You won't take her
The man scoffed despite the gravity of the situation. The cover he so meticulously maintained over the course of the years, gone in a single moment. But he couldn’t help himself; not when he heard the commotion.
There was a break-in at Hogwarts, and everyone was up and looking for the intruder.
Of course, Severus knew who was the intruder.
Ronald fucking Weasley, carrying Severus’ wife, all bloodied and looking as if she’d die any moment now. There were deep gushes everywhere he could see; her head, her torso, and her arms –Merlin, those arms, carved with words that shouldn’t exist, from people who shouldn’t exist either–. She was beaten, brought down to her knees, a flower in danger of wilting before it bloomed.
And Ronald Weasley, disregarding the Carrows who were after him like bloodhounds, carried Hermione in his arms and ran through the castle, until he reached the Headmaster’s quarters.
The place were Severus was barely existing lately.
“What’s the meaning of this–” Severus started, but then he saw his witch and almost lost all sense of logic.
“I trust her,” the young Weasley muttered. “She was tortured at Malfoy Manor. Bellatrix almost–almost–”
Taking a deep breath, the boy continued, “Hermione begged me to bring her here. I don’t know why, but I’ll trust her.”
“Leave her to me. Go hide with McGonagall,” he said, not acknowledging the fact that his hands as he held the barely breathing girl were shaking.
There was barely enough time to do some basic tending to the girl, all while muttering all kinds of curses to the gods that treated her so horribly. He knew they would be soon found out: the Carrows sniffed Muggleborns out in an uncanny manner, and surely Hermione Granger wouldn’t escape their notice. However, he wouldn’t let her go, not again, not after trying to push her away–
His door opened abruptly revealing the Carrows, tearing down his cover with Voldemort, threatening his life. Her life, most importantly.
“Give the mudblood over,” he heard their voice saying. “Give her over and we’ll make sure the Dark Lord won’t punish you too hard.”
“If you harm even one hair–” he started, but the Carrows’ laughter –sinister, bloodcurdling–, cut him off.
“I told you, we’re here for the girl, not you. Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Hand her over.”
Severus turned and looked at her unconscious body, and, with all the things he craved to tell her one day on his mind, he gripped his wand and turned it against the Carrows.
“And I told you, over my dead body.”