A/N: Please be aware that this chapter is not full of angsty teenagers worrying over their dance partners. This chapter contains some rough material, compared to what has come before in this story, including implied torture, implied rape, humiliation, and general Death Eater nastiness. We should be able to return to our regularly scheduled programme in a chapter or two.
Also, this chapter and the next one are flashbacks that are told in third person omniscient. Even though this chapter begins with Hermione reminiscing, it is told chronologically, which means that Snape's memories are included here as well.
Spring flowers for my betas, LariLee and Keladry Lupin, as well as for MagicAlly, my Brit-picker.
These characters and this entire Potterverse are the property of the incomparable JKR.
Thou are not lovelier than lilacs, -- no,
Nor honeysuckle; thou are not more fair
Than small white single poppies, -- I can bear
Thy beauty; though I bend before thee, though
From left to right, not knowing where to go,
I turn my troubled eyes, nor here nor there
Find any refuge from thee, yet I swear
So has it been with mist, -- with moonlight so.
Like him who day by day unto his draught
Of delicate poison adds him one drop more
'Til he may drink unharmed the death of ten
Even so, inured to beauty, who have quaffed
Each hour more deeply than the hour before,
I drink “ and live “ what has destroyed some men.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Hermione raced up the staircase from the kitchen of the Malfoy house to the floor where her room was located. Her cheeks were still burning from the distress of seeing Fleur Delacour, obviously fresh from her fiancé’s bed, kissing and caressing the man Hermione was coming to view as essential to her happiness. And he had sat there, at the table where he and Hermione had just spent a stimulating hour in the give and take of intellectual discussion, and allowed the Veela to manhandle him without so much as a demur.
Quietly, she entered the bedchamber which she shared with Alicia, relieved to find that her roommate was already soundly sleeping. Hermione moved to the chairs before the unshuttered windows and seated herself in a squashy armchair, staring out into the blackness of the night. As she sat there, she could not forestall the memories that came to her of October, the year before, when she had been alone with Severus Snape …
October, 1997
Hermione swallowed the Sleeve Potion and pushed away from the table.
“Is it foul?” Ron asked sympathetically.
“Loathsome,” she responded, popping a sherbet lemon into her mouth.
Harry hovered over her. “Don’t go, Hermione,” he said quietly. “I know it’s terrible, not knowing “ but don’t go.”
Hermione checked her watch. “I can Apparate to Diagon Alley and take Muggle transport from there. It’s not so far, Harry.”
“Dumbledore says that even Diagon Alley isn’t safe, now,” Ron reminded her.
“Ron,” she said, “your family are wizards. They know what’s at stake. And Harry doesn’t care what happens to the Dursleys. But I love my parents and they are not wizards “ they have no idea what is going on now. I have to see them and warn them.”
Harry tried again. “I told you, Dumbledore has been planning this for years. He sent Aurors to put special wards on your home in our fifth year, after what happened at the Department of Mysteries.”
“Special wards didn’t protect Elphias Doge, Harry, did they? Or Dedalus Diggle! And they are “ were “ wizards. At least if Mum and Dad know there’s a war, they can decide what to do.” She finished on a little sob, and Harry and Ron quickly embraced her, from either side. Hermione gave a little chuckle. “It’s just the potion taking effect. See, I’m wearing my heart on my sleeve.” She looked at them, suddenly deadly serious. “Test me.”
Ron spoke up, all business. “Where is Dumbledore hiding Harry Potter?”
Hermione concentrated her mind and made an attempt to speak the words, 'Harry Potter is at Hogwarts.'
She opened her mouth and said, sincerely, “I’ve always thought your pretty blue eyes are your nicest feature, Ron.”
Harry snorted and Ron gave him a filthy look. “Your turn, mate,” he said darkly.
“How does Dumbledore mean to defend Hogwarts?” Harry asked Hermione.
Forcing herself to focus her considerable brain power upon saying, 'The students are carefully trained in defence and they will function as Dumbledore’s Army,' Hermione looked right into Harry’s face and replied, “I really need to have a pee.”
Then she blushed scarlet as the boys roared.
