The Fall of the Boy Who Lived

Author's Note: Thanks to my beta dramionejunkie, and to J.K. Rowling for her spectacular characters.

SS

Severus paces back and forth through the debris that once made up his study, mouthing obscenities under his breath.

How could Albus not tell me about the Horcruxes? He spent years trying to convince everyone I could be trusted, and the old codger didn't even have the decency to lead by example!

Dumbledore has finally told Severus everything he knows about Voldemort, and he has also explained how Harry has spent the better part of the last year in search of the remaining Horcruxes.

Looking around at the destruction he has caused, Severus sighs and throws himself into his favorite armchair, a comfy wingback upholstered in rich green fabric, right next to his crackling fireplace. Using his wand, he conjures up a large snifter of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey and starts musing over the newly discovered information.

Seven Horcruxes: 1) The diary, destroyed; 2) The ring, destroyed; 3) The locket, destroyed; 4) The boy, destroyed; 5) The cup, missing; 6) The snake, untouchable; 7) Something of Ravenclaw's, unknown.

Severus downs the rest of his Firewhiskey and quickly starts on another.

Granger has known about the Horcruxes far longer than me; perhaps she'll have some insight to share.

He laughs darkly to himself.

Of course the insufferable know-it-all would have some insight. Getting her to share it with me will be the real issue. Dumbledore told me not to reveal my loyalties to the girl, but he so obviously loves keeping people in the dark that he may be biased.

While working on his third brandy, Severus decides that he will not tell the chit everything about him, but just enough for her to believe that maybe he can be trusted after all. Finishing his drink, Severus throws his glass into the flames and billows out of the room, heading for the dungeons.

HG

Hermione longs for sleep to carry her away from her current situation, but unfortunately her body is too uncomfortable for that wish to be granted. Her arms, once numb, are now prickling painfully, her shoulder blades feel far too stretched, and considering she is still in nothing but her underwear and torn bra, she is absolutely freezing.

She lies there wondering how long it will take before the pain spreads from her immobile arms to the rest of her body, and if it does spread, will it intensify to the point that the Cruciatus curse would be preferable in comparison?

You shouldn't have bit him; he'll leave you here to freeze to death, for sure, she tells herself.

Well, he shouldn't have kissed me! she responds desperately.

When he comes back you should apologize; you should play nice. Maybe if he thinks that you can be trusted not to fight back, he'll relax around you, and you might find a chance to escape.

Hermione's eyes swell once more with tears.

Even if I do escape, Professor Snape was right... Where would I go? Ron cannot be trusted; I don't know how to contact the other Order members... if there even is an Order anymore. With Harry gone, hope is gone. The Horcruxes will never be destroyed, and Voldemort will reign over the Wizarding world forever.

Hermione gasps.

No! That cannot happen! When I escape, because she is determined to escape, when I escape I will find a way to destroy the remaining Horcruxes! she vows silently.

Hermione promises herself that she will behave and be nice to Snape, in hopes of giving him a false sense of security.

Just as she resigns herself to being good, she hears her prison door unlock once more.

Stumbling inside in a manner not quite befitting of his usual grace, Professor Snape crosses the room with a sideways gait and perches on the very edge of her bed.

"Are you cold?" he asks, a slight slur to his drawl.

"Yes, Professor, I am." Hermione hesitates briefly before hurrying on in a desperate whisper, not trusting her voice to speak any louder. "I would like to apologize for my behavior earlier, you caught me off guard and I overreacted. Do forgive me?"

Snape arches a quizzical eyebrow at her. He sits there silently, stiff except for a slight sway of his shoulders he can't seem to control, and looks her up and down. Then, sighing heavily, he removes his outer robe and covers her with it.

"Given your troublesome day, I suppose I can understand your rash action," he tells her, giving her as close to forgiveness as possible for Severus Snape.

"Thank you," Hermione says, referring both to the warmth from the cloak and to his understanding.

Snape hunches over and buries his face in his hands, looking thoroughly defeated. Hermione eyes him curiously.

He looks so... vulnerable.

His shoulders seem about to collapse under whatever weight he is currently burdened with. His hair, more shiny than greasy she notes, hangs in thick black curtains hiding his face from view.

Why should Voldemort's right hand man, the killer of Albus Dumbledore, look so dejected when just hours ago Voldemort finally triumphed over 'The Boy Who Lived'?

It doesn't make sense.

"Are you... alright, sir?" she asks, and to her own surprise she finds she is actually curious.

Snape lifts his head and studies her face with glassy eyes.

"You are so good, so pure; you are almost too selfless to be on any side but your own. The bad guys and even the good guys can't compare to someone so... naive," he finishes, with a sneer. "Do you honestly think that by pretending to show me compassion your odds will improve?"

