"My lord?"

"You heard right, Fenrir," Voldemort hissed impatiently, "I don't trust anyone, not after being in Russia for so long. The big Christmas party will be the ideal opportunity for anyone who has a problem with me to attempt murder."

"No one would dare, my lord!" Fenrir replied incredulously.

"That attitude is precisely the reason why I'm talking to you about this," Voldemort continued unimpressed. His gaze travelled over the shabby furniture in the small living room. Fenrir Greyback had only been living in other people's abandoned flats for years, because as a werewolf he was not well accepted even in the wizarding community. And that was precisely why Voldemort knew that he could at least rely on him. "Unlike everyone else, you know how much I can - and will - give you. You are the only one who has no motive to kill me. I don't have to trust you to know that."

Greyback looked uncertainly at his master. He didn't know what to make of this expression of trust. When Voldemort had come to him back then, promising him that no werewolf would have to hide under his rule, he had been ecstatic. At last, he was able to live a life where he didn't have to hide his urges, where he didn't have to suppress his bloodlust or disguise his pleasure in violence. Voldemort didn't appreciate him for his intelligence, which Fenrir was well aware he didn't possess anyway, but because he was consistent and ruthless. So why was he now turning to him in a matter that called more for reason than for violence?

"I'm not asking you to understand my thoughts," Voldemort explained, as if he read his mind, "I need you as a guard. My good Nagini here," he said lovingly as he stroked his snake's head, "she is a loyal companion, but she is in as much danger as I am. Without her I am nothing, without her I am just a mortal wizard like everyone else. Any enemy who wants to kill me has to get past her. That's why she's always with me. I will use her now to protect myself and expose any traitors."

Voldemort walked slowly round the werewolf, who still did not understand what his master wanted from him. "You will look after Nagini, Fenrir. She will not be at my side at the ceremony itself, but in a room nearby. Whoever wants to kill me must kill her first. You will watch her. And you will kill anyone who comes near her. Without distinction, anyone. No matter who it is. Don't hesitate."

Fenrir finally understood and a nasty grin appeared on his face. "That won't be a problem, my lord. I am only too happy to fulfil this task."

"Good," Voldemort nodded with satisfaction, "If no one comes, if no one tries anything, I do indeed have more loyal followers than I thought. This is a test. I don't think they're all loyal. We will know."

oOoOoOo

"My good Zissy! How nice to finally be able to hold you in my arms again. Come here, let me give you a hug."

Hermione watched impassively as Bellatrix Lestrange and her husband were greeted by the lady of the house. She had been surprised when the news had arrived that Bellatrix would be coming on Monday, and very worried. She hoped that it wouldn't interfere with their plans, that Snape and Lucius in particular would find enough time to work out the finer details of the plan.

"Welcome, welcome!" Narcissa Malfoy greeted her sister just as effusively, "How nice of you to come so early! But tell me, did you leave your slave all alone?"

Hermione didn't miss the sardonic sideways glance Bellatrix gave her before she said with a dismissive gesture, "I got tired of him and ... disposed of him."

Coldness spread through Hermione's stomach, but she knew that any emotion from her would only incite Bellatrix to further cruelty. With an indifferent expression on her face, Hermione stared straight ahead as she took the coats of the two guests to hang them up.

"He was never much use anyway," the black-haired witch continued, eager to elicit a reaction from Hermione, "As stupid as he was, you'd think he'd been a Squib. But what would you expect with a family full of mudblood lovers? He was great for quick gratification in between ... he was so wild, so greedy for me. I'm sure it was a lot down to my good upbringing that he was obedient to me, but I think if he hadn't been so horny for me of his own accord, it would only have worked half as well. He was little more than an animal."

Hermione clenched her fists to stop herself from retorting angrily or simply bursting into tears. She would not give that horrible woman the satisfaction of being so obviously hurt by her words. And finally, as if she had realised that her attempt would not work, Bellatrix dropped the subject to take a seat in the library with Narcissa and her husband. Hermione, meanwhile, hurried into the kitchen to help with the preparations for lunch.

She was barely out of sight of the three when tears violently made their way down her face. Ron was dead. Dead. Just like Harry. While Ron had been suffering under Bellatrix Lestrange, she had been having fun with Lucius Malfoy. She had betrayed him. And now he was dead without her ever having been able to talk to him about her feelings. There had only been that one kiss.

In despair, she slumped down on the bench and ignored the house elves bustling around her. So close to the end, Voldemort's reign had claimed a victim after all.

A rustling right next to her made Hermione look up. She hadn't realised Snape entered the kitchen. Now he was sitting next to her, looking at her with serious eyes.

"You're letting your emotions get the better of you again, Miss Granger."

"Oh, leave me alone!" she returned angrily, "I'm still allowed to cry."

"Are you going to show every emotion openly on Wednesday?" came the emotionless reply.

Annoyed, Hermione turned to him. "Ron's dead, okay? My best friend, maybe even ... whatever. Bellatrix killed him just like that. Disposed of him, as she calls it. Am I not allowed to cry? Am I not allowed to mourn this loss?"

Snape's expression softened. "I'm sorry to hear that. I take it you were very close?"

"Yes," Hermione whispered as tears rolled down her cheeks again, "Who knows, if all this hadn't happened, maybe... maybe we would have got married one day."

