(A/N: Just as a quick forewarning, I do not condone or romanticize what Astoria does in this chapter. Just thought I'd throw that out there. Enjoy!)
Memories: Marked
Astoria pressed the cool, jagged blade to the soft skin just below her wrist. It was one of impressive quality, ancient looking and ceremonial, nothing like the rest of the second hand cutlery she kept in her flat. It was a knife that looked like it had seen violence, inflicting its fair share of permanent cruelty on the world. Though Astoria didn't care too much for symbolism, she couldn't deny that the weapon's probable history casted a perfect irony over her intentions. Whereas this blade was forged to afflict a lasting damage on an assailant, its future would lie in that of a healing nature.
Her potion simmered out in the greenhouse, brewing softly in the twilight as the ingredients, so carefully researched and thoughtfully chosen, entwined with one another to release an ultimate potential. She estimated it was only a matter of days before the brew reached its full capacity, and in the mean time there was only one other thing she needed to collect.
Scars.
A line of scars, spaced out over different periods of time, well documented and perfectly placed. Time was of great importance in this experiment and she needed to be thorough.
Her experiment was taking much longer than she originally anticipated. She found herself reaching dead ends constantly with ingredients she felt certain would work and didn't. It was all very frustrating, yet she was determined to continue.
She was finally in the stages where she had something to show for herself. The potion outside, absorbing the healing properties released by the stars during the new moon, was her first possible breakthrough. Though only a base for the more complex project that lay before her, it was still an original starting point. A new method was the key to her success, and she had to focus her mind to stay away from the conventional and the tried.
After casting a nervous glance out the window to assure her potion continued to simmer, she returned her attention to the matter literally at hand. Although her mind was tuned to the necessity of her actions, a small flutter in her heart beat distractively. She couldn't help but be plagued by the social taboo of cutting, especially on the wrist. One of her dorm mates had been caught cutting her wrists in their sixth year after both her parents had been carted off to Azkaban. Professor McGonagall had talked to them all privately about the incident. Her words about the mental and physical trauma caused by the act rolled across her head. At the time Astoria had ignored the warnings. She didn't care one way or the other about what her roommate had done, nor did she have any desire to botch up her skin, especially after working so hard to clear it of the marks of puberty. Plus, she didn't really see the big deal about it.
It was therefore all the more surprising that two years later she remembered McGonagall's speech verbatim.
Astoria shook her head. This wasn't about an outlet, she reminded herself. It was about science, her career, her life. She had to do this. It had to be tested on human skin for it to work properly. There was no way around it.
The sour feeling continued in her stomach. Her mother would kill her if she found out what she was doing. For all intents and purposes her body, according to the skewed logic of her mother, was her future husband's, and she should not decimate it. Cheri would be horrified and her annoying desire to council her would increase intensively. Luckily it was wintertime, and as long as she was careful and wore the proper attire, the cuts should go unnoticed.
Of course, there was the slight problem of Draco. Her clothes never stayed on for too long when he was around. Though that internal statement irritated her immensely, she couldn't help but smile. She was starting to grow accustom to his increasing presence in her life. The sex was amazing, almost too amazing. Reminiscing about a previous encounter was a surefire way to distract her from work. Even then she felt a light shudder roll across her body as she recalled how masterfully he had gone down on her on the very couch she stood behind.
But there were other things she found herself thinking about too. His arms were strong, and some part of her became more docile when he placed them around her. His grey eyes were sharp and cunning, reflecting the fairly impressive mind that sat behind them. His lips formed the perfect smirks and sneers, ones which excited her, challenged her. He was still a spoiled brat who was more than full of himself, and he was adamant on reminding those around him about those traits. However, after a while, when he got comfortable and settled in, he could forget to throw up that obnoxious front and let some of his more pleasant attributes filter through. Attributes that made him relatable, amusing, likeable.
Maybe I should just end it, she thought to herself. It was a bad sign if she was thinking about him past sex. He was starting to interfere with her life, distracting her. She was even pausing at the moment, wasting time, wondering about his reactions to her cuts and debating whether or not she should proceed.
