Eleven: I am the Spear as it Cries Out for Blood

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

Blaze it in the morning, wear it like an iron skin; only things worth living for are innocence and magic, amen.

Severus had only just returned to his chambers, to rid himself of his blood-stained clothing, when the summoning came. He had, in truth, been expecting it, and as his Mark burned and pulsed, he thought for a moment that this might be the last time he would be summoned. The fact that Dolohov had tried to curse him did not bode well, and he half-expected that the game might finally be up for him on this night.

When he'd left Hermione in the infirmary, she was unconscious but stable, and he'd surreptitiously kissed her forehead, before returning to his chambers. As he walked down to his usual Apparation point, he wished he'd said goodbye before leaving. He would have wanted her to know he was gone. If this was indeed his last night on earth, it would have been good to give her a message. Perhaps it was for the best that he had not. Leaving her, knowing it might be their last moment together, would be unbearable.

He pondered his own possible death, and found the idea much less palatable than it had been at the same time the year before. Then, he had welcomed it; in those days, he'd left for each summoning almost wishing for it. He did not relish the pain, but the idea of this whole ordeal of life finally being over had been a source of strange comfort to him.

It was different now. His association with Hermione Granger had given him a taste of what life could be like for him. He had gradually started to hope that they might share a future together. He had felt the change within him, sometimes welcomed, sometimes disturbing, calling him to cast off his hair shirt and his self-hatred, and to embrace the possibility that he, Severus Snape, might be a man worthy of love, worthy of loving.

Tonight, he was almost sure, marked the beginning of the end for him. There was only one thought that enabled him to put one foot in front of the other and walk to his death. The shimmering, precious knowledge that, if he were to die tonight, there was someone who would grieve, who would miss him; there was a beautiful little witch who would shed tears over him. It was a thought that comforted and carved him at the same time. In a life marred by a lack of fairness, it seemed the unkindest cut of all.

Poppy Pomfrey wiped her eyes, and turned from the enchanted mirror she had been using to communicate with Albus, during his Ministry-imposed exile. Now that Umbridge was gone, and You-know-who had been seen in the Ministry by several witnesses, the Minister had reinstated Albus, and he was returning to Hogwarts with terrible news.

Poppy blew her nose, and took several deep breaths. In all her years, she had seen some terrible things associated with Tom Riddle, but this was one of the worst. Albus had contacted her shortly after the fight at the Ministry, to tell her that the prophecy had been destroyed and Sirius Black had fallen through the arch in the Department of Ministries. Voldemort had been seen by scores of witnesses, and the reality of his return was no longer being met with disbelief.

"And Harry Potter, Albus? Is he...?"

The newly reinstated Headmaster nodded. "He is well, Poppy, although very upset, of course, about Sirius." The older man's eyes were dim with sadness. "But there's more, my dear. It concerns our Miss Granger..."

Poppy, calmer now, made her way silently through the infirmary, to wait for Miss Granger to awaken. Minerva, by default, should be the one to break the news, but she was still in St. Mungo's. No one else was here to do it. Poppy squared her shoulders and looked down at the sleeping girl, and pity filled her heart.

Severus knelt at the feet of his Lord and Master, and kissed the hem of his robe reverently. To those surrounding the Dark Lord, Severus was the epitome of the serene, dark wizard, showing his allegiance to his Master. There was no trace of the turmoil that roiled in his gut like poison, or the fear and dread that filled his heart.

"Severus," Voldemort said, in a welcoming tone. His hissing, asp-like sibilants made Severus' name sound like a love ballad, sung in Parseltongue. "A rather dreary episode tonight, wouldn't you say?"

The Dark Lord's cryptic statement left Severus uncertain as to how to respond. If he agreed with him, the Dark Lord would no doubt blame Severus and take out his frustration on him. If he downplayed it, he would be punished for underestimating the circumstances. Severus realised he would be damned either way, and therefore, he decided to do neither.

He lowered his head, as if anticipating the moment when the blow would land, and waited. His long black hair fell forward like a dark curtain, hiding his face from all but the Dark Lord.

"I see you, too, are at a loss as to what happened, Severus," the Dark Lord continued, rather approvingly. "It is a trivial matter, really, is it not? A minor setback to my plans, but a setback, nonetheless." Though his words were casual, almost indifferent, Severus could hear the barely concealed anger in the Dark Lord's voice. Someone would be punished for tonight's unsuccessful mission. Severus had ever been a handy scapegoat for the Dark Lord's failures.

