Hermione's body was face down in the carpet. He could see her hair move up and down softly beside her mouth. She had thrown up all over herself and her limbs were twisted in an unnatural way.
She was alive, that was what mattered.
For the first two hours, Carrow had been instructed to give Hermione Granger what he'd been forced to watch (with disdainful indifference) a merciless beating.
Voldemort at the same time, chatted with his servant as if they were both waiting casually for a quidditch match to start. Carrow took too much joy in inflicting the pain spawned from the freshly branded hot iron rod of jealousy.
He tried to alleviate her suffering, making her acquiesce. Making her go limp on the ground and keeping her mouth shut. It might very well have been what kept her alive. If she'd talked back, spoke angrily, shown any will, it would have meant nothing to Carrow or Voldemort to kill her on the spot.
He could do nothing but this however, and all of the pent up aggression Carrow felt towards her person was mistakenly redirected. This is exactly what he'd been given her for though. She wasn't supposed to be well fed or discernably well taken care of. She wasn't supposed to have any rose in her cheeks or shine left in her eye.
She was supposed to be broken by now and he had no idea how he would explain this. Voldemort sneered at him as Carrow did her worst. Weakness, it was not something master had ever seen in servant before. He knew Severus to be ruthless, uncaring, determined. Focused.
But now he was someone to watch for, someone who clearly had inclinations to something beyond his role.
Severus could feel the hidden distaste as the Dark Lord conversed with him, watching him carefully for any distress while the mudblood seized on the floor in the next room. If he showed any sign of caring, they would both be dead.
He sipped his whiskey casually, forcing the burning liquid down his throat.
"She looks well." It was an accusation followed with a silent demand for an explanation.
"I like to take care of my things." He stated as calmly as he could. The serpent face raised an eye with a small smirk.
"Clever, Severus." The grey man turned back to the torture and watched for a few long seconds before turning back in his seat. Things like Whiskey did not satisfy him anymore and so his glass remained untouched.
"Has she been serving you well?"
"Yes, she has no other choice."
"Does she not?"
The words laid heavy in front of their receiver. Did he know the limitations of his own curse? Voldemort was a great wizard, a very powerful half man, delving into unearthly magic. He knew his powers, but the most powerful also knew their own limitations.
It occurred to him that Voldemort might be calling out his loyalties. He had given her free reign for so long, or at least tried to. Perhaps he was indicating that the girl had mercifully been given an out. And he'd be correct.
He knew his own strengths however, and he knew he could get them out of this alive.
"I heal her once in a while in case someone might…find out."
It pointed out the importance of discretion. Though the Death Eaters had come far in the past few months, there were still many against them and it would not do to be put in a situation that would ruin those carefully crafted advancements.
The overlord could not argue with this even though he might not fully believe it.
Severus was not a fool, he could feel the cultural climate switch and he knew he was mistrusted. He was ostracized at the school and therefore no longer part of the main action. Maybe at a time he would have been called Voldemort's right-hand man but that was no longer so.
However, he also knew how incalculable he was to the schemer's plans. He held high regard with the purebloods, his family name meaning something good for once. He also held a very valuable position with privileged information as a double agent, and whether he was protecting the girl or not, was his prerogative. If he was telling his master he was abusing her, raping her, using her for his dark purposes, the Dark lord was in no position to argue.
Severus Snape knew too much, and Voldemort needed him as a conduit, a receptacle, and as a source all at once.
This would be revisited, Severus was not naïve enough to think it was over. And in fact Carrow might accidentally kill her if she pushed too hard. It was going to be a difficult road coming back from this, but easier than resurrecting a dead body.
"Harry Potter has vanished into thin air Severus." He smoked. He chain smoked.
"He's nothing on his own my Lord." The serpent man nodded slowly.
"Yes, yes I know that. I have reason to believe he is not alone."
"You've forced everyone in to hiding, I can't see your power being called in to quest-"
"Severus, are you aware Remus Lupin met with Minerva McGonogall? That they have been meeting, in the open, once a week. Did you know this?"
