A/N : The characters or facts you recognize belong to JK Rowling. Everything else is mine. I am constantly striving to keep every character as close to their demeanor as possible. Wish me luck! If you like the story, then please review. If you don't like the story, then please review. I have no Beta-reader, so if you find something incorrect please tell me. And now...let the story begin!

Left Behind

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Alone. That was the way it always had been and always would be, reflected Eliza miserably as she staggered quickly through the dungeon's narrow corridors. Hogwarts' dungeons were not a pleasant place to be. Candle-light bravely flickered on either side, unsuccessfully attempting to overwhelm the shadows. Shadows which appeared to furtively give birth in every crevice of the walls until their offspring filled each square centimeter of air, encircling your body, whispering threats in your ears, leisurely strangling you to death...

Eliza shook her head trying desperately to force the images from her mind. She refused to be the preyed on by hallucinations or childish nightmares. There was nothing to fear. Still, upon reaching the potions classroom, Eliza felt as though she had just completed the greatest feat of all mankind. Not even a detention from Snape could tarnish her glory. Well, not by much.

******

Snape grunted, a smirk planted on his pallid features. "I believe this is your first detention, Miss Woods?" Already aware of the answer, he refused to stop for any sign of agreement from the girl. "As punishment for your imprudent escapade this afternoon (in other words, a restroom stop) and subsequent late arrival to class, you will scrub the two-hundred-seventy-three cauldrons in this room. Without magic."

Eliza put all her strength and will behind the laborious task so that by midnight she had finally finished. Hands stained with blood, she apprehensively watched Snape inspect each cauldron, running his long, slender fingers over every frame.

**

Snape noted to himself that she had approached the job with care. The cauldrons were not cleansed with the perfection of a house elf, but that expectation was obviously beyond the reach of any spoiled Gryffindor.

"Stretch out your hands, palms up," spat Snape sharply.

Eliza was taken aback, confused, but she did as he ordered. Snape drew his wand and mumbled softly; in the twinkling of an eye the sores healed over. Eliza stood silently watching her palms, the creases between her eyebrows more visible than ever. Snape felt a spasm of annoyance. Surely, the girl understood that she should leave?

"I am growing fatigued of your presence, Miss Woods."

Eliza looked up at him for the first time that night.

"Sir, why did you heal my wounds? Am I not to feel the pain of my transgression?"

His eyes fiercely locked with hers; neither could comprehend the statements the other had made. They both had lived with such profound prejudice toward life, that when another aspect, utterly unsuited, attempted to crowd into their dark cells, the steel bars shattered from the pressure; having grown so accustomed to the rods, they now refused to escape into the surreal world of reality.

In Snape's experience, it was definitely not customary for a student, or anyone, to ask for harsh disciplinary action and Snape, hardly believing that she was not being facetious, inspected Eliza closely, trying to remember a time when anyone had watched him with such intensity but still lied. This contemplation, however, triggered another part of his memory. Seven years ago a ministry member was charged with abusing his child. The young girl had been found by her mother, lying naked at the foot of the stairs, her body bruised, broken, bleeding. Someone broke into her file and, in hopes of pressuring the public and jury into harshly punishing the father, released a photo of her lying motionless on the ground- staring with the same distressed eyes that were now focused so intently upon Snape.

Intuition, however, told Snape that Woods' father was not the only person to blame for her assumption. Not after seven years. His dark eyes boring into hers, Snape answered with only a quarter of his usual harshness, "Detention should reinforce responsibility. It should not be detrimental to the health of any participant. Do you understand?" Snape was talking so slowly and clearly that an onlooker might have thought the girl before him was deaf and attempting to read his lips. Handicapped or not, she failed to grasp his meaning and the Professor became more sure of himself. Something was out of place.

"Did somebody at Hogwarts suggest this absurd idea?" He asked, moving swiftly towards Eliza until he was just an arm's length away from her; in response, she broke eye contact with him and instinctively stepped back, focusing on one particularly uninteresting section of the stone ground.

"When I ask you a question Miss Woods you are to answer me. Do you understand?" Snape's tone returned to its chilly self; he knew he would have to remind Eliza of her position. Eliza's sudden straightening of posture confirmed that she understood- her Potions Professor was growing irate.

"Yes, sir," whispered she.

"Speak up, girl. It is nearly twelve thirty in the morning and my patience is waning."

"Yes, sir."

Eliza paused and her face wrinkled at the forehead in contemplation. A few seconds later, apparently having resolved the argument with herself, she put out her hands palm face down for him to see.

"It was my fault, sir. I lost all self-control in class. Ms. Umbridge was correct to get so angry," she mumbled frantically.

Snape, however, was not listening carefully to the girl's excuses. Firstly, after six years of teaching Woods, he was positive she was not one to 'lose all self-control'; every comment was carefully constructed before speaking. Secondly, she possessed a sickening sense of Gryffindor loyalty . Like an old dog. Shaking his head in disgust, Snape focused his attention on her hands. In small writing he recognized to be her own was inscribed "The ministry is never right." Not wanting to be involved anymore in this unfolding drama, which undoubtedly sprouted from several sources of foolhardy behavior, Snape made a movement for her wrist, immediately thought better of it and simply commanded that she follow him. Walking swiftly (Eliza was practically jogging) towards Dumbledore's office, Snape attempted to fight back his despotic ambition; failing horribly, he could only reflect upon one matter: this feeble girl could be the demise of that old hag, Umbridge, and the very stepping stone to his own promotion to position of Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts.