The air was warm, glowing embers still heating the room, but Snape sat shivering - cold.

He had no knowledge of how long the spell would take to start to affect the girl, but he could bet it was soon. The spell was old, and powerful, and not to mention performed by one of the most competent, if not the most competent wizard in the entire world. His Master. Voldemort.

Snape ran a hand through his hair, sitting back in his armchair, feeling his stomach clench and his skin itch. Unconsciously he brushed his fingers over his Dark Mark, feeling the slightly raised edge of skin from where the mark was brandished into him. At one point it had caused only pride in him, a glowing sense that he, Severus Snape, would make those who teased him, taunted him, made his life hell, rue the day that he was born. But over time pride had turned to anger, and confusion. Hate even.

The man who he had worshipped had killed the love of his life. Granted, he had also killed his worse enemy, but love - love is so much stronger than hate. And Voldemort had ripped away the only love Snape had ever felt.

Still though, he had continued to serve him, but his allegiances had led him to Albus Dumbledore's door. He remember how he had groveled and begged for him to keep her safe and he remembered how his wand had pointed directly at the older wizard's jugular after he had held her in his arms, dead and cold, until the morning.

But despite his running back and forth between two masters, there were still two sides of him which pushed and pulled him to the Light and the Dark.

He had no one left to live for.

No one cared about him.

Why not just turn to the Dark, it was so much easier that way? The Darkness had always come to him so much easier than the Light.

But then he would let her down. His Lilly.

He didn't think he could bare it, hurting her all over again, so he stayed - hovering between two opposing sides like a puppet on a string.

If only though he could play the messenger, but each side required something of him. For Dumbledore he must teach. For Voldemort, he must rape, and maim, and kill. Over time he had learnt to keep them separate, to lock each part required of him away, but this time it had been so much worse - the two had collided. His student had become the victim. His victim. No matter how much she annoyed him with her incessant questioning and know it all ways which reminded him so much of Lilly it made him sick, she was still an innocent, helpless, little girl. And he had ruined her.

Severus Snape: destroyed of worlds.

Flashbacks which he thought he could control were surfacing again. Not just of Hermione, but of countless girls and women. Vacant stares and muffled screams. Soft thuds and dull whimperings. They replayed over and over in his mind like a never-ending rhythm of pain and suffering until he couldn't stand it any longer. It would surely drive him crazy. He squeezed shut his eyes and bellowed and screamed one long mournful and deep note. And once his breath had run out, he did it again, and again, until his voice was hoarse and he stood in the middle of the room panting and breathless.

She would come soon, and when she did, he had to be ready.

For both of them.