Year Seven: Witness of Darkness and Doubt

It is time again to bestow special thanks upon my most talented and lovely betas, Logical Quirk and Southern Witch. Also I want to express how much I deeply appreciate my few, albeit loyal, fans who keep sticking with me. If you find yourself becoming a fan, please let me know. Post a review!

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Christmas morning dawned cold and blustery. Snape woke to find something pressing against his feet at the foot of the bed. Instinctively he kicked and sat up only to catch a glimpse of a brightly wrapped package going over the edge. He groaned and got up to retrieve whatever ridiculous thing McGonagall or Dumbledore had decided to get him this year. He had a stock of black socks, mufflers, and gloves that seemed to only get added to and never used.

Picking up the package, he could see a small card attached. "Merry Christmas, Love Davindra," it read with a flourished curlicue. With mild curiosity and dread, he tore off the paper to reveal a new nightshirt. It was a dense, rich, creamy cotton with an embroidered "S" in green, silver, and black over the heart. When he unfolded the nightshirt something fell to the floor. It was a picture. Snape picked it up and saw that it was of Davindra. She was curled up in a wingback chair reading a book. The girl in the magical picture continued with her reading with little notice of the man looking at her, turning a page and swinging her foot. Then, she gave a look out of the corner of her eye, and a coquettish smile soon spread over her face. The photographic Davindra coyly pulled her skirt further up her thigh and continued to peruse the book in her hands with an expression of playful reserve.

Snape had no idea when or where the picture was taken, but it reminded him of the times she sat in the corner of his office while they both silently worked. Often the entire night would pass with hardly three or four sentences spoken, but the looks they exchanged could set stone ablaze. It was the best foreplay he could think of.

Surprisingly, the gifts made him smile. But then a guilty dread flooded him when he realized he had not gotten Davindra anything in return. Gifts were the last thing on his mind. She would be waking soon with a pile of presents from her family and nothing from him. How could she not be disappointed when she had put forth so much obvious effort for his own gifts?

"Fuck," Snape muttered out loud as he wracked his brain for ideas at such a late date.

As he dressed, he thought. Mentally he took stock of everything in his possession and critiqued its worth. He realized that outside of books and potions supplies, he owned very little and even less of any real value. It being Christmas day, there would be no stores open. That was, if he even had a clue what he was looking for. He had never bought for a woman before besides his mother.

A idea suddenly occurred to him, and he hurriedly finished dressing, then grabbed his warmest cloak and headed for the gates of Hogwarts.

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

It was late afternoon by the time Snape ventured out of his chambers again and began a search for Davindra. His trip back to Spinner's End had taken little time and left him with most of the day to finish grading and work on lesson plans.

Not surprisingly, Snape found Davindra in the library, pawing through old books and writing notes.

He approached her, not sure if he would receive cold indifference in regards his absent Christmas present. But her usual warm smile appeared when she spotted him.

"Merry Christmas, Professor," she said in a hushed but cheery tone.

A reply was on his lips, along with an entire speech about the generosity of her gifts and an explanation for the lateness of his own when he spied Madam Pince glowering at them from around a book shelf.

'Gads, doesn't she even take holidays off from books?' he thought dourly. 'Probably not, considering they're the only things that can stand her company.'

Instead he quietly whispered for Davindra to take a walk with him. She happily agreed, taking only a scroll of parchment with her and leaving the pile of books scattered across the table. Madam Pince's fury was evident, though she said nothing while she watched them leave.

Once safely in the hall, Snape was at last felt free to speak. "I wanted to thank you for the gifts. They were very thoughtful." He hoped she believed in the words he spoke even if the delivery was stiff and formal.

"You're welcome," she said with the return of her sweet smile. "I hope the nightshirt fits. I guessed on the size."

"I'm sure it's fine."

He guided them to an out of the way alcove that was flooded with a prism of colors as sun splashed through a tall, narrow stained glass window. Indicating for her to take the window seat, Snape made sure no one was around to hear or see their exchange.

"I'm not sure what you must think of me for not reciprocating your kindness," he began quietly.

Davindra gave a quizzical look, and he continued.

"I assume you received many lovely things from your family and friends. But you surely can't pretend that you didn't notice that mine was not among them."

"That's not what Christmas is about," she said in a slightly scolding tone. "I only got you a nightshirt and a picture anyway."

"Still," he interrupted, "there is something that I want you to have, and I felt it best to give it to you in person. But I do apologize for my tardiness. "

Snape pulled a small wooden box from his pocket and handed it to Davindra. She took it with a curious smile and looked up through her black lashes at him.

"Thank you, Severus."

He nodded in a slightly embarrassed, curt way and motioned for her to open it. When she did, she gave a breathy exclamation at what lay inside.

Snape's mother, Eileen, could never have been confused for anything but a plain woman. But that was not of her choosing. Cruel genetics, neglect, and more pressing responsibilities pronounced her unfit for such fineries as jewels and fancy clothes. But Snape knew that in her heart she had always longed for them. He had seen her looking at such things regretfully in shop windows, though she never dared set foot in the stores let alone consider buying such treasures.

With some of his first earnings as a young man, Snape had gone out and bought his mother something truly frivolous and impractical for a woman who mostly wore plain sack dresses and second-hand robes. A broach with a large garnet stone, inside of which was the raised image of princely crown. Eileen Snape had at first thought the item was a mistake or a joke. But when she had realized that it was a gift from her son, she had burst into tears, declaring it the most beautiful jewel on earth and her son more kind and generous than she deserved. Snape had only seen her wear it a handful of times. She said she would only wear it when the occasion merited. But he knew she had spent many nights looking at its details and holding it to the light, perhaps thinking of the rich ornaments that could have been hers if she had only made different choices with her life.

Going back to Spinner's End to retrieve this item from her long disused room had flooded Snape with so many memories that he felt he would suffocate if he did not get out as soon as possible. Once outside, Snape was then awash in relief, not just for leaving the past behind a locked door, but for also finding a way to leave a bit of his mother and himself to live on in case he met the fate he feared await him. And, for finding the perfect present twice in his lifetime, and on Christmas day even.

Davindra now took the broach from the box and held it up to the light to better see the intricate crown nestled inside the stone, just as his mother had done.

"It was my mother's," he finally told her.

She looked back at him with an open-mouthed expression of wonder.

"Oh, Severus, I can't take this if it was your mother's," she said, placing the broach back in the box.

