Warning: This story involves abuse, self-mutliation, attempted suicide and implied rape. In other words, Snape's past.

Thank you to my lovely, wonderful betas JTBJAB and Kelly Roxton

Admittedly, I have tweaked some situations for this story, making it AU. It just needed to happen :-)

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Chapter One – The Cut

Staring at her wrist, Hermione could only think of one thing. Fucking ferret. The words became a mantra as she repeated them over and over in her head, until the pain from her sliced wrists began to really sink in.

She had managed to remove the glass from her wrist and repair the phial, before the pain set in, but now, as she leaned back against the cold stone wall, she was beginning to really feel her wrist. Or rather, the slices into her flesh, which were rapidly gushing with blood. Worse was the fact that she could repair her phial in an instant, but she couldn't heal her wrist. And she didn't want to go to Madam Pomfrey; she knew exactly what it would look like, and what people would say.

Hermione Granger has been slitting her wrists!

Hermione Granger's gone mental!

The Head Girl's been cutting!

Though the School Nurse never asked questions – even in her second year, when Hermione had been taken to the Hospital wing as a cat. Hermione suspected that the witch had known exactly what happened. But this, something like this, where it would look like a student was hurting themselves on purpose; trying to take their own life – surely the matron would have to report it.

It wasn't as if she had actually done it on purpose, it wasn't her fault at all. But considering the blame lay solely with Malfoy, and he seemed to get away with anything that he wanted; to go to the Hospital wing with wrists that had been sliced, was definitely a terrible idea. But what else could she do?

As the pain grew, she closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall, bringing up her right hand to press against the cuts, hoping to stop them from bleeding. She knew she should do something, but right now, she couldn't think; it was hurting too much, much too much. How had it even happened? Now that she tried to think about it, she wasn't even sure herself.

Malfoy. That was right. He had been following her for the past few days, trying to find out what she was up to in the girl's toilets. He'd unfortunately seen her going in and out of there too much, especially since the toilets were constantly out of order thanks to the tantrums that Moaning Myrtle was throwing. They were getting worse, much like the pain in her wrists. The blood, and the pain was blossoming, making her thoughts hazy, and her limbs feel weak and heavy.

For the first time though, he was wrong to suspect her of anything really against the school rules; she had been brewing potions in the bathroom, yes, but they were perfectly legitimate potions - one's that she would have brewed in the dungeons, if Professor Snape had let her. But since he hadn't, she'd been forced to work with what little ingredients she had, in the girl's bathrooms, listening to a wailing ghost.

She'd just finished up a potion she had been working on, and was rather happy with the result. But since she really couldn't use it, and couldn't present it to anyone, she had been forced to tip it down the drain, much to the distress of Myrtle; who'd taken up temporary residence in that drain. But that really wasn't Hermione's fault, was it?

So she'd cleaned her cauldron and phials, and except the phial she would need for the following day's Potions class, she packed the rest of her equipment away and left. Clearly Malfoy had been watching her and though she was carrying something important.

Her brain didn't register the curse, or the fall, or the breaking of the glass phial. She'd seen Malfoy, however, dashing off in the other direction. She didn't know why. She'd have thought that he would have come in and really taken a good look at what she'd been doing – perhaps he'd noticed that the phial was empty?

As an instant response, she had cleaned up the phial, magically repairing it. And as she'd repaired the glass, she had felt shards been ripped out of her skin; she must have fallen onto the phial without realizing it. Well, now she certainly knew, and it was beginning to really hurt.

She pressed her hand harder against the wounds, but blood began to seep out between her fingers. It was then she realized that she really must have done some damage. Sitting against the wall, holding her arm, she tried to get up to go and see Madam Pomfrey, deciding that she would just have to deal with any questions she was asked. But her body just wouldn't allow it. She hurt too much to move far, and so she slumped against the wall, pulling up the hem of her robes to press against the cuts instead of using her hand.

Just as she was doing so, she heard footsteps. Panic began to rise in her chest; she didn't want to be found like this! It was surely after curfew by now – she had left the bathroom shortly before curfew, only leaving herself enough time to get back before the curfew came into effect. It must have been at least a few minutes – surely all students would be in their common rooms by now!

It dawned on her the one person who would be out and about, the one person she really didn't think she wanted to be found out after curfew by, slit wrists or not. Quickly, she tried in vain to push herself further along the wall incase he did come along this corridor. As pointless as it was, she wished that even if he did come along, he wouldn't see her; that he would walk right past her.

Pressing herself further into the wall, pain shot through her entire body, from her wrists. Her breath came in a hiss and tears poured down her cheeks. All she wanted to do was cry out, curl up into a ball and sob, but she didn't let herself.

Looking up the corridor, she saw the dark shape of Professor Snape come into view. He turned and began to make his way down the hall towards her. She held her breath, pressing further against the wall in a pathetic hope that he wouldn't see her.

But he did. "Well, well, well, what do we have here?" he asked, coming to loom over her as his black, billowing robes came to settle around him. His eyes searched her face, and she knew that he could see the tears that were streaming down them. "A Gryffindor, out after curfew," he continued, not making any remark about the tears. "That'll be… oh, let's see, fifty points from Gryffindor House."

His voice was barely registering as she held desperately to her wrist. It seemed the bleeding had stopped, but the pain was becoming completely unbearable. The pressure she was applying with her robes was enough to make a sob escape from her throat. He clearly thought it was from the points he had just taken.

"Is that a problem, Miss Granger?" he hissed, staring down his nose at her. And despite the fact that she was already flat against the wall, she tried desperately to push further in, hoping that the wall would swallow her whole. "If that is, I suggest you get back to your common room before I remove another hundred."

