"Severus."

The silken voice behind him stroked cold down the back of his neck, and if his control hadn't been perfected by years of brutal training, Severus Snape might have flinched. As it was, he stopped and slowly turned his head to meet Lucius Malfoy's ice-blue eyes and lazy, wicked smile.

He hadn't expected to meet up with Malfoy here, in the noxious shadows of Knockturn Alley, but he supposed even the most hard-hearted Death Eaters sometimes had to shop. Other unfortunates around them, even those with the darkest of intentions, ducked their heads and scurried away, clutching their poisons and illicit spell scrolls.

As well they might, if they had any sense of self-preservation at all.

"Lucius," he replied, and kept it dry and disinterested. "I see you have the sense to keep away from Diagon Alley. Very wise. Dumbledore has spies everywhere."

As he expected, Malfoy couldn't conceal a flash of temper. Like father, like son; neither one was what one might describe as subtle.

"What I need can't be bought in Diagon Alley, as you very well know," Malfoy sneered. He was rather good at sneering. Those crystal-blue eyes swept over Snape's usual black attire. "I see you've dressed for an evening out."

Malfoy's sense of humor was no further advanced than that of his son. Snape smiled politely and resisted the urge to step back. Malfoy himself was decked out in expensively finished, gorgeously appointed robes of the very best and rarest fabrics. Ridiculous, in these filthy narrow confines, but then Malfoy had probably charmed them to be impervious to stains ... he always had been vain.

"I have a treat for you, old friend," Malfoy said, leaning closer, and Snape fought to hold his thin smile. The man repelled him, but Snape still made a pretense of being tempted when something might be gained. Malfoy's weakness for him was something to use, nothing more. He would not permit it, ever to be more. Never again.

"Pray tell," he said, and let his voice fall into the same purring range as Malfoy's. "I've been extremely bored of late. Hogwart's is so dull."

"What, with young Harry Potter underfoot?"

Snape dismissed him with an impatient wave. "Off for the summer, like all his wretched little friends. But we shall see him again soon, Mr. Potter. And then we shall see."

He meant part of it, a disturbingly large part, truth be told. He found Potter and his cohorts to be stunning wastes of his time, but they were very definitely the lesser of a wide variety of evils—Lucius Malfoy, chief among them.

Malfoy's smile widened. There was something disturbing in it, even by Snape's jaded standards.

"Home, are they? How convenient. Well, then, I have a small surprise for you. And I shall expect you at my home at nightfall, Severus. You won't be disappointed." Those pale eyes flicked over him again. "Wear something you can afford to get dirty."

Snape watched the man walk away. A weight of tension had forged itself into steel over his shoulders and down his spine. A casual foray into the dangerous shadows of Knockturn Alley, gathering intelligence for the Order of the Phoenix, had disturbed something poisonous indeed. He very much dreaded it meant. Wear something you can afford to get dirty. It was a forlorn hope that Malfoy might only mean that he was having the dungeons repainted.

###

"You cannot go," said Remus Lupin, staring across the table at Snape and leaning forward to enforce his words. His threadbare coat was in danger of developing several new rips, if he insisted on stressing the seams. Or, for that matter, stressing Snape.

"An interesting declarative statement," Snape said. "How exactly do you intend to stop me?" And, he silently wondered, why would he want to? He and Lupin had never been friends; uneven allies, at best. The best that could be said for the man was that he was slightly less offensive than his Gryffindor companions had been, once upon a time. Lupin always had been the mildest of the bunch ... ironic, considering his nature.

Their butterbeer sat untouched on the table. Lupin's fingers kept nervously straying to straighten his mug, but he seemed loath to drink – odd, but many of the Order seemed reluctant when the Potions Master was at table. The moon was waxing, Snape remembered. No doubt Lupin's nerves were rubbed raw by the approaching cycle of his werewolf nature. Snape's potions kept the man from baying at the moon and ripping throats, but he was positively female in his moods.

They were seated together in a see-me-not corner of the Black Cauldron, protected by several layers of the strongest spells that Albus Dumbledore could manage to draw around them. Which, given that it was Albus Dumbledore, was quite considerable.

