There were voices. Hermione had not breathed properly since they'd started, seemingly moments after she'd stepped in the cupboard. How long had it been now? Her leg had begun to cramp, but she refused to move. Maybe if she held very still, whatever had happened would un-happen and she would open the doors and find herself at home.

Because she definitely wasn't there now. Which didn't make sense, because that could only be done by magic, couldn't it? And the cupboard hadn't been magical. So maybe she had done it—accidentally transported herself somewhere—

Would she get in trouble? What if she had gone somewhere dangerous? How would she get home again if she couldn't—couldn't do whatever it was she'd just done—

"Come off it, Rowle. No-one's going to believe you."

"I'll just have to go get some proof, then, won't I? Good thing I left 'em there."

"Where?"

"Downing Street."

"Muggle Minister's house?"

"That's the one."

The voices were male, low and gruff, and heavily muffled by the thick wood around her. But they spoke English. English English, which was an immense relief. She'd no idea what she would have done had she found herself in—in a village in Romania, for example.

"How long's it been?"

"Ten minutes? I wasn't aware we were supposed to count. What are we waiting for, incidentally?"

Someone chuckled. "He seems to think she'll come out on her own."

"Forgive me for spoiling the fun, but I did have plans for my afternoon."

"Perhaps the young lord here will permit us to go and free her in, say, fifteen minutes if she's not yet emerged?"

"What if Snape arrives?"

Severus.

"That is rather the point, isn't it? Bit harder to slither his way out of this one with the evidence in the room."

"I meant what if he arrives before she's come out, you great idiot. Though on that note, what if he never comes at all?"

"He'll come."

That voice was lighter, though no less serious, and it sounded so much like Jerome that Hermione jumped in surprise and smacked her hand against the back panel of the wardrobe. The people outside reacted to the sound, murmuring, but they didn't frighten her like they had earlier. If Jerome was here, then she was safe, and these people knew Severus. Perhaps they could contact him? Or if he really did turn up on his own, he would take her home.

No longer afraid, Hermione pushed open the door. It creaked as it swung forward, and then back. She had to put out a hand to stop it shutting in her face, and for a moment all she knew was the cooler air on her skin and the heavy wood against her palm.

Then her pupils adjusted to the light, pale and cool from tall windows along the walls of the long hall, and she saw herself standing before a handful of men in wizard's robes.

She was eleven again, eyes wide, taking in Diagon Alley and all the curious people and strange shopfronts; candles glittering in the Great Hall as she found herself in a sea of other children all wearing long robes and pointy hats like one great big game of make-believe.

And for the first time since Severus had taken her from Hogwarts, she realised that they'd all carried on without her. She'd known it, of course, logically, but to see wizards here—wands!—was like someone had plunged her back into reality after a long dream.

They watched her with amused, expectant looks, and Hermione reminded herself of her manners and hopped down from the wardrobe, the door swinging shut behind her with a soft thud.

"H-hello."

"Afternoon, miss," said one of the men. He was smiling a lot and Hermione wondered if there was a joke she'd missed.

Should I apologise for interrupting? What is the etiquette here? No-one had moved. Clearly, the ball was in her court.

"I-I don't mean to intrude, but did you—do you know Severus?"

"Snape?"

"Yes!"

"Don't worry, love, he'll be here soon." They scooted a bit nearer, and the rest of Hermione's fear left her in a great rush. Severus would be coming. She was with his friends. She was safe.

"Oh, I'm so glad, thank you. I-is it alright if I wait here?"

One of them chuckled again and Hermione tried a smile. She didn't see what was so funny, but she wouldn't be rude about it.

"Wait wherever you like, darling."

"Thank you." She stood there, watching them all. There were maybe a half-dozen and they all looked quite different, some older, some young, though she thought they all looked a bit tired. And smug. "My name's Hermione, by the way," she said.

"Is it? Pleasure to meet you," said one, and then he stood to the side to reveal one of his friends, similarly dressed in black. Until now his head had been bowed and partially hidden behind the shoulder of the first one, but the bronze of his hair and handsome features when he looked at her gave him away.