"He probably wouldn't even care," she said aloud, answering her own debate. She surprised herself by saying such with a slight pout, as though this bothered her. She looked back at her arm, still devoid of fresh cuts, contemplating the accuracy of her statement.
I'll just make sure he is distracted with other parts of me he won't have time to look at my wrists, she finally determined, grinning at the prospect of a new game. Besides, if I'm right, they'll all be gone within the week.
With the thoughts of others out of the way, she turned her attention back to business.
She stretched out her wand hand, placing the knife awkwardly in her left. There was another reason she was using herself as an experiment, why she was intent on placing the cuts on her wrist. An old but prominent scar traced sharply at the base of the joint. It was an ugly scar with an ugly story, one which she'd be all too happy to be rid of. As she placed the blade a few centimeters below it, she couldn't help but remember the night of its creation…
It was getting late. Too late. The candles that bordered the castle's stonewalls began to flicker violently, warning students of the encroaching hour of curfew. The corridors were almost completely empty as straggling students made their ways to their respected common rooms.
Astoria had been one of those students a few minutes before. She had spent her hours after dinner in the library, working on her essay for Charms. She was one of the few students in the library that evening, and probably the only First Year. It was the very beginning of the Spring Term, and most of her schoolmates were just easing back in, still resisting the reality of homework as they returned from the Christmas Holidays. But Astoria was all too glad to be back at school, away from her parents and oppressive home, and had dived into her first assignment with gusto.
Though not due for another week, she had finished the paper just before the library closed, and was returning to the Slytherin common room with a fulfilling smugness when she was struck with a realization. She had left her new bracelet on her study table.
Groaning miserably, she turned around and quickly dashed back to the library. She wasn't attached to the trinket; on the contrary she found it clunky and distracting when she wrote, which is why she had taken it off in the first place. However, her sister had given it to her for Christmas, and her mother would never let her hear the end of it if she found out she lost the expensive piece of jewelry.
She made it to the entrance to the library just as Madam Pince was closing the doors.
"Wait!" Astoria expressed, trying to wedge her small frame in the door.
"The library is closed!" the librarian announced with disdain. "You'll have to wait until morning to get your books."
"I don't need a book! I left my bracelet. I know right where it is, it will only take a few seconds!" she explained.
Madam Pince narrowed her eyes, dipping her hand into her robes before pulling out the platinum charm bracelet.
"Little girls need to be more responsible for their possessions, especially such expensive ones," Madam Pince chastised. "You can come back and claim it in the morning."
"But you have…!" Astoria's rebuttal was cut short as the large door slammed in her face. She looked forward for a few moments, rage filling her little body after what had just happened.
"Miserable old cunt!" she spat, kicking the door loudly before spinning back towards the dungeons. This was not the wisest of actions, as both her words and clangs from the door echoed violently in the empty corridor.
"You there! First Year!" a pompous voice called out. Astoria turned her head to see a tall, red headed Seventh Year marching her way.
"Great," she muttered under her breath as the Weasley (she wasn't sure which) approached her.
"What are you doing out of bed, young lady?" he demanded, pointing to the low flickers of the candles, signaling the hour was past curfew. "No student is to be lingering in the halls, especially after hours."
"You're a student out of bed," she pointed out, clenching her jaw in annoyance. The last thing she needed right now was the self-righteous babbling of someone who thought they were important, especially when they called her 'young lady'.
"I'm Head Boy!" he stated indignantly, pointing to the over polished badge pinned to his chest. "It is my duty to patrol the halls at night to make sure everyone is safe. There is a madman on the loose you know!"
"Really? I hadn't heard," she spat sarcastically, pushing past the red head to make it towards her bed. The Weasley shot out one of his willowy arms and grabbed her by the scruff of her robes to stop her. His touch caused her to almost go blind with rage.
"This is serious business, young lady, the breaking of school rules is a serious offence!" he quoted pompously. "Now I'll ask you one more time, what are you doing out of bed?"
"I came to get my bracelet from the library!" she snapped. "It is very expensive, and I wouldn't want anyone stealing it and trading it for robes from a proper clothing store, now would I?"
