WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING READ THIS FIRST!
This chapter is very emotional, very graphic, and contains memories of the most terrible things Severus ever had to do in the service of the Dark Lord. This chapter isn't for the faint of heart. So take heed, and don't yell at me later about it, because I warned ya!
Also, for those of you who asked, we get to see what happens to Mrs. Granger in this chapter : )
Happy Reading!
HG
After a while, I realize that we would have to eventually move. Life went on, the world didn't simply stop turning because of what had happened that night. So I eventually stood with her in my arms and went over to one of the overstuffed chairs by the fire. It took me a moment, but I disentangled her arms from around me and set her in the chair. Then I went to the other. Her eyes widened slightly, pupils dilated in fear. I rolled my own eyes, but flicked my wand at her chair so that it scooted next to mine. I wanted to feel annoyed at her obvious need but I really wasn't. It still humbled me, honored me, that she felt comfortable enough with me to not only open up to me, but to crave my touch for solace.
She tucked her long- when had her legs become so impossibly long?- legs under her, keeping our knees slightly touching. The part of me that had been forced to be acidic for so long, the Professor, wanted to sneer at the contact and jerk my leg away. But me, the me she saw and refused to be anything else, Severus, took my own kind of comfort in the contact. It gave me a very natural kind of satisfaction to soothe her with my touch. I'd never been one to believe that there was more joy in giving than receiving, but it was a special balm to my soul to be able to console her.
We sat in silence. She stared at the fire, her eyes watching the dancing flames and seeming lost in their writhing tongues. The light reflected in her eyes. Eyes that had seen far too much for her young years. She had always been smart, I'd have to have been an idiot not to notice that. But now she seemed wise. The result of surviving the war? Or surviving her father? Of seeing things, experiencing things that no young woman should ever have to?
In that moment, she seemed ageless. She seemed at both extremely fragile and yet shatterproof. Young in body but old in soul. Strong as steel and soft as cotton. And it was a quiet kind of strength. Innocuous. She wasn't the mountain that stood firm against the wind but eventually eroded away. She was the reed that bent but never broke. She gave and gave but couldn't be broken. And in that moment, I knew that she would be alright. Maybe not tonight or tomorrow, but someday. She would snap back and once more stand tall. This was just the wind bending her. Soon, she would regain her true form and flourish. And even if more wind came to threaten her, she would merely bend, awaiting the time when the wind would be gone and she could once again reach for the sky.
"Mum got sick when I was seven," she said quietly. I waited with baited breath for her to continue. I hadn't expected her to open up that night, but I was glad she did. "The doctors called it a waking coma. She simply stopped functioning. Her body was fine, but her mind couldn't control it any more. She can eat, but only when prompted. She doesn't speak or respond in any fashion. She sleeps, functions physically, but that's all. I don't know how much brain function she has any more. I remember them saying in the beginning that it was possible for her to hear what we were saying, to understand, but they couldn't say for sure. They did warn that her brain function would most likely deteriorate. So its possible that she used to hear and understand, but she doesn't any more. I just don't know."
Before I could ask about the story she'd told her mother, she went on.
"It happened the first time later that year. Dad...he didn't handle it well. Him and mum had worked together for so long. They were childhood sweethearts. I'm not sure my mum would have gotten into dentistry if it wasn't what he wanted to do. I think...I think he was lost without her.
One night, he'd been out drinking. When he came home, he checked in on me to make sure I was in bed and asleep. I heard him come in, knew he was drunk. There were tears falling down his cheeks. It scared me. To see my daddy crying like that..." She squeezed her eyes shut in pain. "And I asked...asked what I could do to help. How I could make it better." A sob choked off her words. Then she took a deep breath and steadied her voice. "He wanted- he made me-" My heart twisted viciously in my chest as she stumbled on the words. She'd always been so compassionate. She'd simply wanted to help her father, to ease his pain. And the bastard had taken advantage of that soft heart and hurt her. She cleared her throat hoarsely and continued. "I thought it would never happen again. He told me how much he loved me, how sorry he was that he'd hurt me. He bought me presents and lavished attention on me. I thought that was the end of it. Until the next time he came home drunk.