"She's been dead nearly twenty years," Snape said as he sat down next to her on the window seat. "It's been in the back of a drawer gathering dust all this time. I think even she would consider that a shame."

Davindra continued to look at the piece in her hand. "But don't you want to keep it to remember her by?"

"No," was all he replied in a quiet, candid voice.

"Is it a heirloom? Isn't it valuable?" she asked, again taking it out of the box.

"No." This time he chuckled slightly. "It was just something I bought her when I had a little money. It's probably worth far less now than what I paid for it. But she put quite a bit of sentiment in it."

Snape took the broach in his hand. "Her maiden name was Prince, so I thought the crown fitting. They were a fine and noble wizarding family that fell on hard times and has since basically died out."

He pinned the broach to Davindra's shirt just under her collar. She reached up to touch it and smiled at him.

"Thank you. I'm proud to have it. It's definitely the best Christmas present I got, and all the better that you gave it to me in person."

She reached up and gently stroked his face. Snape almost leaned in to kiss her when he realized they were out in the open. Instead he removed her hand from him and squeezed it once quickly before he stood again.

"Christmas dinner will begin soon," he said formally as he straightened his robes. "I suppose I will see you there."

The corner of his mouth twitched with a slight smile as he left her. Very quietly under his breath he found himself humming "Coventry Carole." He stopped as soon as he realized what he was doing.

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

The holiday was all too short. Snape and Davindra managed several deliciously languid hours in each other's company, feeling comfortably sequestered from the rest of existence in his dungeon quarters. They were free to lounge in bed or in front of the fire, talking, eating, or sleeping. Snape realized he should have felt more wary of all the time they devoted to one another, so obviously absent from the small numbers left at Hogwarts. But he allowed himself the feeling of entitlement to the few scraps of pleasure his life afforded him. He viewed those days as a last meal of sorts before his final journey to the gallows.

Immediately when the first wave of students rushed the old castle doors after the break, the precious cold, quiet that had settled in the corridors and rooms of Hogwarts was shattered and replaced with a busy, distracting pandemonium. It seemed that the new year pulled everyone in many directions at once. Suddenly Davindra was as scarce as a Thestral . Her various projects and preparation for the upcoming N.E.W.T. exams demanded more attention and energy than any human could possess. It was unsurprising that their time together suddenly dissipated.

It might have bothered Snape more if he himself wasn't so overwhelmed with his own duties, the most taxing of which was trying to keep an eye on Draco Malfoy and his challenges. The boy came back from Christmas at an undoubtedly subdued Malfoy Manor no less gaunt and anxious than before. Snape knew that reprimands from the Dark Lord himself had been an unwelcome present during the holidays. Again, he felt pity for the boy who was doomed to fail, though he bravely struggled in vain.

For all Snape's attempts at finding a truce between the two of them, Draco still regarded him as an unwelcome adversary in his personal ambitions. The boy would not talk about what he was doing wandering the school halls at all hours nor what any of his plans were. He would not admit to the caper with the necklace and refused all offers of help. And he had no issue with tossing out vicious, cutting comments to his own head of house and once-favorite teacher. When he really wanted to shake lose of Snape, Draco would give him a particularly nasty sneer and say, "Aren't you late for a date with your girlfriend? Wouldn't want to keep her waiting. If I remember, she's the impatient sort."

It would be all Snape could do to keep from hexing the cheeky brat into a smoldering cinder of ash. But he would let it go because putting up more roadblocks to the Dark Lord's plan would only come back to torment him. However, that didn't mean that Snape couldn't find other ways of uncovering Draco's secrets. Crabbe and Goyle were easy marks. It took little manufactured angst to find reason to keep them in detention, to which Draco would rage righteously. The two beefy, beady-eyed simpletons were never sure of whom to be more afraid of, Draco or Snape.

Draco was being very careful, though. In Snape's attempts to extract information from the witless sidekicks, he only discovered that they knew virtually nothing. Their only orders were to keep a look-out while Draco tended to business. What he did while behind a closed door was as much a mystery to them as it was to Snape.

The only person Snape dreaded facing more with his limited knowledge of events than the Dark Lord was Dumbledore. But he could not ignore the summons to the tower office any more than he could the burning mark on his arm.

"So you know no more of his plans?" the great wizard asked him in what felt like an overtly patronizing tone.

Snape resisted the urge to disseminate a chilling glare when he replied, "No, sir. He's keeping it all very close."

Dumbledore continued his own unwavering stare. "Harry overheard you two arguing during Slughorn's party, it seems."

"What? How?" Snape asked in dubious horror. "Oh," he groaned, "that damned invisibility cloak. Headmaster, you should never have let him have it. It's just given him license to run amuck in this school at his own whim. He's an invisible menace."

"It has proved more valuable than not in most instances," Dumbledore said. "Though I will admit he has perhaps taken some liberties that were improper. But it was rightfully his anyway. Who was I to keep it from him?"

"You're the Headmaster. You can do whatever you like," Snape reminded tersely.

Dumbledore chuckled. "If only I actually possessed that much power. Some things are even bigger than me, Severus. Now, back to the issue of Draco."

A long familiar cold ball of dread rolled in Snape's stomach.

"You must continue to stay vigilant of Draco's activities," Dumbledore said with quiet seriousness. "It doesn't matter if you have to don an invisibility cloak yourself and creep along ten paces behind him. It's for his own safety and that of everyone in this school that we know what he is planning."

"Do you think I don't know this?" Snape snapped darkly. "I've devoted as much attention to that obstinate little whelp as I dared without completely shirking all my other responsibilities. But while he may not be successful in his tasks for the Dark Lord, he is quite well practiced in being subversive."

The old wizard sighed loudly and gave Snape a piteous look over his half glasses. "I realize that your position is the most dangerous and precarious of us all. But it is also highly consequential."

"I am well aware of what I risk by failing." Snape's gaze narrowed further, and his voice plummeted to an arctic tone. "But what of you and your search for the Horcruxes and the Vessel?"

Dumbledore gave a nod of acquiescence to Snape's charge. "I've set Harry to work on the last piece of the puzzle to find the next Horcrux. The Vessel is still a mystery. I take it you've heard no more?"

Snape shook his head slightly. "Either everyone is being uncharacteristically silent about it or no one honestly knows anything. Of course, it could all just be codswallop. Gossip is as rampant among Death Eaters as it is among a coven of old witches."

Again, Dumbledore nodded solemnly, and there was blissful silence in which Snape could allow his anxious fury to cool to a seething agitation.

