Revelation

Part 2: Revelations

Set during Deathly Hallows.

As Severus Snape entered through the elegant portal of Malfoy Manor, Narcissa Malfoy was already waiting for him in the hallway. He noticed how grey her skin looked. There was hardly anything left of the stunning beauty she had possessed as a young woman. It seemed that it, too, had fallen victim to the destructive forces of the Dark Lord, just like the power, influence, and pride that had once been the hallmark of the noble house of Malfoy. His own fortune, at present, had turned towards the better, but he wondered how long it would last.

"I'm so glad you could come, Severus," she whispered anxiously. "Bella is beside herself, I don't understand what is going on. She keeps saying he's going to punish us all!"

An earth shattering scream from the drawing room sent a chill down his spine and filled his heart with dread. Who was being tortured this time? It was a woman, by the sound of it. Another scream tore through the air, shaking him to the core. The silence that followed was full of dark foreboding.

Snape frowned. "What happened?"

"They captured Harry Potter and his friends."

For a split second, he froze in shock before regaining control over his features, putting on a face of mild interest, and acknowledging her statement with a satisfied nod. But behind the mask, his mind was racing. This could be a problem, a big problem. He wondered if Potter was ready for the final show-down, because if he was not, the situation was desperate indeed. Once more he cursed Dumbledore for not having given him all the relevant information. All he had been told was to look out for the Dark Lord's snake, but he had not seen either of them for weeks, so how was he supposed to tell? If Potter was not ready, he could hardly afford to wait for the Dark Lord's return; he would have to act very quickly. He needed some other way to find out where things stood. He paused by the door for a moment, taking a deep breath, trying to listen to what was being spoken inside the room.

"What – else – did – you – take!" he could hear Bella shouting. Then the sound of a slap, a faint moan.

"Where is Draco?" Snape asked Narcissa in a hushed tone.

"Outside."

"See to it that he stays there," he said before turning his attention towards the sounds from the other side of the door again.

"You think this is all? We can do much worse to you, much worse... Tell me! Tell me how you got into my vault!" Bella's voice had turned from an angry hiss into a hysterical shriek. Then it went back to a dangerous whisper. "Mr. Greyback here has a bit of a penchant for young little things such as you, and so does Mr. Pettigrew. You can talk to me... or I might just leave you to them..." Now Bella was putting on her sweetest voice. "Tell me... Be a good girl... And I won't let them hurt you..."

Another silence.

"Fine! You don't deserve any better," Bella hissed. "You'll see where your stubbornness will get you. Pettigrew, Greyback, she's all yours!"

He pushed the door open a little to peer inside. On the floor, on the luxurious carpet, lay the body of a girl. It was Miss Granger. He pushed the door open all the way and briefly scanned the room with his eyes. Greyback stood in the corner, leering. Apart from Bella and the werewolf, there were Pettigrew and Lucius, who was a pitiful sight.

"No," he said firmly, "she is mine."

It was useful to be able to pull rank on Bella and the other Death Eaters, and he did so with a certain amount of glee. Bella stared at him, her eyes flashing furiously.

"This is not for entertainment, Severus. We are trying to get information out of her."

"If that's the case, then the Dark Lord is perfectly capable of interrogating her himself," he replied smoothly, but not without a carefully measured dose of menace in his tone. "And he will not be pleased if you kill her before he has had the opportunity."

"The Dark Lord is not here, and this can't wait." The look she gave him was pure venom.

"Why, are you trying to cover up another blunder, Bella?" The brief look of panic on her face told him he had hit a sore spot. "Then allow me to assist you. I have rather more... effective... methods at my disposal."

There was a glimmer of hope in her eyes, but he could tell how much it bothered her to depend on his help. It gave him great satisfaction.

"But you'll have to tell me what it is you want to know," he continued, his voice heavy with condescension.

"She stole something from my vault!" Bella cried out, her finger pointing accusingly at the girl on the floor. "She took the sword from my vault!"

"The sword? But I see that it is here," he said, nodding his head towards the sparkling silver treasure lying on the canapé, "so why would the matter be of any concern to the Dark Lord?"

"Because there is something else he gave me to look after! He doesn't tell you everything, Severus; there are some things he only tells me!"

"I doubt it will be anything of importance then," he scoffed, raising a mocking eyebrow, driving her to the point where she was about to explode, "but I shall find out for you."

