A/N: tw: self-harm and psychological abuse

Snape flicked his wand and Summoned up a plate of steak-and-kidney pie to eat at his desk while he worked. He'd come to dread eating dinner in the Great Hall. He couldn't skip it every night, he was the headmaster, but he supposed once or twice a week wouldn't hurt his image. He was a busy man, after all.

He shoveled food into his mouth with his left hand and reached for a piece of parchment with his right, the minutes from last week's staff meeting. He'd put Amycus and Alecto in charge and it had gone about as well as he'd thought it would, which was to say it went down like a flaming lead balloon. Flitwick marked essays, Sprout cleaned her nails, Hagrid fell asleep, and Minerva didn't even bother to show up. Alecto had burst into his office in a huff, demanding he do something about it, as though he could. As though he would.

He crumpled up the parchment and tossed it at the wall, and he'd read a few poems out of the book Dumbledore had given him when there was a knock at the door.

"Who is it?" he said as he stood up and straightened his robes.

"Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy, sir."

Snape wasn't surprised they'd shown up. He'd told them to report directly to him for any serious issues, rather than the Carrows or Filch.

He opened the door for them and they stepped inside, two characters out of a crime drama, the fresh-faced rookie and the bitter old veteran. Draco kept his hands in his pockets and his eyes flickered towards the portrait of Dumbledore so many times Snape wondered if he suspected him.

"Someone's been leaving graffiti all over the school," said Miss Parkinson. 'Resist' and 'Dumbledore's Army' and things like that."

"Did you see anyone?" said Snape. Not that it mattered. He knew exactly who was behind it.

"No sir."

"Very well. Alert Filch and keep close watch on the corridors."

"Yes sir."

"Anything else?"

"We think someone's been handing out pamphlets. About how the Ministry is lying and that sort of thing. But we haven't got hold of any yet."

Snape didn't have a clue what to do about that, which was just as well, because he wasn't much inclined to.

"Very well. Is that all?"

Miss Parkinson glanced at Draco, who was staring at one of his silver instruments as though he knew what she was about to say and didn't care.

"Well, I was wondering, sir. Could you perhaps put in a good word for me? With him?"

Snape couldn't say he wasn't expecting it, she was anxious to prove herself and highly skilled, but he was startled just the same. Her seventh year would be like his, schoolwork and Quidditch and mucking about with friends one minute, bloody faces and burning houses the next.

And yet, he understood. She'd be part of something bigger than herself, surrounded by friends who respected her, who would die for her. Dissuading her would be an uphill battle.

"I'm not sure that's advisable, Miss Parkinson. You are still a student."

"I am of age, sir. I'm willing to do whatever he asks."

Snape traced the side of his face, weighing his words, playing for time. "I will consider it. In the meantime your schoolwork and your duties as Head Girl are to take top priority, understand?"

"Yes sir."

Snape glanced towards the half-finished dinner on his desk and to his relief Miss Parkinson took the hint and said goodnight. Draco turned to follow her, but Snape wanted a word. The boy had not been well that summer. He'd disappeared for days after torturing Rowle and Dolohov, and twice Snape caught him retching in one of the back rooms of the manor.

"I wish to speak with you, Draco."

Draco's back stiffened and he kept his body turned towards the door, as though he was on the verge of leaving. Snape remembered a bit of advice Slughorn had given him once, something about flattery being more effective than threats.

"I only wanted to know how you've been keeping."

Draco shrugged off his question with a twitch of the shoulder and Snape could hear the words before they were even out of his mouth, I'm fine, sir.

"I've been fine, sir."

He was tight-lipped and suspicious and bore so little resemblance to the boy who used to follow him around the manor asking a thousand questions about Hogwarts that Snape wondered if they were the same person.

"Miss Parkinson seems enthusiastic," he said. Draco looked faintly annoyed but Snape didn't know why.

"She's nowhere near ready," said Draco. " You'd be making a mistake, recruiting her."

Snape was surprised he'd say this. Was he trying to protect her? But then they didn't seem that close, not anymore anyway. Perhaps he was afraid she'd upstage him, take his place among the new recruits. Either way, he wasn't wrong. No one her age was ready. Including the boy standing right in front of him.

"Just between us, I quite agree."

If he thought this concession would break the ice, he was wrong. Draco glanced towards the door, clearly anxious to get out of there, and Snape imagined what Dumbledore would do in a situation like this. Say something nonsensical and offer something to eat, probably.

