It occurs to me that I need to change my original disclaimer, which was written before this fic expanded into its current form. Everything you recognize from the Harry Potter series belongs to JK Rowling, Warner Bros., Scholastic and whoever else lays claim to it. Any and all original characters are mine, as is the plot. No copyright infringement is intended and no profit is being made from this small attempt at creativity.

And now, back to the show!

Chapter 9

Moonlight reflecting on still water cannot help but draw the eye. To see two moons simultaneously, one free in the canopy of the sky and the other trapped in the aqueous clutches of the earth, is to imagine the unblinking eyes of some immense god wanting to keep watch on mortal activity but unwilling to make the commitment to walk among us. On nights such as this, when the moon is very nearly full, the god's scrutiny seems particularly intense. Nothing can escape the notice of those wide, white pupils.

Snape stood near the edge of the lake, mesmerized by the moonlight echoing on its surface and wondering if that god was somehow angry with him. It hurt, this re-opening of old wounds. He had avoided dredging up the memories of his childhood for such a long time, determined to live in the here and now for as long as his dangerous existence allowed. But now… now he was being forced to re-examine the events of his past in what Albus believed to be a way of exorcising his demons. Exercising them is more like it, he thought ruefully. He could only hope that their workout would not strengthen them to such a degree that he could not someday beat them back into submission if necessary.

And what of Hermione? a small voice in his head nagged. If push comes to shove, will she be able to beat them back, as well?

He frowned, knowing that her fascination with his life was sweeping her closer to perilous waters with each Empathetic exchange. The wise thing to do would be to stop this now, before she became entangled any further, and let the demons go back to sleep. Tell her that since the fact of her Empathy was now firmly established there was no need to go on with this dubious "experiment." Or, perhaps, he could Obliviate her, erasing all memories of their contacts since the Yule Ball. The charm would be difficult to perform because of the extended period of time over which the events had transpired, but it was doable. Once everything was forgotten, he would simply have to avoid all further physical contact with her so she never again learned of her ability to experience his past.

His chest began to ache at the very idea. No. It was intolerable. Now that he had experienced the feeling of being close to her, the taste of her lips, the sweet satisfaction of being so totally understood… he couldn't give that up. It was selfish, yes, but hadn't he earned the right to be selfish for once? He'd risked everything – everything – in the fight against Voldemort, and come out of it with no recognition of his efforts from anyone but Albus and Potter. And even they did not realize the full magnitude of his sacrifices. He was not fully prepared to acknowledge the true extent of his feelings for Hermione yet, not even to himself, but he knew he felt good when he was with her. That was enough for now. He would simply deny her access to the pieces of his life that had the most potential to endanger her, and depend on her Gryffindor strength of character to help her deal with the rest. The god with the moons for his eyes be damned. For once he would pursue that which was pleasant instead of that which was logical.

On the bench behind him, Hermione stirred sleepily as she returned from wherever it was she had gone after he broke the contact between them. He turned around just as her eyes fluttered open, her face bathed in the moonlight.

"All right, Severus?" Her voice seemed to come from a place very far away.

He nodded. Typical of her to inquire after his welfare first, even though she was the one making the journey which warranted concern. "And you?"

"As good as I can be, under the circumstances," she replied. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, folding in upon herself before looking up at him. "Benjamin… he beat your mother, didn't he."

"Yes," he said quietly, sitting down beside her again. "Though I didn't realize it for a long time, she hid it so well. But one evening he slapped her at the dinner table, and I realized what lay behind all the stories about her 'clumsiness.'"

"Did he beat you, as well?"

He looked away. "Yes. Occasionally. But he preferred to abuse me with magic."

"I don't understand."

He sighed. "Benjamin was the one who first taught me to duel. Only he did not teach me how to defend myself. I had to learn that part on my own. He used magic to break my bones, bash me against walls… he even blinded me once for a number of days until I managed to figure out the countercurse." He spoke matter-of-factly, as though he were merely reciting the ingredients for another of his potions, but the memory of it sickened him. He still had nightmares from time to time about stumbling around in the darkness.

"My God…" she whispered, her face so pale in the moonlight that it very nearly glowed.

He waved his hand dismissively as though it was a matter of small import. "It made me stronger," he said. That's good, Severus, put a brave face on it. "I knew a great deal of advanced magic before I even entered Hogwarts."

"But didn't you mother ever try to help you?"

