A/N: Thanks for reading, reviewing, following and favoriting! It's such a motivation for writing more. Please tell me what you think! As for this chapter, let's just say it's not easy being Severus Snape. ;-)

The Daily Prophet, 7 December

Death Eater Jugson delivered dead and frozen at Skeeter's home by Muggle Grocery Express!

- I don't know why I'm targeted with this, says a shaken Skeeter, after the second Death Eater turned up dead literally under her nose, stuffed into a crate that the Muggle delivery chauffeur believed to contain frozen cod. – These are high-ranking profiles in the Death Eater community too, and I can only wonder if someone wants a special kind of publicity. It seems suspicious, and I believe this is the Ministry's doing, trying to maximize PR after they've unlawfully killed Death Eaters without trials.

- What preposterous nonsense, snorts Ministry spokeswitch Marigold Lebennon. – We would have rejoiced publicly if we had caught a war criminal, not starting a crack-brained scheme on delivering them dead to a reporter. All war criminals should go on trial, and if the Aurors had killed someone in action, we would inform the public of that too. The Ministry has nothing to hide.

The details were gruesome, still the Prophet happily printed the fact that the man seemed to have been suffocated by his own, cut-off cock, complete with a picture of his frozen visage, his mouth stretched open around something that resembled a bloodied sausage. Hermione swallowed her bile, as she forced herself to chew her dry toast slowly. Around her, she heard students and teachers alike making retching sounds. What was wrong with the Prophet? Didn't the editor understand that no one would like to see such images?

A Hufflepuff first-year vomited all over her breakfast, and Pomona Sprout hurried off to take care of it. Glancing at Snape, Hermione saw him stare at the picture with something she could only describe as satisfaction.

"You knew him, too," she stated quietly, and he looked up at her. Suddenly, his sallow cheeks flushed, and he turned his gaze down to the paper again.

"He was a vicious beast, and he certainly deserved to die," he said curtly.

"Yes," she said, pondering: How long had Jugson's corpse been frozen, either by Muggle means or with a Freezing Charm? She remembered him returning to the castle with injuries. Could he have been the one killing Dolohov and Jugson, delivering them to Skeeter to ensure it would be in the paper? Or was he involved with them, somehow, punishing them for transgressions or, as he had said, power scuffles? Not many would be able to take out fully trained, ruthless Death Eaters. Certainly, that someone would have to be powerful, like a seasoned Auror or a Death Eater. Snape fit the bill just perfectly. But if he was the Dark leader, why would he off his own people? Voldemort had done so, but he was a maniac, while Snape clearly wasn't. Him being the leader just didn't add up.

Xxxx

"I'm here for my performance assessment," she said. To his ears, her voice was a little querulous.

"Right, Granger," he replied, aiming for cool and calm, not flustered like he felt. Yesterday, after she left, he had come twice to the hazy memory of groping her, and now she was here for her evaluation of her training period. "I'll make it brief." He supposed she wanted to be far away from him too, it wasn't an everyday occurrence to give an assessment to a witch he had snogged the night before. In fact, out of sheer professionalism, he hoped it would never happen again.

"Ok, Professor", she said, eyes downcast and a slight flush to her face. The icy chill of the dungeons had seeped into his warm office when she opened the door, and he had to draw his eyes away from her nipples peaking underneath her soft, woolen sweater. Imagining running his thumbs over those hard peaks, made him clutch his mug of coffee. Closing his eyes briefly to clear the images away, he gesturing for her to help herself to a mug too.

"In short, you were passable. You had sufficient control and discipline in your classes, the students were attentive and interested, and you guided them through the curriculum in a professional way."

He paused, looking at her pleased expression, and then he couldn't stop himself. Gods, Severus Snape, are you really going to do this? Give real praise to her? His mouth continued talking, while his mind seemed to watch in fascinated horror: "I'd say, you can teach most Hogwarts classes anytime. I'll tell Septima that from my point of view, you should be allowed to drop the rest of your training as a teacher, instead concentrating on your thesis. That would be more useful to you at this stage."

She lifted her bright, shining eyes to him, breathing out: "Wow, thank you, sir! I never expected to hear any sort of praise from you."

"Well," he said gruffly, concealing his own embarrassment, "there's no need to act like I hate you anymore, is there? No one can tell the Dark Lord that his trusted servant gave praise to the Muggleborn friend of Potter and ruin my cover."

