Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them.
Warning: This chapter contains physical violence that may disturb some readers.
Chapter 30
Severus Snape stared at the door through which Hermione had disappeared some minutes earlier. At any moment, he expected it to open softly, revealing her standing there, calm and collected as she always was when his temper flared. She had an uncanny knack for being able to placate him even in the worst of his moods.
But the door didn't open.
It might as well have been a solid stone wall for all the distance it symbolised between them.
The sense of loss that hit him was so tangible it was like a blow to the guts, more painful than his stinging cheek. He had done it this time; she would not be coming back.
Turning from the empty lab, he strode across the sitting room to the cupboard beside the bookshelves. Retrieving his bottle of Firewhisky and a glass, he slammed them both down on the coffee table and threw himself into an armchair, ignoring the liquor and staring into the glowing embers of the dying fire.
Echoes of a day some twenty-three years ago were running through his head; the scene was infinitely different, the result disturbingly familiar.
"I don't need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!"
"…filthy little Mudbloods…"
Mudblood.
It was one of the last words he had spoken to a young girl who'd been his closest friend in his student years. He'd done the one thing he had always prided himself in not doing – he had succumbed to the pureblood ideals of his family and his housemates. He'd called her a Mudblood; the worst possible insult.
The following two years of frosty silence, of her turning a blind eye even when her newfound Gryffindor friends tried to trick him to his death, had been the proverbial nail in his coffin. His solitude and bitterness had allowed him to give in to the lures of the Dark Arts, ultimately driving him to Voldemort, and Lily to her death.
He hadn't loved her - or if he had, only as a friend - but their friendship had been golden to him while it lasted. Built on common interests, a yearning for knowledge and intelligence beyond their years, they both understood what it was like to feel out of place. None of his housemates – or hers, for that matter – could ever comprehend what they saw in one another; their friendship defied all the unspoken Slytherin House rules about associating with both Gryffindors and Muggle-borns, but he didn't care. He, with his patched robes and greying underwear, would never fit in with the rich aristocrats of Slytherin, anyway.
She used to defend him against that group of Gryffindors, and they tormented him all the more for it. Even his own housemates jeered at the Slytherin who needed a Gryffindor – and a girl, no less – to stand up for him.
He was already angry that day after their Defence OWL. Usually, after exams, they sat down together and dissected their answers, teasing each other over the silliest mistakes and wagering who would get the higher mark. Today, though, she went to sit by the lake with her housemates, leaving him alone with his exam paper, and at the mercy of four bored Gryffindors who were looking for some cheap entertainment.
He gave as good as he got – as always – but when she stepped in to defend him yet again, his temper flared, ending their friendship with a single word.
Of all the things he had done since then, in the name of the Dark Lord and the Order, it was still that lone word he regretted most of all because, in a way, it had been the catalyst for everything else, the turning point in his life.
And yet, what he'd said to Hermione tonight was infinitely worse. He'd never insulted her for her bloodline; he'd learnt his lesson well and, at any rate, her intelligence proved all theories of the superiority of purebloods wrong.
Instead, he'd used the one thing he knew would hurt her – her feelings for him.
Her reaction had only confirmed what he already knew… what he had almost begun to fear… what she had told him these past weeks in everything but words. She loved him.
She loved him, and he had said the most unimaginably cruel thing he could think of. Was it any wonder she had hit him?
That wasn't to mention his actions earlier in the evening. She'd allowed him free access to her mind, her thoughts and her feelings; it was absolute proof of unshaken, unshakeable trust in him, and what had he done in return? He had violated her mind in an action almost akin to rape; the comparison made him feel sick to the stomach. Even in his blind anger, how could he have been so inexplicably stupid? He'd hurt her - he felt her shock and betrayal as he pushed his way into her mind - but he hadn't cared.
Did he really believe she would have kept it from him had she known the consequences of her actions? Now that he could think straight, he doubted so. He recalled her surprised expression when she learnt how little Dumbledore had told him of the events of that week. Had she assumed the Headmaster had told him what had happened? Had Albus told Hermione he would explain it?
Snape snorted. He wouldn't put it past the Headmaster to have kept it from him on purpose.
And he had blamed Hermione.
His actions had been enough to drive her from him for good, but it hadn't. He had to admire her courage to even try to reason with him after that. And yet, when she had apologised so sincerely, angry as he still was, he couldn't help but believe her.
The thing that had rattled him most of all, and caused him to speak so cruelly to her in the end, was seeing her thoughts of that week and feeling the pain he had caused her. He knew she'd been upset – as she would be were any of her friends so gravely ill – but he hadn't expected to feel the absolute helplessness and despair which had accompanied her memories.
It had disturbed him, in truth, that she had come to care for him so much. Merlin knew he felt the same way for her; he couldn't even begin to explain how that had come about, but perhaps it was better left intangible and uninspected. Not everything could be explained in words, after all.
The more he thought on what would soon come to pass – the end of the war – and the role Dumbledore wanted him to play, the more he berated himself for letting Hermione get so close to him. It had always been possible he might die in the service of the Order, but now it seemed all but a certainty. For her to think, to even suppose, there would be any sort of future for them had only increased his anger at her naivety.
He wanted nothing more than to wrap her in his arms and kiss her when she told him he was the only man she wanted to father her children. He had never wanted it – never even considered it – until that moment, but he knew it would never happen. So, pushing aside the disturbing ache of longing just to hold her to him, he sought instead to hurt and frighten her enough to drive her from him for good. If he hurt her enough now, it would be easier for her in the end.
