"I can't sit idly by knowing the injustice that has befallen Hermione at his hands, Severus, I can't!" Her thick Scottish brogue became harder to understand the angrier she got. Slamming an open palm on the dining room table, wrinkled eyes narrowed into slits as she made a grab for her wand and sent the chair she was sitting on skittering across the floor turning it into a missile with the ferocity in which she pushed it as she stood.

"Honestly Minerva, what are you going to do? Strut out of the sanctuary of this house and fight your way through the depraved cretins lining the streets wanting nothing more than to slit a traitor's throat? Even though you belong to me, once you are out there alone, you are fair game," he warned gravely.

"Come with me then," she argued. "Get the justice for the girl. He almost killed her Severus!" Spittle flying as she spoke.

"That's not wise, Minerva. Every dog, or wolf, in this case, has its day and his will come around soon enough. Now, please. Sit." He extended his hand out towards the chair, indicating for her to sit.

"I'd die to protect my students, Severus, you know that. Especially her." She grabbed the chair and dragged it back across the kitchen, and sat back down.

"I know you would, but I don't need you getting yourself killed in the process. I agree he deserves to be brought to justice, but for now, we will bide our time and eventually he will get what he deserves. I didn't save you, so you could run off and get yourself killed, anyway. I admire your passion and determination, but you don't have the spryness of a young witch anymore Minerva."

"I know. But the image of her yellow skin and sunken cheeks haunts me every time I close my eyes. What if we could have prevented that? He took her innocence, he's destroyed her mentally and physically," her voice cracked as she talked. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. "The things he would have done to her make me want to be sick."

"I know. I feel the same way, but there isn't anything we could have done or can do to change what has happened to her, Minerva. We just need to be there for her when she is feeling better and ready to talk to us." He leaned across the table and squeezed the woman's withered hand with gentle kindness and she smiled at him through tears.

The truth was, he wanted nothing more than to slam the cunt headfirst into the ground and hope that the ground swallowed him and deposited him straight into the depths of hell where there would be a special spot in there for him where he would be tortured for all eternity.

"One good thing to come out of it is that she isn't with child," Minerva said, dabbing at the tears again, "And the fact he didn't turn her into a werewolf was a miracle."

"No doubt she may have been at one stage, but there is no way on this earth a foetus could have survived not only the malnourishment but the beatings at his hands. He's been a werewolf for so long now he has wolf characteristics even when he hasn't transformed, so I daresay with it came the virility and fertility there was no question whether he could have impregnated her."

"Couldn't you have stopped it? You were one of Voldemort's most loyal, you could have asked-"

He exhaled sharply in derision, "That didn't work the first time, and I was never naïve enough to believe him again. Once he came to power and he had what he needed, I was no longer needed at his side. I was no longer his spy or confidant. I didn't know she was Greyback's plaything." He sighed haughtily, "I don't even know if Harry Potter is dead or alive, Minerva."

"I'm sure he is fine," she said with a tight jaw and pursed lips. Deep down she knew that it probably wasn't the case, but she was a half glass full kind of woman.

"Me too," he lied, "me too."

o-o-o-o-o

Two weeks had passed, and the colour had returned to her cheeks, and she had put on a few kilos, but the dull sadness still swum in the depth of her eyes and ran soul deep. He couldn't help but feel a pang of something every time he looked at her. It wasn't quite pity he felt and it wasn't quite guilt; it was a mix of the two things balancing one another perfectly.

He was watching her as she slept peacefully, a ray of sun shining through the window and basking her in its warmth made her look almost angelic and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, he could sleep well knowing that she was safe and he was hopefully on his way to redemption by saving such a tortured soul and guiding them back to the path they needed to be on.

Taking in a deep breath, her eyes fluttered open in a panic. Sitting bolt upright in bed she looked around the room, her eyes locking with his own.

He knew instantly there was something wrong, the sadness that was usually swimming in her eyes was replaced with a look of panic and lacklustre.

She growled low in her throat. Opening and closing her mouth a few times, she coughed gently. "Pro-" she rasped before laying back down. Sweat now adorning her brow, she shivered against the blankets. "I'm not well," she finally forced out, her voice shaky as she spoke, having not really done so for a long while.

Sitting on the bed beside her, he placed the back of his hand against her sweat laden forehead and his face instantly dropped. "I'll be back."

