disclaimer: See the first two chapters.
disclaimer: 'My Last Breath' by EVANESCENCE from their album 'FALLEN'PLEASE READ AND REVIEW
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TAKING OFF YOUR CLOTHES
CHAPTER THREE: SCREW FATE
It was night. I was saved and I knew that my body had healed. I was alive but I did not want to be. I had wanted to die, but I was spared.
As my consciousness grew, I opened my eyes to see blurred shapes, silhouettes of objects in the dark. I blinked several times, trying to adjust my eyes to the semi-darkness. Moonlight was spilling on the floor to my left. A door was to my right, and a fireplace was directly in front of me. There was a chair to my left, obscuring my view of the windows, and a man was sitting there. Half of him was on the chair, but his chest and head were resting beside me, his hand clasping mine tightly. I stifled a gasp quickly, as the moonlight illuminated the raven-black head and knew who it was: Severus Snape.
I knew it was him who took me away from. . .
No. Not yet, I did not want to relive anything just yet, but it was too late. Tears were forming in my eyes, clouding my vision even more, and my body was racked with sobs. I was shaking slightly, and I leaned into my pillows, turning my face so that my tears would fall on it, and, I thought, to suppress my sobs. I did not want Snape to wake up, but all of me was shaking. I was remembering. All of a sudden, as my mind reeled to accept what my body had gone through, as the memories poured in, I felt a sharp pain in my skull. I did not want to cry out, but the pain was next to unbearable. My body was still shaking, and the hand in Snape's grasp was shaking slightly. I bent all my will for it to stop, I did not want to wake him.
I did not want him to question me about my ordeal. I did not want him to pry into my mind, to bury those memories, driving them back, deeper and deeper into me. I wanted to let them out, I wanted to destroy them. I wanted them to be obliterated from my being. I wanted to be the Hermione I was before. . .
I did not want to use a pensieve. My thoughts were miraculously clear as I made my decisions, even as the pain grew more and more with each ounce of effort I put into thinking clearly. Using a pensieve would mean that someone would have access to those memories, and I did not want that. I wanted them to be destroyed. I wanted to be pure again. I wanted. . . I wanted Harry to hold me. . . I wanted to destroy myself. . . I wanted to. . . I wanted to erase myself, my past. I had to do that, and the only way of achieving it would be to destroy myself. I wanted to destroy this body, I did not want to be in this body.
The pain reached its glorious new heights, and, at one point, I knew my skull would crack. I felt, with my dulled senses, blood trickling out of my nose, out of my eyes.
I wanted to destroy myself. . .
The realization dawned quickly, and I stopped trying to grasp at my thoughts, stopped trying to reach any twisted logical conclusion, but the pain did not recede. I panicked. Gripping the sheets with my free hand, I tried to control my hysteria. The pain was trapped inside me, my head was throbbing, and finally, when I felt I could not draw breath without pain, I let out a scream that tore my insides, that rent the peace-filled night like a swift rising sun, blood-red and pain-filled.
I saw, from the corner of my eye, Snape, startled. His hands quickly smoothed out my sweat-drenched hair out of my face, and tried to look into my clouded eyes. He took my temperature, and I saw his pale face in the moonlight. His black eyes were a stark contrast to his pallid complexion.
I was still in agony, as I tried to grasp a new idea. The pain was inside me, the pain, the torture, the memories burned into my flesh. They would forever haunt me. I will always remember how I betrayed Harry ten-times over, and my mind reeled in numb sorrow.
I screamed again.
I saw Snape's eyes still locked on my face, but I was lost, trying still to comprehend. . .
The pain was inside me. It was the personification of the memories that I loathe, each kiss those pieces of shit ever placed upon my body was a hundred whip-lashes to my naked skin. I searched and found that I wanted to destroy the pain that was the personification of my memories of torture, and to destroy those memories only meant that I had to destroy myself. I would commit suicide.
The pain subsided a little.
I felt hot tears of shame, determination and guilt rush down my face. My body was writhing, entangling itself in the sheets of my comfortable bed. Somebody was wiping my face. Who. . . ?
Dobby?
The house elf? I saw Snape tell Dobby something. His eyes never left my face, and my suddenly clearing vision. Dark pools of comprehension was showing themselves. Snape had gone through torture himself, but he survived it.
My mind was still aching, my skull still felt as though it was splitting open and the pain remained still.
Snape survived years of torture. He survived years of labor for the Order, but he still was surviving. No matter. I wish I could have laughed. I decided that I did not want the pain, that I did not want the memories, that I did not want the compassion those dark eyes could show. I did not want LIFE. Snape had survived because he was still needed. I believe that he wanted to die, that he still wanted to die and would have died if others were not dependent on him. I wanted to laugh.
Nobody needed me now. The war was over, and we won. I could die now. My last task, as a tribute to Harry and Ron and all others who died in the war. . . I was going to come home to them. All of a sudden, I pitied Snape.
