Non-verbal Communication

Author's Note – WARNING: Okay, this is a grisly chapter, so please proceed with caution. This chapter contains graphic accounts of childhood abuse, so if you feel at any point that you need to stop, just scroll to the bottom of the page to my author's note, and I will include a much more subdued summary so that you will get the gist of it and will be able to continue on with further developments. Hope that made sense. Again, please, please proceed with caution...

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"What," he growled menacingly, opening the door only a fraction with his long-fingered hand poised to slam it at any given moment. It was not a question, but a statement infused with such resentment and loathing that it gave Hermione the distinct impression of having been spit on. Evidently, Severus Snape was not a morning person.

"I...I wanted to apologize again for last night," Hermione stuttered, losing all semblance of confidence and bravery when faced with his foul mood.

"Apology," he drawled, pausing to let the word linger with anticipation, "not accepted. Now, please remove yourself from my presence and do whatever it is that you do at this God-awful hour." He attempted to slam the door, but Hermione wedged her foot in at just the right moment, effectively and painfully (for her) halting his retreat.

"No." This was all that she said, as though her actions needed no justification. His pale face flushed in indignation.

"Get. Out. Of. My. Sight."

"No. Not until you hear me out."

His eyes flickered dangerously. "Who the fuck do you think you are?"

She bristled visibly, but continued as though he had not spoken. "I am sorry for my inappropriate manners..."

"Manners?" he sputtered.

Again, she ignored him. "When attempting to heal you Saturday. I meant no harm, but I can see now that harm was done. And I'm sorry. As for last night, I'm sorry that I wasn't more sensitive to your feelings..."

"Get away from me."

Still, she kept the door propped open with her foot, unrelenting. "I realize now that it may have seemed as though I was attacking you, and I'm sorry. I can understand how you might feel..."

"Do not even entertain the notion that you can possibly ever understand how I feel," he hissed softly, so quietly that she had to strain to hear each acidic syllable as it fell, heavy with an emotion she could not decipher, from his lips.

She said nothing. He was breathing hard, and his jaw was clenched, as though he were physically holding himself back from unleashing his anger on her. His hand clutched the door tightly; his knuckles were a stark white against the contrasting dark wood. Black eyes met brown. She could smell her own fear in the air, yet she was frozen, paralyzed by the black pools that bored into her with a fierceness she had never before witnessed.

Time stood still. There was no sound but the deep breaths of witch and wizard in tandem. She stood transfixed by his raw gaze. His pupils dilated and contracted.

You can't hurt me. Nothing can hurt me. You can't hurt me. Nothing can hurt me now.

Hermione felt as though she was falling, hearing the same mantra repeating in her head, but in his unmistakable voice: You can't hurt me. Nothing can hurt me. You can't hurt me. Nothing can hurt me now. She struggled in vain to comprehend. To stay in the present. To wrench her eyes away from his. But she was motionless, petrified, unmoving, unblinking, falling into the depths of the dark pools that continued to stare at her.

Darkness engulfed her.

Flashes of light assaulted her, flying by at unbelievable speeds.

She was weightless, surrounded by nothingness. Fear surged within her, but the fear was not her own. No, she felt eerily calm; the fear seemed like a detached, sentient being. Yet it surged, and she could feel adrenaline pumping within her, without her, around her, tingling in her extremities. Fear was a color. Fear was white. Cold, sterile. It was a bright light that blinded her as it grew larger and larger, finally swallowing her whole.

The darkness was gone.

She looked around her; she was in a place she did not recognize. She fleetingly contemplated the possibility of a Portkey, yet she had not touched anything. Side-Along Apparition? Where was her employer?

She knew she should feel frightened, yet the emotion was strangely absent.

I can still feel you. All I do, yet I can still feel you.

It was a whisper, yet it was silent. It had a voice, but it was not spoken aloud. His voice. She whirled around, hoping to find him, to question him, to find an explanation...

But she was alone.

More light snaked around her, changing the scenery.

After all I've tried, you are still inside.

"Me?" she asked the voice. "Are you speaking to me? Where am I?"

Like a deck of cards, the environment around her shuffled. Shifted.

"You filthy, lying, pig!" The shout rang out like a shot. She spun around, trying to locate its source.

She found herself face to face with an aging man sporting a hooked nose and lank hair arranged in greasy clumps. He was looking at her. No. Through her. Spit foamed at his mouth, giving Hermione impression of a rabid dog.

There was a shuffling noise behind her. She cautiously turned, still concerned with the strange absence of her fear. This terror, the one that she did feel, was foreign, invasive, dissociated, unfamiliar.