"I see."

Awkwardly, Snape placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder. Grateful that he was jumping over his own shadow to comfort her, Hermione leaned against his side and hid her tear-stained face against his chest.

"Miss Granger," Snape reprimanded her, "you can't..."

"Just this one time, okay?" she interrupted him, "You're the only person I have right now. Put up with it."

With an agonised sigh, Snape gave up his resistance and even put his second hand on Hermione's back. He could feel the petite body trembling in his arms and he heard her sobbing loudly. He felt uncomfortable in this situation, which made him realise more than anything before how awkward he was in dealing with emotions. How did one comfort a crying woman? His mind wandered back to the day he had found the dead Lily Potter. He had also cried, cried and shouted with rage. Back then, he had no one to share his grief with and even Dumbledore, to whom he had finally turned, had only had cool, rational words for him. In order to be able to let out and end his grief, he would have needed a mirror, a person he could talk to about it. But there had never been one and so Lily had always been his companion, had always been there.

Hermione Granger should not have the same experience. Nothing was worse than being haunted forever and ever by the memory and grief of a loved one, unable to come to terms with that grief.

"Cry all you want," he finally whispered, pulling her a little closer to him.

"I feel guilty," Hermione murmured softly, more to herself than to Snape, but knowing that he was listening to her, "Ron was such a sweet person. So sweet. And he suffered so much. I feel like I betrayed our love. I willingly slept with Malfoy and at some point, I felt like I'd changed too much to be with Ron in the end, as a girlfriend or wife. And now he's dead without me being able to explain it all to him. It's just mad."

"There's nothing you should feel guilty about, Miss Granger," Snape replied firmly. He could understand that all too well too - except that he was indeed guilty towards Lily. He could have prevented her death. Hermione, on the other hand, had done nothing but live her life and move on.

Slowly, Hermione moved away from Snape again. It confused her how much security she just felt when he put his arms around her. Not a fibre of her body flinched under his touch anymore, as if her mind had finally convinced her heart to truly forgive him for the rape.

"Would you answer one question for me?" she said, turning to him, "Just this one."

Snape looked at her with raised eyebrows, but finally he nodded.

"If the circumstances had been different ... would you have ... back then. Would you still have raped me?"

She could see that he was surprised by this sudden change of subject, but she refused to let it go. "We need to talk about this. I have to talk about it. Please."

"Fine," Snape pressed out, "I understand. When I heard that Lucius wanted to sell you, I immediately intended to be the buyer myself. I saw the way Greyback lusted after you, it was just disgusting. I never intended to use my ... purchased right to your virginity. The purchase was for your protection, although I was afraid that I might be forced to sleep with you at some point. It was never planned that it would happen soon and that it would happen the way it did. I followed Draco that night and I think we both know what his intentions were in coming to you. In my renewed attempt to protect you, I got myself into a situation I couldn't get out of. Draco must have been eavesdropping. I had no room to explain, I had to show him what he expected to see. The risk of the Dark Lord stumbling across this scene later in his memories was too great."

"You sacrificed me for the greater good, eh?"

Snape winced. "Where did you learn that expression?"

"From Harry. He was rummaging through Dumbledore's past. Looks like Dumbledore used to hold some rather dubious views. And apparently, he could never let go of the belief that for the greater good of all people, the suffering of a few should be accepted. And you are the best proof of that. He has used you again and again, ignoring your feelings because you could help him against... You-Know-Who."

Snape glared at her angrily. "I may not have always agreed with Dumbledore, but he certainly wasn't the cold person you're making him out to be."

"I know," Hermione agreed quietly, "I saw for myself how fatherly he treated Harry. Harry always had doubts that he was just a pawn for Dumbledore. Maybe he was, but I also saw the other Dumbledore, the good-natured, friendly, loving one. Still ... you gave up your own life for him. You endured everything, even after his death."

"By choice," Snape emphasised, "I made a mistake as a young man and I swore to myself that I would do everything in my power to make up for it ... if that was ever possible."

"And you ended up having to do more things you regret."

"I'm not cut out for a happy life, Miss Granger, my mistake was too serious for that. Don't pity me for something I've long since come to terms with myself."

Hermione could see that Snape meant what he said. He actually believed that there would be no more happiness in the world for him. She couldn't see any light herself at the moment because everything was overshadowed by the thought of Ron, and yet deep down she was certain that better days would come soon and that one day she would be happy again. The idea of giving up faith in happiness forever was terrible.

"If you don't want to hope for yourself, then I'll do it for you," she explained. "I firmly believe that no human being is cursed to lead an unhappy life. I won't give up hope that you can be happy too."

"Watch what you say!" Snape replied sharply. "Hope can be the worst torture of all for a person. And that's exactly why I stopped long ago!"

It was obvious that Hermione didn't understand him. Sighing, Snape rose from the bench. As long as he had hoped that one day he would have served his time, every disappointment had been painful. Since he had come to terms with the fact that there would never be happiness for him again, he had escaped this pain. He was able to function properly, carry out his tasks and only sometimes felt anger or hatred. And now here was a young witch sitting in front of him who wanted to hope for him. Who infected him with her positive nature, who impressed him with this inner strength that he himself never had.

She was dangerous for his inner peace. He couldn't let her get any closer to him.