"I suppose not," she said, with a faint, but triumphant smile. He had always known, she was a sucker for approval from her teachers. And now, finally, she got it from him too. He sighed a little in defeat.

She sipped her coffee, looking a little wistfully at him. "I'll miss the morning coffee, sir," she said impulsively.

He fought the heat threatening to colour his sallow cheeks – would she miss him too? – and then his mouth once again talked without his brain being in on it: "You're welcome to join me for coffee in the mornings still, Granger." Now, why would he say something like that? He enjoyed her company for his morning indulgence, but really…

Granger, however, lit up, and her face exploded into a big smile: "I'd love to, sir. Count me in."

Severus sighed, trying not to show he was secretly pleased by her answer. He expected her to leave, but instead she stood still, twirling a wayward golden-brown curl from her hair.

"Something else on your mind, Granger?" He was determinedly keeping his eyes on his paperwork, feigning a bored disinterest in what she would say.

"Mmm, yes. I was wondering, if we could join in a little spot of revenge against Byror, sir."

Whatever he had thought she'd say, this was nowhere near the mark. "Revenge?" he asked weakly, looking up to meet her golden-flecked, brown eyes. Sweet Salazar, had she been this beautiful before? Or was this a side effect of the Amortentia?

"Yes. What he did was rotten, to both you and me – and Hagrid too. I think he deserves a good, proverbial smack." Her eyes were flashing dangerously.

He assessed her calmly, wondering again, just how far would she go to win his trust? – before he shook his head. "No, Granger. I can't do that. You, as a Golden Trio member, could probably dismember the man in public, and still walk out scot-free. I, on the other hand, am in no such position. I would be dragged to Azkaban for even the most puny attack."

She looked at him, bright eyes considering, and then she nodded abruptly. "I understand, they would probably take you down at the merest whiff of a curse," she said, and he nearly choked on his coffee. Merlin, this was the very reason Gryffindors made such dreadful spies. They were simply not able to lie, blurting out the truth no matter the company and the occasion. With this, Granger as good as told him he was a suspect in the eyes of the Ministry.

He rolled his eyes, and replied: "By all means, you have my wholehearted approval to mete out revenge in any way you find prudent."

"I would like to sound out a few ideas with you," she said nervously.

Arching his eyebrow, he said: "Go ahead, as long as this doesn't make me into an accomplice." He had to admit to himself, he was very curious about what the little goody two-shoes Gryffindor Princess thought was a suitable revenge. Moreover, he was also impressed. Getting revenge – it appealed more than a little to his darker side.

"The first one does, sort of, but it isn't illegal, merely unusual," she continued, blushing a bright red.

"Go on," he said, intrigued even more by her blushing than her plans for revenge. She fidgeted, fingers nervously pulling at her skirt, before continuing.

"Um, well, as you know, I have been having a bit of a problem with Byror and Heron. They don't take a polite no for an answer. I wondered…" her voice fell to a whisper, "if I could tell them you slept with me after the potion took effect. That would irk Byror, he'd be sure to tell Heron, and it will make them stay away from me. To avoid rumours, we could tell the truth to Septima and Minerva, for example. Those two idiots would be angry, Byror will feel stupid, and I can go about my business without them bothering me."

Incredulous, he looked at her, his normally measured voice ending up as a croak: "You want to tell Byror we had sex?"

"Yes," she whispered, beet red.

"Good heavens girl, why would you say that?" he snapped. "If you tell Minerva the truth, she'll have to take disciplinary action against Byror for unsanctioned use of Amortentia. He does deserve that, but if that's your idea for revenge, just go ahead and tell her without any lies. If you spread a story of us … sleeping together, close to no one will believe it to be voluntary. Everyone, including several of our colleagues, will wonder if I've used the Imperius on you to make you go along with it. Those who doesn't believe that, will merely think I raped you."

"I don't think so…," she began protesting, but he cut her off brutally with a scowl.

"They will. Believe me, they will. This is, Granger, an astoundingly stupid idea." He had experienced too many rounds of people's lack of trust in him, to willingly put himself in such a situation. Though, the idea of telling those dunderheads that he'd bedded her, was more than appealing. He had enjoyed the fury on Byror's face, when the man thought Severus actually was staking a claim to Granger at Hagrid's party. Their reactions would be exquisite to watch, but the idea was tantamount to idiocy in the long run.

Her shoulders slumped a little, before she continued, eyes downcast: "My plan B will be a bit more tricky. Are you familiar with the Impolitio curse?"

