Snape's Redemption

*WARNING* Contains graphic violence and rape.

I own nothing. It all belongs to JKR but I don\'t think she\'d do this to them...

Chapter Two – Caina

It was a truth universally acknowledged that Draco Malfoy had always been a handsome boy. Grey eyes, white-blonde hair, a well defined (if pointed) face and, in the last few years, a trim and pleasing physique. He had been quite vain about his looks and based his friendships and girlfriends upon whether or not they were a good dramatic foil for him. When not mentally retching, Snape thought that his current demeanour was faintly ironic. For now, Draco Malfoy would be the dramatic foil for everybody.

One eye was gone. The other was a pulsating, putrid mess that dripped perpetually down his ravaged face. This continually weeping wound hindered the healing of the myriad of slashes and rips that covered the rest of his face. These slashes had covered his entire body, but those below the face were now healed, leaving horrific scars.

Snape walked over to the huddled form lying on the floor next to the bed, the only furniture in the room. Nothing much could be seen of the figure, doubled up as it was, except for its white blond hair. Snape reached down and, grasping Draco by his neck, hauled him upright, unstoppering the vial still in his hand. He then tipped Draco’s head back and forced the Dreamless Sleep Potion down his throat. Dropping the bottle, he retrieved his wand and levitated Draco back into the bed. Covering him tenderly with a sheet, Snape turned and left the room, trying to forget how, even in his drug-induced sleep, Draco cupped his hands protectively over what was left of his genitals.

Severus returned downstairs to his book-filled front room and threw himself into the threadbare armchair. The weak, flickering light from the candle-filled lamp illuminated the object of his gaze; not one of the myriad of leather bound books scattered in a semi-circle around him, but a shallow, rune incrusted stone basin sitting on the rickety table next to his chair.

He reached out and picked up the bowl, cradling it in his hands and gently moving it so the silvery liquid swirled around. Every once in a while a figure would rise up and then sink silently back, absorbed back into the plethora of thoughts contained therein. After a while he withdrew his wand and resolutely placed it to his temple, pulling out his thoughts and adding them to the Pensieve. Once the memory he desired was contained in the basin, Snape carefully put it back on the rickety table. Turning to the front door, he sealed it with a whispered Colloportus before turning clockwise in a full circle, waving his wand above his head in a complex gesture. The whole room glowed briefly green, before seemingly returning to normal. With great precision, Snape replaced his wand in his robes. In a gesture reminiscent of Lucius Malfoy, he dusted his hands off and smoothed down the front of his robes. Then, stepping decisively towards the Pensieve, he thrust his face into its silvery surface and disappeared.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Once again, they were in a Muggle graveyard. Voldemort, it seemed, had developed a penchant for them, and the fact that they were deserted at night was an added bonus. Snape, still bleeding from Buckbeak’s attack, moved forward and, falling to his knees, crawled up to the Dark Lord and kissed the hem of his robes. Preparing to back away, he was halted by Voldemort’s large, pale, spidery hand resting on his head.

“Wait,” he commanded in his high, quiet voice. So Snape stayed, his blood flowing from his wounds into the dead ground beneath him.

Dimly he heard the pop of others Apparating, followed by more figures inching towards Voldemort’s feet. They too were ordered to wait until the Dark Lord was satisfied that as many that could return, had.

“Snape,” hissed Voldemort. “Rise and report.”

The brevity of Voldemort’s speech alerted Severus to the Dark Lord’s displeasure and he stood up carefully, his mind reeling with different, positive ways he could present the results of the expedition. However, his blood loss caused him to sway and collapse, once again on his hands and knees at his master’s feet. There was a hissing of Parseltongue above him and suddenly Nagini had insinuated herself under his body, her tongue flickering over his chest, smelling the extent of his wounds, before slithering back to her master. Snape barely heard the hissed consultation between Voldemort and his pet, concentrating on trying to rise up again. Suddenly a strong, cold hand lifted him up as another, more human hand searched through his robes, pulling out three different vials.

