One: Not Enough Fingers To Count The Cost

Anti-Litigation Charm: None of the characters belong to me. They belong to JK Rowling, who let my entire reason for reading Harry Potter bleed to death on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. I'm building a better world.

All that I needed you gave me, all that I wanted you made me, when I stumbled you saved me.

Severus managed to Apparate safely back to Grimmauld Place after the meeting, his head spinning and his guts churning. It was later than he realised, and he lurched through the door, covered in his own waste and almost sobbing with humiliation. He didn't really remember why he'd chosen to return here, except it was closer, and he doubted he'd make it back into the castle without splinching seven shades of shit out of himself. Navigating to Grimmauld had cost him every ounce of his remaining strength. He staggered into the library, just as his stomach emptied. He vomited on the carpet and himself, pitching forward, unable to right himself before he fell in the pool of his own sick.

Severus lay on the stinking carpet, whispering the prayers he prayed when still a lonely and sad first year at Hogwarts. Please, he prayed, let me die. I don't want to live anymore. It hurts. I want to go home. I want my grandmother. The thought of Black or Potter, or anyone for that matter, seeing him like this was enough to make him vomit again. How the fucking mighty have fallen,, he thought, wiping snot from his face.

Surely, he'd endured everything a wizard should be forced to endure. Surely, by now, he had paid for his sins. His muscles were cramping painfully, his joints were filled with ground glass, his bowels were fluxed and bloody. Tears of pain and degradation streamed down his face, and when he looked up and saw the white, shocked face of Hermione Granger staring down at him, her face full of pity and horror, he grew angry and bellowed, "Get out of my sight, Granger!"

Only he didn't. He didn't have the strength to whisper, much less bellow, and anger used too much energy. The sound came out little more than a whimper and unmanned him so much he pounded his fist on the carpet in mortification. The action snapped the girl out of her shock, and she rushed to his side, heedless of the filth that covered him and the floor beneath him. She knelt beside him and placed a gentle, shaking hand on his cheek, which was bright red and burning with curse fever. She whispered, "It's alright, Professor. I'll help you. Just try to stay awake. I'll be right back."

He heard her soft footsteps fading as she galloped into the kitchen, and slowly he dragged himself into a sitting position, his back arching painfully, as his muscles locked in a rictus of agony. His body bowed backward, as if pulled by a sadistic archer, causing him to gasp. He drew in great, agonizing, sobbing breaths, and wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and slip into oblivion. And the Granger girl was witness to it all. He would just have to Obliviate her, if he survived the night.

He could see her out of the corner of his eye as she ran back into the Library, closing the door behind her and warding it ferociously. She had a bowl of water and a pristine white cloth. What the silly fool thought she would do with that, he had no idea...

Hermione eased behind him, trying not to jostle him, and said in a quiet voice, "Lean back on me, sir. Please. I'm here to help."

Helpless to do anything but obey, Severus allowed her to pull him back against her chest, and he found his breathing eased a little in this position. His legs, which were sprawled out in front of him, ached and jerked spasmodically. Silently, Hermione reached around and unbuttoned his coat, and drew his sweat-soaked shirt aside, allowing the air to cool his feverish skin. He shivered, and she absently set the fireplace to a roaring blaze.

She then cast several charms in succession to ease his suffering. Cleansing charms, warming charms, healing charms. He felt the cleansing charms sliding over his body, ridding him of the issue from his stomach, bowels and kidneys. She cleaned his clothes. The warmth soothed his rigid muscles. Gradually, the cramps in his legs eased, and he fully collapsed back on her in exhaustion, his head lolling on her slim shoulder. His hair was sweat-soaked and greasy, and she whispered a charm that made his scalp tingle and his hair was clean and dry. She pressed a cool hand against his brow, and he gave a little, harsh sigh, the sound of a tired, ill-used child.

For a long, sweet moment, he wanted nothing more than to lie against this warm and tender pillow, where he felt safe and cared for. It was a false safety, but the compassion, he reasoned, was probably genuine. The Granger girl may be little more than a cub, but she was as loyal and powerful as her House's mascot when it came to defending the weak. While he hated thinking of himself as her 'cause of the hour', it really was comforting to sit here, the last of the Cruciatus tremors receding, feeling, if not exactly cherished, at least protected. He relaxed, and his body slumped against hers, but she held him fast.

