Into The Light

Author\'s Notes: First a warning; we take a small detour into Hermione\'s mindset this chapter, which means that we do skim over some of the things that she\'s been through, which means IT GETS DARKER. I\'ve put Severus\'s Pov in later - not of the same conversation, but there\'s a small rehash in which you should be able to pick up what Hermione said if you don\'t want to read Hermione\'s Pov, but of course it won\'t give you any insight into why she\'s done it.

Secondly, thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who\'s left a review. They help enormously when I\'m trying to write the next chapter, knowing that people out there are enjoying this. I\'m not someone who does individual responses \'cause I feel stupid and run out of things to say (\'So you think it could have used more naked!Filch? Ok, thanks for that suggestion...\'), but every one of them is truely appreciated, thank you!

And finally, three cheers for Brilliant!Beta Jocelyn!


Hermione’s Pov:

They were coming for her again. They were coming, and she couldn’t stop it, couldn’t refuse, couldn’t run, it hurt, oh gods it hurt, but they’d make it worse, no matter what happened it would get worse-

Her own voice brought her back to herself, and she found herself lying on an unfamiliar bed. It was always a bed, an empty bed that triggered the nightmares. It was always while lying on an empty bed that she had been hurt the most – her normal space for resting was on the floor, at someone’s foot or under a convenient piece of furniture, out of the way.

Or if she was in bed with another person, it meant she was only there to service one. One, no matter how sadistic, would never reach the heights that they could achieve in a group. One she could cope with.

But an empty bed, with them all standing around the sides, with expectation in their eyes. leering at her, urging each other on caused the most frightening game of one-upmanship ever conceived. No place to hide, nor to run, her ultimate nightmare and memory combined.

One whipped her till she screamed. Then another would whip her till she bled, and then another till she passed out.

But despite all the tortures she had endured, there was always one that stood out as the worst. It was always this that made her come back to herself screaming.

She had been lent to the one that excited himself beforehand by watching small animals die in the most grotesque manner -she didn’t know names, she wasn’t ever allowed to use them - but they’d all been there, the ones with the marks on their arms.

They’d opened the show by ripping out her fingernails. Then they grew them back, gave her a sensitising solution, and did it again.

It got worse. Acidic mixtures, knives, whips, and spikes had all played starring roles, and at the end, there were four who still wanted to find fulfilment in her.

Four of them, but she only had three openings. No matter for them, they had simply created another one with a blunt blade.

And she would relive it, every time some unknowing person put her in an empty bed and left her there.

Her breath was coming in pants as she starred around the room. Another room, unfamiliar again, another bed - with posts she could be secured to on this one. But no anklet – that was good, she could at least resist if she wanted to. She scuttled off the bed, cursing the weakness in her limbs as she did so, and threw herself underneath the desk, pulling the chair back into place behind her.

Not a moment too soon – the door burst open and the dark one swept in after it. He scanned the room for a moment, then called “Hermione?”

Why he called her that, she could not fathom. It was his name for her, she supposed, but that was of little consequence to her – she had had many names bestowed upon her, all of them transient, replaced with the next insult that came to the mind of her current Master. She had learnt to answer to tone of voice, rather than the words they carried.

More interesting was his insistence that she refer to him by a name, rather than by title. Not his name though, she had observed. The one she was to call Harry called him ‘Sir’, or ‘Professor Snape’ so those must be his names, not ‘Severus’ as he had told her. Why she would have a name for him as he had a name for her was yet another mystery, as was her lack of punishment for neglecting his orders in that respect so early on. So many curiosities held in this new place.

She held herself very still as he stooped and peered under the desk. “What are you doing under there, girl?” he said, sounding confused.

She had to admit, she was disappointed that he had renamed her so quickly. Having an actual name had been a pleasant novelty, but if he was now to call her ‘girl’, there was nothing she could do about it. It was far from the worst handle she had been made to bear.

He removed the chair, and sat on the floor, blocking her exit, and looking at her in the afternoon light. “Well? Why are you down here?”

He actually wanted an answer, rather than simply exacting a punishment. How…novel.

“Nightmare, sir,” she replied succinctly, deciding if he was no longer addressing her by name it would be better not to assume familiarity.

He pinched the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache. “Severus, Hermione, I am Severus. Say it.”

