Thirty: Love Has No Pride

A special thank you to my beta, stgulik, whose incredible skills were never so much called into play as in this chapter. Thank you, Jules, for holding my hand.

But I'd give anything to see you again

Every night was the same. Severus would fall into what little sleep he could find, thinking of Poppy's warning that Hermione would have to atone for Albus' manipulations. Every night, he would fantisise of returning to that moment on the Astronomy Tower, only it was he who uttered the fateful curse.

He knew how sweet the words would taste in his mouth as he sent the old queer off the tower.

At the beginning of the term, Severus had arranged for Hermione to take private lessons with each professor, but it had taken several weeks to arrange. She had looked forward to it; it served as a slender reminder of the life she had once led, before Voldemort had torn everything apart, and Albus Dumbledore had incinerated the disparate pieces.

It had been agreed that an unused classroom would be set aside for this purpose. Although it troubled Hermione to be singled out so blatantly, she came to agree with Severus this would be the safest solution. She decided to make the best of it. She would work doubly hard to prove to her teachers that she expected no special concession; she was there to learn from them, and to excel despite these less-than-ideal circumstances.

It started with Arithmancy, the first class of the day. She sat down at her desk, book open, quill to parchment, ready for instruction. Professor Vector walked into the room, sat at the desk and stared mutely out the window. After five minutes, Hermione asked, "Professor? Is anything wrong?" She was met with stony, disdainful silence. No entreaty, no respectfully-worded query was acknowledged. It was as if the teacher were in the room alone, with nothing to do but while away her hour staring out at the Quidditch pitch.

Hermione felt her face burn with mortification. The spectre of Charity Burbage loomed large between them. She told herself that it would be alright, but an hour seemed to last so long beneath the withering, blatant refusal to even look her way.

When the chime sounded, Vector got up and left as wordlessly as she had come. Moments later, Professor Sinistra arrived. And again, Hermione endured an hour's silence - a silence as deep as a well and as unyielding as a wall.

By the time Hermione had spent four long hours with Vector, Sinistra, Slughorn, and - to her complete humiliation - Professor McGonagall, Hermione felt sick with shame. When the lunch bell chimed, she raced to the Headmaster's quarters.

Strangely, Severus did not ask her how her classes went. When she told him that it had been decided that the timing was bad and she would start her classes a little later in the month, he did not comment. He knew. He knew, and he could – or would - do nothing about it. She took to eating in their quarters. She studied in the library after hours.

The days were growing longer, and with them the mounting tensions at Hogwarts. The Gryffindors had resurrected Dumbledore's Army, and were like guerilla fighters, striking out in any way they could, causing mayhem and chaos. They kept the Carrows on the warpath constantly, and the two Death Eaters retaliated by punishing children behind Severus' back. Because he often didn't find out until it was too late, it was assumed that he'd sanctioned the Crucios and the beatings, allowing the Carrows to hold sway. He became an even greater monster in the students' eyes.

This alone seemed to be killing Severus by inches. To Hermione, he looked like a shadow, growing thinner and less substantial, as he grimly held on to the crumbling discipline of the school, and the deepening hostilities of his students and faculty alike.

As Severus spent more and more time trying to maintain a semblance of order in the disintegrating school, he and Hermione no longer had time for research, planning, or even companionship. He was awake through most of the nights, stalking the halls like a wraith, sending students back to their dormitories, breaking up fights, interrupting secret meetings of his staff, heading off the Carrows.

They were suffering, not just as individuals, but as a couple. He spoke to her less and less; there were even times when Hermione reached out to him through their link, and he was untouchable. At night, she reached for him, and more often than not, found his side of the bed empty. Even when he was there, he often pulled away from her touch, mumbling that she should go to sleep. The deep, loving intimacy they had shared and relied on for so long was crumbling, and she didn't know what to do about it – didn't even know if she had the right to do anything at all.

Hermione's isolation was complete. She felt like she was standing on an ice floe, stranded in the middle of a stormy sea; the waves were getting higher, and the ice was growing thinner.

The bedroom was cold, so cold that Severus fancied he could see his breath in the air. He tucked the duvet closer around her body, and shivered. He stood by their bed, watching her sleep. Gazing down into her sweet face afforded him the only peace he could find nowadays. But her sleep was clearly no more restful than his; she was losing weight, her lovely eyes growing larger and bleaker in her heart-shaped face.

