He found her like that, curled in a pathetic ball on the ground. Dusted with dirt, painted in blood. Her normally pristine robes hung in tatters from her shaking shoulders. She did not look up to face him.

"Please…" she said, soft and broken. "Please, professor…"

I cast a quick glance around the corridor, making sure no one was nearby. Whoever had done this to her had taken their leave. It could not have been another student. Surely the so-called "brightest witch of her age" would have been able to hex any student who attacked her into next year.

"Please, professor…" she breathed, shaking with silent sobs.

I knelt in front of the girl, looking into her face.

"Miss Granger," I murmured. "Look at me." When she continued to cast her eyes downward, I placed a firm hand under her chin, lifting her head to face me. "I said look at me."

She choked back a sob, stammering, "I'm so so-sorry… I didn't… I d-didn't mean to disturb you, s-sir…"

"Miss Granger, I will not tolerate this from you," I stared into her eyes, which glistened with tears yet unshed. "I demand that you tell me what you mean by making all this racket outside my rooms at this ungodly hour."

She whimpered.

Was I being unfair? Perhaps. But in my years of teaching, I had learned quite a few lessons myself. Intimidation was a thousand times more effective than cajoling when it came to coaxing information from students.

"Professor, I-" she hiccupped "-I thought y-you could help."

"Obviously." I let the word roll off my tongue. "What is it I'm meant to be helping with, exactly?"

"I… well, I… I mean…"

"Out with it, girl."

"C-can we talk about this in… in private?" She cast her eyes down again, her face vying with the red scarf around her neck for color.

I stared, my lip curling in a small involuntary sneer.

"Must we?"

She nodded slowly.

"Fine." I stood, offering my hand. She looked at it in surprise. You would have thought I had offered her a live cobra from her reaction. "Miss Granger, if you please. The night wears thin."

Gingerly, she placed her fingers in mine. I rolled my eyes, moved my hand to grasp hers more firmly, and pulled her up to a standing position.

I immediately regretted it. I pulled in a sharp breath through my nostrils at the sight of her. The girl looked two steps away from death, and the sudden movement had not helped things in any way. Her entire torso was drenched in blood. Her wounds were visible through her shredded robes – she appeared to be completely naked under them. I imagined that the dreadful gashes along her ribs were from a blade of some sort, possibly a sword, but more likely a large knife. And her breasts… they were mottled with craters where it looked like someone had cut out – no, bitten off – large chunks of skin.

"Hermione," I breathed subconsciously. "Who did this to you?"

She shook her head, and, sensing my gaze, tried to cover her breasts with her scarf. "Please…" she said again, softer than before. She shook with the effort of standing.

I placed a hand on her shoulder, supporting her as I led her back through the portrait's hole into my quarters. As gently as I could, I helped her down onto my dark green futon. 'Dark red now,' I thought morosely, before the rational side of my brain banished the thought.

"Miss Granger," I snapped, maybe more harshly than I should have. "Please… please tell me who did this to you."

She took a deep, shuddering breath and looked at me.
"You p-promise not to tell anyone?"

I glared.

She looked down again. "S-sorry…"

"Miss Granger!"

She winced. "My f-father, all right? It… it was my father."

The tension was palpable. Her father?

"You let him take advantage of you this badly?" My voice was barely above a whisper. "Are you not a witch, girl?"

She drew in a sharp breath, hid her face in her hands, and began to sob again.

Well, that was a nerve I hadn't been aiming at.

I paused for a moment, and awkwardly moved a hand to pet her back gently. "There. There," I said, adding, "There," for good measure. I had never been much good at comfort.

She sobbed for a moment more, still bleeding more than I was comfortable with. I reached a hand into my sleeve, and pulled out my wand. "I'm going to heal you now," I said softly. "Be still."

She nodded to show she understood. I pulled her hair behind her shoulders, and lifted her scarf from around her neck, placing it on the ground. I sat beside her on the futon. I placed a hand on her shoulder, hooking a finger under her robe, silently asking permission. She nodded again. I peeled the robe from her sticky, blood-soaked body as delicately as I could. She was still sobbing, though more quietly now.

I pointed my wand at the deepest of her wounds.

"Vulnera sanentur…. Vulnera sanentur… Vulnera sanentur…" The gashes healed as I ran my wand over them methodically, working my way up her torso. I hesitated slightly when I reached her breasts, but continued my healing chant. Her skin finished knitting itself back into shape, and her eyelids drooped as she sagged against the back of the futon.

"Not yet, you silly girl," I murmured as I saw her drifting into sleep. "My futon is filthy enough as it is." I moved my arm around her shoulders and helped her to stand again. The poor girl was still awfully weak from blood loss. I guided her into my bath, easing her down onto the floor of the walk-in shower.

White as a sheet, stark naked, and sitting in my shower… was a student. I sighed. If only Albus were here to see this… Her eyes still closed, she leaned her head back against the tiled wall. I looked down at my own attire: black but, I knew, flecked with her blood all the same. I sighed again. It couldn't be helped…

I slipped my outer robe off, then, wincing only a little, removed my shirt and shoes as well. I kept my pants. I'd be damned if any Gryffindor girl, helpless or not, was going to see my bare legs.

I stepped into the tiled square with her, turning the faucet to its warmest setting. I sat beside her, and gently maneuvered her until she was sitting more or less in my lap. She shivered as the water gradually warmed.

I let the water cascade through her hair, working my fingers through the thick locks, washing the blood away. The tiled floor turned to a nauseating rusty red. My fingers scrubbed, in what I hoped was a soothing fashion, smooth circles along her stomach, ridding her skin of the stain made by her father.

Once she was free of blood, I stood both of us up, and wordlessly conjured a towel from across the room, which I wrapped around her. Another wordless spell, and my pants and hair were dry as well. My hands on her shoulders, we made our way back to the futon. She all but collapsed onto the soft surface, which I surreptitiously scourgified, closed her eyes, and was out like a light.

I sighed and sat beside her, conjuring a blanket from my bedroom. I removed the wet towel as gently as I could, and, trying not to disturb her, I draped the blanket over her naked form instead. Seeing her there, sleeping, helpless… I could not leave her. Even I, Severus Snape, was not that heartless.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and summoned one more blanket. I covered myself in the light green material, leaned my head back against the futon – against the girl's shoulder – and closed my eyes. There would be enough time for questions tomorrow. For now… sleep.