Author's Notes - A longer chapter than the last one, but I must admit I indulged my enjoyment of melodrama in the first part. I'd like to thank Chocolate and caramel, Christopher Kidwell and Njoki for the feedback on the previous chapter.

I'd like to address a general point brought up in one of the reviews. This is obviously AU, and I've taken a few liberties with memory charms, but they don't completely obliterate the memory in question, and their use is not without consequence. If the memory simply disappeared, then Voldemort would not have been able to pull the memory from Bertha Jorkins' mind that Barty Crouch, Jr. was alive, and she wouldn't have been so forgetful all the time after Crouch, Sr. obliviated her. So, yes, I've changed things a bit with Rose remembering the emotions of her attack without the memory, but I think it stays true to the spirit of the novels. After all, if memory charms had no side effects, I imagine they would be used much more often.

Thanks for reading, and hope you enjoy!

When he reached the main street, Severus lost Rose's trail in the crowd of students and teachers making their way back to the castle. The trip to Hogsmeade had been cut short in light of the worsening weather conditions. Blinded in a gale of dazzling white, Severus asked everyone he met if they had seen Rose Potter. No one had. He searched the shops, but the few that were still open were empty of customers.

Returning to the street after an hour of fruitless searching, he immediately noticed that it was deserted. Darkness was rapidly falling as the storm turned into a proper blizzard, and he realized with a chill that he would not be alone for long. Dementors roamed the streets of Hogsmeade after dark, protection against Sirius Black. If he didn't hurry, those same protectors would feast off his soul. He could only hope that Rose had run back to Hogwarts and was drinking hot cocoa near the fire in her Common Room.

Wearily making his way towards the train station, he experienced the crushing weight of regret as he began to recall all the times his father had beat his mother and he had been too cowardly to stop it. Fighting against the memories, he knew with a sick lurch that he was no longer alone.

He'd never make it to Hogwarts. Hoping the Three Broomsticks was open, he hobbled down the street as fast as he could, but the presence of the dementors had disoriented him to the point that he had taken a wrong turn. There were no welcoming lights in the distance. Growing ever weaker as he relived more recent horrors, he stumbled and stepped into a drift, falling onto what could very well be his cold, white grave.

Abruptly, he remembered his patronus, but as the horror of his past overwhelmed him, it was a vague memory at best. His will to fight deserted him, and he stoically accepted his fate. They were closer; he could feel it; it wouldn't be long now.

And then, he thought of Rose. Rose, facing the Dark Lord as he possessed Quirrell. Rose, taking it upon herself to run into the Chamber of Secrets. Rose, so typically stubborn, willful, with no respect for authority and far too much like her father. Rose, a broken porcelain doll lying discarded behind a tree. Rose, barely able to stand in the infirmary, more concerned about his welfare than hers. Rose, flying down the Dursley's stairs, relieved for the first time to see him. Rose, off her broom and plummeting towards the ground. Rose, opening the guardianship papers, her face radiant. Rose, so lost and confused.

His cane was gone, yet somehow he stood. There were five of them, but it hardly mattered. He had remembered the reason he fought. "Expecto Patronum!"

His doe shot out of his wand, barreling through the half dozen dementors with a blinding flash. Once the immediate threat had been vanquished, his strength deserted him. He sank to his knees on the freezing snow. Watching as his patronus slowly faded away, he thought he could make out the faint outlines of a building in the distance.

He could no longer walk. He crawled, pulling himself by his arms, dragging his useless left leg behind him. He thought his lungs would burst, that his heart would explode from his chest with the exertion, but he persevered. For her sake, for his sake, he kept moving, kept trying, refused to give up. When he saw which particular building had become his personal lighthouse, however, his hopes sank. He was outside the Shrieking Shack with no way in.

It was too much; he let out a primal yell of rage. His scream resonated oddly in the silent maelstrom. For a moment, he thought he had given into hallucinations; his cry repeated in a much shriller voice.

