Author's Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

I'm not J.K. Rowling, so I don't own anything.

Ch 18: Savior and Murderer, All in One Night

Panic gripped Hermione in a stranglehold. The sound of her pounding heart thundered in her ears, thu-thud, thu-thud, thu-thud. It was almost loud enough to drown out the noise of a celebration occurring nearby. Who was there? Where was she?

Scanning the surroundings, Hermione took in the lavish decor with the opulent marble floors, elaborately carved four-poster bed topped in a richly embroidered brocade cover, and two-tiered chandelier decked out with at least twenty candles now lighting the room. A fire roared to life in the cold stone chamber illuminating the room further, but no warmth reached her. Dread was a lump of ice encasing her.

Everywhere she looked she saw silver and serpents. It was stark and remote, haunting in it's regal isolation. A Slytherin home, no doubt. A rich one at that. There were four doors, including one that seemed to lead out onto a balcony, but what she didn't find was a way out. The length of her wand pressed tauntingly against her side where it was stashed in her robes, but with her hands bound, she had no way of reaching it to free or defend herself.

Hermione yanked on her bounds experimentally. Nothing. No give at all in the invisible shackles. It felt like a band of ice-cold metal bracketed the delicate bones, threatening to crush her slender wrists.

How could this be happening? Where was she? The last thing she remembered was Snape stunning her in his office.

Don't panic. Keep a cool head and use your brains.

The mental command did little to stop the deluge of emotions from bombarding her though. This was not her first year when all it took was logic to select the correct potion to get through a maze. This was a deranged classmate intent on causing her physical harm, and no help coming to save the day.

"Don't do this," she tried, hoping she could talk him out of whatever he had planned. "You know you can't get away with kidnapping a classmate."

"Shut up. Your mouth is only good for one thing, and it's not to listen to you being a know-it-all," Crabbe grunted, laughing at his own joke as he dug around in his pockets. Hermione watched him pull out a crumpled bit of paper just before he shoved it into her mouth. "There. Now you can eat one of those books you're always obsessing over."

Hermione pushed her tongue against the balled parchment, but it stretched her jaw so wide it did little more than dry out her mouth as it forced her jaws wide apart.

She should have been safe in Snape's office. She'd kept her promise and stayed out of the battle that had taken place. Obviously Crabbe had stumbled upon her and taken it upon himself to remove her from the castle. But how? And worse, why?

Oh, wait. That answer was pointing, disgustingly, directly at her.

He was still stroking himself leisurely, aroused by her obvious distress, and seeming content to prolong their encounter when the door to the room opened, bringing with it the sounds of raucous laughter and shouting.

Hermione's gaze darted to the newcomer in time to see him freeze. It was Malfoy, and he looked every bit as startled to see her as she'd been to wake up in the room.

Some small part of her had hoped it would be a professor come to rescue her, despite how ridiculous and unrealistic the idea was. But seeing the classmate that had made his feelings for her, not to mention his alliances, perfectly clear the last six years, any hope she'd had died a swift and brutal death.

"What are you doing?" Malfoy hissed, quickly closing the door behind him before anyone passing in the hallway saw.

"I found her in Snape's office," Crabbe announced gleefully, grinning lewdly as he adjusted himself beneath his trousers.

"That doesn't explain what either of you are doing here – in my bedroom," Malfoy all but growled, looking furious with his friend.

Of course it was Malfoy's room. She should have guessed.

"There's a party. I wanted to join and figured I'd bring a party favor to gain entrance. The Dark Lord can have her when I'm done, but I needed some privacy for a bit of fun first," Crabbe said, shrugging. His body seemed to get more visibly excited with each word he spoke. Hermione felt bile rise in her throat at the sight of his tented pants, his erection jutting forward shamelessly.

Party? Then Snape was successful. Dumbledore was dead. Had anyone else died? Would she?

Crabbe had called her a party favor. What did he mean when he was done? Surely he didn't mean to rape her.

Hermione mentally castigated herself. Denial wasn't likely to help her any, so there was no point immersing herself in it. He'd already hinted that he wanted to do that to her, but they'd never been in a place where she thought he could actually get away with it. That wasn't the case here. They weren't in the castle anymore. Probably, no one even knew where she was or that she was missing. There was no way out and no help coming.

She needed to resign herself to that fact and start trying to come up with a way out that relied solely on herself. Right. Because having a wand so close, yet so far while knowing Crabbe intended to molest her was doing wonders to help her keep her tail-spinning thoughts in line.