It happened again one night. I didn't ask him what I could do to ease his pain this time. Instead, he asked me how much I loved him. He said he felt as if he'd been abandoned by everyone. That no one cared for him any more. When I insisted that he still had me, that I would always love him...he told me to prove it." Her eyes were haunted with the memory. I could see the flickers of her past like dancing shadows on the wall. I could see the phantom of her father using his daughter's love against her. Twisting something that was supposed to be beautiful and innocent in order to slake his repulsive desires. "It wasn't long after that and it became a regular occurrence. He always apologized for hurting me. Reassured me that he loved me, needed me. Told me I was his whole world and he couldn't live without me. Told me what a good girl I was when I didn't fight too hard. I started to believe him. To believe that I must do what he said and cooperate in order to be a good daughter. And then...my letter came."
He was furious at first. The thought of something, even school, taking his precious little girl away from him enraged him. It took months of begging, pleading and...other things...to get him to agree to let me go." She swallowed hard. "I agreed to do whatever he wanted while I was home. I tried my hardest not to fight him at all. To give him no reason to be mad at me. No reason to punish me. And I came here." She looked around, taking in the walls of my study as if they exemplified the entirety of the castle, the wizarding world. "And it was all so...magical." With a rueful twist of her lips, she laughed. "Its just what someone like me always dreams about. A world of magic where anything is possible. Endless things to learn, adventures to have. It was paradise. I remember that first year, Harry was so sad to be going back to the Dursleys. I knew what he meant. I wanted more than anything to remain at the castle. Safe in my bed in Gryffindor Tower. Far away from any of the ugliness of my real life. I actually felt sorry for Harry, did you know that?
Not because his Aunt and Uncle were so mean to him, though of course I hated that. I felt sorry for him because they didn't love him. And I thought, at least daddy loves me. Because he did terrible things to me, he hurt me so badly, but he always made sure to remind me that he loved me. Harry never had that from anyone." After a moment, she sighed. "I think at first it was that love that made me stay silent. I knew that daddy would be mad if anyone found out about what he did to me. It was part fear, part misplaced allegiance. As I got a little older and learned about things like sexual abuse, I realized that I shouldn't feel obligated to protect him. I know all the logical aspects of it. I've read every book on the subject. But I found that much like with flying, book smarts did no good. Knowing logically that I shouldn't feel beholden to him didn't stop the feelings."
Then, one summer I decided that I'd had enough. I was going to use my wand and stop him. I was going to be strong. What he was doing was wrong, and it needed to stop." She laced her fingers together in her lap and twisted them. "That summer was the first he talked about letting mum die. I know up here," she pointed to her head, "that if he let something happen to her it would be totally his fault, not any fault of mine. But that didn't stop the sense of obligation I felt to her. He told me it was time I started earning my keep and that he couldn't be expected to work, care for mum and raise me without anything in return. So the deal was that I got to keep going to Hogwarts, and he would keep taking care of mum...and I wouldn't use my wand on him or ever tell anyone what happened at home."
She reddened, obviously humiliated, but bravely kept going. "You know, he never made me promise to stop fighting all together. I think that he got off on it. That it was half about the struggle for him. And sometimes, I gave him quite a fight. Once or twice, there were furrows on his face from where my nails had raked him in an attempt to get away. Of course, I paid dearly for those blatant acts of rebellion. I wanted to hate him for hurting me like that. I wanted to despise him. It would have been so much easier if I could simply not love him any more. But I couldn't. Instead, I learned how to brew a contraceptive potion, and how to perfect my glamors."