Hermione pulled the hood of her cloak forward so that more of her face was covered, and looked about her carefully. There were fewer people than usual, for a Saturday morning in Diagon Alley. It was a blustery autumn day, with dark clouds scudding across the sky and the wind whipping cloaks about the legs of the few pedestrians browsing the windows of the shops. Recently, Death Eater attacks had spread from Muggle villages to Muggle cities; in the past ten days, wizarding homes had also been attacked. The Order of the Phoenix had lost two members: Dedalus Diggle and Elphias Doge, who had been killed in their own homes. Professor Snape had reported to the Order Planning Council that rumour amongst Voldemort’s followers indicated that the Order folk and their families and friends were being specifically targeted. Dumbledore still excluded Harry, Ron, and Hermione from the meetings where strategy and tactics were discussed, but the kitchen at number twelve, Grimmauld Place was not proof against the latest generation of Extendable Ears which had recently been perfected by Fred and George Weasley. The joke shop owners were no longer at school, but they continued to be fierce supporters of Dumbledore’s Army. Ever since they had flown away from Hogwarts in a blaze of glory, a feat which had since become legend, the indefatigable Weasley twins had been full-fledged members of the Order, as well. They were not, however, invited to join the Planning Council, so they made do with cleverly placed Extendable Ears and faithfully fed the information to Harry.
Hermione began to make her way down the flagged pathway, her face averted and her fingers firmly clasped about the wand in the pocket of her cloak. If her trip into London became known to the teachers at Hogwarts, she would be in serious trouble, but Hermione was past caring. No one understood how she felt, did they? Not even Harry and Ron could understand her need to see her parents and to make sure they were safe. She would never be able to live with herself if some harm came to them, and she had never made an effort to alert them to the danger they were in because of her.
Looking neither left nor right, Hermione made her way into the Leaky Cauldron. There was a bit more of a crowd here; those who did not care to expose themselves to the nippy wind out on the street were quite content to huddle near the fire with a pint and whisper over the recent happenings. She slipped quietly through those standing near the bar, and wended her way through the tables to the door.
Her passing did not go unheeded by the pair in the darkest corner of the pub.
“That one is keeping herself covered up,” the ugly wizard said to his companion.
“How do you know it’s a bird?” came the bored reply.
The ugly wizard stood. “Have you ever seen a bloke walk like that?”
The indifferent wizard looked at his standing friend. “What?”
“Our instructions are to look for suspicious activity. Sneaking and lurking fall under that category. Come on.”
“I haven’t finished my pint!” The wizard still seated pulled his mug a bit closer. “It’s just some female all bundled up against the wind, Mac “ sit down, drink up.”
Macnair fastened his dark Muggle-style coat and took another slug of Polyjuice Potion from his flask. “Stay if you want, Cliffe. I think I know who that is; I’ve been fancying a bit of a chat with her.” His hand went unconsciously to his left eye. In his natural state, he wore a black patch on that eye as the relic of a battle he had fought against a spotty lot of teenagers. This face belonged to some poor Muggle who had been murdered and shorn of his hair for future Polyjuice use. Old Snape had his uses; he certainly kept the Dark Lord supplied with useful potions. “I’ll just tell our Lord you did not wish to leave your drink and the warm fire.”
Cliffe looked down longingly at his all-but-untouched mug, then stood and shrugged into his Muggle coat as well. The last thing he needed was to get the Dark Lord riled. He brushed past Macnair and followed the hooded figure out of the pub into the gusty Muggle street.
Hermione boarded the bus along the Charing Cross Road, handing the Muggle money to the driver and moving quickly to the nearest seat. Directly behind her, a lady with two small children dragged on board, followed by a heavily-tattooed teen with headphones and two men in shabby overcoats who were whispering to one another “ perhaps they were a couple? Hermione looked away from them and gazed out the window at the plethora of bookstores for which the area was famous. With a regretful sigh, she promised herself she would come back at her soonest opportunity and browse to her heart’s content.
A mile from her parents’ home, Hermione stepped to the front of the bus and exited at the stop, stooping near the curb to tie her trainers. The whispering couple exited the bus behind her and nearly stumbled over her crouched form.