"Ginger newt?" he said, gesturing towards his desk.

Draco looked at him like he'd gone mad. "Er-no thanks."

There was a long silence. Snape rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet and picked his brain for something to say.

Draco's gaze wandered around the room and rested back on his desk, widening with something-was it fear? Snape turned around to see what he was staring at there was the vial, sitting on his desk, in plain view. He'd forgotten to put it away.

"What is it?" said Snape.

"I-nothing," said Draco, but he was unnerved, Snape could tell. He knew something.

"You may go," he said, cutting him off before he could ask any questions. Draco turned and left without another word to him. As soon as he'd left he tucked the vial away in a locked drawer.

He finished his dinner and went to bed early, but he had a troubled sleep.

Snape thought the high-pitched whine next to his bed was the buzzing of some annoying insect. He slapped at his nightstand but it didn't stop. He slapped it again and his hand struck something solid and metallic.

"That stupid thing," he spat, pinching the coin between his fingers. He should've chucked it out months ago.

He read the tiny glowing letters on the coin face.

Meet me at the boar's gate.

Snape threw a set of robes over his head and draped his traveling cloak over his shoulders, thinking she'd better have a damn good reason for getting him out of bed at fuck o'clock in the morning. The sun was barely up.

Snape couldn't see anyone at the boar's head gate and he was just about to turn around when Miss Corlett Disillusioned herself and appeared out of thin air. She looked as tired as he felt.

"What is it?" he snapped, in that this-better-be-something-good sort of voice he'd mastered with his students.

Miss Corlett seemed taken aback. Still thinking of the blanket, he supposed, and he felt some satisfaction in this, in defying her expectations.

"I wanted to thank you for saving my life again," she said. She reached into her pocket and Snape readied himself for a duel, but when her hand emerged it was curled around something small.

"Hold out your hand," she said.

Snape gave her a suspicious look but extracted a hand from his pocket and held it out to her.

She placed something in his palm, a hard, lumpy something, a rock perhaps. He examined it closely; it looked like petrified frog spawn. What the hell?

"It's a bollan cross," said Miss Corlett. "Or half of one. I've got the other half. It's sort of a good luck charm. Helps you if you're lost, that sort of thing."

Snape had no idea what to think, or say.

"I've put a Charm on it," she went on. "It's sort of like the coin you gave me. You say my name and where you are, and it'll show up on mine." She held up the other half of the bollan cross.

"That's some very advanced magic," he said, raising an eyebrow. He wondered if it actually worked.

"Well, I had a bit of help with it."

And Snape had a feeling he knew exactly who'd helped her. The werewolf always did have a way with Charms.

Miss Corlett watched him, waiting, he supposed, for him to thank her, but Snape had no intention of accepting her gift. Summoning him in the dead of night, when she was in mortal danger, that he could understand. This made no sense to him at all. She must have had ulterior motives, and concern for his welfare wasn't one of them.

He held it out to her. "I don't need it."

"What, you mean the coin works both ways?"

"No, it doesn't. But there is no need for me to contact you."

"But you never know, right? I mean, if you were ever in danger or something-"

"And if I were in danger, do you really think I'd go to you? Someone who failed nearly all her exams? Someone who can barely manage a Dillusionment Charm?"

Miss Corlett's eyes flashed. "Well, I can't see that there'd be many people willing to help you, seeing as how you can barely manage a simple conversation without being completely miserable."

Snape stepped towards her. "Oh, and I suppose you think you're so noble, don't you? Taking pity on the poor Death Eater, well I'll tell you something. I dont need it. And I don't need this bloody thing." He tossed the bollan cross on the ground as carelessly as though it were a piece of rubbish.

Miss Corlett looked at him like he'd struck her, eyes bright, angry, disbelieving. "How could you do that?"

Snape said nothing.

"I don't believe you," said Miss Corlett. She turned on her heels and walked away.

Snape wanted to shout after her, tell her something so horrible she'd turn around and shout back, but he stifled the urge, and strode back to the castle.

Snape had skipped dinner two nights in a row and he knew he couldn't miss a third, it would make him look weak. He stood for a moment at the entrance to his staircase, a hand on the stone gargoyle statue, until his mind was clear, blank, empty. He adjusted his robes and stood up straight and propelled himself through the corridors with long powerful strides, determined to become the thing everyone thought he was.

