17. Rita Skeeter Strikes Again

Severus was stomping around his office, shoving all of his personal possessions into a suitcase. Minerva stood in the doorway with a look of worry on her face, and asked, "What are you doing?"

Not bothering to face her, he growled, "I'm leaving. Don't make any attempts to stop me. You've made up your mind, and I've made up mine."

Stepping into the room, the headmistress said, "Severus, don't be ridiculous. This is all going to die down soon enough. And in the meantime, nobody with any sense believes a word that woman has to say."

He came to a halt and looked down at Rita Skeeter's latest bit of trash writing, which lay upon his desk. His own face looked back at him from the front cover of the witch's biography, beneath the title, Snape: Scoundrel or Saint?

His nostrils flared and his eyes were alight with fury at the sight of the book, which had appeared on shelves the week before, and which every student in the castle appeared to already have a copy of. The little bastards had been staring and whispering every time he passed, and they may as well have turned a spotlight on him during class. No one's mind was on werewolves or inferi or the various methods of banishing a boggart. Instead they were preoccupied with Skeeter's newest claims about their Defense teacher. Once again, the unscrupulous swine had put his life on display for the whole wizarding world to see.

And once again, every other sentence was an outright lie.

Presently, he picked up the book and hurled it across the room, before rounding on McGonagall. "Have I committed some offense against you?" he asked. "Have I brought harm to you in some way?"

"No..." she replied, unsure of what point he was trying to make.

"Then why do you insist on making my life difficult? I don't ask for much, Minerva. But I refuse to remain at this castle if you're going to allow the spread of Rita Skeeter's slander about me."

"I understand how you feel," she said. "And I sympathize. But I'm not a proponent of banning any piece of writing. We've been through that with the Ministry, when Dolores Umbridge was in charge, and when Voldemort had control of the school. It's a matter of principle."

He scoffed, shaking his head to himself, and continued packing.

"Besides," she went on, "that which is forbidden is only more alluring. Banning the book would ensure that everybody got their hands on it."

"They already have," he countered. "And those who don't have one are hearing the stories from their classmates. And children, more often than not, are imbecilic. They'll believe anything they hear, without question."

With a sigh, she replied, "Well... the damage is already done. Students have read it, the stories are spreading... A ban isn't going to change anything at this point."

He had to admit that she was right, but that was precisely why he wanted to get the hell away from Hogwarts, away from anyone who knew who he was. It was just as it had been immediately following the war - gossip and rumors, only this time it seemed that Skeeter had done everything she could to assassinate his character. Scoundrel or saint? It was clear which of these she'd intended for her readers to believe he was.

He'd been up all night going over the book cover to cover. Some of the highlights suggested that he was a full-fledged murderer. "Not just Albus Dumbledore," an anonymous source had said. "He's had other victims."

Such as his parents, who Skeeter claimed had both died "under mysterious circumstances." Like Warbeck, she too must have traveled to Cokeworth to gather information on him, because she correctly reported that there'd been no funeral held for Tobias Snape.

She'd also visited Alecto Carrow in Azkaban, who'd claimed that Severus had instructed her and her brother to torture students. "Amycus and I tried to object," she'd said. "But Snape threatened to Cruciate us, too."

He was also, apparently, responsible for brewing the regenerative potion that had given Voldemort his body back.

But worst of all was the claim that he'd intentionally led Voldemort to Lily and James, in revenge for the former rejecting him.

Perhaps he could've ignored everything else, but that was what got him.

Skeeter had ended her writing with the idea that Severus had been back and forth so many times, regarding Light Side versus Dark, that it was impossible to determine his true character. "We simply cannot know," she'd written. "He may very well still be the scoundrel who once pledged allegiance to the vilest dark wizard of our time, and not the saint he's claimed himself to be in the wake of the Second Wizarding War."

Minerva had left him as he moved on from his office to his living quarters, and once he was alone he'd set himself up with a bourbon and a cigarette. He was on his third glass and fourth smoke when there was a knock on the door an hour later.

Whoever it was, he didn't want to see them. But the visitor wouldn't go away, knocking twice more. "Bloody hell," he muttered, aiming his wand on the door to open it.

"Good Christ!" Warbeck exclaimed, taking in the thick cloud of smoke that hovered about the room. "How are you breathing in here?"

"What do you want, for God's sake?" he asked, not bothering to get up from his supine position on the sofa.

Stepping in and shutting the door, she replied, "McGonagall just told me that you're leaving Hogwarts. I came here to tell you that you're not."

Glaring at her, he said, "I wasn't aware that I needed your permission."