“Heal yourself and report!” Voldemort demanded. Snape blearily tried to focus on the bottles being held out in front of him. He grasped the red bottle and tried to remove the sealed cork, with no success. The cold hand holding his neck shook him and tightened ominously.

“Help him,” came a hissed command.

Another pair of hands drifted into his vision and took the red bottle, extracted the cork and held the vial to his lips. He swallowed greedily, feeling the potion work as soon as it hit his stomach. It was a potion of his own creation – an extremely strong general healing draught which worked its way through a drinker’s body, healing any wounds it found. Feeling stronger, Snape then selected the blue bottle which contained a Blood Replenishing Potion. The final bottle was a Wit-Sharpening Potion and was downed forthwith. Standing by himself, Severus noted that that it was Wormtail who had been holding him up and Narcissa Malfoy who had fed him the healing draught. Turning to the Dark Lord, Snape bowed.

“My Lord,” he began. “Thank you for your mercy.”

“There was no mercy, Snape,” replied the Dark Lord. “Give your report.”

Straightening, Snape began to dispassionately review the night’s events. Everyone was silent as he recounted the battle on the seventh floor, the death of Dumbledore and their escape from Hogwarts. Finished, he once more sank to his knees, bowed his head, and waited for his Master’s response.

“You seem to be missing four of your brothers,” Voldemort hissed. “And I am interested to know why Dumbledore was not destroyed by the one I had commanded?”

Snape began to answer but a cold hand on his head halted him as Voldemort’s gaze turned to the kneeling figure of Draco, waiting for his response. But it was Narcissa Malfoy who spoke.

“My Lord, it was my doing,” she confessed. “I had Severus make the Unbreakable Vow to protect my son and make sure the deed was carried out…”

She petered out, realising that she had insinuated Draco had failed the task set by the Dark Lord.

“I see,” stated Voldemort icily. “Take your positions in the circle, my loyal followers. Fenrir and Draco, stay.”

Alecto, Amycus, Severus, and Yaxley, the large blonde Death Eater from the fight on the seventh floor, backed away from Voldemort, still on their knees, until they reached their designated positions. Standing, Severus conjured a mask and placed it over his face, needing something to distance him from what was about to happen.

“Draco,” Voldemort’s voice was almost a caress as he turned to the young Death Eater. “You are too much like your father. He too ... disappointed me.”

“But, my Lord,” Draco interjected, his brow creased as a look of confusion suffused his face. “I didn’t...”

“Silence!” Voldemort commanded. Turning to the werewolf, he nodded and, with a hissed instruction to Nagini, moved over to a large, throne like chair. Once seated, he waved his hand and the punishment began.

Greyback approached Draco slowly, who still looked confused, and cupped his hands lovingly under the younger man’s chin.

“You’re almost too old for this,” his whispered, excitement evident in his tone. “Almost, but not quite.”

His head swooped forward, capturing Draco’s lips in what seemed to be a passionate kiss. But the blood that began to drip down the sides of Draco’s mouth belied this theory. Malfoy gave a muffled yelp, causing his mother to lurch forward, a horrified expression on her face. Her sister quickly dragged her back into the circle, conjuring a mask like Snape’s and forcing it over Narcissa’s face. Then she turned and resolutely watched the torture and rape of her nephew.

Greyback took his time, his prodigious strength holding his prey still while he ravaged him. After eating out Draco’s tongue, Fenrir shifted his grip. Freeing one hand, he began to slice up Draco’s face, lifting off strips of flesh and eating them before Draco’s horrified gaze. The young wizard’s screams, initially muted by Fenrir’s possession of his mouth, now filled the graveyard. Standing back, Fenrir studied his creation before quickly punching his thumb into one of Draco’s eye sockets. Draco’s screams intensified as blood and a clear gelatinous fluid ran down his face. Once again, Greyback pulled back and studied his work. A feral grin slashed across his face as he suddenly ripped off Draco’s robes, displaying his smooth, pale body to the hungry gaze of many in the circle surrounding them. The screaming stopped suddenly and all was silent save for a single, petrified whimper from the young, naked Death Eater.