Her eyes followed him as he left the room, gaze holding steadfastly at the door waiting for him to come back. He entered the room and to her surprise, Minerva McGonagall followed hotly on his heels, concern etched into the deepened lines of her face.

"She's burning up," he said gesturing to the girl, "feel her."

Minerva leaned over and laid her own hand on the girl's forehead and tutted. "She's not well."

"It's an infection, for sure. Infections always present with high fevers," he sighed forlornly, "I can brew a potion for almost anything but an advanced infection I cannot."

"We need a healer," Minerva suggested, hopefully.

Severus shook his head, "there are none easily accessible. The ones that are left work for Voldemort or they are owned by families. There is no way I could get one, not for… someone of her status in our current world. She needs antibiotics."

"Well, go get some," Minerva offered.

"I can't just go get any. It's like the apocalypse out there. They shut hospitals down; They boarded pharmacists up. The best I can do is give her a few blood replenishment potions and try to ride out whatever is ailing her."

"There has to be something you can do," Minerva admonished. "we can't just leave it up to hope."

"There is a potion from the 10th century I could brew, but unless you can get me the bile from a cow, that will not happen. I'm doing the best I can do with what I have Minerva, but times are different now. And I am far from a healer," his voice strained as frustration crept into his tone. The last thing he wanted was for the girl to get sick and die on him when he needed her the most.

"You aren't a healer, but you know what you are? Intelligent and resourceful. You will get her through this." She clamped a hand on his shoulder and sat in the armchair beside the bed.

She watched with interest as he rummaged through a large trunk full of potions and ingredients, plucking the one he needed from his portable stores, he uncorked it with finesse. He measured out a spoonful and poured it drop by drop into the girl's mouth, ensuring she swallowed before he administered the next drop.

"We need to do that every half an hour for the next twenty-four hours. With a bit of luck, it will kick-start her white blood cells into fighting the infection."

"You should get some sleep, Hermione. We will both be here watching over you." Minerva smiled sympathetically as she patted the girl's hand with friendly affection.

"No. I don't want to," she forced herself to speak, her voice crackling and hoarse, "every time I close my eyes, I see his face. I see the hatred and the untold evil in his eyes. I can feel his fiery hot breath upon my skin," her voice cracked, followed by a sniffle. Eyes watering as she tried to hold in a sob, she didn't want to come across as weak.

"Child, you don't have to tell us if you don't want to. We don't expect you to relive the atrocities that have befallen you." Minerva intertwined her frail fingers into the bony, even frailer fingers of a girl many years her junior.

"I want to. Maybe it will help ease the feeling of hopelessness and hate that I have for not only him but myself as well. It all started when Harry and I were dragged back to Malfoy Manor after Voldemort won. They literally threw me to the wolves. The only requisite he had was to not kill me in case I was needed later. They dragged Harry off to Voldemort's chambers. Voldemort has some sort of sick sadistic infatuation with Harry and always kept him close. Wherever Voldemort was, Harry was with him. I didn't get to see Harry often but when I did you could see in his eyes he was scared," she exhaled heavily out of her nose, "I guess he could see I was just as scared. There was nothing either of us could do in our situations."

Slowly, she sat back up, using Minerva as an aide to help her. Severus Perched precariously on the bed to her left he hovered a hand over her should she need help if she unexpectedly fell, but the past two weeks of intense nursing back to health and she was growing stronger by the day.

"So Potter is still alive?" Minerva practically smiled.

"Yes. Or he was when I was sent away. He's treated a sight better than I was, but not by much. He's fed, and they tend injuries to, but I heard his screams echoing off the walls and down to the dungeons. I know Voldemort treats him as if he is his own entertainment and sometimes his target for spell practice. The infatuation Voldemort has with Harry is borderline psychotic. I'm unsure what his angle is keeping him alive. Perhaps it's for his own sadistic pleasure or he is biding his time before he kills him a second time. I cannot see what further use he has for him." She sighed sadly, looking at the wall opposite her, trying to form in her head what she would say next.

Pulling herself from her thoughts, she sobbed. Hot tears fell down her cheeks like tainted diamonds filled with terrible memories. "I feel so ashamed of what happened as if I am no longer worthy of being myself. As if I am not worthy of being treated like a human being." She swiped at her cheeks with open palms, Minerva gently patting her on the leg sympathetically.