"One, no doubt, you will find a way to use to your advantage, My Lord," Severus answered smoothly, still keeping his eyes downcast. He felt Voldemort's dry, smooth hand caress his dark hair, and he closed his eyes. It would happen now... he felt his heart pounding in his chest, as he waited for the Killing Curse to land...

Suddenly, the hand was gone, and the Dark Lord sat back on his chair. "Losses on all sides, my dear Potions master. Our own Bella lost her estranged cousin tonight. Lost, without a chance for redemption through my grace..." There was a smattering of laughter, and out of the corner of his eye, Severus saw Bellatrix preen, and heard her obscene giggle at her Master's blasphemous words. Merlin, he hated Bella, her warped, twisted depravity.

As always, he hid his revulsion with obsequiousness. "Of course, as the godfather of Harry Potter, it was, no doubt, a crushing blow to the boy. Most demoralizing, I'm sure," Severus replied, careful to leave a smear of sarcasm within the folds of his silken voice, leaving no doubt as to his own opinions of the matter.

"Ah, yes, Severus, an old enemy gone. One you will no doubt miss?"

"My Lord, the heart sings to know I will never have to see that mongrel ever again." His tone left no doubt as to the sincerity of his words. Whatever he was to anyone else, Sirius Black would always be a symbol of anger, humiliation and betrayal to Severus. He was not sorry Black was dead, nor would he ever be. Aside from all that he had done to Severus in the past, there was still the score left to settle regarding his treatment of Hermione.

"And why were you there, tonight, at the Ministry of Magic? Why were you not at school, seeing to your charges?"

Severus smiled. For the first time since he'd arrived, he knew his actions could be justified. "My Lord, your deception worked so perfectly that Harry Potter collapsed during his O.W.L. exam, crying to his friends that you had captured his godfather and were torturing him in the Department of Mysteries."

"Oh, dear, that is unfortunate," Bella cooed, and the others laughed with her.

Cautiously, Severus continued. "I encouraged Potter to go to the Ministry, and I sent my – my lover to Grimmauld Place to see if Black was there." Severus allowed his true feeling to show, and his eyes darkened to dull flint. "But the fool was drunk, and he overpowered and raped my witch."

"That is grievous, Severus." The Dark Lord looked at Severus thoughtfully. "I can only imagine your anger! If it were my witch, I would have desired to kill him."

"I did desire it, My Lord – greatly! But I realised that if I sent him to the Ministry, I could kill him there, and it would look like he died attempting to defend his godson - none would be the wiser." He bowed toward Bellatrix. "I had hoped to be able to avenge my witch, but Bella's talents proved too much for her cousin." Bella returned the bow as homage to her terrible skills.

Voldemort continued to stare at Severus closely. "I have only one question, Severus. If you were so sure I would be successful, why would it matter how or where Black died? If you were so sure of my ultimate triumph over Harry Potter, why would you need to make it look as if Black died defending his godson? Who would be left to care?"

Severus looked at his Master, and wanted to drop to the floor. He was sure now that the holes in his story were large enough to fly a Quidditch team through, but he had hoped to bluster his way out of it. He decided to tell the truth, and if that didn't work, by Merlin, he'd take as many of them as possible with him as he fell, starting with Bella, the smug, mad bitch.

"I – I was not entirely confident that Lucius and his faction would succeed. He had not informed me of his plan, and I did not know you would actually be at the Ministry, My Lord." He bowed to the ground. "I will confess, when I saw you there, I was only thinking how sweet it would be to see the light fade from Sirius Black's eyes at the same moment as you stole the sight from Potter's."

"How dare you, Severus!" Bella snarled, affronted by the dark wizard's insinuations. "We had Potter and his little army under control, until you and Black and the entire damned Order showed up!"

"I gave you Black and Potter on a silver platter. I brought them to the Ministry. The Order was Dumbledore's doing," Severus answered smoothly, frantically trying to make sure all the pieces fitted together. "The fool Potter managed to contact Dumbledore using Umbridge's Floo connection before she caught him. I only found this out after the fact. After," he turned to Dolohov, his expression cold, "Dolohov cursed my witch, and almost killed her."

The Dark Lord turned in his slow, serpentine fashion to Dolohov, who stood ramrod-straight, arrogance and pureblood privilege emanating from him. "Antonin, is this correct? I hope this was a case of mistaken identity, or accident. Surely you wouldn't deliberately harm your brother's concubine?"

