I've lived lifetimes.  When Voldemort captured me, I was certain I would die.  At seventeen years old, I saw the remnants of my life before me, and the choices I had made behind me.  I was so many things; I was nothing.  It happened so fast: I was walking down the street in Muggle London, and suddenly I was on the floor with a boot in my face.  I fought hard, that's my point of pride.

As Shakespeare said, I will not go softly into that willing night.  But the willing night was not their plan.  Voldemort was convinced I held the key.  He was also aware of a detail I had thought no one knew:  I was resistant to Veritaserum.  It did not force me to tell the truth. 

So he turned to torture.  The moments that define you are not when you survive incredible pain, they are when you make the decision that nothing, NOTHING will break you.  I had not told them anything: not Dayrin, not Bellatrix, and not Voldemort himself, and yet I had not made the conscious decision not to tell them anything. 

The moment Dayrin Lestrange raped me, I understood that it was only in my power to resist him, and I looked him in the eyes and calmly informed him I would not break.  He punched me so hard my jaw dislocated.

When Snape patched me up that night, as he did every night, his hand lingered on my jaw.  He caught my gaze then popped my jaw back in so fast I could barely feel it.  It hurt like hell.

Severus hugged me that night.  He held me gently and told me quite simply that he cared. 

It was all I needed.  They never did break me, and Snape finally got me out, claiming he wanted to test a particular potion on me then send me back to my friends.  If the potion worked it would force me to spy.  Besides, I hadn't broken in three months, the odds of me breaking were slim.

He succeeded, of course, and here I am.

An Excerpt from the Recovery Diary of Hermione Granger

Some days, I swear.  Relax, Mya.  Heart attacks aren't good.  Hermione growled slightly as she pored over the textbook, trying to figure out how Lucius had been resurrected.  If he WAS resurrected.  She and Snape had considered that perhaps someone had raided Lucius' grave and was stealing ingredients for polyjuice.  The thought repulsed her.  I suspect it repulses him as well, not that the hard-as-nails ex-Death eater would ever admit it.

They both knew, however, that it was unlikely.  Neither of them wanted to go to Draco to ask about it, but they were fast running out of options.

"Miss Granger.  Have you found anything?"

"No. There's nothing.  Bloody hell, there's not a damned thing in this damned book to explain ANYTHING."

"Calm yourself."

"Calm?  I'm calm as a girl can be.  Considering that a sadistic bastard with sudden guilt issues resurrected himself and tried to kill me!"

"Ah, yes.  My mistake."  She glared. Condescending jerk.

Music. Music will help.  And hitting things.  Hard.

Hermione left the room and took a sprint down to the basement.  She did not check to see if Snape had followed.  When she reached what she and Callah had decided would be the practice room, she clicked on a CD player and strolled over to the suspended bag.

She's lost in coma where it's beautiful…Intoxicated from the deep sleep, deep sleep…Do you wonder what it's like living in a permanent imagination? Sleeping to escape reality but you like it like that…Guilty by design she's nothing more than fiction—She dreams in digital, because it's better than nothing…Now that control is gone and it seems unreal, she's dreaming in digital…

He draped himself against the doorway and watched her.  She ignored him.

Hermione took a deep breath and stretched slightly before attacking the bag viciously.

Right hook, left uppercut, knee to the groin, right flipkick, spinning left crescent kick, jab…

Eventually the thoughts faded and she began working on instinct, fast and aggressive, ducking and weaving easily.  He moved from the door way into her line of fire and began blocking her.  Soon they were sparring, no holds barred.  Hermione had long ago kicked off her shoes and socks, and Snape had shed his robe, socks, shoes, and shirt.  They were both sweating, bruised, and bloody.  We've been here before, I think.

She caught his waist with a scissor kick and pulled him down.  He recovered fast and rolled towards her, landing on top of her.  Snape straddling me.  Not a position I ever wanted to be in.  Bet I can win.

She flipped him over so she was now on top of him, sprawled between his legs, then drew back and flicked her wrist.  From the leather and silver wristcuff she usually wore and small dagger appeared and it was instantly at his throat.

"I think I win."

"I would call it an impasse."

She felt the cool silver blade against her abdomen. Damn!  Hermione abruptly rose off him and left the room.  Snape propped himself up and stared contemplatively after her.

A/N:  The song is Fiction (She Dreams In Digital) by Orgy off the Vapor Transmission album.