4. Not the Mirror of Erised

Snape returned to the present with a jerk. Carefully, he glanced around to see if anyone had noticed his blank stare or snap back to reality. With relief, he saw no one looking in the direction of his dark corner. He swallowed down the last of his Guinness, and dropped enough coins on the table to cover the bill. The daylight had faded into the long summer twilight when he left the Leaky Cauldron for Kings Cross Station. Though it was possible to Apparate blind, it was inadvisable to do so when going to a Muggle area. The chances were much greater of being seen by someone who should not be aware of wizards. He walked past platforms 9 and 10, then walked into the wall separating platforms 11 and 12. Platform 11 1/3 was the public Portkey station for Wizarding London. It was there for easier access for students that lived outside of London to get to the Hogwarts Express. His steps echoed across the empty station. It was rarely busy here, except for the first and last day of school and the holiday breaks from Hogwarts. Snape walked to the window and requested a Portkey for Bath. The Key master handed him a walking stick and pointed to the departure point. The familiar hook grabbed him behind the navel, and he came to rest in a shadowed alley behind a grocery store. He used his wand to set the Point Me spell, then strolled away to his sister's house.

He reached the neighborhood quickly and scouted around for a convenient alleyway. There was no possibility that he was ringing Ann's doorbell without an understanding of the situation. Call him paranoid if you will, but paranoia had saved his life more than once, and there was no sense in changing a habit that worked.

The comfortable white house was identical to every other comfortable white house on the block. It had the requisite back vegetable garden, which probably matched the requisite front flower garden, with its requisite roses and shrubbery. There was little cover next to the house, so he hid himself in the shadows of a weeping willow tree.

Though he would never admit it, the Weasleys' extendible ears did have a useful purpose. He sent three of the extra long ears into the three levels of the house. There was no sound in the upper levels, but in the basement, he could hear several voices. He retracted the extendible ears and sent a more traditional spy spell through the low window. It sent back an image that Snape set into motion, which he watched with speculation, fascination, and finally horror.

X X X

The room before him was a curious combination of finished comfort and unfinished roughness. There was a beautiful wood floor that ended abruptly three-quarters of the way across the room. The same area was painted in a warm cream color, brightly lit, and furnished with comfortable chairs, a billiards table, and a bar set into the wall. Where the floor ended were smooth concrete walls and floor. The light was harsh, coming from unshielded bulbs, and there was a strange assortment of hooks set into the wall. The unfinished end of the room sent a feeling apprehension through Snape, but he dismissed it as impossible.

There was a flurry of movement back in the other part of the room that drew his attention. Snape sent the extendible ear back into the room as he watched the scene unfold. A woman wearing a long dress stood next to a man seated in an armchair. He was large—not fat, but built with a large frame. His dusky coloring and hooded eyes only added to the aura of darkness that surrounded him. Two boys, identical in coloring, height, and features stood before the chair. They could have been any age from thirteen to eighteen, though their posture and movement gave the impression of youth. The boys flanked a slight girl, the student that Snape was sent to find, or so he supposed. She may have been eleven, but looked much closer to seven. He looked closely at the girl, and realized that she was trembling slightly. The man glowered at the girl, then drew back his arm and slapped her across the face.

"You lie, Elizabeth. I will beat the falsehood out of you if I must. Do not tempt me further." The girl looked pleadingly at the man.

"Father, I promise. I didn't take food from the cabinet, you locked it before dinner and I was in my room all evening; you sent me there yourself."

The man raised his hand again, and the girl cringed in fear. He narrowed his eyes, curled his lip in a sneer, and stood. He grabbed Elizabeth by the arm and threw her across the room to land on the smooth cement. She caught herself on her hands and knees, then slowly stood. Blood trickled down one leg, where the skin had been rubbed to raw flesh.

"You are a liar, Elizabeth, and you will be punished. That is the only way to teach you the consequences of your actions. Prepare her," he told the woman. Ann crossed the room and took Elizabeth's arm in a firm grasp. The girl tried to pull away, but her slight frame was no match for the woman. Keeping a firm grip, Ann began unbuttoning Elizabeth's shirt.