She watched the Weasley's neck flush red in anger just above the frayed ends of his well cared for but still obviously second hand robes. He pushed his horn rimmed glasses up his nose and tugged roughly on his captive.
"Ow!" she cried as he dragged her into a march. "Where the hell are you taking me?"
"To see the head of your house," he explained through gritted teeth. The color from her face drained immediately.
"I thought that'd get a reaction," he stated with a smirk. "Not so daring now when you know a nasty detention is ahead of you!"
Astoria said nothing, but fear for detention was the last thing on her mind. He dragged her through the corridor to the staircase leading off to the dungeons. They moved away from her common room where she so longed to be and marched over to the potion's lab. The Weasley knocked loudly on an unmarked door.
A few moments passed in eerie silence before the office door swung open. Professor Snape stood with an irritated expression on his face, a half finished potion brewing violently behind him.
"This better be important, Weasley," he scolded coldly.
"I found one of your children out of bed," Weasley explained firmly, pushing her forward to present her. Snape's black eyes widen with recognition, and for the briefest of seconds she swore she saw a flash of fear cross his face.
"She was very rude," the Weasley continued, oblivious to the interaction. "She answered my questions snidely and has a complete lack of respect for her superiors. You won't believe what she called Madam Pince…"
"Are you telling me you withdrew me from my work, direct orders from Professor Dumbledore, all because you could not handle the mouth of an eleven year old girl?" Snape demanded. "What kind of standards do they set for Head Boys these days?"
Weasley stood in temporary shock, his mouth flailing at the comment. He regained his ground quickly, and all but pushed Astoria into the office.
"She is out of bed. The Ministry has made it clear that safety is to be the number one priority, and strict measures are to follow those who disobey. I will go place her name down on the ledger so we'll know if she is a repeat defender and to make sure the proper discipline is carried out."
"My my, what would we do without you?" Snape asked coolly, slamming the door before the Weasley could respond.
Astoria stood by the bubbling potion quietly, staring at the back of the man whose hand still lay on the door. Under any other circumstance her curiosity would have been peeked by such an obviously complex brew, especially as she recognized the ingredient of wolfsbane. As of that moment however, all of her attention was focused on her breathing and her nerve.
She had never been alone with him like this before. After the realization with the Sorting Hat she had been extremely anxious about her first potions class and meeting him in the common room for introductions. The way he stared incessantly at her during the Sorting made it seem like he knew who she was, what he was. It just seemed like naturally something would be said between the two of them, they obviously couldn't just go seven years simply staring at one another.
But as she rode the train home for Christmas and reflected over her first term she had realized that was pretty much how life was going. He never called her out or tried to talk to her. He wasn't particularly nice nor was he unnecessarily nasty to her either. He would call on her if she raised her hand in class and passed out the same warnings to her as he did every one of his other students. The fact that he seemed to have no particular interest in her got her to think that maybe the Sorting Hat was wrong, that perhaps she just imagined that he was staring at her. And though she hardly knew him, she did know her mother, and the idea that the two of them spent any real time together, even for just a few passing intimate moments, was incomprehensible.
And for a few days she was able to shake it off, resigning herself back to the fact that she probably would never know who her real father was and hardly caring. And she would have been just fine continuing to think that way if she hadn't noticed something else.
It wasn't that Snape had no particular interest in her, she eventually realized, but he actively went out of his way to avoid interacting with her. Sure he would call on her to answer a question, but only when no one else knew the answer. She always did very well on her potions and quickly became the best in her class. Whereas he would loudly berate non-Slytherin students for their failings and smugly praise his charges for their successes, he hardly commented on her work. Lesser work from her classmates would receive more attention, both positive and negative, while she received a few sparse fragments. "Good" was what she heard when she was successful and an unhelpful but dignified "next time" when she messed something up. Whereas everyone else's essays bled with red ink and corrections, she only received a grade mark at the top, one which was usually near perfect.
Such non-recognition made her feel like he knew exactly who she was and that he was intent on avoiding her completely. His delay in speaking to her now, from even looking at her, confirmed it.
