**A/N** In this chapter we see Hermione struggle to come to terms with the things she did whilst under Bella's control. If you are triggered by panic/anxiety attacks or suicide, I have flagged where the triggering content begins and ends and there is a summary at the bottom.

12 Jan 1999

Hermione checked her watch once more. It was exactly forty-two seconds after the last time she had checked it. Her mind was swirling with the events of the last few days. Spending time with Severus had helped her feel almost 'normal' since finding out that she had been being controlled by Bellatrix. And then she had spent the day before coming up with ways to land her and Draco in detention.

But now, she was alone and had nothing to plan. Sure, they had talked to Dumbledore just hours before and she was going to come clean to Harry, but she had already planned what she was going to say and how she was going to do it. The Headmaster could fuck off if he didn't agree with her.

Everything she had done the last six months was overwhelming, and as soon as she had laid down, her mind began to try and analyse all of it at once. She'd been in bed for hours and it was almost midnight. The castle was silent, which wasn't helping.

Deciding sleep wasn't going to come easily, she got out of bed, put on her dressing-gown, and snuck out of her dorm, down the stairs, past the Fat Lady, and into the corridors. It wasn't until she stopped in front of the Room of Requirement that she realised that was where she had been heading all along.

Walking back and forth before the blank stretch of the wall she tried to think about what she needed, but nothing came to mind.

She wanted a place where she could go and escape her mind.

She wanted to forget everything she had done since being Marked but she knew she needed to keep the memories in her mind. She needed to know what she had done so she could be strong. She needed the anger she felt at Bellatrix and the Dark Lord to fuel her passion. To help her fight harder to defeat them.

The problem was, she didn't feel much of anything.

As soon as she had left Draco and Severus in his office, every motion seemed to have bled out of her. There was no anger, no happiness, she was even missing her desire for Severus. All she felt was empty.

Like she was a half-deflated balloon after one of her childhood birthday parties. A sad reminder of the adventures of before.

A small pop sounded and she turned to see a door where the blank wall had been. Unsure of what she had thought that brought the room into existence, she slowly walked towards it and turned the handle.

She shut the door behind her and stared at her childhood bedroom. Everything was exactly how she had left it. Floral wallpaper with matching drapes and bedding. A wall of overflowing bookshelves, the large picture of her grand-mère's house in France, a corkboard with pictures of her with her parents, Harry, Ron, and Ginny, and some of her with her primary school friends.

It was exactly the same, but like her own mind, it somehow felt empty.

It didn't feel like home. Everything looked familiar, but it no longer was. It was a facsimile of everything she loved and no longer had.

She crumpled to the floor next to her bed as tears began to fall. What was the point of carrying on? She was no longer who she used to be. She still wanted the Dark Lord to be defeated, but what would happen to her when he was?

She was Marked as one of his most devoted followers. She'd murdered dozens of people in his name, including cutting the throat of one man. She'd not even used her wand when she'd killed Wormtail. She'd felt his blood, his life-force, as it left his body, spilling over her fingers as she cut his throat. And then she'd had a fucking orgy after, just feet from his dead body.

How would anyone forgive her for that? How would Harry?

Harry had spared Wormtail's life just five years before because he didn't want his dad's best friends to become murderers. What would he say when he found out Hermione was the one that had killed one of the Marauders? That because of her, Remus was the only one of the four left?

Would he forgive her? Or would he cast her out of his life like the rubbish she was? Maybe he could forgive her. He had enough of the Dark in him that he might be able to still love her after he knew everything.

Ginny would forgive her. She knew it without a doubt. Ginny had done her own horrible things whilst possessed by a Dark wizard. It wasn't the same thing as Hermione had gone through, but Ginny would know how she was feeling. What it was like to do things you wouldn't do if you were the one in control. They had talked more than once about how Ginny felt about killing the roosters. A chicken wasn't the same as a human life, but Ginny would understand some of the pain she was feeling.

But she knew Ron would never understand. It didn't help that they hadn't talked in months.

He was too light. He'd been poor, sure, but he'd never truly suffered. Not like she had. Not like Harry and Ginny had. He'd never felt that Darkness inside him. And she was glad he hadn't. No one should have to.

But how did she get rid of the Darkness inside her?