He was completely blindsided. God damn her for putting them all in this position! He could see Carrow snoring in his chair at the dining table, tuckered out from her rage. Hermione remained in a twisted mess of limbs, the ominous urn sitting a few feet away.
"I knew my lord." It was better to admit to knowing than not knowing. Voldemort tapped his ash on to the ashtray next to him.
"And you were allowing it."
"I see no reason for concern. Remus Lupin is a dried up, destitute dog with no understanding of the word success. And Minerva McGonogall has a hero complex but no actual pull. I have bigger issues my Lord."
It was silent except for the soft snores of Carrow, the ticking of the mantel clock and the buzzing of his wards. Severus thought to Hermione and the injuries she must have incurred. He couldn't feel that usual pull. That feeling of his thoughts flowing out of his head like a balloon pricked by something dull.
He thought to the urn again as well. He would bet any money he knew what rested inside. An image of the boy's body going up in flames that night, reappeared before him and he could feel the bile burn his stomach.
"I want an execution Severus. I want you to execute her in the school square, tomorrow night. Make an example of her."
This had nothing to do with killing an adversary. He was being tested. His loyalties were being tested. But it wasn't his life he was thinking about right now.
"Of course, my Lord."
"Make sure she gets my gift." They both looked at the urn, one with untamed glee, the other with complete dread.
He pointed his wand at the sleeping ogre and she jumped up in shock and pain.
"Let's go."
Carrow gave Hermione's limp body another swift kick before both disappeared hence they came.
He was on his knees in seconds, assessing all of the damage. She shook violently as the tremors passed over her. She had a black eye, the way she held her hand to her chest suggested it was broken. There was blood running down the side of her face. Her eyes fluttered to slits and she tried to move her lips and get up.
"Don't." he whispered. "Relax, you're alright now."
He healed her hand, her eye, her ribs. The cuts, the bruises. He forced a pain managing potion through her gaping mouth.
He struggled to levitate her, feeling sick to his stomach, dizzy. Faint.
Her arms and legs flopped around and he was reminded of the night he'd gotten in to this bloody mess.
He took care though. Held her with the softest reverence, like she was a holy martyr. She was. This poor woman was being pushed to the brink, because of him. She was in this state because of him.
That old familiar dread of discontent rose in to his heart, the feeling of desperately wanting escape. He'd been so trapped in this life and seen countless people he knew and didn't know, loved and lost. On the hardware on his knees.
The accusations from earlier this night, how she'd known he cared for her. It wasn't far off. He'd become accustom to her and the comfort she gave him. But he pushed it all away actively, narrowly escaping the crushing sensation of affection. There was no room for that in a game like this where the slightest weakness meant death and failure.
There was no space for love or longing in this life. There was no space for the things that made him human, made this life worth living. He could not give in to this or any other woman.
He remembered as he wiped the caked blood from her face, how it felt to be In her arms. The warm weight against his face and the simple surrender. How easy it was, to know. It was so foreign and yet coded in to thousands of years, like a universal truth.
He set her down to rest after tirelessly making the effort to heal all of her ailments.
He enveloped her in his attentions and held her hand until the sun highlighted both of their hallowed faces, hoping he was showing her, in his own way, that she'd been right.
"Efficacy." He drawled handing her parchment back to her. It was a brilliant September afternoon, the dungeons were a nice cool welcome at first, but now her fingertips were red and numb and she shivered under her bulky uniform sweater.
The rest of the students rolled out lazily, ready to enjoy the last of the warm weather and wrapped up in the optimism of what could only be felt at the beginning.
She scrunched her face and he took it as a sign to continue.
"In a lab, with all the proper tools and instruments, you achieve exactly what you intend to." She looked down at the bright "B" on her paper. "Efficiency however, is the ability to prove performance in the real world. The world you will be going in to.