"Jerome!" she cried and nearly ran to him. Had this been his plan? To bring her to him, somehow? Her heart thudded unevenly, making her feel all wobbly.

"Ah, you do know one another!" said one of the other wizards, and clapped Jerome's shoulder as though trying to move him. He didn't need the encouragement, though; he was walking towards her with a clever sort of smile on his face.

"Well, we met just today, actually—"

"Is that so?" remarked a wizard.

Jerome approached and placed a hand on her shoulder. The heat went through her shirt, soaking her skin, and she felt every bit of herself lean closer to him. "Hi. Again," she said stupidly.

"Hi." He smiled. "You alright?"

She nodded. "I'm glad to see you again."

Somebody laughed, but she couldn't bring herself to look. Jerome opened his mouth, and if he didn't say he'd missed her as well, she thought she would probably implode. Instead, he winced, an uncomfortable frown appearing where his smile had been. Then he hissed, baring his teeth, and Hermione watched in terror as his face twisted.

His nose shifted lower whilst his face narrowed, sharpening his cheekbones and drawing his chin into a point. Light freckles she hadn't noticed faded into skin which paled by the second. His ears tilted a little higher and the hair on his head receded into his scalp by half an inch, the warm shade of it shifting into something cooler. Icier.

He was a little taller, or maybe it was just the difference in build. Everything about him seemed thinner, longer, more delicate. The hand on her shoulder tightened and she felt ill when the bones of his fingers realigned themselves against her.

It seemed to take ages for it to end, and even then he waited several seconds more to compose himself before opening his eyes.

The warmth of before was gone with the rest of him. This person looked at her like she was an equation, a thing to be calculated and manipulated. Something cold and terrified wrapped around her spine.

His features—the blue of his eyes, the sharpness of his cheeks—had been one of the many things lost to memory. Like the details of Harry's smile, she could not have remembered his looks if she'd tried. Even now, she couldn't quite piece together that eleven-year-old face. But she saw the echoes of it here, distorted by maturity, and it toppled over the last thing inside of her that still believed this was all okay.

His fingers dug into her shoulder painfully.

"Are you?" He smiled.

For the first time, she looked at the other wizards, and found half a dozen wands aimed at her heart.

Severus had not felt such calm in a long time. It was a cold thing, which stilled his mind and body into an unnatural composure that made his usual long stride all the more elegant, his posture imperial, and enhanced the effect of his robes. How long had it been since he'd first stepped into the house? He could not say; time had narrowed. All he knew was that he must go, and he must be ready.

For what, he did not know.

He met no resistance as he crossed the grounds to the house, and why should he? He was always welcome at Malfoy Manor. The elves deferred to him as though he were their master, and he walked its halls like he'd known them from birth. Once, he'd wished he had. To be a Malfoy was everything he esteemed: wealth, knowledge, power. Respect. To be feared and beloved, indispensable to society. All of these things Severus Snape never was.

And never would be. Not that he cared anymore. Lucius' friendship, once cherished, was now an unbearable necessity. Had he not ensnared himself in this duplicity, Severus would have fled them all years ago. There was no reason for him to stay.

If only he had realised that earlier. Before he'd ever heard Tom Riddle's name.

He moved through the manor without thought, merely let his feet guide him to wherever it was he must be. The dining room, the usual site for meetings, was empty, as were the smaller drawing rooms. There were no sounds, nor anything else to indicate he was not alone inside this old, ugly place.

It was preposterous to him that one house have so many rooms. The Malfoys were hardly known for producing heirs in great batches, yet here there was easily enough space to accommodate all of Hogwarts. Not that such a thing was required anymore.

The ballroom was, like the rest, empty. Severus continued on, shoes scuffing against the polished wood. He did not bother to ask the portraits. If they were keeping their silence, then they had no intention to share anything (assuming they had anything to share at all). A polite inquiry would not change that.

