A/N: Yes, I am still alive. Alas, I've no excuse but that I've been distracted with various and sundry. Sorry. Personally, I blame work. Yeah. It's work's fault.

Just wanted to note that I have removed the Malfoy/Nott confrontation from Chapter Seven. It was part of a tangent that I have elected not to explore in this particular story. It's still in the Stewpot, though, so it may eventually be explored, just not here.

Anyhow, thank you for your patience - I'll try not to keep you waiting too long in the future, but I can make no promises.

A/N 2: Warning for self-harm in this chapter.

Chapter Nine

0o0

"Hello, Ron."

Ron sighed as the girl sat next to him on the bench. Letting his fork clatter to the table, he pushed his plate away, his dinner hardly touched. When Mrs. Norris put a paw on his leg, he tore off a piece of turkey and gave it to her.

"Everyone misses you in the tower."

"Hermione..."

"I'm not asking you to come back," Hermione interjected. "I'm just letting you know that we miss you."

The redhead proceeded to break his dinner roll apart and Mrs. Norris stretched forward to help herself to the rest of his turkey.

"I'm sorry, Ron."

"Mione -" Ron began.

"No. I'm sorry for trying to make you talk. I... I just want to help and I can't an-and I'm not used to not being able to do anything. I'm no good at just being there." She gave a sad, self-deprecating smile. "Sorry."

The boy nodded slowly. "Me, too," he said, then sighed again. "I... I just need more time." He glanced at her briefly – too briefly – before standing up to leave. Mrs. Norris remained to stare reprovingly at Hermione, who finally offered her a piece of her own meal. Flicking her tail, the cat accepted the peace offering before leaping down and padding out of the hall.

Hermione turned back to her plate, prodding her food disinterestedly. She sighed quietly. Never had she felt so useless.

0o0o0

"You're worried about him."

Severus pulled his gaze from the vacant doorway across the Great Hall. Setting his fork down on the table, he brought his napkin up to dab at his mouth, though, not a lot of forethought seemed to be put into either action.

"The entire castle is concerned over the welfare of that boy, Albus," he stated dryly.

"True enough," the headmaster agreed, "though, I rather suspect your students believe you to be an exception."

The Potions Master scoffed. "I have long since ceased caring what my students might choose to believe about me."

"A pity," Albus said, a hint of amusement lightening his tone. "They do come up with the most interesting theories."

Severus glared mildly at him. "I will one day prove that you're responsible for the rumor that I am a vampire, old man."

"Alas, I am not the guilty party. I almost wish I were."

"I don't doubt." Suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, Severus returned to their original topic of conversation. "I do not feel it wise to facilitate his need to isolate himself."

"Perhaps not," Albus conceded. "And yet, having him constantly surrounded by his classmates is not a kindness, either. I'm afraid young Ronald's circumstances have me in a bit of a quandary. You and Poppy believe allowing him to dwell in secondary housing will be to his detriment while Minerva and I feel that forcing him to remain in the dormitory succeeds only in causing him more pain."

"At least in Gryffindor there are more eyes to watch over him."

"He is being looked after, now. Furthermore, you know as well as I that being surrounded by others is not necessarily a sufficient safeguard should he choose to do himself harm."

Blue eyes fixed upon him, capturing the younger man's gaze.

"This is not the answer, my boy."

"I just want it to stop – I just want the pain to go away!"

Severus turned his head to stare at one of the Ravenclaw banners. "What is to happen to him at the end of the school year?" he inquired. "I doubt the ministry will permit him to remain here another summer."

"Indeed not," Albus replied. "The Ministry is working out the details, though, I daresay the process is unnecessarily slow. Unfortunately, my say in the matter is limited as it is 'not my jurisdiction'. I imagine some sort of decision shall be made by the end of the school year."

"He doesn't have any family members who can take him?"

"His great-aunt's health is failing. Though, he does have some... distant relations."

The Potions Master looked at his employer for a moment before following the man's gaze to where it was fixed on one of the students. "I see," he murmured somberly.

Gray eyes questioningly turned towards the head table, their owner sensing the scrutiny focused upon him.

"If you'd excuse me, headmaster," Severus said as he pushed back from the table, "I have some work to finish in my lab."

"Of course, Severus," Albus told him. "Do have a good evening." He watched as the black-clad professor made his way out of the Great Hall, mind idly contemplating the possible fate of one of his students.

0o0o0

Ron slowed as he rounded the corner. Leaning against the wall near his room was Bulstrode. He hadn't spoken to the girl since she'd approached him on Tuesday. Nevertheless, he wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone just then. He just wanted to be alone. Why did nobody seem to understand this? Maybe if he just ignored her...

"You're just gonna sit in your room alone the rest of the day?"

