Disclaimer: Anything you recognize belongs to the goddess, JKR or the divine Ms Charlotte Bronte. The convoluted plot is mine.
Chapter 4: Facing Demons
Severus Snape was not happy with himself. In fact, he had long since consigned himself to some nefarious category which included the likes of Cornelius Fudge and a thousand bemused and befuddled Hufflepuffs.
"What, in the name of Merlin's beard, was I thinking?" he thought to himself as he sat on his bed, a glass of water in his hand.
He had practically raced Hermione back to her room, bid her a perfunctory good night and closed the door before she even had a chance to respond. Leaning against the door, he had closed his eyes and tried to get his racing heart under control. He could hear the small sounds of her getting ready for bed. Obviously, she had not been troubled about their previous exchange.
So, why was he?
"Why indeed?" He muttered under his breath as he stood up and walked over to the large window in his bedroom. He had not yet changed into Rochester's night clothes but stood, silhouetted in moonlight, in black trousers and a plain white shirt…the very Gryffindor-like robe long having graced the floor.
A rather sad and solitary figure.
The encounter with Bertha Rochester had unnerved him. He had come into contact with many sorts of people in the wizarding community but never someone who crackled with magical energy the way she had. That slight touch of her hand on his shoulder…he thought his skin was burning. Unconsciously, he rubbed at the spot now. It reminded him of that other mark that once burned…
"Damn that woman," He cursed.
Even Hermione had felt something of the raw power of the witch. Of that, he was certain. Her reaction to Bertha's words…especially something the older witch had whispered to her as they were leaving…he wasn't entirely sure if it was fear, surprise, shock or a muddled combination of all three.
Yes, Bertha was a witch with formidable power but bound to be merely a spectator. Not much help at all when it came right down to it. It made him wonder if everyone would be bound by similar conditions. He sincerely hoped not.
"Why can I not remember the way to get out of here?" He mused aloud, returning to his previous activity of pacing furiously. The fact that Bertha had casually mentioned an enemy had caught him off guard. Obviously, the environment was not as innocent and pastoral as had first appeared. There was darkness here as well and they were in danger.
Was it possible for someone to have followed them here? Bertha had effectively negated the idea of that whelp of a Malfoy being further involved. Who else could want to hurt them?
Really, it made no sense at all.
Taking a sip of the water, Severus realized that what confounded him the most was this feeling of being helpless. This did not sit well with him at all. He was well used to taking care of himself. Had he not survived working as a spy not once but twice? Came to within a hair's breadth of death many times and still somehow managed to walk away?
He thought that the defeat of the Dark Lord would bring him peace. He felt that he had earned that much. What he did earn were a couple of shiny trinkets from the Ministry of Magic…a reward for his efforts to defeat Voldemort. Trinkets he had methodically placed in a box and thrown deep into a trunk in his rooms at Hogwarts, never to see the light of day again. His only satisfaction was watching the souls of Lucius Malfoy and Peter Pettigrew being sucked out for a Dementor's pleasure. Especially Lucius…for what he had done to her…
The other honours meant nothing to Severus. The Ministry was still populated by fools and simpletons. There were precious few that he tolerated and fewer still that he respected.
Severus sipped the water again, the cool feeling easing his parched throat.
Had she suspected something? Had Hermione wondered about Bertha's words about his heart?
"By the stars, I hope not," he muttered, going over to the window once again. It had been his fault that Lucius had captured Hermione. His former friend wondered why Severus continually balked at the Dark Lord's wish that she be eliminated. And so, Lucius decided to see what all the fuss was about and kidnapped her…tortured her…humiliated her in a manner that was extreme even for Lucius' vile tastes.
Really, the Dementor's Kiss was too light a sentence for the fiend.
Fate was truly a capricious mistress in Severus' opinion. To be trapped here with the only woman who had ever managed to thaw the icy cold exterior to his heart…and who had been savaged only because his own actions were seen as suspect . If he had been better able to play the role…perhaps the Draught of Living Death…a ruse to fool the Dark Lord into believing she was dead.