And give her to Voldemort afterwards? What would he do with her? Kill her outright, or make her suffer first to hurt Harry? Would he do it in front of an audience? His Death Eaters? Snape?

Snape…

If he tried to save her…Hermione couldn't bring herself to consider what would happen. Besides, hadn't he already warned her that he'd let it happen to protect his cover? He'd have to. Too much was at stake. Everything he'd been forced to do that night would have been for nothing if he chose her over the mission. Besides, she didn't mean enough to him to risk all that. But was that still the case?

That thought was dangerous in a magnitude of ways.

"You're supposed to be at Hogwarts," Malfoy reiterated, eyes darting around the room wildly. Hermione was grateful for his words. They saved her from drowning beneath the avalanche of questions bearing down on her.

"So what? You're not there either," Crabbe said defensively, scowling at the regal blond boy that looked decidedly less than composed for once. Actually, he'd looked that way most of this school year. Scared. Young. In way over his head.

"Because Potter saw me!" Malfoy yelled, throwing his arms up. Almost at once he reigned himself in, shifting to block the door as though he feared someone might try to enter and discover the scene playing out in the boy's bedroom.

Oh, Merlin. Hermione was in Malfoy's bedroom. What were they going to do to her? Would he join Crabbe? Would he take pleasure in making her suffer for all of his imagined slights over the years?

Slowly, Hermione worked the paper wad forward, chewing the earthy mound as it began turning to a gooey mush that she'd be able to spit out.

"They know I let the Death Eaters in and tried to kill Dumbledore. I couldn't stay. The Dark Lord approved of my leaving the school," Malfoy tried, breathing rapidly. His face flushed, and his voice rose in volume again as he continued, "You can't say the same – not to mention the fact you kidnapped Potter's best mate!"

"I want to have a little fun with her. Like Snape does," Crabbe said carelessly, leering at her again. Hermione cringed, a violent shiver rolling over her when he licked his pudgy lips.

She was going to be sick. Her stomach rolled at the innuendo. There was no way she wouldn't vomit all over him if he touched her. Though if she couldn't get the paper out she'd likely choke on it. Perhaps that'd be a better fate than the one that currently awaited her.

"And you thought doing that in my room was your best option?" Malfoy asked incredulously, shaking his head in disbelief.

"I didn't want to be disturbed."

"But in my room?" Malfoy all but whined.

"Others are using your guest rooms with their own playthings," Crabbe said defensively, shrugging off the other boy's concern as though it was of little consequence.

"Have you considered what Snape will have to say once he's discovered what you've done here?" Malfoy asked wearily. Was he trying to help her? Was that question meant to get Crabbe to back off or rethink his decision to violate her? "She belongs to him."

Hope flickered in Hermione's chest. A tiny ember glowing and growing with each potential delay and roadblock that Malfoy put in Crabbe's way.

"He won't care. She's just a toy," Crabbe insisted, reaching out to run his fingers over the top of her breasts. She shuddered in revulsion. "You even said he hurt her."

Oh, Merlin. Was her stunt going to come back to bite her in the arse? She'd wanted Malfoy to let Snape help him, not give him the impression that Snape didn't care what happened to her.

Draco looked uncertain. His usual ability to find a quick retort – even a weak and juvenile one – seemed to have deserted him just when she needed it the most.

Crabbe took advantage of the silence and began undoing the buttons on her shirt. She wished she'd had her robes closed up the front to add another barrier to block his progress or prolong it, but she didn't, having relaxed when she'd been helping Ron study Transfiguration. Had that really only been a few hours ago?

As the red lace fabric of her bra became visible, she felt stricken by the idea that she was completely helpless. Utterly at the mercy of someone that apparently possessed none.

Short nails scratched the skin over her ribs as he tugged roughly on the little buttons that didn't come free of the slit fast enough for his liking. Finally, he grunted and yanked the fabric hard enough to pop the button off altogether.

Hermione yanked at the invisible restraints holding her in place, testing the magic yet again. She pulled until her wrists throbbed and ached from her futile efforts. When his hands reached for her, she tried harder, refusing to give in without making every attempt possible to get away.

Shame filled Hermione as he pawed at her breast, jerking the cup down to expose her to both boys' gazes. Hunger filled Crabbe's, but Malfoy's simply looked terrified and horrified. A frightened child too cowardly to speak up when he saw something wrong taking place – just like he'd done at Christmas.

