Author's Note: Thanks again for my lovely reviews! Keep them up, they keep me motivated to update more quickly. Another reminder-this chapter is difficult, I didn't enjoy writing it, nor will I enjoy the next one, so if you have a problem with violence, I highly suggest you skip this one.

Everything hurt. The current Death Eater—number five, or maybe six—zipped his fly and slapped her panty-laden ass in thanks for showing him a good time. With each passing second, she fought the urge to lash out physically because she knew it would only result in death, be that hers or otherwise. Instead, her shame turned her face to the ground and she let her tears soak the soil.

Hermione took advantage of this reprieve between attacks to assess the damage. Bruises were already forming on nearly every inch of skin she could see, and she could only imagine what her face would look like, for it was that which received the brunt of the abuse. Her left side ached with each move she made and she concluded that at least one rib must have snapped. Though her thighs protested adamantly, she swallowed her pain and pulled herself into a sitting position. Her eyes roved the bloodied ground beneath her.

Malfoy laughed when she bled. He took his time with her. He explored her, as she never had been before, and it was with him she fought her hardest—it was also with him that she learned fighting was futile. Her anxiety was at its peak when he finally shoved her underwear aside roughly. He felt her, brutally, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out—it didn't help. He took only a moment to express his disappointment that she wasn't enjoying herself as much as he was before entering her. He broke her womanhood and as the blood that confirmed the loss of her virginity trickled down her thighs, his laughter pierced her ears.

In that moment, she felt murderous.

"Next?" the Dark Lord presently spoke before her.

Hermione instantly cringed and her chest tightened painfully. She took a quick count; five (maybe six) had taken their turns with her, which still left a good fifteen wizards standing idly by. Her head pounded and her breathing slowed. No more. She couldn't take one more, let alone fifteen.

She glanced up to take one last look at the starry night sky before she spoke. "No."

Jeering, foolish men fell silent around her and the dark wizard in the center of circle turned to face her. "Excuse me?" he hissed.

Hermione dared not glance at Snape, but his mind broke through poorly structured wards and screamed the memory of a corpse who looked about her age. His message was clear: she was begging for death.

That's the idea, came her terse reply.

She rolled on to her heels and found that standing was proving exceedingly difficult. Every muscle screamed, every joint and bone ached. Swallowing hard, she staggered upright and stood as proudly as her broken body allowed her.

"Kill me."

She'd intended to say it clearly, confidently. To go out with a bang. What left her mouth was a breathy whisper and her lungs ached with the effort. She wondered, vaguely, if any lasting damage had been done to her respiratory system and then dismissed the thought because, really, it didn't matter at this point.

As the Dark Lord walked toward her, wand in hand but not yet raised, she rustled up the remnants of her courage and matched his pace. They met in the middle and he appraised her now.

"I'd say that I admire your courage, but I can't admire anything about a Mudblood," he hissed. His followers cheered as he leaned in close. He raised his wand now, and muttered, "I promise, this will hurt."

Hermione actually grinned. "You think you can still hurt me?" Presently, she laughed. "If I'm the one asking for it, have you really won after all?"

His expression didn't change but his eyes flashed red. She saw his lips move, and she closed her eyes so she didn't have to see the flash.

"Crucio."

Her body ignited, her very bones burnt to crisps and yet even as she screamed, confusion clouded her head. She peered through heavy lids as the pain slowly dissipated.

He swooped down to where she lay crumpled on the ground and brushed several askew tendrils away from her face. The gesture could've been tender, it might've been, but his fingers nearly scraped away her flesh. She jerked away, but he caught her arm.

"Why not?" she whispered, but he knew what she was asking.

"My servants," he murmured slowly, softly, like a harsh lullaby, "they've been so faithful to me these past few weeks. They deserve a nice, warm body beneath them, not one chilled by the kiss of death."

She shuddered involuntarily. Fifteen more…Merlin, no.

Voldemort chuckled and bent close. "Ask me again when they're through, and I'll be more than happy to oblige your request."

Hermione bit her lip and glowered at him as he rose to his feet and once again faced his servants.

"Who's next?" he hissed, and several Death Eaters stepped forward. His eyes roved over each in turn, but he dismissed all of them. "No, no…my servants, I fear we've all been inconsiderate. Here stands Severus, thoughtful enough to provide us with such entertainment, and yet he hasn't even had a turn yet."