It was this sound, not the screaming, that seemed to galvanise Greyback into further action. With a growl, he launched a frenzied attack on the youth’s body, slashing and ripping, tearing and biting chunks of flesh away. Only when Draco was a ripped and bleeding mess of flesh did Greyback force him onto his knees and thrust his cock deep into his virgin arse. He reached around the front to grasp Draco’s genitals and, as he continued to pump into him, pierced them with his long, sharp nails. Draco, whose shock had silenced him to emit only an occasional grunt, once again screamed at this new pain and horror. By the time Greyback had shuddered, releasing himself into the bloody meat that had been Draco Malfoy, only one testicle and a small stub of flesh was left between the boy’s legs.

Grunting and standing, Fenrir Greyback turned and bowed to Lord Voldemort before retreating to his position in the circle, using his teeth to clean out the flesh still under his fingernails.

“Snape, come forward.” Voldemort’s cold command drew forth the Potions master. Skirting the mess that had been Draco, Severus approached and knelt down before the Dark Lord’s throne.

“I believe,” Voldemort continued idly, “that your vow requires you to protect the young Malfoy ‘to the best of your ability’, does it not?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Severus replied, bowing his head.

“Well then, take him and see what you can do. It is of little consequence to me if he lives or dies, but you, Snape,” he suddenly reached out and grabbed Severus’s chin, knocking his mask off and forcing his eyes up to meet his own blood red ones. “You, I need. I will not let you die because of some foolish, weak woman’s wish. So, you must do your best, do you understand?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Severus replied humbly, desperately trying to employ his Occlumency skills.

“You are dismissed,” the Dark Lord commanded. Snape crawled backwards, bowing from his knees before standing. He strode over to the quivering mass of flesh and bones and levitated it. Touching what he assumed was a foot, Snape Disapparated just as Voldemort commanded Narcissa Malfoy forward.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Back in his book-lined room, Snape retrieved the memory from the Pensieve and carefully returned it to his own mind. The idea of the Dark Lord intruding on his thoughts and not finding the punishment of Draco Malfoy evident was not something he wished to contemplate. Sitting back in his armchair, Snape reflected that he had gained nothing from revisiting that memory. He had hoped to ascertain if there had been anyone vaguely disgusted or dismayed by the Dark Lord’s punishment. Instead, he had been sickened to see and smell the number of Death Eaters who had been excited watching Draco’s punishment. Regretfully, he concluded there were none there to help him, willingly or through blackmail. Except for Narcissa, of course, but she was unsuitable for his means.

Summoning a bottle of elf-made wine, Snape poured himself a glass and moodily contemplated the bookshelves in front of him. They had given him only one answer to his problem, but it seemed less and less likely that he would be able to use it. He needed another plan.

Swirling the wine in the glass, he downed the contents and stood. Raising his wand again and turning widdershins, Severus released the spell that had previously encompassed the room, preparing to retire for the night. However, as soon as the wards dropped, a frantic pounding came from the front door. From the increasing frenzy, it appeared to have been going for quite some time.

Frowning, Snape moved to stand in front of the door. With a whispered word it became transparent, showing a very wet, bedraggled woman beating furiously with one hand on the door. The other hand was protectively clutching a book-bag to her chest.

Snape’s eyes widened briefly before a satisfied smirk crossed his face. He reached forward and opened the door wide.

“Miss Granger,” he sneered. “What a pleasant surprise!”

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A/N Caina is the first level of the 9th circle of Dante’s Hell. It is reserved for traitors to family and relatives.

Thanks to my amazing, alphabetically organised betas for this (drum roll) GinnyW & Griff!!