The boy sighed, his hand on the doorknob. No such luck, apparently. "That's kinda the point."

She nodded sagely. "You want to be alone. Want everyone to leave you alone."

"Yeah," he agreed.

"It's not such a good idea, y'know," Millicent said softly.

"Oh? And why's that?" Ron demanded.

"Gives you too much time to think; about what you've lost and how much it hurts. Pretty soon that's all that's left of you – the hurt. And it hurts so much that it scares you. You're afraid, because how can you ever be anything but that great big, empty hurt ever again? And it's just..." She stopped to suck in a deep breath of air, blinking her eyes and pulling them away from where they'd become fixed on the opposite wall.

"So," she asked, turning to face him, "you going to Hogsmeade tomorrow?"

Ron found himself frowning. The more he talked to this girl, the less he knew what to make of her – and what was all that about hurt and being afraid? It was almost like she knew, like she understood, at least a bit.

"I'm not sure if I wanna go, either," Millicent continued when he failed to respond. "I'll go if you go."

"Who says I want to go with you?" the redhead retorted. She was still a Slytherin, after all.

The girl shrugged. "Go with Granger and Potter, then."

"Don't want to," Ron murmured. He finally opened his door to go inside.

"Hey," Millicent spoke up before he could close it behind him. "At least think about it?"

He met her eyes for a moment before giving a quick nod and shutting himself in his room.

The girl sighed. "Don't s'pose you wanna study," she mumbled to herself. Sighing again, she turned towards her own room, glancing back once more before rounding the corner.

0o0o0

Snape diligently stirred the potion, two, three, four times widdershins and thrice more clockwise. The action was automatic, however, as his mind kept drawing him back, reliving moments that were twenty years past.

"Sev?" A slim hand had rested lightly on his arm, a pair of worried green eyes gazing into his own.

Ten lacewing flies, added two at a time with alternating stirs in between.

Two. Stir.

"Are you alright, Sev?"

Four. Stir.

He numbly pulled his arm away, retreating from the presence of the only person he could truly call friend.

Six. Stir.

"Severus, please! Just talk to me – let me help you." Desperate. Pleading.

Eight. Stir.

He whirled on her, snarling in anger, grief, and hurt. "You can't! You can't help me," he shouted. "I'm not alright – I'll never be alright. Just leave me alone."

Ten. Stir.

"But, Sev..."

Let stand for thirty minutes.

"Lily, please... Just leave me alone." Raw. Agonized.

A phantom ache settled into the Potions Master's chest as he placed a lid on the cauldron. Too well, he suspected, did he understand the desire – the need – to withdraw from others. It had been then that everything good in his life had began to come undone; that cold, bleak night...

Light knocking at the door rescued him from his reverie.

"Enter," he called.

The door swung open and Poppy Pomfrey stepped into the lab. "Severus," she said, studying his features as she moved towards him. "How have you been sleeping?"

Severus wiped the table to cover for his brief pause. "I did not dream last night," he replied.

"You didn't go to bed at all," Poppy stated shrewdly. Taking his silence as confession, she sighed softly. "You cannot stay awake forever, Severus. It would not do you well to try. The dreams will pass. They always do."

"But never quickly enough," said Severus. "Was there something that you needed?"

"Yes. I am going to need more Pepper Up potion for the hospital wing," the witch answered. "It can wait for tomorrow, though. After you finish here, you're to go to bed – and don't even think about arguing with me, Severus Snape. Don't think I won't come and tuck you in myself, if need be." Her stern expression softened, and she briefly reached out a hand to caress his cheek. "You need your rest, else, you're liable to make yourself ill."

The man let out a breath of air that was more concession than protest. Poppy gave him a small smile before leaving him to his solitude once more.

Severus busied himself with cleaning the lab as he waited for the potion to finish cooling. The images waiting to greet him once he closed his eyes to sleep skirted at the edge of his thoughts, where he kept them at bay by focusing upon his task. He knew, of course, that his avoidance of the matter was not healthy, that he was even yet suppressing his loss rather than facing it. Perhaps someday he would, but not yet. Not yet...

0o0o0

He had woken, his sister's name once more upon his lips. The pain was overwhelming, eating him away from the inside out. He could bear it no longer – he had to find some means by which to let it out.

The boy rose from his bed, stumbling across the dark room to where he had left his bag. His hand soon closed upon the object of his search, withdrawing the small case from between his school books. He set it upon the desk and opened it, the moonlight illuminating its contents. Only one glinted in the pale light.

As he took the tool in hand, he faltered. Part of him insisted that he should proceed no further, but another part – a part that ached so keenly, it seemed the agony would surely kill him – begged for release from the crippling hurt.

Mind set, he placed the implement against his bare forearm and drew a line of crimson across his flesh.

0o0

To be continued...