Author's Note: EEK! its been how long since i was able to update?!?!?!?!?!?! Sowwy.....
my monitor died a while ack and i have no other computer that i can get on regularly, plus the document was still on my hard drive, andme with no way of accessing it.... but finaly i got my new monitor and finished editing this chapter so i could get it to you all to read!

Blessed Be,
Raven Lynne


The Things We Hide
By Akasha Ravensong


"I, like a rock, sink
Sinking 'til I hit the bottom
The water is much deeper than I thought

Nothing to swim with
Kicking but I keep sinking
A lesson that no one could have ever taught...

Suffocating sinking further almost everyday
Barely treading water knowing I will not give up"

Pieces, by Hoobastank


As the summer wore on, time passed by in the usual manner, but life as I had known it had suddenly changed drastically. No longer was I innocent to life's cruelties. Once the initial excitement of my makeover and my new living arrangements wore off, I began to sink deeper and deeper into myself.

My father had betrayed me. No matter how much I might wish it otherwise, I had been forever changed. Things could never go back to the way they were before. I had been verbally and emotionally abused by a man who I had once been able to place absolute faith and trust. Simple things in life that I had once taken for granted as universal truths had come into question. Life had suddenly become exceedingly complicated.

It was true that my parents had never shown me much love growing up, but they had always been there for me in their own way. I had always felt safe with them, and having that preconceived notion destroyed wreaked havoc within my mind.

If that basic safety was never really there and was actually a lie, how many other things could I no longer count on as being true? I worried about all the things that I had once taken for granted. I worried about my friends. Perhaps they too were not as they seemed. As far as I knew, my peers and my guardians were more or less than what they seemed as well. The more I worried the deeper into despair I fell. My world began to disintegrate and fall apart, bit by crumbling bit.

The appearance that I had created became more elaborate each day in an attempt to hide the misery and despair that held me prisoner in my own mind. My moods became as somber and as dark as the colors that I wore. My hairstyles and make-up became more outrageous as each day passed in a desperate attempt to ensure that nobody would see the hopelessness that was taking over.

Once I had looked forward to having hours on end to myself with nothing to do but think and perhaps read, but now I found that if I did not keep my mind busy I began to think things better left unthought. I began to pity myself for the things that my father had done to me and for the troubles that life had decided to place in my path. I spun myself a web of twisted perceptions, worries, and insecurities so intricate that I was soon tangled so completely in it with no hope of escape.

Hopelessness began to take over and I crawled into myself, losing all of my dignity. If my own father did not love me in the way a father is supposed to love his daughter, then why would anyone in his or her right mind love me? If I was worthless to that man, how could anybody ever see anything worthwhile in me?

I was floundering in a sea of misery, drowning without any sign of rescue on the horizon.


I was Severus Snape and I cared for nobody.

I was carved from granite and I looked out only for myself. Everyone else could find their own way in this cruel world alone, just as I had. Nobody had ever given a rat's ass about me when I was young, so why should I ever go out of my way to help somebody. I had learned early how cruel the world was and the sooner students learned that same lesson the better off they were.

My classroom was not a place that students came to for comfort; it was a place they came to for knowledge. The lessons they learned in that room were lessons on more then just potions. I got no perverse pleasure out of seeing students cower and tremble before me in the classroom, contrary to popular belief. I wasn't there to coddle students and to encourage them. I was there to show them how the world really was. If I wrapped them in false kindness and security then they would have little protection against the real world, and that protection would pop as easily as bubble wrap.

Students looked upon me with fear, dread, and sometimes even hatred. I became known as the greasy git, the overgrown bat, and other nicknames. I knew what they called me when they thought I wasn't listening and I didn't care. I wasn't about to change the way I was so that the students would love me.

So why did I find myself caring that Miss Granger was falling into the rapidly declining spiral of self-pity and self-destruction? Why did I look at her and feel the uncomfortable twinges of compassion that I had not felt in over a decade? Why did I feel the compelling need to help her when I had simply watched others and done nothing?

