Hermione's eyes slowly opened, the world before her coming into focus. She was on her side, her cheek pressing hard into cold grey flagstones that ran the length of the room. She placed her palm flat down onto the floor, trying to push herself up, but in apparent vein. It was if her body was made of lead and the small portion of it that she had tried to raise came crashing back down. She groaned as a muted pain ran down her left side. The world seemed like it was fading into blackness again, before becoming impossibly sharp, so that she could see every crack and every crevice on the age-old stones.
Over the ringing which had settled into her ears she heard a steady tread of footsteps, their tattoo echoing, becoming louder as they approached her. Hermione's brain felt fuzzy and full; she did not know where she was, or how she had got here, but there was no mistaking the hot lick of fear in her belly, her instinct to run was overwhelming. But she could not run, she could barely even move. Praying for her aching muscles to move she slowly moved her hand to her side, feeling desperately for her wand, never praying so much for the cool touch of smooth wood under her fingers. But they met only the scratch of denim and empty air.
The footsteps had stopped. Without warning a force had grabbed roughly around her collar, catching her hair, making her eyes water. She was pulled to her feet forcefully. Her legs immediately collapsed underneath her but she felt a hand underneath her shoulders pulling her up, although it was not a caring support, instead feeling as if she were being thrown about like a rag doll. With one last effort she tried to twist away from the hand, but the effort that she exhausted was wasted. The hand merely tightened its grip, fingers digging into her flesh.
She was being half dragged, half carried across the room which at first she had presumed was a dungeon. But now she realised how wrong she had been. Although she could not lift her head far, she could make out deep jade walls and silver glinting along their length. She could see a window ledge although no shadows were cast on the floor. Through the haze of her mind, she registered that it was still night time. She tried to lift her heavy eyelids, but she managed to see no more than only a few meagre details: the plush red of a rug, the wooden legs of a chair, and most importantly, an open door.
Without warning she was thrown to the floor, her head coming sharply in contact with the stone. A searing pain shot through her temple and behind her eyes. She could hear nothing but a sharp peal in her ears. The pain was incredible; she prayed that she would pass out, but somehow she remained conscious, albeit pitiful and helpless, like an animal waiting to die.
Opening her eyes groggily she made out a pair of shoes before her, black, leather, half covered by fraying robes. The robes bent lowers and shoulders came into view, followed by a long neck. She could feel hair on her face and hot breath assaulting her senses, she tried to turn her head away but fingers grasped at her chin and held her steady.
"Well, well, well", a venomous whisper sounded at her ear, "look what we have here". Hermione could hear laughter, not just directly above her, but from around her as well. She could sense that there were others in the hall. She tried to force words out of her crackled lips, a plea, an insult, a beg, anything that would help her, save her, but nothing came other than a dry cough.
"Where's your little itzy friends, where are they hiding? You must know by now that I will always find you" the voice spat at her, spittle landing on her cheek from the force of the words. Hermione didn't answer, shut her eyes and tryed to crawl away deep inside of herself.
"Where are they!" the voice screamed. Hermione winced, coughing, trying to form words.
"I...don't...know", she managed to get out breathlessly, her body crying out for some water to quench her parched mouth.
"Liar!" the bitter voice screeched again. Hermione was suddenly thrown onto her back and she felt the weight as someone climbed on top of her, squeezing shut her eyes, trying to pretend that this was not happened. She could feel her sleeves being pushing up forcefully, exposing her bare forearms to the chill in the air.
Suddenly there was a searing pain in her wrist and her eyes shot open. The woman's face before her was mutated into a disgusting snarl, her lips pulled back over yellowing teeth and her eyes full of hate and malice. Her concentration was focused directly on Hermione's arm, her wand tracing patterns over the flesh.
The pain was intolerable, a searing scalpel through her skin. Hermione's previously sluggish body was alive with a thousand nerve endings and her back arched violently, arms trying to prise themselves away from the vice like grips that help them back. A scream filled the air, reverberating around the room. Hermione comprehended it in the depths of her mind where she was slowly retreating to, not realising that the sound had actually escaped from her lips. She could feel the darkness tugging at the edges of her consciousness and willed it on, if only to get away from the pain, to make it stop. She wished they would kill her and get it over with, anything was better than this.
With glorious release the pain suddenly stopped as Hermione made out a man's voice over the animal wail of the screams erupting forth from her.