And they were back to names again. Far from comforting, it assured her that her new keeper would need a close watch if she were to interpret his moods correctly. “Severus.”

He nodded, still pinching. “Now use it to answer me. Why are you down here Hermione?”

“Nightmare, Severus,” she replied, being careful with her tone.

“Well, that was blatantly obvious. Why are you down here, as opposed to still on the bed?” He was looking at her again now, and she was steadfastly staring at his chin, not his eyes. There was a fine line between paying attention, and asking for trouble out of disrespect. He had a small spot near his lower lip.

“The bed makes the nightmares worse, Severus,” she said, still staring at the spot. He ducked his head suddenly, meeting her eyes, and she immediately dropped her gaze to her feet.

He sighed. “Look at me, Hermione.”

She refocused on the spot.

He sighed again. “Look me in the eye, Hermione, you have no reason not to.”

She flicked her eyes to his, and then looked back down again, quickly. “Don’t want to be disrespectful, Severus,” she muttered, well aware that by answering back, she was being just that. She flinched almost instinctively against the blow she knew was about to fall.

It didn’t come.

She looked up to him again, to see he didn’t look angry, nor even annoyed. He was simply sitting and looking at her with a sad expression on his face, which confused her – was he disappointed in her? She’d never disappointed before, even when she’d rebelled they expected it, and welcomed the chance to punish her with much glee.

It hurt her inside, in a strange way, that he was disappointed in her, that he expected something better and she had failed to achieve it. She didn’t like the feeling, and yet it was strangely familiar, looking at this dark man and feeling this sensation.

He reached out and grasped one of her wrists in one hand, the other hand going to her chin, and directing her gaze to his. “Hermione,” he said, slowly and seriously, looking at her with such seriousness and determination she found she couldn’t look away, “I swear to you, here and now, that I will never hurt you. Ever.”

He sighed again, dropped his head as if considering his own thoughts, then looked back at her and continued. “I am not pleasant – I lack many basic social niceties, of this I am aware. I may, at times, swear at you, shout or scream, loose my temper, be completely obnoxious - I may push you into situations and company in which you feel uncomfortable, but it will be for your own good. But I promise you, through all of this, I will never hurt you.”

She was staring at him in disbelief. Never hurt her? It was almost too big a concept to understand, and once she did, it frightened her slightly. Pain, and her attempted avoidance of it was such a huge part of her existence, that suddenly with it gone (with his promise that it’s gone, she reminded herself), she found herself afraid she would be insufficient to fill the gap.

But the fear didn’t stop the wondrous feeling of hope that spread through her at the thought of no more terror, or pain.

“Never?” she whispered, almost to herself to check it was real, but he heard her anyway.

“Never, I swear on my magic and blood, never,” he was still deadly serious, and she believed him, wanted to believe him, although a not inconsiderable part of her was screaming that it was a trap. ‘What if it is?’ she thought, ‘it’s not like it can get any worse.’ Her inner self argued again, but she shrugged it off, still staring at his eyes. What to say in response to that was a mystery. ‘Thank you,’ she supposed would be a good start, but it seemed so insignificant against what he had just done for her. Immediately she made up her mind that she would serve this man to the very best of her ability, so he never had reason to regret his promise, or cause to send her back.

“Thank you, Severus,” she said quietly, her resolve still ringing through herself.

He was frowning again. “No thanks,” he said, “don’t thank me, Hermione. No one should ever hurt anyone else, and if anyone hurts you, I want you to come to me, do you understand?”

She nodded, trying hard not to show her glee. Not only would he not hurt her, he wouldn’t let her go to anyone who would! Miraculous indeed.

Now he tugged her arm, and drew her out from underneath the desk. “You need to eat,” he said, ushering her out of the room. “You also need to shower, and rest some more, but eat first.”

She eyed the winding stone staircase with some trepidation. He motioned for her to go first, but succeeded in taking just three steps before her knees collapsed from under her. He caught her before she could hit the stone steps.

“Or I could carry you up there,” he muttered under his breath, shifting her into his arms, and starting to climb.

Severus’s Pov:

He couldn’t fathom what had possessed him to swear a binding oath to her. He would never hurt her, would never have done even when she was a student, but his willingness to make such a proclamation made him consider that he might be touched in the head.