"Granger," he croaked, fighting consciousness, "Tell the Headmaster –" He choked suddenly, and she shifted gently behind him and placed the end of the towel, soaked in water, against his parched and rancid mouth. He sucked on it gratefully. When he could swallow without gagging, she gave him a glass of water, but only allowed him to take tiny sips. When he dribbled, she cleaned him. She soothed him.

"Please don't try to speak for a while, Professor," Hermione whispered, her voice shaking. She was shivering from fear. "Please just rest. I know you have important things to tell Professor Dumbledore, but they can wait."

He dozed for a moment, fighting sleep, fighting the warmth of her slender form against his back, the milky scent of her skin, the feel of her tiny but capable hands on his ribs, keeping him steady and upright. She pulled her mad hair out of the way so that it didn't irritate his face, and she remained blessedly quiet as he sat on the floor of the Grimmauld Place library, an undignified, boneless puppet with severed strings.

Once he was stabilized, she fished out several potions he'd secreted about his person, in the likely event tonight's outcome would be as predicted. She thumbed them open and helped him to down each one, crooning comfort to him as if he were a child. He knew he should tell her to shut up, to stop being nice to him. After what he'd done earlier, she would as likely spit in his face when she found out.

She rocked him slightly, as she would a child, and it irritated him. He wanted to tell her to stop, that he wasn't worthy of this gentle ministration, but he couldn't because no one had ever rocked him before. It felt beautiful, almost pre-erotic. He shook his head. This is Hermione Granger, for fuck's sake!

He wanted to be angry at himself for this weakness, for allowing a young girl to baby him, but it took too much energy. The real truth, once he confessed his betrayal, would turn her away from him in disgust and loathing. It was what he deserved. He just didn't want to deserve it yet.

Oblivious to his thoughts, Hermione whispered softly as she rocked him, her breath sweet and ticklish against his cheek, "I won't tell a soul, Professor. I promise. I won't tell anyone." He could hear her crying, and her trembling vibrated into his body. Her tone grew darker. "I know how to keep secrets."

He stiffened, but kept his head forward. With effort, he drew breath. "He has no right." His voice sounded foreign to his own ears.

"I don't encourage him. I swear I don't." Her voice was so sad, like a desolate wind blowing through a ghost town. "I don't think of him that way. I'm a- I'm not one to...I don't encourage him."

"I know you don't, child." Severus tried to raise his hand, for some reason, but he could not remember why, and it flopped down onto his lap. Hermione pushed his hair from his face with trembling hands. She was gentle, and her touch was kind. No woman, save Poppy Pomfrey, had willingly touched him with such tenderness since Lily. But that was long before she turned against him. The Granger girl would, too, no doubt...

"This is wrong," he muttered to himself, and he felt her breathing behind him. His body relaxed, and gradually the warmth allowed life to seep back into his aching limbs. He would be almost too sore to move tomorrow, but he knew he had to get on his feet while he had some resolve left. "I asked for this. You did not." With the last of his remaining strength, he wheezed, "Help me to at least sit up in a chair, Miss Granger."

The move from sitting to standing took almost five minutes, and by the time they managed to get him on his feet, Severus was shaking and dizzy. Hermione helped him to a nearby chair, and he fell into it, gritting his teeth against the pain and the stabbing, icy feel of the Cruciatus backlash. Unsure what else to do, Hermione, standing behind the chair, gently rubbed his shoulders. It didn't really help, and truth be told, it made his muscles ache a little, but he couldn't bring himself to ask her to stop. It would mean the loss of her touch, and that was the only thing that made him feel remotely human. Right now, he felt more like a whipped dog, seeking comfort from any friendly hand, and he despised himself for it.

Hermione sensed that her ministrations weren't really helping, but instead of moving away, she threaded her fingers through his hair and began to massage his scalp and his temples in slow, gentle circles. "My father gets terrible tension headaches, and Mum does this for him," she offered, her touch sure and comforting. "He says it helps, but tell me if it doesn't, and I'll stop."

He had no intention of telling her. It felt wonderful, and his blinding headache eased. It was the Headache Potion, he told himself, but her gentle massage felt like heaven. His shoulders eventually relaxed and he made a little sound of relief that brought tears to Hermione's eyes. She pressed her warm hands against his neck, and he felt his throat relax. He swallowed, and Hermione gave him some more water. He took the glass, and was relieved to find his hands steady again.

This had been a bad one. Frustrated that the Order meeting had gleaned no useful information beyond the antics of Delores Umbridge and the Ministry's interference with Hogwarts, the Dark Lord had been irritable and petulant. As punishment, Severus was presented to some of the junior Death Eater members to 'get in a little practice'. This meant clumsy, uneven attempts at executing the curse, all thrown at him at different intervals. The ringing laughter, the abject humiliation; it was all fuel to remind the Dark Lord's spy and punching bag to provide more useful information in future.

