Author's Note: Again, thank you to those who review consistently, you have my everlasting gratitude.

Gasps sounded around him at Miss Granger's pronouncement, and eyes flew to glare in his direction. Indeed, McGonagall jumped up, her chair clattering to the floor, her wand drawn and aimed.

Dumbledore, in contrast, stayed in his seat and shook his head sadly. Snape had the sneaking suspicion Dumbledore was wholly unsurprised at his participation.

Kingsley stood and made himself a physical barrier between Snape and the girl, as if he was still a danger to him.

"You raped her?" Kingsley accused, but he was weary, as though he anticipated Snape would attempt to escape.

He needn't have worried. Snape, too, stood but backed away as far as he could until his back hit the white washed wall behind him. He held up his hands to say he held no threat before admitting, "Yes, I did."

As cries of outrage sounded around him, Snape became aware of Miss Granger's face peering out from behind Kingsley. She was white as a sheet, a very familiar panic pouring out to him. She stared at him with wide honey eyes. "I'm so sorry," she said, "I thought they knew, I didn't…didn't mean to…WAIT!"

She screeched the last bit as McGonagall's wand cut the air, and Snape narrowly missed the stunner that was sent his way. "Everybody sit," Hermione called and when nobody obeyed, she tore the sheets away and slipped her bare feet onto chilly tile.

This brought McGonagall back to her senses, but Hermione ignored the woman's cry of, "Get back to bed this instant, Miss Granger."

Hermione bit back the tears that were brought about by the burning in her legs and she clutched the bed once for support, but didn't come to a full stop until she'd placed herself brazenly between her Potions professor and the Auror scrutinizing him. Snape caught the girl's arm as her legs threatened to give way, and hauled her upright. He kept a hand at her elbow, just in case.

Blast that Gryffindor bravery, he thought.

"Don't touch him," Hermione murmured. It was evident the walk over had taken much of her energy, but she held fast. "When he was commanded to have a go, I tapped into his mind, and I could hear him preparing to give it all up. I was the one who stopped him. I was the one who convinced him to listen to Voldemort. If you're going to charge one of us, charge me."

Snape marveled at the fact that she could stand to be near him, never mind stick up for him, after what he'd done to her. It didn't go beyond his notice that this was the second time she'd saved his arse in a matter of hours. It wasn't only the Wizarding World who owed Hermione a great deal; it was he as well.

Kingsley held up his arms. "No one is getting charged, Hermione," he sighed. "Now will you please get back into that bed before you pass out?"

With her permission, Snape wrapped one arm gingerly around her waist. He felt one of hers clutching his shoulder for support, and he helped her back into bed with as little unnecessary movement as possible. She was very nearly panting by the time they were settled.

"You aren't supposed to be active for a few months yet, Miss Granger, not with that punctured lung," Snape scolded, his brow furrowed, but he couldn't muster up any real aggression.

Hermione shrugged good-naturedly. "I'll be sure to stay off the Quidditch pitch, then."

Snape fought the ridiculous laugh that threatened to bubble out of him and when he turned to seat himself, he saw Dumbledore doing the same. Hermione Granger had less business on a Quidditch pitch than Voldemort did writing greeting cards.

McGonagall still shot Snape nasty looks, but he accepted them graciously, because it didn't look like Kingsley was willing to pursue any form of punishment and getting off scot-free would be a nightmare.

Kingsley swallowed hard and shook his head. "Start from man number one, Hermione. Did you know who he was?"

Hermione set her jaw. "Lucius Malfoy. He volunteered."

McGonagall bit her cheek and shifted uncomfortably, but remained silent. Dumbledore's half-moon spectacles slid down his crooked nose as he shook his head, dismayed.

Kingsley jotted the name down, all business. "The second?"

Hermione put a hand to her head. Snape opened his mouth to object to any more questions until she'd had a chance to rest, but she spoke before he could. "I think Goyle senior was next, followed by Crabbe senior. That's three…then there was that executioner, oh what's his name…"

"Macnair," Snape supplied.

Hermione nodded in recognition. "And then someone called Nott, I've never met him. And then another, I don't know…"

"Dolohov."

Hermione nodded again before she spoke. "And last was Professor Snape." Her eyes clouded now, and she looked down, her cheeks rouging.

Kingsley didn't bother writing that name down.

The next half hour was spent going through specifics, and it was painful for everyone, but no one more so than Snape. Every detail churned his stomach and by the time she'd reached his attack, he was nearly sent hurtling towards the nearest lavatory.

