Fungible
FUHN-juh-buhl | adjective
1: being of such nature or kind as to be freely exchangeable or replaceable, in whole or in part, for another of like nature or kind
As dramatic as it sounded, it really was a dark and stormy night when Severus Snape stumbled through the floo in the library of Grimmauld Place. Hermione, nearly asleep with a book drooping from her fingers, gasped and flattened herself against the armchair. The intelligent thing to have done was run, but in her moment of panic, HIDE was the only thing running through her mind. The man in question flicked his hand toward the library door, closing it with a thud and sliding the lock into place. A silencing charm followed, and then his dark eyes flicked to her.
"What the hell are you doing here?" she demanded, finding her voice and, most importantly, her wand. It appeared in her hand, pointing right between his eyes. She hoped that he didn't notice her hand trembling just a little.
He sat heavily down onto the couch across from her. "I need help," he answered. His voice was mostly as she remembered it, deep and rich and full, but there was a raspy edge to it, as though from overuse.
It was only then that she noticed that he, too, was trembling. His face, while usually pale, was more so than she remembered it. "Help?" Her wand lowered ever so slightly, though she assured herself that it was simply because she would be able to stop him more easily with a blow to the larger target of his chest and abdomen, than to the head.
He moved his fingers to the hem of his shirt, and she realized that he wasn't wearing his customary layers, nor his usual button-down shirt, only a simple black tee. Her wand raised again at the movement, and he put his hands up in front of him in a placating gesture.
"I am injured," he said simply.
"Go see Poppy," she spat at him. The audacity of the man. Did he think that she would heal him and send him on his merry way?
His dark eyes pierced into her lighter ones. "She won't help me."
"And you believe that I will?"
"I hoped that you would. I am in need, and you are a Gryffindor. I have no doubt that you are capable. Please."
Hermione hated that the words of confidence warmed her. She shouldn't give a flying fuck what the man in front of her thought of her. He was a murderer. He tortured children. He was human and in pain. She could heal him, stun him while his back was turned, and turn him in. Turn him in to whom, exactly? The Ministry of Magic was firmly under Lord Voldemort's thumb. Kingsley, perhaps. She could figure that out later.
She frowned. "Very well, then. Let's see it."
His shoulders sagged, releasing tension that she hadn't realized he was holding. His breath hissed out between his teeth as he peeled the shirt over his head. At first, she couldn't see anything wrong. Then he turned his back to her.
"Fuck," she swore. His back was ragged. Blood oozed from a dozen different wounds, trickling down the little bit there was of unbroken skin. He moved his shoulders, adjusting to a more comfortable position, and she hissed. She could see the glistening bone of one of his shoulder blades through one of the wounds. "What caused these wounds?"
"Enchanted cat o' nine tails. It is one of the Dark Lord's favorites when he is in the mood for blood," he said lowly.
"He did this to you? Why?"
The professor laughed bitterly. "Welcome to the world of Death Eaters, Miss Granger. We are all replaceable. If one of us dies, there will always be another to take our place. He reminds each and every one of us of this fact frequently. Tonight, it was once again my turn."
She pulled together her not-inconsiderable healing knowledge. Her wand trailed over some of the smaller wounds, disinfecting as it went. "And yet you remain loyal to him," she growled. "You fight for him. You kill for him."
His voice remained stoic through the pain that she knew he must be feeling. She was beginning to repair the muscle layer on one of the smaller wounds now and it was certainly not a pleasant process. "It is where I must be."
She scoffed, telling herself that she should enjoy his hiss of pain. "You chose this."
"Yes," he agreed simply through gritted teeth. "It's my own goddamn fault."
His vehemence surprised her. Was the infamous Severus Snape, murderer of the Light, having regrets?
The first wound was healed, though it would certainly scar – even if she had had dittany in the library, she wouldn't have wasted it on him. Only a dozen to go. She turned her wand on the delicate flesh over his shoulder blade. It would be a bitch to get it just right. Despite who he was, her pride wouldn't allow her to do a shoddy job. Practice was practice. Hermione poked her wand at the bone, trying to get a better idea of what she was looking at.