"Bella?" the deep voice questioned. Hermione felt the weight leave her and she slumped down to the cold ground once more, unable to control the jerks that passed through her body, remnants of the pain, although a faint stirring in her memory at the sound of the voice still washing through her.
"Look what Fenrir caught, look what Fenrir caught", Bella danced gleefully around the man, who afforded only a passing glance at the figure lying motionless on the floor. "Imagine what this means... the Dark Lord will praise us all", she laughed vindictively, "we caught Potters pet' she spat, eying the shape on the floor darkly.
"We were just having a little girl time you see", Bella laughed. A shadow of something passed over the man's features but was gone as soon as it arrived and his face stood as expressionless as a marble statute. "But now I think its only fair to let the others play".
A tall man that was standing in the shadows of a corner stepped forward, a grin forming on his savage face. His nose was pressed flat, and his eyes were yellow. Wiry hair grew all around his face, forming over his forehead and cheeks, melting into his greasy hairline. His long black coat was ripped in places and splashed with mud, swinging against heavy black boots as he walked forward.
"What, do you think you're doing", the man at Bella's side spoke loudly and forcefully, glaring at the approaching creature.
"Finders, keepers" he hissed back, although his pace had slowed to a halt.
"I do not think so", the blackly clad man spoke, and this time he was the one that stepped forward. Bella eyed him suspiciously from under her heavy brows, fingers clutching tightly at her wand, expression brooding.
"She is mine", he said in barely more than a whisper although his voice seemed to carry the weight as if he had shouted it aloud. "Fenrir, go get a muggle girl to play with, we know how you love to rip them to shreds", he eyed Fenrir darkly. "We need to keep this filthy mudblood alive", he explained, "but I see no plausible reason why I should be neglected her...company for the time being".
Bella laughed, a high pitched squeal, drawing closer to the man at her side. Despite his being a head taller than her she reached up, placing her mouth only inches from his ear. "Does the Professor want to teach his student a lesson", she breathed, "poor Severus," she continued, leaning even closer, "how long has it been since you fucked a woman?"
Immediately the man rounded on her. "Move out of my way Bella", he snarled. Reaching down to pick the semi-conscious girl up, he dragged her to her feet, her legs immediately buckling. Drawing his wand almost lazily from his robe sleeve he wordlessly created a spell. Levioso. Hermione floated into the air, her eyes only opening slightly before falling shut again. "Move", he commanded the small crowd of death eaters stationed around the door, unable to see their expressions behind their shimmering masks.
"It would appear that I am in need of a room for the evening", Severus said as he was met by a bedraggled looking Lucius Malfoy. The man, whose eyes were bloodshot, and whose stubble showed visibly his fall from grace, still managed a sneer. "This way", he said guiding them down the long hallway and up a flight of stairs, pointing towards an open door. Severus merely nodded, shutting the door behind him rather violently, and levitating the girl to the bed.
Turning his back to her he held up his wand, warding the room, muttering spells under his breath too low to be heard. When he appeared satisfied he turned quickly back towards the girl that lay on the bed, drawing straight to her side. Her head lolled and her skin was pale, covered in a thin sheen of sweat. He stared in horror as his eyes traced over her body, looking at the blood congealed on her shirt, and at the scars and bruises forming on her bare skin.
He picked up her wrist gently with the aim of feeling her pulse when he felt the girl wince, an involuntary spasm of pain. Pulling up her sleeve her felt a wave of nausea in his stomach and his breathing hitched in his throat. There, spelled out in cramped letters on her forearm, was the word 'mudblood'. The letters were carved deeply and blood had run in streams along the white of her skin, pooling at the crease of her elbow. Severus could feel the dark magic radiating from the cuts, a pulsing force that seemed to beat with its own life energy. There was nothing he could do. The mark would stay with her forever.
Picking up her opposite wrist he this time managed to feel for her pulse, beating shallow and irregularly. She had lost blood, a lot of it...too much. He had to ascertain her injuries and gulped as he reached a hand out to lift up her shirt. His normal steady hands shook with a slight tremor and he tried to ignore the feeling of pure disgust as his hand grazed the skin of her pelvis. His mind could only drift back to the women who he'd been forced to violate, just girls really. He could remember each and every one of them; the look of fright in their eyes as they tried in vain to back away, only to be pushed back into the cramped circle of death eaters; the anger as they tried to fight back, the pleading and their crying, some loud, some quiet, some silent. And finally the sheer resignation, the acceptance that they would die on the ground on which they lay. Severus could not bear himself for what he had done, the look in their eyes haunting him every single waking moment.