This, coupled with the events of the evening, made her the most angry she had ever been. Her body started to shake in agitation and it was all she could do to keep from screaming.
Snape eventually turned around, a clearly forced yet still collected calm placed on his sullen face.
"You know you are not supposed to be out of the dungeons after curfew," he stated simply, his piercing gaze avoiding her. "These are dangerous times."
"Don't act like you give a damn about me!" Astoria exploded, losing the last of her restraint. "Throw me in detention or toss me out to the Dementors but don't you for one fucking moment dare lecture me about my safety."
Astoria's outright insubordination threw him and for a brief moment Snape lost his collection. A hot anger flashed across his black eyes and his lips twisted into a scowl.
"I will not be spoken to in such a way!" he decreed, his strong jaw clenching fiercely as his eyes narrowed. If she had had the right mind to think about such things Astoria might have noticed that look was identically mirrored on her own face. Instead she did what she always did when placed in a fight or flight confrontation.
She fought.
"I will talk to you how I want! Cowardly bastards don't merit respect!" she yelled, holding back childish tears as she tried to make a grown up statement. Snape darted across the room, mere centimeters from her face in a horrifying moment, wand pressed against her throat.
"Utter one more word," he hissed, "and I do the world a favor and destroy you like the nothing little brat that you are."
"Go ahead!" she goaded. "Kill me, get rid of me, silence me! Anything to make you feel better. Anything so you don't have to deal with me."
"Shut up," he ordered with a frighteningly calm voice.
"You have no idea what I've had to go through because of you!" she cried. "How wretched my existence is. So go ahead, do it, just wipe me out entirely so I don't have to keep on living knowing I come from the likes of you!"
"I said SHUT UP!"
And at that moment he lost his cool. Despite the twenty three years he had on her, Snape reverted to the uncontrollable anger he always felt inside, the same anger that flowed so freely from the eleven year old that stood so accusingly in front of him. Astoria felt something happening to her, felt a foreign presence overcoming her consciousness. And though this experience was completely novel to her she recognized that whatever it was it was uncontrolled, fueled only by pure, intense emotion.
Without her consent a stream of memories was forced out of her mind, put on display like a muggle film, with a most unwanted audience member standing ever present in the aisles.
A summer birthday party, thrown indoors in a gorgeous manor, her home, decorated with lacy table cloths and food the just turned eleven year old couldn't pronounce. Though the banner above the door proclaimed a congratulations to her landmark birthday, no one in that room was there for her. The children there, forced by their parents, all muttered a happy birthday to her before playing amongst themselves. The adults didn't even seem to notice her.
All this was fine by Astoria. All she wanted was her new book. It was the only one of her gifts she had actually liked, a gift that was actually meaningful, and it was given to her by Bluebonnet, the House Elf. She snuck off to a side room with the intentions of barricading herself and reading throughout the party. Hearing footsteps she ducked under a desk, fearing her mother had finally noticed her absence.
"Ugh, this party is so boring!" a girl Astoria barely recognized announced. She was a pureblooded Slytherin, as was almost everyone else at the party, but her and her friend were a good five years older.
"Why did we even have to come here?" her companion complained in a whiney voice. "It's not like Astoria is even important."
"She is so weird and creepy," the original girl shuddered. "It must be all that dirty muggle blood."
"That girl is in for a rude awakening when she comes to Hogwarts. If she thinks we're going to keep kissing her ass just because that senile old fool Greengrass hasn't wised up and seen she's just another Unpure bastard child, she has another thing coming."
"We should drag her to the Shrieking Shack and charm it so she can't get out."
"Or take her to the bathroom and see if we can "filter out" her dirty blood. You still have that knife set, right?"
The two girls laughed manically before exiting the room. Astoria stood up from behind her desk, hot tears rolling down her angry face.
A spring evening just before Easter, the sun just beginning to set behind the small but active Quidditch pitch. Some of the older kids were playing an impromptu game. Nine years old and uninterested in sports, Astoria had spent the afternoon combing the nearby field and studying the strange plants that grew. This was a normal activity for her, yet today there was a big change. A boy who called himself Theo had been watching her and asked if he could help. She resisted the idea at first, but he was quiet, and whenever he did talk it was to tell her something useful about a plant she didn't know.