Lupin's pale, narrow face tightened with dislike as he stared at Snape. He turned to the eldest of their party. "Albus. Tell him."

"I think it is probably advisable that Severus do as Malfoy expects," Dumbledore said softly. He was watching Snape with singular intensity over the tops of his gleaming half-spectacles. "Malfoy has been cleared of charges and released, he is free to do as he pleases -- "

"We all know that was nothing but bribery!"

Dumbledore held up a calming hand. "Be that as it may, Remus, our position remains precarious. Malfoy has his advocates, and we are still hardly in a position of trust. We cannot release one of our few advantages. Having said that, however, Severus must of course do as he believes best, and safest." Dumbledore's attention fixed on Snape, and as always, it felt as if he'd been bathed in a warm, calm patch of sunlight. "My friend, I leave it to you. If you don't feel that you can carry through with this, I will understand. It is a great deal to ask of you."

"It isn't," he said brusquely. "Malfoy has something nasty in store. It's best that I find out what it is now, before it's delivered to our doorsteps."

The other two -- one a man Snape respected more than any other human being in the world, the other once a mortal enemy, now merely an annoying but necessary companion -- simply looked at him.

"You will be careful," Lupin said. For an instant, there was something like regard in his eyes, quickly hidden.

Snape directed a bitter smile toward him, lifted his butterbeer and drained it very quickly. "Don't be stupid. When am I not?" he asked.

Albus Dumbledore raised his eyebrows, but did not see fit to answer.

##

He Apparated into the corridor of the Malfoy dungeons at precisely seven o'clock. He hadn't troubled to change his clothing – they would hardly expect him to dress for the occasion, that had been a little jest of Malfoy's – and began walking slowly down the long, low-ceilinged stone corridor. It was lit by flickering magical torches that gave no heat and really very little light, adding to the disquieting, oppressive atmosphere.

And at the end, Lucius Malfoy stood draped in the dark robes of a Death Eater, his hood thrown back. Smiling that Luciferian smile. Snape felt a dark twist in his guts, and had to force himself to continue at the same unhurried pace. He wanted nothing more than to draw his wand again and leave this place, quickly.

"Welcome," Malfoy said. A shadow stirred behind him, and then another. More Death Eaters, these masked and anonymous. "We're just about to start."

The black tattoo on Snape's arm heated and prickled unpleasantly. He kept his expression immobile as he reached Malfoy, let his gaze wander absently over the assembled lackeys, and raised his eyebrows into thin, inquiring arches.

"Start what?" he asked. Malfoy gave his robes a theatrical sweep and turned away, leading them down a narrow hallway. Darker, this one. Closer. Less easy to escape.

At the end of the corridor, another turn, and then a closed iron door. Malfoy murmured the command, and the portal creaked open.

Inside, huddled against the far wall, was a single small figure. Thin. Battered. Almost unrecognizable under a coating of bruises, matted long hair, and dirt. She was wearing Muggle clothes, and somehow they looked wrong on her, Mudblood or no.

"Ah," Snape breathed, and said no more. Hermione Granger's unpretty face was wet with tears. For an instant he was mortally afraid of her, this slip of a girl, because she had the power to destroy him with a word, with a look. He had never in his life felt so vulnerable, so dependent on the courage of another ... if she begged him for help, if she gave away that he was something other than he appeared ...

But then that quivering chin firmed, and she raised her head in that imperious, haughty way he remembered so well.

"Professor Snape," she said, and though her voice quivered, it was dripping with contempt and bravado. "I should have known you'd be here."

Snape clenched his fists and rounded on Lucius Malfoy. "Tell me, Lucius, have you taken recently leave of your senses? You – and no doubt, these prodigies behind you – have only recently been cleared of charge of magical assault against this same girl, among others. You risk – "

"Nothing," Malfoy put in crisply. "Miss Granger came here, to us. We did not go looking for her. Her Muggle parents wouldn't know where to begin to turn, and once they finally run to Dumbledore or some other Magical authority, the search won't put her anywhere near us. She took great care to cover her tracks, thankfully."