"No! Professor! No!"

Looking up, he saw an image of white running towards him. Approaching, it shrank in size as sheets of snow fell to the ground until the shape was eerily human in appearance. Just then, Rose Potter's head suddenly materialized in the air above him. Kneeling before him, her arms were exposed to the elements. The invisibility cloak, he realized as she peered anxiously at his face.

Intense anger and profound relief left him too weak to speak. She was here, beside him, safe and sound. And yet, neither one of them were safe while the snow continued to fall. Weakly, he beckoned her closer so she could hear his ragged voice.

"One thousand points from Gryffindor for your disobedience, Miss Potter."

His pathetic attempt at a joke only added to the tears that blotched her face. "We've got to get you back to Hogwarts, Professor. You're freezing."

She wasn't and that thought buoyed him. Her invisibility cloak must be wonderful indeed. Reeling from the effect of the dementors and Aberforth's bombshell, however, he couldn't muster the energy for the smallest charm. Rose was right; he was slowly freezing.

"I don't suppose you've ever performed a Hot Air Charm."

Sniffing back more tears, she shook her head.

"Then there's nothing for it, then. You're going to have to go get help."

"They'll never find you in all the snow! I won't leave you, Professor."

He bit back a groan. Stupid, bloody, brave Gryffindors. "I suspected as much. Alright, then, Miss Potter, help me up."

"What?"

Channeling his anger, he barked out his demand. "Help me to stand, you insufferable child! We'll go to the Three Broomsticks. I am not going to have all the work I've done to protect you unravel now because you're too stubborn to get out of the cold. Well? What are you waiting for? Move, Rose!"

Using her as a support, he used every ounce of his will to pull himself upright. After that, he held onto her shoulder and focused on putting one numb foot in front of the other. Her arm must have hurt as he used her as a living crutch, but she never complained once. Not entirely sure they were walking in the right direction, Severus prayed under his breath that they find shelter. An eternity later, the lights of the Three Broomsticks flickered before them.

Madame Rosmerta herself led them inside. The inn was crowded, and Severus couldn't help but make a comparison to the Hog's Head. When the crowd went silent and all eyes turned towards them, he wished to be back at Aberforth's. There was something to be said for anonymity.

Rose, her invisibility cloak concealed in his pocket, half-dragged him to a newly emptied table by the fire. Only partially coherent, he thought he could hear the hiss of the snow on his robes as it melted from the heat of the fire. Laying his head on the tabletop, he wished his teeth would stop chattering.

"I've contacted Hogwarts, Professor Snape. Professor Dumbledore's relieved to hear you and Miss Potter are safe. Said something about knowing you had found her when the Gryffindor hourglass went to zero. You're both to stay put until the weather clears."

Blearily, he raised his head. "Indeed, madam. If I could bother you for a pillow, the table is somewhat firm."

Both Rose and the innkeeper studied him with growing alarm. Within a minute, the usually flirty Rosmerta had briskly pulled him upright, and Rose held a mug of something blessedly hot and sickeningly sweet for him to drink.

The hot cocoa went a long way to thawing his body and counteracting the effects of the dementors, even if it sat somewhat uneasily in his stomach.

"Better, thank you," he said graciously, taking a good look at the other patrons in the crowded inn as he did so. Recognizing no one, he ordered an early dinner for himself and Rose. Protein would quickly counteract the beverages currently clashing in his stomach.

After casting several spells to ensure their privacy, he allowed himself to slump in his chair. Severus tried meeting Rose's eyes, but she had bowed her head in shame, the guilt all too apparent on her face.

"Are you injured?"

She looked up in confusion. "Me? Shouldn't you be worrying about yourself, Professor?"

"You haven't answered the question," he replied as neutrally as possible.

"I'm fine."

Liar. Rose Potter would be an easy mark when playing cards. He'd have to remember to advise her against it. Every emotion she had telegraphed itself on her face. She might not be injured, but she was far from fine.