Even with her mind clear from Bellatrix's influence, she wanted to cast the spells she'd learned. Her magic yearned to feel the rush of power from the Dark. Her body craved the way it felt after casting an Unforgivable. Even now, her skin itched with the desire to feel the lust of the Dark.

The room morphed, her wall of books dissolving and opening up to a smaller version of the room they'd used for Dumbledore's Army. Wooden dummies lined the wall, their wands hanging at their sides, waiting for her to fight them.

Looking at the room as a whole — half ready for battle, half her childish bedroom — she couldn't help but see it as an extension of herself; stuck somewhere between good and evil, light and dark.

She slid off her dressing gown. If she was here, she wanted to get in some practice. No matter what side she was on, war was still coming and battles would be fought. She needed to keep up on her skills. Out of habit, she opened her wardrobe to hang up her dressing gown and was surprised to see that it was full of clothes. Not her summer attire that she kept home during term, but leather pants and lace bodysuits. There were even the heels she preferred on the bottom shelf.

Was the room an extension of her deepest needs, telling her that Death Eater Hermione was who she truly was? Or was it simply showing her what she wanted to see? Because no matter what the mark on her arm might mean, the person she was in her leather and lace was a tougher version of who she was in her regular clothes.

Leather wearing Hermione gave no fucks, fought hard, was confident, and refused to be intimidated by anyone. She stood toe to toe with the worst of the Dark Lord's followers and demanded they respect her. Leather wearing Hermione had the admiration of the Dark Lord.

She racked her brain to visualise who she was in her everyday attire. She was still pretty badass. Top of her class in every subject but Defence, skilled with her wand, loyal, compassionate, and maybe too much of a pushover when it came to helping people.

Stripping her clothes off, she ran her hands over her body before slipping into the clothes before her. As she put them on, it was like she was putting on armour. Each piece of clothing, even the delicate lace, seemed to make her stronger.

Fully dressed, she looked in the mirror.

Her hair was pulled up in its nightly bun, her tan skin seemed to glow against the white lace of her top — her brown nipples were hard and visible through the thin material. The leather trousers made her legs appear long and lean, and her heels only added to the look. She dropped the glamour from her arm and her Dark Mark stood out against the smooth skin of her left forearm.

A perfect Death Eater.

"No!" she whimpered. "I am not a Death Eater. I am a member of the Light."

But why do you love the way it feels when you cast Dark Magic? Her inner thoughts were running wild. Why does your heart beat faster, your blood sing, your cunt drip when you cast the spells? Why do you lay in bed at night, running your finger over your Dark Mark to bring you pleasure? Why do you want to keep the memories of the nights you spent with Lucius, Dolohov, and the other Death Eaters? You like who you are when you're with the Dark Lord. You like how powerful you are.

"No! I am Harry's best friend. I like who I am at his side! I am not a Death Eater!"

She repeated the words to herself, trying to push her inner thoughts away. She didn't want to be a Death Eater, she wanted to be Harry's Muggle-born best friend that fought for the Light and never travelled down the paths that led to Darkness. Hadn't she always been that way? Following the rules unless it was absolutely impossible to do the right thing without breaking them?

Less than three years before she had almost died fighting Death Eaters in the Ministry and now she was one of them?

**** Beginning of Triggering Content ****

The pressure in her head was becoming too much. She couldn't seem to sort out her thoughts. Everything was twirling around her mind like a tornado, destroying everything she thought she knew about herself. It was breaking her apart and she didn't know what to do, how to escape.

She grabbed her wand, unsure how she could stop the twisting of her thoughts. Tears ran down her face and she glanced around the room, hoping to find something, anything, that could help her.

Her reflection caught her eye and she looked at herself again. The Dark Mark seemed to be growing darker with each breath and she felt her mind shatter.

She had asked the room for help to show her who she was and it had given her the answer.

She was a Death Eater.

Terror filled her. Screams echoed in the room but she couldn't tell if they were from her mouth or if they were the screams of people she had killed bouncing around in her head. It was too much and yet she had no escape. How could she? It was all in her mind, in her memories.

