Snape slept very little that night. Contradictorily, his companion was nestled soundly against his side for the majority of the night. That was just fine with him. Despite the chill of the dungeon and the growing anxiety at their increasingly disastrous predicament, he allowed himself to feel contented with her presence.

All too quickly, the door to the dungeon banged open and Hermione started, sitting upright beside him. Draco Malfoy sauntered in, wand aloft, and exclaimed, "Get your sorry arses up, then. Come on," a little too loudly.

The only problem with the scenario was that his wand was pointed at his own chest.

Snape furrowed his brow even as Malfoy spoke again, this time in a hushed whisper. "Take it and go. Knock me out. You'll at least have a chance."

Hermione gasped, but Snape wasted no time. Before he could act, she managed to speak one word. "Why?"

Draco turned his weary, tired eyes towards her. "I don't want this much blood on my hands."

Snape cut the wand across the air before another word could be spoken, and caught Draco before laying him gently on the stone floor. He severed the binds around his wrists and hauled Hermione upright.

He spun on her. "Stay behind me and you must promise me that whatever happens, you will do your best to get yourself out."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You know you're bloody well wasting your time. Save your breath, and let's get on with it."

Snape's chest tightened uncomfortably, but her answer didn't surprise him. And as one, they ventured into the hall. He automatically sent a silent freezing charm into the vicinity and heard what sounded like three bodies crashing to the floor.

Hermione cocked an eyebrow. "Nice," she murmured before retrieving a wand from the body nearest which looked like a disarrayed Dolohov.

Snape clutched her hand behind his back and forged onward. Whatever they were held captive in was winding and damp, and he had the distinct impression that they were underground. That didn't exactly boost his spirits. Who was to say they were still in England, even?

They themselves were truly their only hope of rescue.

They kept their backs close to the wall and their eyes moving. Their muscles were stiff from days of isolation—Hermione still ached from the abuse—and Snape was doing his best to assure he was agile. He could hear footsteps, heavy ones, just around corner and he pushed himself and Hermione flat against the wall. He put a finger to his lips and waited.

It wasn't for long.

Lucius Malfoy's ridiculous blonde locks shone even in the little light they were given. Snape again slashed the air silently, and Malfoy crumpled before him. It appeared the element of surprise was indeed on his side.

He turned to Hermione to say as much but a hand closing around his throat halted him. Perhaps he'd spoken too soon.

Spots appeared in Snape's vision alarmingly as the hand tightened and was joined by its partner. He sank to his knees and clawed at the grip until miraculously, it loosened and then disappeared all together.

He caught his breath and glanced up to see Hermione, wand still pointed, shaking before him.

"It was the werewolf," she whispered, and there was an edge he didn't quite like in her voice.

Snape nodded and massaged his throat. "That explains the strength. I quite nearly went unconscious in a matter of three seconds."

She helped him to his feet and both waited for a moment to see if they'd caused a commotion. When none came, they collected Lucius's wand and forged forth. They could hear voices but they weren't sure about which direction they came from, and the darkness was getting disorienting.

Hermione transfigured her high-heels to sneakers when the clicking got distracting, and stayed very close to Snape. She didn't like not knowing the location of the others. Her heart was beating too fast.

Snape heard her breathing rapidly increase, and he clutched her hand in his. Perhaps it was the years of practice, but his mind wouldn't allow him to panic. Not yet.

They rounded a corner, and then it was they who were taken by surprise. A group of men stood, talking lightly and apparently awaiting Draco's arrival, when Snape and Hermione came into sight. None of them hesitated in drawing their wands and pulling their masks over their faces.

Snape glanced back at Hermione, who held his gaze for a moment before nodding silently. Simultaneously, they slashed the air.

Spell after spell hitting the air had a strobe light effect, and it made staying calm a daunting task. Hermione pressed her back against the wall where she could still see Snape's silhouette going strong, and she sent a severing curse at the Death Eater nearest her. It was satisfaction that met his screams, and he went down clutching the stubs where his fingers had just been.

She slid further down the wall and made herself as small as possible. Nobody was visibly looking in her direction, but that didn't mean much. She crouched until her hands and knees hit the stone, and she crawled into the middle of the action. From there, she was at the optimal vantage point. She sent out every mildly harmful curse she knew, and she watched their faces change from malicious to confused when they couldn't locate the source of the power. She took nearly the whole group out in a matter of seconds.

All but one.

A hand got tangled in her hair and hauled her to her feet involuntarily. She gasped, and her heart began to race almost painfully. Dolohov's wand clattered to the floor, and she searched wildly for Snape, to plead his help.

She found him, certainly, but he was in no shape to help.

He hung limply, suspended in the air, blood pooling in the space beneath his feet. She guessed his stitches must've ruptured again, but he was so pale this time, so pale…how much blood had he lost in the past three days?

"No!" she screamed and suddenly the hand in her hair was the least of her concerns. "Severus, wake up! Wake up!"

He disobeyed her. His head lolled back, the white tenderness of his throat exposed, and Hermione felt precariously close to retching. Just as she couldn't stand the sight of his vulnerability any longer, the hand spun her around and she was met by the blood-red eyes and snakelike face of Lord Voldemort.

"Why, my dear," he whispered, and his breath sent a chill down her spine. "I thought we had an agreement. You're trying to run? You don't find your lodgings…accommodating?"

He seemed to be waiting for the cackle of his followers, but none remained. Hermione fought against him a hard as she could—her previous bravery had fled her at the sight of an unconscious Severus Snape—but he stood strong.

"Don't kill him," she pleaded. "Don't let him die. Do what you will with me, I don't care. But please…please let him go."

The Dark Lord laughed, and it burned her ears to hear. "Always the Gryffindor. I won't harm him further. But he'll remain where he is while you and I…play. How long that takes is your prerogative."

Even as he spoke, he fingered the hem of her dress.

Hermione closed her eyes and wished to Merlin that this was a nightmare. She felt the ridiculous urge to laugh, and felt herself come to the brink of a mental collapse. She couldn't do this. Not alone, not with Severus bleeding out mere feet from them.

She opened her eyes at long last and resigned herself to the abhorrent fate he spelled out for her. But something caught her eye.

A forehead bearing a most peculiar lightning-shaped scar.

Author's Note: Sorry for the ridiculous hiatus, University and mid-semesters got the better of me. Hope you enjoy this one, and please, oh please, review!