"What are you going to do about her?" The Headmaster's voice finally sounded.

Snape looked at the old man behind the desk with dull inquiry. "Who?"

"The one you've been protecting all these years." His tone was matter of fact, but Dumbledore's expression was stern.

The two wizards held each other's intense look for a moment. Snape's heart took on an accelerating rhythm in his chest as he considered what to respond with.

"You're referring to Davindra Collins?" he asked in total calm. "She has nothing to do with any of this."

"But yet there is danger for her," Dumbledore replied.

"If you're speaking of Madame Collins, I believe that Miss Collins has finally managed to break that suffocating bond with the help of her mother." Snape kept his manner relaxed as he spoke. "She did, after all, return for her final year at Hogwarts."

"I was speaking more of the bond between you two," Dumbledore interjected with a leisurely point of his finger in Snape's direction.

Again they challenged each other with sharp, keen eyes under a heavy silence before Snape finally spoke in a careful voice that was laced with warning.

"And what do you mean exactly?"

"It's more than obvious that your interest in her has gone beyond teacher and pupil." Dumbledore held up his hand before Snape could erupt in objection. "I will save the lecture on morality if you will have the decency to consider the risk you have put her in by allowing yourself to become so intimately involved with someone at this particular time."

Snape forced restrain of all his emotions so that he showed the Headmaster nothing but a placid face and stoic composure. Though he wasn't certain how to respond when being both challenged and excused of his transgression in the same breath.

"I have given Miss Collins no promises, and I have shared no confidences," he spoke. "She has never and need never be an issue in regards to my duties for the Dark Lord or the Order."

Dumbledore sat back in his chair, crossing hand over withered claw above his stomach and continued his visual assessment of the dark man before him.

"Then I feel quite sorry for her, for her heart will surely be broken," he said with blunt gloom.

Snape did little to keep the sardonic curl of his lip in check. "A broken heart can heal especially quick in the young."

"The best armor you possessed was your untouchable resolve, Severus. The thing that makes so many of us weak against our enemies, even me, is our love for those in our lives." Dumbledore spoke with a grave passion and seemed to lean forward in his chair. "That is one of Voldemort's favorite paths: cut down everyone who matters to his adversary and eventually they themselves will fall."

Snape too came forward to the edge of his seat as he set in to defend himself. "Simply because I may have taken a liberty that was flagrantly and repeatedly shoved under my nose does not mean that I am now vulnerable to it." His voice began to rise with his growing words and anger. "I have not survived all these years by wearing my heart on my sleeve for everyone to see. And though you may think me a cold and heartless man, I must unequivocally state that I have invested no long lasting emotions in Davindra Collins, which could beget my downfall."

He sprung up from his chair in a dramatic motion to continue his raving. "I have spent fifteen years holed up in this stone castle, serving you, these students, the wizarding community, and once again the Dark Lord. I have worked and slaved to try to clear my name for some fragment of dignity. And through it all I've asked for very little for myself. I will most humbly apologize for the dereliction of my duty if you wish. But I will not sit here and allow you to call me weak!"

Dumbledore, too, rose in an attempt to calm the raging Potions master. "Insulting you was not the intention of my words, Severus," he said firmly. "You must know that the last thing I ever intended to do when I took you in to Hogwarts was to sentence you to a solitary life of loneliness. But I can see that that is indeed what you have suffered from. And it is probably what finally drove you to succumb to the temptation after all this time. However, if she truly meant nothing to you, you would not have spent the last six years standing over her like some dark guardian angel. The capacity to love, in and of itself, is not a fault."

"Love?" Snape spat with a bitter laugh.

"What I am trying to say is that if your concerns about Madame Collins have even a sliver of merit," Dumbledore continued as he came to stand before Snape, "then your involvement with her granddaughter has given her and perhaps Voldemort himself a valuable weapon that can be used against you."

Snape was about to go back to the ridiculous insult in the accusation of being in love with Davindra when he realized what the Headmaster was actually implying with his speech. He felt strength weep from his body like water and he hid it by leaning against the chair from which he had stood.

"Your Occlumency skills are matched only by Voldemort's. Your knowledge of the Dark Arts is unsurpassed. I doubt there is another Death Eater in ranks more imposing or fearsome. How else could you even be touched?" Dumbledore asked.

"But she means nothing," Snape said with far less fury than before.

"Then you've wasted her." The Headmaster's words were hard and cold. "You may still be safe, but her life is marked."

Dumbledore turned to go back to his desk. "A rather cruel sentence to hand down on top of a broken heart," he added casually.

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

Snape found himself in his chambers with almost no memory of his exit from the Headmaster's office nor the journey to his dungeon sanctuary. All he comprehended was the overwhelming numbness that consumed him and the feel of the Firewhisky bottle in his hand. Dumbledore's words still reverberated in his head like a painful gong. Davindra had been used to weaken him, to make him susceptible. He should have listened to his own suspicions years before.

Physical nausea filled him when he scrutinized his audacious stupidity. At worst he had feared for his job or his already degraded reputation. But something much larger had been at risk. For to long he had foolishly believed Madame Collins was a harmless old potions mistress who vicariously lived through her grandchild's success. Even when her connections with the Dark Lord were suspected, he had never realized how intricate her web really was. Now he was caught.

And as much as he wished to have loathing toward Davindra, he found himself pitying her unsuspecting role. She had been used in a similar but more contemptible manner. The person she trusted her life to had placed her on the altar of sacrifice for their own greed. Dumbledore was correct. The danger in which she was now fully submerged would eventually engulf her. Finally he accepted that she was oblivious and innocent in its impending approach. It had been easier to believe she was an eager counterpart in Madame Collins's devices. But he could see now she gained nothing from her participation. Her soul was not that empty and her heart was not that cold. Snape knew every corner of her emotions and nowhere was there deceit, especially not for him.

How would he protect her, he questioned in misery? And he had sworn he would many times. After all that was past, how now could he undo what his actions had induced? Even his own callous, fetid heart could not bear the thought that she could suffer for him or because of him. As with Dumbledore's opinion of Draco: it wasn't a fair exchange.

Just as his self loathing was about to peak and send him into insanity, a knock came at his door. Before he could rise to answer it, Davindra walked through with ease and informality as though the room was her own.

"There you are," she said distractedly. "I've been looking for you. Do you have anything for this?" She immediately turned her backside to him and pulled her shirt tail free, then shoved the edge of her skirt down to reveal an expanse of familiar flesh across her lower back.