"Why must you always fight?" she hissed in an impatient voice. "If you would just accept your punishment, it would go easier for you. You make it worse with your stubbornness. What will you do once you are married? Your husband will have no restrictions against killing you." She pulled one arm free of the sleeve and snapped a metal handcuff around the girl's wrist. Swiftly, she pulled the other sleeve away and cuffed her other wrist. Holding the short chain that linked the cuffs, Ann stripped off Elizabeth's skirt as well, leaving the child standing in just her underwear. The sight made Snape momentarily avert his eyes. It was not the undeveloped chest he wished to avoid but rather it was the sight of the scars that crossed her back and legs, leaving no skin unmarred from her neck to her knees. There were livid bruises and large scabs layered over red lines of recent scars, and the white lines of old scarring. Though it was the kind of sight Snape was familiar with, the presence of it on the person of his niece, a child, was beyond comprehension.

Ann handed the chain to one of the boys, then calmly walked back to her place by her husband's chair. As the boy pulled Elizabeth towards the hooks set into the wall, she pulled back, trying to delay the inevitable. The chain was strung between two hooks, set high enough into the wall that Elizabeth's heels were lifted slightly from the floor. Goose bumps broke out over her exposed skin as she came into contact with the cold cement. The man finally rose from his chair to approach the trembling girl.

"You are a liar, Elizabeth. For your disobedience, your deceit, and for your continued resistance to your proper place in this family, I sentence you to forty strokes."

"Forty, husband?" Ann's brow furrowed. "Why are you being so lenient?"

"Do not presume to question me, woman! You learn more through silence than through unnecessary speech." The man raised his hand as though to strike his wife.

"Forgive me, husband," Ann said quickly. "I did not mean to question you."

The man lowered his hand, satisfied in her meekness. He turned to the two boys, lounging on the couch. "What are you waiting for?" he asked harshly. "I said forty strokes!"

The boys sat up quickly. "But father," one began, "you said last week that we were not ready. We made a mess of things."

"Have you practiced this week?" the man asked patiently.

"Yes, sir!" both boys responded quickly.

"Then you should be ready." The boys scrambled from their seats to the many leather straps hanging against the wall.

"Which ones, sir?" the first boy asked. The man pointed to the thinnest straps. They were truly more whips, tightly braided coils of leather with a thicker handle. Each boy grasped a handle and faced their father once more.

"Forty lashes," the man said again. "Make them count."

The boys saluted him with the whips, then turned to their small sister. They gave several practice swings, then nodded to each other. Their swings alternated, each crack leaving a bloody stripe behind. They were methodical, allowing the one swing to complete before beginning the next. Even so, it was not long before Elizabeth's back and legs dripped blood to the floor. When they finished, the boys turned expectantly to their father. He surveyed their handiwork, and nodded regally.

"Well done. You have been practicing. Bring Elizabeth to me." He motioned to the boys, and they quickly hung their whips back on the wall, then unhooked the chain and deposited the girl on the floor at her father's feet.

Her tremors were worse now, the shaking visible to the naked eye. Thus far, the only sound she had made since protesting her innocence were slight gasps as the whips struck. Outside, Snape shook his head in shock, as well as admiration for the girl. He had seen grown men cry like children from punishments much slighter than this, yet this child had not cried out once.

The man turned to the two boys standing at attention behind Elizabeth. "Very good, you did a fine job this time." The boys both flushed with pride. "Now Thomas, can you tell me the limitations in disciplining a daughter?" The boy on the right bit his lip and stared at the ceiling for a moment before answering.

"Yes, sir. A father's responsibility is to train his daughter to the appropriate behavior for a woman of the Grey Family. He must teach her humility, honesty, obedience, meekness, and to always be industrious and submissive to those in authority over her. He may employ any method he so chooses to discipline her when she falls short of the expectations. However, any female child of the Grey Family, no matter how flawed, is a jewel when compared to the rough, untrained women raised outside of the family, and so no father may cause such damage in disciplining his daughter that would disfigure her face, incapacitate her for service, or cause her death before her marriage to a man in the Grey Family." He finished his recitation with a relieved sigh, obviously glad to remember the full litany. His father nodded proudly.

"You did that very well, Thomas. Now Charles, do you remember the only exception to these rules?" The other boy also bit his lip in thought before shaking his head.

"I'm sorry, father, but I don't remember." The man nodded and turned back to Thomas.