The Carrows were watching him, whispering to each other. Amycus cast a dark look at Flitwick and Minerva, who had the best seats at the staff table, and Snape knew it was only a matter of time before the Carrows insisted on taking their places. He filled his plate with food and tried not to think about it.

He picked at his vegetables. Minerva was cold and silent as a mountain and Flitwick was chatting half-heartedly with Professor Sprout and Snape ignored them as best he could, scanning the house tables. Everyone was eating and talking, nothing unusual going on, except that Longbottom and Weasley weren't at the Gryffindor table. This wasn't unheard of; sometimes students were late, or they ate quickly and got ready for evening activities.

Snape went back to his food, but he was restless, and left after only a few minutes.

"Ptolemy," said Snape to the stone gargoyle, and the door opened to let him in.

He knew something was up the moment the stairs began to move. There were gasps and hisses and hushed whispers

The stairs moved slowly around and within seconds he was face to face with one of the most bizarre scenes he'd ever witnessed. Longbottom was staring at him like a deer caught in the headlamps while Miss Weasley shoved the sword of Gryffindor down the front of his robes. Miss Lovegood was standing beside them chewing contentedly on a biscuit, having apparently decided to help herself to his ginger newts.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Miss Weasley gasped and swore under her breath, the sword halfway down Longbottom's front. Longbottom hid his fear behind a scowl and Miss Lovegood took a nonchalant bite of her biscuit. Snape might've found the whole thing amusing if it hadn't been so deadly serious. No one could know about this.

"Give me that sword," said Snape. Longbottom stood still, whether out of defiance or fear he didn't know.

"Now."

Longbottom glanced at Weasley, who nodded just slightly, and pulled the sword from his robes. He handed it to Snape with shaking hands and a hard face.

Snape ran his hands up the hilt, the flat side of the blade. The fake, of course. They must've smashed it out of its case. Fucking idiots. Reckless, arrogant fools, they had no clue what they were dealing with. Snape glared at them and kept his voice as low and threatening as he could.

"So. You dare break into the Headmaster's office and steal school property?"

Longbottom opened his mouth and closed it again.

"I have never been so disgusted in all my years of teaching. Do you have any idea what you've done?"

The three of them were staring at him now, chests falling and rising rapidly. Even Miss Lovegood looked frightened. Miss Weasley closed her eyes as though willing it to be over and Miss Lovegood squeezed her hand.

He had absolute power over them. One breath, one incantation, and they'd be finished, just like that. The Dark Lord might be annoyed, perhaps, two of them were purebloods, and the third nearly so. But they'd be write-offs, collateral damage.

He'd relished this power, in the first war. Now it almost frightened him. They were like cowering children.

"Detention, all of you."

Miss Weasley opened her eyes and he could practically hear their silent discussion, shocked, suspicious, not trusting what they'd heard. Snape's mind worked frantically for some sort of solution. He needed a punishment that looked more severe than it actually was.

"Lest you bumbling idiots think you've gotten off easy, you will be serving your detention with Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest. At nightfall."

Another silent eye-discussion, and Snape knew exactly what they were thinking. That they'd gotten off easy, gotten away with something. They had no idea what they'd done.

"Listen to me," he hissed. "If any of you ever try anything like that again, you will be expelled. Or worse."

He could only hope that they'd listen and stop being such fucking morons, because he had no intention of following through on either threat.

"Now get back to your dormitories immediately, and if I get one word of you being out in the corridors after hours there will be serious trouble, do you understand?"

The three of them walked past without a word to him and the stairs revolved again, taking them down to the entrance. Snape turned towards his office door, but the silence was broken by an angry hiss from somewhere below, followed by an outbreak of indignant muttering. Snape went to investigate.

Longbottom, Weasley and Lovegood were grouped at the bottom of the stairs, their way blocked by Alecto Carrow, and by the look on her face Snape could tell she had heard the whole thing, and didn't like it at all.

Snape had expected Amycus and Alecto to sweep into his office the next day and accuse him of being too soft, but they didn't. Nor did they say anything the day after. Snape knew them too well to be relieved.

He was sitting in his office after dinner a few nights later, trying to keep his eyes from glazing over as he reviewed the school budget, when his mark burned.