"Well... let's put it this way." She came to stand before him as she went on, "If you go, I go. And I'll follow you wherever. I will haunt you. Everywhere you turn, you'll see my face. Eventually you'll realize that you're safer from me here. At least here you can get a break while I'm in class."

He took a puff and said, "Don't test me, Warbeck. I have killed before." He paused. "Many times, allegedly."

"Yes, you're quite the madman, I hear." She nudged his legs out of the way to make room for herself. "Why don't you put out that nasty stick of tar and try something a little more pleasant?"

"Such as?" he asked.

She held out a rectangular box and said, "Healing chocolates. Literally - they're from St. Mungo's."

In a tone of disinterest, he said, "I don't like chocolate."

She gave him a pointed look and asked, "Do you like anything?"

"Solitude," he replied.

"Hmph," she smirked. "Well, we can't always get what we want." Opening the box and pointing to one of the brightly-colored candies, she ordered, "Try the passionfruit, it's divine."

He hesitated for a long moment, then actually picked it up and took a bite. "'Divine,'" he echoed sarcastically.

"Yes. Have the peanut butter as well. I don't like peanut butter." She took her wand out and cleared the smoke away. The two of them sat in silence for a while, before she said in a soft voice, "I've heard a few of the stories. Skeeter ought to be imprisoned for some of the things she said."

Shaking his head to himself, he replied, "My personal life has been exploited yet again, and McGonagall has allowed this filth to be spread around amongst the student body." He took a puff before going on. "There are elements that are true, and now they know things about me I'd have liked to keep private." Puff. "Not to mention the fact that they're wondering whether I'm a cold-blooded murderer. And those who were Cruciated or chained up by the Carrows think that I was responsible for it." He paused, looking over at Warbeck. She herself had been one of his former deputies' victims - the one who had gotten it worse than anyone else. "I wasn't," he added.

"I know."

The two held each other's gaze for a moment, and Severus saw that she truly didn't blame him for what the Carrows had done. But even so, this wasn't the first time he'd thought back on that night and wondered if there hadn't been something he could've done to prevent it.

Coming back to the situation at hand, he went on, "I've had students snarl at me; several have refused to come to my class. Somebody carved 'scoundrel' on my office door." His jaw tightened in anger at the memory of this next. "The other day I found a... a dead lily on my desk."

He thought about the claim that he'd deliberately gotten Lily killed. He just couldn't shake the horror of that particular allegation. The idea that he'd ordered the Carrows to Cruciate students, or that he'd made the potion that restored Voldemort to a semi-human form - or even that he'd murdered his parents - none of that bothered him as much. And he knew why.

Unlike the other claims, there was a grain of truth to this one. He'd never intended for any harm to come her way, but he was absolutely responsible for her death.

Every time he acknowledged that fact, he got a heavy feeling in his chest that made it hard to breathe. Along with a sudden onset of nausea and the sensation that the room was spinning. After a moment, he said, "I don't want to talk about this."

"Okay," Warbeck replied. He appreciated that she didn't try to press him. "I think I know the answer to this, but... do you want me to let you alone for a while?"

"I would like that very much," he said flatly.

Rising up off the sofa, she said, "Let's make a deal then, shall we? I'll go if you let me put back all the stuff you removed from your office."

In other words, Tell me you're not really going anywhere. Maybe it was the bourbon that had mellowed him out, but suddenly he didn't have the energy to make some grand escape. With a sigh, he replied, "You don't have to do that. I'll have Saffron take care of it."

Looking satisfied, she said, "Right then," and stepped out into the corridor. "Enjoy the chocolates."

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"He was a Death Eater. Of course he's killed before; that shouldn't surprise anyone."

Severus was walking past Warbeck's office when he heard Astoria Greengrass's voice and came to a halt. Bloody hell, he didn't like that girl. Never mind that she was one of the handful of Slytherins who'd fought for the Light Side during the battle; she was a self-righteous twit who always seemed to have an attitude towards him for no particular reason.

He listened in as Warbeck replied, "You don't know that he has. Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater and he never killed anyone. Even when Voldemort threatened him."

"Well..." Greengrass said "...Draco Malfoy was in over his head - according to you. But you really think Snape is as soft as Malfoy? We know he had it in him to kill Dumbledore."

As Severus rolled his eyes, Warbeck argued, "Dumbledore wanted to die. He made Snape do it. You could even say that was a mercy killing. There's a difference between that and cold-blooded murder."

Greengrass was quiet for a moment, before she went on, "Skeeter said he killed his own parents. You don't believe that either, I suppose."

The Defense teacher froze. Warbeck knew the truth about how his parents died - was she going to explain it to Greengrass? He didn't care if people knew about his father's heart attack, but his mother's suicide was something else entirely. There was still a sense of shame regarding that.

