CHAPTER ONE: BLOOD ON THE STREETS

"Why is it," he muttered to himself, "in a city with so many fucking roads, this is the only option?"

He ran a hand through his hair out of habit, forgetting he'd gotten a haircut earlier in the day, and looked down the alleyway. He hated the city, sometimes. Though it was still daytime, it was unusually dark and littered with muttering silhouettes.

Making up his mind, he shoved his hands in his pockets and began to walk, his head bowed slightly.

Someone catcalled from behind him and burst into rough, hoarse laughter. Icarus walked faster.

He was almost at the end when a shape detached itself from the wall and lumbered towards him, leering.

"'Ello, beautiful."

"Excuse me," he said, trying to go around the man.

The little amount of self-defense he knew wouldn't work on someone so much bigger than him.

The man swayed, blocking his way, and reached out to grab Icarus' face. He stepped backwards and found himself meeting a warm, hard object. He hadn't noticed the others.

"Where're you tryna go?" the man asked, leaning in, "I'll take you."

"No thanks," said Icarus, "I'll think I'll be fine by myself."

"It's not safe 'round 'ere, y'know?"

"Yeah," said Icarus, "I noticed."

He tried to step around him but a fat, sweaty hand wrapped around his arm and pulled him back. His heart leapt to his throat.

"Let me go," he said. The exit had seemed so close before.

The man grinned, revealing multiple missing teeth. He grabbed Icarus' face and tilted it up.

Icarus almost puked as the foul stench of rotting teeth and alcohol reached his nose. Then lips pressed against his own and something wet tried to force its way in. With horror, he realized it was the man's tongue.

He bit down and even as blood filled his mouth, a blow struck him across the face. He fell, gasping, trying to clear the stars which flooded his vision.

"Think yer fuckin' smart, d'yeh?" said the man, picking him up by the back of his shirt and slamming him against the wall. An involuntary cry of pain escaped his lips. "Think we'd let yeh jus' run off? Gotta have a taste first."

A hand slid down him and even if he'd tried to fight back, another blow would certainly knock him out.

"No," he gasped, "no, stop it, please."

The man chuckled.

"There we go," he murmured, tugging against the only material which protected Icarus, "that's what I wanna hear. Beg some more, beautiful."

So Icarus clamped his mouth shut, tears streaming down his face. Pride, his father had told him, had always been his weakness. In a way, the pain was worse than the Cruiciatus curse - deeper, really, like a part of his soul was being torn apart.

There was one moment, when he broke, and he was begging - begging - for the man to stop that he twisted, shifting.

The man stumbled back, unable to scream as the panther leapt on him, tearing his throat out, his lungs, his heart, his eyes...

Icarus didn't remember how he got back home.

. . .

Snape looked out of the window, his stomach heavy with dread.

Why wasn't he home yet?

He closed his book and laid it on the table next to the chair, before standing up and going to the kitchen.

For the next half hour, he paced between the two rooms, glancing continuously at the front door. The rain battered against the window and he made up his mind to go and look for him.

Opening the door, he froze in the surprise.

Icarus stood on the doorstep, his hand raised to knock. Somewhere along the the way home, his shirt and shoes had gone missing and his torso was bloody and covered in bruises.

As their eyes met, one pair now a dull blue and the other an endless pit of black, Icarus' legs gave out from under him.

Snape caught him quickly and half carried him to the bathroom, where Icarus bent over the toilet, his body heaving as he retched.

Snape ran to get a calming draught and by the time he came back, Icarus had stopped puking and curled into a corner of the bathroom like a wounded animal.

He knelt down and approached him slowly.

"What happened?" he asked, knowing the answer already.

He'd seen too many victims of rape in the war.

Icarus stared at him for a minute, before curling further in on himself and hiding his face.

. . .

Snape lowered the paper, his hand shaking, and took a sip from his coffee. He hadn't slept since Icarus had come home the night before, too worried to do so.

A door opened above him and he chucked the paper into the fire. After a moment, Icarus appeared at the door, in an indigo turtleneck and black trousers. A bruise had formed on his face which made his skin look paler than usual.

Snape's guts twisted in anger and self-loathing. He should never have let him go by himself.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, as Icarus moved towards him to get a cup of coffee.

He nodded and Snape stood up to start preparing breakfast.

. . .

Icarus came downstairs on the morning of his birthday as silent as he had been since the attack.

"Happy Birthday," said Snape, his eyes on a pan of frying eggs. Plates of toast and bacon were on the table already, along with a fresh pot of tea. Icarus smiled over at him.

His hair had grown a little faster than he'd wanted it to and it now tickled the bottom of his neck, but framed his face handsomely.

Snape set the eggs down and a bowl of baked beans, before taking a seat.

"I'm going to go to Diagon Alley today," said Snape, "only for a little bit, but I'll get your stuff while I'm there too."

Icarus swallowed the bite of toast he'd taken and raised his eyebrows.

"What?" asked Snape, his cup half lifted to his mouth.

Icarus kicked him.

"I didn't think you'd want to go," said Snape, frowning slightly.

The look Icarus sent his way was easy enough to understand.

"Ok, fine," said Snape, taking a sip of his tea, "We'll go to Diagon Alley today."

. . .