Malfoy Manor was big, but it was not infinite, and soon enough Severus pushed open the doors to one of the larger rooms, breaching the spells which had been placed there. Suddenly, there was sound again—breathing—whimpering—muttering—

He was stood in a long hall, perhaps originally intended for great feasts or entertaining. It was now the venue for a handful of the Dark Lord's finest, who had all turned to look at him with varying degrees of smugness.

"Severus," greeted Macnair with a tilt of his head. Severus responded in kind and continued a slow, calculated approach. He did not move; it would give the impression of surprise, and he must not let them see him as anything but calm. They looked at him with victory in their eyes, though already the weaker ones seemed unsure. He would encourage that, until they all persuaded themselves that they had been in the wrong all along. Not him.

And then he would take her. And run.

She was on the ground, curled up on the rug like a child. He didn't look, so he did not know what had or had not been done to her. But he heard her shivering, gasping against the floor, pleading for him. He wondered why she still thought he could save her.

"You must forgive our manners, my friend," said Rowle, "but the little master found something quite interesting, and we just had to take a look. You understand?"

Severus looked to the boy in question, standing with his wand twirling in his hands. He stood with perverse confidence, and eyed Severus with the same coolness as any enemy. Little master, indeed.

Whilst the students on the other side—namely, Harry Potter—had been given an expedited education in practical and defensive magic, children of Death Eaters enjoyed free reign of whatever it was they felt inclined to do with themselves. Severus had watched as several joined the ranks alongside their parents, where others preferred to wallow in their wealth and be a general nuisance to the rest of society.

Draco had chosen the former, though his family name and particular brightness had quickly caught Voldemort's attention. Desperate to prove himself, Draco ecstatically threw himself into the role of the Dark Lord's pseudo-son, or prodigy, or whatever they wanted to call it. Lucius' pride had turned to something else over the years as they all watched the way the boy was formed, expertly, into the Dark Lord's ideal servant. After all, who better to learn all sort of despicable magic than a child with all of the passion and none of the morality? Draco was the perfect soldier, built by the Dark Lord himself, and none of them would ever surpass him. Lucius may be the Dark Lord's right-hand, Severus his spy, but Draco would always be the favourite.

And the bastard knew it, too, based on the way he carried on, causing all sorts of trouble for the rest of them.

Severus was ashamed to say he never saw it coming.

"Evening, Severus," said Draco with infuriating arrogance. "I'm glad you're here, actually. I've got a question for you."

Severus blinked. "Oh?"

"Mm. You see, I was only at Hogwarts for a bit, and I was so young I don't remember all that much…" As though you're not young now, you insufferable little—! "But there was a girl in my year. Do you remember?"

Severus blinked again. "There were many girls."

Snickers. Draco pretended to look amused, as though Severs were a very slow child. He could hear Hermione still. He wished she would be quiet.

"There was a Gryffindor girl. Caused a fair bit of trouble, didn't she?" Draco shook his head. "I always told my father they shouldn't let Muggles into the school. Perhaps when Hogwarts is reinstated, they'll listen to me."

Severus was grateful for Rowle, who seemed just as fed up by Draco's teenage melodrama. "Enough with the theatrics, Malfoy," he said, and then ignored Draco's indignant look. "Malfoy found the infamous Mudblood who disappeared the night the Dark Lord returned, Snape. Found her living in a house with you."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "Spying on me, are you?"

"You're avoiding the question!" spluttered Draco. "You can't deny it—she's right here!" Then he pointed to her, curled up on the ground, and Hermione flinched so violently she injured herself against the floorboards.

"Thus far, nobody has asked me anything," responded Severus with nonchalance. He would not look at her. He had to be very careful now, because if he got lost in his lies neither of them would ever make it out again. "But if you wish to know why the girl was there, it is because Albus Dumbledore wishes her to be."

Uproar.

Severus stayed very still, hearing only the heavy thud of his heart whilst they shouted amongst themselves. He would not fight to make them listen. He was not desperate.

"Severus—the Dark Lord does not know of this—!"

