J.K. Rowling owns all characters, and this work produces no profit.

Severus I

"Detention, Miss Granger," I say in my low, silky "public" voice. The tiresomely predictable series of events follows: outrage in her brown eyes; a stifled retort pressing her lips together. The Weasley sprout opening his mouth to protest; Granger and Potter pulling at his arms and whispering to silence him. Sullen endurance for the rest of the class and a departure laced with resentful mutterings.

Classroom empty, I lean back in my chair and exhale hard enough to flutter the parchments on the desk. "Thank you, Neville Longbottom," I murmur, knowing that without his staggering incompetence-and Granger's inability to resist helping-excuses for giving her detention would be far harder to come by.

The rest of the day drags interminably, and when I retreat to my chambers I'm thankful to have survived the inane chatter at the staff table. The sound of my door closing marks my first real privacy of the day. Dumbledore himself would take a while to get past my wards, only to meet the second layer of them.

First a bath, washing away potions odors and the greasy pomade I use on my hair each day. Then a cup of tea completely fails to calm and center me, for she'll be here soon. I'm caught in my familiar cycle of eagerness and self-loathing, knowing that what I'm about to do to her is a violation deeper than any despicable act I've committed as a Death Eater.

I dress again in my usual black and return to the classroom at two minutes before eight o'clock-Miss Granger is, of course, obsessively punctual and the expected knock comes exactly on the hour. She enters, looking just as she does during the day with her school uniform and annoying Gryffindor tie. When I order her to follow me into my chambers, she has the same quizzical expression she always does, but her obedience to authority wins out. My hands tremble as we walk, but I manage to conceal it until my warded doors swing shut. It's time.

"Imperio Benevolus!"

There's a moment of shock on her face when she sees my wand pointed at her, but then comes the transformation. Her expression, her posture, everything about her relaxes and rearranges itself. A soft smile breaks over her face, and she steps forward and throws her arms around my neck. I'm embraced in her, surrounded by her feminine energy, and my own face relaxes a bit for the first time in days.

Stepping back, she caresses the side of my face-my ugly, sallow face-with a loving hand. "Severus," she chides, "You don't look as if you've eaten at all today! I suppose you just picked at your meals again. You order something from the house-elves this instant, while I change."

She retreats to my bedroom, and I move to obey, summoning an elf and ordering soup and sandwiches for both of us. I'm arranging the food on the table in my study when she emerges, wrapped in her favorite dark green robe. My favorite robe, I should say, since it's my size and I wrap myself in it every night she isn't here, trying to get some comfort from traces of her scent.

It's a quiet meal, punctuated only by her offers of more tea and my murmured thanks. She seems to sense how tightly wound I am today, and instinctively gives me time and silent space. It's truly astounding that she has such sensitivity while under this spell, and in thinking this I feel another wave of shame at the vision of the hatred and disgust she would have for me if the spell were broken. I push it away with all my strength-there will be plenty of time for that after she leaves! Now is the time to savor her presence, and pretend that someone cares for me.

Someone cares for me. That's a laugh. How amused James and Sirius would be, if they knew that their object of ridicule has lived up to their sneering predictions-that I am so pathetic that the only way to get some human kindness is to invent a spell adapted from one of the Unforgivables, one that compels the victim to be kind and loving to the caster. They're probably doubled over with laughter, wherever they are. Not that I'll ever see the place.

Hermione, true to the spell's urging, interrupts the dark turn my silence has taken with a question about my day. Gladly, I distract myself by telling her about my classes and the amusing or frustrating incidents in them. She laughs, shakes her head commiseratingly, and generally makes me feel that I have shown great forbearance in not hexing any students. We talk about my latest potions experiments, and she talks about a project she's been contemplating.

It isn't until the third cup of tea that I reach that mysterious state, the place I need someone like her to open up. My face begins to crumple in on itself, losing most of its harsh lines, and my hands start to tremble again. She leans forward, as I know she will. "What's wrong, Severus?" she asks me, her soft voice filled with concern, and I look at her shining eyes and break down.

The table's pushed aside and I'm on my knees in front of her chair, my arms clutching her to me for dear life, my face buried in the soft juncture between her neck and shoulder, and I'm sobbing brokenly into the dark of it. She puts her arms around me and makes inarticulate sounds of comfort as I let it all go-my loneliness, my grief about Lily, my anger, my terror about facing Voldemort, my fear that I won't be strong enough.

"It's been a week; the Mark is sure to burn soon," I choke out as she rocks me in her arms. "He's been angry with me for not having any new information; he'll punish me again; I can't do it, oh gods I can't, Greyback will be there again-" and I can't even go on in words, remembering the terror, the humiliation of Greyback on me, in me, me weak and shaking from the Cruciatus, hearing Lucius and the others laughing and waiting their turn; is Dumbledore really enough of an idiot to think I only endure physical pain on his damned spying missions?

Hermione Granger, Gryffindor know-it-all and brightest witch of her age, lifts my arm and lays gentle kisses all over my Dark Mark, whispering to me how brave I am. She tells me she believes in me; reassures me that my strength will not fail. She orders me to think of her during the torture and rape, to imagine her love for me as a shield they will not, cannot penetrate.

When my sobs quiet down and my spasmodic grip on her relaxes, she urges me upright and to my bed. With her healing hands she undresses me and presses me down to the soft surface, curling next to me and pulling the blanket over us. Again and again her smooth hand traces over my chest and shoulders, until I am at the edge of sleep, and the last thing I feel is her soft exhalations.

I awaken first-I always do; there's a spell on my bed to ensure it. Emerging from my shower, I find her stretching and smiling at me. "I hope you slept well, Severus...you look better. But I'm afraid I must get back to Gryffindor tower so I can put in an appearance at breakfast." She's dressed in record time and pulls me to her, kissing me tenderly on the cheek. "You take better care of yourself today, do you hear? And remember what I said." I nod and wrap her closely in one last hug. Taking a deep breath, I whisper in her ear "I'm so sorry," as I reach for my wand.

"Obliviate!"