He hadn't expected her to slap him in a parting shot, though it was more than deserved. He hated what he had done and even now it occurred to him that pushing someone away wasn't always for the best. If he'd never called Lily a Mudblood... who knew what twisted course Fate would have taken. Would she have lived?
He shook his head, purging the image of a young, red-haired, green-eyed woman from his mind only for it to be replaced with another young woman, looking at him with the same hurt in her eyes.
It's for her own good, he told himself bitterly, but even as he thought it, uncertainty was creeping into his mind. Could he honestly say, now he was thinking straight, that this was the best thing for both of them? If the truth was known, she'd been a breath of fresh air in his stale existence these past few months. Life – however short it turned out to be – would be incredibly dull without her around.
What have I done?
He leant forwards and finally unstoppered the Firewhisky, pouring a generous amount into the glass. Sitting back and taking a long, slow sip of the burning liquid, he realised he'd been listening for the sound of a door, the sound of her returning.
A low growl of anger and frustration escaped his throat, and he tightened his grip on the glass, contemplating the explosion it would make if he flung it into the fire.
He took a deep breath and set it on the table, instead. Enough anger had been vented for one night.
Whether he would be able to make amends for it, though, remained to be seen. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't go to her; she would have to come to him.
And the chances of that happening seemed next to none.
Hermione ran blindly, tears of hurt and anger pouring down her face as she fled through the dark corridor leading to the Potions classroom and the dungeon.
She was angry at the Headmaster for not telling Snape about the moonfilly in good time, as he had said he would; she should have known better than to trust his reassurance. She was angry at herself for not insisting she be the one to explain it, but she'd been afraid of Snape's wrath, and with good reason.
The way he'd turned on her upon seeing that first glimpse of the moonfilly in her memory had been terrifying, but it paled in comparison to the rest of their argument. How could he be so heartless, so cruel, as to treat her feelings for him like there were nothing, like she could turn them off at will?
His final words had shocked and hurt her, that he would say something so harsh and cruel as to turn her away from him for good. They would have, too, had she not seen the pain in his eyes as he spoke. Even through his livid rage, she could see the loathing of what he was forcing himself to do.
The realisation that he was trying to turn her away for her own well-being hurt even more, though. Did he think she was so young and naïve that she'd attached herself to him blindly, unmindful of the likely consequences? She was a best friend of the young man who would have to defeat Voldemort or die trying; did Snape really believe she had never considered the possibility of losing a friend?
How could he be so undeniably cruel, then turn around and say it was for her own good?
The slap was a wake-up call as much an expression of her anger. She loved him, no matter what happened in the future, yet he refused to acknowledge it, refused to allow her to keep loving him, though it was clear the feeling was mutual. If she'd been less shocked at her handprint on his face, she would have shouted at him to take her and her feelings seriously.
But she daren't have stayed, not after his violent reaction to lesser provocation earlier in the night.
Until then, she had never honestly believed he was capable of all the things she'd seen him do in Dumbledore's Pensieve all those months ago. It was as though she'd been watching a puppet, someone who looked like him, but was nothing like the Professor Snape she'd known at that time, or the Severus she'd come to know.
She hated herself for being afraid of him when all he'd ever done in the past was protect her, but tonight he was a different man. Tonight, she believed him capable of anything.
And so she fled.
She should have known better than to push him when he had tried to end their... could she even call it a relationship yet? Whatever it was, she should have kept her mouth shut and just worked on him slowly, chipping away at his resolve until he realised he'd been mistaken in pushing her away. That would have been the Slytherin thing to do, she thought.
It was too late for that, now, though. Even if he could forgive her for keeping the truth of the moonfilly blood from him, he'd never forgive her for slapping him. Despite his cruelty, it had been an immature reaction on her part, proving she was just as young and naïve as he had implied.
She stopped to catch her breath and gather her bearings. She had run blindly all the way to the dungeons, and was standing in a short, unfamiliar corridor somewhere off the main dungeon hallway. A small, choked sob escaped her and echoed in the emptiness of the slumbering castle; she wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her robe, wondering where to go now.
She couldn't go back to Gryffindor Tower, red-eyed and shaking, her wrists still marked from Snape's unyielding grip. Harry would get the truth out of her if he saw her like this – and so help Snape when he did. She couldn't face Ron either, imagining his superior expression that he had been right about 'that git' all along. The thought of Ron's reaction made her tears come anew, because despite Snape having been an absolute git tonight, she couldn't bring herself to hate him.
He had broken her trust, breaking into her mind uninvited, but she was to blame for him not knowing what he sought in the first place. He had hurt her – her wrists and chin felt bruised from his grasp – but she had hurt him, too. He had spoken cruelly, but had done so with her best interests at heart, however misguided his judgement of those interests were.
She turned around and leant against the wall of the corridor, pressing her forehead against the cool stones. The whole night had been a mess of misunderstanding, the wrong words spoken and the right words left unsaid.
She had no idea how to go about making things right, though. She daren't return to his quarters alone... if he would let her in at all. He might have calmed down, but then again he might not have...
She could go to the Headmaster. He was the last person she really wanted to talk to at the moment, given he was partially the cause of the whole situation, but there was no one else, really.
She couldn't go to her friends, and McGonagall would take one look at her puffy eyes and bruised chin and promptly march down to Snape's quarters to castrate him. Her Head of House was unaware of anything other than friendship between them, but she was also protective of her charges and would hex first and ask questions later.
No, it seemed Dumbledore was the only option.
With a sigh, she pulled her blouse cuffs down a little to hide the red marks on her wrist and turned around to find her way out of the dungeons.
Before she could take a step, though, two figures materialised from the shadows, blocking her path.