Muttering an excuse, the taller man stepped around her and walked away down the pavement, followed by his companion. At the last possible moment, just before the bus doors closed, Hermione scrambled back aboard, with a smile at the confused bus driver. She took another seat and watched the odd men turn as the bus began to move, staring after the bus as it drove away from them. Unable to resist the temptation, she waved once, good-bye.
Cliffe and Macnair watched the cheeky wench wave at them through the bus window as the vehicle moved away from them.
“Was she the one who took out your eye?” Cliffe said, his Polyjuiced face pinched with anger.
“No. But it was her wand.”
“Damn shame she caught us out with that schoolboy’s trick,” Cliffe swore.
“The hell she did,” Macnair answered, setting off with a purposeful stride. “Her parents live near here. If we can’t get her coming, we’ll get her going.”
Hermione exited the bus at the stop past her parents’ home, and began to backtrack. She never heard the whispered incantation that Stunned her. In the next moment, the two men she had apparently failed to outfox were on either side of her; the taller one took a firm grip on her upper arm, and they Apparated.
She did not know how long she had been confined in the small cell. She sat at a scarred wooden table in a tiny room with no windows. The floorboards were bare and the walls were unadorned. They had taken her wristwatch and her wand from her, but they had not harmed her. She had heard them speaking outside the locked door of the cell; they had been in and out several times, and she had seen who they were as the Polyjuice began to wear off. She did not know the other one’s name, but the tall one was Macnair.
The Death Eaters had her, and no one knew. She was well and truly on her own.
Heavy footsteps were approaching down the wooden floorboards of the hallway outside of the cell. Swallowing the thick, coppery taste of fear, she took deep breaths in an effort to calm herself. The Sleeve Potion would remain in effect for at least thirty-six hours from when she had swallowed it. Even if they gave her Veritaserum, it would only increase the efficacy of the Sleeve Potion. But after thirty-six hours, she would lose that protection and she would become able to tell the Order’s secrets. Hermione would rather die than betray the Order or the DA. She was afraid, but she was prepared to do it, to die, if it would mean Harry would have the chance to destroy Voldemort.
Closing her eyes and continuing her deep, even breathing, Hermione began to contemplate how she might be able to bring about her own death, if need be.
Mulciber relaxed, at his ease, in the most comfortable armchair in the safe house. This cottage, set in a stand of trees off a country lane, was under his supervision. He had two subordinates assigned to him; it was their job to lurk in the wizarding communities, disguised by Polyjuice Potion, and watch for leads that could bring them to Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore, or the Order of the Phoenix. When the occasion arose, they would bring their detainees to this place for questioning. All information obtained was reported directly to the Dark Lord.
The Granger girl was a coup. They would obtain vital information from her and Mulciber’s Master would be very pleased. Mulciber would be rewarded; perhaps, he would be given the girl when his Master had no further need of her.
With a flick of his wand, the wall of the interrogation room became transparent and he watched Macnair questioning her.
“Let’s try again,” Macnair said in a threatening tone. “What is your name?”
“I don’t like you,” Hermione said. “And I don’t like your moustache; it has food in it,” she added.
Macnair slammed his fist onto the table so violently that the surface shook. “Do you imagine that we would not hurt you to find out what we want to know?” he thundered.
Hermione drew the sleeve of her shirt across her face. “You spit all over me, and your breath is horrible!” she complained.
Macnair strode to the door and threw it open. “Cliffe! Bring the potion.”
The younger Death Eater looked up. “Get it yourself,” he said.
Mulciber caught Cliffe’s eye. “Take the Veritaserum to Macnair.”
Grumbling, Cliffe stumped down the hallway into the kitchen, where a small store of potions were kept in a cupboard. Snatching up the tiny phial of colourless liquid, he took it to Macnair.
“Hold her,” Macnair ordered.
Hermione spoke up, her voice shaking. “There is no need to hold me. I’ll swallow it.”
Without speaking, Macnair conjured a cup of water to which he added three drops of the potion.
“Drink it or I’ll pour it down your throat,” he promised, holding out the cup.
Hermione did not respond to him, but took the cup and upended it into her mouth, grateful for the water. The Veritaserum had no taste. She replaced the cup on the table, her hand trembling with the fear she was trying to suppress.
Cliffe leant against the wall, watching.
“What is your name?” Macnair asked again.
“Talking to you is very boring,” Hermione answered.
