A/N Well, I've incorporated about half of the Cold Shoulder criteria into my fic... the rest of it will come, eventually, as my plot begins to emerge. Here's what's left:

#4. You must include the following phrases spoken by either of the characters:

-"You're tearing my world apart"

-"I hate the way you think you can throw my flaws into my face and get away with it"

#5. At one point in the house Hermione must be reduced to tears by the cruelty and malice Snape throws at her

Thanks again to my reviewers, and I hope you like this chapter! Thanks to Pauline who, despite her inferiority complex, is an amazing writer and helped me loads with this fic... italics for emphasis well deserved.

When they got back to the house, Snape left his shopping bags in the kitchen and immediately swept off upstairs. Rolling her eyes, Hermione began to put things away. If Snape couldn't find them later, it would just be too bad. Finally, once everything had been put away, Hermione decided that unpacking her trunk would take far too much effort. The bookshelves in the next room seemed to be calling out to her, anyway. Right now, reading a book by the fire had never sounded so good.

Half an hour later found Hermione curled up in the armchair with a book and a cup of coffee. Her stomach had been complaining for the last twenty minutes that it wanted food and she eventually put the book down. It was past two o'clock, and she realised that she hadn't eaten since breakfast. She decided to make herself a sandwich, and then her conscience told her that she ought to offer to make Snape one too. Well, she could at least remind him to eat.

Annoyed at the part of her that was telling her to interrupt whatever Snape was doing to offer food, Hermione nonetheless walked up the stairs. She stood at the top for quite a while, looking at Snape's door, before she got up the courage to knock. After a minute, Snape appeared, looking grumpy.

"You wanted something, Miss Granger?" he asked in a tone that did nothing to conceal his annoyance.

"I'm about to make myself some lunch, Professor," she replied, now wishing that she hadn't come up. "If you want something..." she left the sentence hanging, not quite sure how to finish.

"I... will eat in a moment," Snape replied at last. He didn't thank her, but she hadn't expected him to.

"Okay." Hermione walked back down the stairs, pulling faces at the steps she was descending. Of all the people to be stuck with, it had to be Snape. There was at least one god up there who had a grudge against her. Maybe more. That is, if there even were gods. Maybe it was Fate. Or maybe she was just really, really unlucky. Hermione's musings led her to trip on the bottom step, which put her into an even worse mood. Damn him.

Hermione made herself a ham sandwich and grabbed an apple before going into the living room. In for a penny, in for a pound, she thought, and set two placemats on the table. As she returned to the kitchen to get herself a drink, Snape had ventured in there, too. He looked distinctly uncomfortable. Hermione poured herself a glass of water, debating with herself as to whether or not she ought to speak to him. He didn't move; he just watched her fill her glass. At last, she said,

"I've put the bread in the breadbasket, sir. Everything else is either in that cupboard," she pointed, "or the fridge. I've put the chicken in the freezer."

"Very well." He nodded to her, face impassive, and she decided that her good deeds had been done for the day. Hermione retreated back into the dining room, where she slowly ate her sandwich, lost in thought. She was just starting on her apple when Snape came into the room. He sat at the place she had laid, opposite her. He seemed to have a selection of meats and cheeses along with the bread on his plate. Wondering whether or not he knew how to make a sandwich, Hermione finished her apple. Then she decided to ask him about the Fidelius charm now, before she either forgot or his mood worsened.

"Professor Snape?" she asked. "I... have a couple of questions about the Fidelius."

"Do you indeed? I'm surprised you don't know all about it already," he replied wryly. "My information is, of course, entirely at your disposal."

"Please, sir," she said, restraining her irritation again, "exactly how does the Fidelius charm work?"

Snape took a slow, precise bite of his meal and chewed it, looking at her thoughtfully. At last he swallowed, and took a measured sip of his own drink. "The Fidelius Charm," he began, "was designed when the magical extension of the British royal family was threatened by French warlocks in the thirteenth century. The brother of the king at the time invented the Fidelius Charm, and taught it to his best friend. He then had the entire family placed under the charm.

