"Don't be silly. The bed is plenty big enough for the both of us." She swallowed a little, her throat dry. The air crackled with tension, and she felt the supreme urge to diffuse it. "That is, as long as you don't snore."

Severus cracked a small smile at that. "I have no idea whether I snore or not, Hermione, considering I am asleep when I do it. You can't document things in your sleep." He gave her a sly look. "And I must warn you, if you have cold feet, then I may be forced to take drastic action."

Hermione was a little stunned. Severus was joking with her. Whatever she had expected him to say, it certainly wasn't that. And, the strange thing was, she found she quite liked it. It made him seemed more human, less like a caricature of a man.

"So, er, I might take a shower first, if you don't mind," she said, placing her bag on the floor by the wardrobe that stood in the corner. She would unpack later. When Severus wasn't around. "I'm sure you can find plenty here to amuse yourself."

"Be my guest."

"Thank you." She smiled at Severus as she left the bedroom, but it fell from her face the moment she stepped out of his line of sight.

Hermione stood under the stream of hot water, trying her best not to think. She let the suds flow from her hair, untangling the knots with her fingers whilst the hair was slick enough. The air smelt faintly of mint, and her scalp tingled as the shampoo worked its magic. She sighed gently, breathing in the hot steam. It eased her lungs and worked out the lump that seemed to have taken up residence in her throat.

Slowly, she took the soap from the stand by the shower and began to scrub at her arms. The rather sparse lather smelt faintly of lemons, and she rubbed it across her shoulders and down between her breasts. Her skin, red with the heat, protested slightly as the soap made it feel dry and tight. But Hermione kept on with her task, taking the view that, if she had to spend the night with someone else, she might as well be clean.

Someone else. It had been quite a while since she'd done that. She felt a little thrill go through her. Am I really that starved for company? she thought, scrubbing over her stomach in large, smooth circles. The man scared her. And she wasn't quite sure why. Perhaps it was just the unfamiliarity of the situation; he'd been her teacher for so long, she'd forgotten he was a person, that he had a life outside the classroom, too.

But she couldn't quite convince herself of it. She'd seen something in his eyes that told her otherwise. Something that she didn't think belonged there. Not darkness in itself, she was sure of that. No, there was an openness there that was so unnatural. When she looked into his eyes, she felt as though she could see into his soul, and it chilled her.

But it excited her too. And maybe that, more than the man himself, was the cause of her unease. When she looked at him, at those dark eyes of his, she felt a perverse sort of thrill run through her. He was her creation, her masterpiece. She'd brought him back to the living, and if that wasn't a power trip, she didn't know what was. She had infused those bones of his with that feline grace. She had given him that flicker of intelligence. That hint of darkness, of danger, was caused by her.

The thought made her tense, like a tightly wound spring. She imagined those dark eyes, those beautiful dark eyes, watching her, concentrating solely on the curves of her hips, the sleekness of her stomach.

Her body felt as though it were on fire, each drop of water another caress on her fevered skin. She could see him standing before her in her mind, clad in black, his hair long and loose about his shoulders. The expression on his face was almost feral. It should have frightened her, but it only served to send her higher. He leant closer, and she could almost feel his hands clamp down on her shoulders. It sent a shiver down her spine. She could see his eyes now: hot, dark, and so piercing.

The soap clattered to the floor and was forgotten.

Hermione emerged from the bathroom only to find the bedroom empty. It was getting late. She'd assumed he'd be here. But she was thankful he wasn't.

She rummaged through her bag, pulling out a pair of pyjamas. They were decent enough for tonight, being neither too revealing, nor too embarrassing. She slipped into them, enjoying the feel of the cotton against her shower-warmed skin.

She would unpack tomorrow, she decided. It was too late to do it now, and Severus would probably want some say in the wardrobe space. Instead of unpacking, she clambered into bed, choosing the left side. The covers were soft, if a little cold. She thought about casting a warming spell, but with the two of them in here, it would warm up soon enough.

There was a slight click as the door opened, and Severus emerged. Hermione instinctively drew the covers up around herself, though her dignity was protected well enough by her pyjamas.

"I took the left side. I hope you don't mind."

He shook his head, choosing to remain silent.

Hermione rolled over onto her side, facing away from Severus. She heard the rustle of clothes being removed and felt the bed dip down slightly as he climbed in. His breathing was unusually loud to her ears, and she fought the instinct to turn back over. There was a soft click as the lights went out.

Hermione tensed. She was alone. Alone in the dark. With him. Taking a deep breath, she rolled back onto her back. Her hand brushed against his arm, and she jerked it away as fast as she could. He was so close. She swore she could feel the covers move as he took a breath.

It was going to be long night.