Dolohov coloured, and looked at Severus, angry. "My brother? My brother, who just stood there, while the Order members swamped us?"

"I assumed the fight was lost – you certainly weren't winning. How else would the blood traitor Weasley's youngest child get the drop on you? She's what - all of thirteen?" Severus growled, allowing his anger to rise. He was a hairsbreadth away from death; it didn't matter now.

Dolohov turned to their Master, but Voldemort gave no indication of siding with him. Almost desperately, Antonin spat, "It was a heated battle. It was a curse that flew wild – "

"When Hermione refused to move away from me, you told her to, 'Have a little taste of pureblood magic, Mudblood bitch.' These words do not seem to be a fair indication of a badly misthrown curse, Antonin," Severus hissed. "I had a word with the blood traitor Weasley's daughter. She saw you take aim at me, but Hermione stepped in between to block your spell. That's when you 'threw your curse mistakenly'."

"You lying little half-breed – " Dolohov drew his wand, and was thrown to the ground by an effortless wave of the Dark Lord's hand.

"That is enough, I think, Antonin," Voldemort said, looking at Severus closely. "I was very distressed to hear that your little pet was so critically injured, Severus, but I am distressed even more to find it was a deliberate attempt of one brother against another."

Dolohov all but whimpered, as he picked himself up from the floor. He stepped back, and waited until the Dark Lord turned his basilisk's gaze from him, back to Severus.

"It grieves me to see my children squabble, Severus. Especially over a misunderstanding."

"Yes, my Lord." Severus lowered his gaze again, thankful all the more for the hours he and Hermione spent in practicing Occlumency. He could feel the Dark Lord pushing gently against his thoughts, and he provided only scattered images, of Hermione, lying battered on the floor of the Grimmauld Place Library; rushing her to the infirmary, as her blood dripped down the leg of his trousers.

"I forgive you, Severus. I had thought your calculations to be a lack of faith. I see it was all a lack of communication instead."

"Yes, my Lord." Hermione. I must leave here alive for Hermione.

The Dark Lord smiled. "To demonstrate the renewed faith I have in you, I have prepared a little gift. Your brother Antonin assisted. He was most insistent that he contribute." The Dark Lord looked at Dolohov. "I see now he was trying to apologise for his actions."

Severus looked up into the face of the Dark Lord, and his heart stuttered in his chest. A dreadful fear crept into his veins like a spider, and it took all of his discipline to remain looking into the hideous visage of the madman, calm and supplicating.

"I will give you a way to spend more time with your little pet, my dear Severus. I remember your disappointment when she was called away by her Mudblood parents, just when you needed her presence the most. I know how advantageous to your wellbeing it is to spend your time enjoying her." His smile was terrible; it made Severus' chest ache.

"Yes, my Lord." Were these the only three words in the English language? Why was he frozen here, muttering them over and over, listening to this evil creature chuckling about Hermione. Oh, gods, no. NO!

The Dark Lord smiled, and stroked Severus' damp hair, like a parent petting a child. He loved the silkiness of Severus' hair, and it was all Severus could do to stand there, feeling the cold fingers sliding through it. "The Muggle authorities will take care of the bodies. It will be called a great tragedy, no doubt... I prefer to call it, 'Keeping My Potions Master Happy'."

"You do me too much honour, My Lord," Severus said, breathlessly, pasting a grateful smile on his numb lips. Inside, he was dying. He had lost everything, again. She would curse him and turn away in disgust and she would have nothing and he would have nothing...

"Yes, I do, Severus, but a happy Death Eater is a loyal Death Eater, and I'm feeling quite generous toward you today. You flushed the prey," he hissed, casting his eyes at Bella and the others who managed to avoid capture. "It is not your fault the hawks failed to bring it to ground." Without breaking his gaze into Severus' dark eyes, Voldemort hissed, "Antonin, come here, please."

Nervously, Dolohov approached his Master. Still stroking Severus head, almost sensuously, Voldemort smiled. "It saddens me to see my faithful ones turn against one another. Severus, you may wish to address Antonin, regarding this matter." He turned away and resumed his seat. "In any manner you choose."

As if in a dream, Severus turned to Dolohov. He remembered how it felt, running into the Grimmauld Place library, seeing Hermione, shivering with fear as Black, morphed into his animagus form, mounted her, his red prick exposed and ready to thrust; he felt her body huddled against his, felt the word safe...safe...safe...safe, over and over, flooding his mind, her litany of relief, in his arms. He saw her bleeding to the point of death, as he and another student raced toward Hogwarts' infirmary.