The potions mistress said, "It's not a matter of what I believe. I know that's not true."

"How do you know?" the other girl asked.

Don't you say anything, Severus thought. He was this close to walking in and preventing her from doing so.

With a sigh, Warbeck replied, "Because... I have better sources than Rita Skeeter." Severus didn't know if she was referring to old Mrs. Clemens, Lou the bartender, or himself.

"And who would those sources be?" Greengrass asked.

He waited with bated breath for Warbeck to tell her all about Cokeworth, and the night they'd spent talking about his childhood. But instead, all she said was, "Never you mind." Relief washed over him.

"Oh, come on!" Greengrass exclaimed. "I'm supposed to be one of your best friends, and you're going to keep things from me? If Hermione asked you, or Neville, you would tell them."

"No, I wouldn't," Warbeck countered. "I haven't. And I know things about you that I haven't shared with anyone. You wouldn't want me blathering about any of that to Hermione or Neville. Or Snape."

"What are you, friends with him now?"

There was a moment's pause, before Warbeck said, "Maybe."

In a tone of disbelief, Greengrass practically shouted, "You hate each other! He treats you like trash!"

"No he doesn't." But then she amended, "Not always." They both fell silent, and it was a minute or so before she declared, "He didn't kill his parents - I know that for a fact. I can't tell you how I know, but trust me, it's a lie. Don't believe anything you've read in that God damn book."

Severus felt a strong sense of gratitude for the girl. She and Greengrass were close, and yet she'd refused to share anything that Severus had told her. And she was defending him, despite the fact that he really had been awful to her on many occasions.

He suddenly felt like a complete prat.

Later that evening he came to visit her in her quarters. Her door had been left open and he found her coddling her pet snake, making kissing noises and flicking her tongue to match the creature. "You really are strange," he declared, making his presence known. "I've never seen anyone interact with a snake that way." Although Voldemort and Nagini did come to mind, but he kept that thought to himself.

"Medusa's a good girl," Warbeck remarked. "She never bites. Look." She rubbed her nose against the snake's, smiled happily, then held it out to Severus. "Wanna hold her?" she offered.

"No," he replied, still hovering in the doorway.

The girl stood up to return Medusa to her cage, then looked over her shoulder at Severus and said, "You're not a vampire. You don't need to be invited in."

Stepping into the room and shutting the door, he stated, "That's a myth."

With an irritated look, she replied, "Yes - I know that. I was being facetious."

"I'm impressed that you know that word."

"Hmph." She bent down and opened up an icebox beside the boa's cage. "Fair warning," she said, "it's feeding time. Not entirely pleasant to watch."

He came to stand in the middle of the room as she tossed a frozen rat on the coffee table. "You don't give her live ones?" he asked.

"I find this more humane," she explained, holding her wand over the rodent to thaw it out. Once she was done, she said, "This really isn't nice to look at."

Bloody hell, maybe she did think him as soft as Malfoy. "I can assure you I've seen worse than a snake feeding," he said in a sardonic tone.

She stood very still for a moment, and there was something in her eyes that he couldn't quite decipher. After a pause, she picked up the rat and turned back to the cage. "I don't like to watch it myself," she said. "I was morbidly curious the first time I fed her, but then I almost regretted not choosing a different animal."

Furrowing his brow at her, he said, "I wouldn't have thought you were so... sensitive to things like this."

She dangled the rat by its tail in front of the snake, who didn't take long to strike and wrap itself around its meal. Before it could begin to feed, Warbeck closed the cage and turned away from it. "It's the swallowing that gets me," she said. "It reminds me of something I don't like to think about."

"What is that?" Severus asked.

She hesitated for a moment, then said, "Never mind."

You said you didn't have a problem sharing things with me, he thought, but let it go.

"So," she said, crossing her arms, "how were the chocolates?"

"Divine," he replied.

Rolling her eyes, she muttered, "Snarky bastard."

"Be nice to me, I came here to apologize to you."

She did a double take, and stuttered, "You... Apologize to me?"

"Yes. The night I found out about Cokeworth, I..." he looked away from her quite shamefully, then went on in a quiet voice "...I called you a bitch. I'm sorry."

She didn't respond right away, so he lifted his eyes to check her expression. To his surprise, she was biting her lip in an attempt to suppress a smile.

For Christ's sake, she's laughing at me. Struggling to hold her gaze, he sighed and explained, "You seemed particularly stricken by that comment." He could remember her flinching when he'd said it, almost as though he had raised a hand to her. "And it was... indecent of me."

She studied him a moment - still with a rather amused look on her face - and said, "You're forgiven." Then in a mocking tone, she echoed his words from that night - "But don't expect a second chance."

After a beat of silence, he muttered, "Snarky twit."

