Snape's Redemption

Disclaimer: Yep, I’m her. I’m making scads of money. May I introduce you to my friend Harvey? He’s a six foot Rabbit. {Just in case you missed it, I was being sarcastic.}

*Warning: Perverted Child*

Chapter Nineteen – The exaggerated look of captivity

The rosy dawn light encompassed the square building, lending it a false sense of beauty and security. The bare courtyard, instead of looking barren and unwelcoming, had a gentle blush of promise and comfort. The high railings emphasised this, seeming to offer protection to all those in its walls.

As the sun rose higher, the illusion faded, leaving behind the stark reality. It was into this reality that Severus Snape and Hermione Granger Apparated, a small pop heralding their arrival.

“… and the fact that I had no heart pains whatsoever PROVES that I was not withholding information! I thought we were working together for the last Horcrux, not the cup,” Hermione’s aggrieved voice rang out.

“Then your concept of what the last Horcrux is was completely wrong,” Severus hissed back angrily.

“No, it wasn’t,” Hermione responded. “It was just a misunderstanding. For once, neither of us was wrong or right.”

In high dudgeon, she strode to the front door and yanked it open.

“What are you doing?” Severus growled, following close behind her. “This is no time for mime!”

“I’m going inside,” she returned through gritted teeth. “I told you, the cup is inside, probably in the cupboard in his old room.”

Snape’s eyes widened as he swivelled his head from side to side. Turning back to Hermione, his gaze narrowed thoughtfully.

“Well, are you coming?” In truth, Hermione was not entirely comfortable going into the old orphanage by herself. She had no idea what kind of traps Voldemort would have set to protect Hufflepuff’s cup.

Snape reached out and laid his hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “I cannot,” he informed her gently, aware of her apprehension. “I am sorry, Miss Granger, but I cannot see anything except a vacant lot.”

“Oh,” she murmured. Chewing on her lip, she turned back to the building as her hand crept up to slip under Snape’s, which was still grasping her shoulder reassuringly. “That complicates things, doesn’t it?” she asked rhetorically.

Abruptly she straightened, flicked her hair over her shoulder and stepped away from Snape’s oddly comforting presence. The sooner I’m in, the sooner I’ll be out, she reassured herself and stepped right up to the door.

“Hermione.”

She spun around to face her gaoler, lover, personal nightmare and teacher.

“Be careful,” he cautioned. “Be very, very careful.”

Nodding she turned and, without pausing, walked through the door.

To the watching Severus she disappeared from sight. Conjuring up a chair, he sat with his wand out and kept vigil.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Hermione crept across the black and white tiled corridor, her wand out, listening intently for any sign of life or movement. Following Harry’s description from what he had seen in the Pensieve, Hermione climbed up the stone stairs and stopped at the second landing. She peered down the long corridor, but there was still no noise or movement that she could detect. She was briefly tempted to send a Bluebell Flame into all the rooms she could see, but repressed the desire. She did not want to trigger any traps with excessive use of magic. Warily she walked over to the first door in the corridor and, following the Matron’s actions from Harry’s retelling, knocked twice and entered.

Sitting on grey blankets which covered the old bed was Tom Riddle – handsome, dark haired and about eleven years old. His eyes narrowed as he studied her, his lips pursed and his brow wrinkled in concentration. In his hands, he turned over and over a small golden cup with two finely wrought handles and an engraving of a badger.

“I don’t know you,” the young boy stated decisively. “Who are you?”

Now, if there was one thing Hermione had learnt from her time in the Wizarding world, it was that nothing was ever as it seemed. Furthermore, her time with Severus Snape had taught her the importance of dissimulation. Thus she did not answer as if the question was from an eleven year old wizard about to embark on his first trip to Hogwarts.

“I am one of your most faithful followers, my Lord,” she murmured, sinking down onto the floor and prostrating herself.

She could not see Voldemort, but she could hear the smirk in his voice.

“How lovely,” his young voice hissed. “And why are you here?”

“To retrieve your Horcrux, my Lord,” she replied truthfully.

The bed springs squeaked as he got up from the bed and walked over to her prone form. Looking down at her, he gently insinuated his foot under her neck and nudged her chin up until she was looking him in the face.

“Legilimens.”