She stared at Crabbe and Goyle, and as they smirked nastily at her, she realised her grievous error. It was late at night, well after curfew, and she was alone in the Slytherin dungeons... alone but for the two students – sons of Death Eaters, no less – advancing on her like wolves moving in for the kill.
Malfoy's warning rang in her ears, and she started backing away.
"Nowhere to run, little Mudblood," Crabbe called in a false, singsong voice.
Her back hit the stone wall and she glanced left and right, realising they had cornered her in a dead end.
She went for her wand, but Crabbe already had his out. Hers slipped through her fingers at his muttered spell, and he snatched it out of mid-air, shoving it in the back pocket of his pants.
"Give it back," she said, knowing how feeble it sounded even as she spoke.
The two Slytherins laughed.
"I don't think so," said Goyle, advancing on her while Crabbe hung back, watching.
She tried to think of wandless spells that might hold them off, but none that came to mind that were strong enough to subdue one, let alone two, almost fully-grown wizards.
"What do you want?" she asked, moving into a corner of the dead end. Goyle followed her movement slowly, deliberately.
"Well," he said at length. "I have some unfinished business with you."
Her eyes widened as she recalled their last altercation in the dungeons – the one so thankfully interrupted by the Potions master – and her heart started beating faster with fear at the feral look of anticipation shining in Goyle's eyes.
"You don't want to do that," she said, trying to sound brave, even though she was wandless, helpless and downright terrified.
"Oh, but I do," Goyle leered, stepping closer to her. His face hardened as he added, "And this time, that bastard traitor Snape isn't here to stop us."
He made a sudden grab for her, and she twisted away, trying to duck under his outstretched arm. He caught her, though, slamming her back into the wall, and she cried out as her head hit the rough stones. Her vision blurred momentarily as the Slytherin braced her against the wall, the weight of his body pinning her, and she heard the other one speak.
"Careful," Crabbe warned. "The Dark Lord wants her alive and unspoilt, remember?"
"Unspoilt," Goyle spat. "We're not taking her to him until I've gotten what I want. She'll be alive; that should be enough for him."
Her terror increased a thousandfold as she realised what they meant to do with her, both here and now, and afterwards. She had to get away.
"Let me go!" she yelled as loudly as she could, and the sound travelled far in the stillness of the castle. Maybe someone would hear her. She struggled desperately against the weight pinning her body to the wall, balling up her fists and hitting the Slytherin wherever she could reach.
"Hold her!" she heard Goyle say as he fought to control her, and then her wrists were yanked high above her head, pinned by another set of hands as Crabbe came to help his friend. With the two of them holding her down, movement was impossible, let alone escape.
"Why are you doing this?" she pleaded.
"Because I can," Goyle spat, bringing his hand up between them to fondle her breasts crudely through her shirt and open robes. "Because you're a Mudblood and you deserve nothing better than a quick fuck in a dark corner."
She squeezed her eyes shut against the tears that were threatening to spill down her cheeks, but she could hold back neither the whimper of fear that escaped her lips, nor the shudder of revulsion that ran through her as he touched her.
She heard Goyle laugh.
"Don't cry, little Mudblood," he said, his breath hot and foul on her face. "If you don't fight me, I won't hurt you... much."
She let herself sag against the wall a little. Perhaps she could trick him into thinking she was giving in, and then get away when he lowered his defences. She felt him relax his grip a little, and then shuffle slightly against her and he grasped her wrists and Crabbe backed away.
"There's a good Mudblood," he said, and she opened her eyes as he took his attention from her for a moment to say to Crabbe, "Have you got the Portkey?"
So, that's how they were going to get her away from the castle. With his attention diverted, she wondered if throwing all her weight forwards suddenly would knock him off balance? She hesitated, though, seeing Crabbe fumbling in the pockets of his trousers.
"Shit," he cursed. "It's in my bloody robes, back in the common room."
Hope blossomed in her chest as Goyle cursed at his friend. "Go and get it, and hurry up, you idiot! If anyone finds us here, we're dead."
Crabbe lumbered off into the darkness and Goyle turned back to Hermione. His attention was fully back on her, but he was one alone, now, and she had no intention of giving up without a fight.
In one swift movement, she yanked her wrists from his grasp and shoved all her weight against him, clawing at his face with her nails.
He recoiled from her with a howl of pain, angry scratches across his cheeks. She pushed past him into the open corridor, but he spun around, grabbing her robes as she fled to prevent her escape.
She tried to shrug out of them, but then he grasped her arms, twisting them behind her back and threw her to the floor, coming down on top of her with the full force of his heavyset frame. She landed awkwardly; her head hit the stones with a crack that saw white spots dancing in her vision, and a sharp pain shot through her chest and shoulder as she felt something break.
She gasped out a startled exclamation as Goyle shifted his weight and rolled her roughly onto her back, hovering over her with his knees on either side of her hips.
Her vision was blurry from tears, and pain was shooting through her shoulder, but she still had the presence of mind to fight. She struggled underneath him, trying to use her good arm to gain some leverage and throw him off, but he grabbed it and pinned it to the floor next to her head.
"I told you fighting would only make this harder," he hissed, thrusting his hips at her as the full meaning of the double entendre hit her. Laughing cruelly at her vain struggles, he leant forwards and licked the side of her face.
She turned her head away with a choked sob.
This can't be happening.
If she could just delay him a bit longer, maybe someone would come... Maybe Severus will come... She knew it was a futile wish. He couldn't help her now, but the thought of him gave her strength to keep fighting.
Pinned, wandless and injured as she was, she did the only thing she could think of.
She spat at him.
He recoiled, disgusted, and then his face hardened.