He looked over Snape's dark shoulder, focusing lazily on the girl like a cat on a particularly juicy, crippled mouse.

"We can take our time," Malfoy purred. "Stupid little Mudblood. I don't think she quite realizes what she's done to herself."

Snape turned his head. Hermione hadn't looked away, and there was a spark of temper in her eyes he thought he could use.

"Miss Granger is many things," he said in the same lazy, bored tone as Malfoy. "She is insolent, arrogant, and as ugly as the mud she's made of. But she is not, and never has been, stupid."

"Your point?"

"She is extremely intelligent. I do not say it to flatter her." Snape moved fast as a striking snake, braced himself on spread hands on cold stone, and leaned close to Hermione's flinching, huddled form. Deliberately intimidating. "You're not stupid, are you, Granger?"

"Smarter than you, you filthy lying spy!" she spat back at him. He reached down and gripped her chin in his fingers, staring deep into her defiant eyes. Willing her to understand him.

"What was your plan?" he asked her. "You couldn't have come here without one. Who sent you? Dumbledore? MacGonagall? Remus Lupin?"

He signalled her with a painful squeeze of his fingers. Her eyes filled with tears.

"No," she whispered. "No one. I came alone."

Don't be brave, child. Follow my lead.

"Come now, don't spoil our fun, Severus," Malfoy said. His wine-red gloved hand came down on Snape's shoulder. "Allow me. I take such a special joy in it, as you know."

Hermione's eyes widened. Snape held on to her chin, forced her to keep meeting his stare. Too much to hope that she could look past her own prejudices and see what he was trying to tell her. Be strong. Be brave. The Sorting Hat put you in Gryffindor for a reason ...

He gathered all his own courage and turned slowly to face Malfoy with his face set in a malignant glare. He looked pointedly at the hand on his shoulder.

"Am I very much mistaken," he said slowly, "or did you just try to give me an order, Lucius?"

Malfoy looked genuinely surprised, for a second. He removed his hand from Snape, and frowned.

"What?"

Snape took another step toward him. Malfoy made a visible effort not to move away.

"I asked," he hissed, eyes narrowed to slits, "if you were impertinent enough to try to order me. Because if you were, I think we shall have a problem, old friend."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed as well, burning blue, and his face distorted in rage. He didn't like to be frightened, Lucius Malfoy.

And, as Snape had often observed, the Malfoys in general were nothing if not predictable.

"Crucio!" Malfoy hissed, and flung out his wand.

The blast caught Snape in the chest, flung him back against the wall with stunning force. It flayed his skin from his muscles, set every nerve on fire, drew screams out of his aching throat.

He had expected it, had invited it, but no matter how many times he endured this he had never learned a defense against it. Every time took him by shock, overwhelmed by the power of it. When the agony was over, when he was on his knees sobbing, swallowing blood and shame, he heard Malfoy's voice in his ear, intimate as a tongue.

"Don't test me," he whispered. "I remember Norwich, Severus. I remember how much you used to enjoy this kind of play. I could do to this Mudblood child what you so reveled in, once ... would you like that? I don't even ask you get your hands filthy with her. Purely ... observe."

His breath was rasping in his chest, terribly fast; he wanted to scream, wanted to grab for his wand and Apparate away from this, run, run, but that evil streak of stubbornness that had always cursed him wouldn't allow it. He braced himself against the wall and climbed painfully to his feet. When he swayed, it was Malfoy's hand that caught his elbow and braced him.

Snape turned to look at the girl, and he saw the quick surge of fear in her eyes. Fear not of him, but for him. This ridiculous little Mudblood child was afraid for him.

"Malfoy, you're a fool," he said. His voice was armored in chill again, dripping with dislike. "A night's pleasure isn't worth being exposed to the Ministry again. Unless, of course, you enjoyed the comforts of Azkaban. Let her go, before Dumbledore sets the Aurors on you."

"Tomorrow," Malfoy said. "Not tonight."

Snape deliberately removed his elbow from Malfoy's grip. "Tonight," he said. "Put a memory charm on the girl and dump her somewhere far from here. I'm warning you, Lucius."

