A/N: TW: Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence. It won't be depicted, but there will be a description of injuries. If you'd prefer to skip it, just stop reading when it switches to Graihagh's POV and she gets the Patronus. I'll put a content summary at the end so you won't miss anything. There will also be implied/referenced substance abuse, nothing graphic.

This chapter will be sort of bleak, but things will get happier. This won't be a sad story.

Thanks again for the faves/follows and reviews! I love every one of them.

Snape returned to the castle at dawn, while everyone was still asleep, but Alecto knew. She watched him all through breakfast, making pointed remarks about the sort of filth that hung round the Hog's Head, and after he'd finished eating she cornered him in the Entrance Hall.

"I have a message from Bellatrix," she said, lowering her voice as a group of surly Ravenclaws passed. "She says she knows about that little half-blood whore you've been seeing on the side."

Snape stifled his anger and his fear until it was nothing more than a clenched jaw. A clever little power play. But it wasn't going to work.

"I'm seeing so many people on the side I've lost track of them all," said Snape in a bored voice. "And perhaps while you're passing this information along you could ask if she's bothered to tell the Dark Lord about her little assassination attempt?"

He expected Alecto to scoff at this, but her mouth curled into self-satisfied smile. "Oh, she hasn't."

Snape caught her eye to show he understood her meaning. "She is in a precarious position, isn't she? First the fiasco at the Ministry and now this."

"And the Potter boy's escape from the Malfoys," added Alecto.

Snape kept his expression calm. He'd been scheming with Dobby for months, trying to find some means of rescuing Miss Lovegood, and Dumbledore had told him to send the elf along to Aberforth for some sort of mission there. He supposed the boy must've escaped, or he would've heard about it, but he needed details. "What do you mean?"

"Didn't you hear? The Snatchers found their camp and brought them to the Manor. That old elf of theirs helped them escape, Dobbins or whatever his name was. I had it from Dolohov that Lucius' eyes are still swollen shut."

Snape gripped the edge of his sleeve. The last thing Lucius and Narcissa needed was more cock-ups. They were on thin ice as it was. And strange, that Potter and his friends were still on the run. What were they doing?

"Perhaps the Dark Lord needs better lieutenants," he said with a significant look at Alecto, an unspoken promise to back her up should she wish to challenge Bellatrix. An alliance with her would keep things safer for the students and the staff, safer for Graihagh. Unless of course it was a trap.

"Perhaps he does," said Alecto, all sincerity this time.

The stood there rather awkwardly until Snape wished her a pleasant morning, crossing his fingers underneath his sleeve, and when she'd left and he'd flashed a two-fingered salute to her retreating backside he took the steps to the Hufflepuff basement and stepped inside the kitchens.

"I wish to speak with Dobby," he said. Several of the elves glanced at each other, ears slicked back like frightened dogs.

"We is not hearing from him, sir," said an elf he knew to be called Winky.

So. Dobby had been to Malfoy Manor two weeks ago, and hadn't been seen since. Perhaps he'd decided to tag along with Potter and his friends, but Snape doubted it. He'd probably killed. Snape was...not sorry exactly. But he felt something. A strange twinge, like indigestion.

"I see. If he returns inform me immediately."

"Yes sir," said Winky.

Snape returned to his office and got back to work, but he didn't get much done.

He went back to Graihagh that night. This time he snuck out before the sun went down, so he wouldn't set off that stupid Caterwauling Charm. He'd been able to slip by undetected the night before but still, it'd been a foolish risk.

She didn't say much as they walked upstairs; she seemed to know how exhausted he was. She pulled back the blankets and he settled himself in the mattress, sinking his head into her pillow, which they shared. She curled her body around him, lacing her fingers through his. He was asleep within minutes.

She was still sleeping when he woke up, mumbling something he couldn't understand and turning to her other side. He shifted to the edge of the mattress to escape her flailing limbs, and when she'd settled down he propped himself up to look at her. Her hair was a tangled mess and she was snoring slightly, a bit of spit glistening on her chin. How very charming.

He settled back down into the mattress, resting his head against hers and studying the pattern of freckles on the back of her neck. He brushed his lips against her and kissed her back, where the neckline on her t-shirt dipped, wishing the cotton weren't there, that he could explore more of her.

Graihagh let out a breathy murmur somewhere between a laugh and a moan and Snape rolled over onto his back and pretended to be asleep. But she'd obviously felt him kissing her, and she must've felt him get hard, he'd been right up against her.

She propped herself up and spoke in his ear. "I know you're awake, Severus."

She was gloating. He yawned and stretched and turned to face her like he'd just woken up, but this didn't fool her for a second. She stroked his face with a knowing smile. "I didn't kick you again, did I?"

"A few times. But I think my internal organs are intact."

She lay back down so that she was facing him. "I kicked my dad in the face once while we were camping."

"How is that even possible?"

"Don't know. I must've gotten turned around while I was sleeping." Her smile faded and her hand slipped from his face. "Have you heard anything about them? My family I mean. Has Rowle been looking for them?"

"No. He hasn't mentioned them."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

She sat up. "He has it in for me, I know he does. If I could just contact them or something. I hate not knowing-"

Snape sat up with her. He regretted the words before he'd even said them, but he didn't stop himself. She looked so pained.

"He thinks they've fled to America."

"What? But...why would he think that, they told me they couldn't leave."

"I Confunded him."

"You...?"

Snape couldn't stand the way she was looking at him. Like the sun was shining out of his arse.

She gripped his face in both hands and kissed him so hard she nearly knocked him backwards. "It was you, wasn't it?" she said. "You're the one who saved me from Rowle."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Tell me it was you."

He had no intention of telling her anything. She stared him down like she could force an answer out of him, but he kept his mouth shut, and after a few seconds she gave up and leaned against the box she used as a headboard.

"Why do I get the feeling there's a million things you're not telling me?"

"I never told you I would."

"Yeah, I know, but..."

Three loud raps sounded on the door.

"Aberforth," she muttered. Snape Disillusioned himself and lay still on the mattress as Graihagh opened the door for him.

"I'm going to need a hand with breakfast," he said, handing her something he couldn't see. Whatever it was it must've been heavy, because her back bent a little. "I'm up to my arse in fried eggs down there. Nine Death Eaters stationed in Hogsmeade and now some student shows up and says he needs food."

Snape sat up on the mattress without thinking.

Aberforth stared in his direction but Snape couldn't see his expression from that distance, except for the wrinkled nose. "Smells like rancid socks in here."

Graihagh's flashed her laughing eyes at Snape, who was wearing a pair of socks Hagrid had knitted for him a thousand years ago. She'd been teasing him about his smelly feet. "Just a reinvigoration draught I'm working on."

"I don't know how you potioneers stand it. Just send those down to the kitchen when you're done with 'em."

"Sure."

She locked up behind Aberforth and pressed her ear to the door. "He's gone."

Snape lifted the charm off himself and walked over to her makeshift table, where she'd set a cutting board full of vegetables. She picked up a tomato and sliced it across the centre.

"So what's this about a student needing food?"

"One of the students is in hiding," said Snape. "Though how he could've gotten to the Hog's Head I have no idea."

She sliced another tomato and put the scraps into a pile to feed to her millipede. "What, they were going after him?"

"Yes." He picked up a potato and squeezed it in his hand. He knew where Longbottom was, that room one the seventh floor, the one that turned into a hiding place or a training ground or whatever else you wanted. But how he could've gotten from there to the Hog's Head he didn't know. He'd better not be showing up at the bar, not unless he fancied fighting six Death Eaters at once.

"Ask Abeforth about it when you get the chance. I need more information about this student. Neville Longbottom, his name is."

"Of course." She sliced another tomato. "You mean to help him, then."

"Did I say that?"

She let out a frustrated sigh and chopped the tomato a little too vigorously, like she'd pictured his face on it. "I know that's what you're doing. I wish you'd just give me a straight answer for once."