"Filthy little bitch!" he spat, and released her arm only to backhand her hard across the face.
Her head snapped to the side and she could taste blood in her mouth, but all she could think was that her hands were free. Ignoring the pain in her shoulder, she brought both hands up to claw at his face again, her nails gouging his eyes and leaving a bloody trail down his cheeks.
A vicious snarl of anger escaped his lips and he shoved her hands aside, leaning down over her and pinning his forearm across her neck. She gasping at the sudden crushing pressure, and her hands came up to try to pry his arm away, but he was too heavy.
With his free hand, he shoved her open robes aside and grasped the collar of her blouse, ripping it open in one swift movement.
She tried to scream, but the pressure on her throat wouldn't allow it.
He shifted his weight down and she felt her skirt being pushed above her hips. Her terrified sobs echoed in the empty corridor and she was starting to feel faint from lack of oxygen. Desperately, she clawed at him again, scratching hands, arms, face... any piece of exposed skin she could reach.
Suddenly, she felt his wand pressing into her neck.
"You need to learn when to say die, Mudblood," he hissed, and his eyes flashed as he malevolently whispered a single word.
"Crucio."
A harsh scream tore from her lips as a wave of agony like nothing she'd ever experienced before shot through her. She gasped and choked, trying to draw air into her burning lungs, and then screamed again.
He released the spell as quickly as it had begun, and removed his hand from her neck, too. She lay limply beneath him, gasping feebly for air, her arms shaking uncontrollably in the aftermath of the curse.
"An Unforgivable?" she heard a voice say. Crabbe had returned.
"Are you mad? Dumbledore probably knows it's been cast already! He could be on his way down here now!"
"Well, I better hurry, then," Goyle spat.
This was it. This was her last chance to get away.
Summoning all her waning strength, she jerked her whole body sideways and pushed against him with her hands. He had reached down to free himself from his pants, and he was off-balance when her surprise movement came. He fell sideways and she scrambled to her feet, swaying slightly as dizziness threatened to overcome her. She was still trapped, and now they were both advancing on her, Crabbe with the Portkey in hand.
She slid down the wall, clasping her robe over her torn shirt and in a last ploy for mercy, sobbed, "Leave me, please."
Goyle raised his wand, and she closed her eyes.
Not a word was spoken, and then she heard two loud thuds as something hit the floor close to her.
Opening her eyes, she saw the bulk of the two Slytherins on the floor before her, Stunned.
She stood shakily, staring into the darkness of the corridor beyond. She could see a figure coming closer, but her vision was filling with black spots even as she blinked to clear them.
"Granger?"
"Wha-"
She recognised the voice, but then her knees buckled underneath her and the darkness swallowed her whole.
The first sensation Hermione felt when she awoke was pain; it was sharpest in her shoulder and at the back of her head, but her whole body was aching with exhaustion.
It was dark, and she tried to move, only to have hands push her down again. She struggled against them and the pain in her shoulder became worse. She bit down on her lip to keep from crying out; she wouldn't give them the satisfaction of letting them know they had hurt her.
Then, the cool wash of a spell swept over her and the pain suddenly lessened to merely a dull ache. Someone shifted a hand behind her head, and a second spell reduced the pain there, too.
Confused by the gentle gesture, she stopped fighting and let herself relax, feeling soft pillows behind her head.
Where was she?
She could hear voices nearby, but she couldn't understand what they were saying. Perhaps they were planning what to do with her next.
Someone tried to grasp her hand, and she tore it away with a cry of fright. She couldn't let them hold her down; she had to get away.
She tried to sit up, but was stopped again by those same hands on her shoulders.
"No," she heard herself whimper. "Please, let me go."
One voice drew closer and became more urgent. Finally able to focus on it, she realised it was the Headmaster speaking.
Wait… if Dumbledore was there, did that mean she was safe? Or was it just a cruel trick of her captors?
She felt a glass phial being pressed to her lips, and shied away from whatever they were trying to give her. Then, a cool, gnarled hand resting on her forehead and she felt herself become calm again. Perhaps it really was Dumbledore... but why couldn't she see him?
The phial was pressed to her lips again, and this time she accepted it, opening her mouth and swallowing the contents with some difficulty; her throat seemed tight and sore.
She recognised the taste of a sleeping potion mixed with Calming Draught, and a false sense of peace washed over her. Suddenly too tired to care that it wasn't real, that she was still frightened and confused, she tried to close her eyes.
It was only then she realised they'd been closed all along, clenched shut against whatever horror might have been awaiting her. The potion took hold, though, and before she could think any further, she drifted back into oblivion.
The harsh green flare of the Floo was bright as Snape sat in the near-darkness of his sitting room. The bottle of Firewhisky was still on the table, surprisingly untouched. The half-empty glass that had been saved from destruction earlier was still full, too. He usually savoured the sharp, bitter tang of his favourite drink, but tonight it offered no comfort at all.
He glanced at the fireplace, the faintest hope that it might be Hermione failing as the Headmaster stepped out in a swirl of midnight-blue robes.
"You have a lot to answer for, old man," he said, before the Headmaster could speak. "How could keep that from me, knowing what it meant? How could you not tell her what it meant?"
Dumbledore seemed to realise what Snape was referring to, because he sat down in the unoccupied armchair with a sigh. "Severus, there are more important things we must discuss tonight."
"If you've come to berate me," he said, "save your breath. I was angry and thoughtless and I know very well what I've done."
He looked up at Dumbledore to see a confused look cross his face. The Headmaster looked particularly weary as of late, but even more so tonight.
"I'm not sure I understand you, Severus," he said carefully.