Still too fixated on the issue of his ruin and her entrapment, Snape's eyes didn't even comprehend what was before him. When he continued to say nothing, she turned to him.

"What's wrong? You look ill." Her face took on a deep shade of concern as her eyes searched his exceptionally pallid complexion.

Shaking himself free of his silent reverie, he spoke with a deceptively strong voice. "I'm fine. Now what do you want?"

Her look spoke doubt at his statement, but she did again reveal her backside, and Snape forced his eyes to see what was before him.

"I think I've scratched my birthmark," she said. "It's been itching and stinging. I don't know why."

On closer inspection he could see that indeed she had clawed the goblet shaped mark until it nearly bled from angry, raised scratches. The mark itself was now a vivid red.

"What have you done?" Snape chastised, as he looked closer. "You're liable to get a terrible infection that way."

"I didn't even realize I was doing it until today," she said with exasperation.

Snape went to a cupboard in his bath and rummaged until he found a small jar of Murtlap-based ointment. Uncapping it and returning to her, he applied a thick coating to the mark, which immediately reduced the ugly irritation and redness.

Davindra sighed in correspondence with the relief. "Oh, that's better."

Snape handed her the jar. "Keep applying it for a few days, and if the itching doesn't stop, see Madam Pomfrey to have it removed."

"I'd hate to lose it," she said sadly, readjusting her clothes. "It's never bothered me before."

"Better it be gone than cause you such trouble." His words seem to bear more meaning than she could ever realize.

"Wouldn't you miss seeing it?" Her expression was mischievous and flirtatious as she approached him.

Snape felt he could hardly be in the same room with her. Having open enticements laid before him was unbearable.

"Davindra, I really have a lot of work to do," he interrupted her seduction. "This isn't a good time."

Her expression reverted back to worry, and she finally closed the distance between them. Taking his face gently in her warm hands, she looked deeply into his eyes.

"You aren't well, Severus." Her voice was soft and soothing. "You're tired and you're drinking too much."

As much as he wished he could wrench himself out of her grasp and tell her to leave his sight and never come back, Snape found he only stand helplessly in her hands. If he attempted to end things with her now, it would cause a lengthy, dramatic argument in which he would hardly win. She knew too well how to fight him with temptation, jealousy, and sheer tenacity. The best he could do was hold her at bay.

Forcing a thin, pained smile, Snape said, "I'm sure you're right. But I do have a great deal to attend to tonight before I can rest. And you, undoubtedly, have your own studies which you should not be neglecting."

"One night wouldn't hurt," she assured him.

"At this point, it can make all the difference," he insisted. "And I AM busy. Some other time, Davindra."

He loosened her hands from him and walked to the door. Holding it open, he waited for her to exit. Though she seemed willing to leave, there was still a worried expression on her face.

"Promise me you'll take care of yourself," she ordered in a kind voice.

Then leaning in, she kissed him softly on the lips. Snape allowed the precious contact only because he pronounced it his last from her.

"You know I love you, don't you?" she asked softly, her lips barely parted from his.

Snape nodded as he stared into her soothing, green eyes. "Yes, I do know that."

It was the slim, cold hours of the morning before Snape fell into his empty bed. But copious amounts of alcohol did not bring sleep any quicker. His mind churned over events, ideas, worries, fears, and paranoia until he thought he'd pull his own brain out through his ear to stop the onslaught. Eventually exhaustion settled in, and he felt himself beginning to sink into slumber.

Around the edges of consciousness, Davindra appeared. Relief and desire flowed through his relaxing body at her presence in his dream. Like that time several years before when a very young girl crept into his chambers to watch him as he slept, this older, more mature creature did much the same. But this time, when she knelt across his supine body and touched him with more experienced hands, Snape was able to reciprocate her touches and kisses. They melded together in well-rehearsed harmony that nearly shattered his stoic resolve to never again touch her.

Before he opened his eyes, he prayed that Davindra had actually ignored his request and silently entered his room, as she had done on many occasions, to wake him with her already heated passion. But his eyes opened to an empty room, occupied by only him and his pathetic dreams. He made a promise to change the wards on his doors in the morning.

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

Snape felt as though he had already been pronounced dead. His heart was cold and heavy. His gut felt hollow and acidic. But his mind was now finely tuned to the tasks before him. Determination to put Davindra out of his life drove him to fixate on Draco Malfoy and the orders of the Dark Lord.

He took to practically stalking Draco to find out what he was doing. But for all the work, it provided few clues. Somehow the boy would manage to disappear in the evenings and a thorough search of the castle would find nothing. If Snape didn't know better, he would suspect Draco of Apparating out of the school. In the wee hours of the morning, he might be lucky to stumble upon the boy again, looking frustrated and exhausted.

His threats never budged Draco's temperament. He would deliver cold remarks to Snape and then stumble off to his dormitory to catch a few hours sleep before classes.

The one place Snape did know that Draco frequented was a seldom used bathroom, quivering and shaking as he blubbered piteously to the local depressed specter, Moaning Myrtle. She gave Snape a dirty look when he entered but then disappeared into an open cubical, followed by a splash of water. Draco wiped his tell-tale tears away and replaced his misery with a look of fury.

"Would you stop spying on me!" he snarled.

"I can assure you, I would make a better and more understanding confidant than the ghost of a sniveling girl who spends her time watching excrement pass through the plumbing," he said smoothly.

"At least she doesn't keep trying to run my life."

"You don't seem to understand my situation," Snape said quietly as he approached Draco. "You know what is expected of you, but have you not considered that others might have similar expectations placed upon them at the price of their own life and loved ones?"

Draco's pale gray eyes burned into Snape with suspicious interest.

"I am only doing the job I was ordered to and fulfilling the Vow that was thrust upon me," he continued with honest sympathy as he came to stand next to the boy. "My own failure will bring my death."

If possible, even more color drained from Draco's face, and he grabbed the edge of the sink to steady himself.

"So now I have to be responsible for you too?" he asked bitterly.

"No one takes responsibility for me but me," Snape reminded him darkly. "I will do what I must to ensure I carry out my orders. I could employ any dark and devious means available or you could graciously acknowledge the generous partnership that is being offered."

Draco's scowl deepened and his eyes turned to the mirror in front of him to stare down the reflection it cast.

"He expects me to fail, doesn't he?"

Snape allowed his eyes to dip from Draco's face in lieu of an answer. Draco hissed out a long breath of defeat.