"Oh, thank God," she exclaimed. "The niceties were getting weird. Now, I was on my way up to the Great Hall - will you be gracing us with your presence tonight?"

He'd been having Saffron bring him his meals in his quarters, preferring to stay hidden as much as he could since the book had come out. "And subject myself to the not-so-furtive glances and the ringing in my ears?" he asked.

"People talk a lot more when you're not there," she countered. "Nobody can make a room fall silent like you can, sir." A pause. "And if you want, I can put on something sexy so they'll look at me instead."

She actually started off towards the bedroom, so in an exasperated tone he said, "Don't do that."

She continued on, but said, "I jest. But give me a minute; I've gotta wash the dead rat off my hands."

While he waited for her to return, he went over to Medusa's cage and looked in. She had the rat halfway down her throat, and as he watched, she contracted and took a bit more of it in.

Suddenly his breath caught in his throat, because he was reminded of Nagini swallowing Charity Burbage two years prior.

"Jesus bloody Christ," he breathed, turning away and feeling as though he were going to be sick. His mind was overcome with images of his former colleague hanging in midair, tears falling down the sides of her face as she locked eyes with him and cried out, "Severus... please..."

For God's sake, kill her already and get it over with, he'd thought. There'd been a feeling of morbid relief when the Dark Lord finally struck her dead, but then he'd had to watch his master's beloved pet feed on a woman he'd worked with for ten years. It was perhaps the third, maybe second most horrific thing he'd ever seen.

When Warbeck came back into the room, she found him leaning over the back of a chair, his eyes wide and his hands trembling. "Pr- Professor?" she called out, taking a cautious step towards him.

He took a deep breath and said in a croaky voice, "You were right - that was unpleasant."

She looked from him to the cage, and back to him. With a regretful expression, she said, "Bloody hell, I should've waited until you were gone."

"You warned me," he reminded. But he hadn't realized what she'd been alluding to.

"I didn't wanna say it outright," she went on. "You didn't seem to make the connection, so... I thought it would be better not to draw up that memory." Keeping her distance from him, she asked, "Do you... want a whiskey? Or a Calming Draught?"

"The former," he said, and she poured him a glass.

He downed it in two gulps, then waited for the trembling to stop and the tight feeling in his chest to abate. Meanwhile, Warbeck conjured a black sheet and threw it over the cage, then stood next to him and said, "I'm sorry."

With his head bowed, he said in a quiet voice, "Charity Burbage."

"Yeah," she replied.

A moment of silence passed, and then he said, "You asked me once if I ever hear the screams. I do."

"I know. I hear them too."

Severus ran a hand over his face and muttered, "Suddenly lost my appetite." He handed her the glass and made to leave, but when he was halfway to the door she called out, "Eh!"

He turned to find her holding up his gold cigarette case. "Wanna sit a spell?" she asked.

"Where did you get that?"

"I summoned it. Just now."

He hesitated, then approached her and took the case. "Smoking disgusts you," he remarked.

With a shrug, she replied, "Not really. My mum used to smoke."

Surprised by this bit of information, Severus said, "She's a doctor."

"Yes, and a bit of a hypocrite. 'Do as I say, not as I do.' You'd be surprised at how many in the healthcare profession live by that motto." She sat down and poured her own glass of whiskey as she continued, "She caught me smoking when I was about ten. They were her cigarettes, by the way. As punishment, she made me lick a dirty ashtray."

"Hmph," Severus smirked, pocketing the cigarette case and wandering about the room. "I've a feeling I would like that woman."

"You should've been there when she slapped me for running away from home. Put McGonagall to shame."

He came to her bookcase and read over the titles. She had dozens of volumes on potion-making, alchemy, herbology, crystals, and various other magical subjects. There was also a Christian Bible, the Quran, and the Talmud. Other titles of note were Gray's Anatomy of the Human Body; Grimms' Fairy Tales, alongside its magical counterpart, The Tales of Beedle the Bard; and - Oh, Christ, he thought with a roll of his eyes - a modernized version of the Kama Sutra.

Choosing to pretend that he never saw that, he continued on and came upon something wrapped in Flourish and Blotts packaging. Holding it up, he asked, "What's this?"

There was the briefest moment of hesitation, and he noticed that her eyes widened just a bit. But she replied in a casual tone, "Romance novel. Sort of a guilty pleasure of mine."

The sudden tension in her muscles - as well as her inability to meet his eye - wasn't lost on him. What the hell is this? he thought, an icy feeling running through his veins as he ventured a guess.

"If you don't want to go to the Great Hall," Warbeck said, rising up and looking rather edgy, "I can have Mavis bring something here."

