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Memories of Deception	By : professorflo Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 20868 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters within. I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Memories of Deception
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 8-8
- 9-9.
- 10-10
- 11-11
- 12-12
- 13-13
- 14-14
- 15-15
- 16-16
- 17-17
- 18-18
- 19-19
- 20-20
- 21-21
- 22-22
- 23-23
- 24-24
- 25-25
- 26-26
- 27-27
- 28-28
- 29-29
- 30-30
- 31-31
- 32-32
- 33-33
- 34-34
- 35-35
- 36-36
- 37-37
- 38-38
- 39-39
- 40-40
- 41-41
- 42-42
- 43-43
- 44-44
- 45-45
- 46-46
- 47-47
- 48-48
- 49-49
- 50-50
- 51-51
- 52-52
- 53-53
- 54-54
- 55-55
- 56-56
- 57-57
- 58-58
- 59-59
- 60-60
- 61-61
- 62-62
- 63-63
- 64-64
- 65-65
- 66-66
- 67-67
- 68-68
- 69-69
- 70-70
- 71-71
- 72-72
- 73-73
- 74-74
- 75-75
- 76-76
- 77-77
- 78-78
- 79-79
- 80-80
- 81-81
- 82-82
- 83-83
- 84-84
- 85-85
- 86-86
- 87-87
- 88-88
- 89-89
- 90-90
- 91-91
- 92-92
- 93-93
- 94-94
- 95-95
- 96-96
- 97-97
- 98-98
- 99-99
- 100-100
- 101-101
- 102-102
- 103-103
- 104-104
- 105-105
- 106-106
- 107-107
- 108-108
- 109-109
- 110-110
- 111-111
- 112-112
- 113-113
- 114-114
- 115-115
- 116-116
- 117-117
- 118-118
- 119-119
- 120-120
- 121-121
- 122-122
- 123-123
- 124-124
- 125-125
- 126-126
- 127-127
- 128-128
- 129-129
- 130-130
- 6
- 7
- 8
Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Hermione woke up the next morning with a feeling of dread churning in her stomach. As he had locked her in the previous night, Snape had informed her that he would be attending a meeting at Malfoy manor that evening, and she would be attending also. He had told her she would be questioned again concerning Harry and what he had been doing. Probably tortured as well.

"I know nothing, you saw that last night, as did Vold… You-know-Who a few days ago. What more could he possibly want from me?"

"Then for your sake you have better hope he believes there is some other reason to keep you alive," he had sneered.

She had muttered softly under her breath then, and he had taken a step towards her, snarling "What was that, you insolent chit?"

"I said I hate you, I hate all of you. I wish you were dead. You were supposed to be on our side!" She exploded with sudden, inexplicable rage. "You disgust me…" she had trailed off, beginning to turn her head away from him with a curl of her lip. The hard smack across her face had not been completely unexpected that time, but it still had knocked her backwards.

She had sagged against the doorframe for support and looked up at him, holding one hand over her reddening cheek while her eyes filled with tears. His eyes had glistened at her with some unknown emotion that he had managed to keep from the rest of his face.

Then, he had grabbed her and hauled her to her feet, pushing her through the doorway, and following her inside. Hermione had been flung on the bed before he had responded.

"Yet again you force me to punish you, stupid girl. Is this what you've been wanting? Have you missed having my undivided attention?"

She had cowered on the bed, knowing what was coming, as he put his hands to the collar of his teaching robe and began to slide it off his shoulders. "You want to be punished, is that it? Do you enjoy it?"

She had cried out in protest at his words, launching herself off the bed and trying to make for the open door. He had grabbed her by the waist, his chest against her back and pushed her up against the wall as she kicked and screamed.

"The more you fight me, the more it will hurt," he had whispered from behind with a strange choked sound to his voice. He had wrenched her back round to face him, and she had finally ceased her struggles to get free, instead just doing her best to keep him as far from her as possible. He pressed her against the wall again and wedged his body against hers. One had drifted to the bottom of her dress, and she tensed, bowing to the inevitable.