A meaty hand clamped down and squeezed the tender flesh painfully, squeezing tighter and tighter until he wrung a strangled whimper from Hermione. She bit the inside of her cheek as she continued to work on the gag, and relished the overwhelming sensation of the blunt pain and warm rush of salty copper filling her mouth as she focused on that rather than her desire to beg for Malfoy to help her or Crabbe to stop. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her beg. She'd remain defiant – even if it killed part of her to do so.

The blood made it possible to finally spit the impromptu gag from her mouth. Crabbe dodged the soiled mass, staring at where it landed in disgust a moment before hauling off and punching her in the stomach. The urge to curl in on herself was overwhelming, but her spread-eagled, manacled position made that impossible.

Then his hand was back at her chest, and he wasn't letting up. If anything, he clenched his fist a fraction harder. Did he think it was a water balloon that he could pop? It disgusted her to realize this was probably the first time he'd ever really had his hands on a witch, and that she was the unlucky victim.

"I don't want you doing this in my room," Malfoy ordered, adopting the snobbish airs and arrogant demeanor that he was so accustomed to.

"Too bad," Crabbe said, twisting the mounds he clutched like knobs on a stove, not caring they weren't meant to turn that way.

When a second helpless whimper snuck past her sealed lips, Malfoy sneered in disgust and strode from the room.

She'd not realized until the door shut that she'd still hoped Malfoy might have an epiphany and discover he had a conscience after all. But no. He was still the same spoiled brat he'd always been, caring about no one save himself. Hermione couldn't expect any help from him.

Terror filled her, pounding her like a hundred sledgehammers all taking turns swinging at her. Crabbe fisted each of her breasts, mauling them as he tugged every bit as hard as she was on the charm encasing her wrists and ankles. Her back bowed unnaturally as her torso tried to follow his hands, relieving some of the brutal pressure he was placing on her. Or at least redistributing it to her shoulders, knees, and hips.

She was trapped. Whatever was going to happen, she'd have to endure it. She could, no matter how bleak it seemed.

Right.

Except this was only the beginning. He planned to give her to Voldemort afterwards, and she had a feeling he'd make this seem like a cakewalk in comparison.

"I didn't think I was remembering these right. But I was. They're every bit as big as I thought. You always keep them hidden by your robes and you're all hunched over beneath your giant bag of books," Crabbe said hungrily, licking his lips before he leaned forward and bit her nipple sharply.

"Augh!" she cried out, unprepared for the violation and helpless to contain her pained response.

"You were squirming all over Snape's cock. I bet you're loving this. Bet you're all hot and wet for me," Crabbe rambled, speaking against her skin before licking the curve of her breast and leaving a sticky trail of revolting spit in his wake.

Then he bit her again.

Harder.

No.

How could he possibly think she was enjoying any of this? He was insane. Generations of inbreeding had taken their toll on his sanity. Or maybe that was what he got off on. Sadistic prat.

"Make that sound again," he ordered.

What sound? The only ones she'd allowed herself, unwillingly, were a few whimpers and one cry of distress. Fear made her tremble, but there was nothing she could do to stop the inadvertent reaction to his words.

"I want to make you scream," he said, starting to pant like a dog in heat.

Scream? What did he plan on doing to make that happen? Surely it would alert the other Death Eaters to her presence if she did. Would they want to join in? She couldn't…she just couldn't handle that.

Crabbe bent forward to slobber some more on her, scraping his teeth roughly across her nipple and biting the skin just above it harder than necessary or enjoyable in any realm of the imagination. "I'm gonna make you scream my name like you did his."

Hermione bit her cheek harder, and her throat spasmed as she convulsively swallowed the fresh influx of blood, but it wasn't enough to distract her or keep her attention off what the wizard she'd gone to school with for the last six years was doing to her against her will.

He was watching her critically, seeming displeased or annoyed that he wasn't invoking more of a reaction from her. A little boy, disappointed that a bug was refusing to fly after he'd just pulled its wings off. Staring her down, he pinched the peak of her nipple, pressing it nearly flat between his fingers.

"I would never scream your name the way I do his. You're not man enough," Hermione hissed, balling her fists and curling her toes as she spat a mouthful of blood right in his face.

Instantly, she regretted mouthing off. Based on the expression he wore, he'd make sure she regretted it.

