Hopelessness was the one thing she felt right now. Unable to move, unable to sit. All she could do was follow his every movement with her eyes and brace herself should he decide to strike her. But it never happened. He never as much raised a wayward finger towards her, instead, he fed her. Sat by her bed and talked to her. Even if she didn't talk back, he felt it awkward to sit with her in total silence, listening only to the maddening ticking of the clock on the wall, alerting them both to the perilousness of time.
He wondered if she could speak, or if Greyback had done something so untoward it rendered her mute. Perhaps she was just too petrified to speak for fear of being beaten at his hand, or maybe she just had nothing to say. There was also half a chance she was so beaten and so broken that she had regressed to such a state she didn't know how to talk anymore.
There were thoughts deep in the back of his mind that he should tell her there were others here, others that he had saved. Although their plight wasn't as bad, nor were they as beaten as she. They were sound of mind and of body. He never meant to save them. The plan was to save her only. But when he saw them standing there, looking down upon him pitifully, his gut clenched and guilt gnawed at him, and he opened his wallet to secure their future. But how could he leave them there? Minerva especially. And the Lovegood girl. Someone would have chewed her up and spit her out in seconds. But his primary concern was the Weasley girl. A fiery temper to match the hue of her hair would have seen her throat slit in seconds, should the wrong wizard have purchased her. Desirable for her pureblood, she wouldn't have taken it lightly when they tried to force her into bearing a child.
So now, he had four women and the one he needed, truly needed, was far incapacitated and wouldn't be of help to him for at least three months when he really needed her three months prior. He needed her to be strong and sound of mind for what he was going to task her with, and right now; she was of no help to him.
He had thought of asking Voldemort of her whereabouts months prior but not wanting to raise suspicions he bode his time and eventually she came through the auction house as he had imagined. Well, not exactly as he had imagined. He imagined she would go through, but not in such a disastrous state.
Minerva, Weasley, and Lovegood were in excellent hands here. Technically, he owned them so no other wizard could stake a claim to them, but in his eyes, the piece of paper that bound them to him was just that, a worthless piece of paper in which he wished he could toss into the fire and sever any bonds of ownership between him and the women. But for now, he had to keep up appearances and hold on to the paper that rendered him their master and them his slaves to do with as he wished.
They had their liberties within his home, able to do as they pleased, and he expected little to nothing off of them in return. They knew he had secured Hermione but were told to keep their distance because he didn't want to overwhelm her too much too soon. As far as she was aware, it was just him and her alone in the home.
He sponged warm water over her body, scrubbing away months of grime and blood mingled with a deep sadness that was slowly lifting from her body. Dirt ingrained so heavily upon her flesh it took several passes of the sponge before the dirt gave way to the white, soft skin that lay beneath. The only response he got in return was a small, deep-throated grunt of what he could only assume was appreciation.
It was awkward in a sad way that he was sitting here in his home sponge bathing one of the smartest and the bravest witches he had ever had the pleasure of meeting. Never in a million years would he think he would see the day Hermione Granger was going to depend on another human for anything, much less a simple task such as bathing oneself.
He dressed her in warm pajamas and tucked her back under the blankets. With zero body fat on her bones, she would feel every ounce of the surrounding coldness. Even with a warming charm surrounding her, it was nigh on impossible for her to regulate her own body temperature.
Severus sat and watched her in silence for a few fleeting moments and it made him wonder if there was a god, or if he were merely a figment of hope that people prayed to in order to feel better. Surely, if there was a god, he wouldn't allow a once bright and vibrant witch to be reduced to a skeleton moments away from knocking upon heaven's door. He wouldn't have allowed the atrocities that befell her. Never would he have allowed the girl to be raped of her innocence by a murderous monster with less compassion than a rabid dog.
"I'm sorry for whatever happened to you, and I wish I could take it all back, but I want you to know that you are safe here. Truly safe. I know we haven't been the best acquaintances and I understand if you are hesitant to trust me fully and wholly or at all. Yes, it looks as if I am a Voldemort sympathizer. I see how it looks from the outside looking in, but the situation is complicated. When you are up to it, I will explain everything to you but for now, you just need to worry about healing physically and mentally."
He looked up to see the girl sleeping and wondered if she had even heard what he had just said. Eyes tightly shut and mouth slack. He knew that while she slept, at least she would be at peace.
Yawning wide, he stretched his arms high above his head. He really should get some sleep himself. It was clear she was going to need around-the-clock care for at least the first few weeks until her strength grew enough to allow her to function in such a capacity that he would no longer need to feed nor bathe her. He wondered how she had fought to stay upright and conscious the entire time she was in Greyback's clutches. Hell, he wondered how she had been standing when he first saw her in that auction house. Merlin knew she shouldn't have been able to do anything but lie in one spot and stare at the wall. It was evident that she was so petrified, yet had the will to live, that she was running on a depleted system of adrenaline.
Closing his eyes, he slowly drifted off on an armchair he had dragged into the room from his sitting room. Right now, with her so touch and go, he wanted to stay by her bedside… After all; she was the glue holding together the promise of a better world and without her, what he had been tasked with would all but fall by the wayside and their last grasp at hope, and ridding themselves of Voldemort forever would be lost.