She had to search for the origin of the rustling. It came from an open, small room, most likely a closet, hidden under a pile of ragged clothes.

It was a child.

It was Severus Snape.

Hermione nearly lost her balance.

"Get out of there!" the man shouted again. The boy complied. He looked to be around eight or nine years of age, this young Snape, his eyes large, his face soft and not yet comprised of sharp angles. He was naked save for a pair of underwear.

Wet underwear.

He was painfully thin. Blood trickled from his slightly parted lips. Morning sunlight penetrated the scene from somewhere, shining across his face and creating dark shadows around his eyes.

"What did I tell you? What did I say would happen if you fucking pissed your bed again?" The man looked deranged in his senseless rage, yet the little Severus stared up at him indifferently.

This seemed to anger the man even more. Roughly grabbing the child by the hair, he dragged the boy to a bed that materialized into existence a small distance away. There was a large wet spot on the sheets, only barely discernable by its darker color from the dried stains that surrounded it.

The man, Tobias Snape – Hermione felt sure it was the same man she had discovered in the family portrait at Snape's home – brought the child before the bed, still clutching a handful of hair. "Say it," Tobias demanded. The boy was silent.

Growling, Tobias violently shoved Severus' face into the damp spot, vigorously grinding the child's nose in the urine-soaked sheet. "Say it!" the man screamed as he yanked the boy's head up, allowing Snape a moment to breathe.

The boy's voice broke as he whispered, "I'm a filthy boy."

"Louder!" shrieked Tobias, tugging harder on his son's hair to emphasize the word.

"I'm. A. Filthy. Boy!" cried the young Severus Snape as his father stripped him of his underwear, his only remaining protection, and pushed him face down in the mattress, quickly disposing of his own trousers and undergarments.

Hermione wanted to scream. She wanted to be sick. She wanted to cry, to close her eyes, to intervene, but she could only remain horrifically still. Suddenly, she glimpsed something she had not seen before, but felt certain that it had been there the entire time.

Eileen Snape stood, watching as helplessly as Hermione, as her son was brutally abused by her husband. She said not a word, moved not an inch, cast not a single protective charm, but bore silent witness to a brutality of such depths that Voldemort himself may never have sunk to: the physical, emotional, psychological abuse, torture, and rape of a child.

All I do, I can still feel you. After all I've tried, you are still inside.

Light suddenly permeated her vision as the environment changed around her, her stomach suddenly rising as she felt herself falling, being swallowed whole by the brightness.

It seemed an eternity before her feet once again found purchase. The light dissipated away slowly like tendrils of smoke, revealing a new scene before her.

A boy, a slightly older Severus Snape with shoulder-length, jet black hair, no more than eleven years of age, stood defiantly before an older boy that Hermione immediately recognized from the smug sneer: Lucius Malfoy.

"So, you have impressive knowledge of the Dark Arts, I hear," Lucius whispered seductively, leaning in close to young Severus' ear.

"So?" bit back the black-haired boy.

"Wilkes, teach this disgusting half-blood a lesson in manners when speaking to his superiors," Malfoy purred, his eyes never leaving the younger wizard before him.

A great, lumbering bulk of a teenage boy shoved past onlookers assembled and clenched his hulking fist around Snape's throat. Severus did not squirm, did not move, did not express anything but a mask of cool indifference.

The large boy, Wilkes, grinned evilly, displaying a row of yellowed, rotting teeth. Rearing back, Wilkes placed all of his weight into his fist as it suddenly crashed soundly into Snape's right cheek.

Other than spitting out a tooth, the black-haired boy made no noise, no movement, not even a flinch. Angered and threatened by a loss of masculinity before a large crowd, Wilkes threw another punch, then another, and another, and still the boy made no sound. Not a whimper. Instead, a slow smile crept across his bloody face.

"Kill me," Snape stated calmly, clearly. "Because you cannot hurt me otherwise."

Wilkes dropped him suddenly, a fleeting look of intense confusion flashing across his face. He looked to Lucius for leadership.

Malfoy only stared at Snape.

Frowning, the crumpled, bloody form of the young Severus Snape cried out, "Finish it then! Coward!" No one moved.

The environment rippled, then faded as another scene came into view.

Eleven-year-old Snape lying naked on his back, an equally unclothed young Bellatrix Black straddling him, riding him, crying out. His eyes were numb, dead.

Flash.

Thirteen-year-old Snape, waking to find Malfoy holding his chin roughly, thrusting his penis into the young boy's mouth.

Another flash.

Albus Dumbledore towered over a teenaged Snape, hissing, "You disgust me."

Another flash; the scenes were changing so rapidly now, Hermione barely had time to register what she was seeing before it evaporated and another memory shoved itself forward.