"Yes," he said slowly, not grasping what she was aiming for.

"I've thought about developing the curse to be semi-permanent, like an unpleasant personality trait, unless it is removed by the counter spell, of course. It should seem like the person swears, offends and curses people entirely of their own will. By extending the duration and making the curse untraceable, no one would know it happens due to a spell. If I could make this work, Byror will, for a while, feel just as uncomfortable as he tried to make us. But here's the catch: The alteration is quite difficult Mind Magic, and I would like for you to check my spellwork before I try to use it to prevent brain damage. You've invented several spells before, haven't you, sir?"

Baffled, he barked a laugh. "Thank Merlin, Granger, that you never joined the Dark Lord. With you on his side, we'd never have won. This sounds like, if I must say so, a rather dark spell, not something anyone would expect from someone like you."

Seeing it for what it was, a twisted compliment, she beamed: "You think it would work, then?" Suddenly smiling mischievously, she added: "And no, my ambition was never to off myself by trying to become the first, Muggleborn Death Eater."

"There's that", he conceded. Then he voluntarily offered – damn, that's why she was an effective spy, no matter her Gryffindor bluntness, he simply wanted to tell her things: "Actually, the Dark Lord was mostly interested in the power, intelligence and knowledge of his followers. I would venture to say he personally didn't give a damn about anyone's bloodline but his own, and he most certainly didn't believe in those silly ideas of Muggleborns stealing magic. If he could have wormed his way past his followers' silly prejudices, he would have loved to recruit you."

"Hah," she snorted. "I'd be killed, he'd never want anything to do with someone like me. Like you told me, I'm everything he opposed. Muggleborn witch, Harry's friend, member of the Order."

Severus smiled, hiding his face behind his hair. "Oh no, the Dark Lord would have loved to pick your brain. He enjoyed powerful wizards and witches who could follow his thoughts on magical theory, and you'd certainly be able to do just that. And also," his smirk became visible, "he would, of course, want to seduce you. Both figuratively to the dark side, and quite literally."

"What?" she said, aghast.

"It's not widely known outside his Inner Circle, but the Dark Lord had a quite… voracious … appetite. He would have been very eager indeed to land you in his bed." Take that information back to the Ministry, and see if you can shock them, he thought maliciously.

The girl looked positively green, and he chuckled, pleased by her obvious revulsion. She would have fainted, had she known that the Dark Lord seldom used violence or spells to get his witches willing, even after his resurrection, with the rather … unfortunate … lack of a nose, and what with the red eyes and skeletal frame. No one on the side of the light would ever believe that the man was charming and seductive when he wanted to. However, when he did go for violence, it was nothing short of vile. Instead, he said: "Though, by a stroke of luck to both you and the wizarding world, you never tried to become a Death Eater."

"Thank Merlin," she muttered with a grimace of disgust, before shaking her head. "So, will you help me test my spell?"

She actually meant it. It had to be a test. Why, by Merlin's purple balls, would Hermione Granger of all people create a dark spell? This was a rather obvious attempt to entrap him into doing something illegal. Glaring at her, he curtly refused with a vehement "no." The fuck, he wasn't about to be hauled off to Azkaban for correcting the Golden Girl's dark spellwork!

Xxxx

As the flames turned green, she waved a fond goodbye to Minerva. The Headmistress had said with a kind smile: "Dear Hermione, you shouldn't feel like a prisoner here at Hogwarts, though the world is not a safe place for the moment. For this one occasion, you can use my Floo to Hogsmeade. I gather it would do you a world of good to get out on your own. Rosmerta will allow you to Floo back." With a small frown, Minerva had added: "Please do be careful, and keep to the main street. Remember, wand at the ready at all times, and come straight back here after you've done your shopping!"

The reminder had made Hermione smile. Like she was a child, a silly student, not a battle-grizzled war-hero. But the protective care behind McGonagall's word warmed her heart.

As she entered the Three Broomsticks through the Floo, Madam Rosmerta smiled at her, having been warned beforehand by Minerva. She slipped out, ready for her secret mission: Christmas shopping, and meeting Harry at the Three Broomsticks afterwards. It would be lovely to get her mind off Snape's embarrassing refusal to her plan A. Hermione really wasn't sure where she had gotten the nerve to ask him, but logically, she was convinced that the plan would have worked perfectly, stopping both Byror and Heron pursuing her, and taking them both down a notch.