There was something comfortable about her frustration. This, at least, was something he understood. Something he could use. He picked up a potato and squeezed it in his hand.

"I'm sorry," said Graihagh. "I just wish I knew you better, that's all. And I feel like you're shutting me out."

"I told you this couldn't go anywhere."

Graihagh set her knife down and arranged the tomato scraps into a little pyramid-shaped pile. She was always doing something with her hands, and the more nervous she got, the more random it was. "I know. And I know I said I was okay with it but..." She brushed back a loose strand of hair and rearranged her little tomato-scrap pile. "I thought, maybe when the war is over we could keep seeing each other. Maybe we could travel together, or you could come stay with me-"

Snape dropped his potato onto the table. He was a marked man on two sides. His future was murky and dim, a long empty tunnel with no exit, no light at the end. His only hope was that he'd live long enough to see the Dark Lord fall, and it was a thin hope, growing more frayed by the day.

She must've known this. She was warm without being overly sentimental; he'd always liked that about her. That she was getting so attached to him now, of all times, annoyed him for reasons he couldn't really explain...dammit, he was feeling sorry for her, and it was so bloody uncomfortable.

"We have no future."

He hadn't meant to sound so cold. But that was just as well.

Graihagh traced the cutting board with her finger. "Why would you say that?"

Snape didn't even bother to hide his frustration. He wanted to escalate, wanted her angry. "Don't play dumb. You know this war will end badly for one of us."

"But what if it doesn't-"

"Enough."

She smushed the tomato-scrap pile with the palm of her hand. "Excuse me? I'm trying to have a conversation with you."

"I don't want one."

"No shit."

He wheeled about and grabbed his cloak off the chair.

"Oh, so you're just walking away."

She was trying suck him back into the conversation, and he shouldn't have let her, he should've just left. But he couldn't stand it, the way she was talking, like it was just some stupid relationship problem.

"This isn't what you think-we're not-I'm a Death Eater, for fuck's sake."

"But you're not though."

Snape didn't like the way she said this. Triumphant almost, like he was a puzzle she'd solved.

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't-I just know you're not."

"Well, you're wrong."

She leaned against the table and rubbed her face. "I don't understand, I thought everything was going well-"

This irritated him, this refusal to believe the worst of him, and he seized it, fed on it, used it to thrust his hand into his pocket and pull out the bollan cross.

She pulled her hand away from her face, her eyes anxious, afraid, ready for a fight. "What are you doing?"

He tossed the bollan cross onto the table without looking at her.

"No." She picked it up and thrust it at him. "Take it back. Take it."

His hand twitched in his sleeve. He could take it back. He could tell her she was right about everything, wrap his arms around her and let her be his refuge. But that was stupid and weak. He turned his back on her and strode to the door.

She stood in front of him, blocking his way out, her eyes fire."Don't you do this. Don't you dare do this."

He reached around her for the doorknob.

"Severus-"

"Shh," he hissed. Footsteps thudded against the stairs outside.

"...wasting your time," said Aberforth, as the footsteps grew louder. Two or three people, he thought. Muffled scraping noises sounded against the wood, as though they were rubbing their hands across the walls in hopes of finding some hidden entrace. A door creaked; there was an old broom cupboard at the end of the hall.

"There you have it lads," barked Aberforth. "I keep a still for making moonshine. Happy?"

"You'd better not be lying about this old man," said a voice. Dolohov, he thought. "Or we'll-"

"Yes, yes I know, you'll burn down the inn with me in it. Now get back downstairs, if you want your breakfast."

"Could I have a bit of that moonshine-"

"No."

The footsteps faded and the door downstairs slammed shut. Corlett stood beside him with her hands in the pocket of her robes, staring at the door as though they might burst through any second. He stretched out his hand to comfort her, but shut himself down before he'd touched her.

"Severus, please-"

Those words again. Severus please, Severus please, he could bleed his life away and it wouldn't be enough for anyone. He turned the knob.

"I know about Lily."

Severus gripped the doorknob so hard his hands slipped.