Lifting her wand, she pointed it at her Dark Mark. She refused to be bound to anyone not of her choosing anymore. If she couldn't get that separation in this life, she could only hope it would come in the afterlife. She thought about the spell Lucius had taught her. The one she wasn't allowed to use because it was of Severus' own creation and he had only taught it to a few people. The one that no one knew the counter-curse for except him. It seemed fitting to use something of his, a man who enjoyed her at her darkest, in her last moments.

"Sectumsempra!"

Blood bloomed on her arm and she felt the quiet relief of knowing that even if she couldn't control her life, she could control the way it ended. Dropping her wand, she lay down in the copy of her childhood bed, letting her arm fall off the edge as darkness took her.

**** End of triggering content ****

"The Headmaster is being requesting your presence, Potions Master," Dobby said after appearing in his room with a crack.

Severus looked at the clock. It was just after eleven and he had just started unbuttoning his frock coat, ready to sleep after a long day with classes, Draco and Hermione, his earlier meeting with Dumbledore, and having to do rounds to make sure the little shites weren't wandering around the castle after curfew.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered, causing the house-elf to laugh. "Please tell the Headmaster I will be there shortly. And if he asks you to make me tea, please make sure mine has firewhisky in it."

"Of course, sir."

Dobby disappeared with another loud crack and he redid the top two buttons on his coat. He wanted nothing more than to strip naked, crawl into bed, and fall asleep. Well, he was sure he could find the energy for more if Hermione was in bed with him. Fuck he already missed her presence in his rooms and she'd only spent a few nights with him.

He thought about his witch as he made his way up from the dungeons. She was acting like she was taking everything in stride but he didn't know how much of that was an act or if she even realised all she had gone through. They'd spent hours talking about everything but he was still concerned that she hadn't really dealt with it yet. And he was worried what would happen when it really hit her.

More than anything, he knew what it was like to try to be a good person with that damn Dark Mark on your arm. Yes, he'd willingly taken it, but once he realised the full extent of his choice, he'd done everything he could to be a better person. Merlin knew he wasn't perfect. He often lost his temper and took it out on the little cretins they called students, but he really did try to be good.

Yet each night, he saw that Mark on his arm reminding him that his soul was unclean. He constantly fought against his inner voice, telling him he was not worthy of anything good, that he was a bad person.

He never wanted Hermione to feel that way. Even with her Dark Mark and the things she'd done, she was one of the Lightest people he had ever met. Being around her was like being a ship in the night looking for a safe harbour. She was the lighthouse on the cliffs leading people through the darkness and into safety.

If she wasn't safely sleeping up in her dorms, he would summon her and bring her to his rooms. He wasn't sure why, but he had the sinking feeling that she was going to snap soon and he wanted to be there when it happened. He wanted to help her break off the doubts and rebuild herself into the goddess that she was.

Pushing Hermione behind his Occlumency walls just in case Dumbledore wanted to use Legilimency on him, Severus gave the gargoyle the password and stepped onto the moving staircase.

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore greeted him. "Thank you for meeting with me at this late hour. I have been thinking about our young friends since you left this office with them."

"So have I," Severus told him. "Now that Draco is no longer under the control of Bellatrix, I don't think he will be able to complete his task of killing you. What will you do now?"

"The plan will continue on. It makes no difference about Draco. You were always going to be the one to kill me. He will need to appear as if he is still working on it until the time is right. There is no need to tell anyone what your role in this is."

"But with Draco and Hermione joining me as spies, what need do you have of me being alienated from the Order?" Severus felt his rage at the old man growing. "Live out your life, old man. Teach Potter all you can whilst you're still alive and then we can continue on when you're gone."

"You will do as I have requested, Severus. Voldemort must trust that you are on his side completely."

Snape growled in frustration. "And you don't trust me enough to be able to do that? You give Potter, a child with an open line to the Dark Lord's mind, your secrets yet you don't trust me. You spy who has stood before him time and time again."

"I don't like to keep all my secrets in one basket. Especially one that the hangs on the arm of–"

"Which you order me to do!"

Dumbledore closed his eyes and sighed deeply. Severus wanted to rage at the man. He put his life on the line time and time again for him and he had the audacity to act like he didn't.

"Severus," Dumbledore began, "I do trust you. Sit and I will show you how much."