Hermione's own eyes slowly lifted, making our the figure of the man before her. He was standing next to her slumped form and his hand had found its way underneath her top. Hermione cried out in terror and panic, trying desperately to get away from whoever it was that was encroaching on her dignity so forcefully.
Her futile attempts to get away from him were pointless as he gripped her around the shoulders, preventing her from moving, although Hermione tried to struggle in his grasp. But her energy reserves had been spent and she sagged, a tear making its way down a dirt stained cheek. She had almost known that they had faced the risk of dying, faced the risk of being caught, but she had never seriously considered the consequences. She had always pictured herself dying a heroic death, slaying evil forces, or sacrificing her life for one of her friends, and a sob escaped from her lips when she realised she would die alone, most probably raped and tortured, alone and scared. A pitiful death.
She was aware that the man before her had said something and he repeated it now again. It was the same deep powerful voice that she had heard in the hall, and once again she felt something tugging at her memory, still shrouded in a veil of shadow.
"Miss Granger, please, I will not harm you. You have my word".
For the first time since she had regained consciousness Hermione looked at the man before her, whose hands still held tightly to her shoulders. His black hair fell to his broad shoulders and his brows were heavy and dark. His thin lips were drawn tight into what seemed a perpetual sneer and his nose was long and large. But looking into his eyes the veil was pulled back, the deep crevices of twilight stirring in Hermione a rainbow of emotions: from recognition to trust, hope, anger, betrayal, hate.
Severus watched as the emotions passed over her bruised face, and lowered his gaze when he saw the look of disgust in which it settled in. He loosened his grip on her arms and straightened up, making his way to the corner of the room.
Seeing her chance Hermione drew on every last bit of energy and strength that she had and tried to run to the empty door. As soon as her feet touched the floor though she felt her knees give way, but a strong pair of arms wrapped around her, hauling her back to her feet. She tried to struggle against them.
"You traitor!" she shouted, twisting her body to try and free herself from his grip. "You traitor!", she yelled again, "how dare you!".
"Miss Granger please, calm yourself", came a voice from behind her, his tone low.
"Calm myself?" Hermione exclaimed, "you, you killed Dumbledore... you were going to, to..." her words trailed off, not even able to force the word out of her mouth, even though it clawed at her insides, threatening to rip her to shreds.
"You are obviously injured, please let me help you and then I shall endeavour to explain...everything", Snape pleaded, his arms still wrapped tightly around his student. She continued to struggle but calmed marginally at his words. She was silent for a few moments. "How can I trust you? After everything you have done?". She spoke in a slow and steady tone, but her voice was full of bitterness and doubt.
"If I were not trustworthy then you would not be standing her, Miss Granger", Severus said dangerously, his eyes and Hermione's both flitting to the crumpled bedsheets. "I will not harm you", he repeated again, and this time Hermione appeared defeated.
He helped her to back onto the bed, backing away as soon as she appeared comfortable, putting as much distance between them as he possibly could. Hermione's eyes never left him, but neither did her gaze catch his own. The silence in the room grew as not one of its two inhabitants made any move to speak first, remaining motionless, as if one movement or sound would shatter their fragile truce.
It was Snape who spoke first.
"We are in a precarious situation, Miss Granger, one in which I'm afraid I cannot share with you all of its complexities and inner workings just yet. Time is not on our side". Hermione's eyes did not leave the spot on his shoulder where they appeared transfixed, scared to let him out of her sight but scared to look at the man who she had seen nearly every day for the past seven years, but realised she knew absolutely nothing about. She gave a small incline of her head to show that she understood, but apart from the small gesture remained unmoving.
"I require something of you. Something that it will be tremendously hard to give, maybe even impossible, but it is needed, no, it is vital that you give me what I ask". Snape's black eyes focused on the girl in front of him, petitioning her to whatever it was that he wanted. Hermione felt a shiver run down her skin and the hairs on her arms stood on end. What could a fully grown man, the enemy in fact, want with Harry Potter's best friend, in a locked and warded room? Hermione gagged involuntarily, bending over slightly, gasping when she felt a searing white hot wave of pain pass through her mid-section. Immediately Snape was at her side, his cold white fingers resting on her arm, a subconscious action of concern on his part which he immediately regretted. Hermione flinched away from him, trying to shrug off his touch unsuccessfully.