"I know she was your friend. I know she was killed. I heard you crying."

He wheeled, the words flying out of him before he could stop himself. "You know nothing."

"Severus-"

He'd reached the point of no return, standing on the edge. He forced himself over before had time to think, before he had time to regret it. "Do you know why they made me Headmaster?"

"I don't-"

"But you must know what happened to Dumbledore?"

"I-well, he was murdered..."

"And who do you think did it?"

Corlett's mouth opened in something-was it shock? But she looked indignant. "I don't believe you," she said, putting a hand to her hip the way she did sometimes. Her voice was strained and thin. "How could you say that? If you don't want to to this anymore then just tell me. Don't go saying things like that."

Snape stared at her. He'd been expecting her to call him a murderer and throw him out the door and here she was, assuming he was just playing games.

"God Severus, why can't you just be straight with me for once in your life?"

"I am-I am being straight with you-"

"You know what, just go. Maybe when you're ready to have a normal conversation, we can talk about this."

This was all wrong. She was supposed to believe him. She was supposed to throw him out and threaten to call the Order.

He left the room without really seeing where he was going, the ground shifting under his feet like it'd stopped being solid. He went straight to his office and rummaged around in his desk for a bottle of sleeping draught and slept for ten hours.

The hands on the wall clock were blurry. Snape squinted. Six-thirty in the evening. He supposed he'd better drag his arse down to the Great Hall for dinner, so no one would think he'd left the castle again. They wouldn't go looking for Corlett on his account.

He pushed his food around on his plate and took a few bites of something he couldn't really taste. He left after ten minutes or so and paced the floor of his office.

"What is Potter doing exactly?" he said to Phineas. He was so damn tired of this uncertainty, this inaction. He just needed something to bloody happen already. What could possibly be taking them so long?

"I believe they're searching for something, sir," said Phineas, uncharacteristically serious. He'd been that way ever since the Dark Lord showed up. "Objects of some kind."

"What sort of objects?"

"I don't know, sir."

Snape strode over to the window and pondered this disturbing bit of news. There was something ominous about his use of the plural. Objects. Not object.

He gripped the back of his chair so hard his hands broke into a sweat.

"How many are there?"

Dumbledore woke with a gasp and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "Pardon?"

"How many Horcruxes are there?"

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "I don't know what you mean, Sever-"

Snape slapped his hand on the canvas and the portrait flinched. "Don't lie to me, old man. I want a straight answer, or it all stops, do you understand me?"

He kept his hand on the portrait, his face inches from the canvas. The old man tapped the sides of his wooden chair and stared back at him, looking-was it possible?-afraid.

"There are seven."

He couldn't heard him right. "What did you say?"

The old man cleared his throat again. "There are seven of them, Severus. Three have been destroyed."

Snape studied the carvings in his wooden picture frame, a phoenix surrounded by flames and rings of smoke. The room was deathly silent. Only the huffing and whirring of the silver instruments broke the stillness, carrying on like the world hadn't turned black. Snape picked them up one by one and smashed them against the wall.

The cry that escaped his lips was strange and high-pitched. He swiped his arm across the desk and sent ink bottles flying, quills and pieces of parchment, books that fell to the floor with their spines up. He seized a leather-bound book with gold letters and arched his arm, readying himself for the throw. That stupid gift from Dumbledore, a useless piece of shit just like everything else he'd given him.

He paused with the book over his shoulder. Maybe he'd missed something, maybe there was some sort of clue hidden inside the pages. Some means of finding the Horcruxes.

He slapped it down on his desk and thumbed through it. Nothing, nothing, nothing, because of course the old man wasn't going to be that obvious, wasn't going to make anything that easy. He flipped to a page that was worn and dog-eared and stained with something yellow, like the old man had spilt tea all over it.

Not, I'll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;

Not untwist — slack they may be — these last strands of man

In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can;

Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.

What the fuck did that even mean? Fucking poetry. He read it through a few more times in the hopes that it might be some secret code but it was simply a lot of nonsense. He slammed the book shut and rummaged around for a stepladder.