He didn't understand. The Dark Lord was abroad, looking for something, with the single-minded purpose of someone painting cathedral ceilings or discovering new elements. He shouldn't have been in the country-unless he didn't trust them, was trying to catch them off guard, sniff out any defectors. That made sense. Snape understood the Dark Lord better than he did most people. He wasn't sure if this was a good thing.

He Summoned his traveling cloak and draped it over his shoulders, pulling out a piece of parchment and dashing off a quick note to Minerva, warning her not to try anything. Amycus had been told to stay behind, with orders to torture anyone who openly opposed him. Snape hated to do it, but he had no choice. A rebellion would be her death sentence.

Snape met Draco at the front doors and they walked together in silence. Alecto was some ways ahead of them and he waited for her to Disapparate before doing the same.

He and Draco stopped outside the front door of the manor, beside a pair of stone pots filled with cobra lilies, and stared out into the garden.

"This was unexpected," said Snape.

"I know." Draco's voice was steady, flat, but Snape knew how nervous he really was. He was tapping each of his fingers to his thumb the way he used to do when Snape called him into his office.

"He won't be in the country long."

Draco made a face. "Why would you care?"

Snape forgot sometimes that the boy didn't know. He saw the same thing everyone else did, a ruthless killer. Why should Severus Snape fear the Dark Lord?

Snape said nothing, and Draco opened one of the front doors. Everything was dim and quiet except for the ticking of a clock from somewhere, cold and distant and unchanging. He followed Draco into the drawing room.

"Severus, here," said the Dark Lord, gesturing to a chair on his right.

Snape sat down and glanced around the table. No one said a word; none of them had expected the Dark Lord to show up.

Draco sat down beside Narcissa and she smoothed back his hair a moment before snatching her hand away and staring at the wall opposite. Lucius nodded to Draco and did likewise.

"I am pleased to see you all again," said the Dark Lord, smiling slightly. "But I am not sure the same can be said of you. Why so quiet?"

A few people shifted in their seats.

"I can't tell you how happy I am to see your face again, my lord," said Bellatrix, leaning forwards slightly, as though to block everyone else from view.

"And I yours, Bellatrix," said the Dark Lord. Snape noted the use of her full name. He would give her almost enough, and no more than that.

"I must say, I am impressed by all of you. Aside from the boy running free"- He paused here, eyes flickering towards Rowle and Dolohov-"things have been going smoothly in my absence, it seems."

A few people glanced around the table, smiling. Snape felt the tension break, as though the room had exhaled.

The Dark Lord turned to Snape. "Severus. Headmaster."

He'd put a bit of emphasis on the last word, but Snape couldn't detect any anger. "Have you decoded the message?"

"I nearly have it, my lord," said Snape without pausing. "A few more weeks, I think."

The Dark Lord reached up to scratch his ear and Snape used those few seconds to look at Draco. He leaning back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the armrest, but Narcissa was sitting upright, alert, rigid. She glanced at Bellatrix for a fraction of a second and Bellatrix looked back at her, tight-lipped and unsmiling.

"I imagine your other duties are taking up a great deal of your time," said the Dark Lord as he set his hand back on the table. "But just the same, I expect nothing less than your fullest efforts. I would think the challenge a nice change from mixing your little concoctions, no?"

A ripple of quiet laughter broke out around the table and when it died down the talk turned to other things, recruitment efforts and goings-on at the Ministry. Snape put on a good show of giving a shit, nodding in all the right places and injecting the occasional "indeed my lord," but really he was thinking about what the Dark Lord had said. He'd always thought they'd been impressed by his potions, awed by his skill. He hated this weakness, this disappointment; he was like a child begging for approval, recognition. He pressed his fingernails into his forearm until it hurt.

"I must return to the continent tomorrow," said the Dark Lord once business had been discussed. "But in the meantime I think our success calls for a little celebration."

His words were met with many appreciative murmurs and thank-you-my-lords, but Snape remained silent, hoping no one noticed him.

"Lucius?" said the Dark Lord, smiling slightly. There were a few derisive snorts and grunts from around the table and Snape knew what they were all thinking. Look at Lucius, no house-elf, not even a servant to bring in the food. Oh how the mighty have fallen. Pricks.

When the food and drinks and potions had appeared everyone started filling up their plates and glasses, talking and even laughing a bit. A few people got out of their chairs and stood together as a group, and Lucius and Narcissa struck up a an earnest conversation with Draco. Snape sat in silence, trying to come up with some excuse to leave. He thought Alecto was watching him, but when he turned his head she was talking to Yaxley.

