When Living is No Longer Enough

When Living is No Longer Enough
By Sci-Fi Nut/ JStockert

Disclaimer: See Chapter One

Author’s Note: WARNING!!!!! This chapter contains scenes of torture and rape and is the primary reason that this story has been tagged with an “R” rating. Please use your discretion if this type of imagery will offend or disturb you.

~Jules


Chapter Twenty


Even though he had conditioned himself to such sights throughout his years of servitude to Voldemort and spying for the Order, nothing could have prepared him for the sheer horror of the scene that visually assaulted him now. Caught within the magical grasp of the pensieve, Severus could do nothing more than stand helplessly by aatchatch as the woman he loved hung limply from the chains that bound her to the cold stone of the dungeon wall, beaten and bloodied by the faceless Death Eater.

“Stop!” he cried out, falling to his knees bur burying his face in his hands as the black-clad demon brought the whip down forcefully against the side of her face to elicit her most agonized scream thus far.

As if sensing an audience, the masked man paused momentarily before walking slowly to the workbench Snape had seen upon his arrival. Running his hands across the array of instruments that rested against the wooden surface in an almost loving manner, he would stop briefly every now and then as if considering his options. Finally, after a period of time that seemed to last hours in Snape’s tortured mind, the man chose a long thin knife with a perfectly smooth edge and carried it over to where Hermione hung, barely able to lift her head to determine what sick form of abuse the Death Eater would subject her to next.

Raising his robed arm, the masked man pulled his wand out of a hidden pocket and pointed it directly at the tortured Witch only to step closer and use the tip to gently trace along the angry lash marks that attested to his previous ministrations.

“Silencio,” he muttered and laughed when he saw her eyes widen in fear as she realized that he had robbed her of the ability to produce sound. Angry tears once again flooded her frightened eyes as she struggled desperately to utter even the tiniest decibel, knowing her attempts would end in nothing but futility. She blinked back the tears, determined she would not give the minion that stood before her the satisfaction of reaping any more pleasure from her reactions than was absolutely necessary. Gathering all of the courage she could muster, the young woman raised her head in a defiant gesture and looked straight into the masked face of the man before opening her mouth in a silent scream as she felt the cool metal of the knife painfully caress her upper arm.

The Death Eater continued to carve intricate patterns over the woman’s fragile body with the razor sharp blade and stood transfixed as the crimson colored blood gently seeped from the wounds to accentuate the recently carved pattern. Her body had become to the man what a canvas was to a painter and the paint he had chosen to use was the precious liquid of her life’s blood.

Snape stared at the sight before him and prayed to every deity his clouded mind could remember that the memories of the pensieve would hurry up and end thereby releasing him from this personal Hell that Lucius Malfoy had created especially for him. Still on his knees, Severus watched as the Death Eater continued the inhumane torture of the woman who had come to mean so very much to him. With each cut of the knife he could see her mouth open to emit the silent screams that were the result of the physical torture she was forced to endure. He opened his mouth in response to her efforts and allowed her strangled sounds to take voice as they poured forth froep wep within his body. In his own mind he could feel every pass of the silver blade as if it were slicing into his own flesh and quite possibly… his very soul.

At long last the masked man seemed to tire of his little game and stood back to admire his living masterpiece. The girl, he noted, was practically near death. A fact that didn’t bother him in the least since that was what he had planned from the beginning, but he wanted to make certain that the memories of this evening’s playtime would forever be imprinted on the heart of his former friend just as Draco’s death had been imprinted on him. Casting a malicious glance under the cover of his mask, he lay the knife down and walked over to the woman. Raising a robed arm he slapped her hard across the face in an effort to erase the glazed and vacant look that had settled in her cinnamon brown eyes. He had two more items on his agenda for the evening and for the next event he would need the bloodied piece of trash that hung before him to be aware of what was happening to her. Of course, he could deal with the matter even if she was unconscious but, in all honesty, alert and terrified suited his purposes so much better. Without warning, he grabbed hold of the tattered remains of her once white undergarments that were now stained a dark red color as a result of the dripping blood from the numerous cuts and lashes liberally lavished across her abdomen and roughly ripped them from her quivering body. Unclasping his trousers, he leaned in close to the girl placing himself between her legs and thrust into her, delighting in the way her eyes widened from the shearing pain of the new sensations now occurring within her body. The Death Eater mercilessly drove into her time and time again with each thrust becoming more violent than the last until Hermione’s eyes once again widened in a mixture of pain and shock as his body finally stiffened and took its release within her.