He kept the bottle under lock and key, and the key on a high shelf, under a charm that kept it from being Summoned. He propped the ladder against the bookcase and when he'd gotten the key he pulled the box out from under his bed.

He'd made the poison for himself seventeen years ago, just in case. A gentle concoction, the same one he'd made Dumbledore. No pain, no fuss, just like falling asleep. Only he wasn't going to do it here, in this prison cell of an office. He'd do it beside the lake, while the stars came out and the frogs sang.

He sauntered into the grounds like he was just out on an evening walk and headed towards the lake. The sun had set behind the mountains and the air was getting cold.

He sat down in a clump of grass and pulled the bottle out of his pocket. Best get it done quickly, before he had time to regret it. He'd like to have vanished, but he supposed someone would find him, eventually. Not Hagrid, he was off hiding somewhere with that giant brother of his. Grubbly-Plank probably. He was going to look like an idiot.

Minerva would be so smug about it-but then, maybe she wouldn't; there was still a sliver of doubt there. She'd never know, now. And Potter would never know, he'd never have the chance to tell him what he needed to do. Not that it mattered. How the hell was that conversation supposed to go? Sorry I killed Dumbledore. And by the way, you're supposed to go die now.

The boy would probably get himself killed without his help anyway, he'd had so many close shaves already. Reckless and arrogant, just like his father. There was no way they'd win.

He twisted the cap off the potion and swirled it around. He was stalling. This was so stupid.

He stared out at the lake and a patch of yarrow caught his eye, just to his left. He picked a piece and twirled it around in his fingers. He'd had a friendly argument with Corlett once, about whether to use the leaves or the whole plant in wound-cleansing potions. He'd only ever used the leaves, she swore by the whole plant. Her method worked best, as it turned out. He'd meant to tell her and forgot.

He stared out over the lake. The night was cold even for mid-April and the wind off the lake was like ice. A doe emerged from the trees on the opposite shore and bent her head over the water.

He didn't know why he did it, but when he'd put the cap back on the potion and tucked it into his pocket he unfastened his cloak and pulled off his boots. The water along the shore wasn't so bad, the sun had warmed it enough that it didn't numb his feet the way it would have in winter. He waded in until he was waist-deep. Now he felt it. Icy fucking cold, and good. He dove in and shouted into the sky, scattering a flock of crows that circled his head with indignant caws. Cheeky, clever, annoying things. Just like her.

Not, I'll not, carrion comfort, Despair, not feast on thee;

He was numb and shocked and half-freezing and he was fucking alive.

Not untwist — slack they may be — these last strands of man

In me ór, most weary, cry I can no more. I can;

He didn't have a clue why those words were floating around in his head but they echoed through his skull like a schoolyard chant.

Can something, hope, wish day come, not choose not to be.

He swam over to Dumbledore's tomb. "Are you happy now old man?" he shouted. "Is this what you wanted, you old fuck?"

The crows gave an approving caw and settled back down in the trees along the shore as Snape swam to the grassy bank where he'd left his cloak and his boots. The air was colder than the water had been and the wind was picking up and he was alive.

He dried himself with a charm and pulled the bottle of poison out of his pocket, tossing it into the lake, so he wouldn't be tempted. When it sank below the surface he laced his boots and draped his cloak over his shoulders. The doe stared at him a moment, then scampered off to the forest, and Snape went back to the castle.

Graihagh pushed the peas around her plate and speared them with a fork. Aberforth had sent up toad in the hole smothered in onion gravy, one of her favourites, but it might as well have been cardboard for how hungry she was.

She kept her eyes to her plate and didn't look up. The room was filled with reminders of everything that needed doing-clothes piled up in the corner, dust on the table, a pile of aconite roots on the floor. She couldn't think about them without being overwhelmed.

She ate about a quarter of her food and crawled back into bed, but she'd slept for so long she wasn't tired, and she couldn't stop thinking about Severus. Sometimes she'd wake up at night and reach for him. Chop up vegetables and think of something stupid to tell him the next time they met. Sit around and wait for the bollan cross to light up like he'd never given it back.