"—for how long? She could have seen—could have heard—"

"—who else? She was not the only one to disappear after his rise—"

Severus waited until they exhausted themselves and he found himself in command of the room, silent but for the shivers and whimpers coming from the ground.

"I do not need to teach you recent history, do I? You know Hogwarts was dissolved five years ago. Naturally, Dumbledore was concerned for the pupils who are not of our kind and therefore would be without care. This one, for example." He gestured in her direction with his shoe.

"Some might say she contributed to the Dark Lord's rebirth more than you did, Severus," said Draco with an insufferable gleam in his eye. "Who's to say she would have been harmed?"

"Clearly." Severus gave an exaggerated glance around the room; the Death Eaters with wands raised, the blood on the floor, the cloud of pain and fear which hung in the air. It prickled at his bones. No-one could stand in this room and not feel it: Something dreadful had happened here.

Severus allowed himself a disappointed sigh. He heard a shuffle. Someone had begun to doubt. He looked them each in the eye, witheringly, as though they were a particularly disappointing batch of first-years who had just blown up their communal cauldron.

"Dumbledore sympathises with blood-traitors and Muggles, but this one is the only child he decided to squirrel away. He seemed to think her in particular danger. I imagine his conscience could not bear otherwise." Chuckles. "He gave her to me. Perhaps he thought she might inspire… sympathy."

"You have said Dumbledore does not suspect—"

"Albus Dumbledore does not suspect me to be anything other than his spy and his alone," spat Severus. This had gone on far too long. He needed to take her and go. "But I daresay even the most saintly among us would not enjoy the company of a snivelling, incompetent child! And naturally I protested. I do not need her encroaching in my home, stealing my books. Someone such as her has no business going through a wizard's things."

"But she was at a different house—not yours—"

"Do you really think Dumbledore would tolerate one of his dear Muggles living where he himself was not welcome? Say what you will, but the man is not an idiot. He provided a house for her to stay, and where I occasionally stay as well. You know I do not keep an elf. She may not know magic, but she is useful enough."

"But—I saw you at the theatre! Why would you take your house elf to the theatre?" spluttered Draco. He was turning pink, having realised he'd made a very stupid miscalculation. Severus enjoyed it immensely.

"The Order occasionally mandates I take her places to… amuse her. They seem to think she will become damagedif she's inside too long. And," he said very slowly now, "as I do not want to jeopardise my position, I do so. One day's excursion every few months is hardly a great cost for the service she provides, or assurance for Dumbledore that I am on his side."

"But why haven't you told the Dark Lord?" Draco whined.

"In case you haven't noticed, the Dark Lord and we who serve him have more important things to do than squabble. You were a child"—Draco bristled—"so you do not remember, but the year following his return was overwhelming. Do you truly think we would have retaken the Ministry within six months had we conducted ourselves like this?" He gestured to the room, where many heads were now ducked in shame or awkwardness. "There is more at stake than Muggle girls who can't grasp enough of the world to even comprehend espionage! She sees nothing. She speaks to no-one but myself. Tell the Dark Lord, if you like. I have nothing to hide. In fact, I have been making practical use of a child who would otherwise burden magical resources. You've seen for yourself: She has no magical training, nor knowledge of anything but how I take my tea. Enlighten me, if you will, for I fail to see the issue."

Draco's face had gone very red, contrasting nicely against his hair. He glared at Severus with more murderous ire than a sixteen-year-old should be capable of; Severus would never betray how unsettling he found it. How frightening it was to see how a bratty but otherwise benign child could be turned into this before his eyes. The others in the room, whom he had likely persuaded to participate in this event with grand claims of taking down Severus Snape and advancing their own status, now found themselves to be the fools. Severus had merely become more esteemed, untouchable. For now, he was the finer Death Eater than Draco Malfoy.

How had it come to this?

"Is there anything else?" he drawled, looking at them one by one. Nobody said anything. "Then may I take my ward and go? I did have plans, though based on what I see of your handiwork, I may have to cook my own dinner."