And now, his foul gift from the Dark Lord. Her parents, dead. Because of him. As punishment, for bringing Black and the Order to the Ministry, and not fighting with the Death Eaters there. Hermione would never, never forgive him. Dolohov would beg for forgiveness, but Severus would deny it, just as Hermione surely would deny his.

He raised his wand. Glancing at Macnair, he pointedly looked at the man's crotch with so much pretended heat, he could see the degenerate's cock twitch under his robes. "Care for a little fun, brother?" he said, his voice deep and silky; the voice of a man preparing to fuck.

Macnair gave him a crooked smile. "Always up for a little sport, brother." As Dolohov listened to the exchange, he felt Severus Legilimise into his mind. The last time I was punished, you held me down and laughed, and told Macnair and Mulciber to fuck me harder. You're going to feel his dick all the way up into your belly by the time we're finished with you.

Severus smiled. It was a happy, joyful, mad, cruel, terrible smile. He pointed his wand at Dolohov casually, lazily, and tilted his head almost playfully. Hermione would have recognised the gesture. Magic swirled around Severus, filling him with unholy, dark lust. This is for holding me down. And cursing Hermione. And killing her parents.

"CRUCIO!"

By the following noon, Hermione was sitting up in her infirmary bed, sipping carefully at the broth that Madam Pomfrey spooned into her mouth. She tried to persuade the mediwitch that she was perfectly capable of eating on her own, but finally gave up, and allowed herself to be fed. Severus had told her arguing with Poppy Pomfrey was an exercise in futility, and Hermione was beginning to concede his point.

She felt exhausted; the sort of weariness that seeped into the bones and until you never felt rested. She tried to put the events of the past twenty-four hours out of her mind, but the images were still too fresh, too raw. She hoped to be able to use a Pensieve and remove them soon. She had a feeling that, if she didn't, they would replay on a loop in her dreams for some time to come.

She could still feel the paralytic fear of having Sirius' animagus body poised over her. Contrasting with this was the detached numbness of watching him die in such an abrupt, meaningless way... Hermione knew she should feel sorry for Harry, but she couldn't make herself. She could still feel the tender skin of her back stinging, as Severus muttered the hasty healing spells, before Apparating them to the Ministry.

Her curse wound burned and itched and ached; Madam Pomfrey was very reassuring, saying that it would heal, but she told Hermione the curse would leave a scar, a large one. Hermione, like any young, unblemished woman, felt that keenly. She worried about it. Would Severus be repulsed by it? Would he turn from her in disgust? She tried to picture the encounter in her head, but she couldn't see him being quite so shallow. After all, he had scars. She had seen them, in the evenings, when he removed his teaching robes and wore a shirt or jumper with his trousers.

Once, he had leaned over his sofa to pick up a book, and his old green jumper had ridden up his pale torso, to reveal a twisted, dark scar on his left flank. A little gift from one of his Death Eater 'brothers', he'd explained. She had touched it, gently, and he'd flinched, but not pushed her away. He enjoyed her touch. Would he still enjoy it when she came to him, scarred, imperfect?

"Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione looked beyond the mediwitch sitting at her bedside. Her Head of House was standing close by. Hermione had been so lost in her thoughts, she'd not seen the woman approach.

"Hello, Professor McGonagall," Hermione said, alarmed at how weak she sounded. "I heard you were in St. Mungo's!"

Minerva McGonagall smiled gently at the young witch. "Hello, dear. I was, but it's hard to keep a tough old Scotswoman down." She sobered. "How do you feel?"

Hermione tried to return the smile. "I'll be alright," she answered neutrally. There was something very wrong; she could see it in the older woman's eyes. She looked as if she'd been crying.

"Perhaps, I should stop back by when you're feeling a little stronger, Miss Granger," Professor McGonagall said, and turned to go.

"No! Wait, please, Professor."

Minerva looked into the young witch's face; it was pinched and strained. "I think perhaps later, when you're up to visitors."

Hermione was frightened now. "Please don't go, Professor. Something's happened. I can tell it from your face." She swallowed. "Has something happened to Harry?"

When Professor McGonagall did not reply, Hermione cried, "Is it Professor Snape? He's not hurt, is he?"

Minerva, surprised, said, "Why, no, Miss Granger, not that I'm aware." She sat down on the side of the bed. "My dear, that's not why I'm here."

Hermione felt her body grow cold. "Professor, you're frightening me. Please tell me what's happening."