He was so frustrating, the way he kept slipping through her fingers just when she thought they had something, that she'd found someone she could love. Things would have been so much easier if he'd never cared for her at all. Her ex-girlfriend had said something like that once. That every time they got close Graihagh pulled away. Now she understood how she'd felt. Payback was a bitch.

She sat up and stretched. The work was overwhelming, but she was just going to have to force herself to do it. She had two days to finish that Wolfsbane or it would be useless. She got some water boiling in the cauldron and chopped up the aconite roots. Her sleeping was completely mixed up and she worked late into the night, until her arms got tired and had to sit down for awhile. She poured herself a whiskey old fashioned and tried to read.

The silver Corgi soared into the room without warning and Graihagh slopped half her drink down her robes.

"I need help." Cate's voice was barely above a whisper. "Meet me-" Cate gasped and the Corgi vanished.

Graihagh shot out of bed and draped her traveling cloak over her shoulders, checking her pocket to make sure she had her wand. There was only one place she could think to go, and she prayed Cate would be there.

Graihagh knew there'd be Death Eaters and Snatchers lurking around Upper Flagley, but the streets were empty and still, no cars on the road even. She kept her hood up and tried to blend in, just the same.

Cate was just outside her house-or what she supposed must be her house, it was invisible, as though the place where it stood were an empty lot. She pointed her wand at Graihagh's chest.

"It's just me," said Graihagh, pulling off her hood. She stepped closer and nearly collided with Cate's husband, who was slumped on the ground beside her. "What-is he dead?"

"Stunned," whispered Cate. Her voice was scratchy and faint, like fingernails on sandpaper. The streetlamps were bright enough that Graihagh could make out the angry red marks around her neck, about the size of someone's hand. Her face was flushed.

Graihagh reached out to touch her face, her eyes stinging. "How long has he been doing this?"

"Let's just get out of here."

Graihagh's head thrummed and her chest was tight and she stared down at Adrian with a fury so strong it demanded some sort of release, like she'd be in pain if she didn't do something. She kicked the side of his stomach.

Cate grabbed her arm. "What are you doing-Graihagh, don't-"

Cate's hoarse voice tore her open. She raised her wand and the curse expoded out of her mouth like lava. "Praestrangulo!"

Cate grabbed her arm and the jet of white light missed Adrian by inches, shooting a hole through the stone fence. "What the fuck are you doing, we're going to be in so much trouble..."

Graihagh's head was so full of blood the realisation took a long time to reach her. "Oh my God. I'm so sorry. Cate, I'm so sorry-"

"Come on," she said, tugging at her sleeve.

"Right," said Graihagh, barely aware she was speaking. "Hold on." She raised her wand and imagined Cate someplace far away, happy and safe. "Expecto Patronum." Nothing but silver vapour. She tried again, squeezing her eyes shut and focusing as hard as she could. The silver crow burst out of her wand with its wings flapping and she gave it a brief message.

"I need to warn Aberforth ahead of time so he can create a diversion," she explained. "There's a Caterwauling Charm on the village."

"How long will this take?" said Cate, eyeing Adrian, still slumped on the ground.

"Only a minute or two."

A minute later-or maybe three or four, time dragged by so slowly-Aberforth's silver goat stopped in front of them, ruffled and indignant. "Ready when you are. You'd better have a damn good reason for dragging me out of bed at four o'clock in the morning."

Cate gripped her arm so tightly it hurt and Graihagh spun into the air.

The Caterwauling Charm was in full blast and Aberforth was slagging off some Death Eaters at the front of the Hog's Head; Graihagh could hear him cursing all the way from the alley. She and Cate slipped inside without being noticed.

"This is a hidden room," she explained, locking up behind them. "You can't be found here."

Cate went straight to the mattress and sat with her knees drawn up her chest, hands over her eyes, finally allowing herself to feel everything she'd been through. Graihagh wrapped her arms around her.