Frowning a little to herself, she rather thought that Snape had exaggerated what people would think. After all, he was the one shagging scores of witches, not raping them. Anyway, she had never picked Snape as someone who cared for his reputation. Shaking the thoughts off, she tried to immerse herself in the Christmas cheer exuding from the decorations and lights from the Hogsmeade main street, and the lovely smells of freshly made gingerbreads, sugar roasted almonds and mince pies.

She was going to buy gifts for Harry, Luna and Neville, plus her colleagues. Her mood slipped a little as she remembered those gifts that she didn't have to buy this year: The whole Weasley clan, half of them on less than friendly terms, the other half scared to antagonize the rest. Shaking her head, she roused herself, walking with determination towards Honeydukes. It was snowing lightly, and even though it was only early afternoon, the light was already fading, leaving the streetlamps and shop windows to make pools of warm, golden light in the darkening main street.

Passing by Zonko's, she did a double take. Was that Professor Snape, smiling tenderly to himself as he lifted a play-wand, the kind one bought for very small children, off the shelf? What in the world … a play wand? Those wands could serve a limited number of spells, powered by the child's magic, but restricting any possible damage and dangerous spells.

Standing still in the gently drifting snow, she saw that it was indeed Snape. He had obviously chosen his gift, and carried the box with the play wand to the counter, a secretive, small smile on his face. Though, when he reached the counter, his face was all business again, the epitome of the scowling, looming Potion Master of her childhood.

She couldn't help wondering what kind of child that would bring such a fond smile on the dour man's face, because she had never picked him for one who even remotely liked kids.

Then she froze, with a sinking feeling in her gut. Merlin, Hermione, she thought, sometimes two and two makes actually four. Snape was away for most weekends, and here he was, buying a Christmas gift for a child he obviously cared for. Of course, he had a child. Probably a wife too, or a lover. That's where he went all those weekends – to visit with his own family.

Quickly, she scurried off, knuckles wiping furiously at unbidden, unwanted tears, and she hid herself into the bookshop, Spines & Ink, at the corner of the high street in Hogsmeade. Severus Snape had a family. A secret one, but a family nonetheless. How stupid he must have thought her, when they had kissed during the Amortentia incident. She shivered, though her face was hot with humiliation and shame. Morgana, she had thought he liked it, while he must have felt regret and distaste. And no wonder he had been so shocked by her proposal of revenge. Hermione wanted to bury herself underneath the castle, never to emerge.

Her good mood was gone, and she did her Christmas shopping with a scowl worthy of the Potion Master himself.

"Merlin, Hermione, who died?" said Harry nervously, as he took in her mood.

"No one," she said curtly, I just saw something strange that set me off. And," she said, to put Harry off track, "I miss the Weasleys."

"Oh, Hermione," he said softly, "Ginny and George would love to see you, but as I told you… Well, I think Molly has cooled off a bit, but Ron is still pretty angry with you."

She sighed, willing herself to not think about Snape. "I miss Ron too," she said, and as Harry opened his mouth, she hurriedly said: "As a friend, Harry, only as a friend. Gods, let's talk about something else, or what? Any news on the Death Eaters?"

"No," Harry said, slowly, worried. "Not a single thing, and it disturbs me. The Minister believes the leader to be someone in the Ministry, as it's clear they have access to inside information, but …" he leaned in, whispering to her: "Rumour says he might not be quite what he seems. He had a brief career in dark magic when he was young, that's how he ended up in the Department of Mysteries in the first place. Some says he knew Voldemort from before my Mum and Dad died. Kingsley is worried, I know, but he's a loyal one, not saying anything bad about his superior. Still, he's uneasy. But the Minister – I can't really believe he's like that, he seems like an okay fellow, but the rumours are persistent."

Hermione felt her eyes widen. "You don't think…" she said in a low hiss.

"I don't think anything, Hermione," Harry said firmly. "If the Auror training has taught me anything, it is that I need to be sure."

Xxxx

She was sick to her guts. Snape was obviously involved with someone, and she had gotten so close to becoming "the other woman" during the Amortentia event. Hermione was well aware of how painful that situation could be after her stint with Ron, and she reassured herself that she hadn't known. To make someone betray their significant other – she just wasn't that kind of person. And surely, she didn't, shouldn't, wouldn't care about Professor Snape that way, no matter her hot dreams and sexual fantasies. There was absolutely no reason for her to be disappointed for him having a life outside Hogwarts. After a few days, she just had to share her thoughts with someone, and so she paid Hagrid a visit.

