Surprisingly, She Didn\'t

Status: Work in Progress

Rating: NC-17 for later chapters

Warnings: Adult situations, some language, sexual situations…list may change as story progresses.

Summary: Finding her there had been a surprise, but nothing compared to what happened when she woke.

Disclaimer: All characters/situations/places/events that you recognize belong to JK Rowling and the rest of the legal owners of everything Harry Potter. I make no money off of the writing of this fic, and intend no copyright infringement. I’m only having a little fun. And I would definitely take those two Slytherins home for tea…

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In the bathroom, Hermione quickly gathered up the clothing she had gone through earlier, removing that which she had put on to talk with Severus. She pulled the nightshirt back on and moved back out to the living room, setting her bag of clothing on the low table. She picked up the quilt and pillow and, creating a makeshift bed on the sofa, reviewed all the information she had gathered this evening, both from what Severus had said and from what he had not. She settled down on the sofa, fiddling with the teaspoon as she put together the pieces of the puzzle.

Her relationship with Draco was obviously strained at best, but she imagined that his attitude hadn’t changed much, aside from possibly mellowing slightly as he had been stuck here, making it possible that they were the equivalent of enemies at school. She might not remember, but certainly didn’t believe she would put up with that sort for long.

Severus had been her teacher, and a spy. That would imply that he had years of experience at subterfuge, at lying, and at getting information in whatever way he could. Obviously, the man was not only intelligent and crafty, but could probably be very dangerous as well. She would have to be far more cautious than she had been.

She hadn’t been very smart at all in her conversation with him. In fact, she had let him dominate the entire discussion. She hadn’t really asked a single important question. If she were completely honest with herself, she would have to admit that he had the upper hand entirely. This was his house, he knew the lay of the land here, he knew the building and its surroundings. He knew her and her past, he knew Draco. Oh, Gods, he knew everything, and she knew nothing. Not who she was, not where she was. She didn’t even know her own middle name. At this point, even if he didn’t know her personally, he knew her far more intimately than she even knew herself.

Hermione pulled at a strand of her hair as she tried to focus on what else he had told her. They were in a war, he had worked for something called the Order of the Phoenix, and he assumed she did as well. And she had friends, Harry, Ronald and Ginevra.

She shook her head slightly and nibbled at her bottom lip as she ran their names through her head, trying desperately to spark some sort of memory, or even familiarity with their names. Nothing. She shook her head harder and closed her eyes tight in an effort to stop the flow of tears that had suddenly prickled. She couldn’t afford to cry and show weakness here, not when either of those two men could walk in on her at any moment.

But Gods, she couldn’t even remember her own parents, let alone friends whom she hadn’t met until she was eleven. She was lost, she was forgotten, she was alone. And the only person who could help her find the path back to herself refused to do so until she reclaimed her memory of why she was here.

She choked on the sobs that wracked her body as her emotions overtook her. She was utterly, totally, and completely alone. Worse yet, she couldn’t even trust the people she was stuck here with. She had no comforting memories from her past to cling to in her time of need, no thoughts of home to warm her, no memories of the embraces of loved ones.

The next few moments were filled with nothing but the sounds of Hermione’s sobs and sniffles, as she allowed the stress and emotion of her situation to fully take over. Finally, when she was too exhausted, physically and emotionally, to cry anymore, she collapsed onto the sofa and buried her face in the pillow Severus had brought her. She inhaled deeply, trying to regain her breath after her intense breakdown, and was shocked to find that her stomach flip flopped as his scent invaded her senses. She was both comforted and aroused by the smell from the pillow. She lingered for just a moment, trying to process exactly what these feelings were, and her stomach growled loudly. She grinned to herself, realizing that her breakdown had allowed her to dispel some of the nerves that had made her unable to eat earlier.

She set a candle onto the tray Severus had left on the table, and padded her way down to where she believed the kitchen was located.

Upon reaching the kitchen, she emptied the dishes into the sink, too tired to worry about washing up just then, and began to rifle through the cabinets. There were dishes here, some stale biscuits in the next, a few packets of sugar and jam from a restaurant, and several boxes of tea and a couple tins of food sitting next to the biscuits. The following cabinet held cleaning supplies, and she inhaled the sharp tang of the lemon disinfectant before moving to shut the door. Suddenly, her eyes fluttered closed as images began flashing through her brain. She saw a nervous looking man, rocking on his heels and fiddling with his hat. Finally, he murmured:

“He can’t be back, Dumbledore, he just can’t be…”

Hermione forced herself to relax as the memories continued. She watched her memory Severus respond. He pulled his sleeve back roughly and shoved his arm under the nervous man’s nose. There was an image that looked as though it had been branded into his forearm.

“There,” said Snape harshly. “There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly at his side. The mark has been growing clearer all year…”

Her body shook as the images overwhelmed her, sights and sounds and smells, and people for which she felt a surge of love and respect, though she couldn’t remember anything else about them. The argument between this man, Dumbledore, and the ministry official, and then, a teenager she somehow knew was called Harry receiving a bag of money before same ministry official left the room. Then the roughly shaken hands of two men who appeared to be enemies, before the man she had been speaking with moments before turned deathly pale in her memory.

“Severus,” said Dumbledore, turning to Snape, “you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready…if you are prepared…”

“I am…”

Hermione trembled as she fell to her knees on the floor. He was a spy, and by the looks of things in that memory, he had done horrible and dangerous things. And it appeared he had been ready to go back to it after the threat of evil became real again.

What could make a man do such a thing? What could make someone perform acts that would probably rip a soul in half for the good of the light? What could force someone to resign themselves to sacrificing the good within themselves, even if it meant helping others?

She still didn’t entirely trust him, but at least she had a better idea of what kind of man he was. And she had to get a look at that mark. If it did grow darker when this Voldemort was in power, how would she see it now? Wouldn’t it have given him some clue as to what had been going on in the outside world?

All of this had definitely given her something to think about, but she still hadn’t found any food. She grabbed the stale biscuits and made her way back to the living room, and her makeshift bed on the sofa. She snuggled down into the covers, inhaling Severus’ scent again before blowing out the candle. She nibbled at the corner of a biscuit, considering her options for the next day.