Trussed

Hermione didn't know how long they laid there in silence, staring up at the flickering firelight on the ridiculously ornate ceiling.

Draco barely registered his Godfather entering the room.

“I assume it's done.” Snape said, his abhorrent monotone making the exhausted witch cringe. He cast a quick scourgify and levitated her to the bed before she could protest.

He produced two bottles from his robes, tossing them next to her. “Pain potion and Dreamless Sleep.” He explained, and she just stared at them silently. “Do what you will.” His concern was with his godson, who hadn't moved from his spot on the floor.

He knelt down, producing a memory vial. “Sit up, boy.”

“I'm not a boy.” Draco spat, but obeyed. “But I'm certainly not a man either, after what I've done.”

“There's no time for self pity now.” Snape said curtly. “You must extract the memories so I can check the occlusion is done properly.”

The blonde swallowed hard, closing his eyes. Of course the man would have to view the memories. He didn't want him to see what a monster he'd been.

“I've seen much worse.” Snape urged, as if having read Draco’s thoughts.

The younger wizard slowly brought his wand to his temple, holding his breath as he carefully selected the memories he needed and shielded Hermione’s message. He led the silvery substance to the vial and felt the sting of his actions on his soul leave with it.

He could still remember, but it was as if it had been a dream, hazy and distant. He wondered briefly if it would help Hermione to extract the memory of it from her, as well, and glanced to the bed.

She'd drained the bottle of Dreamless Sleep and was out cold, sweat drenched locks covering her face.

Snape crossed to the pensieve in the corner, emptying the vial inside. He noticed Draco collapse on the couch with his bottle of muggle liquor and clicked his tongue before diving into the silvery liquid.

“I'm going to enjoy this, mudblood.” Draco's eyes were wild and cruel, and Snape was simultaneously proud and depressed over the young wizard’s acting skills. He wondered, not for the first time, whether it was a good choice bringing Draco under his wing all those years ago.

Had he left him alone to become Lucius’ puppet, would he have turned out an evil instrument of Voldemort? It was probable. Had Narcissa not stepped in with that damned unbreakable vow and planted the seed of goodness in Draco that Snape now nourished, would the boy even still be alive? Maybe. And maybe he wouldn't be in such pain without a conscience.

It had been a good idea when it looked like the Order was going to prevail. But these days… sometimes even Snape himself wished he could just give in to the darkness.

Then long ago memories of crimson hair, green eyes and an angel's laugh would dance in his mind and he'd remember why he existed. That the Dark Lord had to fall so that Lily’s death wasn't in vain. Even after all this time.

Snape scrutinized the assault happening in front of him, searching for any hint of treachery. The memory ended immediately after Draco collapsed on Hermione’s trembling form, and the older man was relieved to be free of it.

He hadn't been lying when he said he'd seen worse, but watching his godson violate his former student was not his idea of comfort.

The godson in question was rapidly becoming one with the couch.

“How did I do, Uncle?” He slurred, and Snape sighed in frustration. “Did I get an Outstanding?”

“The memory is fine.” He replied, though knowing full well what Draco was drunkenly asking. “I will hold onto it until morning when the Dark Lord calls on you to present it.”

“Potter is going to kill me.” The blonde said, seemingly ignoring his Uncle. “I think I'll let him.” He rolled his head to the side. “There's no point to any of this. No redemption.” A tear rolled down his cheek and Snape snatched the bottle from the boys hand.

“Drink.” He pressed a bottle of Sober Up mixed with Dreamless Sleep into Draco's hand, and the blonde downed it without argument. Within half a minute he was snoring lightly, and Snape stared at him for double that before covering him with a blanket.

He left some things on the side table for the morning and paused to look at Hermione’s sleeping form on his way out the door. He decided she would probably appreciate not being touched, and exited the room to face his own nightly demons.