"Do you trust him?" the boy asked solemnly.

It seemed a ludicrous question and a wry smirk twitched at Snape's lip. "Only if you mean in the way I trust that a rabid dog will bite or that fire will burn." He snorted at his own dismal humor. "But do not confuse trust with faith. I hold no faith in the Dark Lord's favor or words," he continued quietly. "But I do trust in his power and determination."

"Do you ever wish you could get out?" Darco asked in a hushed voice.

"I don't bother to waste mental energy on such impractical musings," he replied blandly, though his eyes conveyed the bitter resentment those constant fantasies inspired in him.

Draco finally turned to Snape, though he still seemed to require the stability of the heavy porcelain sink for support.

"What do you know of Vanishing Cabinets?"

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

Though Snape now knew what had engulfed months of Draco's time, he was still kept at arm's length. He wasn't allowed to see exactly what the boy was working on, he was only allowed to comment and advise on a subject with which he was not well familiarized. Snape suspected that most of Draco's time must be spent in the depths of the Room of Requirement where old, broken, useless, or illicit items languished gathering dust. However, his own attempts to locate and enter the room were hindered by too many prying eyes or Draco's own protection.

Snape shared what he had learned with Dumbledore only to receive more orders to continue helping the boy while still hindering his success. It was an impossible charge Snape cursed long and hard after his conversations with the Headmaster.

'Protect Draco, protect Potter, protect the school, protect the students, while no one lifts a finger for my own protection.'

When he inquired as to how Dumbledore intended to inform the Order of Snape's extensive sacrifice and plead for his life to be spared, the old man simply smiled and stroked Fawkes's scarlet head, and told Snape to not concern himself, that it would be taken care of.

It took some time for Davindra to notice Snape's absence and cool regard for her. It was several weeks before she cornered him in his office and demanded to know why he was avoiding her.

Snape gazed at her tall, lean form, dressed in her school uniform and robes. She had matured so much that the ensemble seemed mismatched to her astute, cynical, womanly countenance. Crisp, green eyes regarded him relentlessly. The long, ash-black hair that Snape had combed his fingers through so many times was fixed firmly at the back of her head. He could stand and drink her in for hours. But it would only inflame the pain he struggled to hold at bay.

"I have been very busy, Davindra, as have you," he reminded as he pulled his eyes away to resume a mindless grading assignment.

"Don't lie to me, Severus," she said coolly. "I know you too well. Our time may be stretched very thin, but I know that if you wanted to see me, you would find a way. But you've barely uttered a word to me outside of class. I deserve to know what is going on. Is it Grandmother or Mother? Has someone threatened you again?"

Snape rolled his eyes obviously to her. "No one has done anything," he snapped impatiently. "Did it ever occur to you that I might have other interests and demands in my life besides you?"

She shook her head and narrowed her eyes accusingly. "No, it's something else. You've changed the wards on your doors. You won't even come near me, let alone touch me. Have I done something?"

A snarl of annoyance left him as he tossed his quill aside. "Davindra, please! This year is one of the most difficult and demanding I have ever faced. I have a whole new subject to teach that takes up a great deal of time."

"Everyone is acting very strange," Davindra commented further. "Have you seen Draco? I hardly ever come across him, and when I do, he looks positively ill. He won't talk to me either. Everyone seems jumpy. Healer Jones says there have been a rise in long term care cases at St. Mungo's. It all has to do with the Dark Lord, doesn't it?"

Snape took a moment before he spoke. He needed his mind calm and clear to deal with her question. "I have no doubt that the Dark Lord's return has caused a great deal of upset everywhere. But I cannot knowingly speak for Draco Malfoy or anyone else."

He rose from his chair to stand in front of her. "It's as simple as this. I need time, Davindra," he said quietly and firmly. "We both do. There is too much at stake right now for distractions to supersede. After this year is over, things may be different. I ask that you not press me now for what I cannot give. I beseech you, as a mature young woman, to understand that some things are more important than emotions and desires."

She stared deeply into his eyes. "Is it that you've grown tired of me?" Her voice came as a pained whisper.

He allowed himself a sardonic snort of amusement, then reached out to gently tuck a few strands of obsidian hair behind her delicate ear.

"You are too endlessly unpredictable to ever grow boring. All the more reason for me to gather some space from you so I can focus on the things that must be done and demand all of my concentration. Will you allow me that?"

The beginnings of tears shone in her eyes but she nodded with a faint smile and her hands came to rest against his dark chest, finger splayed apart as if feel as much of him as possible. "But I'll miss you so terribly."

"You'll see me almost daily. I am still your teacher. And I have never given up my post as your protector," Snape reminded her.

With a sniff to steel her composure, Davindra straightened herself and gave one last grasp to his robes before surrendering her hold. "But you do have to take better care of yourself. Get some sleep and remember to eat. And do trim and clean your nails, Severus. Someone is bound to think you've got lycanthropy."

He gave her an annoyed grimace. "Enough carping. I have work to do."

They stood looking at each other from an arm's length away, unable or unwilling to surrender the rare, precious moment between them.

"Is your birthmark bothering you still?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I use the ointment if it flares up. It's been fine though."

Again, the heartrending silence pronounced the end of their time together.

Much to Snape's relief, Davindra finally moved to the door, but turned once again to him. "Severus, do you promise about the end of the year? I'll be able to stand the wait if I know that we can be together then."

Her hopeful face nearly broke him, though he stayed cool and determined. "When it's all over, things will be different."

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

Somehow it wasn't any easier to spend every night alone and every moment silently trapped within his own thoughts now that Davindra willingly kept her distance from him. He knew to no longer expect her knock at his door or to find her waiting in his chair by the fire, or that he might wake to find her warm, smooth body nestled against his in the dark. His disappointment and loneliness were suddenly so palpable they had texture. But the slim hope that she might be spared some measure of pain or torment by his departure kept his resolve from crumbling.

Dumbledore's and the Dark Lord's demands supplied enough distraction for him to push through one day, then drag himself into the next. But there was far less enthusiasm in his heart for anything, teaching, reading, or tormenting students, because dread and anger had replaced all sensations.

At the beginning of March the sadistic monotony was broken by the Weasley boy being poisoned by a drink of mead from Slughorn. Only the quick thinking of Hero Potter saved him from certain death. Snape's examination of the bottle and drink revealed a very common and deadly poison. Slughorn swore he bought the mead in Hogsmeade as a gift for Dumbledore but had never gotten around to giving it to him. If Slughorn had wanted to kill anyone, he could have been far more clever. It was obvious the bottle came to him as a deadly tonic.