It had been a sickening display of entertainment; Severus made a very handy target for their gathering powers, and he found himself thrown from one to the other in some sort of obscene game of pass the parcel. Eventually the real sadists joined in, and he bit his lip until he tasted blood, as his trousers were unceremoniously yanked down around his ankles. Buggering was a favourite sport of both Mulciber and MacNair, and the Dark Lord was feeling especially generous tonight. Once they'd had their pleasure, the curses began again, the youngsters falling upon him without even giving him a chance to pull his trousers up over his bleeding rectum.

Severus had tried to be silent. He tried to think of Lily. He had screamed. He'd wept as he emptied his bowels and the others had laughed as if it were the funniest thing they'd ever seen. Some of his own Slytherins were amongst the witnesses; some were amongst those casting the Unforgivables.

In a delirium of misery, he thought back to the previous hours. He remembered how hurt the Granger girl had been when he turned on her, after extricating her from Sirius Black's clutches. If I live through this, his traitorous and rapidly deteriorating mind whispered, I won't let her go through anything like this. I will protect her from this. From Black and Lupin. From Weasley and Potter and Dumbledore. From Black... permanently. I will lay her low... I will protect her... I can protect her... I will hide her away, where no one can see her....no one can hurt her... no one can find her... no one can hurt me...

Just as he thought he would die from the torturing curses, he heard himself scream, "Please, My Lord!" He gathered the last reserve of strength he possessed. "I have news of a more...personal nature," he spewed weakly, gasping and praying for some sort of release. He was almost mad with the pain now, and the only thought he had was of... her. What was her name... Hermione. Granger. Granger. If you'd stop flaunting yourself in front of every wizard you see, you wouldn't be in need of rescuing, Miss Granger. Perhaps the next wizard to come upon you and Black may not find the thought of fucking you so...unpalatable...

"Indeed, Severus?" Voldemort's red eyes perked with mild interest. "And what personal news, pray tell, would be of any importance to the Order? Or, more importantly, to me?"

The Dark Lord raised his arm, and the curses ceased. Gasping, clutching his stomach, trying not to soil himself again, Severus had raised his head and met the slitted, amphibian eyes of Voldemort. Severus projected images for the Dark Lord, hating himself, but willing to do whatever it took to survive the night, to not die in this hell, surrounded by taunting, screaming demons enjoying his torment.

He projected images to the Dark Lord. Some were from his imagination, some exaggerations of actual events. Anything to make the pain go away... An image of Hermione Granger, laughing and talking with Harry Potter, both carefree third years. Severus, protecting her from the transforming werewolf Remus Lupin, feeling her little fingers clutching at his waist in terror, seeking his assurance... Severus watching her dance with Viktor Krum at the Yule Ball, projecting jealousy and animosity toward the unworthy Krum...

Seeing her at Grimmauld Place, during the later weeks of the summer months, watching her prance around the house in skimpy Muggle clothing, unaware that she was enticing him, tempting Black ... and tonight, Severus stepping up to Black, his unspoken threats... her gratitude toward him... he exaggerated her expression, made her seem more mature, more...enamored, more inclined to show her gratitude to Severus. Gods, how he hated himself...

With every fibre of his will, Severus pushed the feelings of desire and lust and corruption toward the Dark Lord. He pushed the longing to deflower, to ruin, to break the will and spirit of Harry Potter's smartest and most devoted acolyte, to weaken the boy's defenses, to make him less of a threat. And more importantly, to make Hermione Granger a weapon to defeat the Potter boy.

When he was done, and the Dark Lord broke away from Severus' mind, he smiled. "So, my Potions master has finally succumbed to the lure of his young charges? I'm surprised it hasn't happened sooner." Something in the vicarious tone of the Dark Lord's voice hinted at an undercurrent of lust, of that which had been all but shriveled from his body. "It seems the girl has developed a fondness for teacher. Do you share in this, obsession, my friend? Do you desire this, this Muggle, Severus?"

Drawing himself up to full height, Severus hid his relief well. The Snake had bought his story. "I tell you this because I believe she has... an infatuation for me. I have fostered it for a little while now, my Lord." He feigned an air of aversion. "I do not particularly care for children, especially this one. But if she can be..." he shrugged, and sneered, "corrupted, my Lord? If she is pruned from Potter's resources, he is seriously diminished. And, with all humble respect, my Lord-"

Severus hesitated. He still wasn't thinking straight. He was about to potentially step into a very poisoned glen. He had to be very, very careful here.