"The aim of the Fidelius is to hide everyone placed under the charm from all but the secret keeper and others that the secret keeper is hiding. Thus, the royal family was able to see one another as well as the best friend. It is for that reason Albus requested we perform the charm on another; in doing so, we circumvented the use of a third party, making our detection almost completely impossible.

"The people who know us well will not entirely forget us. They will remember our names and recognise us in photographs or pictures, but our significance and importance to them will disappear. We will become, to them, just another face in the crowd of humanity. Our importance to them will disappear. To people who know our names but not our personalities, our names will be forgotten. Official records of us will disappear or become unreadable. And to people we have never met before, we will not be able to give out our real names. I suggest that you use your middle name if it becomes necessary to give one.

"Of course, we will be recognised under our assumed names, but nobody, even a person we knew well previous to the casting of the charm, will be able to recognise us as ourselves, as Hermione Granger or Severus Snape. I will become Alexander to those I meet, you Jane, and those will be our identities." He sat back, having finished his lecture, and took another mouthful of bread and cheese.

"So there's no point in sending letters, then," Hermione said, more to herself than to her professor. "Thank you, Professor," she replied, despondently.

"You are welcome, Miss Granger," he replied stiffly.

They finished their meals in silence. Hermione went back to the sitting room to pick up her book again, after cleaning up all of the dishes. She had absolutely no intention of doing all of his cleaning up for him, but she would tell him that after he'd agreed to let her go to the library tomorrow, and let her meet Melissa on the Saturday.

She was only able to read for another hour before Snape came into the sitting room, disturbing her peace. "We will work on your studies now," he informed her. "You will have three hours of study with me, and then once you have done your homework you will have the rest of the evening free."

"Yes Professor Snape," she told him dutifully, annoyed that he felt he could continually disrupt her whenever he felt like it. Yes, he was her professor, but she was not a house elf. He had no right to treat her like one.

"We will have three hours of studying in the morning and three in the afternoon most days. Study on Monday mornings will be an exception for shopping. Thursday and Sunday mornings you will have off for any errands you need to do, and we will not study at all on Saturdays. Do you have any questions?"

Resentment rose in her throughout his little speech; he was treating her like an irresponsible four-year-old, giving her no option, and no part in the decision-making. It was as if he had absolutely no knowledge of the reason that she was being kept here with him: she was extremely powerful and held the patent for two of the most important spells in their time! She had to bite her lip to keep from snapping back, and only when she was sure she had controlled her anger did she say, "Yes, sir."

"Very well. Which subjects were you taking at Hogwarts?"

She felt a sudden pang of homesickness, strange as that sounded. "Um... Advanced Charms, Transfiguration, Arithmancy, and Potions. Standard-level Defence Against the Dark Arts and Herbology."

"Very well." He said again, his face unreadable. Then, "Bring down all your textbooks and whatever else you usually need for class."

"Yes, Professor," she replied, now more tired than angry. The day had been so long, they'd done so much, and it wasn't even half past three yet. She walked up the stairs to her room, wanting to run but not wanting him to see that. Her arms overloaded with books, she came back down the stairs, somehow managing to not lose her balance on the way.

She found him in the dining room when she got downstairs. The next three hours passed relatively quickly. Snape kept his sarcastic comments to a minimum, and they spent most of the time setting a general lesson plan for the next few weeks. They didn't actually begin the lessons, though. Once Snape had found out where she was in each of her studies and decided on how they would continue, he informed her that they would brew potions on the patio outside.

The next two hours were spent in enlarging the patio and setting up a space where they could chop ingredients and brew potions, erecting a makeshift tent complete with some very strong shielding charms (courtesy of Snape, who would not allow Hermione to assist him with the casting) to keep future projects from weather contamination. By the time the outside potions 'lab' was completed, Hermione's teeth were chattering and her fingers and nose had gone completely numb. She wanted nothing more than to sit in front of the fire and defrost, which she proceeded to do. Snape, unfortunately, had gone in the same room, and was reading a rather thick, musty book.

At about eight o'clock, Hermione decided to broach the subject of food once again. "Professor?" she asked.

"What is it this time?" he snapped irritably.

"I was about to offer to cook dinner for us tonight," Hermione told him, barely keeping her voice on the safe side of civil.