He listened as Albus explained a piece of Voldemort's soul was attached to Harry. Images from his Dark Arts books flashed before his eyes as he listened. Did the Headmaster even know what he was saying? He kept his face blank and his thoughts behind his shields. It wouldn't do for Dumbledore to know that the pieces were falling into place.

Horcruxes.

The Dark Lord had Horcruxes.

And who knew how many? Dumbledore might have only mentioned one, but Severus was smarter than that. He thought about the things he had seen in this office. That cursed ring, broken by the sword of Gryffindor. A sword that was embedded with Basilisk venom, one of the only things that would destroy a Horcrux. The Dark Lord's teenage diary that Dumbledore had asked him to look at to make sure the curse on it had lifted. A diary so powerful it possessed Miss Weasley. A diary that had seemed to bleed when Potter stabbed it with a Basilisk fang.

So at least two Horcruxes. Snape had an idea that the Dark Lord would have created more. He was obsessed with the number seven and with being the most magically powerful person so it only made sense that he would have created six. He would have been convinced a seven-part soul would have made him more powerful.

And Potter was a Horcrux.

Dumbledore had been raising Lily's son to die at the correct time because the Dark Lord's soul was so unstable he had accidentally created a human-Horcrux.

His mind was racing with all the ways Albus had been conditioning the boy. He'd left him at an abusive home to be raised as a humble, love-starved child. Everyone knew that Lily's blood magic was old and impenetrable, but so was a Fedelius Charm. No one could enter Grimmauld Place without being told the secret. There was no reason Remus couldn't have raised Harry.

Well, except for a few days out of the month. But others would have taken the boy in. James and Lily would have loved that. And they wouldn't have batted an eye at the wolf using the money from their vault to do it. Andromeda Tonks had always wanted more children. Hell, he could have been raised at Hogwarts and the staff and House-Elves would have loved it. It was safer than Surrey.

But that didn't fit with Dumbledore's plan.

No, instead he had left the boy to be raised by Petunia the prudish cunt and her husband, who was somehow even worse.

Snape had tried, time and time again, to convince the headmaster to change his mind when Lily and James first died. He had to admit that he had forgotten about the boy whilst he was growing up, but he had gone to Dumbledore again before the Summer holidays after Potter's first year. He knew the signs of a child from an abusive home from his own life and from the children in Slytherin.

He might hate the little shite because he looked like his father and didn't care about rules, but even he would have taken the boy in for the summer. No one deserved to live in a house with people like the Dursleys. But the answer was always the same: Harry had to live with family. What a crock of shite.

"So, you have been raising him to die when the time is right?" he spat.

"He isn't ready to face Voldemort yet. And you've heard the prophecy, Severus. 'Neither can live'... Harry must die, and Voldemort must do it. It's the only way to destroy the fragment of Voldemort's soul."

"And you're willing to let Potter walk to his death? The boy can't win that fight!"

"Have you come to care for the boy?" Albus said, his voice mocking.

"For the boy? No. But I care about what his death will mean to the Order. For all who fight for the Light."

"You mean you care for Miss Granger."

"Of course I care for her, Albus."

"I will not begrudge you your feelings, Severus, but you must remember where your loyalties lie: with Lily Evans' son and the Order. Don't let a dalliance with Miss Granger endanger your position in the war."

Anger coursed through him at a level he'd never known before. For all Albus talked about the power of love, the old fool had no idea how it actually worked. Love wasn't something you could control. And when you loved someone, you weren't capable of how it affected you. Dumbledore could never understand that as soon as he gave Hermione his heart, she was his priority. He would torch the universe for her. Order, Albus, the Dark Lord, and Potter be damned.

He nodded towards Albus. "Of course no–"

His words were cut off as Dobby appeared in the middle of the office and grasped his hand. The feeling of Apparation squeezed him as the elf took him into the unknown.

They landed in the middle of a deserted corridor on what he thought was the seventh floor. Before he could ask why he was there, the elf was yelling at him.

"You's be needing to ask to save Harry Potter's friend, sir!" His voice was high and distressed. "The room be telling me that she is needing help but I cannot be healing her. Yous be needing to save her."

The Room of Requirement. He hadn't been in the room since he was a student and needed to hide the evidence of a prank he had pulled on the Marauders. Hoping he remembered how the room worked, he paced back and forth before the blank wall, thinking fast.