The simple composition and obvious failure pronounced Draco's desperate and shoddy work. Again, the boy insisted it wasn't him. But his denial was growing weak and less insistent as the toll of his task grew heavier. Snape wasn't certain how much longer Draco would last under that level of strain, but he continued to refuse help.

Dumbledore was becoming less patient and understanding of the issue. He caught Snape on the edge of the grounds as he returned from Hogsmeade to question Madame Rosemerta about the mead.

"The mead did come from the Three Broomsticks, but Madam Rosemerta was strangely foggy on the details," Snape spoke as soon as the Headmaster neared him.

"It was Draco again, wasn't it?" Dumbledore stated.

"I believe so."

"Severus, you have to do something about him," he then warned him firmly. "We cannot have students dying. The Ministry will shut us down and everything will be jeopardized."

"I am doing all that I can, sir," Snape snarled in reply. At this time he felt he had no tolerance for criticisms and lectures. "And you are taking for granted all that I have already accomplished. But there is only so much within my limited power. If you can find someone else to take on this loathsome job, I would happily relinquish it."

"You can relinquish nothing," Dumbledore snapped back. "You've made promises that cannot be broken. You've no choice but to comply. I very much appreciate all that you have done, but your tasks are nowhere near complete. If you have to personally interrogate every member of Slytherin to find out what is going on, be prepared to do it without delay."

The old wizard gave Snape a firm, dark look before he turned to head back into the school to leave Snape standing alone and furious. It took several moments of walking about the edge of the forest before he felt calm enough to follow the Headmaster's footsteps.

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

It was as though a stalemate had been reached between all the battling forces. An odd, calm routine settled around Snape. He continued his watch over Draco with little affect. Occasionally the boy might ask a question of some issue of Dark Magic that Snape would answer only to be given no background or reason for the information. It was a waiting game, Snape realized. In time he would find out everything, but it might be too late.

Regularly he reported to Dumbledore who would take the knowledge with the appearance of distracted disappointment but then turn his intense blue eyes to Snape and inquire of details and again dispense insistent encouragement of Snape's efforts. He gave little information as to his own adventures, though Snape knew they were many and far a field. His instructions were always the same. Protect the school in his absence, keep in close contact with the Order, and if he ever failed to return, follow his directions exactly.

Davindra kept her promise to stay away. Except for class and the few required meetings for her final project, they did not encounter each other. Even then things were kept to a formal discussion, though Snape could feel her eyes searching him, looking for the slightest reneging in his proclamation of solitude. Before the meeting was over she could not help but ask if he was alright. He would reply that he was fine.

"You don't look fine," she would say with sad kindness.

"I'm doing the best I can." It was the answer he gave the most often to those who expected the most from him. And he felt achingly inadequate in it.

The end of term was drawing nearer, and Draco seemed no closer to his task, which at least kept Snape unfailing in his own. Once again the boy had taken to hiding out in the bathroom, talking and sobbing to a spectral confidant. Searching him out was becoming tiring and unproductive. But Snape planned to try to light a fire under him. As he neared, the sound of hexes, crashes, and screams of "murder!" reached Snape's ears and made his steps quicken, though his heart clenched with dread.

But he wasn't prepared for what he did see when he opened the door. Wonder Boy Potter was standing over Draco, who was lying in a puddle of water and his own blood. His body and face had been slashed with something very sharp. But there was no weapon. Only wands. That meant that one spell in particular had done the damage. A spell of which Snape would have bet a million Galleons that Potter wouldn't have know the existence, let alone the proper use.

His first task was to mend Draco and send him on his way to the hospital wing. After getting him settled there and giving the best explanation he could to Madam Pomfrey, Snape went back to deal with Potter.

What he wanted to do was teach the arrogant little bastard a lesson. Perhaps a few nicks with a Slicing Spell just to see how it feels. More important was to find out where Potter had learned that particular bit of dirty and slightly impressive magic.

As soon as Snape saw the faint vision of an old Advanced Potion-Making book and a long forgotten name scribbled inside, he knew exactly how Potter had learned that curse. And he also now had a fair idea how he had managed to do so well in sixth-year Potions.

Snape had forgotten about the old book he had so thoroughly inscribed with his own ideas and improvements. So much like Tom Riddle's own book. Recognizing the one similarity made him uncomfortable. He focused back on the book and how it came into Potter's possession. There had been much that Snape had not cleaned out of his classroom when he changed to Defense Against the Dark Arts. An entire cabinet of books had been left behind because he knew he would not need them. That must have been where it was. He should have kept better track of it. It was possible that there were even worse hands than Potter's it could have fallen into, though he has having a hard time thinking of who at that moment.

Potter did not produce the book. Snape knew the Potion's book he showed him was a fake. 'Let the little brat keep it and perhaps actually learn something for a change. It's obvious he doesn't realize he is still learning from me,' Snape decided. What was most imperative now was to keep him out of everyone's way. Detention until the end of term would do just that. 'And if thwarting Gryffindor's chances at the House Cup is the consequence, so be it.'

Again it was past that gargoyle and up the staircase to face the old wizard. This time Snape felt a slight joy in informing the Headmaster that his precious savior had attempted to kill Draco Malfoy. But when Snape saw the dark accusation in Dumbledore's eyes, he felt his adulation leave.

"Do you think this is my fault, Headmaster?" Snape inquired.

"Draco IS your charge," Dumbledore said with only a hint of iciness to his voice.

"And Potter is yours," he replied with a raised bitter tone. "But your lax rules for the 'Chosen One' have created a monster who has run rampant from day one! You've worried of Draco taking innocent lives. What of Potter running about with his hero complex on backwards, brandishing dark spells at whomever he declares suspicious? He's the one who could ruin everything!"

Dumbledore held up his hand. "Calm yourself, Severus," he spoke firmly. "I'm not saying that Harry's actions are excusable. On the contrary, I'm very disappointed that he has ignored my warnings and insisted on his relentless pursuit of Draco. I'll do what I can to help keep him occupied. There will be a very important project he will be helping me with very soon. I can say that he is not the sort to do battle just out of spite, like some we know." He gave Snape a pointed look over the glasses perched on his nose.

Snape leveled an equally firm look in return. "I'm certain that Draco was simply attempting to defend himself against his aggressor. But I myself have made sure that Potter stays out of our way. He has detention every Saturday until the end of term." He couldn't help but give a grim smile.