The older witch took Hermione's smooth hand in her weathered one, and held it gently. "Hermione, my dear, I must ask you to be very brave."

Severus Apparated back to Hogwarts shortly before the lunchtime hour, hurrying in through one of the secret entrances to the castle. He stank, and wanted to bathe. He had to face Hermione, and he at least wanted to be clean when she cursed him and spat on him.

The body of Dolohov lay burnt and twisted in the wreckage of The Granger's house. The coroner's report showed that an assailant entered the house, apparently intent on burglary, alerted the family, killed them, then set the house afire to destroy evidence. The unidentified assailant was overcome by smoke inhalation, and perished along with the homeowners.

Severus did not care that the attacker died with an arse and a belly full of the semen of several different men and some animals; he did not care that the coroner would be puzzled that most of the vital organs of the intruder were damaged in a way that had nothing to do with smoke inhalation. Antonin Dolohov would curse no more Muggles. Severus was profoundly grateful that Hermione would never know what he'd done to exact his terrible vengeance. It had not been his finest hour.

Severus had Crucio'd Dolohov until he was magically depleted. By the time he had finished, Dolohov was bleeding from every orifice, and violated in most. Severus was nothing if not thorough. He would step back, allow his fellow Death Eaters their fun with Dolohov, then step in with even more power. The power of a Crucio was insidious and all encompassing, and he was rock hard when the shuddering, bleeding body of Dolohov was dumped unceremoniously at his Master's feet. He looked up at his Master, his eyes blazing with fire, his body thrumming with dark, unspeakable lust. The Dark Lord smiled.

"Go, my friend. Return to your castle. Reserve your strength, and welcome Professor Dumbledore back to Hogwarts for me." His smile faded. "Tell him, when we meet again, he will have to work harder."

Severus had backed away, trembling, his wand shaking in his fist, happy as ever to leave the Dark Lord's presence with his body and his sanity intact. As he prepared to leave, the Dark Lord called to Bella, and asked her to dispose of the trash at his feet. Bella, flushed and aroused at the sight of Severus torturing Dolohov, all but orgasmed as she cast the Avada. Nothing excited Bellatrix Lestrange as much as watching someone suffer.

Severus walked away. He'd seen enough death tonight. He'd caused many, but he could say with a clean heart he had never cast the Killing Curse. He could at least look Hermione in the eye and tell her he had not killed the man. That was about all he could look her in the eye and say about what he'd done tonight.

As he walked toward the infirmary, Severus' grim, short-lived satisfaction over avenging Hermione was a dim, distant memory. Leaving the Dark Lord's presence, his joy had turned to revulsion. By the time he'd returned to Hogwarts, he'd been struggling to keep nausea at bay. His stomach felt leaden, and his bowels churned.

Severus may have gained ground from the hypersensitive, overbearing, self-conscious man he had always been, but he was not above inflammatory bouts of self-pitying martyrdom. He had not turned into an avenging angel overnight, any more than Hermione had turned from the bushy-haired, buck-toothed know-it-all, into the confident, thoughtful swan that had stolen his heart away from the incendiary ghost of Lily Evans.

Approaching the infirmary, knowing that he would have to face her wrath, he allowed his self-serving anger to flare within him, fueling his inner monologue, and his rehearsed speech to Hermione took on the stilted, brittle, self-righteous manner of old. How dare she blame him? Look at all he had done for her! He would face her childish, petty wrath, and stalk away, his head held high, knowing he had done his best. His heart would go on beating...

As he turned the corner toward the infirmary, the figure of Albus Dumbledore met him in the hallway. Merlin's hairy sack, Severus groaned, inwardly. This is all I need.

"Severus, my boy. I trust you are uninjured from last night?" Albus looked at his Potions master warmly.

Severus looked at Dumbledore carefully. He was in no mood for Albus' games. "If you don't mind, Headmaster, I'm off to the infirmary to see to Miss Granger."

"Ah, yes, dear boy. Terrible, terrible news." He placed a warm hand on Severus' shoulder. "I would like to keep the news of her parents' murder between the four of us - you, me, Minerva and Poppy."

Severus nodded. He had been thinking the same thing. "Agreed. To broadcast it would be to validate the Death Eaters. Furthermore, it would only cause Miss Granger more distress." He tried to keep his own guilt at bay, lest Albus sniff it out and exploit it as well.

"Quite so. But the prophecy is safe now, and so is Harry." Severus stared at him stupidly. Of course. Let the entire world go to hell as long as St. Potter is safe!