"I discovered you were there. Your footprints gave you away. That's why I went looking for you."

Again, her head dropped. "I know. It's my fault you got so cold, just like it was my fault you almost died last time."

Ah, so she had figured that much out, not that it would have been difficult. He could only hope the knowledge wouldn't trigger her memories. As much as he had opposed the idea of obliviation, he thought it ill-advised for her to recall the horror of that night in a crowded, public place.

"My own stupidity resulted in my injuries, Miss Potter, not you. As for the rest of what you heard, perhaps now is the time to ask any questions you might have."

She gazed absently at the fire, fiercely tugging on her charm bracelet. "Is that why she gave me up? Because Uncle Vernon went too far this time?"

Finally, he was going to get the answer to a question that had long troubled him. "How far has he gone in the past?"

"Not very," was the immediate reply, but he gave her time to compose herself before gently pointing out that she was obviously not speaking the truth.

"It was mostly his belt. He didn't try to hit me with his fists more than a couple of times, and I was too quick for him. I guess the worst of it was when he used the buckle. Those times . . . hurt. Yeah, it hurt a lot. I think my magic helped me heal quicker, though, just like the time Aunt Petunia tried to cut my hair and it grew back in a day."

Chocolate bile rose in his throat. "How often did he use the buckle on you, Rose?

She shrugged. He was beginning to associate that shrug with things he'd rather not know. "Every month or two, maybe? A few more times when school ended and he blamed me for Dudley's horrible grades. Before Aunt Marge's visits because he was trying to make sure I wouldn't act like a freak."

Seeing the closed expression on his face, she hastily added, "It was usually on my bum. Wasn't like there was a whole lot to hurt there. I had a hard time sitting, yeah, but it was better than the times he missed and broke a bone."

If he heard anymore he was going to apparate to Privet Drive and kill Vernon Dursley then and there. He changed the subject. "It wasn't your uncle."

"But you told the man it was Muggles."

The man, not Aberforth, and certainly not Dumbledore. She still didn't know who obliviated her, and perhaps that was for the best. Knowing he was skirting very close to dangerous memories, he quietly admitted, "They were thugs, Rose, acquaintances of your cousin."

Her face went white. "Piers and his gang. I . . . I guess I shouldn't be too surprised. When I was little, they liked to go Rose hunting. Mrs. Figg, she's a neighbor, she told me to ignore them and they'd leave me alone. Never seemed to work, though. Mostly, I ignored them until I had to run."

Her face reflected her attempt to process so much information at once. Her brow furrowed, and her lips pursed into a scowl. Eventually, she drew enough conclusions to face him again.

"So, it wasn't a car accident."

"No."

"But you didn't tell me."

"No."

She struggled to articulate her next question, and he wished they were unseen as well as unheard so he could envelop her in a reassuring hug. Right then, they both needed it.

"How did Piers manage to hurt you?"

"He didn't. I found you afterwards. When I was assessing your injuries, I was attacked by a dog."

This seemed impossible for her to comprehend.

"A dog."

"Yes."

"Like Grim?"

"Not so like. Grim hasn't once tried to rip my throat out."

There was another long silence as her thirteen year old mind attempted to connect the dots.

"But, you used to duel, back when Hogwarts had a team. Professor Lupin told me. How fast could the dog run?"

"I was . . . distracted."

For a moment, she stared at him, not entirely comprehending, and then, she swallowed as if she had eaten something sour.

"Me. You were distracted by me, but I don't remember it. Did they hit me on the head?"

"Yes." It wasn't a lie, exactly. They had most certainly hit her on the head at some point.

"And, other places?"

He couldn't breathe, couldn't discern the thought behind the question. What did she remember?

"Rose . . . ."

She interrupted before he could continue, voicing her thoughts out loud as much as she was speaking to him.