He was going to get on with what he had to do, but it seemed that this time he had managed to drive Bella over the edge.

"If you tell him, I'll kill you, Snape!" she shrieked.

She had drawn out a silver dagger, holding it in the air as if she were going to stab someone.

"I'll kill you with my own hands! Do you hear me?" she shouted hysterically, pointing the dagger at his heart, her features contorted into a wild grimace, her eyes full of madness.

The sharp, gleaming blade resting on his chest in the hands of a madwoman made him feel nervous, but he forced himself to maintain his mask of absolute calm. Glad for the thick layers of clothing between the knife's point and his skin, he slowly pushed her hand away, looking at her sternly.

"The Dark Lord will not appreciate it if you kill me, Bella. And you'll never find out what you want to know."

He moved past Lucius, who had been watching their exchange with well-studied indifference, and crouched down next to his former student. She was barely conscious. He quickly realised she was unable to stand, let alone walk. As he picked her up and hauled her over his shoulder, he was shocked by how little she weighed. The past months had apparently taken their toll on her. As he left the room and climbed up the stairs, he could hear Bella shouting after him.

"Well, well, Severus Snape has a weakness for little Mudbloods, doesn't he?"

He had to watch Bella carefully. Now that he had risen above her in the Dark Lord's esteem, she loathed him even more than she always had. She would do anything to bring him down, and while she was completely deranged, she was certainly not stupid. She could be dangerous to him.

He was going to use his Legilimency skills to read the girl's mind. Not to find out how they had come by the sword – Snape knew that very well – but to determine what it was that Dumbledore had asked Potter to do and whether he had succeeded. It had always irked him that the Headmaster had not shared this information with him. He had been wrong not to trust him. Now it appeared that the old man's plan had failed, and Snape needed to take things into his own hands.

He walked along the dark corridor lined with portraits of the Malfoy's ancestors, stopping outside the door of what was his room, the room that stood at his disposal during his stays at the manor, but which he never made use of, wary of leaving Hogwarts for longer than absolutely necessary. Once inside the luxurious bedroom, he warded the door and cast Muffliato. He placed the limp body of the girl on the bed. She looked very different from the last time he had seen her. Her body was emaciated, her cheeks pale and hollowed. Her hair was dull and matted, and dark rings framed her eyes. She looked very fragile. Her eyes were staring blankly into the air, making him wonder whether she was even able to recognise him.

'Damn that insane bitch,' he thought. Bella had no sense for the right measure of torture. She could have destroyed the girl's young mind, killed her even. She was barely more than a child, for Merlin's sake! He reached into the pocket of his robes, pulling out a small bottle. It was a potion he always carried for his own use in situations such as these, a precaution when he was going to attend a Death Eater gathering or meet the Dark Lord. He uncorked it and brought it to her lips, but if he had expected her to be too weak to protest, he was about to be proven wrong. She violently thrashed her head from side to side, making it impossible for him to feed her the liquid. He tried to take hold of her jaw to hold her head still, but she caught the heel of his thumb with her teeth and bit him hard. He let out a scream of pain, barely preventing himself from spilling the precious potion as he withdrew his hand. Looking at the damage, he was furious. The recalcitrant Gryffindor had actually drawn blood!

"Damn you, Miss Granger! I'm trying to help you!" he hissed in barely concealed anger.

But Snape knew how to force a potion down somebody's throat. He hadn't intended to be that forceful, but she left him no choice. He kneeled behind her atop her arms and shoulders, holding her head between his thighs like in a vice. This way she could not move, while his hands were free to pour the potion into her mouth and force her to swallow by applying pressure along her throat. It did the trick. He moved off her to sit on the edge of the bed beside her, watching the surprised expression on her face with a satisfied smile.

"So it made you feel better? Now there's a surprise..." he mocked.

It did. Hermione had been convinced that Snape had been about to feed her Veritaserum. The prospect of compulsively blabbing out what she had so valiantly withheld during her previous ordeal had been terrifying. But whatever this potion was, it was not Veritaserum. Instead, it provided immediate relief for the pain that still reverberated through her body and brain. The torture she had endured now seemed like a distant memory, making it much more bearable, while her mind was able to focus once more and her muscles had regained some of their strength. For that, she was grateful, even regretted biting him so hard, but she could not trust his motivations. Snape had other means of extracting the desired information from her, which worried her just as much.