Albus watched him quietly. "I know what you are thinking, Severus. I have to think this way. I have to see the boy lives to fulfill the prophecy. That is all I exist for. But I am not unaware of your feelings, or those of Miss Granger."

For the first time since their argument in his study, Dumbledore looked apologetic. "Forgive an old man's foolishness, Severus. I had been afraid that your relationship with Miss Granger would distract you from your mission. Last night only served to show me how committed both of you are to the Greater Good."

Severus kept his face impassive. Fine. Let the old fool think that, if it means he'll leave us alone. "I have to go, Albus. Miss Granger will need me."

Dumbledore patted his shoulder again. His touch was fatherly, and Severus unwillingly felt the tug of concern from the old man. "Of course. Please tell her I will come and visit her shortly, to convey my sympathy over her loss." He looked around the halls. "I'm afraid my temporary replacement has left the school in a bit of a mess. Mr. Filch and I have a lot of work to do." With another fatherly pat, Albus turned away and walked down the hall away from Severus.

"Hermione, child, I don't know any other way to tell you, but I have terrible news." Professor McGonagall looked into the face of her secretly favourite student, and cringed inwardly. The girl was still fragile from her injuries, and Minerva held the cool little hand in hers, hoping to be able to soften a blow that could not be softened.

"Please, Professor, whatever you have to tell me, please say it." Hermione steeled herself. It was not Harry; it was not Severus. In her heart, she knew what her professor was going to say. She began to shiver.

"Hermione, dear, last night, after the attack on the Ministry, there was a sighting of the Dark Mark in the sky. It was - it was over your house."

Hermione sat shivering, her eyes growing larger, and she couldn't seem to breathe properly.

Minerva closed her eyes, and spoke. "They – the Muggle authorities were called to your parents' house. It was - it was on fire. They tried to rescue your - your parents, but," she swallowed and looked into the young girl's face. "I'm afraid they were too late. Your parents were k-killed by Death Eaters."

Severus was almost at the infirmary door when he heard the sound, the keening, lamenting wail of grief from his witch.

"Mum! Oh gods! DAD! No, not my mum and dad! Nooo - MUM!" Dimly, Severus could hear Minerva speaking to the girl in a soothing voice, trying to calm her, but the harsh, desolate sound of her loss careened off the walls and into his heart, and his thoughts of self-righteous anger were torn from his selfish soul and batted away with each sob of pain, each anguished, pleading heartbroken cry for her mother. It clawed at his heart, and for a moment, he sagged against the door.

Severus thought of his own parents: his worthless, mill rat of a father, who had dealt with every problem with a pint or eight, accompanied by his fists; his mother, well-meaning but so ineffectual as to be worthless. Neither had really raised him any better than a mushroom, feeding him shit and watering him just enough to allow him to grow in the dark. He no more missed them than his outbreak of adolescent acne.

The Grangers were so different from his own parents as to be another species. They had raised Hermione with care and love. They had embraced a world they did not fully understand with tolerance and open mindedness, for the sake of their special child. In the midst of all the incredible changes in their lives since they'd received Hermione's Hogwarts' letter, they had nevertheless managed to instill in her a sense of security.

They had given her a deep, abiding loyalty for her friends, a sense of justice and fairness; they had been encouraged her quest to champion the weak and those who could not defend themselves. And in the end, they were snuffed out like a candle. They had deserved more; Severus vowed he would make a tribute to them. They would not have died in vain.

He made himself walk, though he wanted to run. He made himself stoic, when he wanted to weep. Yes, he was to blame, and yes, she would turn away from him, but he would accept it, and beg her forgiveness. He was all she had left in the world. He would make her forgive him, and together they would make sure her parents were remembered for how they lived, not how they died.

He walked into the infirmary, as Minerva and Poppy were trying to comfort Hermione, who was weeping, almost screaming in grief. Poppy was trying to make her take a Calming Draught, but Hermione pushed the vial away. Severus understood why. To deaden the pain was to cheapen it. His blood oath scar burned, and the significance of this grieved him.

Hurt, Severus Snape, he told himself. Hurt as if hurting could take her pain away. You haven't known pain yet. Wait until she spits in your face and tells you she never wants to see you again. Wait until she calls you a murderer. Wait until she tells you she'll never forgive you. Wait until she's told you a hundred times, and wait some more until she's finally managed to purge it all, until she can forgive you again.