He could see the hard edge of everything around them chiseling away at her. He had done this to her. He had pulled her into this hell, and she was paying dearly. He was used to isolation and aversion; she was not. She needed the support of the friends who now shunned her in the halls. He was a sinking ship, going down slow, and she was being pulled in the undertow with him.

He knew now that this was his punishment. Lily's death might have been retribution for his youthful folly, but this, this degeneration of Hermione's well-being and spirit, went deeper, down right to the black pit of his selfish soul, and he would pay dearly for allowing her into his life. He had claimed her, only to watch her be destroyed in a thousand hideous little ways.

She stirred in her sleep, and he left the bedroom before she awakened. He could no longer bear to see her brave, intelligent face, could no longer stand the thought of her defending him. He no longer opened their psychic link anymore; he didn't want her to feel his crushing regret, couldn't stand for her to see his inability to save her from this downward spiral. And, coward that he was, he couldn't bear seeing her loss of esteem for him.

He knew he was the cause of her destruction; he replayed that fateful night over and over again, the night he stumbled into Grimmauld Place, hurt and bleeding, wallowing in his own filth. If he had gone anywhere else that night, if he had avoided that thrice-cursed house completely, she would never have latched onto him, thinking herself his champion. She would not be with him right now, rotting away from the inside out from his own particular brand of poison. Albus had always said Severus knew better than most how to hurt those he loved.

No, she wouldn't be here, wasting away before his eyes, her love for him dying with every passing day. She would probably be with Potter and Weasley and Longbottom right now. They would be on the run, but at least she would be with those who cared for her. She'd be surrounded by love and support, not by animosity and rejection.

He poured himself a generous firewhisky and sat on the sofa, staring into the fireplace. The dying embers were almost spent; what little heat they managed to give off was inadequate in the large, drafty room. Now, there's a metaphor for my life, he thought ruefully. He had burned for Hermione when they had first come together; he had been as irresistible to her as leaping, licking flames were to wood. But now that she was cold, now that she needed his warmth and his attention more than ever, he had nothing left to give. They could no longer hide in the refuge of one another, where no one could find them or hurt them. There was no place left to hide.

And Merlin knew she deserved better than this. Between the Dark Lord, the Carrows, the rebellious students and staff, and the school, he was fading, and what was left wasn't worthy of her. He was such a failure.

Hermione woke in the empty bed and sighed. She rose silently, drew a warm robe over her floor-length nightgown, and padded barefoot into their sitting room, where she saw her husband, glass in hand, staring into the dying fire. He looked as if the weight of the world had sat on his shoulders for so long he was permanently stooped; as if his tall, proud figure would never truly stand upright again.

"Severus?"

He turned and looked at her blankly, then a mask came down over his features. "It's very late, Hermione. You should be asleep."

"So should you," she replied. "It's hard to sleep without you." Numb exhaustion seeped into her. "Please come to bed."

He turned back to the fireplace. "I'll be there soon. Go lie down. I will join you later."

Hermione closed her eyes. "Why don't you join me now?"

"I said I'll be there shortly." There was an edge to his deep voice, like it had been drawn across a whetstone of impatience.

Hermione felt a small, red spark flash, burning a tiny hole in the icy numbness that had seemed such a part of her for so many days. "Am I that repulsive?"

He turned and looked at her. The mask seemed to slip a little. "What?"

She felt the welcome red spark flare a little brighter, fanned by her frustration. "You won't link with me. I can't feel you because you're deliberately blocking me. We haven't made love in weeks. You won't touch me; you can barely stand to be in the same room with me. You can hardly make yourself talk to me, for Merlin's sake. What else am I supposed to believe?"

Severus stood, glass in hand, and walked toward her. There was a nasty look in his eye she hadn't seen since her younger days as his student. "Well, I'm very sorry your tender sensibilities are offended. Perhaps it hasn't occurred to you lately, but we're in the middle of a rather delicate situation here."

Hermione's anger leapt up with a vengeance, grateful to be finally let loose from the cage it had prowled in for days now. "I am well aware of what we're in the middle of, Severus, but I'm talking about the two of us. What has happened to us? What has happened to you?" She reached for him, and to her horror he backed away. "We used to face things together, but you've shut me out. You never hold me, I can't reach you. It's as if you don't want me anywhere near you-"

"Oh, of course, it's all about you," he replied, his voice turning mean. "In case you haven't noticed, we're at war, girl! We're talking about lives at stake here, and all you can think about is the fact that you haven't had a decent shag in awhile? I'm sorry to burst your bubble, Hermione, but there's more to life than making sure you get your daily seeing to."