"Do you remember?" Thomas also shook his head no. "That is alright. It is a situation that seldom arises. Normally, a father's responsibility is to train his daughter as a jeweler removes the outer covering of an uncut stone. The final cutting and polishing is the responsibility of her husband. Sadly, there are some girls that are born with flaws that run through their entire being. These are the girls that will not accept the discipline of their fathers, and will not change their behavior. Then it becomes the responsibility of the father to break his daughter, so that the usable fragments may be put to use." Thomas and Charles' eyes strayed to their sister, still lying on the stone floor at their feet. Their father nodded solemnly. "I find your sister to be such a girl. Her flaws run deep, and she continues to refuse to bend to my will. Tonight, I will teach you how to break a woman's spirit. Learn carefully because you will not have many opportunities to observe."

Ann stepped forward slightly.

"William, must you?" she asked. Snape found that he was almost holding his breath waiting for the man's response. The discussion he was hearing was disturbing, to say the least. Damn Dumbledore and his brilliant ideas. This was a situation so far removed from the see if they have any questions and perhaps reconcile with your sister that the headmaster had suggested, that he felt almost as though he was over his head. He hadn't prepared for anything like this. He forced himself to pull back, to consider the situation from a distance. If ever he needed to repress his inner Gryffindor, this was the moment. First observe, then consider, then react, he strongly counseled himself. His attention was brought back to the macabre scene when William's hand struck Ann across the face and knocked her to the floor.

"How dare you question me!" he raged. "Take care that you are not next!"

Ann slowly stood, hand pressed against her cheek, eyes downcast. "Please forgive me, William. I meant no disrespect. I know that you are right; please forgive my weakness."

William nodded shortly, then turned back to the two boys. They stood unconcerned, except for the interruption to their father's lecture. Snape felt a chill travel down his spine. Those boys had no reaction to the abuse of their own mother and had gleefully abused their sister. That kind of calloused cruelty was chilling to see in two adolescent boys. Thank Merlin they had no magic in their souls. Voldemort would pay any price for recruits of that caliber.

William took the length of chain that connected the shackles that Elizabeth still wore. He dragged her to the center of the unfinished room and threw her onto her back, her head connecting heavily with the floor. Before she recovered from the blow, he had hooked the chain behind her neck, pulling her arms up.

"Thomas, Charles, I want each of you to kneel on one of her arms; pin them to the floor," William instructed. The boys quickly complied, pulling her elbows to the floor and kneeling on her upper arms. On Elizabeth's left shoulder there was a small brand, the size of a one-pound coin. It appeared to be a rose, or other round flower. It was an old scar, with faint raised white lines. William placed his finger over the brand.

"When you were an infant, Elizabeth, you were given this mark, to show that you were a daughter of the Grey Family, the best of all dowries. You dishonor this mark with your actions. From now on, you shall bear the mark of a flawed woman, and no man will take you as wife, unless he enjoys breaking his women. You could have been wed to a man who would give you sons, and thus the highest honor among women. But you have chosen to walk another path, and so you will bear a new mark, that all may know just what you are." He stood and pulled from a small furnace an iron pole that had been heating in the flame. The tip glowed a sullen red before he pressed it into the front of Elizabeth's shoulder, over the previous brand. Both boys flinched back from the smell of scorched flesh but stayed resolutely on her arms, preventing Elizabeth from pulling away. She screamed now, unable to stop as her skin blackened. When the iron was pulled away, a complex knot of black lines showed deep in the burned and blistered skin. The new mark was the size of the palm of a hand, pressed deep into the tender flesh of her upper chest and shoulder.

William threw the iron to the side and nodded for the boys to release Elizabeth. They moved to the side and she curled into a ball, huddling against the pain. She gagged and vomited to the floor, coughing and choking on the bile that had risen. William walked over to the bar and picked up a stack of papers. He sat back in his chair, watching as Elizabeth fought to regain control. He motioned for Thomas and Charles to bring her back to him. They pulled her up from the floor and held her upright facing her father. He coolly looked up and studied the girl, assessing her reactions.

"Elizabeth, what did I tell you at the beginning of the school year?"

The girl lifted a shocked and tear-stained face to her father. "You said that it was my last year of school," she replied with a hoarse and broken voice.

"Yes, I did," he said with a dangerous note. "Pray tell, then, why in the last two weeks, you have received acceptance letters from boarding schools in eight different countries?" He threw the papers he had collected to the floor at his feet. Several were open, but the majority of the envelopes, including the parchment one from Hogwarts, were still sealed. Elizabeth looked from the envelopes to her father.

