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Snape watched as Harry paled abruptly and whipped his head around. Ron's face, in contrast, seemed to be trying to match his hair.

"What do you mean?" Harry spoke in a whisper now, his voice deadly.

Snape turned to face the boy and hated how weak his voice sounded. "I was called to a Death Eater meeting in the middle of her detention. As I was Apparating, my foot caught hold of hers—she was dragged alongside me."

Ron pushed back in his chair, as if trying distancing himself would change what he was hearing. "She's—she's alive, right? I mean, she's okay?"

Snape folded his hands in his lap to keep them steady, but spoke calmly. "Yes, she'll be fine."

Harry rested his elbows on his knees and took Snape in. "What happened to her at the meeting?"

Snape swallowed hard. He had hoped to avoid that question. He glanced at the Headmaster who murmured, "Perhaps that is Miss Granger's story to tell, Harry."

Ron raked a hand through his hair and seemed to accept the Headmaster's answer, but Harry wasn't so compliant. He didn't take his eyes off his Potions professor when he asked, "Was she tortured?"

Ron whipped his head towards Harry, his eyes wide. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear this; he wasn't sure if he was ready.

Snape, paradoxically, narrowed his eyes to slits. "Last I heard, Potter, there was nothing wrong with your ears. So I think I'm correct in assuming you heard the Headmaster's answer."

Harry spoke again, his audacity stretching inconceivably. "Was she raped?"

This time, every eye in the room swung to meet his. Ron groaned at his friend's words; he leaned back in his chair and covered his ears. Dumbledore had only time to utter, "Harry…" warningly before the boy was on his feet, his wand aloft.

Harry's voice cut across the room, smooth as glass, deadly as sin. "How about you, then?" he murmured, his wand inches from Snape's face, his eyes growing dark. "Did you touch her? Huh? Did you have a go?"

Snape rose, too, and made himself entirely too vulnerable to an attack. He spoke softly and this time, he didn't care how weak he sounded. "Yes, Mr. Potter. I did."

And all hell broke loose.

At Snape's admission, Harry's wand emitted an array of red sparks seemingly of its own accord. Ron growled ferociously and made to charge at Snape, but fumbled when a chair got in his way. Unused magic leapt from his skin, itching to be freed through the wand stowed in his robes and left with no other option, it pulsed into energy and shot out from his body with the force of an explosion. Harry experienced a similar transition of power, but his wand was clutched in his hand; the result was an outpouring of magic he didn't know he possessed that shot from his wand's tip. Together, they managed to create something of a whirlwind of sheer power and in a matter of seconds, they'd all but turned the office upside down.

As his belongings clattered to the floor, and in some cases shattered on impact, the Headmaster sprung from behind his desk with an agility that surprised even him, and waved a wandless hand. Instantly, a barrier was drawn, a shield between the distraught young men and the man which fueled their anger, through which only he could pass. Then, he waited in silence for their outburst to die out, his slight smile refusing to leave his lips even as he watched a good hundred years' worth of fortune turn to dust.

Finally, the boys tired themselves out and two things happened at once. Ron hunched his shoulders and, after fighting what looked like a raging internal battle, erupted into sobs so violent they shook his whole body; it was actually a rather agonizing sight. In turn, Harry leaned over the back of the chair he had just occupied as if he might be sick, but his burning eyes never left the Potions professor.

Snape was quite sure the boy was visualizing all the ways he could kill him. And it was only after their fit that his conscience eased the tiniest bit. This, finally, was the reaction he deserved.

"If you're quite through, Mr. Potter," the Headmaster spoke when the sparks ceased to fly, "might we resume our seats?"

In the interest of safety, Dumbledore left the barrier up and pushed Snape into the chair behind his desk. He instead assumed the seat beside Ron, who sat now with his face in his hands, trying to ground the embarrassing tears from his eyes. Harry seemed perfectly contended to remain hunched and standing, his wand still drawn.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, with the curious air of someone considering a rather intriguing bit of news, "am I correct in assuming that you didn't come to that conclusion on your own?"