Hermione quickly pushed forward images of her working with Severus, arguing with Harry, storming out of a classroom at Hogwarts (carefully concealing that it had been Professor Trelawney’s class), and brewing potions in Professor Slughorn’s class. Interspersed with these images were memories of her childhood, which occurred naturally and she wisely made no attempt to alter. Her skills in Occlumency were good and she was hoping that this guardian, this memory of Riddle, would not be as proficient at Legilimency as the real Dark Lord.

Riddle stopped his attack abruptly.

“Good,” he muttered. “Very good.

“Now, what am I?”

“A memory of Lord Voldemort,” Hermione promptly answered, hoping that this phantasm was the same spell that had been in the diary of the older Tom Riddle.

“Excellent,” he replied and withdrew his foot from under her chin. “Stand up,” he ordered.

She did and he circled her, giving her a more thorough investigation than before. When his young hand reached out and pinched her breast, she hoped her gasp of pain and disgust sounded more like one of desire. He chuckled and slid his hand down to her stomach.

“Did you enjoy this?” he questioned, his young eyes beginning to show glints of red as he captured his gaze. “Did you like having your Lord control you?”

“Yes, my Lord,” she replied.

“You are telling the truth,” he laughed.

Hermione pushed away the implications of that statement to be studied later.

“Finally, my compliant vessel, how did you find your way here?” He moved behind her, his hands caressing her breasts and belly before slipping down to rub between her legs.

Hermione could not repress a shudder of repulsion as the young Riddle tried to manipulate her body.

“Like that, do you?” the young boy whispered. “Of course you do, you’re a Muggle-born whore. A filthy Mudblood who wants to know what it’s like to have real magic in you.”

“It was your first kill,” she gasped, trying to stop his voice and actions by answering him. “Billy Stubb’s rabbit – you hung him from the rafters, using your magic for the first time.”

The young boy pulled back and frowned at her.

“You must be revered by me if you know that,” he growled, tapping the cup on his thigh.

“My Lord, I am yours and yours alone.” Hermione moved her own hand to cover her stomach. “You chose me to bear this honour.”

“I would have preferred Bella,” the wizard whined petulantly. “She is a pureblood, after all. Why on earth did I choose a Mudblood?”

“My brains, my Lord,” Hermione blurted out hurriedly. “For my O.W.L.s I got ten ‘Outstandings’ and one ‘Exceeds Expectations’.”

Riddle looked at her silently for a moment before asking, “In which subject did you get the ‘E’?”

“Defence Against the Dark Arts,” she replied honestly. “Truthfully, my Lord, I never really liked the subject – I preferred to learn the Dark Arts.”

Tom Riddle threw back his head and laughed delightedly. “Ah, yes,” he gasped. “That is why I chose you!”

He handed her the Horcrux.

“Go, Hermione Jane Granger. Return my treasure to me,” he commanded.

She bowed down and backed out of the room. Once she had cleared the threshold the door slammed shut, and she had a moment to register that she had never told him her name before the building started shaking. Looking down the corridor, she saw the ceiling collapsing on itself and the floor disintegrating, showing the level below her. Grasping the cup tightly, she ran to the landing and bounded down the stairs as everything behind her started to cave in. She reached the tiled hallway and raced towards the front door, her heart pounding and her breath gasping out of her overworked lungs, leaving a taste of blood in her mouth.

With her spare hand she scrabbled at the latch and pushed the door outwards, tumbling out into the courtyard which was now lit by the setting sun. She collapsed to the ground, coughing and wheezing as the dust of the ruined building rained down on her.

“I got it,” she panted, still focussing on the ground in front of her.

“See, my love, I told you Mudbloods could be useful,” came a sardonic voice.

Shocked, Hermione’s eyes flew up to view the tableau in front of her.

Voldemort stood there in all his reptilian glory, flanked by Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape.

He was laughing.

*~*~*~*~*~*

A/n – The title of the chapter comes from the poem “There it is” by Jayne Cortez.

And if we don’t fight
if we don’t resist
if we don’t organize and unify and
get the power to control our own lives
Then we will wear
the exaggerated look of captivity
the stylized look of submission
the bizarre look of suicide
the dehumanized look of fear
and the decomposed look of repression
forever and ever and ever
And there it is

Thanks GinnyW, JuneW & Claraminutes – the betas that betas ask to beta them.

I know it’s a short chapter (and not that sweet), so sorry about that! Hope you like it anyway…