He crawled up the bed and joined her where she fell into his embrace until she covered him like devils snare. Placing a tired kiss on his chest, it seems she was beyond words as her arms squeezed around him in a hug. His arms returned the hug and pressed a kiss into her hair, until he pulled her over until she was laid fully over him, like a living blanket, pillowed on his chest and they both promptly succumbed to the call of sleep.
Her distress woke him, and when he turned to find her gone from the bed his own distress fed into their bond enough for Fawkes to twitch in his sleep, and Crookshanks to crank open one bleary eye, though his distress quickly abated when he caught sight of her sat in front of the great glass window in his quarters that looked into the depths of the black lake.
It was extremely early, probably just around sunrise, as the light was just peeking through the waters of the black lake enough to illuminate her skin with a blueish hue where she sat upon the windowsill watching the fishes swim past.
He approached her silently so as not to disturb the once more settled Fawkes and Crookshanks.
She sat tucked into the windowseat, her head resting on the glass pane, wearing only his discarded shirt from the day before and a pair of warm socks that was something of a necessity in the old stone castle dungeons, no matter the time of year.
His cravat which she still held onto, was wrapped around her hand and pressed against her face which he finally noticed was streaked with dried tears.
She smiled sadly when he approached and leaned forward , allowing him to tuck himself behind her in the windowseat, wrapping her in his embrace as he did so.
"You're occluding" He whispered into her hair and she just nodded. There was no point in her denying it after all, occluding was the only way she would've been able to remain so distressed without waking him or her familiar sooner.
"Drop them". The words were quiet, but insistent. After everything she had been through with her mind, though he was wracked with sympathy for her, they both knew it wasn't safe for her to be occluding for something which in the grand scheme of things, was as trivial as a nightmare.
She didn't want to, that was clear but she did so anyway, leaning back into him for both his solid presence and his support. A shuddered breath wracked from her chest and despite closing her eyes, fresh tears chased the trails of their predecessors down her cheek and he wiped them away with his thumbs.
"Do you want to talk about it ?"
She shook her head and he was silent for a short while, stroking his hands soothingly up and down her arms as they both watched the shining forms of fish , seemingly glittering as they hit the broken beams of sunlight that filtered through the black lake.
"Do you need to talk about it ? "
A deep sigh broke from her, before the words spilled forth from her.
"Azkaban of course"
He simply nodded, pressing soft kisses into her hair at random intervals , inter-spaced with the gentle touches on her arms.
"Anything in particular?"
She snorted in self depreciating humour. "What...all of the options available to me and I only get to choose one?"
He chuckled in shared dark humour and was silent for a while more before speaking.
"Anybody in particular?"
For a moment she stiffened, then sighed deeply and it was though her whole body seemed to shrink in on itself at the action, her strength and resolve from her morbid humour evaporating as she answered in a quiet tone.
"Number Four"
Pulling her tighter to his chest to lend her strength he brought his own legs up on the window seat , so she was more or less in his lap and surrounded by his sturdy presence.
Once there, he simply remained silent, knowing that she would speak when she was ready to.
"I hate him, more than the others. More than the first one to hurt me, the guards that betrayed me, maybe even the one who hurt me the most."
Wrapping his arms tightly around her, he allowed her to sink back into his chest. Despite his firm grip on her, because of her love for him she found his embrace solid and comforting, rather than stifling.
"Why?" He questioned , even though he knew why. She just obviously needed to say it.
"I hate the way he made me feel. I hate the fact that a part of my mind just can't blame him like the others because I chose it, I went to him knowing that it wasn't going to be all sunshine and daisies"
"We've been through this Hermione, coercion is not consent. He is a rapist, no matter how he tried to confuse and misdirect you"
"I know that. I know it I do, but... I still hate him for it. For making me think that way, for making me doubt myself."
Turning she rested her cheek on his pectoral and he pressed kisses into her hair as she wiped more stray tears with the cravat around her hand.
"I hate that because of him, you have to ward me out of the potions store room. I hate that because of him, every time that things get too much my first thought is that I just want to reach for a potion's vial. I hate that he made me question who I am, that he rocked my sense of self to my very core and a part of me hates him all the more... because he made me grateful to him."
She covered her face before she could continue talking, not being able to stand the thought of his gaze on her while she spoke.
"I hate that I feel grateful, that when I belonged to him, no-one else, not even the guards would touch me. That he killed the lifer that hurt me , and castrated the guard that cut me. That he gave me an escape, albeit a dangerous one, so that I didn't lose my mind entirely. And I hate that the very ingrained fear of him means I can't even count without shivering every time I hear the number 4. That he haunted my life and now he haunts my dreams as my mind has made him into more than a man but this nameless monster that terrorizes my thoughts and makes me think I will never be whole again. That he took from me more than any of the others did because he took away...my sense of self, the very essence of me... he made me into a different girl"
Silence reigned for a while as they simply watched the fish once more , and after a steadying breath he said the words that he'd been considering very carefully for the longest time.
"Would it help if you could name him?"
Under his touch, her back instantly stiffened and she froze as though petrified, every muscle firm and rigid under his touch and he thought for a moment he'd made a catastrophic error , until he heard her voice in his mind. "You know?"