Hermione's breath left her lungs in a huff. "I do not believe we are actually having this conversation." She tried to keep her voice steady. "And yes, I am fully aware of what is important here. I also happen to think that you and I are important as well."

"Then your priorities are questionable at best." His voice took on the condescending tone that used to infuriate her in class. "I'm doing everything I can to keep this place from falling apart. I can't watch the students day and night, and keep the Carrows in line. and babysit you–"

She gasped. "How dare you? I don't need a babysitter, I need my husband!" She felt her anger morph into fear. "Look, I know how difficult it is for you, Severus, But I'm here to help you."

He stared over her head, his jaw working in anger. "I don't need your help."

"Well I need yours!" she cried, growing certain that nothing she said would work, yet unable to stop herself from trying. "Has it occurred to you that I'm scared, and I need your strength and your love?"

He spun away from her. "What you need is to grow up, Hermione! I don't have time for this childish outburst – especially in the middle of the night. I have enough on my plate without having to worry about upsetting you! If you want to help, I suggest you grow a thicker hide and stop hiding behind my robes!"

His words slapped her in the face and she felt as if she were falling down a well. "How do you think I feel, knowing that the moment I step foot out of this room or the Infirmary, I'll get attacked by the people who used to be my friends? I am trying to keep my emotions under control, but I can't do it right now, and I'm fucking sick of you ignoring me!"

"Ignoring you?" Severus roared, his temper finally unleashed as well. His voice took on a biting tone. "Oh, do forgive me, Madam, for trying to keep you safe and alive. I'll remind you of this moment when the Death Eaters are punching through this school like a battering ram, torturing you and your little friends right down to the point where you won't be able to remember how to tie your shoes." He sneered and his voice sketched a vicious parody of a posh, Home Counties accent. "Oh, My Lord, I'm Arf'lly sorry, but would you mind not attacking the school today? It's all fraightfully upsetting, and I feel a headache coming on! Do refer to my husband, will you? He takes care of all the unpleasant things." His voice seemed as sharp as a knife, cutting and slashing with no regard for which vital organs it pierced.

"How dare you mock me?" Hermione screamed, too angry to hold back her fear and resentment. "I've done everything I could to keep us alive! I've even k-"

"Do not even think of throwing Albus Dumbledore in my face!" he bellowed, his expression murderous. The glass of firewhisky exploded against the fireplace with a crash. "I've been walking on broken glass between him and the Dark Lord since before you could wipe your own arse!" He rushed at her, pulling his sleeve up with a jerk to reveal the Dark Mark. "So don't come the great 'I am' to me, witch. In case it has escaped your notice, I'm a fucking Death Eater! And you're just a –"

"-whore," she cut in, her voice suddenly cold. "Go ahead and say it! That's my name now. Whore of Gryffindor."

The words rang between them like a bell. They faced one another, breathing hard, both near tears, and the temper that blew between them dropped like the aftermath of a tornado. He turned around to leave.

"Don't you dare walk out that door, Severus Snape!" Hermione cried shrilly. "I am not letting you leave in the middle of this argument."

He laughed, a cruel sound that didn't even sound like him. "And how are you going to stop me, witch?"

"I-I won't be here when you get back."

He paused for a moment with his back toward her, but the anger still held sway. "Then I'll send a house-elf to help you to move your things," he replied.

Hermione gasped and started toward him. "No, Severus, please! Don't leave. Don't -"

But he was gone, and the door was closed behind him. Hermione crumpled to the floor, sobbing.

Severus raced through the dark halls, his blood singing hot and hard through his body. He was too furious, too frightened to think straight. He was sure he had destroyed everything, but he'd been unable to stop the hateful words. They had spewed like poison from his lips, and he'd hated himself, cursed himself even as they flew toward the air, hitting their target with lethal precision.

He closed his eyes, his breathing harsh, threatening to pull into a sob. He had to get hold of his emotions or he'd be truly lost. Merlin forbid if he ran into anyone. He'd ruin everything, and then he might as well turn his wand on himself. He swayed in the hall, feeling dizzy and ill.

Suddenly, he heard a sound, and his wand was instantly in his hand. "Lumos!" he hissed, and the blossoming glow threw a beam of light onto the ghostly visage of Minerva McGonagall at the door of her chambers.