"Yes, Severus? Continue." Voldemort watched his spy carefully. He was intrigued that Severus, of all his followers, would succumb to the lure of something so mundane as sex, and sex with a young Mudblood, no less. It pleased him. It was another weakness to exploit, especially if the chit was the first to actually warm the dark man's blood after all these years, since the Evans girl. He had given her the chance, and she'd chosen death over Severus. The Dark Lord could not be blamed for that.

Severus licked his lips. In for a Knut, in for a Galleon.... "I ask this boon as one who asks few favours, My Lord. If the Granger girl could be, shall we say, persuaded to the glorious cause, she would be a formidable ally."

Several of the Death Eaters within earshot hissed, Malfoy especially. "That little Mudblood girl? Really, Severus, having a dirty bit of trim on the side is one thing, but to actually suggest her worthy-"

"She's an incredibly valuable, intelligent little Mudblood girl, Sire," Severus expanded, his confidence growing. "She's clever enough that it would have to be a gradual change, and it would take time, but she is, in Dumbledore's opinion, one of the most powerful witches of her age."

"What does the opinion of that old fool matter to the Dark Lord, Severus?" Bella Lestrange hissed. Several of the younger Death Eaters close to her laughed with her, until the Dark Lord's words cut off the sound of their derision, like switching off the Wizarding Wireless.

"Dumbledore is a powerful wizard in his own right, Bella." The Dark Lord's voice was cold and every minion automatically lowered his head. "To underestimate an opponent is to strengthen him, my sweet."

"I'm sorry, M-My Lord," she stammered, a look of panic in her eyes. "I only meant that, next to your wisdom, your greatness-"

"I understand, I understand, my dear," Voldemort soothed, stroking her cheek until Bella preened with pleasure. "Your love and devotion sometimes blind you to the truth of unpleasant matters."

He turned and continued stroking the dark-haired woman's face. "But think of such a bright, young witch under your expert tutelage, my dear. You could mold and shape her into your beautiful image."

Bellatrix had dropped to her knees and purred to the Dark Lord her thanks, her eyes gleaming with lust, aroused as always at the thought of corrupting the innocent, and ripping away the soft underbelly of the uninitiated.

Voldemort then turned to Severus. "I will grant this boon, Severus. It is a worthy pursuit. But," he said, drawing his wand and aiming it at his spy, "one you should have mentioned in the beginning, and spared me all this time wasting. Crucio!"

-o0o-

Severus sat in the Grimmauld Place library, as Hermione brought him a cup of tea and a final potion to settle his stomach. He felt it turn and sour within as he stared into his cup. He caught a motion out of the corner of his eye and looked up. Hermione was holding something in her hand, silently returning it to him: his Death Eater mask. She looked grave, but underneath was a sympathy that held no judgement, no accusation. He took it from her and their fingers touched briefly before she released it.

He sighed. What had he done? What in the name of the seven gates of Hades was he thinking?

The girl stood opposite him, watching him carefully, as if she half expected him to keel over any second. Finally, she said, quietly, "Sir, is there anything else I can get you? Some food? Anything?"

Severus shook his head. He was still too exhausted and miserable to talk. Finally, he raised his dark eyes to her, and Hermione gave him such a look of compassion and pity he felt as if he would vomit again. "I don't need your pity, Miss Granger. Besides, you make a rubbish nurse."

She sat back for a moment, then a new light gleamed in her eye. "Well, sir, I'm afraid you're going to have to put up with me. Because tonight, I'm all you're going to get. Remus and Sirius are out feeding Buckbeak, Harry and the Weasleys are at The Burrow until tomorrow morning, and the only ones here at Grimmauld right now are you, me and Professor McGonagall, and even she's out visiting a sick friend and doesn't plan on returning until the morning." She gave him a rueful smile. "I'm the last biscuit in the tin, as it were."

She waited for him to answer with a scathing retort, until she realised he was completely, deeply asleep. His face had relaxed a little, but still held a careworn look, no doubt from the horrific ordeal he'd endured this evening. She lunged forward just in time to catch the falling teacup from his relaxing fingers.

