thirty-six ~ forty-four

"I'm sorry." Her voice sounded softly in the silence. "I didn't mean to worry you."

"What worries me," he said curtly, not looking up from his book, "is your apparent lack of a sense of self-preservation. Potter's not here to rescue you, you realise."

She flinched. "That's uncalled for."

"If it inflicts some sense into your… brain, for lack of a better term… then it's entirely justified."

"I'm not a child for you to abuse anymore."

"So much the worse. Look, Granger, if you want to kill yourself, by all means, do so. But don't pussyfoot around it in cowardice."

~~~

He always transformed honest repentance into resentment. "I'm not avoiding it. Suicide is the coward's escape." Her voice was tight.

"Not so. It takes a certain amount of spine to make the determination and implement it." His voice was maddeningly calm. "The coward's way out is to equivocate and squirm and hope someone else— gods or enemies or what-not—takes the final decision out of your hands." His expression twisted unpleasantly. "I refuse to play your deus ex machina, Granger."

"I don't want to die."

"Liar."

"I don't."

"Coward."

"I don't want to die!" She contracted into a ball and screamed.

~~~

Female hysterics. Lovely. Snape sighed and rose from his chair, looming over the shrieking girl. She didn't see him, rocking back and forth. I don't want to die! I don't want to die! I don't want to die!

Bubo streaked into the room, aiming for Snape until stopped by a preemptory yowl from Crookshanks. The kneazle met his eyes gravely. Snape's lips thinned, then relaxed. So that was how it was to be.

He picked the girl up, and she subsided into shaking, eyes staring, terrified, at something beyond their surroundings. And now up the stairs and into her room.

~~~

Still a child in so many ways… forced to manage in an all-too-adult world. Snape's grim expression softened as he laid her on the bed. And trying to cope alone. He still wondered why she refused her friends' support; she wasn't like him, after all.

But he had to try to pull her back. "Miss Granger. You're home. You're safe. No one will hurt you. I'm here." He grimaced. Unfortunate that the trick of slapping a hysterical woman to her senses was inadvisable; it would likely drive Hermione further into her memories. He continued to repeat his litany.

~~~

She'd fallen asleep. Eventually. Snape slumped in his chair. He'd known, about Bella and Hermione. The details were vague, but the damage was becoming obvious. Bella'd been vilely cunning in her sadism. Hermione wouldn't have died, but would have chosen to, eagerly, by the end.

Hermione shifted and Snape glimpsed the scar on her torso. HIs eyes widened, then hardened. One of Bella's favourites. Magic that tortuously burrowed from the skin inward. He didn't have to look to know that the scar continued down between her legs. Or that it may have destroyed her reproductive system. No more Mudbloods here.

~~~

The darkness terrified her upon awakening, her mind clouded by shards of memory and emotion. Hermione lay, motionless, as her eyes adjusted to the bit of moonlight and her mind to the reality of her bedroom. Safe. She was dead.

Along with so many others.

How did Snape cope? How did the others? There had been grief, yes; she'd seen that. But no one else seemed to suffer from these terrors that haunted her. No one felt evil just behind their shoulder or suffered swamping waves of loss. Perhaps she was simply weak.

"Perhaps you are simply human, Miss Granger."

~~~

He saw her freeze, the rabbit in sight of the raptor, and flicked on her nightlight. She relaxed marginally only to stiffen again. "You're using Legilimancy!" she accused him.

He shook his head, settling back into his chair. "You're broadcasting, Granger. Your emotional state has weakened your barriers and those particularly sharp thoughts are assaulting my mind's ears."

She drooped, then lifted her eyes to his. If he knew her thoughts, she had nothing to lose. "How do you manage, sir?"

He sighed, lightly pinching the bridge of his nose. "There is only one relevant difference between us, Granger. Time."

~~~

"I've had nearly forty years to come to terms with what you are learning, Hermione. Death. Betrayal. Madness. Cold, deliberate cruelty. Even colder, more deliberate manipulation. The sheer, bloody selfishness and destruction in human nature. Guilt.

"I was far from inexperienced in these lessons when I entered school. If anything, it was my love for Lily that was my mortal blow. I found myself suddenly burdened with emotions. And a conscience. A great, bloody nuisance for one angry with the world and ready to destroy it.

"When she died… I could have killed Voldemort. But I wanted to kill myself."

~~~

She didn't need to ask why. Hadn't she felt that way herself? The sheer guilt and frustration at her inability to save Remus or Tonks or Fred. People feted her for everything she had done, but they might be alive if she'd been faster or smarter or stronger. Her brain said she'd done her best. Her heart said her best was good for fuck-all. "Why didn't you?"

He shifted slightly. "Obligation. To Lily. To her ideals. To her son. I hated Potter for himself, Hermione. She died for him. And that meant I needed to keep him alive for her."