I actually heaved slightly. The thought of a thirteen year old Hermione having to brew a contraceptive potion to as not to be impregnated by her rapist father brought bile up my throat. How many times had she come into my class wearing a glamor to hide bruises left there by him? How many times had I belittled her or berated her while she still bore the physical evidence of abuse? Guilt assailed me openly. How had I not seen it? War or no bloody war, I should have been able to spot it and help her.
"When we got back from hunting horcruxes, when the war was over and we all went home, mum almost died. When I got back, she was so gaunt that I could count her ribs. Her eyes were sunken and lifeless. He'd basically stopped caring for her. And he threatened to let her die if I ever left like that again. I was so frightened for her life that I let him do whatever he wanted to me. I didn't even fight. I simply cried."
And then, I got the letter. I could come back and finish my schooling. I would only need to be gone three days a week. I could still be around enough to make sure mum was ok. So I begged again. Begged for weeks. And we made a deal. If I stayed pliant and tried not to fight him, he would take care of mum while I was gone. I went along with it, just so happy to be able to come back to Hogwarts..."
"Until last week." It was the first time I'd spoken in a long time, and the sound of my voice seemed to snap her back to the present. She flashed me an ashamed smile.
"Yes, until last week. After you talked to me...I decided to put a stop to it. That enough was enough. I still couldn't bring myself to turn my wand on him, but I told him no. I fought him." She shook her head at the memory. "It was a stupid thing to do. If I wasn't prepared to hurt him, I should have known that nothing would stop him. He...he enjoyed me fighting him. He wanted an excuse to punish me more than he had already. He goaded me, told me that no one would ever believe me if I told them, that no one else could possibly ever want me now, that he would kill any other man who came near me. He wanted to make me just angry enough to fight him more. To- to turn him on. And even with everything he did to me, it still wasn't enough to make me turn my wand on him. How twisted is that? I wanted to stop him. I wanted you to be proud of me, to not look at me as if I'd allowed it to happen. But when it came right down to it, I couldn't truly hurt him. I just made it more enjoyable for him. Gods this is all so fucked up!" She buried her face in her hands. I gave her a moment, collecting my thoughts so that I didn't just blurt out the first thing that came to mind. I'd caused much of this scenario by doing just that. I never wanted to cause her pain again by my careless words. When I felt I could speak clearly, I very gently wrapped my fingers around her wrist and pulled her hand away from her face. She looked up at me through her tears.
"First of all, I hope you realize just how wrong he was about no one believing you or wanting you. That was simply another way of controlling you. I expect you are too bright to believe his filthy lies. Secondly, I never have, nor will I ever, look at you as if you allowed this to happen. You are the victim here. None of this is your fault. I...I reacted badly at times. But know that I felt no disgust with you, no anger at you. You have my utmost respect." I went on even though she looked baffled. "And lastly, I want you to know that I understand why you couldn't hurt your father. Why you couldn't simply turn your wand on him and be done with it. Are you listening to me, Hermione? Really listening? I understand. There isn't any reason for you to be ashamed."
"How could you understand," she whispered disbelievingly. I watched the fire for a moment before answering her question, unsure how much to reveal. Then I cleared my throat and told her the truth.
"My own father was not a prime specimen of parenting."
"Did...did he-"
"No, no nothing like what you went through. But he did enjoy a dram or three a night. And when he'd imbibed, he thought the best way to manage his family was with his fists. For so long, I didn't understand why my mother stayed with him. He was so awful to her, to me. When I asked, she said it was because she loved him. He'd spent years systematically stripping her of every ounce of self preservation. Convincing her that she needed him. That she couldn't live without him. That she was the reason he got violent. If only she would be a better wife, he wouldn't have to hit her." I sighed, remembering all the anger that filled me in those years. "For so long, I hated her for believing him. I wanted her to be strong and stand up to him and leave. I didn't understand how she could still love him after everything he'd ever done to her."
Then, one afternoon, he was drunk and mad. He came after me. I'd learned about the unforgivable curses earlier that month. So when he pulled back to hit me, I put my wand to his throat. I looked into his eyes and wanted to do it. It would be so easy, just to say the words and end his existence."