The pain was throbbing again, as I thought about my decision and my resolve hardened.
But how? I wondered silently, letting Dobby wash my be-grimed face with a warm towel. How?
The pain was still there, and I imagined, it would never leave till I had taken my own life. I felt my eyes dropping off to sleep. Before I fell to the mercy of those dreams where I would, if possible, meet Harry and my friends Ron and Ginny, where I would reencounter every assailant that visited me, I took one last look at Snape.
His face had left mine, and he was looking at Dobby. He was saying something, but I was still weak that I could not make out the words he said. When he turned back to me, his brow was sparkling, and I realized that he had been sweating. He lifted his hand and put it on my cheek, carefully brushing away the last tear that escaped my eye with his thumb. And I saw one of his own spill down his cheek.
Suddenly, I did not pity him so much.
And just before I lost consciousness, I heard a voice out of nowhere, closer and closer it was coming. I realized, with a start, that it was Snape. . . singing.
Hold on to me Love,
You know I can't stay long
All I wanted to say was I love you. . .
He paused.
And I'm not afraid
Can you hear me?
Can you feel me in your arms?
Holding my last breath
Safe inside myself
Are all my thoughts of you
Sweet raptured light
It ends here
Tonight.
I felt two soft lips pressing themselves on my forehead, after the song ended, and the pain throbbing peacefully in my skull and heart subsided a little bit more.
The first thing I became aware of was the sunlight hitting my eyelids. My sleep had been strangely rejuvenating, giving me back the strength I lost when I last awoke. It was clearly morning, or afternoon, and I felt the, by now, familiar pain in my mind. I opened my eyes.
The chair next to me was empty. I felt slightly disappointed. Dobby suddenly tapped me gently on my right shoulder.
"Miss?"
I managed a weak smile.
"Dobby." My voice was cracked, parched from lack of use.
"Will the Miss want some food?"
I shook my head slowly. Dobby fluffed my pillow, though it did not need it, and beamed up at me.
"Dobby hopes that Miss feels better after last night. The Professor hoped you would wake today. He told me to tell the Miss that you are completely physically healed, and that he wanted to talk to Miss when. . . if you woke up."
I nodded, and with a last pillow-fluff, he walked out of the room, telling me to ring a little silver bell if I needed him.
I turned my mind to different matters: My suicide. I was completely healed, Professor Snape said so. I wanted a quick death, I knew I wanted to spend as little time here as possible, getting away from the pain, the memories was my greatest goal. I wanted to die. I looked at the azure blue sky outside my window. There weren't any bars blocking them. It would be ideal if I could just jump. . .
But what if I lived? Perhaps I did not die quickly? I would experience more pain, and I did not want that. I wanted to die quickly and with the least amount of pain possible. I looked down at my wrists. I knew that once, they had been covered with purple and blue bruises, but now, they were back to the creamy white they originally once were. . . just as pure.
I could cut my wrists, but that took time and most likely someone would come to check on me from time to time. No, too risky. I scanned the room, trying to find something that would be able to help me take my own life. I looked to the bed-side table. There was the silver bell Dobby gave me, and a huge jug and a goblet full of potion.
I reached over and took the goblet, smelling it curiously. It was a dreamless sleep potion, suddenly, I knew how. If it worked with Muggles and their overdose cases, it would work with wizards and powerful potions.
I looked at the jug, judging it to hold enough for nine to ten large goblet fulls of dreamless sleep potion. Drink it all. It would work, and, I would not feel the pain if there would be any. I smiled, very satisfied and leaned back into my pillows.
One down one to go. I closed my eyes, setting the goblet back on top of the bedside table.
I turned my thoughts, and my aching mind to Snape. I knew that Dumbledore ordered Snape to look and rescue me. It was only logical, as he was head of the order. But why Snape? The answer came quickly, being as obvious as day: Snape was a member of the Death Eaters. If Dumbledore knew about my assignment, and my schedule. He sent Snape out to look for me, because there was a huge possibility that I would be captured by the Death Eaters. Snape would have been the most obvious choice: he already thought like them, he would know where I was.
He could also take care of me, I thought, he was potions master.
"You're a damn genius, Headmaster." I said aloud.
"Yes, I would have to agree." I opened my eyes.
Snape was sitting beside me, on the usual seat by my bed, his legs were folded and he was, as usual, wearing black to accompany his black orbs for eyes.
"Miss Granger, Dumbledore asked me to take care of you."
"I know." He looked at me, not at all surprised.
"Yes, I suspected that you would figure out why. He will come on Saturday to check up on you, three days from now. I have healed you, as you slept, of all physical maladies." He grimaced. "Unfortunately, that is as far as my God-given talents allow me to heal. It is my understanding, Miss Granger, that Dumbledore assigned me to be your. . . . rescuer. . . for two reasons. One, you already know and the other. . . . because he believes I can help you in more ways than one."
I stared back at him, and noticed that his jaw was clenched.