Not everything will go as planned Miss Granger, and you have proven time and time again you lack the luster for life, so to speak. Your experiment worked when you pulled the strings. It fell flat in any other circumstance."
She opened her mouth to argue, the whole point of a hypothesis was the lack of certainty, the guess. It was as if he could read her mind.
"You took no leap of faith. When you could not control the circumstances set out by your experiment, you did not change your variables. You gave up."
"But Sir-"
"I can't teach you persistence Miss Granger. No more than I can teach you intelligence. These things are not my responsibility." He spoke definitively. "You won't make it out there if you ignore the things you cannot see."
She would only realize later, the depth in his words. He was telling her to open her heart, truly believe in the things she was doing. To be a passive player and do what she'd been told was taking away from the Witch, the woman she was meant to be. She'd fallen flat because she'd given up. Later he would show her just how right she'd actually been.
She took the crumpled up parchment back with her to her room and pounded it in to a ball before tossing it on the floor. He was always saying cryptic things like that her. This was school, it was meant to be straightforward! Not some jumble of riddles!
Her eyes were closed. Her heart was closed, had been closed for a very long time. But when she opened them, and let her mind go through all of the things that had just happened to her and him, she could feel the reassuring pressure of his hand in hers. She had no idea what would happen now, but he was there with her.
"Miss Granger."
She turned away from the crumpled paper on the floor and turned back to the Potions door. She looked at him blankly, unsure what more he could have to say.
"Please surprise me."
He could feel the cold, bony hand in his own.
She squeezed gently. No fear in her eyes. This would be the last time they spoke face to face.
"I…"
"Don't do it." She said briskly. Even in the face of death, she was strong and stern. He felt like a boy again for a moment. And then the bitter fall wind awoke him. He could barely see her expression and yet he knew, even in her last minutes, she was comforting him. Or perhaps he ached for that perception.
He shoved his flask at her.
"Thank god." She muttered and took a long, slow swig. Their breaths were coming out as damp clouds, frost under their feet.
Outside, a sea of black cloaks waited for their entrance. They had come from all over to see this display. But Severus could hardly move, his legs numb yet so heavy he could barely stand.
"You need to do this." She spoke. She took one more well-deserved drink from the flask and handed it back to him.
"For her."
His heart fell apart and for a moment he thought seriously about ending it all. Him, her. Them.
Go on one last wild killing spree.
But she was right. If he didn't do this here, right now, everything would once again be for nothing. He was getting very tired of this ultimatum he kept getting. How many more people would he have to kill by his own hand before it wouldn't be worth it?
"I told you that I'd change but I guess I never did." He muttered deeply.
She gave him a sharp look, the kind she'd always given him back in school. She said nothing else but moved towards the door herself, pulling the handle and facing the crowd head on.
It was silent.
There was no joy, or eagerness as there usually was with these kinds of displays. And as she walked, they bowed their heads softly, not looking her in the eye, not daring. The soft snow fall and the full moon illuminated her face. She looked like she always did, perhaps even a little softer. She didn't walk slowly, but briskly. As if she wanted this, could finally escape.
Again, probably his perception.
Voldemort greeted her in much the same way. He did not bow his head in respect or remorse. But in greeting. He gestured to Severus. This was different. This was a mistake.
She turned away from the dark wizard and looked only into the eyes of her past student, her colleague and friend.
"Goodbye Severus."
She lowered her head slightly in reverence to him and he could hear waves of shock pulsate in the crowd and the ruffle of cloaks as death eater turned to death eater. Voldemort did nothing but stand back.
Severus raised his wand to the level of her head, shaking ever so slightly in his grip.
She opened her mouth to say one more thing to him.
"Do not surprise me Severus."
The flash of blazing hot magic shot out of his wand tip and hit her squarely in her chest. She stood there for a moment, as if only stunned. But the spell did not fail and she fell slowly in to the snow. Someone from the crowd had gently levitated her body into the casket of dirt. Again, muffled whispers.
No cheers. No joy. Minerva McGonogall was no more.