Pulling himself out of her, he fastened his trousers and took a moment to study the woman before him. She was just about to the point where she was no longer useful to him. Her ravaged body hung from the manacles he whe weight of her slumped and weakened form caused the metal cuffs to mercilessly grind into the skin of her wrists allowing the blood to pour freely from the rust infested gashes. Her face was almost beyond recognition as a result of the various forms of torture she had been subjected to and skin that had been so flawless earlier in the evening was now covered almost entirely in blood, some of which had began to dry and crust over to create an even more ghastly effect. All in all, Lucius Malfoy was quite pleased with his efforts.

‘Just one more thing to do,’ he thought as he walked back to the workbench, ‘and I’ll be ready to send my little surprise to Severus.’

Looking over the remaining selection of ‘toys,’ the Death Eater smiled as he caught sight of the item he wanted. A medium sized dagger lay at the far end of the table, the blade glinting softly in the candlelight. He picked the instrument up and cradled it in his blood stained hand while he coldly studied the features of its’ design. ‘Nothing spectacular but it will suffice for my purposes,’ the Wizard thought. ‘It’s not like the whore deservesthinthing better.’

And with those thoughts in mind, he grasped the dagger by the hilt and purposely walked back to the near dead figure of Hermione Granger. Grabbing her head by a handful of blood matted hair, he lifted her face and allowed the metallic blade to glide purposefully across her throat with fiendish delight.

“Nooooooooooooo!” screamed Snape wretchedly, his heart shattering into a million pieces as he watched the blade slide across his lover’s throat. A deep line of blood could already been seen oozing from the gash across her slender neck as the Death Eater disgustedly released his hold to allow her head to drop forward where it came to rest at an unnatural angle.

The sound of Lucius Malfoy’s triumphant laughter was the last thing the Potions Master heard as the memories of the pensieve swirled into a murky haze and finally returned him to the solitude of his own chambers.


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Snape hadn’t quite made the connection that he was free of the pensieve when his body began to heave and wretch with such force that he found himself doubled over and falling toward the floor. And yet, he barely even noticed his current position as he placed his head in his hands and gave vent to all of the emotions he had been too shocked to express while held captive by the memories contained within the magical device.

“She’s gone,” he repeatedly cried in anguish rocking back and forth in a gesture that held no hope of comfort for the dark haired man who had finally, after so many years, lost everything.

‘I can’t do this anymore,’ he thought broken-heartedly and closed his eyes in despair only to quickly reopen them as the images of Hermione’s battered and bloodied body flashed through his mind. No sooner had that vision passed then he began to be assaulted by images of other atrocities he had been forced to stand by and helplessly watch earlier in the evening. Images of Lucius violating the young woman’s pain-wracked body played before his eyes just before a final image of a steel blade being mercilessly dragged across the delicate flesh of her tender neck completed the ghastly montage. He remembered crying out in horror and despair as he witnessed the final spark of light in her eyes diminish into nothingness as her body desperately made one last pitiful grasp for breath only to be denied that basic necessity of life itself.

“It’s my fault,” he sobbed as his stubborn mind relived the horrors of what he had witnessed. “She’s gone and I couldn’t save her.”

‘You couldn’t save any of them,’ a traitorous voice whispered from some hidden place in the depths of his mind. ‘You failed them all. Draco, Ginny, the Slytherin students that were lured away to swear loyalty to Voldemort and so many others,’ the voice continued to taunt. ‘You couldn’t even help Emily Saunton. You did such an abysmal job in aiding her that she tried to take her own life.’

“Stop it!” the Potions Master screamed and shook his head in a subconscious effort to free himself from the damning words. “I tried! Merlin knows I tried my best!”

‘Your best?’ the voice mocked. ‘Your best was never good enough. Look around you and see what your ‘best’ has accomplished. Voldemort still lives and grows stronger each and every day, Hogwarts has become a target, and the one woman who cared enough about you to see beyond your mask of sarcasm and cold indifference is hanging dead in some gods-forsaken room in the bowels of Lucius Malfoy’s dungeons. You couldn’t even save her because you were too busy cowering in fear in your own dungeons. Do you honestly expect anyone to believe that this was your BEST?’

Severus stood up and walked to the liquor cabinet to pour himself a drink. Allowing himself an extra generous portion of whisky, he sat on the sofa and raised the glass to his lips only to pull it back and throw it into the fireplace. He could hear the glass shatter into an infinite number of shards as it forcefully made contact with the unyielding stone.

‘No drink will make this right,’ he thought, knowing that he would never again find solace in the amber liquid that had beckoned to him from the confines of the clear glass. ‘And nothing will ever bring her back.’ He stared blankly around the room as the tears fell unnoticed down his cs ons only to drop noiselessly on the dark material of his shirt upon reaching the jaw line of his strong profile.