He said nothing, and tried no longer to remove her hand from where it clutched her abdomen. Of his own accord, he moved away again. Hermione's pale face finally turned to face him, a line of sweat making its way from her forehead and tracing her jaw line, her expression a mask of pain. Although she was almost sure of the answer he was about to give, she asked the question nonetheless, too afraid to actually spill her fears out loud.
"What is it you want?", she struggled to say through gritted teeth. Snape paused for a second and then stepped forward, uttering just one word.
"Trust".
A spectrum of emotions washed over Hermione. She had not expected that answer, but trust this man with what exactly? Her life? Her friends' lives? How could she trust him, after everything he had done to help tear down the world in which she lived? Another wave of pain passed through her and she almost cried out, but stifled it through pursed lips. There was no other way out of this situation, dead or alive, than to trust him, but that did not mean that he would see her weak. She nodded weakly to Snape would understood its meaning immediately.
In a few short strides he was next to the bed and this time Hermione moved her hand when Snape gently coaxed it away. Her hand immediately clutched at his though and her eyes flashed open and wide when she felt him gently lifting her shirt away from her skin.
"I need to ascertain your injury before we contemplate anything else" Snape said, calmly, matter of factly. His eyes appeared to have lost their depth, now just flat pools of tenebrous colour. Hermione's hand hovered momentarily, before dropping back to her side again.
Snape's face conveyed nothing as he lifted the blood-encrusted shirt up to reveal the wound beneath. It was large and gaping, fraying at the edges. And it was deep, very deep. If the spell cast had hit her another couple of inches above, well, she would not be here, or anywhere.
"Miss Granger, you have been hit by what appears to be a defodio curse; you are extremely lucky to be alive", he spoke to her, although her eyes were closed as she lay back weakly against the pillows of the bed. "I will need to clean the wound before I can attempt to close it. I warn you now...this will sting".
From a hidden inner pocket of his robes Snape pulled out a glass vial of clear liquid that turned slightly indigo when it hit the light. Living such a life as he, Snape was always sure to carry the necessary healing equipment. He unstoppered the vial with a tiny pop, but hesitated momentarily, a shadow of thought crossing his brow. Holding the vial in one hand and his wand in the other he muttered a spell to bring down the defences he had placed on the room.
His hand remained completely stable as it hovered over Hermione's wound and dribbled the potion onto the gouged skin, where it hissed and fizzed horribly. A shriek filled the air, so loud and so full of pain that Snape recoiled slightly. Hermione's eyes rolled back inside her head and her skin had turned a dull shade of grey. The scream still hovered in the air as she passed out from the pain.
Once again, Snape took out his wand, muttering to replace back the wards he had temporarily dropped; Bellatrix would have heard the scream and Snape knew that it would keep her satisfied for a while longer. Turning his attention back to the wound he began a low chant, the tip of his wand suspended over the gash, the skin's edges knitting back together into a thing white line. 'Vulnera Sanentur. Vulnera Sanentur'. Snape's low voice filled the room even though he spoke just above a whisper.
Replacing his students shirt back over her body Snape moved away. There was so much he needed to say, to explain. But could he? Could he really bring himself to let go of his deepest secret to the girl? He would have to, he mused, so that she would trust him. Truly trust him that is. But if he told her, if he told her what he had kept locked up under walls and barriers, locks and keys, for all of these years, then he could never trust her.
Snape replaced the empty vial back into his robes. Despite the steady flow of consciousness running through his mind his face remained expressionless and he stood as still as carved polished stone. But his eyes gave him away, showing the torment that raged inside of him. He had to decide whether he could ever trust someone again, someone who he didn't happen to like very much, to save their life, their friend's lives. But it wouldn't save his, would it? No, in fact, it would only endanger his so much more.
Snape ran a hand through his hair. The time had come to choose a side. Not just to run between two masters like a man on a puppet. Whichever side won the battle that was brewing, Snape could simply say he was on it, either as the Dark Lord's faithful minion, or Albus Dumbledore's trusty double spy. But now, he had to choose. He could no longer sit back and passively let the story unfold around him; now he had to act: to hand the girl over, or to help her? To leave her to a certain death, but not before agonizing torture, or to keep her safe?
The question was not so much about the girl herself, Snape thought, no, she merely represented an idea, a side. A side which he had to choose.
Hermione stirred and her eyes moved beneath the translucent skin of her eye lids.
A side we he had to choose now.