Kingsley turned toward Snape. "If this is difficult for you, feel free to stand outside."

Snape glanced at Hermione, whose face was pinched with exhaustion and trauma, and shook his head. She was the one reliving the most excruciating night of her life. The least he could do was listen to the pain that he'd caused.

Kingsley shrugged and turned his attention back on Hermione. "Last one, my girl," he sighed apologetically.

She nodded almost mechanically. Snape didn't like how dead her face was beginning to look, not one bit. "Professor Snape was gentler than the rest," she said immediately, paying a debt she didn't owe him.

He resisted the urge to shake his head.

"The others, you know…took their time. Explored." A shudder ran through her body, but she seemed not to notice it. She looked at him now, studying him. "But you weren't like that. You were…perfunctory at best. It felt more like business actually, more like something you merely grit your teeth and bore."

Snape was grateful, at least, that she'd sensed his reluctance.

She shook her head and remembered she had an audience. "And then Voldemort was called away, and we were given our chance."

Dumbledore leaned in, intrigued, but merely glanced at Snape, who understood they'd have a conversation about that later.

Snape watched as Hermione's head hit her pillow; her eyelids fluttered despite her best efforts, and he let his aggravation swell. "I daresay we've kept Miss Granger awake far too long," he insisted, rising and willing the others to follow suit. Thankfully, they complied.

McGonagall engulfed the girl in a quality bear hug before leading the line out the door. Snape brought up the rear; he glanced back just before he turned the light switch, and saw her already fast asleep. He contemplated retrieving a bottle of dreamless sleep potion from his stores, but decided he didn't have any in stock and would loathe waking her.

He snapped the door shut at his heels and felt the Headmaster's arm around his shoulder. He leaned close, so as not to be overheard, and whispered, "You quite look like you're about to faint, my boy. Perhaps a nap in your lodgings wouldn't hurt when we return to the castle, hmm?"

Sleep tugged at Snape's eyelids, but he shook his head. "There are classes to be taught and papers to be graded. I did the violating, I don't get a break." He ignored the Headmaster's argumentative glare, but lowered his voice. "But first and foremost, we must have a discussion."

Dumbledore nodded. "I figured as much. My office it is, then," he sighed, and they spun on the spot.

-BREAK-

Dumbledore swirled his tall glass of brandy absentmindedly. Sure, it was just past eight in the morning, but brandy was never a poor decision, not after the night that was had. He glanced up at the pale, tortured man who was slumped towards him with his head in his hands.

"And you have no thoughts as to the reason behind Lord Voldemort's speedy departure?"

Snape peered at the man through the spaces between his fingers before settling his hands anxiously in his lap. "Wormtail's pronouncement was enough to send the Dark Lord running; we were not enlightened as to the contents of the message. It is peculiar, how quickly the atmosphere changed, but it isn't unlike the snake to keep things from us."

Any further thoughts on the topic vanished when the door to Dumbledore's office banged open. A mess of untidy black hair and a most peculiar scar sauntered in as if he owned the place. Weasley, his cheeks presently the color of his hair, ambled clumsily in after his hot-headed friend.

Snape fought the urge to roll his eyes. He would now call the ingrate 'Potter, The Boy Who Lived To Be Rude'.

Dumbledore, as always, glossed right over Potter's imperfections. "Harry, my boy," he exclaimed. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Harry shook his head at the offered bowl of Bertie Bott's Every Flavored Beans, though Ron snagged a few, and spoke. "We're sorry for bursting in, Professor. It's just that we haven't seen Hermione since she went to serve detention with—"

And it was at that moment that Harry's eyes landed on, in his opinion, the most loathsome Professor employed by Hogwarts. Harry Potter had never been a particularly sensible boy, so it came as no surprise when he tried unsuccessfully to launch himself straight at Snape.

"What've you done with her, you greasy coward?" he spat. The Weasley boy yanked him back and pinned him to the wall before he could do any one any harm, but he too looked murderous.

Dumbledore was on his feet in an instant, walking to stand between his Potions professor and his young prodigy. "Harry," he sighed heavily, "sit. There is much to be discussed, but not until you've calmed down."

Harry shook off Ron's grip and righted himself. He deposited himself in the chair furthest from Snape's, which left Ron with no choice but to occupy the middle, and waited for the Headmaster to speak.

It was a surprise, then, that it was Snape's mouth who opened. "Your friend was attacked."