She still didn’t weigh anything near what she should, he thought, as he mounted the final steps to his room and entered through the doorway. Setting her back on her feet, he took a quick unnoticed moment to wiggle his toes in the rug they stood on, before spying the table laid for two in front of the fire – the house-elves must have kept an eye on their movements because a steaming bowl of broth for her was laid opposite his roast beef.

She was staring around the room with wide admiring eyes that made him almost glad she couldn’t remember that he wasn’t the type of person who should have this kind of home, but he didn’t miss the way her eyes skipped over the bed when she turned her head, as if she wanted to pretend it wasn’t there.

He couldn’t blame her.

Ushering her towards the table, he went to pull out her chair for her as was customary, when she slipped past him, and tried to draw the other one out for him. They both froze, staring at each other, when Severus inwardly rolled his eyes, and placed his elbows on the back of the chair to lean over and speak to her.

“It is considered polite for the gentleman to draw out the chair for the lady, Hermione.” She looked down, obviously confused, and he sighed. “What is it, Hermione?”

She bit her lip and ducked her head further before answering. “I…was taught to pull the chair out for my master.”

“But I am not your master, I am Severus. And you are not my servant, you are Hermione. And thus you are the lady, and as a gentleman I am obliged to draw the chair out for you.”

She stood where she was, shuffling her feet as if undecided. Severus decided to push her just a little bit further. “You wouldn’t be suggesting that I am not a gentleman, would you Hermione?”

She gave a small squeak of combined protest and horror, and shot into the seat. Severus hid a smug smile and slid into his own, settling back for her to take the first bite so that he might start his own meal.

She didn’t move.

He tried not to groan. “It is also customary for the lady to start, Hermione.”

Shakily, she picked up the spoon, slowly filled it and took a sip. He nodded encouragingly, and took a bite of potato. This seemed to steady her, and they ate in silence, each seemingly absorbed in their own thoughts.

Severus was full before finishing even half of what was on his plate, and spent the time waiting for her to finish mentally running through his ingredients list which would be arriving tomorrow at dawn via floo. He was so involved in this, he didn’t notice she had finished until he looked up and caught her covertly eyeing one of his remaining gravy soaked Yorkshire puddings.

‘Flour, eggs and milk’ he thought, ‘shouldn’t do her any harm.’ He shoved the plate towards her.

“Have it,” he said.

She looked horrified, both by being caught, and at his suggestion, shrinking back from the table as if she wished to disappear into the chair behind her.

“Hermione,” he said sternly, “you are worryingly underweight, and providing it won’t make you sick, you are allowed to eat anything and everything you want, understand? I have finished and will not eat anymore, so if you don’t have it, it will only go in the bin. Now eat it.”

Her hand slowly ventured out and grasped the sodden piece of batter, all the time looking from it to him, as if for reassurance. He tried to look encouraging, but didn’t go quite so far as to smile – there was no need to scare her, after all.

She gulped down her hastily-gotten treat, barely chewing it, and then sat guiltily licking her fingers, as if she had just committed an act so sinfully pleasurable it would never again be repeated, and wanted to hold onto the memory as long as possible. He considered her for a minute until it became apparent that her eyes were barely staying open – moving to his room and a meal had worn her out.

“Hermione,” he said loudly, starling her back to temporary wakefulness. “Where can you sleep so you don’t have nightmares?”

She considered this, fighting to stay upright. “The floor,” she said eventually.

He snorted. “Well, you aren’t sleeping there. Where else?”

She shook her head, as if she couldn’t think.

“Can you sleep in a bed at all without having nightmares?”

“With someone, Severus.”

“Well you’re not sleeping with me,” he muttered, thinking hard. “Would you be able to sleep in a bed next to mine, as in, right next to it, but not in it?”

She frowned, and then nodded sleepily. “Think so, Severus.”

“Good,” he summoned an ancient camp bed from a storage room downstairs as she eventually succumbed to her exhaustion, and set it up bedside his bed as she dozed in the chair. Then he shook her gently by the shoulder to wake her.

“Into bed,” he said, ushering her towards it. “I shall probably follow in a couple of hours, I have to be up before dawn.”

“What time Severus?” she asked sleepily, flopping onto her new resting place.

“About half past five,” he answered automatically, slightly shocked she would be interested in something so trivial as wake-up times.

She threw him a slight, sleepy smile, and gracefully drifted off to sleep again.