"Did you?" Hermione sounded half as if she hoped I had, and half as if she couldn't bear the thought of me going through with it. Slowly, I shook my head.
"No, I didn't. And do you know why?" I didn't wait for a response. We both knew where this was going. "Because I realized in that moment that I loved the bastard. Despite everything he'd done to me, he was still my father. And I couldn't simply turn off that love like a switch."
"So what did you do?"
"I convinced him that I had. I made him believe that I hated him with all my heart. It wasn't that hard, because it wasn't that far from the truth. And once he truly believed that I hated him, he feared me. Because bastards like that do use fear to get what they want, but more often, they use love. No matter what someone has done to us, love is so much stronger than hate. So they use it against their victims knowing that they can make us do things with love that they could never drive us to with hate."
I don't blame you for loving your father. You had to; it wasn't an option. And I understand that you couldn't kill him. I am sorry that I made you feel as if I was judging you for your decisions. I wanted you to see through the act. To be able to rise above it. To realize that the kind of 'love' they offer is a sham. That it's not worth fighting for. But how could I ever blame you for falling prey to it when I myself was a victim of it?"
"I'm so sorry you had to go through that, Severus." She looked as if she was in pain. Over me? I couldn't believe that she'd just been through so much and yet she was feeling pain on my behalf.
"Don't be. It happened a long time ago, and I've had time to heal. Which also gives me the ability to honestly tell you this: it won't ever fully go away. Some day, you'll realize that the 'love' he offered you wasn't really love at all but selfish violence in stead. He used your love for him against you. True love doesn't do that. Realizing that is the first step to recovery. Then you'll start to mend. You'll learn that love doesn't have to be tainted like that. And you'll find that your forced affection for him is fading and being replaced simply by memories. Memories that no longer have the ability to harm you because you are no longer in the clutches of the one who hurt you."
"Do you feel that you deserve love?"
I knew that a flash of despair crossed my features before I schooled them. Her question caught me off guard and left me totally unable to make up a lie.
"No. But I've lived a long life, Miss Granger. My childhood was only one small part of it. I might once have felt that I didn't deserve love because of what my father did to me. Or that I didn't deserve love because I had loved a bastard like him and it frightened me. But now I realize that those things are triviances compared to the things I did in the service of the Dark Lord. So no. I do not believe I deserve love. But it hardly has anything to do with your current situation."
The silence stretched between us again, broken only by the pop of the logs in the fire. She wasn't twisting her fingers together again at least, but now she stared at me with her eyes burning more brightly than the fire in my hearth.
"I do not believe that, Severus Snape. There is nothing you could do to convince me that what you have done as a spy makes you unworthy of love." I wanted to scoff. To laugh at her. She had no idea the things I'd done. How could she make that judgment? She couldn't. And it made me angry that she would even say it. I didn't need some silly chit giving me false hope. Because that's exactly what happened. Something inside of me jumped at the possibility that she was right. That I would be allowed forgiveness. It was a cruel joke. She had no idea...
"Even if I've raped a woman?" Suddenly I needed her to take her words back. I needed her to be repulsed by me. I needed to squash that tiny blossom of hope rising in my chest. I needed it more than my next breath. Because I couldn't survive letting that hope grow only to realize that I'd been right all along. She gasped, horror written plainly on her face. Then she shook her head, denying the truth.
"No. You wouldn't ever do that. I don't believe you."
"It is true, Miss Granger. And it didn't just happen once." The agony on her face made my heart clench. But why allow her to have some childish fantasy about me as a hero? Why allow her to plant seeds of doubt within me about the things I'd come to believe about my self worth?
"You...you raped a woman? Women? Forced yourself on them? T-took pleasure in hurting them?" Her breath was coming in quick gasps and she seemed only an instant away from full fledged panic. I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes and tried to sort out my thoughts. How selfish was I that I had told her such a thing just because of my own weakness? It wasn't fair. And I was reminded yet again of what a bastard I was. I let out a sigh.