Severus sat awkwardly, unsure what to do or say. He didn't do emotion, and he had never sat and talked with a girl that was tortured at the hands of a cretin such as Greyback or any woman, come to think of it. He wasn't the sensitive type, and he had little compassion, but he was trying to be a better person. He really was. The uncalibrated moral compass within was slowly calibrating in the right direction.

"Sorry," she whispered. Pulling herself together, she started her story again. "It started out as daily beatings, trying to get any information out of me he could. The strength that man possesses far-out measures that of anything I have seen before. I will give him one thing though, he never tried to turn me once. Said I wasn't 'worthy'," she used air quotation marks, "and that he would rather chew his own leg off than mark me and have me as part of his pack."

"Well, that's a bit rude," Minerva huffed, "they don't know what they are missing out on."

Hermione smiled just a touch at her comment.

"The beatings soon turned to rape. Some days he was in a good mood, and he would satisfy himself and leave again. Other times, I would be unfortunate enough to get him when he was irate beyond measure. Those were the days I was beaten and raped. Food was withheld for weeks at a time. I was just lucky enough that Draco felt pity for me and snuck down when he could."

"Draco helped you?" Severus asked in genuine surprise.

"Yes. Many times, he would come down and sit with me. A shoulder to cry on."

"Draco?" Severus asked again.

"Yes. Draco."

"I'm having a hard time believing Draco would help anyone but himself honestly."

"Draco isn't much better off than the rest of us. He's miserable, so is his parent from what he told me. Voldemort came to power and then was meant to move on, but he hasn't. He commandeered their Manor and had all but driven them out. They want nothing to do with Voldemort anymore."

"Interesting," Severus tapped his lower lip in deep thought.

"So Draco would sneak down. Although it wasn't particularly sneaking, no one really cared, and he hardly tried to conceal himself. He got caught down there one day when Greyback came, and he hid in the shadows. I'm not sure if Greyback knew he was there and put on a spectacle or if he had planned to do it, but he must've been able to smell a change in me. He said a filthy slut not even worth a knut was going to carry any child of his." She took in a deep breath and stared at the wall again as she tried to swallow the lump away that hard formed in her throat. Her cheeks tightened and her mouth went dry.

"He laid a well-aimed fist at my abdomen. I remember little after that just searing red-hot pain radiating throughout my body and I possibly passed in and out of consciousness as he fucked me relentlessly on the repugnant threadbare scrap of rag I was given to use as a bed while I was aborting his baby. He didn't care. The blood seemed to heighten his sex drive, and it was like he was unsatisfied. That was the day I stopped fighting him. That was the day he lost interest in me," her voice was quivering as she talked, and her eyes glassed over. She was talking, but it was as if she wasn't even there, almost as if she had withdrawn herself from what was going on and was relaying the story on autopilot.

"I think that day was the beginning of the end for Draco seeing that. He realised this wasn't the life he wanted. To be a Death Eater wasn't him. He was merely a victim of circumstance brought up to do and think as he was told." She shook her head, bringing herself back to reality, and smiled sadly.

"He held me against his chest that day and told me it was going to be alright," she snorted, "We both knew that was a lie, but he had to tell me something, anything to give me hope. If it wasn't for him, I don't think I would be here now. He fed me just enough to keep me alive but not enough that anyone would suspect he was helping me."

Her eyes glazed over again, and her focus was solely on the wall. Swallowing hard as if trying to dislodge the inviable ball of anguish in her throat, her lips quivered slowly at first and then hastened. She didn't want to cry. She would not cry. Taking in a deep jagged breath, she held it for a few seconds before releasing and with it came the onslaught of tears. She was trying in vain to hold in. Her body shook as the sobs of anger and uncertainty rocked her body. The sobs of hate for Greyback and the hate she had for herself.

"If I had have fought harder…" she trailed off in between heart-wrenching sobs.

Severus gently grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. "Don't for one-second blame yourself, Hermione. No amount of physical fighting could overcome the sheer power he has. None of this is your fault." Releasing her chin, he wiped a thumb over her cheek, the tears smearing across her face as he did so.

Her face softened as she felt his warm hand against her hot skin swiping the tears of heartbreak away and she wondered what happened to the real Severus Snape and where was he being held captive?