I knew the answer to these questions even though I did not want to admit it. More then any other, she reminded me of myself. And she was the first student who had defied me without fear and more astonishingly, without hatred. Some strange force moved me to help her and I found that I cared.

Too bad Albus did not know what was going on in my head. He would feel the urge to celebrate and write this day down in the history books. That man would take perverse pleasure in ruining my image as the unfeeling bastard of Hogwarts. Thank the gods for small conveniences.


Minerva McGonagall was absolutely disgusted by Hermione's new appearance. Every time she saw Miss Granger she wanted to rant and rave at the girl for being so juvenile and so foolish. Minerva would treat the girl as nicely and as sweetly as possible and she would ignore those obscene clothes and the revolting jewelry that the girl persisted in wearing. Hermione was better than this, and somebody needed to remind her of her place.

That nose ring... She wanted to rip it out every time she looked at Hermione. She looked like lowlife scum. Minerva firmly believed that no respectable person dressed like that. To think that she was the smartest student Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had seen in centuries! Honestly! That girl had mourned long enough and it was time to get on with her life, she thought

Hermione was obviously was upset about the way her father had treated her, but her behavior and dress of late was simply unacceptable. It was all well and good to pout and be distraught for a while, but to go on and on like this was unreasonable. Tragic as it was, life goes on. Her father was obviously scum and wasn't worth a second thought.

All she needed was some serious mothering and she would come around and see things in a sensible light once more, Minerva thought. Hermione needed to know that she was loved and that she was safe here at Hogwarts. She would have to pamper the girl and act like she understood, which she didn't, and shower her with kindness. Then Hermione would smarten up and be rational once more.

Yes, that was what needed to be done. Albus might want to sit there and let things work out on their own, but she wasn't about to let her prized student ruin herself with childish ideas. Minerva was going to make that child be sensible if she had to bash it into her head.


The library was still my favorite retreat from the world that haunted me. I found solace in books. I lost myself in their beloved pages, allowed for a brief time to forget how useless and worthless I truly was and pretend that I was someone else, somewhere else. I traveled through time and space as I read. I soaked up knowledge as well.

Currently I was reading a book I had brought from my house: Neverwhere by Neil Gaimon. I wished that I would fall through the cracks and live in a different world. Like the main character had, perhaps that world might make more sense then this one did. Or perhaps this world of witchcraft and wizardry was my 'Neverwhere,' and I needed to fall back through the cracks into the real world. I would fall out of this madness into a reality where fathers loved their daughter, and treated them with kindness, keeping them safe from harm rather then causing it.

I looked up as I heard somebody entering the library and saw my head of house making her way through the maze of tables towards me. She looked around as if searching for something and saw me. Her eyes lit up and she walked towards me with a determined look upon her face. I marked my page and put my book down on the table, crossing my hands. Obviously she had something she wanted to say to me.

"There you are Miss Granger, I thought I might find you here." She sat down next to me in a chair and smiled at me. "I wanted to see how you were doing."

"I'm getting along well enough I suppose," I said as nonchalantly as I could manage.

"Are you truly, Hermione dear?" McGonagall asked, her voice dripping with kindness. "Anybody in their right mind would be upset after what happened. I'm sure that you are absolutely distraught. It would have turned my world upside down."

"Well..." I admitted, "I suppose I'm having trouble dealing with it."

She looked eager to hear more, too eager. She wanted me to spill all of my doubts and insecurities right now. She looked ready to drag them from my lips if I let her. I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned backwards in my chair, unconsciously closing myself off to her in self-defense.

She reached out her hand and put it on my shoulder and smiled her sticky sweet and oh so fake smile at me. "I want you to know that anytime you need to talk I'm here for you. I understand what you're going through."

She gave my shoulder a final squeeze and stood up swiftly. With a final sticky-sweet smile she left. I shuddered. That was beyond creepy. What on earth did she want from me?


Author's Notes:

Thanks to all of my reviweres and thanks to my beta reader Heather! (I like having sticky-sweet in there so sticks her tounge out at you lol