"Apologies, my friend—we should have known not to doubt you—"

Severus dismissed Rowle with a wave of his hand. "Do not worry yourself, though in future, spare me the theatrics." With a jerk of his wand, Hermione was yanked into the air, slightly higher than everyone in the room, and floated to his side. "I believe I will be seeing you later this week? I look forward to hearing of your success with the Muggle government."

Polite farewells were exchanged, though Draco remained aloof and silent. Severus did not look at the body floating beside him, nor did he allow himself to think of anything at all until he had passed through the gates of the grounds. There, on the dirt road in Wiltshire, he let Hermione's body descend lightly into his arms where he held her, sweaty and bloody against his chest, and apparated away.

She would not speak. Not of what they did, what they said. She let him tend to her, feed her healing potions and seal the wounds he found under what remained of her clothes. He tried to clean her with magic, but it wasn't enough, so he dunked her in a full bath and sat with her to make sure she didn't drown. She didn't say anything, didn't move, didn't even try to cover naked body. He waited for the questions—Who were they? Retake the ministry? What did it all mean? Spy? —but they never came.

He wondered if he should tell her anyway. Explain all that had happened since her last day at Hogwarts, his role in it, why she'd been targeted. But perhaps that would be worse for her, to learn it all like that, at once?

He would wait for her to ask, he decided. She was inquisitive by nature. It would not be long.

When he was not needed by others, he stayed with her. He bought the chocolate biscuits she liked, though she still did not eat enough. He talked nonsensically about subjects he hoped would spark something—anything —to put an end to this blankness. He put the news on the television, let the voices of the BBC speculate about the strange and violent incidents plaguing the country. She was smart. She would put it together, she would ask him if the people who took her and hurt her were the same ones spreading terror, if Voldemort was behind it at all.

But all she did was apologise.

He put an end to that as soon as it started. It was not her fault. There was no way she could have known. She had been moulded into the ideal victim, though he would never tell her that.

But then she started apologising for him.

"It wasn't his fault," she whispered one day. Severus had merely blinked at her, clueless. "We went to school together. He's a child, like me. He didn't mean it."

When he realised she meant Draco, he nearly lost it entirely.

"He's too young," she insisted. "You can't blame him!"

"Hermione," he pleaded, "you have not seen the last five years. You do not know what magical society has become, or how your generation has been changed by it."

"But—"

"The Draco Malfoy you knew died long ago! What you saw was exactly how he is. Consider it a tragedy, but he is lost."

She shook her head fiercely, exactly like she had done at eleven.

"Nobody that young can understand what they're doing," she insisted to herself, "and he was so kind when he visited me, before…"

Severus watched in horror and despair as she continued to do nothing, to merely exist in the house, finding strength only in the belief that everything that had been done to her had been some grotesque misunderstanding by a schoolmate too naïve to comprehend his own actions.

He had thought before that her life was hollow, that she was a ghost of the girl she should have been. But it was nothing like this. There was nothing left to her. Perhaps saving her from Hogwarts that night had never been worth it at all.

Tonks did not return, as he had instructed. And, seeing as he did not get angry owls or Floo calls from Minerva, he assumed that she had not told anyone what she had done. Shame could be more powerful than loyalty, sometimes. Severus knew that.

He heard nothing from the Order in regard to Hermione. He did not mention her when in their company; a test to see if they really cared, really remembered, and sure enough they appeared to forget she existed at all. Severus could not remember the last time Harry Potter asked after his childhood friend.

She was dead in all but body.

Very well, he decided. If they no longer wanted to pretend to care, so much the better. For years he had obeyed their smug suggestions, going against his own good sense when it came to denying her education and exposure. No more.

She was not yet too old to be saved. There were magical schools all over the world that were not crippled by this war. At least one would accept her, offer remedial training to make up for all that she had lost. And, well, if they would not agree to train her, Severus was quite confident he could persuade them.

The Order would not miss her. Would the Death Eaters? Draco Malfoy was unpredictable at best; Severus could not say with certainty that he would spare himself the indignity of it all and choose to forget his failed coup had ever happened. After all, any opportunity to subvert Severus Snape was a valuable one: Removing him from the ranks would leave just Draco and his father as the only real authorities besides the Dark Lord himself.