"Good evening, Headmaster," she said, primly. "Are you suffering from insomnia as well?"

"Minerva?" he rasped, his voice hoarse. "What in Merlin's name are you doing up at this time of night?"

She held up two steaming mugs, as if she'd been waiting for him to show up. "A cup of hot cocoa is the best thing in the world for a sleepless night, I find."

Hermione was trying to compose herself when she heard footsteps outside the room. Thinking it was Severus, she rushed to the door, ready to go down on her knees if she had to; anything to try to keep him from tossing her out of his life.

She threw open the door. "Thank heavens you've –

Standing there were Draco Malfoy and the Carrows. Draco was tense and pale; he swallowed convulsively, as if he was close to being ill. Behind him stood the Carrows, gurning in that nauseating way they always did when pleased about something or torturing a student. Instantly, Hermione felt her stomach shrivel and fold in on itself. Death had come calling in the guise of this Slytherin pretty boy and the two gargoyles who accompanied him. For a moment, Hermione thought she might vomit.

"Where's the Headmaster?" Draco whispered. He was staring at her, as if willing her to do something, anything. He looked terrified, and Hermione felt oddly sorry for him, being trailed around by the Carrows.

"He – he's making rounds within the castle," she said. At the same time, she reached out through her link to her husband. Severus, please, I need you here, now...

"Don't matter," Amycus Carrow grunted. "She's the one they want."

Hermione glanced at the odious Death Eater, then back to Draco. "They who? Want for what?" she asked warily.

Draco blinked. "You need to come with me," he blurted.

"Come where?" she asked, hardening her voice. Severus, hear me, oh gods!

"You are required at Malfoy Manor, Madam Snape," Alecto Carrow replied, her falsely simpering tone accompanied by a shark-like grin.

"Right now? Why?" she asked, stalling, frantically casting around a reason to stay here at Hogwarts. "Surely it can wait until morning-"

"Some... toerags were picked up by some Snatchers and they're being brought to Malfoy Manor. The Dark Lord wants you to identify them," Amycus Carrow explained, his grin a sickening thing. "Now."

"I need to wait for the Headmaster to return-"

"I shall inform the Headmaster of your whereabouts, Madam Snape. But we wouldn't want to keep our Lord waiting, would we?" Alecto said, her tone insolent and insinuating. "I'm sure I can keep Headmaster Snape suitably entertained until your return."

Hermione prayed her face gave away none of the anxiety she felt. With a haughty toss of her head, she replied airily, "And why do you need me? Draco can identify any of the criminals as surely as I."

Amycus Carrow leaned in, his smile gone. His breath was rank and sour. "Pack it up, witch. You know exactly why. And I've made sure The Dark Lord knows you've been told to go with Boy Malfoy here." He sneered at her. "This isn't a request, girl. This is a command. You're not going to disobey a direct order from the Dark Lord, are you?" Amycus snorted. "I figure you and the Headmaster know exactly what they look like. That's why you let that ginger go, wadnit?" He tilted his head with false innocence. "I mean, if it had been Weasley, you woulda turned him in, instead of making Snape escort him home, wouldn't ya?"

With a sinking heart, Hermione knew exactly why her presence was requested. The Carrows knew the truth; they must have spotted Severus sneaking Ron off the grounds. And now, if Snatchers had caught the real Harry, Ron and Neville, the Carrows were betting she would not be able to hide her reaction. Her true loyalties would be revealed in front of Voldemort, in front of them all. Severus, please, please PLEASE come! But there was no reply.

Carrow's eyes were slick with triumph and power, and Hermione knew she had lost. She thought of Ron, being brave, and of Harry, who had never understood what was going on and now would never know. But mostly, she thought of her husband, and how she wished she could have held him one last time, and told him she loved him.

"Give me a moment to get dressed," she said, and was glad her voice was steady, that her eyes and mind gave nothing away.

A hard hand closed around her arm, and she looked up into the leering face of Amycus Carrow. "Why bother? You won't be needin' clothes where you're going, Madam Snape."

Severus took the mug of cocoa from Minerva and sank down into her chamber's only comfortable chair. The moment the hot liquid hit his stomach, he became aware it had something foreign in it. It was not poisonous, but he instinctively reached for the bezoar that lived in his pocket at all times. Several seconds passed, and he looked at Minerva keenly. Anything fatal would already be manifesting itself.