The man regarded him for a long, silent moment, then glanced at Hermione. Clearly amused. "You insist?"

"For your sake. For hers, I care little."

"Very well." Malfoy's hand found his shoulder and squeezed. Pale spiderlike fingers against the plain black cloth. He leaned closer. "If you ask nicely, Severus."

Revulsion churned in his stomach, but he turned his head and gave Malfoy a thin smile. "You do love to hear people beg, don't you?"

"I do." Those narrow pale lips moved closer, and the whisper went lower still. "Ask me for her."

He felt an ominous flash of fear, and tried to jerk free again. "Not I. This is ridiculous. Keep the girl, then."

"Now who's giving the orders?" Those pale, pale lips, so close to his ear. Malfoy's velvet-cold whisper. "Imperius."

He had been braced for the Cruciatus Curse, ready for the horrible hot lash of agony ... his defenses were all wrong, all wrong, before he could bring his will to bear he was overwhelmed, buried under the smothering weight of Malfoy's will.

Imprisoned inside of his own head, and owned by another.

Helpless. Seeing in a terrible distorted whirl the grin on Malfoy's face as his body moved to do Malfoy's bidding. As they laughed, his former colleagues, the Death Eaters. Laughed and sneered with the same enthusiasm as that cursed James Potter and his cursed friends, in his youth ...

He would not hurt the girl. He would not. Even Malfoy was unable to force him to it, though it was a very close thing. In time, when what was happening became utterly intolerable to him, when the revulsion sank so deep that he would rather have died than endure another moment, he broke free of the Imperius long enough to wrap his shaking hands around Malfoy's throat. They tore him free, of course, but he did damage, and then Malfoy did impose the Cruciatus on him after all, pinning him on a fiery, breaking wheel of torment.

And then it was only red, and red, and red, and the tenacious desire to endure, somehow endure, if only because he refused to give up his life for something so meaningless.

###

"Professor?"

It was appallingly dark, and he hurt so much, so much ...

A cool, trembling hand on his forehead. "Sir ...?" He groaned, and it hastily withdrew. "Please, please say something ... Professor ..."

He rolled painfully up on his side, tasted blood, swallowed fire. His voice sounded rusty with screams. "Granger?"

"Y-y-yes sir. I'm – "

"All right?" Two words were the best he could do, at the moment.

"Yes. They didn't –" Granger's breath failed her. He could hear her teeth chattering.

"Didn't what?" he asked through gritted teeth. He felt for a wall, found its rough support, and eased back against it with an unconscious gasp. His body felt as if he'd been dragged naked through burning glass ...

"They didn't touch me, sir." She understood what he'd feared, then. Not as stupid as her mates, Granger. Smart enough to know the additional dangers she'd faced, here in the hands of Death Eaters. She finished in a very small voice, "Not ... with their hands, at least."

He wished he didn't understand what she meant, but of course he did, vividly. He'd been one of them once. He'd seen the pale bodies of victims writhing in agony. He'd extended his wand and invoked the Cruciatus Curse to destroy without a single lasting mark.

There was something particularly loathsome against using it against a child. Even Malfoy had once balked at that, once.

"They won't be polite much longer," he ground out, around a mouthful of self-loathing. "Does anyone know you're here?"

"Yes," she said in an even smaller voice than before, if possible.

"Well?" He felt cold. He knew he was sweating, unable to control his shaking. At least the darkness hid it from her. He couldn't bear if she told Potter, told Weasley that she'd seen him so reduced ... "Spit it out. Who?"

"I sent an owl to Ron," she said. "I'm so sorry ..."

Oh, perfect. Perhaps they'd now have that red-haired fool bumbling in. Maybe he'd bring Potter along and make the situation even worse. "Whatever moronic idea possessed you to come to Malfoy's home?" he spat at her, furious. Anger leached him of strength. He leaned his head back against the wall and gasped for breath.