"Why you little piece of filth," he growled, hand flying out to backhand her cheek. Her head snapped to the side as an explosion of fire filled the place where his hand had struck her.

Dread quickly replaced the pain he caused when Crabbe wiped his face with the edge of his shirt before struggling to undo his pants, mumbling, "I'll show you man enough."

He stepped forward, his ugly, stubby cock jutting out threateningly. He was thicker than Snape, but significantly shorter and an angry, rotten-tomato red. The swollen, dark head looked ready to pop like a bulbous zit.

Acid coated her throat, and vomit filled her mouth. This was really going to happen. He was going to violate her in the most thorough way possible, and her limbs were paralyzed, leaving her helpless to stop him or fight him off.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but it was filled with sand and gravel. No sound came out of her parched throat, despite still being slick with remnants of her blood.

"Crabbe," she tried again, forcing the croaked sound out in a desperate attempt to delay the inevitable, but then her voice faltered. No words came to her. She could think of no way to talk him down.

Abruptly, Crabbe's eyes glazed over and he toppled backwards, falling to the floor like a cut tree.

Air left her lungs in a great whoosh, and she was panting, not having realized she'd been holding her breath. Slowly, she looked in confusion from the dropped figure, lying there with his ugly dick still out, to the doorway.

Snape. He'd come for her.

He waved his wand again as he strode quickly towards her. Her heavy arms fell to her sides at once and her fingers fluttered uselessly, cramping at the sudden return of sensation and blood flow, but it didn't matter because Snape was before her, gently adjusting her clothes to cover her back up. Though she had no doubt that he'd noted the discoloration already appearing on her ivory chest.

"Severus," she breathed, his name a benediction.

The sound of it had him turning, his whole body shaking, but she saw the splash of red cross his cheeks, highlighting his rage. His wand was aimed directly at Crabbe without a single word of acknowledgement spoken.

"Severus," she repeated, firmer, and grabbed his arm, stopping him from retaliating without thinking it through first. The house was full of Death Eaters. He'd have no good explanation for why he protected her if he did something to Crabbe right then. She'd be found out. They'd be discovered. That wouldn't do. "Please. I need you right now, and this isn't the time."

Part of her mind railed at herself for stopping him, wanting Snape to avenge her, wanting Crabbe to pay dearly for what he'd done. But she couldn't be selfish. Not when such an act could have far reaching consequences. They could hold him accountable later.

She also knew exacting personal vengeance would make her little better than the Death Eaters celebrating throughout Malfoy Manor at that very moment. She would not be like them. She refused. There was a justice system for a reason, and Hermione wanted desperately to believe in what it could be after the war. Fair. Honest. Decent.

Crabbe would pay. But he'd do it the right way. That was the society she was fighting for.

"He can suffer some sort of 'accident' later," Snape agreed quickly, an overly pleased look crossing his face as one side of his lips quirked up in unholy anticipation.

"Severus," Hermione began warningly.

"Hush," he ordered, darting a look at the still open doorway. "You're right. You'll be fine now, but you must leave immediately. The Dark Lord is downstairs at this very moment. If he –"

"He'd hurt me to hurt Harry," Hermione acknowledged, willing herself to remain calm.

"Yes. Come along quickly," Snape insisted, pausing to bring a hand up to hover near her cheek, not quite touching her.

"How did you know I was here?" she asked quietly.

The sound of a throat clearing filled the silent room, and Hermione looked over to see Malfoy still in the hall, darting glances down the hall and back at them.

"Why?" she asked, realizing he hadn't abandoned her. He'd gone to get Snape to help her.

"I owed him…for tonight," Malfoy said reluctantly, his face a study in contrasts as his cheekbones flushed but the rest of his face turned a faint sickly shade of green. He glanced down the hall again and gave a stiff nod, indicating the coast was clear.

"He found me on my way back to the school," Snape explained further, taking her arm to guide her forward though not still quite touching her. There was at least an inch of space separating them as his hand hovered beneath where she'd wrapped her arms tightly around her middle.

Malfoy suddenly held up a hand to stop them and disappeared from sight, leaving her and Snape tense and waiting.

"This place is crawling with Death Eaters, isn't it?" Hermione ventured, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth.

"Yes," Snape acknowledged, punctuating the word with a sharp nod.

"There's no way we're getting outside unnoticed," Hermione murmured, resigning herself.

"You will. I swear it," Snape said fiercely.