She smiled at him encouragingly. "That should help you feel a little better soon. It's my own recipe. Guanan chocolate, with two grains each of asphodel, hellebore, valerian root, and a drop of re'em blood."

Severus looked at her, his eyes wide with alarm. "And that enhances the beverage how, Professor?"

She continued to smile. "It helps to relax the mind for sleep, but it also opens it to the realm of dreams. The re'em blood counteracts the 'dreamless sleep' part, and enhances one's ability to both legilimise and occlude." She had the temerity to look smug. "You're not the only dab hand with Potions, you know."

When Severus silently handed her the empty mug, she looked at him with sympathetic eyes. With a quick glance around the chamber, Minerva cast a Silencing Charm so strong it made his ears pop. "I've been talking to Poppy, Severus," she confided.

A chill ran down Severus' spine. "I'm sure you and Madam Pomfrey converse often. She is a compassionate and formidable witch."

Minerva's face grew hard. "Oh, cut the shite, Severus. I know what's going on. Bloody Albus and his secrets!" She began to pace. "You could have told me, you know. I could have helped you."

Severus slumped. He knew he should freeze her out, as he'd been doing for the past two months now, but he was too tired, too defeated. "I couldn't tell anyone, Minerva. If you'd been interrogated-"

"I think I can hold my own against a few jump-up Death Eaters like the Carrows, Severus Snape," she replied tartly, "and I'll thank you to remember that I was fighting this sort of darkness since before you were a gleam in your da's trews!"

Severus' mouth twitched helplessly. "I thought it was 'a gleam in your mother's eye.'"

"You gleam your way, and I'll gleam in mine," she laughed. When he chuckled with her, she relaxed a little.

"How did you figure it out?" he finally asked. "What dropped the shoe?"

"Why, Hermione, of course. I've known that girl since she was a cub. She would never, never betray those she loves. And I saw you and her in the infirmary, after her parents were killed. And I've known you since you were a child as well."

He found himself unable to meet her eyes. "I never laid a... I didn't..." he shook his head. "I married a good woman, Minerva. A pure woman. Do you understand?"

He looked up at her, and to his surprise she looked sorrowful. "The students have called her horrible things, Severus. To her face and all."

Severus felt sick. "I know, Minerva. She wouldn't tell me, but I knew something was going on."

Minerva continued as if she hadn't heard him. "But I'm sorry to say I still believed the worst about her, until last week, her first day of class." Minerva explained how she and the professors had made a pact not only to refuse to teach her, but to damn her with their silence. Severus grew grim, but Minerva faced his cold anger stoically.

"She hid the truth well in public, Severus. You should be proud. When the catcalls happened, and the Carrows egged on the students, she just held her head high, like none of it mattered. Like she was privileged to be the Headmaster's wife, and they couldn't touch her.

"But in the classroom, alone, it was a different story," Minerva said, and to Severus' astonishment, tears filled his colleague's eyes. "Sitting in there, enduring our silence and condemnation, she was devastated, Severus. It was killing her to be ostracised by those she respected and cared for. That's when I knew.

"She can be as tough as nails around the Carrows, but around me, no. If she was a true Death Eater, she wouldn't have given a damn how we treated her. Hell, she could have hexed us, and what could we have done about it? She's the Headmaster's wife. Instead, she took it, like it was punishment she deserved." Minerva wiped her eyes. "That's when I knew. She's not a Death Eater. She's a fine, brave, caring girl."

Severus closed his eyes, replaying the twisted, warped conversation they'd had. "I know, Minerva, and things..." He sighed. "Things have not been going well. It's all my fault, of course. She can't help it."

Hermione pushed Amycus Carrow away from her disgustedly. He leered at her, but allowed her to move away from his embrace. He had side-along Apparated them to Malfoy Manor. His sister Alecto had done likewise with Draco, which was probably more for his own safety that for her own nefarious, vicarious pleasures. Draco was shaking so badly he ran the risk of splinching himself.

Hermione kept her mind calm as she walked up the steps. The last time she'd been here, it had been with Severus. It had taken every ounce of courage they had to stroll away from Charity Burbage's murder as calmly as if they'd been leaving a boring garden party.

In spite of the late hour, the house was ablaze with lights, and when Hermione entered the foyer she heard several voices she didn't recognise. The shrill, imperious voice of Bellatrix Lestrange cut through the deeper male voices, and Hermione's throat tightened. In many ways, she was more afraid of Draco's aunt than the Dark Lord himself.