Severus didn't respond, but stared down at the book in his hand, as if trying to see through the Flourish and Blotts wrapping.

"It's... nothing special," the girl remarked. "Clearly. I picked it up ages ago and it's still wrapped."

He looked over at her with a stone-cold expression. She was trying much too hard to draw his attention away from the book. And all the while, she appeared guilty as sin. "Tell me you didn't," he growled.

Again she hesitated. Then her shoulders dropped and she said, "There's no need to get bent out of shape. I've already heard what she wrote. It's not as if what's in there is a secret anymore."

"You paid money for this trash," he said, glaring at her. "From your pocket to Skeeter's. Why? So you could participate in the gossip and harassment I've been subjected to since this bloody book came out?!" He whipped it to the floor, and it landed at her feet. He was shouting as he went on, "Every time I try giving you the benefit of the doubt, I end up finding out how foul you really are!"

"Don't you call me 'foul,'" she demanded. "I have been standing up for you this whole week, denying every accusation made in that book."

"And all the while you've had your own copy set upon the shelf. You pretended to be sympathetic-"

"I am sympathetic!"

"Oh, the hell you are! Purchasing that book when you know how I despise it..." He trailed off, pacing back and forth as his lip curled into a sneer. "I think I preferred it when you were an unabashed, insolent brat. At least you were honest then. But ever since the war you've turned into a backstabbing, traitorous snake!"

She bent down to pick up the book and said, "This doesn't mean anything! I haven't even opened it."

He came to a halt and faced her. "They why did you buy it?"

She threw up her arms in a frustrated manner and replied, "A book is written about somebody I know, I wanna have a copy. I've got Skeeter's books about Harry and Dumbledore, too. I know they're all bullshit."

He resumed his pacing, and after a moment, a realization occurred to him. Pausing once more, he turned to her and said, "You talked to Skeeter, didn't you? That's why you went to Cokeworth - to gather information on me. Bloody hell, it all makes sense now!"

"Are you out of your mind?" she shot back. "I haven't told anybody anything about Cokeworth!" She put her fingers to her temples, then said in a somewhat calmer tone, "Ya know what? I'm not even going to dignify that with a response." Going over to the door, she added, "And I'm not going to stand here and listen to you shout at me. If you can't speak to me like an adult, then don't speak to me at all." With that, she stepped out into the corridor and slammed the door on him.

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He took her advice, and the two didn't say a word to each other for the next three days - although they would exchange a dirty look when they crossed paths in the corridors. Severus continued to avoid the Great Hall, and he'd only come out of his quarters for class.

But after much debate, he'd dragged himself up out of the dungeons to attend the Dueling Club tournament that had been set up by Flitwick and Warbeck. They'd chosen the best seventh-year duelists from each house, who would battle each other, one-on-one, for a prize of fifty house points. The anticipation for this event was nearly as great as that for Quidditch matches.

Maybe this will become the school's signature sport, Severus thought. In all honesty, he hated Quidditch, and only gave a damn in regards to his team coming out victorious.

Unfortunately, the Slytherin representative for the dueling tournament was Astoria Greengrass. Severus was torn between wanting the points and the glory for his house, and his desire to see the pompous girl knocked on her arse.

After five rounds, it had come down to her and Wesley Donahue, from Hufflepuff. As the finalists prepared to do battle, Severus stood at the back of the Great Hall, beside Freddie Cross, the Muggle Studies professor, who'd been a Hufflepuff himself.

"Come on, Wesley!" Cross shouted, craning his neck over the crowd. "Eye of the tiger! Eye of the tiger!"

Severus gave him a look of both puzzlement and irritation, and asked, "What?"

His former student looked over at him and opened his mouth like he was about to explain. But then he apparently decided against it, as he replied, "Nothing."

The Defense teacher's irritation increased when he heard Warbeck's voice. "Rocky..." she said "...Four?"

With a smile, Cross replied, "Three. Fellow film buff?"

"Sort of," she said. "I prefer the horror genre. Mostly the old black and white monster classics."

Bela, Severus thought. As in "Lugosi" - the bloke that played Dracula.

Gesturing to the dais where the final match was about to begin, Warbeck remarked, "Slytherin versus Hufflepuff. Care to put money on your fellow Badger?"

"You gamble?" Cross asked, cocking a brow.

With a shrug, she replied, "Nothing major. Twenty galleons?"

"You're on," he said, and they shook on it.

Now it was house points and glory versus Greengrass's humiliation and Warbeck's financial loss. That settled it - Come on, Wesley. A devilish smirk appeared on Severus's face five minutes later, when the boy disarmed his opponent and knocked her halfway along the dais.