"I mean, they must have hit me a lot. You never get distracted in class. I never really believed that you could have blown up a cauldron. I must have been bleeding, or unconscious, or something scary, and you felt sorry for me, and the dog snuck up on you, and attacked you. So, it's my fault that you walk with a cane and stutter sometimes and your hand shakes and you got stuck with me. And, I can't remember it because someone performed a memory charm on me like Lockhart wanted to last year. Someone used a memory charm and you've been lying all the time, and I don't understand why. Why did you lie to me? Why do you care what happens to me? Why now?"

Something scary—her words reverberated in his head. Rose was a child. Even in her wildest imaginings, her darkest fears, she could not conceive of the horrors those beasts masquerading as boys had put her through. How could he have ever thought forgetting that was wrong? She was recovering, gaining confidence, trusting again, but it would all shatter if she remembered exactly what had been done to her. Even Aberforth had acknowledged that his sister had never been the same after a similar attack. How could he have been such a fool?

The silence lengthened, and he abruptly realized that he needed to say something, anything to make her understand that his actions were not the result of mere obligation. He could see her anger grow the longer he waited. He kept his voice calm, low, reassuring, even as his heart thudded painfully in his chest. Aside from sarcasm, he'd never had a way with words. He could only hope he could explain his rationale without confusing her more.

"I'm going to tell you, Rose, all of it, but it's not something that is easy for me to say. For the moment, I need you to listen. Can you do that?"

He feared her bracelet would break—she fiddled with it so much. But, she grumbled a "fine," and he took that as a yes. Straightening in his chair, he self-consciously spoke of what was most painful to him.

"When I made the vow to protect you, I was hurt and angry and mourning the loss of your mother. Lily and I had been friends, best friends, and then I did something unacceptable to throw that friendship away. When she married your father, it made my bitterness worse. And, then, when she was gone, I unreasonably blamed you. I vowed to protect you, but I didn't have to like you. So, your first two years at Hogwarts, I searched for any sign, any detail that would make you Potter's child but not hers. It was much easier to hate Potter's child. Potter had been arrogant and privileged and the rules never seemed to apply to him, just like they have never seemed to apply to you. Can you understand that?"

She understood immediately, although not in the way he had hoped.

"That makes sense," she answered far too calmly. "I hate myself sometimes for being the reason my parents are dead. I can understand their friends feeling the same way."

He couldn't let her think such dispirited thoughts. "No, Rose, what happened wasn't your fault. Lily was your mother. She loved you. And, she did what any mother would have done. She died protecting you. The blame is not yours; it is the Dark Lord's."

"But, you just said . . . ."

"I said that I resented you, which, unfortunately, I did. But, not for those reasons." He momentarily stopped, fearful of her reaction, but he soon gathered his courage and plunged onwards. "I didn't resent you because Voldemort tried to kill you and Lily got in the way. I resented you because you were Potter's child and not mine."

Her mouth opened in surprise and her cheeks turned beet red. "Oh! Oh, I never guessed! I thought you were just friend friends, but you . . . and my mother . . . um, you were . . . I mean, in school you . . . ?"

"We were friends, Rose. I never had the courage to admit my feelings to her. And, then, I did something reprehensible at the end of our fifth year and she never forgave me. She started dating your father that summer."

Rose leaned back in her chair, clearly pondering everything he had said. Madame Rosmerta arrived with their stew during her contemplation, and the child ate in silence, which Severus did not interrupt. Once the table had been cleared, she again began to finger her charm bracelet, but without the desperate fervor of before.

"Rose? Do you have any further questions? It is my hope that you can forgive me for so badly misjudging your first two years of school. When I asked your aunt to sign the guardianship papers, it was not out of a sense of obligation. As I told you in the Hospital Wing, I care about you and what happens to you."

At first, he thought she wasn't going to answer. And then, her chin jutted out in perfect imitation of Potter's and there was a defiant spark in her eyes that he hadn't seen since her second year.