"No. She was too frightened of him. She even felt grateful to him, told me again and again how much we owed him." He paused, a bitter taste suddenly rising in his mouth. "I hated her for that."

It was the first time he'd ever admitted that, even to himself. Avis's fragility had cost them both dearly, and it was something he had never been able to forgive. As a child, it terrified him to watch her cower before his stepfather, meekly accepting his actions as he cut his violent swath through their lives. But as he aged, the fear turned to disgust. That was the root of his towering intolerance for weakness – it enraged him to see it in others, knowing what lay in store for them if they did not learn to tap their inner strength. It was also the primary reason he was so fiercely protective of the children placed in his care. They might have reason to fear his tongue, but they need never fear the back of his hand, nor the tip of his wand. It never occurred to him that the ripping apart of their egos might be just as painful to them as Benjamin's ripping apart of his body had been to him.

She did not reply but leaned into him and put her arms around his neck, resting her head against his shoulder. After a few minutes of wordless communion, he realized she was shivering. The air had grown decidedly cool. "Come. Let's get back inside." Gently, he brushed her lips with his own. "Come to me tomorrow night and I will show you more."

They walked back to the castle in silence.

***

The letter from Hogwarts arrived on his 11th birthday, and it was like getting a ticket out of Hell. Finally, he would get the chance to escape the nightmarish place his home had become in the two years since Benjamin and Avis married. Finally, he would be in a place where magic did not have to mean being forced to endure pain and humiliation. Finally, he would be able to see an upraised wand without feeling that sickening sense of panic in the pit of his stomach, without having to brace himself for the attack that was sure to follow.

Finally.

He couldn't wait. He sent his response by return owl within an hour of receiving it.

He began counting the days until the term started, crossing them off each night at bedtime on a small calendar secreted under his mattress. He got a brief taste of paradise in the middle of August when Avis took him to London for an entire weekend, just the two of them, to purchase his school supplies in Diagon Alley. Their shopping done, they sat together in the outdoor café at Fortescue's, sharing an enormous banana split while she regaled him with stories of her days at Hogwarts. She was happier that weekend than she had been for years, and the sound of her laughter was like music to his ears after not hearing it for so long. Obviously, she was as relieved to be away from Snape Manor and all its associated negativity as he was. Returning home after that sweet bit of freedom was a bitter pill to swallow, indeed.

At last, the momentous day came when they took him to King's Cross to catch the Hogwart's Express. He scrambled onto the train without looking back and sat in a compartment on the side opposite the platform so he would not have to wave goodbye. A heavy sigh of relief rushed out of his lungs as the train pulled out of the station. He had nearly four months before he would have to deal with them again. Four long, beautiful months. What bliss!

His first view of Hogwarts was awe-inspiring. It was already dark by the time the enormous, bearded groundskeeper led the first-year students to the small fleet of boats, but the dark silhouette of the castle was still clearly visible high above on the hillside. "You're here at last, I've been waiting for you," it seemed to call to him, its cheerfully lit windows beckoning to him from across the lake. He fell in love with it on the spot, fervently wishing he could spend the rest of his days there.

The Sorting Hat pronounced him a "SLYTHERIN!" almost before Professor MacDougall – no, that wasn't right, her name was McGonagall, not MacDougall – had it fully settled on his head. What a relief. He had desperately wanted to be in Dunstan's House but feared he might be sorted into Ravenclaw like his mother, instead. Apparently, he was not the only one who thought so, either. When the applause died down and he went to join his Housemates at the Slytherin table, Lucius Malfoy was the first one to address him.

"I didn't think you had it in you, Snape," the older boy sneered.

Severus ignored him. He was here, away from Benjamin, and he was officially a Slytherin. Things were finally going his way, and he wasn't going to let anyone spoil it for him. Least of all a stupid prat like Lucius Malfoy.

The headmaster, a kindly-looking wizard with a waist-length beard and half-moon spectacles, stood when the Sorting was finished. "Welcome back!" he proclaimed, spreading his arms as though he were embracing the entire room. "Before the feast begins, I have an announcement. You older students will notice that a large willow tree has been newly planted on the school grounds. I would advise all of you not to venture too close to this willow, as it has a rather nasty temper. And now, tuck in!"

The old man clapped his hands twice, and the platters on the tables before them filled with great piles of food. For the first time in months Severus found a real appetite. He attacked the meal with gusto, leaving the table with his stomach full nearly to the point of discomfort. He sighed contentedly as he lay in his bed later that night, rubbing his cheek against the freshly starched linen pillowcase.