Professor McGonagall was teaching. Lily Evans glared at Snape from across the room.

Flash.

Adult Snape stood over the grave of Lily Potter, placing a large flower on the tombstone.

Flash.

A woman writhed and moaned as she straddled another vision of an adult Snape, though he stared into the distance, his eyes reflecting little, his expression shuttered. Angered that she was not getting a response, the woman slapped him across the face.

He didn't look at her. His body was still.

She grasped his arm and bit into it, drawing a copious amount of blood. He turned his head to calmly stare at her with lifeless eyes. There was a long pause before his voice broke the silence, "The money is on the nightstand."

The woman laughed hollowly as she said, "Keep it. You're the whore here, love."

"Stop!" roared a familiar voice, his voice. It came at her from all directions, reverberating around her. She felt a feeble push at her consciousness before the voice repeated its plea: "Stop!" Another shove, this time more successful. She felt herself being pulled into the darkness, the bright light receding. Dim flickers of memories passed her by in a haze.

Hermione felt a disorienting sensation as she focused on the darkness that grew smaller and smaller until she found that she was staring at two holes of blackness, a dizzying array of light attacking her peripheral vision.

Belatedly, she blinked, and the familiar corridor spun around her. She fought to keep her balance, fought to hold back the tears and the wave of nausea that threatened to force its way up her throat. She felt pain, unending, unfathomable, unrelenting pain, despair, and conflicting numbness. She felt too much and yet not at all.

Her former professor sank to his knees before her, his body silently trembling and shaking. He hid his face from her. She reached out to him. He flinched away from her with a hissing intake of breath.

"Professor Snape?" called out a female voice from a short distance away, the sound reverberating off the corridor walls. A recognizable voice, though Hermione could not tear her eyes away from her employer to glance at the intruder. It was a female, that much Hermione could discern. There were other strange noises, odd noises, but Hermione couldn't place them.

"Professor Snape? It's Pansy, Pansy Malfoy. Oh...oh, God. I'll get Madam Pomfrey."

Just as darkness began to invade her senses and her body began to sway dangerously from side to side, Hermione realized the sounds were of Snape retching.

Author's Note – Thousands of thank-yous to my extraordinary beta, Angel Mischa, and the invaluable advice from both Amsev and Irishredlass. Without their encouragement this chapter would never have seen the light of day.

Also, the lines "All I do, I can still feel you." and "After all I've tried, you are still inside." and all variations are lyrics copyrighted by the incredibly talented Trent Reznor of Nine Inch Nails fame. They all come from the song, "Underneath It All" from the album, "The Fragile". If you have not listened to this song, or the entire album, I highly recommend you do so.

The song (and this just might be my projection here) seems as though it could be written from the POV of a survivor of child abuse.

Or not.

The "You can't hurt me, nothing can hurt me..." is also by Trent Reznor, from the song "The Ruiner" on the "Downward Spiral" album. Again, highly recommended.

Up Next... Shit hits the fan.

Below is the chapter summary...

Brief Summary – (Please bear with me, I'm absolute crap at summaries, I'm sorry.)

Intent on apologizing and smoothing things over with Severus, Hermione shows up at his door unannounced the next morning. Angered by her persistence to see the matter put to rest, and angered by her existence in general, Severus attempts to close the door in her face.

Our little heroine uses her foot as a door-stopper, and bravely demands that the two discuss the past events in a civilized manner. A staring contest ensues, both unwilling to back down, to look away.

Suddenly, Hermione finds herself in completely new surroundings, but unsure what exactly took place. She hears Severus' voice speaking in the distance, but can't make sense of what he says.

Belatedly, she realizes that she is trapped within his memories, as scenes of his abusive childhood flicker before her. Scenes of abuse (sexual/mental/physical) by his father flash by her, as well as visions of abuse from Bellatrix, Lucius, and Wilkes. There is a brief recollection of Dumbledore telling a teenaged Snape that Snape disgusts him.

There are recent scenes as well, including adult-Severus visiting Lily's grave, and an excerpt of a night with a prostitute where Severus does not actively participate in. His eyes are lifeless, his body is immobile, and in an attempt to illicit a response, the woman bites Severus' arm, drawing copious amounts of blood. He doesn't flinch, but instead calmly tells her that the money is on the nightstand, to which she replies, "Keep it. You're the whore here, love."

Finally Severus is able to push Hermione out of his memories, and as Hermione begins to lose consciousness, she hears Pansy's voice in the hall asking if Snape is alright and that she will get Madam Pomfrey. The chapter ends with Snape retching.

Okay. I think that covers it all.