"Yeah, I've got one, Professor. What did you do in school that was so bad my mother wouldn't forgive you?"

The question, when it came, should not have shocked him quite so badly, but it did. For a few seconds he forgot to breathe, and the horror of having to answer it must have shown on his face. She immediately backpedalled and said it didn't matter, but he stiffened his resolve to reply.

"After exams in our fifth year, your mother and I had an argument. I called her a Mudblood."

The revulsion he had for that particular word showed in his expression, but his face soon became a mask as he waited for the girl's condemnation. It never came.

"You called my mom a bad name and she wouldn't forgive you?"

"It is an exceedingly 'bad' name, Rose. The connotation is that . . . ."

"I know what Mudblood means, Professor. Hermione explained all of that after Draco used it on her. I don't understand why she didn't forgive you. You were angry, right? We all say things we don't mean when we're angry."

He couldn't let Rose think badly of her mother, especially when it had been completely his fault. "It wasn't just the word, Rose. When I attempted to apologize, Lily told me that I had made a choice. I had already broken our friendship by choosing to ally myself with Slytherins spouting pureblood nonsense."

"How long did it take you to apologize, Professor?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. He didn't understand the question. It didn't matter when he had apologized. He had committed an unforgivable offense. Surely the child understood that?

"That night. I waited outside the Gryffindor Common Room until she finally came out to speak to me. But, it doesn't matter when. What I did was inexcusable. Your mother was right to shun me."

She stared at him, her green eyes reflecting nothing but the light of the candle flickering on the table. Giving him a little half-shrug, she stood up. "If you say so. Can we go back to Hogwarts now? I'm tired."

"It's still snowing, and the Headmaster told Madame Rosmerta that we should stay until the storm breaks. That might not happen tonight. I'll have her show her to your room."

"But what about the floo? Surely we can go home by floo."

He did not miss her use of the word home when referring to the school. Truly, it was his home, too. Nor could he explain why Albus had deemed fit that they stay in Hogsmeade when the Three Broomsticks had a public floo. He was beginning to believe the crafty wizard had an ulterior motive for almost everything he did, although he had no idea the reasoning behind this particular decision.

"We shall obey the Headmaster, Rose. You have broken the rules enough today. Rosmerta will take you upstairs."

The reminder of her sneaking out of Hogwarts had its desired effect. She immediately became contrite and followed the innkeeper up the stairs. Severus spent the night in the tavern, drinking nothing stronger than tea. His thoughts were troubled enough without the muddling effects of Firewhiskey.

The Headmaster appeared in the fireplace at the crack of dawn. The barkeep had long ago retired, and Severus was momentarily alone with the older man. His thoughts were so conflicted that he had no idea what to say. He found that he didn't need to say anything. When Albus reached him, he compassionately put his hand on his shoulder.

"You kept her safe, Severus. In the end, that's all that matters."

"She followed me out of the castle," he confessed heavily.

A hint of a twinkle shone in Dumbledore's eyes. "Yes, that sounds like a very Rose thing to do. Wouldn't you agree?"

Before his conversation with Aberforth, he would have taken offense at a statement which, on the surface, seemed so trite. But, the Headmaster was right. It was something Rose would have done—before her attack. Yet, he could not say how much the events of yesterday might have set back her recovery.

"She was wearing that damned Invisibility Cloak, Albus, the one you gave her. She heard the conversation I had with Aberforth."

Far from being surprised or angry, the Headmaster was unexpectedly matter of fact. "An unfortunate occurrence, one we shall discuss at another time. Sirius Black breached the Gryffindor Common Room last night. For a reason known only to himself, he attempted to attack Ronald Weasley in his bed, but left once the boy gave a cry of alarm. If the child hadn't woken, things could have gone very differently. While Rose's rule breaking is regrettable, last night it may have saved her life."

He blinked, completely at a loss for words. Hogwarts was no longer safe, if it ever had been. So much for going home.