"What were you intending to cook?" he asked in a tone very similar to hers.

"Grilled chicken and salad. It's getting late," she told him.

"How does the time have any significance on what we eat?" he asked her. Apparently, he was in a bad mood. Well, a worse mood than normal.

"Chicken and salad will not take very long to cook. Half an hour, forty-five minutes. If you would prefer, I'll leave you to cook your own meal. I'm making mine now."

"Very well. However, if I get food poisoning you will not enjoy the rest of your stay here, rest assured."

Because I'm going to enjoy it so much otherwise, she retorted mentally. "I cook well, Professor," she told him shortly, and left the room before he had time to retort. His attitude was going to change, she told herself. She would not let this continue for much longer.

Dinner was made within half an hour. Hermione even set the table and served the food, not wanting Snape anywhere near her for as long as she could help it. At last, she went into the living room to tell him that dinner was ready. He nodded his head in acknowledgement, and continued to read. She glared at him, perversely pleased that he couldn't take house points, and went back into the dining room to eat her own meal. He came in a minute later and sat opposite her without a word. He looked uncomfortable, she noticed.

They ate in silence for a while, until Hermione said, "While I was shopping today, a muggle girl spoke to me."

"How delightful for you," he replied without glancing up from his plate.

Hermione continued, ignoring his sarcasm as best she could, "She wanted to know about us. I told her that my parents and your wife died in a car crash, and that you moved us here. I told her that you're my uncle, and that you're home-schooling me." Snape made no reply. "She invited me to go out with her and a couple of her friends this Saturday."

"I see you've wasted no time replacing Potter and Weasley," he commented. Hermione stiffened, but didn't react.

"May I go?"

"If you must."

"Thank you." Talking to the man was like pulling teeth. She'd go to the library on Saturday; there was no way she'd ask him for a second favour, especially if he was going to be this difficult about it. Dinner continued in an awkward silence.

At last, Hermione broke the silence a second time. "I bought nothing for dessert. There's chocolate and coffee. I did buy the usual baking stuff, but without recipe books I don't know how to make much more than a basic sponge cake."

Snape merely nodded his head. He finished his last mouthful and placed his knife and fork together on his plate. Then he sat up and actually looked at her for the first time during the meal, slowly sipping his glass of water. His unblinking gaze unnerved her, but it irritated her more than anything else. Fine, she thought. Blunt and to-the-point it will be.

"Can you cook, Professor?" she asked.

He responded to that with a glare. "My expertise is in poison, not the culinary arts," he told her scathingly.

I'll take that as a 'no,' she thought grumpily. "I'm prepared to cook dinner each night," she finally said. "I'll even cook breakfast on the weekends. But I won't do all of the cleaning up as well. You tutor me, fine; I'll do the cooking. But we can share the cleaning up." She took a breath and looked at him, wondering what his reaction would be. He made no reply, but kept his features blank and continued to watch her.

"The house is going to need cleaning, too," Hermione told him, determined to persevere. She would not let him unnerve her into silence. "I'm prepared to do a lot of that, but I won't do all of it." If he was to tutor her, she wouldn't let him hold that over her head. She might, she thought, be able to keep up with her work herself with the correspondence course that Dumbledore had told Snape to owl him for, but she would prefer to have a teacher all the same. This way, it would be more of a fair share... satisfying her conscience, too. "I'll do the vacuuming, mopping and sweeping, once a week. We'll share the rest of the work." She looked at him again, nervously now. She was unconsciously fiddling with her napkin, unfolding and refolding it in her lap. When she realised what she was doing she stopped and laced her fingers together, waiting for his response.

"Is there anything else you'd like to add?" Professor Snape asked in a very soft voice.

"Nothing I can think of," she replied evenly, in a voice much more confident than it ought to have been. The look in Snape's eyes suggested that he was very quickly about to become very angry.

And then, his temper exploded.

A/N There wasn't much in this chapter, I know, but it's necessary filler stuff. Much fighting and revenge to come... I can't let them off easily, after all! Next chapter: Hermione decides that she's had enough of being obedient. Review, please!