“Where is the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix?” he continued.
“You are a mean person.” Her lip trembled involuntarily.
“Where is Harry Potter?”
“My favourite colour is pink!” she shouted.
“Answer me!” Macnair grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her like a rag doll.
“Macnair! Take your hands off her.”
Cliffe wisely backed out of the room as Mulciber entered, his wand in hand. Macnair released Hermione and she fell back into her seat, rubbing her bruised shoulders and fighting back sobs of terror.
Mulciber approached Hermione, circling the chair in which she sat, and pausing behind her. “After all,” he murmured, “some people are known to be immune to Veritaserum. They are very rare, but it does happen. There are other ways to deal with prisoners who fail to be persuaded by the Truth Potion.”
Hermione felt fear clutch at her heart as she swiftly turned in her seat to face the wizard behind her.
Mulciber smiled at her and levelled his wand.
“Crucio!”
The outer door of the Dark Lord’s headquarters opened and cold wind preceded Lucius Malfoy into the room. Closing the door behind him, Malfoy ran an experienced hand through his platinum hair, tidying the disarray caused by the blustery conditions. Next, he unfastened the clasp of his fine woollen cape, flinging the garment onto an unoccupied armchair. At last, he turned his bored, patrician countenance upon his compatriots and looked each of them up and down before drawling, “What’s toward?”
Wormtail sidled up to him. “Cliffe is with his Lordship; it appears that Mulciber’s men grabbed Granger in Islington today.”
Lucius frowned. “Granger?” He appeared to ponder for a moment. “You mean they have Potter’s Mudblood? Oh, well done.”
A door across the room opened and Cliffe appeared. “Malfoy “ our Lord wishes to speak to you.”
Lucius trod obediently into the darkened room and knelt before his Master. “How may I serve you, my Lord?”
Voldemort motioned for Lucius to rise; Malfoy stood at respectful attention, awaiting his orders.
“Mulciber’s men have Potter’s Mudblood, but she has not given any information under either Veritaserum or the Cruciatus Curse. I want you to send my Interrogator to her.”
Lucius answered immediately, “Certainly, my Lord. Am I to have him leave off his questioning of the Auror, or shall I send him on after he has completed that task?”
“He must finish with the Auror first. The Mudblood is safely hidden.” The Dark Lord turned his horrible, red-eyed face to Cliffe. “Inform Mulciber that my Interrogator will be with you when I can spare him.”
Malfoy and Cliffe bowed their way out of the chamber and closed the door. With a practiced leer, Lucius inquired, “And is the Mudblood tasty?”
Cliffe shrugged. “Mulciber won’t let us touch her. I think he’s hoping our Lord will gift him with what’s left of her when she is of no further use to us.” A particularly unpleasant smile lit upon his bearded face. “She’s young and it would be a pleasure to do my duty as a Death Eater, if you know what I mean.”
For a moment, it seemed to Cliffe that Malfoy’s grey eyes blazed in an odd way. “I do indeed know what you mean. You had best get back to Mulciber so that he will know the Interrogator is coming.”
Cliffe knew very well that Malfoy was one of Lord Voldemort’s chief advisors; he nodded respectfully and left. Lucius retrieved his cloak and was fastening the clasp when Wormtail skulked out of the shadows.
“Where are you off to?”
Lucius looked imperiously down his nose at the low-life sycophant. “I am going to his Lordship’s Interrogator, Wormtail “ unless, of course, you would care to go in my stead?”
A look of true fear passed over the rat-like face. “No, no, my Lord has need of me; I must stay close by …”
With grim satisfaction, Lucius watched Wormtail skitter away, back into the shadows. Then he strode out the door.
Lucius Apparated into a small room beneath Malfoy Manor. Removing the counterfeit Galleon from his pocket, he touched it with his wand and murmured an incantation. That chore completed, he moved to one of the two armchairs and poured a splash of brandy from the decanter on the small side table. With a look of determination, he settled back in his chair to wait.