"You're very strange, Astoria," he told her suddenly after he finished listing the properties of hellebore. "Very strange, but very pretty."
Before she could respond Theo had grabbed her face and slipped his tongue into her mouth. She stood still as her first kiss was stolen from her, unsure of what to do or of what she wanted.
"Hey Nott!" a boisterous voice catcalled. Astoria and Theodore broke apart to see Marcus Flint standing next to his slumping cousin Goyle. "You better watch where you put your tongue. That girl will give you Mudblood fever."
"Oh, that's right," Theodore said calmly, pulling his hands away from her face and stepping back. "I had forgotten. Pity."
The memory changed scenes just as Astoria balled her fist to punch Nott in the stomach.
A giant Christmas tree sat among piles of discarded wrapping on the floor. Astoria, four years old and hardly tall enough to reach the top of the mantel even on her tiptoes, worked diligently to retrieve one of her new toys. After a long effort she had finally managed to scoot a chair over so she could reach. A purple stuffed Kneazle, incredibly soft with a friendly smile, stared at her from across the table. She carefully crawled to get to it, making sure she didn't knock any of the other gifts off to the floor.
Victorious, she had the cat shaped animal in her arms just long enough to squeeze it lovingly and contemplate a name before a figure approached her from behind.
"Give me that!" a shrill voice demanded. Pansy ripped the cat-like stuffed animal out of her arms, holding it teasingly above her head.
"That's mine!" Astoria cried, jumping with all her might to reach her new beloved toy.
"It can't be yours," Pansy taunted mockingly. "This is a pure bred magical Kneazle, and you're a mixed blooded little runt. You don't deserve this!"
"But I am a Pureblood!" Astoria expressed, tears running down her cheeks.
"And you're a liar! Lying about being a Pureblood is bad enough to get you killed. In fact," Pansy smirked, staring at the toy in her hand, "I think a punishment is in order."
Before Astoria could do anything to stop her Pansy tossed her new stuffed toy in the fire. Astoria shrieked as she watched the purple kitten erupt into flames. Tears spilling down her cheek, she ran into the next room.
"Mummy, Mummy!" Astoria cried, finally finding her mother alone in her dressing room.
"Astoria, I really don't have time for you right now," her mother scowled in exasperation.
"But Mum, Pansy threw my new Kneazle in the fire! She said I didn't deserve it because I wasn't a Pureblood, and she just…"
Phoebe Greengrass grabbed her daughter roughly around the shoulders before she could finish her sentence, and began to shake her violently.
"Don't you EVER say that again, do you hear me? There is to be no talk about you not being Pure!" her mother insisted fiercely.
"But Pansy said…"
A sharp slap found Astoria's tear soaked face as she tried to further explain herself. The force was so strong in knocked the unprepared girl to her feet. In shock, she could only stare up at her mother in total confusion.
"Astoria Anathema Greengrass, you keep your damn mouth shut! I will not have you speak like that in your father's house…"
Astoria wasn't sure if it was the particular pathetic cruelty of this memory that caused what happened next. Perhaps it was seeing Phoebe after so long that had gotten to him, or maybe his rage had finally subsided. None the less, Astoria sensed a weakness in her captor; felt like the strong hold on her memories had loosened. So, with all her might, she pushed. She closed her mind and pushed the intruder out, ready to be back to normal.
Only after the push, she didn't feel normal. She felt as though she had passed a boarder of normal, landing some place strange and unwelcoming.
She found herself standing in a hazy fog, a full moon shining dimly above the deserted roadside. Although Astoria could see no one, she heard the distant clatters, laughs and music of a party. The leaves that whirled around her feet, carried by the wind, were all dead.
Right when she felt sure she was lost somewhere she saw a cloaked figure stumbling along the roadside. As the figure approached her she could hear painful moans as he limped along.
"Professor?" she called out, recognizing the man heading her way. For a brief moment she panicked, believing him to be hurt. But when she rushed over to him she realized she was wrong. This was not her Professor Snape. It was a Snape much younger, twelve years younger to be exact. And even though she had clearly forced herself into one of his memories, there was no escaping the horrendous smell of whiskey that permeated his skin.