One of her hands had snaked into her pocket to grip her wand, the smooth wood familiar and reassuring. It galled her to know Crabbe hadn't even bothered to properly disarm her. The means to fight back had been so tauntingly close, yet just out of reach thanks to the magical restraints he'd bound her in. Hermione never wanted to release her hold on her wand again.

If Snape hadn't come for her…

"Severus," Hermione breathed, continuing, "if you'd…"

The heel of his hand pressed briefly against his sternum, indicating a phantom pain that had notified him of her situation. Dumbledore must have known they'd find themselves in such positions when he decided to bind them as he had and use the particular spells that he'd chosen.

It hit her all of a sudden that the headmaster was dead. And she was standing beside the man that had done it. Was he all right? Had it even truly registered with him yet? Probably not. Too much else had taken place. It was the same for her.

"I know. Either the potion or our bond let me know...maybe both…and there was a window to duck out unnoticed. I felt…."

"Oh," she said, grateful again that she'd given him the potion. It was possible she'd not have been taken at all if she'd taken it instead, but this way Snape was safe and alive. If he'd failed, the Unbreakable Vow he'd taken would have killed him. Assuming she made it out of Malfoy Manor without further incident, then what she went through would be worth it…eventually.

"Hermione," he whispered softly, reading her face if not her thoughts. She didn't feel him in her mind, but judging by the concern visible in the deep lines creasing his forehead, he knew what she was thinking about.

"I knew it!" Malfoy hissed, glaring at them accusingly from where he'd materialized in the doorway. "You were trying to play me. The two of you are actually –"

"There's no more time to discuss this," Snape interrupted. "If the hall is clear, you must leave immediately. You'll need to come up with a cover story."

"I will. What about…" Hermione started, glancing helplessly back at Crabbe's prone form. He looked far less terrifying in his current state, but she'd never forget how he'd made her feel only a few minutes earlier. "He's going to try again. This was the second time. What if…"

Snape gave her a hard look, then turned and didn't hesitate for even an instant before raising his wand and pointing it at Crabbe, saying, "Obliviate."

"What did you make him forget?" she asked.

"Everything about you," Snape said frankly, managing to keep his voice low and even, though Hermione sensed magma rising close to the surface. He was a volcano ready to blow its top off.

"Severus," she whispered fearfully, eyes flicking reluctantly towards Malfoy.

"I trust no one will fill him in on it again," Snape warned threateningly, pinning Malfoy with a look sharp enough to flay the flesh from his bones.

"No," Malfoy agreed, shifting nervously. Seeming to wish to change the subject, he gestured at the hallway, saying, "There's no getting out that way. A bunch of them are in the entrance hall, but I grabbed some Floo powder. You'll be able to get to the Three Broomsticks, then back to Hogwarts from there."

"Hmph. You must go. Now," Snape ordered, scanning her quickly.

Quietly, to avoid Malfoy hearing, she asked, "When will I see you again?"

"I'll message you as soon as I can," he promised, looking regretful about having to send her away and not having a more definitive answer. Not that she wished to stay a moment longer than necessary.

Hermione spared him one final glance then held out her palm, allowing Malfoy to pour the sparkling grey dust from his hand to hers. Anxious to get away before they were discovered and she was made to endure something even worse, Hermione strode purposefully towards the grate and tossed the powder in, calling, "The Three Broomsticks."

Twirling fast enough to have her finally vomiting everything that had threatened to come out before, she groaned pitifully when she finally stumbled forward into the deserted pub. Everyone had probably already rushed to the castle. Lucky thing too. It'd make getting back undetected far easier.

The journey back to the castle barely registered in Hermione's mind as she raced down the secret passageway in Honeydukes' cellar. She'd barely had the presence of mind to vanish the sick she'd spewed before hurrying out of the abnormally silent pub. There was no telling yet how long she'd been gone for. The party seemed to have just gotten started at Malfoy Manor, but that didn't guarantee that her absence from the castle had gone undetected. And every minute she spent away from the castle increased the likelihood that someone would figure out she'd been taken.

Every muscle in her body ached. The insistent throbbing originated in her face, chest, stomach, wrists, and ankles, twinging and reminding her of her ordeal with each beat of her heart. But she couldn't think about any of that. If she did, she'd break down and cry. She'd curl up in a ball in a dark room and let the world pass her by like she had in the days after her mum was killed. Hopefully, no one would notice the damage, or if they did, they'd think it was from the fight.