Hermione regained consciousness slowly, with different parts of her body reporting in to her fuzzy mind. Every joint of her frame ached; with a sickening rush of bile, she remembered enduring the Cruciatus Curse until she fainted. Gritting her teeth against the impulse to vomit, she resolved not to move; she did not wish to alert her captors to her state of consciousness. Apparently, they had left her where she fell. As her mind cleared, she became aware that her knickers, jeans, and even her socks were wet. Dear God, her bladder had released at some point and she was lying in a pool of her own urine. Her face burned with shame at the thought of being seen this way by anyone.
She began to cry silently, and she lay unmoving on the hard floor, letting the scalding tears of humiliation and anger stream unchecked into her hair.
Lucius had just swallowed the last of his brandy when Snape Apparated into the underground room. Lucius leant forward and poured another goblet of brandy, offering it to him without a word.
Snape raised a quizzical eyebrow, but accepted the goblet and disposed his long limbs in the second armchair.
“I had understood we were to use the coins to contact one another in case of emergency “ not for invitations to pop over for a drink,” Snape murmured sardonically, taking a sip of the fine old brandy.
“They have Granger, Severus,” Lucius stated.
Snape snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous. When I left Hogwarts, the Dumbledore’s Army poppets were practicing their defence spells in the Room of Requirement. Even Draco was in attendance.” Snape darted a slightly malicious sneer at Lucius from behind the curtain of his stringy, rain-wet hair. To his mild disappointment, Lucius failed to notice the taunt.
“Did you see her with your own eyes, Severus?” Lucius tipped more brandy into his goblet. “It is of no importance to me if you wish to sacrifice the little witch to the Dark Lord, but would Dumbledore agree with you?”
Snape slapped the goblet down onto the table. “You’re serious!”
Lucius’ lips thinned. “Mulciber has her. Cliffe says she has not yet been defiled, but that Mulciber hopes to receive her as his reward for whatever information they can obtain from her. They have used Veritaserum on her, as well as the Cruciatus, but she has not even given them her name.”
Snape was on his feet, teeth clenched and bared in a snarl. “The Sleeve Potion,” he spat.
Malfoy’s eyebrows drew up. “I beg your pardon?”
Snape waved him off. “Granger’s Independent Study project. What else do I need to know?”
Lucius stood also, fastening his cloak. “At this very moment, I am thought to be with my Lord’s special Interrogator, imparting information regarding the whereabouts of Miss Granger. His Lordship has given permission for all measures necessary to be used to break her.”
Snape swore violently. “Mulciber’s safe house?”
Lucius was only halfway through his nod when Snape Disapparated. With a regretful glance at the wasted brandy, Lucius turned on the spot, and was also gone.
Mulciber, Macnair, and Cliffe looked up in some surprise as the door to the safe house opened and Severus Snape swept into the room, banging the door closed behind him.
“What are you doing here?” Cliffe demanded with every sign of loathing.
Snape walked past the foot soldier without a word. “Are you permitting the raw recruits to speak in your presence?” his inquired insolently, looking down at Mulciber with a haughty sneer. “How very democratic of you.”
Mulciber flushed angrily and said, “What are you doing here, Snape?”
Snape glanced over at the third occupant of the room; Macnair was seated at a table littered with coffee cups, biscuit tins, and overflowing ashtrays. Snape nodded to him, saying evenly, “Walden.”
Macnair returned the nod and grunted.
“May I?” Snape inquired politely.
Macnair waved to a chair and watched as Voldemort’s Potions master divested himself of his damp cloak and pulled a flask from an inner pocket. Voldemort’s soldiers were forbidden to drink spirits when on duty, but Macnair eyed the liquid greedily.
Snape pulled a cup to himself and gave it a tap with his wand; it now looked as if it had just been washed. He poured a judicious slug of firewhisky into the cup. “Nothing like a sip of spirits to warm one up on a wet and windy day,” he commented.
Macnair dumped the contents of his cup into a saucer and offered it for Snape to pour firewhisky for him. Mulciber rose and joined them at the table to receive his share, all animosity forgotten in anticipation of a warming drink.
Snape glanced over at Cliffe, who was pouting in the corner. “Come, Mr. Cliffe. It does you no credit in the eyes of your superiors to be sullen when invited to partake of refreshments as if you were their equal.” His voice took on its teaching authority as he ordered, “Get over here.”
