Azael's Chains

Hope

"Are you planning on leaving me soon?" she queried lightly at dinner that evening.

"What's that?" Concern shadowed his expression until she laid a hand over his in placation.

"What you told Professor Snape," Hermione prompted. "About leaving me with him for your next mission."

The silver of his eyes shone as he watched her face for any hint of something that would displease him. "Are upset about that?"

She laughed and shook her head, trying to pack away the thumping nerves and sparks of hope dancing through her. "Professor Snape and I aren't precisely friendly, and he's always delighted in putting me in my place, but he's certainly not the absolute sadist Lucius Malfoy is. So I appreciate you seeking out an alternative for my care." Hermione brushed away the cobwebs of disgust that lingered at memory of her time in the dungeons.

Dolohov rolled her palm to weave his fingers with her own. "I was going to tell you tomorrow morning, but yes. When you wake the morning after tomorrow I will not be here. I will ask Severus to stop by that evening; he has permission to stay, even bring along his little protege along since the boy seems harmless enough."

"Thank you. It would be rather lonely here with only Tippy for company." His hand squeezed gently.

"You will not be able to leave the manor without me though, love." He was boring into her with steely eyes and steely grip. "I have ensured it." At the denial flying to her lips he smirked. "I am no idiot, Hermione. For all your sweet submission, I know the fire still burns inside you. I know you long for your freedom." He stood over her, trailing his wand hand over her cheek. "Are finished? Good." He tugged her to her feet and led her to her bed to devour her again.

It was the date on her coin, the first change since the awful party at Hogwarts, and she wondered if the time was when Snape would arrive. Dolohov had taken her to bed another night, leaving a healing potion on her nightstand before he left. It didn't remove everything, but it eased the deep aches, smoothed over the bruises, and the places where her flesh broke became shiny pink skin. Deeper bite wounds were the pale yellow of aged bruises. She looked less like she'd been mauled by a rabid dog.

Hermione flipped the coin, glancing to check the slavishly ticking clock on the mantle. It was nearly time. She tucked the Galleon in its cool hidey hole and dusted her hands as she stood.

The whoosh of the fire was as telling as the momentary sickly green light thrown through the doorway. Footsteps echoed and shadow passed, then the sound repeated.

"Do you think she checked the coin?" It was a small voice, youthful and uncertain.

"Do not speak of it, you dunderhead." Heavy boots sauntered across the room with an authoritative slap. If he hadn't given himself away with the statement, Hermione had heard his tread often enough to recognize it.

She slipped into the doorframe and nearly bowled into the man's black-clad chest. "Oh! Hello, professor."

Hermione was transported for a moment as the looming man favored her with a sneer straight out of her school days. "Miss Granger."

Michael peeked at her from behind the stolid man, his eyes a spot of light in the shadows. "Hello, Hermione."

Yes, they had fought together and been in the DA together, but it was interesting the familiarity with which Michael now treated her. Perhaps it was a way to comfort himself that he was not alone in this brave new world.

"Michael," she nodded. "It's good to see you both. Welcome." She wrung her hands, uneasiness swimming in her stomach. She'd lived here some few months now, but it was not her home. Yet she was playing hostess in a way. "Er. Is there-- is there anything you'd like? Tea or...?"