But his hand had stopped short of her hem, and his head had turned. He seemed to be listening to something. She had twisted her own head also, straining to hear what had distracted him, but she could hear noting.

She was abruptly thrown sideways onto her bed and he spun and stalked from the room. As he had closed the door behind him, his parting words had been, "We will finish this later." The door had slammed shut and the lights had plunged out.

Hermione shuddered, thinking back to his last words, and wondering whether he would carry out his threat sometime today. The thought of his hands on her repulsed her, but after spending so much time alone she had begun to crave human contact. She wondered when she would begin to accept his touch without a fight, just to satisfy her longing.

She felt drained and groggy this morning, despite having fallen into a long and deep sleep that night. The emotional turmoil was taking its toll on her, she was starting to look slimmer, and she was afraid that she was becoming used to her captivity, and losing the will to escape.

She had woken up well before the light in the room had begun to brighten so she knew she had a few minutes before Snape came for her. She slowly got ready, pulling her dress over her head and combing her hair back with her fingers as best she could. Five days without a brush had left more than a few knots in her bushy hair that she would never get out, even with a brush.

When she had finished, she went to wait near the door for Snape to come, settling down on her knees in expectation of his entrance. She waited.

A few minutes passed and he hadn't arrived. She shifted slightly, uncomfortable on the floor. When he still had not come ten minutes later she moved stiffly off her knees and stretched her legs out on the floor, but did not get up in case.

Another ten minutes passed, and the ache from sitting on the cold floor drove her to her feet, and she began to pace, stretching out the sore muscles. As time passed she started to worry. What if something has happened to him? He might be dead! Harry? Has Snape been called away because they've found him? What if Snape never comes back? Will anyone think to look for me here? Why did he run out so fast last night? It couldn't be a good sign, she was sure. She had no way whatsoever of telling what was happening outside the walls of her room. What if no one comes for me? Her room seemed to grow smaller and darker, and she ran to the door in terror and began banging.

No one came, and only when her hands were sore from banging and her arms aching did she give up and throw herself on her bed. She was starting to become away of the need to use the bathroom and the empty feeling in her stomach. Please Merlin, let me out of here before I have to go in the corner. She began to pace to try and take her mind off it.

After what felt like days later the door suddenly opened and before she had time to think she flew towards the figure standing there in relief, barely pulling up short before she threw herself into his arms.

He stepped back in shock as she ran at him, then smirked as he realised what she had almost done. She moved back from him, irritated with herself for feeling so pleased that he had returned. I wanted him dead only last night and now I'm glad he's here. Her cheeks flushed slightly at the thought.

The pressure of her bladder reminded her of her needs, and with a quick, "Sorry, I have to…" she pushed past him and ran to the bathroom, almost forgetting to be surprised that he had not tried to stop her.

After relieving herself and gladly freshening herself up with some cold water she went in search of Snape, hoping that he would give her some clue as to where he had been without her having to ask any 'irritating' questions. He was in his library, slumped in his chair with his eyes closed. She came in quietly, her bare feet padding softly across the floor to stand beside his chair.

She had been so concerned with the fact of his return and her own needs that she hadn't taken the time to consider how he looked. He appeared worse than she had ever seen him, his robes partially shredded and hanging in tatters, in places showing strips of skin that were gashed and bloody, although starting to heal. His face was bruised and swollen around his mouth, his forehead furrowed, and he looked fatigued and old.

She studied his face intently, wondering what had happened for him to return in such a state. She reached out to touch a bruise on his temple. A hand suddenly shot out and grabbed her wrist and his eyes opened. His ebony eyes looked into her chestnut ones, and she stood frozen, like a deer trapped in headlights.

Neither moved nor looked away until a log in the fire cracked suddenly, sending a shower of sparks across the heath, the pop jerking both their eyes away from each other's. Hermione looked down to where he held her wrist in a vice-like grip. He had turned his head away and was gazing into the flames. His grip lessened slightly and she went to pull away, but he gently turned her hand over and continued to hold her, his thumb now absentmindedly stroking the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist.