The points didn't bother her, not in the slightest. He could take all of Gryffindor's points and she wouldn't care right now. All she cared about was getting to her room and taking something to ease the pain in her wrist.

Since she hadn't made to move, however, Professor Snape bent towards her. "Get up, you silly little girl!" he snapped at her, reaching out a hand as if to pick her up himself.

At the sight of his hand, Hermione flung herself sideways, sliding down the wall and landing on her side, still clutching at her wrist. His black eyes, hidden in shadow, narrowed as he saw her holding her own wrist tightly. Before she could register what he was about to do, his hand flew down and grabbed at her hand, bringing it away from her other wrist and allowing him to see the blood quite clearly.

He made a sound like a roar at the sight of the blood, and knelt beside her, bringing her wrist up towards his face for closer inspection. She whimpered, scared of what he would do. The pain was beyond unbearable, and she felt as though she would pass out at any moment. It was too much!

"Miss Granger!" he ground out, his face looking stormy. She could hardly focus on it. "What have you been doing?"

"I didn't do it," she managed to mumble out, feeling as though the corridor was spinning around her. She had stopped the bleeding, hadn't she? Now she wasn't so sure. "It was… Ferret."

His dark eyes seemed to search hers for a moment, or were they looking at her hands? She wasn't quite sure. But his dark eyes were the last thing she remembered.

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When she came to, she still couldn't quite see straight. She wasn't against a wall anymore though, or on her side, she could tell that much. Where am I? Before she could say anything, she felt a glass being pressed to her mouth.

"Drink this, you foolish girl. You have lost a lot of blood – but not near as much as the explaining you're going to have to do." Professor Snape's voice told her, she couldn't quite see him.

But she drank it anyway. The coppery taste of the liquid she was given instantly told her that it was a Blood Replenishing Potion. As it worked through her system, she began to feel a little more alive, awake, and like she could move. "What happened?" she asked, her voice sounding sluggish and uneven. She looked around and noticed that she was in his office.

There was a small silence before a cold voice answered. "I was hoping you could tell me," Professor Snape said. "You passed out for lack of blood, but what the hell were you doing in the first floor corridor, cutting yourself?"

"I wasn't cutting myself," she mumbled.

He instantly flew into a rage, standing up behind his desk, his knuckles white as he leant on them. "Don't you bloody well dare lie to me, Granger!" he roared, his face turning a dark shade. "Why the Hell were you doing it?"

"I wasn't!" she replied, her voice gaining strength.

"Listen, you stupid little girl, and listen carefully," he snarled, his voice dropping in volume. "You're bloody lucky that I didn't take you to the Infirmary, or even the Headmistress. What were you doing, and why were you doing it?"

As he said it, it did seem to ring odd in Hermione's mind that Professor Snape had brought her here, and not dragged her through the school for all to see what had apparently happened. Why had he done that? And why wouldn't he believe her?

"What were you doing?" he asked again, his voice low and dangerous.

She was quiet for a moment, deciding it was no good reporting that Malfoy had something to do with it. With the way Snape loved him, there was no point. "I was holding a phial and I tripped, sir," she explained. "My hand fell on the phial and it shattered under me, slicing my skin. It was an accident!"

Before she could say anything else, he rounded the desk, coming dangerously close to her. His skin was still an awful shade, and he was baring his yellow teeth in a dog-like fashion.

"Tell me, Miss Granger, did you like the way it felt, when you had your accident?" The way he spoke told Hermione that there was no way that he believed it was an accident. "Did you make yourself believe that it was only an accident, that you didn't mean to do it, just so you could do it and not feel guilty about it?" His breath was on her face, and she thought she could smell alcohol or something like that on it. Why was he saying that?

"No, sir, it was really an accident; I didn't mean for it to happen!" she protested.

"I'm sure you told yourself that, just to make it alright. But it's not alright, Miss Granger, you shouldn't do stupid things like that," he growled, and it dawned on Hermione. He thought she was making it up because…

Before she could finish the thought, his hand snaked down to grab her wrist, but she beat him to it, grabbing his instead. When he gave a startled cry and tried to retract his arm, she held it tighter. Following a sudden hunch, she pushed his sleeve up his arm as high as she.

There they were; all up the Professor's arm was a crisscrossing of scars, some looking very old, some not quite so old. Each one of them, she knew instantly, he had made himself by cutting into his skin. Holding onto his arm, her mouth fell open, and she raised her gaze to his face. His eyes were orbs of pure fury. Even she was shocked by the amount of anger in his eyes, and her shock allowed him to pull his arm away from her.

"Get out," he growled in a low tone.

"Professor…" she started, but he turned around, fury in every line on his face.

"GET OUT!" he screamed, his hand coming up as if to hit her.

She didn't need to be told a third time, as she bolted for the door. She didn't stop running until she reached the seventh floor of the castle. There, she braced herself against a wall for a moment, feeling the pain in her arm return. Had he given her something to dull the pain for a moment? It didn't matter, it was back now. But she could hardly concentrate on it, instead seeing the lines that were carved all the way up the Professor's arm. He thought she was making it up because he had done that very thing once. He had cut himself and come up with lies and excuses to make it all seem alright.

Seeing the four cuts on her wrist, made by the broken glass she had fell on, Hermione didn't quite feel the pain as badly as she had moments before; thinking of how much the Professor must have hurt when he had broken the skin to make those lines in himself.

Resigned to the fact, she'd been seeing his arm in her sleep that night; Hermione made her way towards the Portrait of the Fat Lady, preparing to explain the blood and cuts on her face as the truth – an accident – to people who would actually believe her, to people who hadn't hurt themselves before.

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Next chapter, Snape reflects on an old habit.