"Fuck," he hissed. She was grudgingly impressed. If someone had been poking at her bones, she was quite sure she'd be doing more than hissing curses.
"How are things at the school?" she asked nastily. She had an idea, but she wanted to hear what the man had to say for himself.
"Fucking awful," he spat, "as if you didn't know."
She paused, blinking at his ruined back in surprise. "Pardon?" She resumed testing the nerves in what she was certain was an excruciating process.
He huffed, and she was morbidly fascinated to see his muscles twitch up close as he clenched his fists. "Granger, you cannot honestly think that I enjoy torturing those children. Use what's in that skull of yours, girl."
"It's currently engaged in putting you back together, Snape, so why don't you spell it out for me?" She prodded his exposed flesh perhaps a bit harder than was necessary.
"I'm not permitted to say," he ground out in answer.
She snorted, watching the muscle knit back together over bone until she could no longer see the white glistening of it. "Convenient. Unbreakable Vow, I presume? I mean, there's certainly no less civilized way of doing it in a Death Eater's world."
He was silent a moment before answering her slowly. "It was a promise made to a friend and mentor."
"Surely a person awful enough to mentor you isn't worth keeping a promise," she retorted sharply. The new skin was red and shiny and would scar horribly, but the bone and muscle were once again covered as it should be.
"He's dead now anyway," Severus bit back. "I doubt he'll care if I spill the secret to you. Hermione Granger, the ultimate good guy." She couldn't tell if that was sarcasm in his voice or not.
The smaller wounds were slowly disappearing under her wand as he gathered his thoughts.
"My secret promise was to Albus Dumbledore," he revealed in a low voice.
She nearly dropped her wand. "You're lying," she accused, her task forgotten.
He shook his head slowly. "Albus put on a ring last summer, a terrible artifact that he should never have touched. You saw his hand, I'm sure. I was able to halt the spread of the curse, but it was killing him slowly. There was nothing more that Poppy or I could do to stop it."
She had to sit down. She didn't even bother moving to the other couch, instead dropping onto the cushion beside the man. Her mind was racing.
"He asked you to kill him… Didn't he?"
Severus Snape did not turn to face her as he answered. "I was to use the opportunity to rise among the ranks of the Death Eaters. I was already well trusted, but this, this would cement my standing. No one could doubt the man who murdered Albus Dumbledore." The last was said bitterly. He'd been so alone for so long.
"I had no idea," she murmured. How could she have missed it? She was supposed to be brilliant, damn it. It was so obvious.
"No one has any idea. No one was meant to have any idea. How he expected me to do this with no one…" His voice trailed off in a mixture of sadness and anger.
She glanced over at him, feeling a pang in her heart at his hunched shoulders. She cleared her throat and got back to her feet. He still needed healing. She resumed her work on his ruined back as she spoke. "But the school? The students? I've heard… horrible things."
He nodded once, sharply. "I've done horrible things. I do what I must do. But I keep the Carrow twins under control as best I can. Without me at the school to rein them in, it would be much, much worse. I can assure you that a crucio is more humane than a rape."
She flinched. "They would do that to children?"
"They've begged me to allow it. I've told them that we are to act as civilized adults rather than animals – as though civilized adults would torture children." She could hear the loathing in his voice and suspected that part of it was directed at himself.
They lapsed into silence, and she finished her work on him. "I'm finished," she muttered, tracing her fingertips over the pink, new skin. She felt him shiver.
"Thank you," he said stiffly, pulling his shirt over his head. He wasted no time in standing to leave.
"Should you find yourself in need of help again, I am willing to be of assistance in the future," Hermione offered.
He nodded and repeated, "Thank you."
He said nothing else before grabbing a handful of floo powder from the mantle and throwing it into the flames. She stared into the flames as they settled back into their natural color. It had been an enlightening evening.
A/N: This is quite an old word, but I found it half finished in my folder and it was bugging me, so I finished it. I have always hated the idea that Severus had to bear the burden of that year alone. He was universally hated and forced to do things that he would never have wanted to do, and he had no one to help him through it or talk to.
Sorry that I've been MIA for a while. I promise the world isn't flat, and I didn't fall off.