"Yes, yes, and no." Her head snapped up and she glared at me. Before I could even so much as blink, she had pulled her wand on me. For a split second, I thought she was going to kill me. And curiously, my thoughts weren't on defending myself. I thought, finally...at least it will be at the hands of someone I respect. So when she pushed into my mind instead of killing me, I was totally unprepared. She sifted through my memories with all the finesse of a bull in a china shop. It was unlike any other mental intrusion I'd ever felt. I'll admit, me, the most skilled occlumens in the world, was held paralyzed by it. I'd spent years guarding my mind against subtle intrusion. The way Voldermort would slide insidiously among your memories. I could hold certain ones back, I could push others to the fore. I could even block him out completely, the way a seamless pane of glass holds back smoke. But against a battering ram that I couldn't have prepared for, my pane of glass was wholly useless.
Before I could stop her, she found one of the memories she was looking for and yanked it up.
He stood on the edge of the ring of men, watching their fun and keeping his face totally passive. Not one single stray emotion crossed his features. He stared on coldly and stonily. The woman was young, young and beautiful. Her only crime was being of muggle birth. But here, it was the most horrendous sin. They sent torturing spells at her, watching her writhe, hearing her scream, taking pleasure in her pain.
When she stopped screaming and began to passively accept the torture, they lost interest. Doholov stepped forward with a wicked glint in his eye. He knew that Dohlov only got that look when ready to kill. Before he could think he acted. Felt himself striding forward and kneeling before the Dark Lord. He kissed the hem of the robe and waited for the command to rise. Voldermort held a halting hand out to Doholov and gestured for Severus to go on.
"It would be a pity to waste her body, my lord," he murmured in a casual fashion, even though he was screaming inside.
"Oh?" Voldermort seemed mildly interested.
"You have risen above your baser needs, my lord, but some of us...haven't mastered them yet. Her mind is clearly broken. Her body is simply a shell now. But a pretty shell."
"You would sully yourself with a filthy mudblood?!" Doholov sensed the possible loss of his kill. His revulsion was clear in his words. Severus shrugged.
"Maybe the weakness came from my muggle father. But it matters not to me who her parents were- only what's between her legs. If it pleases you, my lord," he kissed the hem of the dark lord's robes again, "I would like to be allowed to have her." Voldermort studied him carefully. Fear ran through him as those penetrating eyes took him in. He walked such a tightrope that he knew could snap at any moment. He lived in constant knowledge that if he was ever discovered, his life would be forfeit. And it would not be an easy death. So why was he risking exposure simply to save this woman?
"Severus, you have always been so faithful. I cannot fault you for your weakness. I recall a time when I myself felt the occasional stirring of lust for an unworthy partner. Go ahead. But since you have denied Doholov of his pleasure for the sake of yours, I want you to provide us with some entertainment." The words were accompanied with a slight, evil smile. Severus felt his gut clench. How had he thought he would get away with hiding her away and not hurting her any more? This had become a test, and he would have to pass it or all would be lost. Maybe...maybe when he was done he could still save her. "See if you can make her scream again for us, Severus," Voldermort sneered.
He went over to where she was lying on the floor. His body quelled at the thought of what he was about to do, but he forced it into submission with a quick, wordless spell. He nudged her onto her stomach with the toe of his boot. She turned over listlessly, bonelessly, mindlessly. Was she really broken inside beyond repair? Would it really matter at all if I saved her life? And if she wasn't broken, would what he was about to do be what finally broke her? He pulled her arms behind her back ruthlessly, conjuring ropes and tying them tight.
When he pulled her to her knees and shoved her skirt up, she seemed to realize somewhere inside her traumatized mind what was about to happen. She tried to struggle. With her arms tied behind her back and her face and shoulders flat on the floor, it only made her squirm in what could be described as enticingly in any other scenario. He clamped his hand on her hip, keeping her from pulling away.
