Disclaimer: The characters and all Harry Potter related content which appear in this story beling to J.K. Rowling.

Author's Note: This one shot was written with the intention of being a one shot, but after some feedback, I am considering possibly extending this...but for now, it will work as a one shot. Please leave a review with any comments/criticisms and let me know if you think I should continue the story. In the end, it will be my desicion, but I would like the opinion of the readers. :) Enjoy.

The Room

The air hangs with dampness and it chills me. My fingernails shine blue in the dim square of moonlight that is pushing its way through the cramped window. I stare down at my body, pale in its nakedness. It is broken only by healing wounds or newly opened scabs. The gouge in my fingertip oozes coppery blood, and all I do is watch. I cannot bring myself to do anything else.

Time is impossible to keep. Even sound seems to shy from this place. Soon, the moonlight fades and I am left in darkness. Wetness pools near my breastbone and I finally realize I've been crying. Tears leak down across my stomach. I do not know how long I have cried.

Crying seems as natural as breathing and more fluent than speech. I feel as though my tongue has been frozen. I even forget the sound of my voice…my laugh. I begin to remember all that was lost to me. I forget laughter. I forget…happiness. I forget the freedom to speak. I forget life without pain knotted within me. I forget clothing…security…protection. I remember only exposed nakedness. I remember fear, cold and ice-like around my heart. I remember lies and betrayals. I try, but forget warmth, truth, and the safety of friendship. Of all the things I forget, I forget most the gentleness of human touch. I forget more than I remember.

Night falls suddenly, chilling me even more. I try to recall if there was any covering left for me. He is not that considerate. I fail in convincing myself to move. Wiping my cheek, I smear blood across my face. I am still crying.

I remain this way through the night, occasionally breathing, perpetually crying. As the first rays of day strike my flesh, I feel the burn of shame. I need to cover myself – to hide my eyes from the grotesque consequence forced upon me. Panic overtakes me, and primordial instincts cloud my sense as I frantically search for any scrap of cloth. Finally, I find the tattered remains of a cloak and throw it over myself. I lean in the corner, curling myself into a ball and see a message scratched into the stone.

For the first time, I take in the small, wet, room that is nothing more than it appears. There is enough room for me to kneel, but no more. The hand sized window glows with light. The only abnormality of the room is this message near my head.

He is Satan, Beelzebub, and Hades. He is as vile as Odysseus is noble. He makes the good world seem thick with the fire of hell. His touch is as lethal and withering as viper's poison. To all those trapped here: God bless.

The tears run anew. The slight touch of any human hand is revolting to me, but this note of human innocence breaks my heart. "I was once like that," I whisper in a voice hoarse from silence. "I was once that way." He robbed me of that. I feel the weak heat of half-hearted anger rise in my chest. I shiver in remembrance. He stole that from me…the day he kept me after class.

Double Potions was on our schedule – an annual conspiracy against Harry, or so I theorized. Any other year – any other class. But it was still Double Potions with Slytherin under the guidance of Professor Snape. Without fail, the first lesson began with an inquisition covering topics far beyond the required reading. He called on me. "And what occurs when one combines essence of methane and the crushed petals of the lunar phase bud of Rascher…Miss Granger."

I glanced up from my textbook and with no apparent enthusiasm answered, "When those two ingredients are combined at low heat, a temporary vanishing potion is created. At high heat, a fairly intense sleeping draft is produced. And finally, if the essence of methane is simmered over an ice flame and then added to the Rascher petals, it creates a healing salve applicable to any burn wound." I met his eyes, as I always did after answering a question and a tremor ran down my spine. The gaze was so intense and bottomless that I had never imagined such intensity. I could not look away. Silence hung over the class, few people daring to interrupt the moment, as if some wordless war was being waged. I tried to will Snape's eyes away, silently begging for another question. Fear welled in my stomach – never before had I felt unsafe in the scrutiny of a teacher. All coherent thought dissipated as he took a step towards me. And another. And another. Soon he was perched over me as a hawk perches over his prey. Hot, sticky breath scrapped across my face and I froze.

"And when the petals are liquefied and added to a gaseous essence of methane?" His face was so close and his skin so pale and greasy. I watched his lips curl back in a depraved grin and felt the flecks of spittle on my face.

My mind failed me. I could not even fathom the potion of which he was speaking. His gaze was still so frighteningly intense. There was a hunger that I couldn't define and it left me speechless. "I…I don't know, sir."

"Care to…repeat that…Miss Granger," he spat, a lethal undertone in his voice. "And louder."

I attempted to stare icily, but I knew the terror causing my hands to shake leaked through my mask. Clenching my hands below the desk I repeated myself. "I do not know sir."

His lips curled back in a grin – I couldn't place an adjective with it. "See me after class Miss Granger." My cheeks flushed and I nodded, bowing my head. It was the first time I'd ever realized that burying myself in a textbook didn't truly shield me from the world. I felt neither the blazing glares of Slytherin, nor the concerned glances of Gryffindor. I was only aware of him…and his hungry eyes made my skin crawl.

No class passed faster and I barely noticed that soon it was just me…alone with Snape. "Miss Granger," he began, his voice oozing through the dungeon faster than usual, "I believe you were disrespectful in class."