But there had been no time. His only consolation was that he had managed to find her, despite the reinforced wards Lucius had put up around the manor. He found her. Not Potter. Not Weasley (although, in his heart of hearts, he missed the feisty redhead). No, it had been him. But she had also saved him as well…convinced him not to use the Killing Curse although he doubted very much that she remembered that. She had been drifting in and out of consciousness at that point.
But he listened…and they were both saved. Yes, the prince saved the princess, the princess saved the prince, the evil serpent king was destroyed and everyone lived happily ever after.
Not terribly likely.
While he was not one to habitually wallow in the pit of lovelorn angst, he had very reasonably conceived of many reasons why such an attachment would be impractical, unreasonable and unrealistic.
People's Exhibit One. Age and Appearance. Severus, on a whim, decided to look into the large cheval mirror in the corner of his large room. He looked at himself appraisingly. Perhaps one could be charitable and might make the comment that he was aging well. Balderdash. He looked old…felt even older and, next to her…was positively ancient. He was far too thin…his appetite had never been particularly healthy. Despite the fact that he was not now in danger of being cursed into oblivion at every turn, he still had a haunted look to him. And his hair still hung down around his shoulders…he would never cut it shorter than that.
But he rather liked his nose.
People's Exhibit Two. A Not Very Nice Past and a Barely Tolerable Present. Despite the fact that he had done all he could to bring down the Dark Lord, he was still looked on with suspicion and, in some cases, barely repressed hatred. He knew very well that Cornelius Fudge cursed the day he was forced to give an order of Merlin to Severus Snape. How could anyone truly look beyond the fact that he had made such a terrible mistake so long ago?
Severus absently rubbed his left forearm.
"I was like a head of cattle, branded for all to see to whom I belonged," he whispered, suddenly wishing his glass were full of something a little stronger.
"Drinking yourself into a stupor will not help…" he could practically hear her soft voice remonstrating him.
And who was to say, given Hermione's terrifying experience with Lucius Malfoy, that she could look at anyone of his ilk with anything but revulsion? Severus had been there…remembered the feeling of nausea well. He had never been so scared in all his life as he was when he saw her hanging by the manacles around her hands…a collar around her neck and wondered if he had been too late.
"Oh, Hermione," he whispered to his reflection in the mirror. "If you only knew…"
But it was better that she didn't. If she did, she would hate him and that…that would kill him. To see hatred in her eyes…
But she had said that she had preferred him to Edward. What had she meant by that? Severus supposed that it meant that Hermione felt safer with the evil she knew than the evil she did not know. What the devil had made him ask the question in the first place?
It was not fair. And now she was in danger. They both were.
Suddenly, he turned and threw his glass against the far wall of his room. It shattered into many pieces and the remaining water splashed on the floor.
"Damn, Malfoy!" He hissed as he picked up his wand and repaired the damaged glass. "Both of them!"
It was going to be a long night.
*******************In Hermione's room***************
There was no doubt about it…magical or muggle, Bertha Rochester was mad. Completely and totally mad.
Tossing in her bed, Hermione could not get the image of the older woman out of her mind. She had been such an interesting character in the story but now, face to face, she was nothing less than frightening.
"No wonder Edward preferred Jane," she thought to herself, staring up at the ceiling…which did not provide any answers.
And she preferred Severus…very much so…but her experience had tainted her so badly. She felt as if she were a person of extremes. Icy cold one moment, unable to bear the merest contact. Fiery hot another moment, wanting nothing more than to…
Shaking her head, Hermione threw the covers off her in exasperation and sat up, dangling her feet over the edge of the bed.
"This is ridiculous. He does not care about me except as a friend…a good friend, perhaps. And I know he cares about me…his eyes do not glare daggers at me anymore. He does not pity me either, which is something I simply will not tolerate," she huffed. "I just want…I want to be free of feeling that any desire I have…is somehow unclean."