"God damn it!" Warbeck shouted, her shoulders sinking in defeat. She handed Cross his winnings, but said, "I expect to get that back after the Quidditch match next week." Which would also be between Slytherin and Hufflepuff.

"Oh, I know better than that," Cross replied. "I quit while I'm ahead."

"Hmph," Severus huffed. "Brilliant thinking on your part, Cross. Best not to partake in any dealings with Warbeck. The girl can be quite cunning when she wants to be."

He didn't bother to face either of his colleagues, but he was sure Warbeck was glaring at him. After a moment, she said to Cross, "You oughta listen to the man. After all, he's an expert on cunning, deceit, double-crossing-"

"Then again, she is rather foolish at times," Severus cut in. "I imagine it was you, Professor Warbeck, who chose Miss Greengrass to represent Slytherin today?" After a pause, he went on, "Or am I to assume, knowing your history of animosity towards our house, that you intentionally selected a lackluster competitor?"

"Oh, come off it!" the girl whined. "She wiped the floor with Morgana and Honeywood."

"And yet she has nothing to show for it. Aside from a couple of welts and bruises."

There was silence for a moment, before she argued, "Perhaps it's your fault she lost. You're the bloody Defense teacher!"

"And I suppose you haven't taught her everything you know, in preparation for this?" he countered. "You being such an exceptional duelist, and Greengrass your faithful sidekick?"

In a derisive tone, she echoed, "'Sidekick.' The term is 'friend,' Professor Snape. I know that's a foreign concept to you, but try to keep up, eh?" She wandered off into the crowd, leaving Severus and Cross to themselves.

As the two of them watched her go, the younger man remarked, "I like that girl. She's got a spark." Then, after a beat, he asked, "Do you know if she's seeing anyone?"

Taken aback, Severus looked over at Cross - who was about thirty years old - and watched the man's eyes roam up and down Warbeck's form. Glaring at his colleague, the Defense teacher growled, "A little young for you, isn't she, Cross?"

The little git glanced at Severus, then back to Warbeck. "What is she?" he asked. "Nineteen? Twenty?"

"Little more than a child," the older man replied.

With his eyes still on the potions mistress, Cross countered, "Considerably more than a child, I'd say." And shortly thereafter, he wandered off, too.

Severus turned his attention once more to Warbeck. He wasn't a blind man; he'd always recognized that she was, objectively, above average in appearance. But as he studied her now, it occurred to him that she had exactly the type of physique that most men could only ever fantasize about. Well-endowed, curvy hips, long legs...

"Ugh," he groaned in disgust. Little more than a child. But she didn't look like a child, and as he thought back on it, she hadn't since she was about fourteen. Which was around the time that teenaged boys and grown men alike had started leering at her as though she were up for display in the red-light district. However, he couldn't do the same - if he'd even wanted to - without feeling repulsed.

Cross wasn't that much younger than he was. How could he look at the still-teenaged girl and even consider...?

He shook his head to himself, as if trying to clear his mind. This train of thought was much too disturbing. As he left the Great Hall, the only thing he took with him was that he hadn't liked Freddie Cross when the bloke had been a student, and he didn't like him now, either.

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Dreams were both a blessing and a curse for the Defense teacher. Five or six nights out of seven he would take a Dreamless Sleep Potion, in order to avoid being greeted in the night by the sounds and sights of the wars. On the other hand, his conscious memories of the woman he loved were nothing compared to the semi-reality of his unconscious visions. Good or bad, his dreams were always very vivid, and when they were good he could see Lily Evans as clearly as though she were alive and well and standing right in front of him. He could feel her, he could breathe in her scent, and he'd be overwhelmed with a happiness he hadn't known even when she was alive.

Those blissful visions, though few and far between, were tempting enough that he would leave the potion capped once or twice a week and take the risk of reliving the screams and the fire, the death and torture. In essence, it was a roll of the dice between Heaven or Hell, but he could stand a thousand Hells for that one glimpse of Heaven.

On this night, however, he wasn't so lucky.

Instead of the woman he loved, he saw a woman he'd failed. Charity Burbage hovering above, rotating around like some sick human plaything for the Dark Lord's amusement. Every time her face aligned with the double agent's, she'd beg, "Severus... please..."

I can't move, he thought to himself. He wanted to, but he physically couldn't. Pull her into your arms and Disapparate with her. Do something. She's still alive. There's still a chance.

But he couldn't move.

Then it was Dumbledore hovering in Burbage's place. "Severus..." the old man called out in a much calmer, almost peaceful voice, "please..."

And then there was a flash of green light. The headmaster hit the polished wooden table with a loud thud.

In the next second, his successor was standing in Dungeon Twelve, looking down at Callie Warbeck's bloody, blackened face and nearly lifeless body - the lower half of which was engulfed in the throat of a giant shimmering snake.