With everyone watching, he couldn't do a lubrication spell without them noticing. There wasn't any way to make this easier on her. He could hear them waiting with baited breath. Forcing his hands not to shake, he unbuttoned the placket on his trousers and brought his flesh to hers. With a fervent prayer for forgiveness to whatever gods or spirits would listen, he thrust into her.
Her back arched in new pain and she screamed. The crowd applauded. The dark lord smirked knowingly. He continued to thrust into her, fighting the urge to be sick, fighting the urge to kill everyone in the circle and then himself. He felt as if he would never again be clean. As if nothing would ever wash the stain of this sin from his soul. He deserved death. He knew that. If hell existed, then there was a special ring of torments reserved for rapists. Idly, he wondered if there was any torture that could be inflicted upon him that was worse than this. Worse than hearing her beg and cry for him to stop. Feeling her writhe in pain beneath him. Would this be his hell? And eternity of forcing women and forever feeling this crushing shame? What a fitting torment it would be.
When enough time had passed to please the dark lord, he faked a quiet climax and pulled out of her. When he looked down, there was a streak of her blood on his cock. Somehow, impossibly, it was worse than all the blood on his hands. How could this feel worse than the times he'd been made to kill for Voldermort? How much more could his soul take? He took sharp breaths to keep from vomiting. He must always be in control. He must never give sign that he was so repulsed by their actions, by his own actions, that he wanted to scream until his throat was raw and bloody.
This next part must be done perfectly. If he made a mistake, if he overplayed his hand or underplayed it, then everything would be for naught. What he'd just done would be for nothing. And he couldn't let that happen. He couldn't. He let a satisfied smirk twist his lips.
"I hope that my performance was pleasing, my lord," he said with an inclination of his head.
"By all means, Severus," he blinked slowly and gave a short, cruel laugh. "You amaze me with your ability to bring her back from the brink only to give her more pain. It is an art form you have perfected. Since you have given us such pleasure tonight, I will let you dispatch her."
"Of course, my lord. Thank you." He turned to the woman, who had once more collapsed, unable to hold herself up. Her skirt was still up, exposing her. "Then again," he turned back as if the thought had just crossed his mind. "She was a good fuck. If it would please you, my lord, might I keep her for a while? Its been a long time since I had a pliant woman gracing my bed."
"Pliant isn't the word I would use," Doholov said from behind him, clearly still mad.
"Ah, but that only increases the pleasure," Severus replied smoothly. "After all, what is pleasure without a little pain?" Voldermort laughed again. It started out short, but grew into a full and long laugh with his head back. When he once more looked out at the Death Eaters, he smiled.
"You see, my children, Severus truly has perfected the art of pain and suffering. You are all too quick to kill. Your torments are monotonous. They break so easily. It is a true talent to keep the mind on a razors edge, to push them to madness with the pain and then pull them back. And the agony is all the sweeter when they are pushed to the brink again. Yes, Severus, you may have her. I can only imagine the torments you have in mind for her. Take what pleasure you will from her. In so doing, you become an ever more talented and faithful servant."
Not allowing relief to show on his face, Severus levitated the woman and walked beside her limp body until he was outside. Then he apparated them away. They landed inside a dark house. Immediately, Severus started casting healing spells on her. Then he went to his cabinet and got out pain potions and calming potions. He poured them down her throat and continued his healing. Repairing the damage the Cruciatus curse had cause her muscles as they tensed in agony. Healing the places a knife had split her skin. And finally, repairing the damage he had caused between her legs.
He was sweating and trembling when finished, but she was at last sound of body. The only thing left to do was see if she could ever again be sound of mind. Was she truly broken, as the Longbottoms had been? He placed his wand at her temple, hoping against hope. Her mind was a mass of pain and suffering.
"Obliviate," he murmured. The worst of the pain receded. Her mind began to clear as he pulled out the torture, the agony, and lastly, the brutal rape she'd suffered. Once it was gone, he sent her into deep, dreamless sleep. She would never fully recover from it, he knew. The lingering effects might be subtle- jumping at loud noises, fear of black haired men, or they might be bigger than that. He might have taken her ability to ever truly trust again. But she was alive. She could go on with her life.