As she, Draco and Carrow entered the room, Amycus held out his hand. "Gimme your wand."

Hermione stared at him, aghast. She looked down her nose at him in a credible imitation of Severus at his most disdainful. "I've never had to relinquish my wand for the Dark Lord before."

Carrow scoffed. "You fly awfully high, Madam Snape. Pity you have such a long way to fall. Accio wand!"

She watched in horror as her wand flew from her sleeve into his hand. "Damn you!" she snapped as she lunged for it. He slapped her, making her see stars.

"That's for your husband making a fool of me in front of the Dark Lord," he hissed, grabbing her arm and pushing her ahead as he walked. "If I were you, I'd be saving my strength. You're gonna need it soon."

Wordlessly, Hermione struggled against him, but Carrow's arm was like a vise around hers, and without a wand, she was no match for him physically. They came to a halt in the middle of the large drawing room. It was a sumptious space, full of elegant, antique furniture. The walls were draped with a pale, icy-blue silk. A priceless Aubusson rug graced the floor beneath her feet. The room looked exactly like what it was: a place to show off the pale beauty of the Malfoys, with its blue walls, exactly the colour of Narcissa's silk robes, and its dove-grey carpet perfectly matching Lucius Malfoy's eyes. A Waterford vase of creamy roses sat on a nearby table. Their scent almost, but not quite, masked the stink of fear in the room, and Hermione felt overwhelmed by both odours.

The Malfoys, their hosts, were standing side by side. Narcissa imperiously beckoned her son to her, and Hermione watched as Draco passed her and joined his parents. Their pale, porcelain features were tense; like Dresden dolls badly fired from the kiln. Malfoy Senior, in particular, looked simply awful, as if he no longer cared about anything but surviving. His eyes were haunted, his handsome face unkempt, as if he had not shaved in a couple of days. His clothes were rumpled and he looked exhausted. Only Narcissa seemed the same calm, cool woman Hermione remembered.

Draco looked down at the floor as another commotion burst from the front door. Hermione turned to see Fenrir Greyback and another equally odious wizard stride into the room, holding three young men by their collars.

Hermione could not prevent a gasp. It was Neville and Ron, and between them, a very swollen, very distorted-looking Harry Potter. Neville and Ron glanced at her, their faces stamped with impotent fury, then looked away. Harry's face looked as if it had been pumped up to three times its normal size. His skin was flushed and shiny, like a balloon distended and ready to burst. Only his bright green eyes were the same, bulging as they were behind the stretching skin of his eyelids. He looked at her steadily, but Hermione could not fathom what he was thinking.

"W-what happened to him?" she said, pointing a shaking hand at Harry.

Greyback and the other wizard began to laugh like they had heard the funniest joke. He jerked a grubby thumb towards Neville. "That berk tried to play hero and hex us. But instead of hitting us, he hexed his own mate! What a moron!"

Hermione looked at Neville, who refused to meet her eyes. Harry's face was so puffed and bloated it was starting to split at the nostrils. She would have been hard-pressed to identify him in a room full of strangers, and therefore didn't think Neville had missed at all. He had deliberately hexed Harry to make him all but unrecognisable. She felt an absurd sense of pride in him.

"You're that Longbottom boy," Bellatrix purred, stalking toward Neville. "The one who was going to give me such a damn good seeing-to at the Ministry." She sidled up to him and leaned in provocatively. When he looked away, she slapped him, like a cat will strike at something it has cornered. "Not so eager to have a go now, eh, boy?"

"It's that blood traitor Weasley, too," Greyback said, pointing to Ron. "Both of 'em are supposed to be travelling with Potter."

"See 'is scar?" said the other wizard. "It's 'im, I tell ya, it is Potter! We got gold coming to us for him-"

"Enough, Scabior," Greyback snarled, looking from the three fugitives to Bellatrix. "If this is Harry Potter, we got more than gold coming to us. I'll be wanting to talk to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named myself."

"And if it isn't? Do you want to talk to him then?" Bellatrix retorted sneeringly. "Do you remember what our Lord did to that pair of Snatchers who brought him two Muggles, claiming they were Potter and this Weasley blood traitor?"

Greyback growled in his throat, but didn't reply. "Yeah, thought not," Bellatrix smirked.

As they bickered and postured, Hermione looked around, desperately trying to think. It was at that moment she felt Bellatrix's gimlet eyes swivel her way. She looked down at Hermione, menace pouring off her in waves, and pointed to Harry.