Everything he had pinned his hopes on was now gone. Without Hermione the research for the ‘Reptilian Cocktail’ could not be completed. He smiled to himself when he thought about the name she had jokingly chosen for the potion. They had been so determined and he was really beginning to think they might succeed, but no longer. Hermione’s expertise would be required to embed the tracking charms. The type of magic and the intricacy of the spells to be used were so in depth, so…complicated, that very few people would even stand a chance at partial success. No, partial would not suffice because the spells had to be completely untraceable, and while the Gryffindor Witch had been close to solving the puzzle, she had yet to discover the final solution. Albus Dumbledore himself, despite his formidable knowledge and power, would be hard pressed to take up where the young woman had left off.

‘So that’s that,’ he thought, ‘my final chance to make a difference has been snatched right out of my arms. Even without the tracking charms, the potion would never be ready in time so I will not be able to attain my revenge on Voldemort.’ He thought about Lucius Malfoy and how he should have made the decision to Apparate immediately to Malfoy Manor and avenge Hermione’s death. After all, wasn’t that what a man does when someone has wronged the woman he loves?

“Love?” heed hed himself only to hear the word echoed back at him from around the empty room. ‘Yes,’ he acknowledged, not even having to think about the question. ‘I love her and now it’s too late. I’ll never be able to tell her how much she’s changed my life or how she’s made me view things from a different perspective or how much I look forward to seeing her smile each day. I’ll never again experience the sheer joy of just holding her in my arms…’

“Enough,” he sneered and walked through his rooms to his private office. Opening the warded cabinet that contained a very special set of prepared potions and some unusual and more dangerous ingredients, he reached up to the top shelf and withdrew a small vial. He stared thoughtfully at the glass container before placing it in his pocket and returning to his rooms.

‘Forget Lucius,’ he thought as a different plan began to form in his mind. ‘Lucius will find his way to Hell sooner or later. In the meantime, I’m going to take one last chance at finding Heaven even if it is only for a brief moment in time. He poured himself another glass of whisky and sat down once again on the sofa in front of the fireplace. Yes, he would be with her one way or another and if he couldn’t be with her in life then he would bloody damn well choose to do so at the time of his death. It was the best he could hope for because, sadly enough, even the promise of death wouldn’t be enough to see them permanently reunited. He knew without a doubt that his actions and choices throughout his life had reserved for him a very toasty seat in Hell. Oh sure, Albus would argue that he still had much to live for, but they both knew that was a load of rubbish. ‘Besides, why would I want to live to be Albus’ age if this is all I have to look forward to?’ he mused as a sense of calmness was beginning to envelope him. Yes, he had made a decision and it was a decision that seemed right to him.

The one thing he did know was that he could not go through life reliving the scenes that Lucius had ‘treated’ him to this evening. He just wasn’t strong enough regardless of the monstrous acts he had seen and committed in his past. He pulled the vial out of his pocket and carefully rolled it between his fingers feeling the smoothness of the glass as it touched his skin. The liquid contained within the confines of the container boasted of a color that was the darkest he had ever seen. ‘Just like my soul’ he thought sadly before resuming his contemplations of the poison that lay within his hand. No light shone through the vial. Indeed, no light could penetrate this particular potion for its purpose was a dark and deadly one. He did see some irony in the fact that the colored liquid that was to be the instrument of his death was the color he imagined death itself to be… dark, foreboding, but still holding a promise that all would be masked and that sorrows and regrets would be overridden. It was exactly what he was looking for.

He carefully removed the stopper and inhaled the delicate scent that wafted towards his nostrils. Opium combined with crushed petals of one of the most exotic flowers found in the far reaches of the Orient. Of course such ingredients gave the poison the specific properties that Severus was looking for. It wasn’t the fastest acting poison he could have chosen but he wasn’t interested in speed at this point. He had all night if necessary. No, this poison had one particular property that all of the others lacked. It placed the drinker in a state of euphoria, allowing the person to meet death with a smile on his face if he felt so inclined. And Severus Snape definitely felt so inclined. After twenty plus years of fighting Voldemort, catering to dunderheaded wisps of children and silent suffering, he was determined that he would at least find happiness in the moment of his death if nowhere else. The narcotic properties of the poison would serve to enhance his memories and emotions, allowing him to peacefully relive his happiest moments with Hermione one final time. In all honesty, he felt it was more than he deserved but he had neither the strength nor the will to turn his back on such a gift.

Polishing off the remainder of his drink, he carefully set thess dss down on the table and calmly placed the vile to his lips. He allowed himself a small smile as the thick liquid coursed through his mouth, coated his throat and traveled down his esophagus.

“I love you, Hermione,” he whispered softly into the empty room as he closed his eyes to wait for death to finally claim him.


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TBC