Nodding gently he contemplated his next words before adding in an deliberately even tone. "I have spent much time reviewing what you showed me in Azkaban. I know who he is. I believe it would help you, if you so wish, if you were able to put a name to his face. You as a person are constantly searching for answers and order. it's who you are and how you're built, as proven by the absolute order of the library that is your mind. I truly believe that the fact his name...his identity, remains unknown to you is what in some part of your subconscious is allowing your mind to let your dreams run rampant and create him into this huge and all encompassing presence. In the absence of truth and therefore order, your mind makes him into this unchained entity, when in reality he's just a monstrous man. Perhaps if you could put a name to him, you could chain him away with the rest of your memories. It will not take away the things he has done, or the memories, but perhaps it will make him once more into a man in your mind and not an un-human entity that controls your sleeping and waking thoughts?"
There was more silent contemplation on her part , it stretched so long that he almost feared she'd slipped into the fugue-like states she'd been prone to upon her first release from Azkaban. Though eventually she nodded, the movement small and slight enough to go unnoticed by most, but the ever-perceptive slytherin saw it for the acquiescence that it was.
"His name is Raoul Rosier. Brother to Evan Rosier and son of Evan Rosier Sr, though it's widely believed that his mother is in fact also his half-sister, that he was born illegitimately from Evan Rosier Sr. molesting his eldest daughter Mildred Rosier, who killed herself not long after his birth. He's in his early fifties and is distantly related by blood to Fenrir Greyback and related by the marriage of a third cousin to the Selwyns and their money is likely the only thing that saved him from the kiss after he killed a number of street workers in Knockturn alley. He's always been a dark wizard though he has no direct ties to the Dark Lord, he's the one that gave Rabastan the scar on his face, and though it's not widely known, in his last year he's also the one who killed Professor Binns"
Turning in her arms she looked into his eyes with morbid curiosity, though he could sense through the bond that she was calmer than before they had started.
"Professor Binns was murdered? I thought he fell asleep at his desk, died in his sleep and then just carried on teaching, that's what everyone says?"
"All true things. He did fall asleep at his desk, he did die in his sleep, and his ghost continued to teach" Severus confirmed, before adding dryly "One has a tendency to do that when they ingest a full bottle of nightshade in their tea"
"A full bottle? How the hell did he not taste it?" She exclaimed and he chuckled darkly. "You are aware of Professor Trelawney's...reputation are you not?"
She snorted herself then , and the dislike could be heard clearly in her tone. "You mean the fact that it wouldn't surprise me to find out she was just as old as Dumbledore, if not older, because the amount of alcohol she imbibes would be enough to perfectly preserve a dragon?"
"Quite" He chuckled. "Well though his poison was not the cooking sherry from the kitchens, as Sybil's is, I am told he had a rather strong fondness for muggle vodka. of which he usually obtained very strong Russian vodka from a colleague at Durmstrang. His breath was enough to strip paint apparently but it killed his tastebuds that much that it had gotten to the point that he took 5 sugars with his tea. He was killed only a few years before I started at Hogwarts"
"Huh" She uttered contemplatively. "I had thought he was much older, like the other ghosts. I remember Sirius saying he was a ghost when they were in school so I had assumed he'd died 200 years before, not 2."
"It was not an entirely erroneous assumption. Afterall, he is the youngest of the Hogwarts ghosts by decades. Moaning Myrtle being the next as she died in the late forties.."
"Why is he the way he is?" The words were almost a whisper and he wasn't certain if she had even meant to speak them aloud, though he answered her anyway.
"Why is any man the way he is? Nature, Nurture...it does not matter. It's widely believed he was molested by his father, just like he molested his other children. He was definitely beaten. As for his appearance, a lot can be attributed to inbreeding. The pure bloods have been marrying their cousins for generations and if he is an illegitimate child born of incest, genetically I should imagine he's a mess. However none of his past treatment forgives him his actions, regardless of what is the truth, though his upbringing may have pre-destined him to a troublesome adulthood, not all who are beaten and abused turn into monsters. At some point or other that choice was made in his mind, subconscious or not, and he chose to embrace the dark. He may be a monster Hermione, but he's not insane, not entirely. He's aware of his actions an the repercussions and I can assure you...he will be held accountable"
There was no doubt in Hermione's mind that Severus had planned to right that wrong himself, though was torn about it. He sensed it and gave the thought voice.
"Do not think on it. This is war Hermione, normal morals do not apply here. Though without such a veil I admit, desirous or not, I would not have searched him out to kill in cold blood That would cross a personal moral line for even me, I cannot however promise not to beat the living daylights out of him should our paths ever cross. However, like I said, this is war. IF he was one of the prisoners who escaped when the Dark Lord broke into Azkaban, IF he aligns himself as a solider of the dark, then I will have vengeance. By whatever means necessary, not just for your own hurts but those he would continue to hurt unchecked, if not applauded by the Dark Lord"
With an incredulous noise of irony she settled back into his embrace.
"The Greater Good" she intoned dryly and he crinkled his lip in distaste too and the shared associations of the man that tainted that statement.
"Yes. The Greater Good Indeed"