"I'm – sorry – I – oh no – I was so – stupid – Draco – he said he – was holding Harry – and if I didn't come --"

"Potter." Snape dug the palms of his shaking hands into his eyes. "Of course. You would be foolish enough to run off to rescue him, wouldn't you?" He sounded vicious, and couldn't help it; he was frankly terrified. Lucius hadn't seen the full, terrible possibilities of the Imperius Curse, and this captive Mudblood child, but he would eventually. He was far too cruel not to think of it. I will not. I will never ... But he wasn't sure he had the strength of will to keep that promise.

He swallowed hard and pushed his disgust outward, at the easiest target. "Typical idiotic, selfish behavior, worthy of Potter at his worst. Now you'll get us both killed."

"But doesn't anyone know you're – "

"Of course they know!" he snapped. "And if we don't surface in the next few hours, you may be certain that they'll come and get themselves killed as well. Won't that be grandly heroic?"

Something wrong with his voice. It was too high, too tight. He stopped talking and concentrated on breathing, forcing air into his trembling, suffering flesh.

She said his name. He didn't answer. Tears hot on his face, body rebelling against him, memory threatening to erupt and overwhelm him ... no, not now, not now, if he had Dumbledore's Pensieve he'd pour the thoughts out, black and horrible, into that glowing bowl ...

Her cool hands eased his black hair back from his face.

"Don't touch me," he whispered, but he had no strength left, and her gentleness did no harm. "Tell anyone and I'll curse the soul out of you, Granger, I swear – "

She didn't speak at all. Incredibly, she was leaning against him now, her slender warmth falling across his chest. He raised his hand to strike her, push her away, but it was a traitor to him as well. It stroked her hair instead.

So very quiet, suddenly.

Her tears soaked warm through his black coat. He felt a very slight easing of the knot in his chest, as if she were a Phoenix, as if her tears were magic.

"It'll be all right," he whispered. She didn't answer.

And they waited together, in silence.

###

Malfoy returned alone. At the first sign of his approach they separated, Snape to one corner, Hermione to another. It wouldn't do to show signs of dependence, not now.

Snape flinched from the creak of the opening door, blocked out the sudden hot glare of light, and squinted through his fingers to see the white false halo of Malfoy's outline.

"Severus." That familiar, drawling voice. "You look somewhat the worse for wear."

Snape bared his teeth in a wild grin. "As you will, soon."

"Temper, temper, my old friend. You used to enjoy our little games, you know. Before you became so damned ... conventional. I do believe that school is making you boring."

"Let me go."

"I will." Malfoy stripped off his gloves and tugged on them, watching him. "As soon as you do what I ask."

"Which is?" Snape asked wearily.

Malfoy smiled, razor-edged. "I was thinking we might revisit old times, Severus, and then I will dispose of the Mudblood and you can go back to Hogwart's, where you will be completely surprised to hear of her tragic disappearance."

"You're really arrogant enough to think you can put a Memory Charm on me?"

Malfoy's eyebrow tugged upward. "No, I shall rely on your excellent ability to lie, I should think. I would like you to remember this. As a reminder where your loyalties should remain. Lord Voldemort will return. And he will expect your unquestioning obedience."

Snape didn't move. Malfoy walked forward another step, staring down at him.

"Well?" he asked. "Will it be of your own volition, or do you want to be forced to it? Would that make it less repugnant for you? Absolve you of your guilt?"

"Nothing could possibly make it less repugnant for me," Snape said. "Have you had a look at the girl? A troll couldn't find her attractive on her best day ... which this is not."

Malfoy laughed. He had a hearty, charming laugh. Snape hated him for it, hated himself as he saw Hermione flinch.

"Soil yourself with her, if you wish," Snape continued viciously, aiming the words like knives, though whether he was cutting the girl or himself he didn't know. "I would rather you kill me now and save me the tremendous embarrassment of remembering how I had to lower myself for your entertainment."

Malfoy laughed until he gasped, wiping his streaming eyes. "Oh, Severus, you haven't changed. What a terrible, terrible man you are. I wouldn't force you to touch her, I know how distasteful you would find it, but your outrage ... it's priceless, truly." He composed himself and reached for his wand.