The feeling of it made her feel hot and slightly dizzy, and she wished to pull away, mindful of the previous night when he had seemed tender but had then turned on her and invaded her mind. She waited tensely for his next move.

Eventually he spoke. "What do you want?"

"I… I was worried when you didn't come. I wanted to see if you were ok."

"You are concerned… for me?" He sounded incredulous.

"Well… I… umm…" she trailed off, unsure of how to reply.

"How… touching, but as you can see, I have returned in one piece," he sneered.

"What happened to you?"

"Don't pretend to care. You wished me dead last night, I don't want your false sympathy now."

She tried to pull away. He looked down at their conjoined hands with surprise, as if he had been unaware of what he had been doing. His hand gripped her a moment longer before letting go. She pulled her arm back, holding it tightly against her stomach and using her other hand to cover it as if protecting it.

"You have until five to finish your tasks, the first of which is preparing me a meal. Hermione tried to ignore the rumble of her own stomach at his words. His cold eyes travelled up her body, starting at her legs. "You're dirty again. Make yourself clean, and do something about that dress."

Looking up at the clock she gaped in dismay. There were just under two hours until five, and how was she to cook, clean, wash herself and herself and well as get it dry in that time?

"As long as the kitchen is spotless you may be excused the other rooms until we return. They were left in an acceptable state yesterday." He had followed her gaze to the clock and had obviously guessed her thoughts correctly.

She stood and waited to be dismissed, but instead of letting her get on with her chores he stood up, looming over her, and grabbed her chin with his hand, the touch of his long, cold fingers on his skin making her tremble. "Look at me," he commanded in a smooth, silky voice.

She raised her eyes automatically, unable to refuse as he spoke in that tone, despite guessing what he was about to do. She was not wrong.

He held her eyes with his momentarily before he entered her mind again. This time he only combed through the memories of the time she had just spent waiting for him. He examined her emotions, the confusion she had felt at first, the worry then the frantic fear that had followed, the surge of emotion when he had finally reappeared.

Snape blinked suddenly, breaking the link. He leant back slightly from her and looked away, no longer meeting her eyes. Hermione watched him with a small frown. His emotions were so hard to read, she was so used to seeing nothing but spite and fury on his face. The last few days he had shown her very little besides a blank mask of indifference, but now there was something. If she hadn't have known better, she would have guessed that he looked sad and heavy-hearted. But why? What did he see?

She studied him curiously, but he put his back to her and said woodenly, "Leave me." She paused for a moment, but with another glance at the clock, decided to rush off to do her chores.

Hermione wriggled uncomfortably in her still damp dress. Despite it having hung by the warm range for the better part of the two hours she'd had, it had not had enough time to dry fully, particularly around the seams. She'd decided to cook a simple pasta dish as she'd needed to be quick. As soon as she had set the pan to boil she had grabbed her blanket and washed the dress and hung it to dry before cleaning herself as best she could. She had served Snape his meal, wrapped in the blanket.

He had showered and changed, his bruises and lacerations now barely visible. She assumed he had used potions and creams to reduce the damage. He had raised an eyebrow at her attire but had said nothing, and she had left him without a word being spoken between them.

She'd returned to the kitchen and served herself a small amount of the same dish. Despite her earlier hunger the anticipation of the upcoming evening had turned her stomach with fear, and she had had to force the little food she had managed down only because she knew she needed to eat. Now she was standing waiting in the library as she'd been instructed, dread coursing through her, as she waited for Snape's return.

He arrived a few minutes before five, dressed in a sleeveless robe that seemed even darker than his usual black teaching one, the long coat underneath with its high neck and rows of buttons was the same cut as he usually wore, but was made of a finer material with a modest amount of silver scrollwork across the chest. Then she spotted the pale mask hanging from one hand and choked.

Hermione had never seen him dressed in his death eater's garb. Her exposure to him over the past week had taken the edge of her dread of him, despite what she had suffered at his hands, but now, Snape seemed far more menacing and formidable than she had ever though him before. He terrified her utterly.

He strode across the room and grabbed her by the shoulders. "We're going, hold on tight," was all the warning she had before they apparated away with a loud crack.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Memories of Deception