"It's okay," she said into her hair. "Just let it out." Cate buried her head in Graihagh's shoulder.

"I didn't-I thought-"

"I know, it's alright. You're safe here."

Cate raised her head. "You smell like Ogden's Old."

"Oh shit, I'm sorry, I spilled some earlier. I'll change."

"I could do with a bit of that. Hoped you save some for me."

Graihagh whipped off her robes and put on her t-shirt and pyjama bottoms, half-laughing, half-crying.

Cate wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jumper and sank into the mattress.

"Here," said Graihagh, pouring her a capful of potion. "For dreamless sleep." Cate opened her mouth and Graihagh poured the potion for her. "You're so brave, you know that?" she whispered against her hair. "I'm so proud of you."

She set the potion back on the nightstand and lay down beside Cate, holding on to her until her breathing slowed and she fell asleep. But she couldn't calm down. She rubbed her face, stood up and sat back down, pulled at her hair until it hurt. She wouldn't have stopped. She would've kept going until she'd killed him. She would've been worse than her mother. She would've been Rowle.

She sat with her knees drawn up to her chest until she couldn't keep her eyes open, and fell asleep with her back against the makeshift headboard.

Aberforth came up at noon with a tray full of food and a sack potatoes for Graihagh to slice. "Damn kids keep coming into my inn asking for food," he grumbled, though Graihagh suspected he was rather pleased by the whole thing. "You'd think this was the Leaky Cauldron."

"Yes, heaven forbid they take this for an actual inn," said Graihagh, and Aberforth winked. She set the tray down on the table and set the sack of potatoes on the floor. "So are the students in hiding?"

"That's what they tell me. Things are getting bad up at the school."

She'd thought about asking him. If what Snape said was really true, if he really had killed Dumbledore. But she couldn't do it. She didn't really want to know.

"Hold on" she said, rushing to grab some potion off the shelves. "Basic healing potions, and er, a few other things." Contraceptive potion, in other words. All those students in close quarters, scared and alone, things were bound to happen. She kept a few for herself, just in case.

"Cheers," said Aberforth, tucking the potions into his pocket. "I'll send 'em along with Longbottom."

He closed the door and she was left with Cate, who bent over her soup, shoveling spoonfuls into her mouth. Graihagh sat down on her crate and didn't eat anything.

"I'm really sorry," she said, kneading her pyjama bottoms. "About everything."

"It's okay," said Cate through a mouthful of soup, but Graihagh wasn't sure she meant it.

"Look, if anything happens...I'll tell them it was me. You won't get into any trouble, I promise."

Cate opened her mouth like she wanted to say something but changed her mind, nodding over her soup.

"I think I'll lie down for awhile if that's okay," she said when she'd finished eating.

"Sure. I've got some books if you want to read."

"Yeah, I might do that later."

She sat down on the mattress and pulled a portable CD player and a pair of headphones out of a bright blue holdall. Graihagh had been in such a state she hadn't even noticed it. Cate had lived with Adrian for six years. Six years of her life, all stuffed into a single small bag.

She grabbed a knife and sliced up the potatoes, but she couldn't really concentrate. Cate couldn't have been happy with her, and she was well within her right not to be. She'd just about gotten her captured by the Ministry, thrown into Azkaban, maybe even killed. As it was she'd have a hard time getting a restraining order, if the war ended and things went back to normal.

Cate listened to music the rest of the afternoon and they had a quiet dinner together, each lost in their own thoughts.

Only after Cate had been with her a few days did Graihagh realise how lonely she'd been, and yet in a way it was more painful to have Cate there. She slept for twelve hours and didn't eat much and whenever there was a noise she'd gasp and glance about the room like Adrian might be lurking there. She didn't feel safe with Graihagh, and no wonder. She'd almost gotten her killed once, for fuck's sake. She was as bad as Adrian. As bad as her mother. Maybe that's why she liked Snape so much. She was as bad as he was.