Once she emerged from behind the statue of the one-eyed witch, she'd only made it three hallways before running into Professor Sprout.

"Oh! Miss Granger, there you are! We feared the worst. The Heads of Houses have all been looking for you everywhere since-since…ah, well, here you are now," she declared, waving her dirt-crusted hand about to shepherd Hermione forward.

"Is everyone all right?" Hermione asked anxiously, longing for an update on everything she missed, and hoping the question would distract the herbology professor from prodding into her whereabouts.

"You don't know? Where have you been, dear girl?"

So much for that plan. It had been worth a shot, at least.

Hermione sighed, scrambling to come up with an excuse. Any excuse. Even a flimsy one right then.

"Oh, good. You found someone," Luna announced, turning the corner and smiling widely. Cheeks flushed from exercise and discretely shoving a worn parchment into an inner pocket of her robes. Thank you Felix Felicis. Luna had been right about needing the Map, and she was in the perfect position to help at precisely the right time. "We've been searching for a professor since we woke up."

"Er, yes," Hermione agreed, letting Luna lie for her. She was very good at it. Scarily so.

"Miss Lovegood! We've been searching for you as well. What do you mean, 'woke up'?" Sprout asked, hurrying them down the steps. Hermione guessed they were heading towards the hospital wing.

"Yes. Professor Snape stunned us, and locked us in an empty classroom," Luna said lightly, glancing about and smiling vaguely as they walked. Already she was trailing just a bit behind, seeming distracted and content to go at her own pace. Possibly, she was oblivious to the woman's efforts to hurry them along.

Hermione was abruptly glad for the girl's oddness. Luna wasn't lying about the stunned bit, and Crabbe could have easily taken her as well. If it weren't for the majority of the school population avoiding Luna whenever possible, she might have found herself shackled to a wall in Malfoy Manor right beside Hermione. At Crabbe's mercy – not that he had any – and forced to feel his rough, calloused hands doing –

"Merlin," Sprout gasped, and gave them a look of horror, adding, "you lot are lucky to be alive. To think what he might have done to you –"

"What – what's happened?" Hermione demanded, remembering that she had no idea, and Snape hadn't had a chance to tell her.

She needed to focus on something else. Anything else to distract her from the memory of Crabbe assaulting her. She couldn't afford to fall to pieces yet. Snape and Dumbledore were both relying on her to maintain her composure and wits. She held their secrets and couldn't allow anything to slip simply because her emotions were stuck on a violent spin cycle in a Muggle washing machine.

"The headmaster is dead. Professor Snape killed him," Sprout declared, saying the words as though they were a foreign language she didn't yet comprehend. More, she was repeating after someone else as she attempted to learn. "Can you believe…Death Eaters in the castle…never before…I just can't wrap my head around it. If I didn't know you always seemed to find yourself in the thick of a fight, I wouldn't have been so worried about you, but…oh, never-you-mind. I've found you, and at least you're uninjured."

"Was anyone else killed?" Hermione pressed.

"Only a Death Eater – Gibbon, I believe. But…Bill Weasley was gravely injured," she admitted, luckily not commenting on Hermione's lack of reaction to the news that Dumbledore was dead.

Bill.

Not another Weasley. Hadn't they already been through enough? First Ginny, then Mr. Weasley, and most recently Ron. They'd suffered enough in this war, and it wasn't even close to over yet. What else would they go through? Who else would be hurt before the end?

"How?" Luna asked for Hermione, sensing the Gryffindor was incapable of voicing the question herself. More like she was too scared to hear the extent of his injuries.

But all Sprout said was, "Inside. You can check for yourselves," as she waved them towards the closed double doors leading into the hospital wing, "I need to check in with the other Professors and alert them that the pair of you have been located."

"Hermione!" Ron shouted as soon as she stepped inside. "There you are."

He looked awful. The skin along his chin already a mottled red and steadily darkening to a nasty bruise. His clothes were rumpled and his sleeve was torn.

Hermione made her way forward, absently noting Luna gliding towards a figure in one of the nearby beds that Hermione couldn't spare a glance at. Aside from the shout, Ron didn't rush forward to greet her as he ordinarily would, and as she got closer, she noticed Harry slumped on a seat, Ginny's arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders.