All she could do was watch her poor professor stumble aimlessly around the street. At one point he threw himself against a lamp post, his head buried in his arm as he began to sob. He started calling out to someone, bemoaning someone's name, but the sound was muffled by his cloak so she couldn't hear it properly.
She was so caught by the sight of this young distraught Snape she didn't notice a second figure enter the scene. A woman in a pretty risqué dress and impossible heels all but tripped down the hill where the party was being held. The way her makeup and hair was done made Astoria believe there was some kind of costume party. The young woman also stumbled as she headed their way.
"Drunk, I'll show you who's a drunken fool, Helios," she proclaimed sloppily. Astoria's mouth dropped as she recognized the slur.
"Mother?" she cried incredulously. True it was a much younger version of her mother than she was used to seeing, but there was no denying the fact. Her soft red hair hung down elegantly from her milky face, and her eye makeup caused her bright green eyes to pop beautifully.
"Who's there?" her mother demanded as she caught sight of the slumped figure. Snape rose to meet her.
"Oh, Severus, it's just you. You scared me," Phoebe proclaimed, placing her hand on her chest. Snape however perked up, staring at Astoria's mother as though completely dumbfounded.
"Lily," he cried through choked tears. "Lily, you're alive!"
Astoria watched in utter shock as Snape ran to her mother and scooped her in his arms. He buried his head in her red hair and sobbed.
"Severus, what are you…" but Astoria's mother stopped, her face serine as Snape continued to stroke her gently, lovingly.
"Lily," he moaned softy, pressing his lips against her own. "My Lily."
"Yes," Phoebe Greengrass replied softly. "Your Lily."
Later in life, when Harry Potter published his autobiography and wrote about Snape, this scene finally became clear. This was Halloween, exactly a year after the first fall of the Dark Lord, and exactly one year after Harry's father James and mother Lily died. Mourning that depressing anniversary, two witless drunks merged together for a few moments, leaving the man in utter disgust with himself as he ran away from such society, and leaving the woman to give birth exactly nine months later on July 31st.
But it would be years before Astoria learned all this. As of that moment she had to deal with a raw force casting her out of this intimate memory, back into the potion master's office at Hogwarts.
"Get out, you filthy brat!" Snape demanded angrily, flicking his wand at her instinctively. An invisible hand knocked her against a back table filled with empty potions glasses. One shattered against her hand, and a large piece of glass stuck rigidly into her wrist.
In shock, Astoria collapsed to the floor, ripping the shard out quickly as a red river of blood splashed down her pallid arm.
Snape stood quietly, watching the small girl stare at the deep gash in amazement. The realization of what had just happened, what he had just done, and to whom he did it to, hit him like his own sucker punch. He walked over to his desk and pulled out a small vial from his drawer.
"Here," he told her almost kindly. "This is Dittany. It will clean your cut and keep you from scarring."
Astoria's green eyes flickered up at him violently, and she lashed out a hand to slap the vial away from her face. She jumped to her feet and screamed. Screamed in anger, hate, and frustration. Snape backed away, unsure of what to do, the former Death Eater terrified of the eleven year old girl in front of him. Before another word could be spoken between them Astoria pushed him out of the way and ran out of his office, keeping her tears to herself until she reached her empty common room.
That had almost been eight years ago, she thought to herself. Now Snape was dead and the world was a much different place. She stared at the scar, still splashed thickly across her wrist as though just formed. At first she had wanted to keep the scar, as a way to remind him of what he had done. Now the thing just made her feel guilty, sad, and worthless.
All of the exhaustion of the day coupled with her stress filled memories washed over her. As so many feelings flowed through her she felt herself going numb as a coping mechanism. One by one her worries, fears and other emotions no longer mattered. She could hear the potion bubbling outside and her calling became ever clearer.
She placed the blade below her natural scar and placed a long perfunctory cut alongside it. As her blood flowed freely down her wrist she couldn't help but think one strange thing.
It felt good.