"Oh, come on, Albus," Snape scoffed. "Do you mean to tell me she didn't come to you and declare me the complete and utter bastard her friends have been telling her I am all along?"
Dumbledore exhaled a weary breath.
"You had an argument, then," the old man said quietly.
Snape snorted and set his glass back on the table. "Argument is an understatement. The moonfilly was only the beginning of it."
"She was upset when she left?"
"I doubt I could have hurt her more had I used my fists, Albus," he admitted.
"That explains why she was in the dungeons, then," Dumbledore said softly.
Snape looked up at the Headmaster, suddenly registering the odd tone of voice.
"Albus, why are you here?"
Dumbledore sat forwards, his hands clasped together in front of him as he regarded Snape gravely.
"There has been an... incident," he said at length.
Snape stared at him, a sudden feeling of foreboding in his chest.
"What kind of incident?" he whispered.
The older man sighed, looking immensely weary. "Miss Granger was in the dungeons and was... set upon... by two other students. They assaulted her and were in possession of a Portkey which I believe was supposed to transport her to Voldemort."
No.
Snape rose from his chair, his eyes fixed on the Headmaster. His throat felt tight, and he had to swallow before he could speak.
"Albus," he finally managed to croak. "Where is she-"
The Headmaster held up his hand. "Miss Granger is safe. She is in the Hospital Wing."
He turned from the Headmaster, everything he'd said to Hermione earlier that night running through his head. She'd fled his quarters because of his horrible words – fled to the dungeons without thinking of the danger that lurked there. If they'd hurt her, how could he forgive himself?
"Who?" he said at last, his voice shaking. "Who did it?"
"Messrs Crabbe and Goyle," Dumbledore said softly.
Snape might have known. Two of the three Slytherins who had trapped her in the dungeons once before, only that time he'd been able to step in.
"Did they hurt her?" he asked hollowly.
"Their instructions were to take her to Voldemort alive and unspoilt," the Headmaster said heavily, "but she fought them, naturally. Poppy is looking after her, and she will be all right."
"How did she get away?"
"She didn't," the Headmaster replied. "From what I have deduced thus far, they were happened upon by Mr Malfoy on his nightly rounds."
"Malfoy?" Snape echoed, thinking back to the boy's confusing behaviour lately and Hermione's concerns about him following her. He thought the young Slytherin might have been genuinely trying to extend a hand of friendship to her, but he could have been wrong; he had been wrong before. "How do you know he wasn't part of it?"
"I don't know anything for certain just yet, Severus," Dumbledore said tiredly. "An Auror and a representative of the Board of Governors are on their way, and there is much to discuss. Messrs Crabbe and Goyle will not spend another night in this school, I can assure you, but the motives and fate of Mr Malfoy are far from clear."
They sat in silence for a moment, and then the Headmaster rose from his chair.
"I must be getting back to my office, Severus," he said. "I will inform you of more details when I am able."
Snape rose, too.
"Albus, I need to see her."
The Headmaster regarded him for some time without a word, and Snape spoke again if only to fill the silence.
"I was unforgivably harsh to her earlier. What has happened tonight – her being in the dungeons at all – is a direct result of my actions. I…" He sighed. "I need to make amends."
"There will be time for that, my boy," the Headmaster reassured him. "Don't forget our subterfuge is not yet over. You will have to wait until she comes to you."
"Albus," he pressed, "this isn't something that can wait. I don't expect her forgiveness, but if I am to salvage anything at all I must act now."
"Be that as it may, Severus, you must not be seen," Dumbledore said, the warning tone ringing clear in his voice. "You will not defy me on this. You cannot."
Snape sighed and slumped back into his seat in resignation. "I know."
"Hermione will understand," the old man said. "I will see that she comes to speak to you as soon as she is able."
He grunted noncommittally.
"Severus," the Headmaster said, his voice softening a little, "I may pretend to be omniscient at times, but I cannot claim to know what has happened between you. I can only ask, whatever you did, was it for her well-being?"
"I thought it was," he said quietly. "I meant it to be... but the way I went about it was all wrong and... perhaps it was just wrong to begin with."
"Then she will understand," Dumbledore said. "You'll see, my boy."
Snape looked at the old man doubtfully, but the Headmaster merely took a pinch of Floo powder from the mantle and disappeared in a whirl of green flames.
Snape sat forwards and buried his head in his hands.
When Hermione woke again, she did open her eyes, and her vision focused on the bright stone ceiling of the Hospital Wing. A figure leant over her and she recognised Madam Pomfrey.
"Welcome back, dear," the mediwitch said kindly. "You've had a rough night."
She remembered waking up earlier, confused, thinking she was still in the hands of her captors... had she been, and only found her way here afterwards? Or had she been dreaming? How had she come to be here?
Her mind went back to the attack in the dungeons, and then to her earlier argument with Snape. Did he know what had happened? Or was he so angry with her that he didn't care? She tried to sit up, tears welling in her eyes because she could imagine his cold, indifferent expression when Dumbledore told him what had happened.
Madam Pomfrey pushed her back down onto the pillows with gentle but firm hands. She tried to push the mediwitch away, but found she could only move one arm; her right was strapped firmly against her torso and held in a sling.
"What-"
"It's all right, dear," Pomfrey soothed. "Nothing to worry about now. I've mended the break, but you should keep that sling on for a few days so it can fully heal."
Recollection of how she'd injured it came into her mind – Goyle throwing her to the stone floor, and then his weight coming down on top of her. Tears spilt down her cheeks as she remembered, and the mediwitch, seeing her distress, dropped her matronly manner, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"What- what did they do to me?" she managed to whisper. "Did they... did he..."