She watched as he drew his wand and healed the bloody mark that her teeth had left on his hand, throwing her a reproachful look. It felt odd to be so close to him. It was the first time she had seen him since he had murdered Dumbledore and fled from Hogwarts with a group of Death Eaters. She wasn't sure exactly what she felt, although there was a lot of anger and disappointment. She knew she should despise him after what he had done, after how he had betrayed them. Yet somehow, it was hard to really hate the man she had once idolised.

"Now listen, Miss Granger," he said, lowering his voice to barely more than a whisper, as if he didn't trust the spell he had placed on the room. "I'm on your side, and I'm going to help you, but I need certain information. So you had better cooperate, do you understand?"

He bent over her, bracing an arm to each side of her neck, effectively trapping her.

"Look at me," he commanded.

No way! She knew exactly what he was going to do. He was going to use Leglimency on her. Snape was a master of deception; she couldn't trust anything he was saying. No doubt the plan had been to first torture her to soften her up, so that he could then play the nice guy and get the information out of her without much resistance. But she wasn't going to make it easy for him. She was going to fight him all the way. She turned her head away, squeezing her eyes shut as hard as she could.

"Miss Granger, don't make me hex you," he warned her, his tone dangerously soft.

Reinforcing that threat, she felt the tip of his wand pressed against her neck. She didn't move, waiting with bated breath for the curse, whatever it would be, to hit. But then the wand was taken away, and Snape let out a resigned sigh.

"Miss Granger, I have no time for these games. You've got to trust me."

"Trust you? After what you have done? You've got to be joking!" she spat contemptuously, still keeping her eyes firmly shut.

She could sense him moving closer, so close that she felt his breath against her neck.

"You disappoint me," he spoke softly into her ear. "I would have thought the little know-it-all would not be fooled so easily by the seemingly obvious... Has it ever occurred to you that I may have done exactly what Professor Dumbledore requested of me?" His deep voice was as seductive as his words. "Did you notice the severe injury to his hand? Have you ever considered the possibility that he was already dying?"

Yes, Hermione had considered that possibility. But in the end, she had dismissed it as a figment of her own desire to see him exonerated, had conceded that all the evidence was against him. She had accepted that she had been wrong, and Harry had been right. Now, however, there was doubt again, tempting, delicious, sweet doubt. For a moment, it made her forget her previous resolve, briefly opening her eyes to see if he was earnest.

The short glance she gave him was all he needed to catch her, for his eyes to latch on to hers, and lock them into an involuntary stare into their black depth. She panicked. She tried to struggle, but it was as if she were paralysed. Then images started to flash before her eyes.

Hermione tried to resist as best as she could. Whenever there was an innocuous memory, like trying to find food, or breaking up the tent, she tried to hold on to it, tried to prevent him from moving on. But he was powerful, and she had never learned to occlude. Eventually, she gave up, watching in dismay as he uncovered one secret after another. She was defenceless, and he was thorough, not stopping until he had located all the relevant memories, until he knew every detail of their quest. Suddenly he paused, dwelling on one scene as if trying to figure out what to make of it, while she could do nothing to stop him from seeing what he never should have seen. It was not a memory of a real situation, but a dream. She was standing in front of him in the Potions classroom, looking up into his eyes. Then he pulled her towards him and kissed her tenderly.

Hermione felt mortified and humiliated to the core. But then, what did it matter now, after all he had already seen? It was just one more insult on top of all she had suffered. If Snape was a Death Eater, then everything was lost anyway. She felt completely and utterly defeated.

After what seemed like an eternity, he withdrew from her mind, a perplexed look showing on his face. It would have been typical of Snape to use such compromising information to taunt or belittle her, but he made no reference to it. She prayed that he would just let it go, that he would not demand an explanation that she would be unable to give, and it seemed that, this time, her prayers were heard. He blinked, something Hermione realised she had never seen him do before. Then he sat back on the edge of the bed, his eyes closed with an almost pained expression on his face, his fingers rubbing his forehead where deep frown lines creased his skin.

When he opened his eyes again, the look in those black pools contained something bordering on despair, and seemed to express just what Hermione was feeling inside herself.