He apparated her to a place he knew her body would be discovered and she would be cared for. Then he sat alone in his house, his head hung between his knees. Because he realized that the suffering had only just begun. He knew that the next time a woman was brought in for the cruel pleasure of the Death Eaters, this would happen again. He would tell the dark lord that he'd broken his last pet with his cruel pleasure. He would ask to be given another. And another. How many women would he rape? How many times would he force himself on a woman? He would spare their lives by sacrificing their bodies and his own soul...
Hermione pulled out of my mind with a gasp. She was shaking, her eyes wild and tormented. I fought off the waves of guilt by reminding myself that I'd not chosen to show her that memory. She'd wanted to see it and she'd gone into my head uninvited. Even still, I couldn't help but want to soothe her. I didn't try and touch her, though. I knew what she'd seen. She knew the truth about me now. She didn't know the exact number of women I'd raped, she hadn't seen all their faces, but she knew that I'd done it not once, but over and over again. She wouldn't want me anywhere near her. She certainly wouldn't want me to touch her.
I could see the horror reflected in her eyes as the flames cast their glow on her face. She slid to the floor at my knees. Startled, I could only watch. She took both of my hands in her own, laid her head on my lap and cried. I didn't know what to do. How was I supposed to react to this? I'd expected hatred, disgust, terror. Not this.
"Severus...I'm so sorry." Her broken words tore at me. I loosed one of my hands from her hold and tipped her chin up.
"Why?" I couldn't keep the anguish from my tone. I felt so lost...
"For what you had to do to save those women. For what it cost you to return their lives to them."
"How can you say that? I raped them! You...you of all people should hate me. Despise me with the very core of your being."
"Despise you? I can't despise you! You were raped just as surely as they were. The horror you felt at violating them mirrored the horror they felt at the violation. And you submitted yourself to it willingly to save their lives! You put yourself through that over and over again..."
"I raped over and over again," I said in a dead tone.
"You took no pleasure from the act. I've seen inside your mind, Severus. You cannot hide from me. I know the man you are. I ache at what you had to go through, what you willingly went through for the sake of others. Your whole life you've been hurt- in every way possible- so that you could help others. People who would only scorn you for your sacrifice. They don't understand. They can't realize what its cost you. But I do. No words will ever be able to express the sorrow I feel for what you went through. But you're here now. You survived. And Severus...you do deserve love. You deserve everything life has to offer you."
I groaned and shut my eyes against her words. She was voicing every secret hope I'd ever harbored. That someone, finally someone would realize what the years as a spy had done to me. Someone, just once, would thank me for what I did. That someday I could escape the burden of responsibility and guilt and be free of it. That someone could understand how the things I'd done had twisted my soul. And that they would say that I was still worth loving.
The words I had so longed to hear, and they hit my like poisoned arrows to my black heart. They should have been a balm, soothing my torment. Instead they pierced me through and through. I couldn't believe them. She couldn't be speaking truly. It wasn't possible. I wanted to scream at her. To rail against her words and the hope they brought me. Because as she knelt there at my feet, placing her head oh so trustingly in my lap, the one little seed of hope she'd planted earlier was spreading and growing into a huge blossom of hope in my chest. It stole my breath and made my heart pound. This hope that would crush me when it was extinguished. And it would be. It would wither and die, and I would be left hollow.
She laid her head back down, her tears falling to my trousers. I felt my hand lift and stroke her hair, my fingers sliding over the wild mass of curls. I felt myself cradling her head gently, stroking her tears away with the pad of my thumb. She still had my other hand clasped tightly in hers, unwilling to let me go. I wanted to push her away and I wanted to pull her closer. We stayed like that for I don't know how long, two tortured souls taking refuge within each other.