The tears came unbidden to her eyes and she angrily dashed them away with a savage swipe of her hand. She was not feeling very rational and suddenly empathized with Bertha. Perhaps they had more in common than she realized.
"But Bertha suffered from neglect…I can only wish that Lucius had neglected me," she sobbed quietly.
She remembered what Severus had said to her after the encounter with Draco. Perhaps she needed to try to exorcise a few demons.
"Hardly a few," she scoffed as she got off the bed and walked over to the small tilt mirror on the vanity. Moving it so it reflected her face in the moonlight, she tried a smile.
"It was not my fault," she whispered, trembling.
Memories of his hands all over her body…prodding…probing. The sickening high-pitched laugh that followed every scream of hers
"You are nothing but a Mudblood whore!" He had shouted as he forced her to do his bidding.
"It was not my fault," she whispered, more loudly this time.
"The only thing you are good for is to please me…and you are not doing a particularly good job at that either. I don't know what he sees in you…you're pathetic," he had sneered as he cleaned himself and left her.
It was not my fault," she muttered, her fists clenching into balls.
Looks of sympathy…looks of pity. Everyone whispering around her. Was it really forced? Maybe she enjoyed it. Clouds of people drifting around her…always wondering. Scorn…a person unclean. Used. A bit of dirty laundry.
And then a vision of Severus' face…compassionate…caring…eyes so black that they looked like pieces of the midnight sky.
"It was not your fault," he had said to her…over and over again in the infirmary as he mended her body and soul.
"It was not my fault!" She screamed and tore the small mirror from the vanity and hurled it through the open window. She leaned heavily on the desk, breathing hard…trying to stem the rage that seemed to be pouring out of her.
"No! It was not my fault!" A bowl of potpourri flew across the room.
"Not my choice!" The crystal clock met the same violent fate.
"I am not unclean!" The bedspreads were the next victim…tossed aside like an old dishrag.
Knocking on the door.
"It was not my fault. Damn you, Malfoy! Damn you to hell for what you did to me!" She tore the curtains off the rod and threw them to the ground.
The door flew open…Severus, wand out and looking frantic, rushed in…stopping short when he saw the disarray in her room.
"Hermione?" He said quietly.
"No! It was not my fault! I did not want that! Did not want him!" She screamed at him, grabbing a small framed petit-point from the wall and throwing it at him.
Dodging the projectile, Severus quickly launched a Sleeping Charm. Hermione's knees immediately buckled and she would have fallen to the ground were it not for his quick reflexes. Catching her as she fell, he lifted her up and carried her to the bed, laying her down gently.
"Severus?" She still sounded frantic and was clutching at the bedsheets in seeming agony.
"Hush now, Hermione. It will be all right," he tried to comfort her, moving damp locks of hair away from her face. Her eyes were closed but she was still agitated.
"It was not my fault…I won't let him defeat me," she muttered angrily, the effect of the charm calming her.
"Everything will be better in the morning. You have held this in for far too long, Hermione. I know there were other griefs you had to work your way through, but you never thought about what had happened to you. You put it off…dealt with what happened to others first. That is not good…not healthy. You have to be strong. You have to deal with the situations that life throws in your direction and then decide what to do with the rest of your life. I will not allow you to give up on yourself or let you wallow in what spiteful and hateful people say about you. None of it is true."
Hermione yawned. "I just want to be Hermione…annoying know-it-all Gryffindor…the one you used to take points from…just Hermione…just want to go home…with you…" and she fell asleep.
Severus pulled the bedding around her…wanting to kiss her forehead but not having the courage.
"That's all I want you to be…because that is who I love," He thought. "And I want to go home too…with you, although I doubt we mean it in the same context."
After checking her one last time, he left the room, closing the door quietly behind him.