"No, dear," Pomfrey said reassuringly, and then pursed her lips, adding tersely, "I don't know how those young boys could even think of…"
"They didn't think," Hermione said, recalling the feral look in Goyle's eyes, unrelenting even when she had pleaded with him to stop. "They just…"
"Yes, well," said the mediwitch, "they didn't, thankfully, and they won't have the opportunity to try again. Headmaster Dumbledore will see to that, I can assure you."
She raised her uninjured hand to wipe her eyes and realised there was something sticky spread across her cheek. She pulled her hand away and examined the thick yellow bruise-healing paste, then reached up again to probe her cheek, wincing as she pressed too hard.
"That won't help it," Pomfrey scolded, standing up from the edge of the bed again and smoothing the covers. "You've got more than a few bumps and bruises, so just let the salve do its work."
The mediwitch stepped out past the screen surrounding the bed, and Hermione heard her walking to the other end of the room. Her heart was pulsing a slow, painful rhythm in the back of her head, but she ignored it and managed to prop herself up on the pillows with some difficultly.
When she pushed the sheet aside to examine the rest of her body, her knees, visible beneath the hem of the plain cotton hospital gown, were scratched and bruised. She pulled the hem up a little to reveal two large bruises, almost in the shape of handprints, on her thighs. There was no salve on those, and for that she was grateful. She didn't think she could bear the thought of anyone touching her there after...
She choked back a sob; she could still feel the weight of the Slytherin pinning her down, his hands bruising her as she fought him. Her robe was draped over the end of the bed, and she could see her torn, buttonless shirt underneath it. She had been so lucky to get away.
She lay back again and pulled the sheet up as best she could with one arm. Try as she might, she couldn't remember how she had finally escaped them.
A chink of glass alerted her to the mediwitch's return, and she set a flask and two phials down on the small beside cabinet.
"How did I get away?" she asked softly.
"That is for Professor Dumbledore to tell you, dear," Pomfrey said, adding as she saw Hermione about to protest, "I don't even know myself."
"Where is the Headmaster?"
"He is meeting with the two boys, their parents, a representative from the Board of Governors and an Auror," Pomfrey said briskly. "I daresay he will be a while, but I'm sure he will return to speak with you as soon as he is able."
"Governors? An Auror?" She asked, surprised. "Are they going to be expelled?"
"This is a very serious matter, Miss Granger," the mediwitch said, pouring a small amount of the purple potion from the flask to the empty phial. "Both young men are of age and therefore subject to the full power of the law. They will be lucky to escape Azkaban, let alone be able to remain at this school."
Hermione nodded, thinking. Voldemort would be furious with them, not only for having failed to deliver her, but at getting themselves expelled, eliminating any opportunity they might have had to try it again.
Good, she thought savagely. They deserve everything they have coming to them.
"Now," said Madam Pomfrey, holding up the phial of clear liquid. "This is a pain-killing potion, which you may take for your arm or your head, if you need it. This," she held up the purple potion, "is a mild sleeping draught, which you should take in a moment, but there is someone here to see you first."
Her heart leapt in her chest, thinking Severus had come, but then she realised he couldn't, even if he had wanted to. Madam Pomfrey didn't know he was alive, and the Headmaster would be furious if he left his rooms without permission.
The mediwitch left the phials on the cabinet as Harry stepped around the screen at the end of her bed.
"Don't stay too long; she needs her rest," Madam Pomfrey cautioned him, before leaving them alone. Hermione heard the door to her office close a moment later.
Wordlessly, Harry came and sat on the edge of the bed, watching her with grave, concerned eyes. She returned the gaze for a moment and then burst into tears, letting out everything she'd been trying to hold back since she awoke.
Harry leant forwards and wrapped his arms around her, mindful of her injured shoulder, and she sobbed into his robe, realising it had been thrown on hastily over his pyjamas.
"God, Hermione," he said, drawing back a little as her sobs finally died down. "Are you all right? What were you doing down there? They were going to... bloody hell, they could have killed you if they'd gotten you away from the castle!"
"I- I was-" She stumbled over her words. She couldn't tell him what had caused her to be wandering the dungeon corridors so late at night. "I don't know. How did I get away from them?"
"Malfoy found you," he said oddly. "He followed Crabbe, found you and Goyle, and Stunned both of them just before Dumbledore showed up."
"I heard someone say Stupefy just before I passed out," she recalled suddenly. "I thought one of them was Stunning me."
Harry nodded and they were silent for a moment.
"Did Malfoy get the Headmaster?" she asked, and Harry shook his head.
She frowned in confusion. "How did he know what was happening, then?"
Harry took her hands in his and said tightly, "He has wards on the castle to alert him to the casting of certain spells. The curse Goyle cast on you set them off."
The Cruciatus. How could she have forgotten?
"Oh, Harry," she said, remembering he, too, had experienced the curse. "How could you stand it from Voldemort? Goyle's must have been weak compared to his, but it was still like... I don't even know how to describe it."
He nodded, squeezing her hands a little more tightly.
"I suppose I should consider myself lucky that's the worst they did," she added, feeling anything but lucky.
"I don't understand Malfoy," Harry said after a long, thoughtful silence. "It just doesn't make sense. He's been acting so strange, lately."
She regarded her friend, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She recalled a conversation with Snape some months ago about Malfoy's strange behaviour, but then her mind moved on to something else.
"Harry!" she exclaimed softly. "Does Severus know what's happened?"
He shrugged and said, "I think Dumbledore went to tell him while he was waiting for the Governors. Why?"
"You have to tell him," she said urgently. "You have to tell him I'm-"
"-all right, yes," Harry said reassuringly. "I'm sure he knows you're okay, Hermione."