"Well? Is it him? You know him, girl! Is it Harry Potter?"

Hermione looked at her, then back to Harry. She shook her head. "I-I can't tell-"

Bellatrix hissed, "Fuck's sake! Useless fucking Mudblood!" She grabbed her nephew by the collar and dragged him to face Harry. "Draco! Is it him? Is it Harry Potter?" Her wild eyes seemed to frighten even her nephew. When he didn't reply, she jerked him hard.

"Bella! That is enough!" Narcissa Malfoy's voice rang cold in the room.

"No!" Lucius Malfoy strode to stand by his son's side. His voice was mildly pleading. The hand he placed on his son's shoulder shook slightly. "Draco, look carefully. If we are the ones who present Potter to the Dark Lord, our family name will be exonerated-"

"Oi, Malfoy," Greyback growled, his eyes narrowing to slits. He took a step toward Lucius, and a chill descended onto the room. "Let's not be forgetting who brought him in, shall we? While you've been sitting on your gold chairs and sipping brandy in your stately pile, we've been slogging around the countryside. If anyone is going to cast Potter at the Dark Lord's feet, it ain't gonna be you or your sister in-law!"

"Enough! All of you!" The room stilled as Narcissa Malfoy's voice rang out, imperious and cold. "You come into my home with these cretins, you threaten my husband, my son, and these nobodies." She gestured to Draco and Hermione. "These two know Harry Potter better than anyone alive. Let them speak." There was a deliberate emphasis on the last word. She turned to Hermione, her eyes shuttered. "Well, Madam Snape? Can you honestly say this is or isn't Harry Potter?"

Hermione looked in Narcissa's eyes. She saw the same pleading look she knew she must be wearing. "I –I honestly cannot say, Madam Malfoy. He's so... distorted. I really, really don't know."

Bellatrix snorted. "Useless." She raised the sleeve of her gown, showing her Dark Mark, which slithered under her skin like a living thing. She smiled maliciously at Hermione. "I think the Dark Lord would be delighted to welcome such an array of guests, don't you?"

"Bella, no! What if he isn't Potter?"

Bellatrix sneered at Lucius' almost frightened, desperate tone. "Then he'll at least enjoy a little sport, brother in-law. Or have you lost your taste for our Lord's whims?"

Lucius faltered, but raised his own sleeve. "I haven't lost anything, Bellatrix, including my ownership of this house. If the Dark Lord is to be called, it will be by me!"

While the two argued over the petty notion of who would activate the Dark Mark, Hermione spared a glance at Ron. He looked repentant and worried, but he kept quiet. Likewise, Neville watched the scene carefully, as if he, too, were trying to find a way to escape. Hermione's heart went out to them. There could be no escape - at least, none they would survive.

Hermione tried once again to reach out to Severus, but in her mind's eye, all she could see was a black wall. It was impossible to scale, tunnel under or run around. It was exhausting her to even try to open the link. She thought she felt a touch of him, but he was cloaked behind that black wall of emotions she could not penetrate. A sudden thought zoomed in from nowhere. Someone is going to die here tonight. She wondered if it would be her.

Just then, there was a commotion in the back of the room, in the shadows. From the back corner, the snivelling little wizard whined, "Oi, that's mine! I found it!" They all looked to see Amycus Carrow wrestling something out of Scabior's hand. It was the Sword of Gryffindor. Hermione's heart sank.

"Wait!" Bellatrix Lestrange stopped Lucius' argument with a chopping motion of her hand. She looked as if she'd been struck by lightning. "Where did you get this?"

"It's mine," Harry said, his mouth so swollen and distorted he was barely understandable.

"Liar!" Bellatrix shouted. She withdrew a knife. "Tell me how you came by this, or by Merlin, I'll gut you like a fish and drop the leavings at the Dark Lord's feet! Tell me!"

She grabbed Harry by the hair, just as Ron screamed, "It's a fake! It's not the real sword, it's a fake, I tell you!" He turned to Hermione in horror. "It's not the real one," he insisted.

From behind him came a low sound, a deep, coarse laughter that instantly grated on Hermione's nerves. "Well, isn't that a coincidence, traitor," said Amycus Carrow. "I'd say that is a true coincidence indeed." Carrow turned to Hermione with a nasty smile. "You see, I just so happened to have seen this very sword in the Headmaster's office not a month ago. But it disappeared shortly after, when Snape left the grounds with someone in the middle of the night." He looked at Ron. "And what do you know? That someone was you, traitor."