"Only one Horcrux?" he finally said, his tone heavy with the kind of worry that tortured her own heart, too. It was not the type of reaction she would have expected from a Death Eater.

Only one Horcrux, three more to go, and they didn't know what they were, or where to look for them. Now they had been caught, and she had no idea how they could possibly get out of this. Tears welled up in her eyes at the hopelessness of the situation. For months, she had pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind, forced herself to be optimistic, to carry on. But Snape's words had somehow opened the flood gates to her own doubts, to her fear that they would fail, and die, that they would disappoint the hopes Dumbledore and the rest of the wizarding world had placed in them.

As she looked into his eyes again, her vision blurred by a veil of moisture, she had the overwhelming feeling that he was with her – that they were in this together. More than any of his words ever could, this feeling of shared hopes and fears convinced her that she could trust him and that he was saying the truth. It was a good feeling, soothing, and warm, and full of hope. She was not alone.

He sighed deeply, shaking his head slowly.

"I don't know how, but I will do everything I can to get you out of this. You have to go on. You must succeed."

With a big sob, her eyes overflowed. She blinked to clear her view. Snape was still sitting next to her, staring thoughtfully at a point on the bed, as if trying to figure out a solution. He really was on their side. He was powerful, intelligent, and skilled. He knew Voldemort's organisation from the inside out, and probably held a position of influence amongst their ranks. If he was going to help them, there was hope. She felt safe in his presence. Suddenly, an old yearning was back. She longed for him to hold her, for his hand to stroke her back and her hair, for his deep voice to say that everything would be all right.

Snape still sat on the bed, brooding. He was rarely surprised by what he found in somebody's mind. Most people were so predictable. Miss Granger's memories, however, had not failed to astonish him. First and foremost, he had been appalled to learn of the virtually impossible task that Dumbledore had left those kids. As he trawled through her recollection of the last months, his respect for the bushy-haired Gryffindor had grown immensely. She had been a diligent student during her time at Hogwarts, devouring every book or treatise she could get her hands on, but he had always put her down as an attention-seeking member of the Golden Boy's entourage – pedantically studious but without much acumen or genius. Now he had to concede that he had misjudged her. The skill, resourcefulness, and courage she had shown during their quest had deeply impressed him. The mission that the three of them had been saddled with should have been given to a far more experienced wizard, yet she had shouldered that burden with a maturity and tenacity far beyond her years.

But that had not been the only unexpected discovery he had made. In her mind, he had come across one image that was so bewildering, that he found it difficult to move on, lingering on it far longer than would have been decent or comfortable. He hadn't known what to make of it, as he was absolutely certain that such a thing had never taken place. He had never, and would never kiss a student. Then he had realised that she must have imagined it. Yet, why would she do such a thing? The answer was obvious, but her apparent attraction to him had left him completely aghast. How was that possible? What had he done to provoke such inappropriate feelings in one of his students? He tried to push those images away because, if he was perfectly honest with himself, they also flattered him and, somewhere deep inside him, stirred a desire he preferred to keep suppressed. He had to focus on the problem at hand; he could not allow himself to be distracted by such things.

He had achieved his main objective – to get an answer to the question of whether they were ready for the final battle. It was clear that they were not, not by a far stretch. He was absolutely dismayed by how much remained to be done. If it had taken the trio the best part of a year to locate and destroy one Horcrux – the one they had the most information about – how long would it take to eliminate the other three? How many more months and years might he have to hold out in his position? He was struggling to keep things together at Hogwarts as it was, often feeling like he wouldn't be able to last much longer. The Carrows were growing increasingly querulous because he wouldn't give them free rein, while the students and staff would not miss any opportunity to make life difficult for him. To them, he was the enemy, yet his hands were tied when it came to disciplinary measures, as his main objective was to keep them from harm. It was only a matter of time before the Dark Lord would become dissatisfied with his performance as Headmaster. The notion that he might have to continue for such a long time made feelings of desperation and panic rise up in his heart.

Suddenly he became aware of someone listening at the door. He could not say for sure how he had got that impression, but years of spying had trained his hearing and his intuition. It had also taught him exactly how much one could see through a keyhole, and so he knew for sure that the corner where the bed stood would not be visible. He was also glad for his precaution of casting a Muffliato spell. But there was another problem. He had left Bella and Lucius with the impression that he wanted to take his pleasure from the girl. It was important that nobody doubted his motivation for claiming her for himself.