I was still frozen beneath his stare. But, I attempted to answer, even if I knew my voice would shake. "Sir, I don't think I – "

"You WILL remain silent…Miss Granger." In two strides, he was leering over me again, closer than I would have ever preferred. "Won't you?" The bitter taunting in his voice rubbed salt into the wounds his voice left.

Gritting my teeth and intently studying my hands, I answered with all the respect I could pump into my voice. "Yes sir."

Then I felt his fingers tangle in my hair, and my heart jumped into my throat. "As punishment," his voice was so low I could barely understand his words, "you will serve a week's worth of detention…with me."

His hands were in my hair – twisting, spinning, and entwining the strands in his serpent-like fingers. Petrified, I barely comprehended what he was telling me. I closed my eyes, trying to banish the image of his fingers in my hair from my mind. I did this so intently that I did not answer him. "And how do you respond, respectfully, Miss Granger?"

I gulped down the nausea rising in my throat. "Yes sir." The tremor in my voice must have pleased him, for he pulled away and assumed the stance of the bitter Potions professor.

"We will work to alter your – look at me when I speak to you Miss Granger." I dug my fingernails into my palm and turned my gaze upon him. Professor…he would never be. "We will work to alter your disrespectful habits in the weeks to come."

"Yes…sir."

The moment hung, and I drove my fingernails further into my skin. I didn't dare to move. "You may go."

As I gathered my books, the blood on my palm smeared across my robes. Without my consent, the trust between teacher and student had been breeched.

I am left alone with these horrid memories. Alone with only the image of those ravenous eyes in my head. I cannot think of…cannot remember anything else. Outside, the sky darkens and rain splatters, leaving wet splotches along the window. One splashes onto my cheek. The sky cries for the world and washes away the sins of mankind. If only it could wash away the sins committed against me. If only it could wash away my mind and make me deaf, dumb, and blind to everything. I attempt to numb myself to thought, but thoughts always come naturally. And with these thoughts come a memory…the hideous memory of his fingers laced over mine.

"Shut the door behind you, Miss Granger." Though instinct screamed at me to flee – to run far away and hide, sixteen years of manners and obedience prevailed. As if controlled by some sick puppeteer, I clicked the door shut behind me, wincing as the latch shifted into place. Tears pushed at my eyes as he moved towards me, his robes swirling like the shadows of some grotesque nightmare. I swore I would neither cry nor speak. The adage "Argumentum ex silentio" rang in my head. Though the inner voice seemed strong, his voice sent it cowering into silence. "I did not seem to hear you respond properly…Miss Granger."

"Yes sir." The words left my lips before I could think to protest.

"For the next hour you will write, 'I will respect my teacher with the proper responses to orders and commands.' Sit there." He gestured to the seat placed squarely before his desk.

I sat and began to write, hopelessly trying to ignore his intense gaze. Minutes passed like hours and soon my fingers were shaking from cramps. My body was shaking with fear. His stare had grown dark, overflowing with want. I froze as I watched him move closer and felt sick as he bent over me. "You have stopped writing, Miss Granger. That is not acceptable." His long spidery fingers wrapped over mine, and he began to jerk my hand across the page. I could not think, see, or feel anything. I could only smell his dank, revolting essence. I could only hear the heaviness in his breathing deepen. Soon his lips are pressed against my temple and he is gripping my hand so tightly that I cannot feel the quill. I gasped as his tongue ran down my cheek to the corner of my mouth. Before I could respond, the vile thing was pushing past my lips and

I scream in agony. I should not be thinking of such things. They worsen the pain. They deepen the cold. I lie down on the stone, feeling the coolness against my skin. Rain wets the floor, giving the illusion of clammy skin. Memories threaten to flood me.

The nighttime chill bit my bare skin. The corner of his desk gouged my shoulder. The pain deepened as he pressed into me harder and harder…until I could not help but scream. Then he smiled…that depraved, ugly smile that I loathed. And with that, he began again.

It was on that day that he locked me in this room. I cried for hours…days.

The memory ends and it is the last. Time melds from that day to this moment. He takes me too many times to count. My friends do not know my position - I never shared this lucid secret. It hurt too much to speak of it.

I lie half-naked on the floor and wonder at the last time my skin was clothed. As I ponder this, a knife and bread appear near my hand, as does a mug of water. No. Dread fills my being. Food signals that he is preparing to take me for another night.

Dormant anger now flares weakly. Tears spill like rain, and the anger and desperation grow. He will not take me. Not again…not ever again.

I hold the knife in my trembling hand. Without a parting thought, I plunge the knife into my stomach. I feel not the steel in my hand or the growing lump in my throat. I feel only anger as I pull the knife from me, unscratched. He enchanted the knife to be harmless.

How dare he. He may take me, but I may not take myself? He is allowed the pleasure of ending my innocence, but I have not the privilege of ending my life? Anger swells to rage. He will not deprive me of the human choice - he will NOT take this from me.

I smash the mug against the floor and hold a jagged ceramic piece in my fingers. The tears have ceased. I know what my actions must be. I feel the slice across my wrists and watch the blood pool on the stones.

It happens slowly, but I do not mind. I curse him as I bleed…as I bleed out my life and all the pain he cause me. May he rot and bu-