Harry finally let his eyes leave the satisfyingly grim face of Professor Snape. "Err…what?"

Dumbledore's mouth turned down in the corners, not at all appreciating the words he needed to say. "How did you know she was raped?"

Ron let out a painful cry at the word, and Harry cracked his knuckles harshly. "Oh," he muttered, "yeah…it was Malfoy, the little prick. I heard him talking over breakfast. He was going on about how his dad had 'bedded some whore' last night to Crabbe and Goyle. Kept saying how she'd been passed around and he didn't say it was at a meeting, but it was implied." His eyes shifted to the floor. "He didn't say her name until he was sure I was listening."

Ron lifted his head then, and spun in his chair to face Harry. "What?" he growled. "I didn't hear any of that—when…why didn't you say anything to me?"

Harry's face, and voice, softened at the sobbing puddle that was his friend. "Look at yourself, Ron," he said apologetically. "I'm a shade better at dealing with tragedy than you are…and I wanted to be sure."

Meanwhile, Snape's heart hammered against his ribcage. If Malfoy knew already, half the school would know by lunchtime. By the time Miss Granger was fit to return to classes, every damned person at Hogwarts would know what happened to her. What a bloody nightmare. He glanced at Dumbledore and it was evident that the old man shared his sentiments to the letter.

Harry sat, finally, and turned his whole body away from Snape. "Please, Professor," he implored of the Headmaster, "tell us what happened."

Dumbledore sighed, but spoke. "You have to understand two things, boys. Number one: Professor Snape's role is implausibly vital in this war. Having said that, let it be known he was ready to reveal himself as a spy for the Order the moment he saw that Miss Granger was in danger."

Harry balked. "If he was so willing, then why didn't he?"

Dumbledore held a hand up. "That brings me to number two. It was Miss Granger who implored him to reconsider."

Harry and Ron exchanged a look that quite clearly stated they were wondering whether age was finally getting to the man's head. "You're saying he was going to save her," Harry murmured, his brow furrowed, "but she asked him not to? Why on earth would anyone do that?"

"Because she's brave," Snape said, and Harry's eyes flew to him, enraged. "She realized that despite what might happen to her, my role in this war was too important to surrender. She acknowledged how many more lives were at stake. Please believe me when I say I took away nothing but intense displeasure from last night's proceedings."

It was Ron's turn to growl in outrage. "You hate her," he spat, clutching the arms of his chair. "You hate all of us, you always have! Maybe you wouldn't have volunteered to rape,"—he stuttered over the word—, "her, but don't pretend you cared enough to stop it."

Snape's blood boiled at the Weasley boy's words. He leapt from his chair and leaned over the desk as far as the barrier would allow. "Don't you dare," he growled. "Don't presume to tell me what I would and wouldn't do, Weasley, for you know nothing of my role in this war, nor of my true opinions."

Ron set his jaw and gritted his teeth, but said nothing. Snape sat and listened as Dumbledore briefed the boys on the rest of the gruesome details and they left with a note to excuse them from their classes for the day and the promise of being able to visit her soon.

Upon their departure, Dumbledore finally removed the barrier which allowed Snape freedom to roam the span of the room once again. "Perhaps we should prepare ourselves for a ferocious increase of gossip at the rumor mill for the time being," Dumbledore said gravely, returning to his seat.

Snape nodded, but he was only half-listening. If truth be told, he'd been consumed by only one train of thought since his interaction with Weasley. They boy had accused Snape of hating Miss Granger as if it were nothing but absolute fact. While it was true that he never exactly simpered over any member of the Golden Trio, he surely never hated them. Well, perhaps Potter…but certainly never Miss Granger.

If it was so easy for Weasley to use Snape's assumed hatred as an excuse for what he'd done, Snape couldn't help but wonder if Miss Granger had come to the same conclusion. It was undeniably true that she was infinitely more intelligent than the boy, but still, it wasn't hard for Snape to imagine her thinking he'd acted as he had out of dislike.

The only way to settle his mind, and his flustered conscience, was to promise himself that he'd put an end to that notion the first chance he had.