With her swollen eyes on his, she croaked out in a barely audible voice, "Severus... please..."

For God's sake, kill her already and get it over with, his own voice sounded in his head. He aimed his wand on the girl, and whispered, "Avada Kedavra."

oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

He'd woken up shaking and covered in sweat, and his first, illogical thought was, Warbeck's dead. But it didn't take long for him to gain his bearings, and then he remembered that the maddening little twit was probably going to outlive them all.

As always, however, that had been a disturbingly lifelike dream. She'd even been wearing the standard white blouse, black trousers uniform she'd had on that night. And the same pattern of facial injuries that had made her almost unrecognizable.

It's over and done with, he told himself. She's fine now. And still making his life miserable, as was par for the course with her.

Still, he couldn't seem to shake the images of Charity Burbage being swallowed whole, Callie Warbeck's battered face and broken body, or the combination of the two that he had witnessed in the dream. By the time lunch break came, he was ready to shut himself up with a bourbon for an hour, and perhaps even cancel the rest of his classes for the day.

But as he passed by the Potions classroom on the way to his quarters, he heard a noise that made his stomach drop. It sounded like a stifled scream, and when he came to a stop to listen at the closed door, he heard it once again - only louder this time. Without hesitation, he burst into the room, but the scene he came upon halted him in his tracks.

Warbeck was sitting cross-legged upon one of the work tables, biting down on a rag, with her face scrunched up in an expression of pain. Orpheline Rochester, meanwhile, was standing several feet in front of her, aiming her wand on the potions mistress. But the thing that left him absolutely frozen was that Warbeck appeared to be completely engulfed in flames, which originated from the tip of Rochester's wand.

Severus only got a second's glimpse of this horrific and confusing sight before the two of them looked over at him, and the flames were immediately extinguished.

There was a beat of silence, and then a trembling Warbeck said, in a rather calm tone, "Oh, wow. This must look really weird to you."

Still frozen in place, he glanced from one to the other and asked, "What... in the hell... is going on in here?"

Rochester turned to Warbeck and said, "You explain it to him. He doesn't like me."

"He doesn't like me either," Warbeck replied.

"Well, at least when you talk, he listens to you," the older woman countered, pocketing her wand. Picking up a light jacket, she went on, "It's getting rather hot in here. Perhaps I'll go outside and enjoy the snowfall." She made her way out of the room, passing Severus at the doorway. "Professor Snape," she said with a nod. Then she turned back to the potions mistress and remarked, "This is about the extent of every conversation the two of us have ever had," before sauntering off.

Once she was gone, Severus turned his attention back to Warbeck and waited for some sort of explanation. But instead, she said, "That must have been rather enjoyable for you - watching me burn."

Ignoring that comment, he ordered, "Tell me anything that could possibly explain what I just walked in on."

"I wasn't really aflame," she said.

"Obviously." Despite what he'd thought he had seen, she didn't have a mark on her.

"I was shielding. The fire was just about..." she shrugged "...three inches from my skin. Hot enough to hurt, but not enough to char me." She hopped off the table, and Severus gaped at her as though she'd lost her mind. Seeing his befuddled expression, she went on, "It was an exercise in pain tolerance. I'm not a masochist or anything - there's a much more practical purpose behind it."

"'Pain tolerance,'" he echoed. "For what purpose would you want to subject yourself to... that?" He gestured to the table upon which she'd sat burning.

"Well," she said, "it's a bit of a long story. Especially for two people who aren't currently on speaking terms."

He rolled his eyes and said, "Get on with it, for God's sake."

"All right, then. Shut the door." He did as told, and she took a seat behind her desk. Taking a moment to gather her thoughts, she began, "I don't know if you remember this, but a couple of years ago we were in Slughorn's office - you, me, and Liam Winslow."

"I do remember that," he replied. He could remember the way his former schoolmate had shamelessly flirted with the then-underaged girl. Never liked that bloke either, he currently thought to himself.

Warbeck continued, "We talked about how I wanted to develop a healing draught for Frank and Alice Longbottom. To try and restore them to sanity." He remembered that too, and nodded for her to go on. "I talked to the Head of Alchemy at St. Mungo's, and she told me it can't be done, for ethical reasons. Experimental potions can't be tested on subjects who can't give their consent, so..." there was disappointment in her voice as she concluded "...there really isn't anything that can be done for them."

He could see the dejection in her eyes, and he actually felt a pang of sympathy for the girl. But he had nothing to say that might lift her spirits, so he kept quiet.

"But if I can't fix them," she went on, "then maybe I can see to it that what happened to them never happens to anyone else. If you recall, my other thought was developing a counter-curse for the Cruciatus."