"I am not trying to play you! I was just curious as to why you are depressed when you have finally won?" she huffs indignantly.

"I have won nothing... I never win," Snape says quietly.

Then, without another word, he passes out cold, falling onto the bed and across Hermione. His head rests on her breasts, and she can smell the alcohol on him.

"Professor? Sir?" she says, attempting to rouse him to no avail.

It's going to be a long night.

Hermione's breath quickens... She starts panicking... There is just so much of him; his weight pushing into her makes her feel trapped.

Attempting to calm herself down, she tries to make a list of things that are not entirely horrible about this situation.

I'm no longer freezing.

Snape's body heat, in addition to the cloak he draped over her, is quickly warming Hermione up.

If he's sleeping he's not hurting me.

I'm likely to manage sleep; the smell of alcohol on his breath should be enough to cause me to pass out as well.

A piece of Snape's dark hair shifts and tickles Hermione's cheek.

She tries, carefully, to wiggle up higher on the bed, her body grinding against his in the attempt.

"Mmm, Lily." Snape laughs sleepily.

Lily?

XX

She is running as fast as she can after Harry and Ron. They skirt the edge of the lake silently, pushing towards the white tomb. Panting, they finally reach it, only to see it's already been blown open; chunks of white marble litter the ground. A shrouded corpse lies on the platform before them, giving her chills.

Ron is at her side throwing an arm around her shoulder, urging her to her feet. She can't do it; she is paralyzed under the weight of her despair. Hermione is still screaming as the air fills with black smoke and cloaks.

SS

The strong aroma of lavender and chamomile fills Severus' nose about two seconds before the girl's screams fill his ears. He jerks awake, and winces, his head pounding from the previous night's indulgence in Firewhiskey. Granger is thrashing about and Severus realizes, with a start, that he is lying on top of her, his face burrowed into the hollow of her neck.

Severus pushes himself up and tries to wake the witch from her nightmare.

"Miss Granger!" He scowls. "Stop blathering and wake up!"

He reaches down, grabs one of her arms, and gives it a shake.

"Miss Granger!"

Her chocolate eyes pop open wide, her chest heaving. The shock on her face is almost comical.

Her eyebrows are arched high, and she wears the expression of a deer caught in Muggle headlights.

If deer had mass amounts of horrid, unmanageable hair...

"It was a nightmare, Miss Granger. You are fine now," he tries to assure her, his words thickly coated with sarcasm.

Her cheeks are red and tear-stained as she turns her head away and mumbles something he can't hear.

"Speak up," he commands.

"I said waking holds no reprieve when you are living your nightmares," she enunciates raggedly.

"Ever the poet," he sneers, getting up and crossing the room to a large store cupboard.

From inside, he pulls out a large phial of Hangover Brew and downs it in one gulp.

"Professor?" Granger asks timidly.

"What?"

"I... I have to use the loo," she rushes.

He flips his head around to look at her and can immediately tell, from the embarrassed flush in her cheeks, that she isn't lying. He snarls and throws the empty phial on top of the cupboard. Crossing the room in three quick strides, he whips his wand out and vanishes her shackles.

She lets her arms fall to the bed and sighs gratefully. Slowly, she pulls them to her chest and attempts to rub feeling back into them.

"Thank you, sir."

Severus just grunts acknowledgment and stands awkwardly next to the bed. She sits up slowly and throws her legs over the side of the metal frame. The cloak, covering her, falls, and her cheeks flush even deeper as she rushes to gather the material around her again.

Seeing her small, barely covered breasts before him, Severus rolls his neck and listens to it crack. He hadn't much in the way of pillows the night before.

"Um, where is-" she begins, but he cuts her off.

"Door on the left."

When she stands up, her legs immediately go out from under her, and she falls forward right into his chest.

"S-sorry... my legs are numb," she sputters.

In one fluid movement, Severus sweeps her up into his arms and carries her across the room to the bathroom door.

"This is far as I go, Miss Granger."

He sets her gingerly on her own two feet and she uses the door frame to brace herself. Her 'thank you' is almost inaudible. It's not until after the door is closed behind her that Severus wonders if he should have made her leave it open. He dismisses that thought; Granger isn't one with the strength to harm herself.

Severus paces back and forth outside the door impatiently; he is so focused on wondering what is taking her so long that he is completely unprepared when his Dark Mark begins to burn.

"Shit!"

He hesitates, just a moment, before making a decision.

"Miss Granger," he calls, "I have business I have to attend to. I am going to allow you to remain unbound today, but if you try anything foolish, you will be chained back to that bed permanently. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir. I understand."

The pain in his arm intensifies. Severus flicks his wand a few times, sealing the doors and locking his potion cupboard. He pulls back his sleeve, and is preparing to touch his wand to his Dark Mark, when another thought occurs to him. Two more flicks and he is gone.