Bellatrix turned to Hermione with a look that seemed to say Christmas had come early. With a beatific smile, she said, "Put these three in the dungeon with the others. Madam Snape and I are going to have a little chat. About loyalty." Greyback nodded, and just before he grabbed his charges, Bellatrix barked, "Show the sword to the Goblin. He'll know if it's authentic or not."

The three boys struggled as Greyback and Scabior manhandled them down into the vaults. Hermione could hear them shouting, fighting the werewolf and his partner, and her heart went out to them. Whoever was already down there, she only hoped they could comfort the boys. She knew she herself was past comfort. She made one last desperate attempt to contact Severus through their link, but it was like trying to push her breath through that black wall.

And Bellatrix never stopped staring at her, or smiling. "Leave us," she ordered, and the three Malfoys slunk from the room. Hermione caught Draco's eye, and wished she hadn't. Draco looked as if he were going to cry. It made it very difficult for Hermione not to cry as well. The only one who remained was Carrow, who crossed his arms and leaned back on a delicate Louis XIV writing desk, picking his teeth. He seemed quite gleeful about what was about to happen.

The room seemed preternaturally silent, and Hermione remained still as Bellatrix circled her like a vulture. "You know, you're in a very precarious position, Madam Snape." she said conversationally. "There is a sword in my vault. It's supposed to be the true Sword of Gryffindor. The Dark Lord himself ordered it put there, as you know.

"Now, if the goblin pronounces this sword to be the true sword, you and your husband will have to explain to the Dark Lord why you put a fake in my vault. But if it is indeed a fake, you will then have to explain why you gave it to your friend, a known fugitive and enemy of my Lord's."

Hermione fumed at the dark-haired woman, her frayed nerves juicing her with a shot of anger. "Do you think I would be foolish enough to lie? Here, in front of you?"

Bellatrix turned her full attention on Hermione, and slowly walked toward her. "I think, Mudblood, you'd do anything to save your worthless hide. I mean," she looked around, her eyes innocently wide, "you're not exactly among friends here. I'd say you're about as alone as a Mudblood can get. Where is your husband now? Shouldn't he be here, supporting his wife?"

Her eyes narrowed into something almost sexual in their ferocity. "Or did he decide you were too much of a liability? Severus always did know when to cut his losses and run."

Hermione tried to hold her gaze, but the last sentence hit her like a sledgehammer. Had she been asked yesterday if Severus would ever abandon her, she would have answered no, without hesitation. But hadn't that been exactly what he'd done tonight? Had he know what was coming, and deliberately picked a fight?

Bellatrix started laughing. "Yeah, he was already tired of you the last time he was here, Mudblood. I never did understand his fascination with you, except you were another piece of Gryffindor pussy."

Hermione wanted to scream, "You're wrong! We are loyal!" but her voice seemed stuck in her throat. The only sound she made was a sick little whimper that made her feel weak and stupid.

Bellatrix' smile made Hermione think of tombstones. She withdrew a wand as bent and twisted as her own blackened soul and pointed it at Hermione. "Alecto is quite taken with him, you know." She turned to Carrow. "I'm sure you're both rather taken with him, actually. I understand Severus' proclivities run toward the more exotic, so I'm certain you'll find him entertaining."

Carrow shrugged. "A hole's a hole, innit? What my Alecto wants," he said, with a flash of rotten teeth, "I make sure she gets. The Dark Lord has already promised her that Severus will be hers the minute this little joyride is over, anyway." He looked at Hermione with undisguised repulsion. "Snape was sure the sword was a fake, so little Miss Gryffindor must have switched them right under his nose."

Bellatrix aimed her wand directly at Hermione's heart. "The way I see it, it doesn't really matter. Either the sword's authentic, which means that you and Severus lied to the Dark Lord. Or it's a fake, which means you aided and abetted Harry Potter. Either way, you're fucked." She shrugged. "But I believe in being thorough, and I believe in the right type of inducement."

Hermione looked about helplessly, but there was nowhere to run. She was alone. Please Severus, if you love me, please come now! Please, I don't want to die alone!

Bellatrix took a step back, smiled at Hermione, and shouted, "CRUCIO!"

-o0o-

Hundreds of miles away, Severus Snape screamed.

Love Has No Pride – John Prine