"Oh, Severus, the House Cup," Dumbledore sighed regretfully.

Snape shrugged. "Boy Wonder should have thought of that before he went around casting Slicing Hexes at fellow students."

The Headmaster sighed again. "I suppose there are more important things at hand right now. And exactly where did Harry learn such a spell?" Dumbledore asked.

There was no way that Snape would allow the truth to get out, but the lie wouldn't be so far removed to appear suspicious.

"He said he read it in a book. However, there was nothing out of the ordinary amongst his school books. But who knows what bad habits he may have picked up from Black and Lupin."

"Funny, I think they would have said the same thing about you," Dumbledore replied as he inspected his charred, skeletal left hand. "Trust me when I say that Harry is not prone to violence. I'm sure his horror at what he has done will be his own best punishment and deterrent from ever doing something like that again. However, I won't challenge your detention," he assured Snape. "Draco will recover completely?"

"Perhaps a faint scar or two, but I was quite quick with the healing counter-curse." Snape eyed the withered hand. "How much worse is it?" he asked tilting his chin in its general direction.

Dumbledore pulled his wide sleeve up to almost his shoulder to expose his entire arm blackened and stick-like. Snape nearly grimaced at the sorrowful sight.

"It won't be much longer," Dumbledore said calmly as he lowered his sleeve. "And about that. There are just a few things we should formalize."

'Finally!' Snape thought.

The Headmaster got up and came around the desk to face the wall of paintings in which the Hogwarts Headmasters of the past slept peacefully.

"Armando," Dumbledore spoke. But the portrait he addressed continued its slumber.

He cleared his throat and again called to the sleeping man in a louder voice. Still no movement. With faint annoyance, Dumbledore rapped loudly on the edge of the frame with the knuckles of his good hand.

"Dippet! Wake up."

The picture jumped with fake surprise and snorted most convincingly. "Dumbledore, what's this all about?"

The Headmaster gave Snape an eye roll before he went back to the portrait. "We are needing your assistance, Armando."

"Yes, well, of course," the painted man said, straightening himself in his chair and adjusting his jacket. "Anything I can do to help the Headmaster of Hogwarts. What do you need? Advice on addressing the Board of Governors? Perhaps on dismissing an insubordinate teacher?"

Snape ignored the less than subtle slide of the man's eyes to him.

"No, what I need is a witness," Dumbledore stated.

"To what?" Dippet inquired.

"My last will in testament and my confession." Dumbledore smiled pleasantly while Snape and Dippet exchanged looks of suspicious surprise.

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

Snape headed back to the hospital wing to check on Draco. But his mind still turned over all he had just heard. Dumbledore was going to trust a portrait of an ancient, slow-witted, historically ineffective former Headmaster to vindicate Snape's actions and explain the old wizard's motives by way of a dispatched phoenix. It sounded as ludicrous as his ideas of transferring some form of protection to Harry at his death in a way similar to what his mother did. Perhaps the curse that was slowly killing his limb had made it to his brain already, Snape thought miserably. None of it would work.

Stepping inside the large infirmary with its rows of bed, it was easy to spot Draco as he was the only one there with Madam Pomfrey still tending to his scars.

"Give us a moment, would you, Madam?" Snape asked quietly.

She gave him a wary look, but gathered her supplies and left in a silent, spectral-like walk cultivated by stepping around the sick and dying for so many years.

Draco still held a disgruntled look, though his face was edged in worry and fatigue.

"I'll kill him," he said through gritted teeth. "I'll make him pay."

"You'll do no such thing," Snape replied, his eyes still searching to ensure they were alone to speak freely. "He belongs to the Dark Lord. Your job is not to concern yourself with him but to stick to your own responsibilities. I have made sure that he won't bother you again."

"I can take care of myself and my own responsibilities," Draco snarled. But his enthusiasm must have pulled at the still healing wounds for he flinched slightly and gingerly cradled his chest.

"Being left to your own devices would have found you bleeding out on a bathroom floor, a ghost heralding your passing, and the Chosen One marched off to Azkaban," Snape uttered with dark sarcasm. "Not to mention my own subsequent demise. A complete and total sabotage of the Dark Lord's plan, all for your own pride."

What little blood was left in Draco's pale, angry face seemed to drain away. But he made no reply.

"I need to know how much longer," Snape continued in a more quiet but deadly voice. "When will it be ready? He grows tired of waiting, and I grow tired of giving excuses for the delay."

"I don't think it will be too much longer," the boy said with some hesitation. "I just need a little more time."

"We are all running out of time, Mr. Malfoy," he reminded.

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

Detention with Potter did little to ease the nervous wait. But there was great satisfaction to knowing that the arrogant little beast was being forced to read over and over the many transgressions his father and friends committed in their years at Hogwarts. Snape would know when Potter came to a particularly disturbing one for he could almost feel the dark cloud of indignation and shame rise from the boy.

But the detention was ineffective at wrecking Gryffindor's chances for the House Cup. Snape had to find out from a glowing McGonagall that even without the great Seeker and with the least skilled team Hogwarts had seen in years, the silver cup would remain in her office to be admired by him at any time he chose. A tight lipped, slightly snide "Congratulations" was all Snape could manage, and since he didn't have the stomach for the old witch's gloating, he confided himself to his office and drowned his sorrows in Firewhisky and dark thoughts.

When Snape looked back, he could recall that there was a peculiar energy in the air that day, starting very early. He has awakened with a nearly blinding headache that several doses of potion barely held at bay. His nerves felt ragged and hypersensitive. Several times he had to control a strong desire to draw his wand and blast an obnoxiously annoying student into oblivion for a miniscule mistake or tardiness.

Unsettling still was the sudden look of triumph and sly smile Draco Malfoy sported. His smug expression told Snape that he was closing in on the task at hand. Little did Snape know how close. Further pressing of the matter only got him a cool smirk from the boy and the foreboding words of "just get ready." A cold knot writhed in his stomach for the rest of the day.

In his office Snape held his impatient nervousness hostage with a bottle of wine and a stack of essays on which he could hardly concentrate long enough to make a single mark upon. As the evening progressed, the silent, charged atmosphere around him seemed to thicken and pulse with a life-force of its own. When Flitwick finally burst into his office to announce that Death Eaters had invaded the castle, Snape didn't even flinch. Calmly he asked of their whereabouts and then stunned the little man and left him on the floor of the office.