As he approached the bed, Severus felt the fear, the dread of facing her. But he would - he would face anything for her. He had faced death for Lily; he would face life for Hermione, and it was ten times more frightening.

For a moment, he stood by her bed, silent, waiting for her to notice him, for the anger to set in. For a fleeting moment he considered handing her his wand, in case she wanted to hex him. He deserved it.

Poppy glanced up, and she put a hand on Hermione's shoulder. The sobbing woman looked up and saw him. She stopped crying, and looked into his face, gasping. He bowed his head, and watched her, waiting for his punishment. Nothing the Dark Lord could ever do to him would be as painful as what this little witch would do, but he accepted it, so they could move on - together.

Suddenly, she pushed Minerva away, and raised her arms to him, like a child. "Severus! Oh, thank the gods you're safe!" Her eyes were tortured and beseeching. "Severus, they killed Mum and Dad!"

All thought of self-pitying martyrdom flew out the window; the grace he felt for her was like a benediction. He moved a startled Minerva out of the way and took his witch, his woman, his love, in his arms. "I know, I know... Shh, sweet girl," he murmured to the sobbing witch, holding her close, his face pressed to hers. "I'm here now." He rocked and soothed her, pouring comfort and solace into his voice, his arms warm and secure around her. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, lass. That's it... let it out.... shhh..."

Hermione pressed against him, as if welcoming the pain of her injury, her face contorted, her eyes blank with anguish. "Don't leave. Please, don't leave!" He held on, rubbing her back gently, murmuring non-words of comfort, crooning to her, knowing his voice, his beauty, was all that mattered at this moment. She clung to him, a fragile, tiny kitten in his arms. He pulled her into his lap, and pressed her head against his shoulder, as she sobbed and wailed and shook and cried for her mother and father.

From above, he heard the spluttering, indignation that was Minerva. "Professor Snape! What on earth is going on here?" she gasped, while Potions master sat on Hermione's bed, holding her as gently and tenderly as the fondest of lovers. "Kindly explain the meaning of this."

"Come, Minerva, let's have a cup of tea," Poppy said, pulling the professor away from the couple. "Give Professor Snape a moment to calm her."

Minerva allowed herself to be led to Poppy's office, and the mediwitch poured them both a cuppa. "Sit down, Min." She took a minute sip of the scalding liquid and sighed. "Terrible thing, that. Poor child."

Minerva nodded unwillingly. "Poppy, what was that – " she gestured toward the ward, "all about? And why do I have the feeling you know something I don't?"

Madam Pomfrey shrugged. "What is what all about? A student being comforted by a teacher? Isn't that what you were attempting?" She ventured a tiny smile. "Some are better at it than others."

Minerva paused, completely flummoxed. "What are you saying? That Severus and Miss Granger are – "

"I'm saying nothing, except that the girl is completely devastated, and she is being comforted. Who cares who does it?" Poppy took another sip, found the temperature of her tea to be to her liking, and took another. "Ah, that's better." She looked at Minerva blandly.

"Honestly, Min. It's not the dark ages. I've stopped counting how many times that poor boy has come into this infirmary ripped to shreds, all for the sake of Albus and your precious Order. If anyone deserves a little comfort, it's him."

Professor McGonagall looked at her old friend of many years. Beneath the No-Hippogriff-Shit-Allowed exterior, Poppy Pomfrey was a very good-hearted woman with a supreme lack of prejudice and a talent for not asking too many questions. Whatever was between the two people on the bed, Poppy wouldn't share with anyone else.

As if she realised her message was sinking in, Madam Pomfrey smiled at her friend. "Besides, Minnie, who's to say who is comforting who?"

After a while, Severus felt Hermione's exhaustion take over, and she quieted a little. He drew back, and her eyes were so full of sorrow and pain he felt his throat tighten. He brushed her hair from her face, and used his thumbs to wipe away the tears on her face.

Hermione reached for a handkerchief, and blew her nose. "I seem to do nothing but cry around you," she sniffled, by way of an apology. "I've drenched your coat." She sniffed, and daubed at her eyes.

He sat quietly, his hands on either side of her hips, facing her. "Shall I ask Madam Pomfrey for a Calming Draught now?"

She shook her head. "No, please. I feel doped up as it is." She looked at him in abject misery. "I need to know: did they suffer?"

He wanted to lie, and tell her they were the victims of the Killing Curse, but he had put his lies behind him where she was concerned. "I don't know, lass. All I know is that – " He hesitated. Now would be the hardest part. "That the Dark Lord told the Death Eaters it was my desire that it happen. So that you would have no recourse but to be with me. You may hear these things from my Slytherins," he said, bitterly.