"Severus?" said the Dark Lord, when he'd finished his conversation with Bellatrix. "I would like a word with you in private."

This was hardly surprising. He was his right hand man, the headmaster of Hogwarts. He couldn't understand why his chest was tight and his pulse slammed against his throat. This was nothing. A scene change. Time to become the man-method acting, did they call it? He smiled.

"Yes, my lord."

Snape stood up and followed the Dark Lord up the stairs, through silent, portrait-lined halls, to a quieter, more secluded part of the manor. He thought he heard something behind him, footsteps maybe, but there was no one there.

The Dark Lord flicked his wand towards the grate and a fire appeared. "Please, sit down," he said.

Snape sat down in a high-backed velvet chair, next to an end table with a moving photograph of Lucius and Narcissa and Draco at the 1990 Quidditch World Cup finals in Mozambique. Snape hadn't gone, he didn't like crowds, but they'd showed him the photograph on one of his visits, told him about the match.

The Dark Lord reached into the pockets of his robes and pulled out a long pipe and plug of sweet-smelling herbs. He lit it with a flick of the fingers and took a long drag, blowing out circles of blue smoke and watching them drift across the room. He handed the pipe to Severus and he breathed it in, letting the delicious smoke linger in his mouth before breathin it in and blowing it out, his body as free as though he'd slipped in a hot bath. This was luxury he hadn't known in ages, not since that lazy autumn day when he'd shared a pipe with Sprout and Minerva behind the greenhouses. He sank back in his chair and wondered how he could've ever thought ill of the Death Eaters.

"You like it?" said the Dark Lord. "I bought it from a witch in Bavaria. The locals call it Vergessenheit. Oblivion."

"It's very good, my Lord."

"I could get more for you, if you'd like." He took another long drag, but his body didn't relax the way it should have. He was sitting upright, a hand curled around the arm of the chair, the veins rising above his skin.

"How do you like being headmaster?"

"I like it very much indeed, my lord."

"Indeed," murmured the Dark Lord. "I daresay you've gotten rather...comfortable."

Snape didn't have a clue what he was hinting at, and didn't say anything.

"Of course, it is a rather more comfortable position than say, taking over the Ministry or hunting down the Order," the Dark Lord went on. "I suppose that's why you begged me for the job."

Snape didn't understand what he meant. They'd discussed his being headmaster, but had he begged? He didn't think so.

"Oh, but don't you remember?" said the Dark Lord. "The school was your home. You couldn't leave. You came to me almost desperate."

His last words were soft, sensual, and Snape's face flushed. Was he really this disgusting, this weak?

"You've grown soft, Severus."

The Dark Lord played his wand between his fingers as though they were thinking. Snape's mind was foggy, stupid, but he kept his expression calm.

"What do you mean, my lord?"

"I mean I've been hearing things about you. How you disrespect your deputies. How you let the students and the staff walk all over you. I think you've grown quite fond of Minerva McGonagall, haven't you?"

"No my lord," said Snape. He breathed in, imagined he was someone else. "I merely pretended to be friendly with her to gain Dumbledore's trust. She is an insufferable old crow."

"And yet you let her disrespect you. I daresay she has you, what is the saying? Whipped?"

Snape heard echoes of his father in the Dark Lord's words. Ne'er let a wench get control a' you. But he didn't understand-wizards always prided themselves on being more enlightened than Muggles, women had been equals with men for millenia...this didn't make sense. His head was spinning.

"And what is this I hear about students breaking into your office to steal the sword of Gryffindor?"

How did he know? Snape stifled his shock and kept his voice cool. "They have been dealt with, my lord-"

"Sending them into the Forbidden Forest with the oaf Hagrid, Severus? I'd hardly call that a punishment."

"They are purebloods, my Lord. Your orders-"

"My orders were to keep the sword safe, to keep the school safe. They did not deserve your mercy, noble blood or not."

"It won't happen again, my Lord."

"I know it won't Severus. Surely the man who killed Albus Dumbledore would not be so weak?"

The Dark Lord was watching him, waiting for a reaction. Snape imagined he was flying off the swings at the playground.

The Dark Lord curled his fingers around his wand. "I don't want to punish you," he said. "You are too valuable an asset. I care for you, Severus. It pains me to do this, you know that don't you?"

In some strange way Snape believed him. He bowed his head like he was seventeen.

"Yes my lord."