After a while, I gently disentangled my hand from her and raised her head so that our eyes met once more. There was no judgment in them. No reproach. Only understanding. How it tore at me.
"What I do or don't deserve, Miss Granger, is not the topic at hand here. I will contact an acquaintance of mine and have your mother placed in the psychiatric ward of St Mungos. Its possible that there are advances in medicine that the healers there could use to help her." At her startled gasp, I put a finger to her lips and went on. "Do not get your hopes up. It might be that nothing more can be done for her. But at the very least, she will be properly taken care of. You will never have to fear for her again."
"Severus...I...thank you. You cannot know what that would mean to me." She looked adoringly at me with those honey eyes and I shifted, uncomfortable. Then a troubled look marred her features.
"What is it?" I asked gruffly. She shook her head ruefully, seeming a little afraid to tell me. "Miss Granger, I believe we are past all discomfort with each other. Tell me what is bothering you."
"He's still there...at my house. Dead, but still there. I...I don't want to go back." She looked up at me as if expecting censure. "Childish, isn't it?"
"No, its not. Of course you won't be returning to that house. He will be...taken care of. And someday, when you feel up to it, you can sort through the estate. But for now, you will remain here at Hogwarts. Correct me if I am mistaken, but you do not need this tutoring for your NEWTS. You seem more than capable of taking them and passing with exceptional marks. I will speak to the board and arrange to have you take them within the week."
"But Severus...once I take them, I won't be a student any longer! Where will I go?"
"Did you not just hear me, Miss Granger? I have said that you will remain at Hogwarts. You are welcome to stay in the castle for as long as I am headmaster, longer if I have any pull among the staff."
"What will I do?" She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. I couldn't help but want to relieve that stress. Maybe that was what made me speak those next words.
"You can be my assistant."
She looked up at me quickly, as if she couldn't believe her ears. I fought to keep color from rising in my cheeks at her blatant perusal of me. As if testing the sincerity of my offer, she sat back on her heels and repeated, "Your assistant?" I only nodded. "What would you have me do?"
"Many of the duties as Headmaster are tedious and monotonous. Certainly you could handle the heaps of paperwork that cross my desk. I have no doubt that your mind could be put to use aiding the organization of my office and the delegation of duties throughout the castle. And of course, there would be spare time for any independent research projects you wish to pursue on your own."
"Independent research projects?"
"Surely there are things you want to do with your time. What career did you imagine yourself having?"
"Honestly, I never gave it any thought. I...I felt as if I would never escape from him. I didn't think I had a future to dream about." She cast her eyes down, staring at my boots. I lifted her gently.
"Miss Granger, return to your seat." She did as I asked. "Now that you do have a future, you will need to start thinking about you want for it. You shall remain here in the castle until such time as you wish to leave and continue your life elsewhere. Decide what you like. What you want from your life. What you could do as a career. I'm sure no door would be closed to you."
"But for now...I can stay here?"
"Yes." At my word, it seemed as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She sagged back into the chair, a smile gracing her lips. When she opened her eyes, they were shining at me. I shifted, uncomfortable at what I saw in them. And I recalled something that I felt needed explanation. "I do, however, have a question for you before I can allow you to become my assistant." She blanched and the fear returned to her. Cursing inwardly, I amended quickly. "Have no doubt, you may remain in the castle no matter how you answer. But it might be more prudent for you to work with Minerva or Poppy..."
"I would rather work with you," she said quietly.
"Then tell me, when you were speaking to your mother earlier tonight...The things you were telling her- about you, and about me. Why did you say them?"
Uh-oh, Mione has some 'splainin to do! (I've got Lucy on my mind haha, blame my sister. For those from other countries who have no idea what I mean, google I Love Lucy!) Well what did you think? The chapter is one of the longest in the story, but I just couldn't separate any of this out. I hope you loved it! Review and tell me what you think! Also, the last chapter for LTL is going up today for those of you following that, so check it out, and don't forget the Author Q&A that's coming after!