"I don't want to be helped."
The coldness of my voice startled even me, but it was true enough. I knew exactly what I needed: death. I did not need Snape to tell me what to do. I did not want to help. I did not want to live. I suppose this is the part of the movie when the heroine would start crying on her lover's shoulder. I looked at him, and tried to find the irony in the situation. I wanted to die. The pain in my mind, and a dull beat of my heart made me harden my resolve further. I did not want to live.
"I know."
His voice was softer than what I suspected it would be. He leaned in closer, and I on reflex, backed away slightly. I heard him sigh.
"Miss Granger, I know that it is hard--" I cut him off with a voice colder and devoid of any emotion.
"Don't you DARE tell me its HARD." he stopped immediately and backed away, leaning into his chair. "Because I know it is."
He stood up.
"I am sorry. I should not force you into talking to me." he grimaced and left.
I swallowed hard, and my breathing became ragged. I realized that Snape might pose a threat to me, he might convince me not to go through with what I am planning to do. I must stay away.
I realized, with dread, that Snape might succeed in deterring me from my plans. His hard, cold eyes showed it all, and I remembered my dream. He had suffered as much. . . maybe more. . . than I had. He, of all people, could understand. I did not want him to. I should avoid him, I decided, as I allowed my eyes to drop. I must die before he convinces me.
Perhaps, I opened my eyes to look at the jug, I could do it now. . .
I started to lean towards the jug, but stopped myself. I had another task, before I could die. I had to say goodbye. I smirked. Who else was there to say goodbye to? Harry, Ron, Ginny, Luna and my parents had died in the war. Tonks, Lupin, Professor McGonagall and the other Weasleys were on different assignments. It would be long before they could come. Too long, and I wanted to die. . . I had to die. . . the pain gave a nasty throb.
There was Dumbledore. I could say goodbye to Dumbledore, and tell him all my pain and all about my decisions. I had to wait for Saturday to die.
I sighed.
No matter, three days would hardly matter. I sank further into my pillows, and remember, against my will, Snape's song.
Holding my last breath
Safe inside myself
Are all my thoughts of you
Sweet raptured light
It ends here, tonight.
Snape paced his room.
He was worried. Miss Granger had talked. . . he had never heard her use that tone before. He had never heard anyone use that tone before. Complete surrender, it seemed. He saw the look in her eyes. She was determined to do whatever it was she planned.
That scared him. He scowled.
He had glimpsed her mind. An unsettling numb, and cold had settled there. He was sure of it, she was planning something, and he also sensed a great pain. Sensed it rather than seen it through the cloud that covered her mind, a barrier she had established.
He tried to think, tried to guess, tried to imagine what Miss Granger was planning.
Suddenly, he stopped his pacing. His black robes gathered at his feet, a sensed shadow. He needed to find out what she was up to, but, in order to do that, he had to touch upon memories that would hurt him considerably.
A split-second's indecision, and he strode over to his wardrobe. He opened the door and took out a carefully covered pensieve.
Picking up his wand, he selected a memory and, with a deep breath closed his eyes. . .
He felt the cold air smacking his face, as he stood in the dimly lit dungeons.
He saw himself, walking down a corridor, a bright light at the end, as torches burned the way, guiding.
He reached the end of the corridor, and he heard the fresh screams of pain and agony that echoed out of the room. He pushed open the door. The room was small, and bright. Different men were there, all gathered around a bed in the center. It was stifling, and there was a mingled scent of blood and sweat in the room. The men were naked, wands in their hands were tightly gripped. A girl was screaming in their shadows
Snape saw himself disrobe, an odd gleam in his eyes, as he parted the crowd, making his way to the girl in the center. He choked.
The girl had bright eyes, bright reflecting the lights above her. Her eyes were glistening with tears and her cheeks were flushed red. Her legs were tied to the separate bed posts and her hands were bound together, above her. Her eyes were wide. She was naked also. She was shaking. She was terrified. He bent down, licked her tears away, amidst a jeering and clapping audience. He rubbed her breasts and moved down. . .
Snape flinched. This was gruesome to watch.
He kissed her, biting her tongue and cupping her breasts with his hands.
Snape almost closed his eyes, but he did not. He strained his ears as he watched, as he heard her pleas as he drove into her with force. Snape was close to tears as he heard her scream out in agony, as she beat her bound hands against his chest, her tears overflowing as sobs escaped her. She was crying. The hardest part. .
He looked into her eyes, and his mute conscience nudged him. He saw her soul breaking, her heart was shattered and her honey colored eyes pleaded for the death for a hundred men. He drove into her again.
Snape watched on as he put on his robes and left. He did not even flinch.
He returned his pensieve, with a shaking hand, but he knew what Miss Granger was planning: Suicide. The girl in his memory almost looked like her, the similarities lay in their broken souls. She was crying out to death. He was going to answer.
Snape found that he was shaking.
TBC
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