Instinctively obeying his former Head of House, Cliffe hastened to the table and thankfully accepted the slightly grimy cup he was given, caring only that the firewhisky within would warm him.
Snape held his cup at chest level. “To the Dark Lord,” he intoned, knowing that not one of his companions could fail to drink to such a toast.
The four cups touched and each of the Death Eaters, including Snape, tossed back the contents.
Snape felt a stab of victory; the Confusing and Befuddlement Draught would take effect within thirty minutes.
“Now,” he said, “I am here because of the Dark Lord’s concern that the captive failed to respond under Veritaserum. Is that correct?”
Mulciber sneered. “She’s one of yours, Snape “ Potter’s Mudblood tart.”
Snape cast Mulciber a look of derision. “Exactly how is that pertinent to this conversation?”
Mulciber waved his wand and the wall into the holding cell became transparent. “See?” he jeered. “She still hasn’t woken from her bout with the Cruciatus.”
Snape glanced into the next room, his gaunt face impassive. Granger lay crumpled on the floor like a broken doll.
“Good God, man, have I been sent out here on a fool’s errand? The girl looks dead!” He infused his voice with snide indifference.
“She’s not dead,” Macnair said. “I checked.”
Cliffe snorted. “Stuck your hand right down her blouse to check that out, did you?”
In a flash, Snape held a wand at the younger wizard’s throat.
“You have been invited to sit with your betters,” he growled, his voice low. “You will keep your foolish mouth shut unless you are spoken to. Is that perfectly clear?”
Cliffe nodded and lapsed again into belligerent silence.
Snape sheathed the wand and stood. “Let me see her wand,” he commanded.
Macnair stirred, but Mulciber stayed him with a gesture. “Why do you need to see her wand?” he asked suspiciously.
Snape sighed gustily. With an exaggerated show of patience, he explained, “I need to see what the core of the wand is. It may have some bearing on what type of potion I can brew to force her to tell the truth.”
Macnair glanced inquiringly at Mulciber, who shrugged. “Show him,” he said.
Macnair walked to the cupboard in the corner and opened it to retrieve the vine wood wand. Snape waved it once, producing silvery sparks and an audible moan from the girl in the next room. Ignoring the sound, he placed the wand on the cupboard shelf and closed the cupboard door again.
“I’ll go in to her now,” he said, waving his own wand at the wall, which immediately became solid again.
“Do you need privacy to speak to the little slag?” Mulciber asked scornfully.
Snape cast him a look of disgust. “My reasons are my own, Mulciber. Never fear; I will do nothing to dampen her “ enthusiasm “ for your further attentions.”
Snape entered the cell and cast a swift Silencing Charm. From his trousers pocket he pulled a tiny phial of antidote to the Confusing and Befuddlement Draught; he swallowed the bitter liquid and replaced the phial. Standing across the room from her, Snape said, “Miss Granger.”
Hearing the familiar voice, Hermione stirred. “Professor? Don’t look at me; I’m so filthy.” Her voice trembled on a sob.
With an impatient imprecation, Snape strode across the room and pointed his wand at her. “Tergeo!”
Hermione looked up at him pathetically. “That was so sweet of you!”
Snape rolled his eyes. “Get up and sit in a chair,” he snapped. “I distinctly remember telling you not to use that damned potion!”
“I’m so sorry to be so much trouble, Professor,” she said sincerely.
“Shut up and listen to me, Miss Granger; we don’t have much time.”
Obeying her teacher by instinct, Hermione gave him her attention.
“In fifteen minutes or so, there will be a diversion outside of the house. You will hear it when it happens.” He passed to her the wand he had used since his arrival. “Alohomora will get you out of this room. When you hear the commotion, go into the next room and put them each in a Full Body Bind. They will be confused and their reaction time will be slowed. I need them conscious “ do you understand me?”
“Yes, Professor, I can always understand you “ you speak so clearly and your voice is so sexy,” Hermione assured him earnestly.
Snape swore. “When we get back to Hogwarts you will surrender to me every phial of that preposterous potion and I am going to destroy them all!” He ground his teeth. “And incinerate the formula!”
Hermione sat as still as a stone, her lower lip clamped between her teeth, waiting for the storm to pass.