"Don't get your hopes up again," he cut in. "It's been attempted in the past and led to nothing."

Sitting back with a sigh, she reminded him, "You told me nobody could think through that kind of pain." A pensive look came over her face, and she added, "You were right. I know I couldn't."

Once again, his mind was filled with images of Dungeon Twelve.

After a pause, she said, "Not then, at least. That's what the tolerance training is for. It started with the tattoos - the temporary ones. Always had them done in the most painful places. Rib cage, neck, ankles, hands..." She trailed off, then said, "Speaking of which..." reaching into a drawer and pulling out a quill. Holding it up, she explained, "It carves the words into your skin when you write with it. See here." She extended her arm, and he stepped forward to have a look. On the back of her hand was a bright red scar in an intricately designed flower-like shape. "It's the symbol for the crown chakra."

In a tone that was heavy with sarcasm, he replied, "Lovely."

"Obviously none of this is quite as torturous as the Cruciatus," she said. "Nothing is. But I've tried to get as close to unbearable as I can. The fire trick, for example. Ice baths, lying on a bed of nails..."

With a furrowed brow, he asked, "Where did you get a bed of nails?"

"Where else? The Room of Requirement."

Severus took all this in, and thought back on the conversation in Slughorn's office. She'd said the curse would have to be demonstrated in order to be studied.

"Who in their right mind would volunteer to be the test subject?" Slughorn had asked.

"I would be the subject," she'd replied.

"Wait..." Severus said presently, "what's the point of all this... 'tolerance training,' as you put it? Are you suggesting that you're going to have someone Cruciate you?"

"That's the plan," she said matter-of-factly.

"You can't do that. The curse is illegal."

"Right. But I talked to Kingsley Shacklebolt about all this, and he said that he'd consider allowing it, so long as he were there to supervise."

Severus couldn't believe that the man would ever agree to such a thing. What the hell had it taken to get him to even consider it?

"He also wants me to undergo psychological testing beforehand," she continued. "And I need two advisors - one of whom is Ministry-appointed - to attest that I'm of sound mind."

He studied her a moment, then said, "I question whether you'll be able to meet those requirements. Considering your past experience with the Cruciatus Curse..." every minute of which he had witnessed from the Carrows' perspectives "...you would have to be mad to subject yourself to that kind of torture again."

"It's not the same," she argued. "It would be a controlled situation. And it's for a good cause."

"Quite the martyr, you are," he said sardonically, and she rolled her eyes.

Neither of them spoke for a moment, until she asked in a quiet voice, "You don't really believe I had anything to do with that book, do you?"

He hesitated. All he'd have to do was look into her eyes to find out if she had or not. But he didn't need Legilimency for that. "No," he admitted. There was a pause before he said, "But merely purchasing it was a slap in the face. I was honest with you; I told you things I've never spoken of. But you threw that aside in favor of Skeeter's take on my life."

She dropped her eyes from his, a thoughtful expression on her face. Then she stood up and approached him, summoning the Flourish and Blotts package.

"I was curious," she said. "Wondered what kind of scandalous ideas she was trying to put out. But I wasn't going to take anything she had to say as truth." Indicating the book, she went on. "This is a work of fiction. I know that." She then threw it to the ground and drew her wand. "So it's useless to me. Incendio."

He watched her ignite the book, and they both stood in silence as it burned down to ash. Afterwards, she turned to him and said, "I don't want Rita Skeeter's lies and idiotic theories. I want the real story." A pause. "If you're willing to share it."

Now he was reading her, and he saw nothing except a desire to know who he really was, what he'd been through, what had made him the person he'd turned out to be. And it occurred to him that no one else had ever been so God damn dogged in their attempts to figure him out. Nobody cared for the "real story;" they were content with Skeeter's half-truths and outright fabrications for a bit of cheap gossip.

Nobody cared who he really was - except for her.

After a moment, he muttered, "The whole sordid tale." She had said that she liked him, and that she wanted to be friends. If you only knew some of the things I've done, he thought, you would wish that you'd left me to die in that shack. "I'm not a saint," he remarked.

"Oh, trust me, I know."

"And 'scoundrel' is rather a nice way of putting it."

She kept her eyes on his, and her gaze was so intense that he wondered if she hadn't started practicing Legilimency. Just in case, he cleared his mind and looked away from her.

In a quiet voice, she said, "I asked you once if you ever killed anyone. You didn't answer me. I figured that was a yes."

He shot her a very brief glance, checking her expression. To his surprise, there was no sign of contempt or disgust - in spite of her apparent assumption that he was a murderer.

When he didn't respond, she went on, "But never mind that for now." Then, after a beat, "Tell me about Lily."