Snape stood, forcing his aching body to obey him. He stood very straight and looked Malfoy in the eye as he said, with slow certainty, "You will kill no student of Albus Dumbledore's while I remain in Hogwart's."

"Why the devil not?"

"Because killing Granger will only bring down a storm upon us ... an inquisitional panel ... and a ruthless pursuit of Death Eaters. How long would I last at Hogwart's if they truly questioned my motives? Dumbledore believes me, but even he might doubt if Granger disappears and word reaches him that I came here. You were hardly stealthy in your invitation."

Malfoy hesitated. Temper flickered in his eyes; he did not like being denied his pleasures. You've had enough of me, Snape thought. Let it go.

"Lucius," he said. "You are far too intelligent. Just charm the damned girl and let me take her away from here. There will be other chances. Potter, Weasley, Granger -- you could torture them all, separately or together. Make them beg for their lives ..."

He saw the fire burn in the other man's eyes, hell-bright and sickeningly strong. "Soon," Malfoy said.

"Yes," he agreed, tasting death and ashes. "Quite soon, I should think. Now, give me my wand."

He held out his hand. After a long pause, Malfoy laid the warm wooden length of it in his fingers, and Snape felt power surge through him. Not helpless now, no ... a pulse beat hard and red behind his eyes, and for an instant he imagined Malfoy helpless before him, pinned under the torture of the Cruciatus, broken and begging ...

He managed a hideous smile, turned, and hexed away Hermione Granger's memories of the day and night, and his own humiliation. Rendered her unconscious with a Stun spell and Apparated her back to a field beyond the confines of Hogwart's spell-secured walls.

Malfoy let out a long sigh of regret. Their eyes met, one last time.

"I shall expect an invitation to dinner," Snape said, with a thin slice of a smile. "For services rendered in saving you from yourself."

Malfoy smiled in return, handed over Hermione's wand, and stepped away.

It was impossible to escape quickly enough.

###

Seated in Dumbledore's office, surrounded by the dozing portraits of former Headmasters and sipping a fiery thimbleful of restorative drink, Snape told everything. He spared nothing, not his humiliations, not his torments, not even the single moment of grace he had found with Hermione in the midst of it. He even admitted his temptation to perform the Cruciatus on Malfoy.

When he was finished, the liquor was burning bright as a sun in his stomach, and Albus Dumbledore's eyes were warm and full of forgiveness.

"Once again, Severus, you humble me," he said.

"Didn't you hear a word I said?"

"Of course I did. I heard courage beyond measure. Courage I'm certain few could ever match."

"I wanted to kill them all."

"As would I," the Headmaster said gently, "had I been in your place. But I would not have survived. Nor could I have ever played the part so convincingly and saved her life. You mistake temptation for guilt, Severus."

"No." Snape held out the thimble for another serving; Dumbledore waved absently at it, and liquid pooled in the silver well. "I know very well what guilt is. I eat a full portion of it daily."

"And therefore, you imagine it in even your triumphs." The older man's soft white hair dragged over his embroidered robe as he shook his head. "What did the Sorting Hat tell you, all those years ago?"

He tossed back the second drink, swallowed, and closed his eyes. "That I would do well in either house."

"Gryffindor or Slytherin."

"Yes." His mouth twitched in distaste. "But I'm neither fool nor hero, Albus. I'll stay where I belong. In the shadows. I do my best work there, as you well know."

Silence. When he opened his eyes, his thimble was full again, an unprecedented third serving. He downed it quickly, before Dumbledore could change his mind, and without thinking he asked, "How's the girl?" He regretted it immediately, of course. "I only ask because I don't want Potter blaming that on me, too."

"She's well enough. Your memory charm seems to have worked. She's convinced that she ran into a couple of Slytherin students who gave her a bad time, but nothing like what really happened." Dumbledore's beard twitched, hiding a smile. "But was it necessary to make her believe you egged them on?"

Snape looked away.

"You go to such lengths to make them hate you. Do you know why, I wonder?"

"Because I deserve it."

No answer, from the Headmaster, but the thimble filled again, promising silence and forgetfulness, in time.

He drank.

-end-