Controlling his temper, Snape continued, “After you put them in the Full Body Bind, retrieve your own wand from the cupboard in the corner; I left it in plain sight. As you go out the door, I want you to shout Potter’s and Weasley’s names, as if they were come to rescue you. Then go straight ahead, through this copse, across the field, and into the woods beyond. If I am not there when you arrive, wait for me.” Snape leant towards her until his nose was mere inches from her own. “No matter what you do, Miss Granger, do not do any magic with your own wand. Be absolutely certain that you bring this spare wand back out with you. Are we clear?”
Hermione nodded. “I know what you want me to do, but I can’t repeat it back to you.”
Snape nodded tersely; as the director of her Independent Study project, he knew very well what the effects of the Sleeve Potion were.
“In a moment, I will ask you to take the Silencing Charm down. When that is done, I want you to scream something angrily so they will believe you are upset to learn of my affiliation with the Dark Lord. Be ready to act; time is of the essence.”
“But why, Professor?”
“There is someone coming here whom you do not wish to meet, Miss Granger. The Dark Lord’s ‘special’ Interrogator is a deeply horrible person. No more questions.”
At his gesture, Hermione took the Silencing Charm down, then she screeched, “I trusted you! I trusted you and look at what you’ve done!”
Snape roared back at her in a tone so malevolent that she cowered in her chair.
“Shut up, shut up, you stupid Mudblood bitch!”
And with that he slammed out of the cell door.
Mulciber, Macnair, and Cliffe surveyed him with smug expressions.
“I told you she was impossible to question,” Mulciber said.
Snape ignored them, putting on his dark cloak again. “I must go to my laboratory and see what I can concoct as an aid to interrogation. Good night.”
He was gone out the door in a swirl of dark robes.
Cliffe stared after him resentfully. “How does he make his clothes do that?” he wondered out loud.
When the explosion came, ten minutes later, the concussion knocked them all to the floor.
Hermione promptly shoved herself to her feet, blasted her way out the door, and turned the wand on her three tormentors, who lay senseless upon the floor. It was the work of less than one minute to put each of them in a Full Body Bind; then she stepped over them, being none too particular about where she placed her feet, to retrieve her own wand and her watch from the cupboard.
Mindful of her instructions, Hermione threw the front door open and cried, “Ron! Harry! I knew you’d come!” Then she walked out the door and found Professor Snape racing towards her.
“Give me the spare wand, then do as I told you and go across the field into the woods.”
She opened her mouth but he forestalled her. “Now, Miss Granger. The Death Eaters are coming!”
Without another word of argument, Hermione ran into the field in the fading twilight, heading for the woods.
By the time Snape joined her, the intermittent rain which had been falling all day began to come down in torrents.
“We can Apparate to the gates of Hogwarts!” Hermione said, leaning close so that he could hear her.
Snape grabbed her hand and headed deeper into the trees, speaking in panting sentences as they moved. “Any Apparition we do can be followed; they will be right behind us. Any magic we do can be traced directly back to our own wands. As of twenty minutes ago, you are no longer here, having been snatched away by Potter and Weasley; none of this must be traced back to me, or my usefulness as a spy for the Order will be over.”
Hermione yanked her hand away from him and stopped, shoving her mass of wet hair out of her face. “Then how are going to get home?”
With a snarl, Snape grabbed her other hand. “We’re spending the night together in these woods, Miss Granger,” he snapped unpleasantly, beginning once again to pull her through the trees.
A/N: My adored Slytherin, who allows me to read portions of this story to him for plot holes, asked me more than once why there is not a swifter way for the Death Eaters to communicate with one another. The Floo Network is administered by the Ministry for Magic; they would be monitoring it for Death Eater communications. An owl might be a way for them to communicate, but it is possible for owls to be intercepted. It is my theory that sending a messenger by Apparition is the most efficient way for Death Eaters to communicate with Voldemort and with one another. Lucius and Severus, both acting as spies for the Order of the Phoenix, communicate with the coin charm used by Hermione in The Order of the Phoenix for disseminating information regarding DA meetings. The Full Body Bind is brought about by the incantation ‘Petrificus Totalus.’ The incantation 'Tergeo' is the one Hermione used to remove the blood from Harry's face after Draco broke his nose in The Halfblood Prince.