Graihagh started sleeping more too, and worked on her potions in fits and starts, cutting up a few things and getting up and pacing about the room. The space felt too small, like she was suffocating, but it wasn't Cate, it was something else, something she had to escape from.

One evening she changed into her jeans and short-sleeved top and stuffed some Muggle money into her pocket, along with her wand.

"D'you think you'll be alright here if I go out for a bit?"

"Where are you going?"

Graihagh couldn't look at her. "Nowhere, really. Just a bit of fresh air."

"It's fine. I was about to go to bed anyway."

"If you need Aberforth, just pull this string here-" She grabbed the string hanging from the ceiling. "Don't answer the door for anyone except him. You can always send me a Patronus, right?"

Cate crawled into bed and lay her head on the pillow. "I don't think I can make one."

Graihagh wrung her hands together. "Well...here." She walked over to her nightstand and handed her Snape's half of the bollan cross. "I have the other one. Just say my name and I'll come back straightaway, alright?"

Cate held the bollan crossed in her hand, her forehead creased in confusion. "Okay, but...why are you in your Muggle clothes? Is something wrong?"

"No. It's fine."

Cate turned the bollan cross in her hands and set it on the pillow. "Don't do anything stupid," she murmured.

The sun was just setting over the mountains. Graihagh spun as quickly as she could, not relaxing until she'd emerged in an alley in Liverpool, the same alley she'd gone to months before. She only meant to stay at the club an hour or so, so she could get back to Hogsmeade before curfew. But the music was blaring, she was far from the war, and the room was packed with people who didn't know her. She could fade into the crowd and disappear.

She woke up with a parched mouth and a pounding head, her tongue so sticky she could barely swallow. The fabric under her arms was strange, almost velvety, and when she opened her eyes she found herself lying on the sofa in a house she'd never seen until the night before, with people she didn't remember all that well. Most of them were asleep. The light coming in through the blinds had a late afternoon look.

She poured herself glass of water from the kitchen tap and sat back down. Her hands shook and she itched with dried sweat and every nice thought had been sucked out of her head, like there was a Dementor trapped inside her skull. But she'd had a few hours peace, she remembered that much. And she wanted it back. She wanted oblivion. She wanted anonymonity. She wanted to forget herself and everything she'd ever done. She wanted nothing to do with the witch in hiding from someone she never should've been involved with in the first place.

Something burned through the denim in her jeans pocket. Graihagh pulled out the bollan cross and read the letters of her name, glowing across the lumpy surface. Maybe it was just the Xan wearing off, but the thought of going back to that dark, stuffy room made her want to jam another few down her throat and sleep.

She slipped the bollan cross into her pocket and leaned over the sofa with her face in one hand. There was no question of not going back, not really. She'd fucked up and left Cate in that room overnight, when she needed her most, and she wasn't going to be her mother, she wasn't going to run away. She owed her an apology, at the very least. If she didn't accept it, she stormed off and left, then maybe she'd come back.

She slipped outside the house and spun into the air.

A/N: Content Summary: Content Warning Summary: Graihagh gets a patronus from Cate telling her she needs help, and gets cut off. She goes to Upper Flagley and finds her standing in front of her house with her wand raised. Her husband is lying at her feet, stunned. Graihagh notices that Cate's been injured, and in a fury she kicks him and attempts to retaliate with a curse. Cate grabs her arm and it misses. They go back to the Hog's Head and Graihagh gives Cate a potion for dreamless sleep and lays down beside her. She realises she would've killed her husband if given the chance and is extremely upset by this. They spend a few quiet days together, resting. Cate packed a bag for herself and Graihagh realises it's all she has left. She makes some potions for the students in the Room of Requirement and gives them to Aberforth. She is increasingly upset and restless, and one evening she asks Cate if it's alright if she goes and gets some air. Cate tells her it's fine, so she gives her Snape's half of the bollan cross in case she needs her and goes back to her favourite nightclub in Liverpool and stays out all night. She wakes up with a Xanax hangover and wishes she could just disappear like her mother. The bollan cross lights up, and she decides to go back to the Hog's Head and apologise to Cate.