Others were there too. Lupin was talking quietly to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, the latter sobbing freely, and Fleur was dabbing at Bill's face with a soft cloth. Hermione couldn't tell how bad off he was since a thick green paste covered the majority of his face.

"How bad is it?" she asked tentatively.

"Greyback got his face pretty good, but it sounds like he'll pull through and won't be infected," Ron said, shrugging. "You missed all the drama between Mum and Fleur." The latter's name was said with no small degree of wonder, and Hermione fought to keep from rolling her eyes. For Merlin's sake! The witch was going to marry his brother, and he was still obsessed with her. It was beyond ridiculous at this point – not that it hadn't always been. Once more she was grateful not to still be hung up on Ron.

Hermione could tell he didn't want to be there anymore. He didn't like standing around, surrounded by suffering and pain when he couldn't do anything useful. He didn't like to dwell on the negative.

Lupin winced at hearing the relief in Ron's tone when relaying that news that Bill wouldn't turn. She wanted to tell Lupin that he'd not meant it like that, that Ron wasn't trying to be insulting or insensitive, but knew there wasn't much point. He'd probably heard a number of similar sentiments that evening. Besides, he'd probably find comfort from her condescending. They rarely spoke, and when they did, it was about house-elf rights or unjust laws. He'd believe her sympathizing words were merely an extension of that.

"Harry?" she asked, trying to check on him. He looked like a hollowed out shell or a drained battery.

"Snape killed him. Right in front of me. Dumbledore was begging him, and he didn't bat an eye," Harry related, staring vacantly at the floor as he relayed the events. "I was frozen. He protected me instead of himself, and Malfoy disarmed him. He should have used the chance to protect himself, not me."

"Harry, it wasn't your fault," Hermione said softly.

"That tosser. I always knew he was rubbish," Ron growled, continuing, "you've said it all along, Harry. Guess you had the right of it…not that anyone believed you. Right about Malfoy too."

"He was the Prince all along," Harry added.

"Malfoy?" Ron asked, jaw hanging open in astonishment.

"No. Snape," Harry clarified.

"Oh. Guess that makes sense. The book was in his room – you knew," Ron said quickly, changing direction mid sentence as he rounded on her. "That's how you figured it out."

"I put it together after Snape reacted to you using the spell. It was so obvious. The book had been in his classroom, after all," Hermione hedged.

"Of course. I was so stupid. I should have figured it out myself sooner," Harry said, scolding himself.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Ron wondered, frowning at her. Probably he was remembering that they'd been discussing it only a few hours ago, and they'd never actually finished.

"I didn't think it mattered. Harry didn't have the book anymore," Hermione tried, hating that Ron had put her on the spot. Even worse, was the betrayed look Harry was giving her. "It didn't seem such a big deal once I discovered it was Snape. He was our professor. We were supposed to be learning from him."

"And our professors have never turned out to be the bad guy, have they?" Harry asked, snorting derisively.

"He's helped us over the years. You know he has. I didn't think it really mattered since you used the book to save Ron, and it was out of reach now," Hermione said in a rush, the words running into one another as they escaped her mouth.

"Sure," Harry sighed, evidently too tired to be mad at her for keeping the origins of the book secret from him. "Though I probably wouldn't have been so eager to get it back if I'd known it was Snape who'd written it."

"You learned a great deal from him this year, Harry. Even if you were cheating –"

"He's a murderer, Hermione. I don't want to learn anything from him."

"But you're all right, Harry? Tonight…" Hermione inquired, swallowing thickly and trying to redirect the conversation. It lodged in her throat at hearing them disparage Snape, but she couldn't exactly correct their line of thinking without stirring up a heap of issues.

Dumbledore had needed to beg him to do it? He must be an internal mess right now – especially after needing to rescue her afterwards on top of everything else. Hermione longed to check on him.

Automatically, her hand slipped into her pocket, touching the coin they used to communicate. No. Not their coin. She'd traded them prior to the fight in order to alert the D.A. She'd never switched them back.

"I suppose," he muttered, leaning farther into Ginny's side. "Where have you been?" he demanded, jerking upright as the thought suddenly occurred to him.

"Luna and I were stunned. We only just woke up," Hermione said tartly, trying to look embarrassed rather than shifty.

"Did you fall too?" Ron asked, pointing at her face then his own to indicate what he meant. "It looks all swollen."

"What? Oh, I guess I must have," she said, gingerly touching her cheek. It was tender, and doing so pressed the inside against her teeth, reminding her that she'd masticated that bit herself until it was so much minced meat.