It was Dumbledore's greatest error that he did not recognise Draco for what he was. If the Order had the bollocks to take down their opposition like Voldemort did, to profile and target those with the most influence, this war could have been won long ago. Or, at least, not quite so hopeless. With Draco out of the picture, the Death Eaters would be weaker, more fractured. They were a feeble lot; without an imperious leader they didn't know what to do with themselves.

But Severus' tactical advice was always dismissed in favour of things like retaking the Ministry, or mobilising resistance cells which only wasted resources before getting themselves killed. Sometimes, he wondered if Albus actually wanted a spy at all. What was the point if all Severus' insight was tossed in the bin anyway? They'd be no worse off without him, and he would vastly prefer not risking his neck for an organisation that cared more about standing the moral high ground than winning a war.

Perhaps more could be rectified here than Hermione's future. After all, what would stop him from doing what the Order refused? Severus had nothing to lose. Not once he'd saved her.

The Order's negligence had given him a mandate to act as he saw fit, and he'd be damned if he did not bloody well exercise it.

The first time she held a wand again, an entire cupboard of bowls emptied itself in a fantastic explosion of ceramic. She jumped but did not scream; Severus saw his wand tremor in her grip. It was not an ideal match for her (to say nothing of how volatile her untrained magic had become), but it was a start. He offered gentle praise, guiding her back to those elementary incantations and gestures she had forgotten. Most first-years would run circles around her and her attempts at basic charms.

She did as she was told but without pride or interest. Severus wanted to pull her hair, like an insufferable schoolboy, just to see if she would react. Whatever they'd done to her had sucked all the feeling out, leaving only a festering pity for Malfoy behind.

Severus had never been one to pray, but he couldn't help but plea to God as he maneuvered himself through Voldemort's rhetoric, positioned himself just right. The Carrows were nobody's favourites, and Severus would never put his hand up to be in the same room, let alone work with them, but he was no longer motivated by strategy and secrecy.

They were just as stupid as ever, short-sighted to the point of incompetence, but vices had become virtues at some point in the last five years when Severus had his back turned. He watched the pair of them in his father's sitting room, the way one took bracing gulps of whiskey whilst the other sipped it with a faraway look. They spoke of the Dark Lord with greedy eyes and, after a few precise observations, of Draco.

Slimy little bastard.

Who did he think he was, ordering them around like that?

Someone ought to put him in his place.

Someone ought to teach him a lesson.

If only the Dark Lord was not so fond of him, he would have been left behind long ago.

After all, with Draco gone, imagine the opportunity for the rest of them? The respect?

Where was the justice in a child taking all the credit? They'd been doing this since before he was born!

He didn't have what it took to be a real Death Eater, not without the Dark Lord coddling him.

If only he would just go away.

Or die.

After all, what if the Order decided to fight like grown-ups? Who's to say Draco couldn't soon be a casualty of the next skirmish? A tragedy, of course, but only for the Dark Lord and Lucius; and even then, no-one would be surprised if he felt a little relief if his son were to be removed from the ranks.

Now, if only Fate would hurry it up.

It's not like they could do it themselves. They'd be caught and killed for their betrayal.

Would they?

If they did it the Muggle way, who was to say?

It was fascinating, the way they convinced themselves it was their idea all along. Severus had only to make vague allusions to keeping his mouth shut and nudging them up the ranks of seniority, and it was done. They even thought of the knife themselves; Severus was only too happy to curse it. The wounds it inflicted would not clot. His death would last as long as it took for him to bleed out. No Muggle doctor or magical healer would be able to stop it or soothe the scorching agony of the blade's Dark magic.

Severus was not the sort too enjoy harming another. As a child, he'd never tormented animals or gleefully crushed insects while girls screeched. Any violence he'd enacted had been wholly out of necessity and he was not too callous to pretend it did not weigh on his conscience.

But if he were inevitably condemned to hell, he would gladly take the opportunity to expedite Draco's Malfoy arrival there.