"But you leave me no choice."

The Dark Lord stared straight at him, and Snape knew what he was doing, what he wanted. He was going to sit there and wait until Snape agreed to his own torture.

He slipped into the role he'd known his whole life, the yes-man, the whipping boy, and there was a perverse comfort in it, the way you got used to your parents shouting. "Yes my Lord."

The Dark Lord said nothing. Snape tried to stifle his breathing but it only made him breathe harder. The pain wasn't so bad when it was unexpected, when he couldn't see it coming. But the Dark Lord made sure he knew.

He kept his eyes open but he went deep into his mind, to places the Dark Lord couldn't reach.

Felix Felicis. Brewed correctly the drinker of this potion will be lucky in all their endeavours.

The Dark Lord raised his wand.

"Crucio."

His body was ripped open, muscles burning in waves of pain that made him sick. Somewhere inside him he heard the words.

I can't.

He breathed in.

Add a tincture of thyme and stir slowly

He clenched his teeth and dug his nails into his arm and sent the pain inward, to some place deep inside that the Dark Lord couldn't see, a trick he'd learned a long time ago when his father would take the belt to him. He wouldn't show weakness, he wouldn't cry out.

Grind up a…what was it? An Occamy eggshell? Add to the the mixture

The Dark Lord lifted his wand. "I see my punishment is having no effect on you. It needs to hurt. You know that, don't you?"

"Ar, m'lord."

"Well, well. Listen to you," said the Dark Lord, and Snape was vaguely aware of having slipped into his Black Country twang. "But just the same, let's try it again then, shall we? Crucio!"

Add a sprinkle of...

Something burned his face and he fell to the floor. He wasn't stopping but he had to, he couldn't survive this.

The sun was shining and he was swinging with Lily at the playground, flying into the air, and Lily was singing.

"Jinny the witch flew over the house, to fetch a stick to lather the mouse"

The pain receded and he was limp, sweating, too wrung-out to stand up. He didn't want to be awake, he closed his eyes so he would see her again.

The Dark Lord said something but he didn't hear what it was.

He couldn't...what if he begged him to die, maybe he would kill him, maybe it would all stop. Someone spoke again but he didn't hear what they said.

His eyes flashed white as something struck him in the chest, again, and again and again and he heard Rowle's voice but he didn't understand, he couldn't breathe.

His face hit the carpet and everything was a mess of colour and sound. He didn't know if he was awake or asleep or maybe he was somewhere in between, in some strange hell he didn't know. He closed his eyes again.

He was walking through the Hogwarts grounds with Miss Corlett on a sunny summer morning and she bent down to examine a plant. When she stood up she spoke to him.

"Get up."

Snape winced. He couldn't catch a deep breath without a sharp stabbing pain in his chest. His muscles seized up and relaxed and the pain spread through him in waves, cresting and receding and cresting again. His face was wet with something that must've been blood. He opened his eyes. The carpet was smooth under his fingertips and the candlelight flickered over the threads. The room was quiet and he knew the Dark Lord had left.

He put his hands in front of him and pushed himself up, collapsing when his muscles seized up again. He waited until it had passed and got himself up off the floor, clutching his chest and trying not to breathe too hard.

He made his way down the hall, stopping every few minutes to rest against the wall. He could hear voices from downstairs, laughter and excited chatter. He Disillusioned himself so no one would see him.

He didn't know how he made it out of the manor and past the gates. He barely remembered spinning. When he'd stopped he collapsed into the dirt, spent, useless. He could not go back to that castle.

His muscles seized up again and he gasped, the rush of air into his chest making his eyes water. He curled up on his side to take the pressure off his chest and listened for footsteps. Everything was silent and still. His first memories were of being alone in his bedroom, rocking back and forth and singing to himself. And that was how he was going to go, apparently.

He stared into the dirt road and out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash, the kind made by glass when the light hit it. He thought it might be a rock at first, or a shell, but it was far too ugly to be either of those things, and that's when he remembered the bollan cross.

He reached out and clasped it in his hand, and after another wave of pain had passed he brought it to his mouth and said her name.

The dirt road slid in and out of focus. He stared at the pebble in front of him, fighting to stay conscious, but it didn't look like anyone was coming. He closed his eyes again.

He started at the sound of footsteps, shrank back from her touch as though she might strike him. But the hand that stroked his face was gentle.

A/N: thanks for reading and for the review!