"Guess it's good that's all it was," Ginny said, smiling over at Luna. "It could have been so much worse."

"Oh yes, very good," Luna agreed, right on command.

It was then that Hermione recognized the motionless figure Luna had gone to check on. Neville. He was unconscious or sleping, Hermione couldn't tell. Part of her was jealous. She just wanted the day to end already. To put the events behind her.

"We should probably head to bed. A lot will be happening in the next few days. The school will probably shut down –"

"Close the school? But they can't!" Ron cried.

"Well, Ron, I had no idea you were so fond of your classes," Hermione teased.

"But it's Hogwarts! They can't just…just close it. Can they?"

"McGonagall mentioned something about it earlier, and Lupin seemed to agree that's what they were probably planning," Harry informed them.

Hermione turned to ask the man about it, but he was deep in conversation with Mr. Weasley while Mrs. Weasley and Fleur appeared to be having a silent battle of wills seeing who could make Bill the most comfortable. The former was tucking the blanket tightly around his frame while the latter was fluffing his pillow.

"Death Eaters got inside and attacked students. The headmaster was killed in the castle. Parents won't feel safe leaving their children here. They'll want them at home where they can keep an eye on them themselves," Hermione said reasonably, voicing the rationalizations she expected to hear in the coming days.

"They'll get picked off one-by-one. Sitting ducks," Harry warned, anger a lit fuse slowly inching towards a powder keg.

"Come on, Harry. Hermione's right. We need to get some sleep before all the questions start from the other houses," Ginny said persuasively, effectively defusing his temper with an ease that floored Hermione. No one else had that ability, not even her, and she'd had six years of practice.

As soon as she entered her dorm, Hermione raced for her trunk and dug out the coin. A message was already waiting for her.

'Use the bruise cream in my rooms tonight.'

He had noticed the damage Crabbe had done to her. Snape had noticed and cared enough to check on her – even if his concern came across as more of an order.

Hermione nearly lost it right then.

Somehow she made it down to the dungeons, having to hide behind a tapestry once to avoid the ghost of the Grey Lady and a dusty alcove another time to wait for Professor Vector to amble past. The staff were apparently forgoing sleep that night in favor of patrolling the castle and protecting the students. Though they were also probably greeting parents that were showing up and demanding to take their children home immediately.

Her whole body felt like one giant bruise by the time she reached her destination. Snape's scent invaded her senses the instant she stepped inside the familiar living room. It was both a reassuring comfort and an unfortunate reminder that she was alone.

The bruise cream was easy enough to locate, having used it on Snape over the Easter Hols, but as soon as she got a good look at the bite marks and purple finger lines tattooed across such an intimate area of her body, she began shaking. The extent of Crabbe's vicious streak was documented all over her.

The siren song of a shower called to her at once, and Hermione spent close to an hour scrubbing every inch of her body raw beneath a scalding spray of steady water. She kept her wand within easy reach the entire time, not comfortable unless she could either see it or feel it. Yet somehow, despite her efforts, she didn't feel even the least bit clean or safe.

Hermione finally gave up and wrapped herself in Snape's robe, noticing the message on the coin she'd left on the counter had changed.

'I'm sorry, Hermione,' it read.

Sighing, she replied, 'I'm all right, Severus.'

It was a lie, but perhaps he'd believe her since he couldn't see the truth for himself. And honestly, there was nothing more he could do for her at the moment now that he'd fled the castle. Probably nothing even if he was there.

She also knew better than to ask after his state of mind. He'd not be anymore forthcoming with her than she'd been.

Part of her also knew it would be wiser to head back to her own rooms now that she'd obtained the cream – it had even worked to erase the majority of the reminders painted across the canvas of her body – but it was too great of an effort. In the end, she managed to catch nearly three hours of uninterrupted sleep in Snape's bed, cradling his pillow and inhaling the scent for comfort, all the while wishing she had access to the real thing.

But who knew when that would happen now that the war was on in earnest.

The answer was waiting for her when her nightmares startled her awake several hours before the sun began to rise and herald in a new day.

'Come to 9 Spinner's End when you leave Hogwarts.'

It took her no time at all to decide if that was wise or not. After all, it wasn't really a decision. She loved Snape and would take any chance she could get to be with him. Just knowing she had that to look forward to eased the pit of dread that had lodged in her stomach.

'I will.'