Another shriek of pain fills my body as every limb electrifies and my nerves squeal. I rocket back and forth for roughly thirty seconds before I master the art of breathing and my heart beat returns to normal. It's over for another ten minutes, roughly. It was about eight hours ago when Malfoy inflicted the Unforgivable Curse on me, but I am still having the spasms that follow. Night is closing in outside, but daytime didn't come to Azkaban anyway. I lay on the flat mattress of the bed with my head resting against a pillow that has lumps and vile owl feathers poking out. I am alone, and I daren't go through the fireplace to Grimmauld Place, I don't want Harry to see me in this state. The mattress is stained with my sweat and some droplets of blood that came from my nose, which has scabbed over now. My mind won't stop racing with evil thoughts of how close I was to being raped and then the punishment I had to endure because Malfoy had been deprived of that. The Crucatious curse when described may sound like a wizarding form of a Muggle beating but it makes every cell in your body jerk and soar. I studied it in Hogwarts and, according to this book I read, if I had been subjected to it for two minutes longer my cells would have exploded. I felt like I had reached the pinnacle point where I could no longer endure anymore of the pain, so I lie on the bed with the mattress gently covering me. I daren't touch any part of myself in case it will send my nerves to chaos. I don't want to be touched by anyone else, every again.

My ears curse loudly and ring at a high frequency due to the disturbance they receive. The disturbance being the door to my room being swung open and then slammed again. Slowly I turn my strained neck, which is swelled up to twice its size and muscles have been torn due to the continuous swaying. Snape remains the other side of the room, fixing a drink, gulping it then filling it up again. He takes another tumbler down from the cabinet and fills that up also. Slowly he walks over to me.

"Here, have this. I have used it many times after attacks," he passes me the liquid; it smells of a typically brewed healing potion.

"Thank you," I say, like a grateful child. I still haven't decided whether I trust him or simply despise him. My emotions towards him are fraught after today.

"I will also brew you a sleeping draught, no doubt you need it tonight," he says and then sits down on the edge of the bed. The mattress slopes down from the pressure and I feel myself naturally tilting towards him.

"Please understand why I had to let Lucius curse you. It is compulsory for Death Eater's to receive their dose of Unforgivable curses if they disobey the Dark Lord in any possible form. I have endured it many times and it is something I have hardened my heart to. I wasn't going to allow Lucius to take advantage of you though, however, I'm afraid I did so at a price."

"A price? What do you mean?" I say, my voice very coarse and faint.

"I have really pissed him off this time, what Lucius wants he very often gets. He will be keeping a closer eye on us, getting the house elves to report back to him about our conversations, the potions we have stored and any books or letters," he lowers his tone, "I trust you know not to leave things around here that may reveal anything."

He trusts me? That's the first time he's given me any credit as an adult. I lay down deeper in my pillow and don't even attempt to stop myself from yawning.

"You need sleep, I will begin on that draught," Snape said, lifting himself up and ready to leave me.

"Don't just yet," I say, not understanding why I need his company but I guess even his is better than none, "I've been laid here, just thinking and thinking all afternoon." I can already feel the potion he gave me taking effect. A sensation in my bones is telling me that they are strengthening and my muscles relax to their normal movable state. He is a genius, to make the pain go away so easily, I wonder whether this sleeping draught will do the same for my emotional scars.

He reaches out and strokes my hair and forehead, and unbelievably I see a small but warm smile appear on his face: "You are the bravest woman I have ever met. I see that being in Gryffindor with those dunderheads did you some good," he says. I look with disbelief but then dismiss the grateful feeling that I am experiencing. Everybody is telling me that I am brave but who's to say it is a virtue?

"What's wrong?" he says, he notices how distant I am.

I look at him and find this the perfect opportunity to pry into his past ten years, I need to know exactly what kind of man I am trusting: "Tell me about being a Death Eater, what have you had to do?"

He sighs, and makes himself more comfortable on the bed beside me, he has bags hanging down under his eyes and his lined face looks ready for sleep, yet he still opens his mouth ready to explain: "What do you want me to say? Many months are taken up patrolling prison wards, training in the dark arts and brewing endless potions for the Dark Lord. I am the most skilful at potion brewing and so am responsible for all the important ones. Some even take me months to perfect, the Dark Lord will just demand: 'Make me a potion that does such and such' it doesn't matter whether it is an impossible task. I get other, less important, servants to collect the ingredients for me and often blame it on them when I have purposely messed it up."

I look at him surprised; I would never imagine my old Professor to purposely cock up a potion, not after all the pleasure he used to gain when any of us did. I realise though why he has to do it.

"