"Father, I don't know why they came. I didn't send in any applications, I promise. Maybe my teachers did, or they are automatic for every student from the school. But I knew that I couldn't go on with school, so I didn't send in anything."

William stood abruptly and jerked his head for Thomas and Charles to step aside. Elizabeth flinched back from her father and fell to the floor. He glared down at her, holding his silence for a moment. He lifted his foot and rested it on her left hand.

"Last year, your teacher mentioned time after time how wonderful a writer you are. She asked if you had shared your stories with us, because we should be so proud of you. She wanted to know if you were considering going to a secondary school that specialized in writing, because you could be a gifted novelist or journalist." His foot pressed down, grinding into her hand. "A wife of the Grey Family does not write foolish stories. She does not use her hands other than to serve her husband or care for her children. Here is what I think about your precious writing." He ground his heel into her fingers until the bones separated and popped audibly. Elizabeth gasped in shock, her eyes dilating and darting around wildly. He lifted his foot and once again observed her coldly. "You sent applications to schools far and wide, all boarding schools, as though you could leave this family and your future. I don't think you will be going far now." He swung his foot forward into the side of her leg, her knee suddenly bending in a direction nature never intended. Elizabeth screamed in pain, unable to control the reaction. It ripped from her throat, a sound hardly human at all.

He pulled Elizabeth up by an arm and looked coldly at her. "You are a disgrace to this family, Elizabeth. I am ashamed that you are my daughter. If I had known that you would be like this, I would have drowned you like a kitten when you were born. I've wasted enough time on you. When I go to the family gathering tomorrow, I shall offer you to the highest bidder, and may God have mercy on your soul." He dropped her back to the floor, and turned once more to his sons.

"Have either of you ever had the satisfaction of sinking your fist into the face or belly of an enemy?" he asked quietly. Both boys shrugged.

"Not really, father, the school tends to break up fights before we get much beyond shoving," Charles answered.

"Ah, I understand." William replied. He took the chain and dragged Elizabeth across the floor. Once again, she was suspended from the hooks, this time facing the room. She sagged limply, unable to support her weight. He gestured grandly to Elizabeth. "Each of you may take five shots. I recommend trying both face and body blows. They feel very different." The boys glanced at each other, shrugged, and approached.

Thomas nudged Charles forward. "You first."

Charles stepped up, hands forming into fists. He examined her coldly, then struck. His first blow was to her face, the next three in quick succession to her solar plexus. He paused before the final blow, lining it up carefully. He struck the bridge of her nose, and it broke spectacularly, blood quickly streaming down her face. Each blow was accompanied by a pained grunt or gasp from Elizabeth. She could no longer scream from the pain. He stepped aside, shaking his hand slightly, and motioned his brother forward. Thomas tilted his head to the side, and chose four deep body blows first. He sneered before delivering the final blow, not a punch at all, but a backhanded slap that caught Elizabeth's cheek and swung her head into the wall. William unhooked the chain and let Elizabeth fall to the floor. He kicked her in the stomach, a blow that slammed her into the wall, her head and upper chest hunching forward. Before turning their backs, Thomas and Charles also gave Elizabeth one last viscous kick to the ribs. Her ribs gave way with sickening pops. When they reached the stairs, William turned back to Ann and commanded, "Clean up the mess and join us upstairs."

Ann nodded obediently, took several cloths and a bucket of water that were waiting. She cleaned the blood and bile from the wall and floor, then stood above her daughter. Elizabeth was gasping slightly for air, her body shaking uncontrollably. She lay on her side, her mangled hand cradled against her chest, her leg jutting out crookedly. Ann shook her head.

"Why couldn't you have just accepted your place?" she asked with a sigh. "You brought this on yourself, you know. Think it over." She dropped the cloths by the laundry machine, emptied the bucket, and walked to the wall. She pulled a set of Venetian sliding doors across the unfinished portion of the basement, turned William's chair around to face the room, turned off the lights, and went up the stairs. Elizabeth was left, broken and bleeding, on the stone floor. She had nothing to protect her from the cold, and she lay forgotten in the darkness, her cries unanswered.