Hermione gasped from where she lay on the ground. She and Voldemort turned their heads to face Snape at the exact same moment, though her face shone with horror and his, excitement.

"Severus…batter up."

-BREAK-

Beneath his robes, Snape clutched his stomach to keep from vomiting as Lucius Malfoy stole the virtue of the poor girl pinned beneath him. Merlin sought to punish Snape, it seemed, because for the duration of the attack, her bloodied, agonized face was turned to him and he couldn't bring himself to look away.

Her screams cut through him like spears, and he gritted his teeth to keep his blank mask in place. His mind, almost without his permission, sought hers and he tasted the panic, the pain, which threatened to suffocate her.

No cause was worth this.

And so a half hour passed. Then a full hour. Then another quarter; did these men never rest? Snape watched number six, whom he identified as Dolohov, roll off the girl and slap her behind with a laugh. He watched her cheeks rouge and her head bow low and he wished to Merlin that the fate of the Wizarding World didn't rely on his double agent status for he was so precariously close to blowing it.

Snape saw Hermione gulp audibly as she sat upright and realized how many more attacks she'd be forced through. Then he watched as she grit her teeth, determination setting her jaw, and he knew exactly what she was about to do before she said it.

"No."

His mind screamed at her, cursed at her, but she denied him. Guilt shortened his breath as his Master raised his wand and the girl clamped her eyes shut.

Relief flooded his veins when he heard the Cruciatus curse called out, but it turned bittersweet when her screams cut his ears again. He concentrated on righting his now irregular heartbeat and calming his breathing until he was jarred back to reality by the sound of his own name.

"Severus…batter up."

He felt the girl's astonishment melt to dread and he bit his tongue hard. He prepared himself for the best bit of acting he was sure he'd ever have to do. "Much obliged, my Lord, but I didn't bring her for myself."

The Dark Lord swept over to him and clapped in on the shoulder; Snape was sure the man could feel his clammy skin. "Not to worry, Severus, that is precisely the reason you deserve to have her!"

Snape's eyes shot back to Hermione and he watched her crabwalk away near the far line of Death Eaters, and shook his head. "With all due thanks, my Lord, the girl is my student. She's sniveling Potter's best mate and while it's easy for my brothers to think of her as nothing more than a young pair of legs, I can't get her nagging Mudblood voice from ringing in my ears. She…does nothing for me."

The Dark Lord's grin tugged slowly from his face. "Are we going to have a problem, Severus?"

This was it, Snape thought. He was finally done living a damned double life. That was all about to end and while it could very well mean his death, he was more than willing to take his chances. He clutched his wand and opened his mouth when a nagging in his mind halted him.

It was the memory of a simple printed phrase in a book. 'It's okay'.

Snape's eyes whipped towards Hermione and though he knew he was breaking his own most important rule, he opened his mind despite the Dark Lord's proximity. He thought of Potter in those damned Occlumency lessons, his screech of "No!" loud enough to wake Hogsmeade.

Hermione shook her head perceptibly this time. She played him recap of the Quidditch World Cup she'd attended with the Weasley clan and Harry which was the largest Wizarding event she'd ever attended, and then a photograph of herself. Her message was clear; he had an entire world his role in the war could protect, and he shan't throw it away to preserve the virtue of one girl. He nearly rolled his eyes—she was preaching to the choir. He knew she was right, but every muscle in his body protested. Her bravery was sickening.

So very Gryffindor, indeed.

He shrugged off his cloak and took tentative steps toward her, masking his face with controlled distaste.

"I'm sure she'll prove good for you, Severus. Just give her a go," the Dark Lord called and the rest cheered him on.

Snape reached to Hermione and rather unceremoniously fell to his knees. He watched her strive to appear calm visibly, and was perfectly aware that her anxiety was bubbling just beneath her flesh. He moved slowly though as not to startle her, and knew exactly how ridiculous that was considering what he had to do next.

He tucked a few stray curls behind her ears and didn't care how suspicious he looked. "I'll be as gentle, and as quick, as I can."

She opened her mouth but proved incapable of speech so she settled for nodding. As her Potions professor unzipped his fly, Hermione did her very best to block out the rest of the world.