"Miss Granger," he said quietly, "you were supposed to be raped. The others are assuming that this is why I brought you here."

Her eyes widened in shock. She looked like a frightened doe with her big brown eyes and delicate limbs and somehow very attractive.

He put his hand up placatingly.

"I won't."

Suddenly, without warning, she flung herself at him, hugging him.

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you so much."

He froze at this unsolicited physical contact. He could feel her breasts pressing against his body, small and pert. It caused an increased flow of blood to a much neglected part of his body. No, this was not good; he could not allow that to happen. His acute sense of smell picked up the intoxicating scent of young, female skin, sweet and warm, like that of a ripe apple. No, this had to stop immediately.

He pushed her away, throwing her back onto the bed more roughly than would have been necessary. There she was, sprawled out before him, a surprised look on her face. He couldn't help but notice her incredibly thin waist, the curve of her hips, and those long, slim legs.

"I won't," he repeated, as if he had to reassure himself as much as her. "But there is someone listening at the door, so we will have to pretend. Can you make some sounds, screams... as if?"

He waved his wand in the air, breaking the Muffliato spell he had cast earlier. She nodded, indicating that she understood, but at the same time looked at him blankly, as if at a loss about what was required of her. He looked at her expectantly, growing increasingly impatient with her reluctance. It seemed that he would have to make this more realistic.

He gruffly grabbed her arm, and turned her over, pushing her down into the thick duvet with her arm uncomfortably bent behind her back. This seemed to have sprung her into action.

"No! Please, Professor, don't do this, please, no!" she called in apparent distress.

This was much better. Except... he now had the full view of her round buttocks, too tempting to touch and squeeze... No, it was better to see her face, to remind himself that this was a student of his before he lost control over that misbehaving body part of his.

"You should feel honoured that a wizard will touch you, filthy Mudblood," he growled, flipping her onto her back again.

She gave him a disapproving look at his use of that word, but he just raised an eyebrow in challenge.

"Better a Mudblood than a murderer and traitor!" she hissed.

He smiled inwardly. Yes, she seemed to have got the idea. He took hold of her wrists, and, pushing her down against the bed, braced over her, bending down to whisper in her ear. He was enthralled by the beautiful angle of her jaw, the delicate skin of her neck. He so much wanted to kiss her, wondering if she tasted as good as she smelled. With dismay, he realised he now had a full erection.

"Struggle. Scream. Go on," he encouraged her.

She started to thrash about wildly.

"No, please... You can't do this to me, please don't do this," she whimpered.

The beast between his legs was throbbing, demanding some attention, some relief. Momentarily, he lost control, and giving into his urge, rubbed himself against her, and – oh gods – did it feel good. He groaned, yet hated himself, despising himself for his weakness.

Her eyes widened, and she let out a surprised gasp. He knew it was wrong, very wrong, but then he had to do it again. A little moan escaped her mouth, arousing him even more. He thrust his hips against her, helpless against the lust that had taken hold of him. She whimpered, but it didn't sound anguished or frightened anymore, it sounded... No, this was wrong, this had to stop. Finally mastering himself again, he placed his hand over her mouth, silencing her.

He was furious, furious with himself for his lack of self-control, furious with her for tempting him like that, for egging him on, furious with whoever was outside, witnessing it all. He moved off her, roughly pulling her up into a sitting position.

"What are you playing at?" he hissed angrily, shaking her.

She stared at him, frightened, but apparently unable to offer an explanation for her outrageous behaviour. He couldn't bear to look her in the eyes. His natural reaction to being embarrassed was anger, and in his enraged state he did not care about what she had just been through. He just wanted to be rid of her. His left hand gruffly held onto the collar of her shirt, while his right found his wand, pointing it squarely at her chest. He could feel her freeze, as her eyes widened in terror, but her fear did little to appease him. His spell hit her with brutal force, throwing her back onto the bed like a rag doll.

A/N: Hate the cliffhanger? Feel anxious to read on? Then just imagine how anxious an author will feel when their new chapter is getting lots of hits but hardly any reviews, thinking 'Is it that bad?' or 'Are most people hating it?' Come on, put me out of my misery and let me know!