AN: This is my first fanfic, and I have no beta, so please consider that before ripping me to pieces in your review. Also, I know the story is dark but it will brighten up in the future. This is a Hermione (older) and Snape romance. If you don't like that, please don't read. Thanks!

The war has been going on for years. For years, my order has fought for our lives, for our will, for a cause that we believed to be our salvation.

We have failed.

There is something almost amusing in my now state of delirium. We should have given up long ago, allowed the defeat. At least then most of us would be alive, instead of festering and rotting in the ground. My friends….they would be alive, albeit unhappy, but alive. An overwhelming need to sob crawls up my throat, but I do not give in, not in this world where my very weaknesses chew up my soul. A bitter taste fills my mouth, and I swallow thickly. The iron taste of blood swirls around my head. At least soon it will be over. My body is bruised and broken. I cannot take any more beatings, and I pray that death will come before the night falls. I entertain my sick mind with thoughts of what once was. I choke back sobs and try my best to pull myself into that old world that I cared so much about. At least then, I could die in some place that was happy, promising, not so degrading and soul splintering as this. I wait for hours, but fate, it seems, has made her own cruel decisions. Death for me is not to be. The relentless body that at first seemed so lucky is now only a curse, one that will keep me in these cold, stone walls forever. The dismay is crushing my chest as the guards lead me back to my cage. If Harry could see me now naked, shuddering, and cold, on the floor of a cage, what would he say? Would he laugh? Would he cry? Would he save the day as was always his wont? Or would he scream at me for betraying him? It does not matter, because Harry is dead. He died with his pretty wife by his side, his pretty wife who was not me. For his betrayal I killed him, sunk that powerful spell he himself had taught me right in his chest. I shake the memories from my head. They are all I have now. Memories of a time when I was once moderately happy. Memories of a time before hell swallowed me up. At least I had more in the form of companions than the crumbling stone of these walls. What I would give to see them fall, to crash them in a fit of power and anger. My torturers are not that stupid though, and in form with this keep me away from the walls, knowing I will be too weak to get any magic so far as across the room to break the walls that make up my prison. Perhaps I should tell them not to bother. In my thick, lonely cage of a home, I cannot even move.

Sobs try to crawl up my throat again, but I swallow them down. Perhaps they will choke me, lodge themselves in my throat and refuse to move until I suffocate. Heaven knows I have enough of them in my belly as is. I start laughing to keep the sobs at bay. My mind has been shredded and my soul consumed by sadness and hate. I am no longer what I used to be: the goody two-shoes Hermione Granger. I doubt I am even human now. This thought pushes me to the edge, and I give in to the tears, letting forth a torrent of emotions and pain. For a brief moment, I hope I have enough in me to drown myself in their salty depths. Once again, I am disappointed and fall into an uneasy sleep.

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Our order has fallen. We have been destroyed, killed by our own struggle for life. I wake with the memory of those words screaming in my sleep. The dreams are too horrible to even remember now. Not that I sleep very often. The part of me that went to muggle school knows that the lack of sleep makes me weak, more susceptible to the death I so crave. I lay for an eternity, waiting almost eagerly for the torture that might mean my death today. Instead, I am brought fresh clothes and a bowl of water to clean. I ignore it until the guard softly prompts me to bathe. In my shock, I wonder where his gentle voice came from, and I cannot bear it: the pity from this man I have considered the devil, this man who has tortured me ruthlessly now talking as though he reveres me.

My lower lip sticks out in a move of defiance. Maybe this denial will mean my death.

"You should dress, Ms. Granger" A deep, seductive voice from the corner prompts as Snape clothed only in black and power steps out of it. Realization dawns on my gaunt face. The Bastard… The little energy I have left focuses on our spy, the man who was to be our salvation, now proving to be our betrayer. Faces flash before my eyes, and I remember Ron, crying before Lucius' spell killed him, begging me to tell his mother he loved her. I think of Sirius, of Lupin, of all the casualties Dumbledore and Voldemort's war have brought to my once world. Snape just watches me, his ghostly white face the first thing I see coming out of my thoughts. He smirks in amusement, as though reading my mind. I remember that smirk, too. Every day I had class with him, I would look at that smirk and tremble. He hated us all, even then, and I wonder briefly if he was ever on our side at all.

"I will be wanting your company very soon." The corners of his mouth turn upward in yet another grin, and at that moment I want to spit at him. The soul-consuming depression turns into fire in my mind. This is the man who betrayed our kind. It was him alone who saw us all die. And now, this thing wants to speak to me, to act as if he had not killed my friends, as if he had not tortured me to the very depths of insanity.

I ignore him, the anger curling itself through my veins and squeezing my heart. I bite my tongue to keep the comments in my mouth.

"Oh, dear," he says in that same teasing, sick, melodic tone, "be careful not to bite too hard, or you'll hurt that precious tongue. We need a chance to talk, you and I." Talk? This ruthless man, no not man—beast, wants to sit down and chat with me, like we are old acquaintances merely discussing the weather. I laugh aloud at his suggestion, causing him to frown.

"You will get dressed, clean up, and come to me, or I will destroy the little present I've got for you." Then, he waits patiently, as though he has all the time in the world for me to comply. I glare daggers at him, and finally go to get, however grudgingly, the bundle of clothes the guard had brought earlier for me. It is not in my nature to be so compliant, and this show of broken will grates at what little pride I have left. With angry, jerky motions I throw the clothes on. Some self-preserving quality has kicked in by now, and that stuns me to my very core. I guess that everyone has some sort of will to live, even people who beg for death nightly. When I have dressed, he very curtly tells the guard to leave.

"Things have turned out so dark." He whispers, barely audibly above the cracking in my bones as I stretch out. My first time out of the cage in months without consequences. The taste of freedom, though, was heady. It was making me dizzy with the feel of power.

"They will be a lot brighter when you are burning in hell." I snarl back at him. He laughs faintly for a moment, then reaches his long, pale fingers into his jacket pocket to bring out a cigarette case and lighter.

"Mind if I smoke?" he asks politely, to which all I can do is nod incredulously. But then, the whole situation is unbelievable. Three months ago, I would have told him 'no' for fear of lung cancer, but now I don't even bother. What the hell do I care for my lungs now?

"What do you want, Severus?"