The sound of silence

"Well. Fuck. He paced the room like a caged tiger tormented and taunted. He was stuck. Captured, his wand had been taken and the wards set so heavily in this room that Voldemort himself would have hard work tearing them down and working through them fastidiously.

He sat on the dusty bed; red, threadbare carpet lined the floor of the room. A dusty window covered in cobwebs his only foray into the outside world, he spent many a day staring out of the window at the world outside, unassuming and unnoticed. The situation was hopeless with no chance of looking as if it were to turn around.

Voldemort wouldn't come looking for him, Dumbledore was dead, and Harry Potter assumed he was the one responsible for the great Albus Dumbledore meeting his maker. The truth was, whilst he did die at his hand, he was hardly the murderer that they all made him out to be. Acting on a person's wishes was hardly grounds for being treated like a blood-thirsty brute. But then again, he didn't blame them for thinking and feeling what they did. But Dumbledore wasn't exactly the upstanding pillar or society that they all assumed he was; far from it, actually.

Scrubbing his palms over his eyes he growled low in his throat. Fuck. Shit. Fuck this to hell. Who did Potter and co think they were anyway keeping him locked here in the room, stopping by once a day to drop off food and scurry off without even as much as a sidewards glance? Which suited him just fine, he didn't want to associate with the likes of them right now, anyway.

He gnashed his teeth together in anger and frustration, how could he let this happen. How could this happen? He was careless, slow and had only himself to blame for being caught. Fucking Bellatrix was supposed to back him up. Had she done the task at hand he would be free now. Never rely on anyone, especially a sociopathic wench like her.

He couldn't get the thought of that night three weeks ago out of his mind. He had merely acted on the wishes of Dumbledore and now, he paid the ultimate price. Trapped. Held here for only Merlin would know how long slowly going stir-crazy as the same four walls seemed to close in on him inch by inch, day by day.

The night he had killed Dumbledore he ran. Ran from the school, ran from what he did. He just ran. But Harry fucking Potter had chased him, chased him down like a lion hunting a gazelle. One wrong move and Harry had knocked him to the ground. Bellatrix saw, the fucking slag saw him down, trapped and still fled. Fucking bitch. It was okay for her in Malfoy Manor with every need met living a life of luxury while sucking Voldemort's cock more than likely.

He had been dragged back here, held captive, tortured a little and thrown into this room without a second thought. They tried to extract information out of him, but he wouldn't give it to them. Not now, not ever. Not after this treatment, anyway. And now, he guessed he wasn't of much use to them because he wouldn't talk, and he wouldn't cooperate with them and they really didn't know what else to do with him now.

They wouldn't let him go now, not after leaving him to rot here for weeks on end, they were the vigilantes, not the ministry, they were just as corrupt as he was holding somebody against their will was against the law, no matter how much of a wretched human being they were.

They had yelled at him. Screamed. Berated him. Harry Potter had acted the big macho man and threw a few punches in while screaming about the injustice of him killing a great a man as Dumbledore. Harry looked very much the cat that got the cream when he virtually gloated that he knew Snape was never to be trusted from the beginning. If only the little shit knew the atrocities and the fucking hardships, he had put himself through to save his incompetent ass on many occasions. Prick.

Soft footsteps could be hear padding up the hallway, breath hitched in his throat, these footsteps were different, softer, gentler. They didn't harbour the anger within them that the others had, Harry, Ron, Kingsley and the rest of the order. Was this someone to save him? Someone to help?

The door handle rattled gently, and it sprung open, his shoulders slumped, and he rolled his eyes. Hermione Granger. He had almost forgotten about her. She hadn't really been involved in any of the little torture session he was privy to. In fact, she had just sat in the corner nibbling her lower lip and muttering under her breath that this was a bad idea and although how terrible of a person he was, he was still afforded basic human rights.

"Professor Snape?" She asked gently, looking almost to the floor as he released the breath he was holding.

"Here's your food," She whispered under her breath shooting an unsure, sideways glance at the man she had known for many years but didn't really know him at all. Not even a little bit.

She set it down on the small table in the room and scurried off, giving a backwards glance.

"I'm sorry," she whispered before closing the door, worry lingering just beneath the surface of her eyes.

Well. That was different, never once had Granger been the one to deliver him food. Never ever. And what was she sorry for? The abhorrent meal he was served daily. The putrid room he was held captive in perhaps? Surely, she wasn't sorry for anything, not of something of magnitude, anyway.

He sighed, resigned to the fact he may never, ever be a free man again. He would just have to sit here and wait. Bide his time and hope to the gods above that somehow, somebody came to his rescue. He snorted. As if that would happen. Right now, he was a liability to the Death Eaters and a traitor to the order. He was walking the tightrope of grey because not everything was black or white and he knew nobody would come to save him. No, he was at the mercery of Harry fucking Potter and the order. At the mercy of the do-gooders and the bleeding hearts. He needed a plan, he needed to devise the best plan he could muster up. Yes, that would do.

The cogs of thought ticked over and over in his head. He couldn't escape. Perhaps he could grab one of their wands when they came in, ambush them. That could work, except he was sure they never kept a wand on their person. No, that wouldn't do.

He tapped his bottom lip in deep, uninterrupted thought when a brow raised into his hairline and a smirk crossed his lips. He would befriend the girl, use her to get out and freedom would be his, yes, now that was a master plan if he had ever thought of one. He could be very manipulative when he needed to be especially when it spelled out his freedom.

So, befriend the girl, convince her he was nothing but harmless, plant the seed in her mind for escape, wait till it was her idea, run, and then destroy her. Ok, so maybe he didn't need to do the last bit… But it certainly sounded fun.

A/N: Just an idea I had kicking around in my head. Because I needed to add yet another story to my workload. Oh well, you only live once, right?!

-Aliasmel1