The two students stationed outside the dungeon did manage to throw him off his guard. Hermione Granger and Luna Lovegood stood staring at him with curious horror as though they knew of what he was about to do. In order to keep them from asking any questions or trying to follow him, he instructed them to see to Flitwick who was still unconscious.

Snape's first priority, as he flew out of the dungeon, was to find Draco. Almost running directly into Gibbon, a rather cowardly and twitchy dark soldier, as he rounded a corner surprised even him. Though his mind knew that Death Eaters had finally found their way into Hogwarts, seeing them within the once-safe walls was still hard to comprehend. Snape covered his flustered emotions by barking sharp orders and sending him in the opposite direction to give himself more time to search for Dumbledore and the boy.

By now students and other staff were beginning to converge in the halls because of the shouts, screams, and exploding hexes that filled the air. Snape moved quickly and silently through them all with no question or rebuke from anyone. The fools thought he was there to help. He almost wanted to scream at them that they were ignorant, trusting, and hopeless. Part of him even wished to run into Harry Potter himself, who might actually attempt to stop him from the terrible task he was rushing toward.

Up and down staircases he went, finding periodic clusters of frightened students and marauding Death Eaters reveling in their terrorizing of children. Snape would order them on to less cowardly tasks with words harsh enough to be interpreted by fearful bystanders as authoritative threats against the enemy.

Just as he was about to conclude that Dumbledore had escaped Hogwarts safely, he approached the Astronomy Tower. A new, more powerful foreboding washed over him. Ignoring the painful stitch in his side and the dry, rough breaths he hungrily sucked in, Snape ran up the winding staircase until he found the wooden door to the top of the tower.

Bursting through, Snape found Draco in a faltering stance and near tears while the Carrows, and Greyback looked on with pleasure. Then he saw a most piteous sight that he wished to have ended his days and never seen. Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard the modern world would ever know, was slumped weakly against the wall, his breath labored and wet, his face an ancient, grey mask of death.

For a few frozen, suspended seconds, the two wizards held each other's gaze. A flash of relief flitted through the old man's fading eyes, and Snape decided he'd rather throw himself from the ramparts than raise his wand to his only advocate.

Then the Headmaster's weak, pleading words reached his mind,, and he felt the last energies of the dying man converging to encourage and bolster Snape's resolve.

'It's time. You can do this. You have to'

"Severus... please..." The external voice was weak and pleading.

'You've never been a coward before. Don't fail me now.'

As though an outside force suddenly took control of his body and mind, Snape found his wand poised and the words flowing from his mouth.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The body flew into the air after receiving a brilliant burst of green light and then dove in a graceful arc to the ground below.

Seconds. It had taken seconds for him to walk onto the tower and kill the greatest man he'd ever known, to seal his fate, and pronounce his own life worthless. But it had felt like an eternity.

Then suddenly everything began to move at the speed of light. He was running down the tower stairs, Draco shoved along in front of him, and the sound of spells and rushing feet coming after him. Who had been on top of the tower? Who had seen his crime?

Not feeling he had a spare second in the swirling madness around him to investigate, Snape pressed forward and soon found more Death Eaters coming to his aid in tardy, sheepish fashion.

"It's over, time to go!" he bellowed at them as he swept out of the tower, leaving others to battle whomever remained behind.

Snape ran past familiar faces who gave him hardly a glance as he rushed passed. The likes of McGonagall and Lupin were in heavy battle along side several students. None even bothered to ask him where he was going or what had happened at the tower. They all believed he was fighting with them. With any luck he could get out without having to hurt or kill again.

"We need to get back through the cabinet," Draco finally spoke in a panicked, high voice. "It's in the Room of Requirement."

Snape grabbed the boy by his robes. "Are you stupid?" he barked. "We report back to the Dark Lord immediately. Going back to Knockturn Alley will be like stepping directly into jail cells in Azkaban. Unless you wish to reunite with your father tonight, I suggest we Disapparate outside the castle walls."

Draco didn't argue, so Snape shoved him roughly on toward the main hall and freedom. Snape hurried on, dodging stray spells and clouds of disintegrating stone until a hand snatched at his robe, nearly pulling him flat on his back. His wand raised and a curse on his lips, Snape spun about to find Davindra clutching at his arm, her eyes wide with shock.

"What's going on? How did the Death Eaters get here?" Her voice was as horror filled as Draco's, who had run on ahead. "Where are you going? I'll come with you!"

Snape shook her free and applied his stoniest scowl. "I'm going no where you are needed."

"Severus, what's happened? If you're leaving, I'm coming too. You can't stop me." The stubborn furl of her eyebrow and tilt of her jaw told him that she was serious.

The sound of heavy feet to the rear signaled the approach of the rest of the Dark Lord's troops in retreat from Hogwarts; the task complete. As their faces rounded the corner, they spied him standing with a female student, her hands still trying to keep hold of him.

With as much strength and fury as he could muster, Snape raised his arm and delivered a wide arching backhanded slap to Davindra's face, sending her reeling against the wall. Her gasp of surprise was echoed by the Death Eaters behind him, though they closed in with depreciatory interest. Davindra slid down the wall, moaning and holding her cheek. Snape stood over her still dazed form, the snarl of disgust carefully imbedded in every line on his face, his hand throbbing from the force of the blow.

"You stupid, simpering, little whore," he growled. "Did you really think you meant any more to me than just an easy lay to pass the time? Go back home to Grandmother, where you belong."

He allowed himself one last look at her astonished eyes brimming with tears and the trail of blood beginning to run from her nose before he curled his lip in amused revulsion and stepped away. The small cluster of Death Eaters cackled and jeered his performance as they shuffled past, taking their own shots with swipes and kicks to the downed girl.

Snape didn't stop or look back. He continued on until he could see the massive doors, open to the dark, forgiving night. He ran on until he could taste fresh, cool air in his burning lungs. His heart thundered so viciously in his chest it was painful, and he wondered if it was his own body's rebellion against what it had been forced to do that night. Perhaps he might spontaneously explode from self-loathing. Or he might just crumple to the ground, an empty shell, suddenly devoid of all attributes of a human being.

But he pushed on. His feet ran and his chest pushed out a breath after taking one in. His mind still directed him to the Disapparation spot outside the school walls. A withered flutter in his breast reminded him that he still lived, though his heart was so irretrievably broken, spoiled, and deteriorated that he wished he could rip out the wretched, useless thing and toss it away, never to be bothered by it again.