"No," she said, biting back a sob. "Harry, you have to tell him I'm sorry."
Harry dropped her hands and stared at her.
"Sorry? What for?"
"I can't... it doesn't matter. Just tell him, Harry, please?" she pleaded with him.
He frowned. Upon seeing her distraught expression, though, his face softened, and he nodded.
"I'll tell him."
"Thank you." Hermione sighed in relief. Snape might not believe her, might not forgive her, especially with the words coming via Harry, but at least it would be said. She wiped her eyes again, suddenly feeling very weary.
"You should get some rest, or Pomfrey will have my head," Harry joked, and she smiled tiredly and nodded. He reached for the purple potion, but hesitated before handing it to her.
"There's one other thing," he said. "Ron says he hopes you're okay."
Her face darkened for a moment before she realised she was no longer angry with him. Frustrated, yes, but not angry.
Strange, how a near tragedy put things into perspective. They were coming into dark times, and they would all need their friends more than ever, soon. Ron and Severus included, she thought sadly, and then realised Harry was still speaking.
"-was really worried," he said. "He would have come with me, but he didn't want to upset you... and he thought Snape might be here, too."
She shook her head.
"He can't leave his rooms," she said quietly. Even if he wanted to.
"Yeah, well," said Harry, "I thought with something like this he might have made an exception."
And maybe he would have, she thought, had it not been for their argument.
Harry saw her expression of dismay and said, "Whatever you're apologising for, Hermione, he won't hold it against you, especially not after this. I'd forgive you, whatever you'd done."
She gave him a sad smile, but her mind was still filled with uncertainty. If only she could see him now...
"I'll tell him, anyway," Harry reassured her as he handed her the phial of sleeping draught. He stood up from the bed as she drank it down, and helped her draw the sheet back up over her bad shoulder, tucking it around her.
"Tell me what he says," she murmured as she drifted off.
She didn't hear Harry's reply.
It was past three in the morning and Snape was still wide awake, pacing back and forth across his sitting room.
Dumbledore hadn't returned with further news, and neither had Hermione appeared as he had been hoping she might.
Surely she had been released from Pomfrey's care by now? Surely she would have come to him by now, realising he knew he had been wrong and allow him to make amends?
The Floo flared bright and he spun around, hoping to see her, only to be faced with…
"Potter," he growled. "How the hell did you get in here?"
"The Floo from Dumbledore's office," the boy responded. "He's gone down to the school gates with the visitors."
Snape's eyes were drawn to the bundle of fabric in the boys arms - his Invisibility Cloak- and he frowned, confused. He watched the boy's eyes travel around the room, finally coming to rest on the bottle and glass on the coffee table.
"Drinking away your sorrows," Potter commented with a raised eyebrow. "That's always a good idea."
He resisted the urge to hex the boy, settling instead for enquiring with false politeness, "Is there some purpose to your visit, Potter, or have you merely come down here to insult me?"
"If it was my choice, I wouldn't be here at all," he returned. "I'm here because of Hermione."
Snape tried to keep his expression indifferent, but couldn't quite manage it.
"Is she all right?" he finally asked.
"What sort of bloody question is that, after what happened? Of course she's not all right, you idiot!"
Snape stepped forwards, a snarl curling his lip at the impudence of the boy.
"You forget your place, Potter," he hissed. "I may no longer be your teacher, but I will not tolerate such rudeness from you."
Instead of being cowed, though, Potter tossed his Invisibility Cloak over the back of the armchair and sat down, uninvited.
"Look," he said flatly, "What did Dumbledore tell you about what happened tonight?"
Snape scowled, but lowered himself into a chair, too, before he spoke. "She was set upon in the dungeons by two students – two Slytherins," he added, seeing Potter open his mouth. "They meant to take her to the Dark Lord, but their plan was foiled when Mr Malfoy discovered them."
"Is that all he told you?"
Snape favoured the boy with a raised eyebrow, and Potter sighed and muttered something inaudible.
"Am I missing something, Potter?" Snape asked sarcastically. "Perhaps you'd care to enlighten me."
"Yes, you're missing something!" he spat angrily. "They didn't just rough her up a bit; they tried to rape her, and were going to take her to Voldemort when they'd finished! Can you imagine what he would have done to her?"
Snape felt his face blanch, and he was infinitely glad he was sitting down. He hardly heard a word after rape, and he didn't flinch at Potter's use of the Dark Lord's name. Whatever he'd been expecting the boy to say, it wasn't that.
Last time – when he'd come across Hermione and Crabbe in the dungeon corridor – the Slytherins had only been out to frighten her. He should have known they were capable of more, but it didn't cross his mind that they'd try anything in his presence. Now, though, that wasn't an issue for them.
"But... Albus said their instructions were to take her to the Dark Lord alive and unspoilt," he managed hoarsely.
"Oh, please," Harry scoffed. "You expected those two to leave her alone after she escaped them last time? Do you know what Goyle said to her? Snape isn't around to save you this time. She's just damn lucky someone else was."
Snape swallowed, feeling sickened. "Is she... they didn't..."
"No," Harry said quickly, "thank God. But it was a damn near thing."
"Will she be all right?"
The boy favoured him with a disdainful look, which he altogether deserved at his choice of words.
"She hit her head, hurt her arm and has more than a few bruises, but yes, she'll be all right, eventually. She's asleep at the moment."
Snape nodded, still feeling slightly sickened, not to mention the unsettling thought sitting in the back of his head that this was all entirely his fault.
"Look, I just thought..." Potter cleared his throat and looked away. "…I just thought if you care about her in the slightest, as she obviously does you, you might want to see her."