She was twirling her wand, swinging her legs on Hagrid's too big chair.

"Now, wha's up? Yeh look peevish," Hagrid said, warm, brown eyes looking searchingly at her.

"I've a bit of a problem," she said slowly. "I've fallen for a wizard, and I think he might be interested. He might be taken, but I'm not sure. And that's plain wrong. I don't know what to do."

"It is, Hermione," Hagrid said gravely. "If he's taken, nothin' good will come outta it."

"I know," she sighed. "But it's so difficult."

"In tha' case, stay away, leave it be, it's the righ' thing ter do," Hagrid said, pushing her hair away from her brow with a large, calloused hand. "Find yerself someone with no strings attached. Yeh deserve tha', Hermione."

Tears were pooling in her eyes, and she nodded dejectedly. As Hagrid slung his arm around her shoulder, he almost knocked the breath out of her.

"Who is it?", the giant asked her gently, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

"Promise you won't tell anyone," she said earnestly.

"Aye," Hagrid rumbled.

"It's Professor Snape. I don't really dare to approach him, he is kind of scary still."

Hagrid withdrew from her, looking confused. "Severus? I can see wha' yeh mean abou' scary, but how in the name of Merlin did yeh get the idea he was taken?"

She told him of her suspicions, but Hagrid shook his head, laughing slightly. "I can tell yeh this much, Hermione, if tha' wizard had a witch and a kid, he wouldn' kep' 'em away. He'd do everythin' in his power to protect 'em, every day. Not just the weekends."

Xxxx

She felt reassured after her talk with Hagrid, but when Snape was away the next weekend too, she felt her insecurities grow. Consequently, when Francis Heron's wheedling made her agree to go out for a drink on Sunday night, she accepted to get her mind on other things, other people. It couldn't be as horrible as she imagined it would be, she thought in advance, but she was wrong.

Fidgeting through their drinks at the Three Broomsticks, she was bored out of her mind. The man might be handsome, but he was so thick between his ears… Oh well, she should try to see his good sides. His looks, yes, and the students seemed to adore him. Shame though, he couldn't seem to talk about anything but himself.

"So, I've seen quite a lot in my days as an Auror," he said, giving her a smug smile.

Trying, but failing to hide the sarcasm, she asked: "Why did you give up your, obviously illustrious, Auror career to become a teacher?"

"Oh, that," he said, winking at her. "Who says my Auror career is over?"

She stared at him in disbelief, and he continued: "Who says I haven't got a task here at Hogwarts, watching over someone very important, making sure that nothing suspicious happens?"

Gods, did the man just say that he was ordered to teach here as a spy, watching over someone? How stupid could Francis be – as a spy, he shouldn't go about telling people about it! And who could that someone be? Francis had been at Hogwarts since the school reopened after the war. It had to be Snape he was spying on.

"Does the Headmistress know?" she said weakly, and the man answered her, a little affronted: "Of course. Minerva is fully in on the plan."

She had wondered why Minerva had engaged someone so obviously stupid as a Defense teacher, but this explained a lot. And, it also pointed to Kingsley not taking the idea of Snape being the Dark leader seriously, or else there would have been someone far more competent watching over Hogwarts, she snorted to herself.

Relief flooded through her, as Kingsley's opinion meant a lot to her – just like Minerva's. If Minerva knew, and still trusted Snape, then he was as good as innocent in Hermione's eyes. The happiness made her give Heron a wide smile, and he scooted closer to her on the bench.

Feigning a yawn, she told him she had to get up early, and they left for the castle, him looking smug, she looking forward to withdraw to her own quarters. Just inside the gates of Hogwarts, he ambushed her, pulling her into a rough embrace, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, snogging her with force.

She writhed, trying to get away, pushing at him, trying to close her mouth to repeal his advances.

Suddenly, Heron retreated hastily, backing off her with his hands raised in a placating gesture, and she scrubbed at her mouth furiously, glaring at him. As she opened her mouth to scour him, she stopped short by hearing the deep, silky voice from behind her:

"Far be it from me to stop my colleagues to indulge in such pleasurable activities, but you should perhaps reconsider the location. You are now in full view of the windows from both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw common rooms. Are you sure your wanton behavior set a good example for our young, impressionable students?"