Hermione looked at him in horror. "Oh, no! Oh, Severus!"

As if she hadn't spoken, Severus ploughed on, his eyes bleak and full of remorse. "In truth, he had them - killed, because I went to the Ministry last night, and he was told I fought against the Death Eaters. It was a warning to me. He will tolerate you, only as far as he tolerates me."

Hermione put her arms around his neck and he held onto her. He continued, "I blame myself, and expect you to do the same. But if you can forgive me, we will ensure your parents are remembered, and honoured."

She looked up at him, her tired eyes filled with confusion. "How could I blame you, Severus? How were you to know what he would do?"

"I – I told them your parents forbade you to come to the Order meeting during the Easter holiday. The Dark Lord had ordered me to take you there, to cause an altercation with Black and Potter and myself." He shook his head. "I couldn't do it. I couldn't make you go, not when you wished to visit your parents so much." He looked away, and muttered, "I should have made you stay; I should have made you go with me, and taken my chances with Black. Perhaps if I had, he wouldn't have – "

"Don't! Don't do this, Severus!" she whispered. She took his face in her hands and forced him to look down at her."Don't blame yourself. You might was well blame me! I would have gone home no matter what, and perhaps we would have argued, and you would have fought Sirius there. We don't know why things happen, but I won't allow you to take the blame for their deaths." She looked up at him apologetically. "How else can I bear it?"

Severus held her hands in his, and closed his eyes, numbly grateful. "Thank you for..." He sighed. "Thank you." He looked at his little witch, and kissed her forehead. "I know you are devastated, but I need to leave and report to the Headmaster. Professor Dumbledore has returned. I have to speak with him."

Hermione was shaking her head. "No. He can wait. I can't. I need you here, now." She looked up at him. "I'm sorry to be clingy, but I need you, Severus. The whole time Professor McGonagall was going on and on about how Mum and Dad would hate to see me grieve, I kept thinking, Severus would just let me deal with it all. He'd deal with it with me'."

Severus looked down at the diminutive witch who had captured him, changed him, dragged him from Lily's grasp and given him a rebirth. He moved toward her and raised his wand. "Don't fight this, Hermione. Just allow me to move you." Wordlessly, Hermione felt herself rise from the bed, as if being lifted by strong, unseen hands. Severus slipped onto the bed, his back propped against the headboard, and lowered Hermione back into his arms, until she was lying back against his chest.

"Do you have any relatives? Any next of kin?"

Hermione shook her head. "Mum and Dad are – were only children, like me. Both sets of grandparents are gone. I'm alone."

Alone. Severus thought of his worthless parents. How different his life might have been, had they been more like the Grangers. The idea of family had always been one of those elusive concepts he'd desired, but never really trusted or understood. It had both terrified him and compelled him. He'd never planned to be part of anything as intimate and binding as a family. Until now.

"You are not alone. You are never alone." Severus took a deep breath. "I am your family now, Hermione."

He felt her shudder. "Thank you." He could hear the tears filling her again.

He felt his own throat tighten. "You are all I have, Hermione. You are my family now."

"Yes. Always." Her voice was a whisper. She threaded her fingers with his, and kissed his hand, and stroked it against her silken cheek.

He sighed. "Thank you," he whispered, and his words sounded like a prayer. He turned her, until she lay enfolded in his arms, and he warded the curtain, so that no one would disturb them. It would not do for Weasley or Potter to barge in and find their friend lying in the arms of their most hated professor.

Hermione relaxed against Severus, and something about the encompassing, protective nature of their embrace released her tears again, as he had known it would, and she lay in his arms until her grief was spent, and she slept, truly slept, for the first time since the entire ordeal started.

Poppy felt the magical signature of Severus' ward, but he had set it to allow her to pass through. When she parted the curtain, she was met with the sight of Hogwarts' most feared and loathed professor, propped against the headboard of the bed, cradling Miss Granger in his arms. She lay against him, sleeping soundly and without any aid, and what's more, Severus slept with her. His arms were around her protectively, and his face was quiet in sleep, a slight frown between his brows, as if scowling, even in repose. Poppy smiled sadly.

"Who is comforting who?" she whispered, and left them to heal.

Chapter title is from the song Wind On Sea, by Anuna

Opening words are from Bonnie Raitt, Silver Lining, Lyrics by David Gray