"I need to find Hermione. I need to find Hermione. I need to find Hermione," he whispered.

A small pop sounded and he rushed forward, wrenching the door open and almost tripping over Dobby as the elf entered with him.

Hermione was laying on the bed, a trickle of blood slowly oozing from her left forearm into a pool on the ground. He took in the strange bedroom-duelling space hybrid as he kneeled by her side, blood soaking his trousers. He gripped her wrist and breathed a quiet sigh of relief when he found her weak pulse. He could work with that. Weak was not dead. The elf was bouncing up and down, almost dancing from his need to help. He looked at him.

"Dobby," he snapped and the elf stilled. "I need potions. Blood replenishing, Dittany, Dreamless Sleep, Calming, and Pain Relief. You know where they are?"

Instead of answering, the elf disappeared with a crack. Severus picked up Hermione's left arm and slowly ran his wand over the marred Dark Mark, careful not to touch the wood to her skin and summon the Dark Lord. The wound did not heal and he stared at it in confusion for a moment.

That spell had healed countless cuts on his own body, even ones that were magically inflicted. What had she used? He remembered her cursing the McLaggen boy with one of Bellatrix's spells. Was it possible she had been taught other curses? But the only one he had seen that didn't respond to the spell he had used was his own.

Then he remembered that he had taught Sectumsempra to Lucius. Was it possible that his old friend had taught it to her? He hadn't seen it in her memories, but they didn't go through all of them.

"Vulnera Sanentur," he sang, moving his wand over her arm. The blood stopped oozing and he repeated the incantation, watching the blood clean from her skin and the cut began to heal. He sang it a third time and the wound knitted itself back together.

Dobby popped back into the room and the crack of his arrival startled Snape, causing him to drop her arm to hang off the bed again. He reached for the potions, uncorked the Blood Replenisher, and tipped it down Hermione's throat. He needed to let it work before he could give her the rest of the potions so he took the bottle of Dittany, picked up her arm, and slowly dripped it onto the scar on her forearm.

The skin began to smoke lightly and he ignored the smell of it as he massaged it into her scar. The angry red line faded to a shiny pink before his eyes and he applied more of the potion. Hermione was just starting to stir as he watched the skin fully heal, all evidence of her self-harm erased.

"Severus?" she croaked.

"I've got you, love," he told her. "Rest now."

He vanished the blood from the floor and their bodies then directed Dobby to set the additional potions on the desk and leave them. As the elf followed his directions and went to leave, he stopped him.

"Dobby, how did you know she needed help?"

"Harry Potter's friend be requiring saving and the room called me," he said. "It be telling me to get you."

"Thank you. You may go. Please do not discuss this with anyone without talking to me first."

The elf nodded and disappeared with his signature crack. Severus looked down at Hermione who was laying before him, her body stiff. Standing, he reached down and pulled her to her feet and pressed her body against his. His lips found her forehead, her cheeks, her nose, everywhere on her face but her lips.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "It was all just… too much. I didn't… I didn't know what to do… What if they don't forgive me?"

He used his hand to tip her head up. Her eyes were red-rimmed and swollen from crying, her hair looked like she had been tugging it and running her hands through her curls, and she had bloodied her lip from chewing on it. Summoning the Dittany from the table, he dapped some on the sore and watched it heal.

"My little witch. They will forgive you. This is not something you chose, and I will be more than happy to poison Potter or Weasley if they don't understand that." Her light laughs filled the room and he smiled at her. "I'll sleep in here with you. Would you like any potions?"

"No thank you. You're all I need, Severus."

He kissed her exposed shoulder before stepping back from her to start to undress. For the first time since entering the room, he took in the outfit she was wearing. He'd never seen her in leather and lace but he couldn't help but think that it was a perfect look for her. Protective leather that was stronger than it looked paired with delicate lace that showed her softness.

If Hermione could be summed up in clothing, it was the ensemble she was currently removing.

**** Triggering Content Summary ****

Hermione struggles with reconciling what she's done with who she is. Her mind, in the middle of an anxiety attack, begins to turn in circles, making her unable to trust herself. Her anxiety attack morphs into a panic attack and in an effort to find peace from her mind, she attempts to take her own life.