The air was crackling with magic, dangerous, threatening, charging her hair with electricity, making it stand out. Heron looked frightened, staring at Snape behind her back, mumbling "I meant no harm, it was just a friendly kiss, nothing more, I wouldn't presume to interfere…"

The wild magic in the air took shape, a spell whispered past her, and Heron's eyes widened, his mouth opening in a soundless howl, body shuddering.

Hermione stared for moment at Heron, and then she quickly turned to Snape, seeing him as a menacing shape in the dark, face half obscured by his hair, mouth muttering the curse under his breath, gleaming eyes trained on Heron with a frightful intensity: "Hallucin Cruxit, Maxima Longoturnitas e Dolores."

He finished the incantation with a flourish of his wand, and Heron sank into a boneless heap on the ground, groaning softly, painfully.

"What did you do?" she hissed to Snape. Heron might be an idiot, but he didn't deserve to be cursed. Besides, if anyone had the right to hex him, it was her! She was the one who had been accosted.

Slowly, Snape's eyes traveled over to her, burning black, scalding her skin. He said nothing, until he suddenly sneered, and spat out: "Finally something for you to report, eh? The ex-Death Eater losing it, using dark curses in front of the Golden Princess. I suppose you'll be rewarded. Well done, Granger!"

He was off in a swirl of robes, and she stared dumbfounded after him. Report? Rewarded? What in the name of Merlin was the man blathering about?

A whimpering, pitiful sound from Heron drew her out of her musings, and she looked with disgust down at him crawling around on the snow-flecked ground. She should feel sorry for him, but she wasn't able to. The man had forced himself on her, no one could expect her to treat him with anything resembling empathy. She should just leave him in the snow – but she couldn't. That wasn't her, Hermione Granger helped people in need.

Gritting her teeth together, she Levitated him, floating him across the frozen grounds to the front doors, and well inside the Entrance Hall, she propped him up into a chair beside a suit of armour.

"Can you walk? Do you need the hospital wing?" she asked, impatiently.

Heron shook his head, and croaked out: "Not… the hospital wing. I'll get to my own rooms, just need a bit of rest…" His head slumped back, looking haggard, and he breathed heavily through his nose. Brown eyes imploring her, he asked timidly: "Can you support me back to my quarters? I need help."

She nodded, mouth thinning, and took his arm un-gently, dragging the him up. Slowly, they moved across the hall and in the direction of Heron's chambers in the Ravenclaw tower, no one noticing the dark shadow observing them from the entrance to the dungeons.

Xxxx

Severus tossed and turned in his sleep, sweat breaking out, trying to hold back the howl that wanted to break free from his lips…

… because the Dark Lord wasn't dead, far from it, and Malfoy Manor flickered with flashes of sinister green, welcoming all Death Eaters to the grandest revel ever to be held – the Dark Lord's victory revel. He swallowed, knowing what atrocities he'd see, those horrors he himself would have to commit, tonight and forever, for the rest of his life. Pretending to be the Dark Lord's right hand man – he couldn't escape that now, there was no resistance, no place to turn except death, everything had been crushed underneath Voldemort's iron fist.

The pain, the sorrow, the desperation almost overwhelmed him, but slowly, he entered the manor's great ballroom. It reeked of death, blood and defecation from the tortured bodies, sobs and shrieks filled the hall, and in the middle of the grand ballroom, he saw the Dark Lord finishing with a mighty thrust inside a limp, bleeding body, flinging it aside with a casual Avada. He couldn't see who it was, but the long, red hair told him it was probably a Weasley – most certainly young Ginevra, though the Dark Lord didn't always discern the male sex when he indulged in rape.

The cage in the corner still held people, and Severus schooled his features into his usual sneer, keeping an iron-grip on his Occlumency. Tonight was all about the defilement and destruction of the remaining Order of the Phoenix. Those in the cage were his secret allies, though they didn't know it themselves. And there was absolutely nothing he could do to save them. Nothing at all.

Severus walked up to the pale monster who didn't even bother to gather his robes to conceal his thin, emaciated frame and his flaccid, large cock, smears of dark blood stains all over his lower body. Kneeling, he said: "I congratulate you and salute you, my Lord."

"Rise, Severus," the Dark Lord hissed, "you'll be rewarded, you above all others. Your services have been vital in securing my victory. Defeating Dumbledore, holding Hogwarts, drawing out the Order, your services as my spy…" Pointing with a bony finger to the cage, the bars melted aside and a body was Levitated towards them, left hanging upside in the air beside them, the face obscured by a shock of brown hair. Still, Severus felt a gnawing suspicion inside him. Could it be…?