Any disparaging remark Snape may have made about Gryffindor sentimentality flew from his mind, and he tried to fix a sneer on his face to cover the fact he was thoroughly rattled by the insight of the Potter boy.
The strangeness of the situation suddenly struck him, and he felt the absurd desire to laugh. Potter was in his sitting room, in the middle of the night - in his pyjamas, Snape noted with a quick glance at the scruffy-looking Gryffindor – discussing his... well, his... their mutual friend, at least. He didn't know what Hermione was to him anymore, after their argument.
"And what makes you think she would want to see me?" he asked coolly, trying to appear disinterested, though his heart was hammering rather faster than usual in his chest.
"She wanted me to tell you she's sorry," Harry said quietly.
"Don't be absurd," Snape scoffed, and the idea entered his head that the boy was playing some trick on him after learning what he'd said to Hermione that night. "She has nothing to be sorry for."
"She seems to think she does." The boy was watching him closely and Snape scowled, but it didn't deter him. "She seems to think you haven't been to see her because you're angry over whatever happened."
"I can't see her," Snape bit out. "I can't leave here."
"Can't or won't?"
"I can't." He resisted the urge to strangle the boy before he asked another inane question.
"Why can't you?"
Snape clenched his teeth and took a long, measured breath to restrain himself from shouting at the boy's idiocy.
"I made a vow, Potter," he said tightly. "An Unbreakable Vow. Do you know what that is?"
The boy nodded, suddenly looking stunned, and Snape continued.
"I made a vow, many years ago, to obey Albus Dumbledore in all things. If he decrees that I am not to leave these rooms, I am bound by my vow to obey. Do you know the consequences of ignoring such a vow?"
Potter nodded mutely again.
"Albus told me tonight, reaffirming what he said some weeks ago when my duplicity was discovered by the Dark Lord, that I must not be seen. I have little choice but to obey."
"You must not be seen," Potter echoed thoughtfully. "Is that exactly what he said?"
"I don't see why that matters," Snape said shortly, "but, yes, those were his exact words."
"I do read sometimes, you know," the boy said, standing up and taking his cloak from the back of the chair. "I've read about vows. They're very literal in their meaning. If you really want to bind someone, you have to be careful with your wording. If Dumbledore had told you to stay in these rooms, you'd be stuffed."
"He told me I mustn't be seen," Snape said, sudden realising where the boy's train of thought was heading. He had been too busy wallowing in self-pity to consider the phrasing of the Headmaster's command.
"It's a good thing I'm feeling generous, then," Potter said with a smirk, holding out his cloak. Snape stared at it. How often had he wanted to lay his hands on it in his youth, both to trick its owner and just to be invisible, left alone, for an hour or a day. Now, though, he looked at the cloak with a wary eye.
"Potter, I hardly think the Headmaster will approve of my galivanting around the castle under the cover of an Invisibility Cloak like some wayward Gryffindor."
An angry look crossed the boy's face. "Look, it's just an idea, okay," he said tightly. "I thought you'd want to see her. Obviously, I overestimated your capacity to give a damn, though."
He turned back to the fireplace, reaching for the jar of Floo powder on the mantle.
"Potter, wait," Snape said.
The boy stopped and turned, and Snape cleared his throat.
"Might I borrow your Invisibility Cloak for a few hours?"
The boy actually had the audacity to grin, and he tossed the cloak back over the armchair.
"I'm not promising I'll use it," Snape warned.
"I don't care one way or another," Potter said frankly, "but for Hermione's sake, think about it, will you?"
Snape nodded and a moment later Potter disappeared through the Floo.
Picking up the cloak, the silvery material slipped through his fingers as he contemplated his options.
The Headmaster would be furious to think he was even considering leaving the safety of his rooms, but he wasn't breaking his vow… not really. It occurred to him briefly that Potter might be lying about her wanting to see him. Had she truly forgiven him, or, if she hadn't, would she give him a chance to explain?
Maybe she'd told Potter she never wanted to see him again. No, something told Snape, despite his intense dislike of the boy, that he was being truthful. He didn't have the malicious streak his father had displayed in their youth, and his concern for Hermione was as genuine as Snape's.
He stood, undecided, for only a minute more, before he tossed the cloak around his shoulders, set his jaw, and crossed the room to the hidden passageway to the first floor.
To be continued
Author's Notes:
Thanks to everyone who had read and reviewed! I really appreciate your comments!
Most of you guessed something would happen in the dungeons. I wonder if anyone thought it would go this far, though? It had to be nasty for a variety of reasons, some obvious, some not. That scene is also the reason this chapter has taken a little longer than usual. It wasn't the most pleasant thing to write, but I do try to keep things real, and I wouldn't expect anything less from two young men trying to prove themselves worthy of Voldemort.
Earlier in the story – before HBP was released – Snape said he was brought up to believe in the importance of blood purity. In this chapter, he mentions succumbing to the 'ideals of his family and his housemates'. Just for the record, I haven't specifically stated that he's a pureblood. It's not important to the story, but I just wanted to point it out. :P
The Unbreakable Vow is – obviously – a concept introduced in HBP. While this story isn't HBP-compliant, I do take things from that book and use them, and the Unbreakable Vow is an example of this. I do believe Snape made a Vow to Dumbledore when he switched sides, and this gives me hope Snape's loyalties can be proven in the future, because there had to be a Bonder present for the Vow.
I'm also a closet Snape/Lily shipper, although I've only made them out to be friends in this story. I'm convinced there was something there in canon, and hopefully we'll find out in Book 7!
As always, the next chapter has already been posted at owl dot tauri dot org
