Chapter 2 – Snape

His memory of finding the youngest Weasley boy bare arsed and dry heaving in the depths of the Slytherin dungeons was not a memory that Snape particularly wanted to spend his time dwelling on.

He had saved both Potter and Granger and had spoken to neither of them about what he had witnessed in doing so. He had witnessed the aftermath of the fucked up Weasley boy shortly after Draco had apparently left the boy. The Malfoy boy had raped the child hard enough to leave bruises on his thin hips, and likely bruises on his dignity and mind that no one but the redhead would ever perchance to see. No, the young redheaded boy was far too proud to admit to what had happened to anyone. Plus, the girl had done likewise; the aftermath of her debauchery had been loud and clear as well, but yet she had not told the boys that anything had actually happened between her and Draco.

Potter's case was entirely different though; they had witnessed his rape and his screams and his physical enjoyment of the rough treatment of Lucius's mouth upon his sensibilities. This he had become aware of in a brief moment of rifling through Potter's memories, just following the expulsion of Lucius himself. Potter had been so undone by all that had occurred; he doubted that the boy had even noticed the pilfering of his mental mines.

….

The very next morning at breakfast, he had been interested in hearing of a strange rumor about a banshee shrieking throughout the castle in the middle of the night. Two students from his house had even asked if it were true! He had berated them for their gullibility and had continued onto his breakfast at the head table, set on retrieving the truth from the Headmaster, unobtrusively if at all possible.

It had been there that he had learned of the nightmare by Potter that had been violent enough to wake the entire dorm. Moreover, it was enough to notice the sullenness of the Gryffindor table as it sat there across the hall in near silence, to realize that something was very aberrant with the situation regarding Dumbledore's favorite pet. It was almost enough to make Snape get up and click his heels together in front of the entire school, sans music; but he opted to restrain himself, not wanting to be the cause of any untimely wrought deaths at the sheer horror which would undoubtedly occur in response to his unseemly behavior.

It still brought a faint ghost of a smile to his lips that he had covered quickly with a sip of tea. It was a good thing too, because Dumbledore had chosen that very moment to glance at him from down the table. Snape had nodded curtly at him, not wanting to garner any unnecessary attention from anyone at such an early hour. It was apparent to him that Dumbledore had not bought his act, but he had not hoped for much more anyways and was not disappointed in the headmaster's response, or lack thereof.

He would never be anyone's favorite anything and he had long ago given up trying. That was one of the most important lessons he tried to impress upon his Slytherins; they had to learn to do things for themselves without the outright approval of others. Everyone immediately had assumed that he was evil for being sorted into Slytherin. He hadn't been at first, but after years of taking the brunt of others' prejudices, it had seemed almost common sense to accept the role and get the goods. No one would support them, and they were always the first to be blamed.

Thus, seeing the Gryffindors in such a state of disarray left something akin to a spring in his step as he set off for the rest of his morning routine.

….

Over the course of the next two days it had become obvious to him and the rest of the professors at Hogwarts that the Golden trio was suffering through some kind of extreme internal anguish. They sat at the far end of the Gryffindor table, barely eating or speaking, as they scanned the room around them with almost a vicious level of watchfulness.

"—had them in class?" He had heard someone ask McGonagall, as he shook himself out of his quiet study of the three bizarrely behaving second years.

"They are all three uncharacteristically quiet," she had responded, the worry evident in her quiet tone.

"Come now," he had snorted critically at her, "Granger has never been quiet for a minute of her life, let alone an entire class period."

He was unsurprised to see Minerva turn a flinty glare on him at the conclusion of his words.

"The same could be said for you, Professor Snape," she had said in a much thicker Scottish brogue than usual.

"Touché," he had calmly nodded to her.

"Children," the headmaster had said then, breaking into what could only be laughingly described as a conversation.

"Have you tried to talk to them Minerva?" Dumbledore had asked then, returning to his common practice of ignoring him.

"No; short of assigning them detention, I cannot seem to get them alone." She had responded, sounding much calmer.

It was obvious enough to any fool that the Gryffindor trio were not themselves. He quickly shook his head, trying to rid himself of the memory of hearing Weasley boy's pitiful moans.

It had not been until later that he had given into his mind's need to further process all that he had witnessed after coming across the red haired boy lying half-conscious in one of the lesser used dungeon passageways.

In his memory, he thought disgustedly back to the scene he had walked in upon in his efforts to rescue Potter. The boy had nearly been on his tiptoes as he was forced to take each brutal invasion of Lucius's prick into his poor worn body. The look on his face had been palatable, as had his abject humiliation at being seen like that in front of his most hated professor.

And Lucius's hands, Merlin they had been holding the boy with fingers outstretched, seemingly mapping the contours of the crevices of his torso and groin as a blind man might. It was this image that had filled Snape with blinding fury, even now. He had been forced to witness other brutal rapes committed by Lucius, but had never thought to see something as hideous as the boy-who-lived under his slimy embrace.

It was a reminder to him that they were all so very fragile right now, including him.