Then the Dark Lord continued, an amused smile on his too thin lips: "I've killed Potter and Weasley, but I will allow you to destroy the last remaining of the so-called Golden Trio. Severus, I give you Potter's Mudblood. Defile her, rape her as you do so well, give us a show to celebrate my victory. And then, I'll allow you to kill her or keep her as you see fit."

Voldemort flipped her over by a flick of his pale wand, and Hermione's beautiful, stricken brown eyes stared at him in horror. Severus felt his throat constrict to not let out a scream…

… and he woke panicking, sweating, panting, heart thudding, mouth open to let out that howl of pain. Sitting in his great bed in the cold dungeons, he knew there would be no more sleep this night.

Xxxx

In the early hours of the morning, there was a knock on his door. Still unsettled by his nightmare, he wrenched it open, glaring bleary-eyed at her. Gods, Merlin, it was good to see her alive and well, after that horrid dream. He felt almost faint with relief, and had to fight for control to keep himself from smiling.

Realistically speaking, he knew it had been only a nightmare, but the idea of abusing her and killing her was something he couldn't countenance. As he took in her pale face – she also looked like she had slept too little – he wondered, not for the first time, if he actually cared for the girl, that this was much more than lusty, lecherous thoughts from a man almost twenty years her senior. Merlin, wouldn't that be a disaster? He was just over his obsession with Lily, and now, he had found himself someone equally unattainable.

"Morning," he said gruffly, holding the door open for her. She stepped gingerly inside, and then his heart clenched again: She had escorted Heron to his quarters. Had she walked away, or had she entered willingly, giving her body to that sorry excuse for a Defense teacher? Even worse, had that piece of filth somehow forced her? He didn't think Heron would be up to anything after the thrashing Severus gave his mind last night, but in his experience: you never knew.

Scowling at her, trying to detect if there was anything out of the ordinary, any faint whiff of sex from her smell. Maybe there was a slight scent of arousal, but he couldn't detect any male scent on her. He said curtly: "I expect you're here about last night. Coffee?"

"Yes, please," she almost whispered, eyes large and dark as she looked at him. He busied himself by grinding the beans and brewing the coffee, and she sat still in his sofa, hands folded in her lap. Today, she wore a tight, dark grey skirt, and a thin, green, woolen sweater, clinging to her curves in ways that distracted him. But this was it. She was here to tell him he'd be asked to leave Hogwarts, put under surveillance, go into Azkaban or… He sighed, and told himself to calm down. There was no way they'd send a slip of a witch on her own to send him to Azkaban, no matter how powerful and clever she was. They had to know he wouldn't go willingly.

She sipped her coffee, looking nervous. Then she cleared her throat, still not meeting his eyes, and said: "Thanks for stepping in last night. I could have handled him, but… What you did, was very effective. However…" she paused, stilling for a moment.

And he thought: Here it comes. The suspicions, the distrust, the need to rein me in as a dangerous, dark wizard…

Then she looked him straight in the eyes and said: "I Obliviated him, afterwards. There's something off about him, and I wouldn't want him to be able to pin a curse like that on you."

He stared at her, mouth agape. She had what?

Looking even more uncomfortable, she said defensively: "I hope you're not angry with me, but I think he's the kind of person to hold a grudge, and I believe proof of you using a curse like that may be troublesome for you, considering your reputation and what people are willing to believe …" she trailed off, uncertainly.

He took a moment to compose himself, sipping his coffee. Then he said slowly: "To make this clear, you Obliviated Heron, to protect my reputation?"

"Yes," she whispered.

He had no idea what to say or do, and he hid himself by the curtain of his hair, taking another sip. Could he possibly be wrong about her spying? Or was the chit even more devious than he thought, playing a deep game with him to ensure his trust?

After a while, without concluding his inner debate, he said gruffly: "Thanks, Granger. That was thoughtful of you. I trust my interference didn't ruin your night, then?"

"Oh, no, not in the slightest," she blushed. "As you perhaps saw, I wasn't a willing participant in that kiss."

He felt enormously relieved, though he had suspected as much. And finally, he couldn't keep the silly grin off his face, and as his mouth tugged upwards – the equivalent to beaming for him – he said: "Good to know, Granger." At first, she looked surprised to no end, and then she gave him a shy, hesitant smile back, something coming to light in her eyes that he so badly wanted to believe in.