Snape pulled away from the spell shaking in shock and fury. How dare they treat a child that way! Their own flesh and blood! They would pay, and pay dearly for what they had done. No one could get away with actions like that. Especially when their target was related to him by blood. It wasn't to be borne.

A figure pulled back the curtain in the living room. Ann stood, looking over the back garden absently fingering the developing bruise on her cheek. Snape sent another extendable ear to the ground floor. The noise in the background suggested the boys were watching the telly with their father.

"Close the curtain, Ann, unless there is something to see?"

Ann turned away from the window at William's command. "I'm sorry, William. I was lost in thought."

"And what in your thoughts was so interesting that you could be lost in them?" There was a sneer in his voice.

"I wonder if Elizabeth's behavior is not somehow my fault." Her voice was low and worried.

"How could it be your fault? I've been her disciplinarian since she was three. Am I to blame if you are not?"

"No, William, I'm not to blame for my actions, but for my blood. Have I ever told you of my half-brother?"

"Tim was an honorable man, who died much too young in a tragic accident."

"Not Tim, the other one, Stephen. He was my mother's son, went off to some boarding school when I was two. I never knew him much, but my father threw him out of the house when he was sixteen. From what I remember he was he was undisciplined, egotistical, untrustworthy, and completely unreliable. From the moment father threw him out, until his death when I was ten, he forbade anyone to speak Stephen's name. It may be that Elizabeth inherited that bad blood."

"Whatever caused his failures surely came from his father, likely a good-for-nothing like your brother. The John Smithson I knew would never have married a woman who was less than virtuous. This discussion is over. Boys! Turn off the telly. We leave early tomorrow, and you need your sleep."

The sounds clicked off and the living room went dark. Snape waited until the bedroom lights turned on before moving from his post. He crept to the basement window and opened it with a whispered spell. He slid inside the room slowly, his wand as the only illumination. He pulled one of the doors away and swiftly moved to Elizabeth's side. He called her name, and she moved slightly, groaning with pain. He placed one hand gently on her forehead, smoothed a few wisps of hair back, and whispered calmly, "Hold on, Elizabeth. I'm going for help. Just hold on for me." He stood and cast a field-healer's spell he had learned in the last uprising. It slowed the body's functions down to a hibernation state, which would slow the progression of bleeding and other injuries. Its function was to buy an injured witch or wizard time to reach a mediwizard, and many tests had shown that even a fatal wound could be survived for twelve hours.

"I'll return as soon as I can," he promised the now-unconscious girl. He left the room as he had come, locking the window when he left.

Snape paced in the alleyway, debating his options. His mission now was very different, and he needed to consider it fully. Had he arrived and things were normal, he would have convinced them to allow Elizabeth to attend Hogwarts and left, never to bother them again. Had he found an autocratic father ordering Elizabeth to her room, or treating her with strictness, he again could have left with a clean conscience. No one ever suffered lasting damage from a strict father. Especially when she would be out from under his thumb for all but two months of the summer.

However, this was not a case of a strict father. No child could be left in an abusive situation. Each year at Hogwarts, professors were reminded of the signs of abuse, and swore oaths to the ministry Department of Children and Families that they would report any suspected abuse. Elizabeth must be removed from the situation and would be as soon as he made report. She would be placed with a wizarding family during breaks, and she would be fine. However, that did not satisfy his desire for revenge. Elizabeth was not some random child; she was his blood—no matter that he had not known of her existence until that day. That meant that he could justifiably claim revenge, and his own personality demanded it. They would pay for their actions, and to fully exact revenge, he would need reinforcements. He needed a highly qualified mediwizard, access to a hospital closer than St. Mungo's, a contact in the Department of Children and Families, and assistance to exact revenge where it would hurt the most. He checked the time—9:45 at night. It was perfect; there would be fewer witnesses to his arrival, his reinforcements would be in, and morning was not too far away.

X X X

Had anyone looked out that evening, they would have seen a shadowy figure in billowing robes pacing the length of the alley, muttering darkly. It vanished suddenly with a loud crack, which would have left the observer with tales of evil spirits and a pressing need to sign up for mental help.

AN: This was not an easy chapter to write, but as Snape himself said, the situation had to be desperate for him to get involved. However, our solitary potions master wouldn't leave a Weasley in this situation, much less his own blood. It makes sense to me, at least! Let me know what you think.