She transfigured the chair into a small bed, and quietly moved it nearer the fire, so that he would be warm when he awoke. She changed a towel into a large, fat quilt, and the chair cushion into a pillow. She debated on transfiguring his clothes into pajamas, but changing clothes while still on the wearer was ever a tricky spell, and she didn't want to disturb him any more than necessary. In the end, she satisfied herself with removing his dragon-hide boots, and sat them at the foot of the transfigured bed. She stood back and looked down at her Potions professor.

In the firelight, he looked as severe as ever, but warmth and comfort had softened his features, and to Hermione he looked... distinguished. Noble, in his own way.

Hermione sighed. Severus Snape was not a nice man. But she was convinced he was a good man. He knew what Sirius was attempting to do to her, and it troubled him. Unlike Sirius, Hermione trusted him. She had not wanted to come to Grimmauld Place, but could come up with no excuse to stay behind, and almost the moment she'd arrived, Sirius had tried to corner her at every possibility. She knew she ought to say something to Mr. Weasley or Harry, but Sirius had a way of knocking every argument into a cocked hat, and she found herself wondering if she was, in fact, sending him signals of attraction.

She had been flattered during the late summer hols when he'd found an opportunity to spend some time with her alone. He had told her how pretty she had become. "My, how you've blossomed, my dear," he'd said. When she told him that she was almost eighteen, his eyes had gleamed, and he'd moved in closer, whispering that she was almost a woman now, and that he'd like to show her the pleasures a wizard could bring to a witch grown. What had started as an innocent flirtation had turned into something that made Hermione distinctly uncomfortable, and when she'd confessed this to Sirius, he'd laughed it off.

"Oh, come now, Hermione, what's a little fun amongst friends? You're almost of age, you know. You're still a virgin, aren't you?" When she reluctantly nodded, his voice became softer, more seductive. "Are you sure that a boy is really what you want right now?" He'd given her a look of knowing sensuality, and she had found it repellent.

"I've got to get back upstairs. The boys-"

"The boys are outside." Black's eyes had raked up and down her body, and she felt undressed. He put his arms around her. "Why don't you and I go upstairs for awhile? It can be our fun little secret."

She'd felt almost sick with fear, not knowing what to do or say, when Remus Lupin appeared. She'd never been so happy to see anyone in her life. She couldn't get out of the house quickly enough. She could tell that Remus really didn't approve, but something kept him from rebuking his friend. Perhaps Remus surmised that Sirius had been through so much, he hadn't the heart to chastise him.

No, Sirius Black was not the wizard she wanted, and his increasingly insistent advances made every trip to Grimmauld Place almost as much an ordeal for Hermione as Death Eater meetings were for Severus.

She shook her head. No. She could not, would not cheapen her professor's life by trying to compare her petty little problems with his. She could never live the way Professor Snape had to live, enduring horrific beatings and cursings and playing both ends against the middle. She looked down at his sleeping form just as he rolled over and made a soft little sigh. Once again the sound went straight to her heart.

No, he wasn't handsome. No, he wasn't the nicest person to be around. But she'd rather spend time in his company than Sirius, or even Remus, for that matter. He had always pushed her to excel, had challenged her beyond what she thought herself capable of. He had forced her to find solutions beyond her book knowledge. She didn't always agree with his teaching methods, but she couldn't argue the results. He was the one professor whose praise she sought above all others. She had never received it, but she also had never felt its lack.

Professor Snape didn't bullshit them or bombard them with useless decrees. He didn't punish them for trying to learn how to defeat Voldemort. She had a sneaking suspicion he knew about Dumbledore's Army, but kept his own counsel about it. He didn't keep them in the dark or withhold knowledge from them because they were too young.

She trusted Professor Snape. No one would put themselves through this hell for a cause they didn't believe in.

She sat down in a nearby chair, in case the professor woke and needed anything. She was wide awake, her wand ready, in case Sirius returned alone and tried to interfere with the sleeping wizard. She'd show him! The fire was warm, and she shook her head to clear it... perhaps she should go and get some coffee... she would do just that, in a moment... she would just rest her eyes for five minutes...

She awoke to the sound of various Weasleys tumbling around the house, and Harry's voice calling, "Hermione, aren't you up yet? Breakfast is ready!" She looked around the library, the awful events of the previous evening flooding back into her memory. The fire had burned down to smouldering ashes, and the room was cold again.

The chair she'd transfigured into a bed for her professor was back to its original shape, and the bowl of water and towel sat empty and dry by the door. He was gone. It was as if he'd never been there.

The only remaining evidence of the night's activities was the thick comforter Hermione had changed from a towel; it was draped and tucked around her securely, keeping her warm in the drafty library.