This was heavenly. He had finally come home.

***

The first part of the term passed uneventfully. Severus got on well with most of the other first-year Slytherins, though there was no one he could truthfully consider a real friend. But he was enjoying his classes and his marks were good. Early on, he showed an exceptional ability with Potions – apparently, Dunstan's talent with a cauldron had been passed down to his only child – and Professor Eldridge, the grizzled old Potions professor, often singled out his achievements in class. His other classes were interesting, as well. The professors were excellent (well, except for Professor Binns, that is – his classes provided most of the students with little more than a chance to catch up on their sleep), and he soaked up the knowledge like a sponge.

All things considered, he was happier than he had been for years.


There were only two flies in the ointment. The first was a group of obnoxiously cocky Gryffindor boys that got on his nerves constantly. Never one to make friends easily himself, Severus had always been jealous of those who seemed to forge bonds effortlessly. And these four – James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew – had fallen into a comfortable camaraderie almost from the moment the Sorting Ceremony had ended. Not only that, they were incurable pranksters and seemed to get away with a great deal. Between Potter's boyish charm and Black's ability to think quickly on his feet, they managed to worm their way out of several messes that would have resulted in detentions and the loss of dozens of House points for most other students. Professor McGonagall was the only staff member who saw through their little act, and she alone disciplined them with anything approaching the severity Severus felt they deserved.

The second was Lucius Malfoy. Now in his third year, he did not share any classes with Severus, but there was no avoiding him in the Slytherin common room. Lucius ignored Severus most of the time, which suited him just fine. But once in a while he would decide to taunt the younger boy, flaunting his wealth, or his prowess on the Quidditch pitch, or the influence of his father's friends in Severus's face.

"My father's going to be a very important man someday soon, you just watch," Lucius would brag in the crowded common room. "He runs in some very high circles, he does. And he takes me with him, too, whenever I'm home from school." He would puff out his chest proudly when he said these things, preening in a most disgusting manner that made many of the other Slytherins present "ooh" and "aah" as though he had learned how to Apparate to the moon. "I'm being groomed for bigger things, myself."

Severus was unimpressed. Lucius was nursing a pipe dream if he thought he was going to take a position of leadership in the wizarding community someday. He was not a particularly good student, barely managing passing marks and even those only because he had a large group of friends who were willing to let him copy their homework. Severus soon learned that Lucius was not a particularly good wizard, either, even for one so young. He watched the older Slytherin struggle with what he considered to be fairly easy magical tasks on a regular basis, secretly delighted to discover he could already outperform Lucius despite the other boy's two-year head start. Wisely, he kept this delicious knowledge to himself, preferring not to draw Malfoy's attention any more than he had to.

The days passed quickly, and soon – too soon – Christmas was approaching once again. About a week before the holiday break was due to start, the Slytherin common room was crowded with students studying for the end-of-term exams. Severus was sitting near the fireplace, warming his perpetually cold feet near the flames and poring over his Potions textbook, when Lucius swept into the room. As usual, he was flanked by Nott and Slattery, the two most faithful of his band of lackeys. Malfoy's face was flushed with anger as he threw himself into a chair and dropped the egg he had been carrying in his hand into his lap.

"This is impossible," Malfoy raged. The lackeys nodded sympathetically.

"What's wrong, Lucius?" Betsy Parkinson piped up. The petite second-year girl had a huge crush on Malfoy and rarely let an opportunity to chat him up pass her by.

Lucius usually basked pompously in her admiration, but on this morning in particular he was too frustrated to appreciate it. "This," he spat, gesturing at the egg. "McGonagall wants us to Transfigure an egg into a chicken for the exam and it's bloody fucking impossible!" He pointed his wand at the egg and grunted a spell, but it stubbornly refused to transform. "Damn it!"

Severus was unable to suppress a derisive snort. Malfoy's "skills" were pathetic.

Malfoy's head snapped up at the sound and he fixed Severus with a steely glare. "Are you laughing at me, Snape?" he hissed in a dangerously low tone of voice.

Keep quiet, keep quiet! a little voice inside his head screamed, but Severus foolishly ignored it. "Yes, I am," he replied with as much as dignity as he could muster.

Malfoy rose to his feet, the forgotten egg slipping from his lap and splattering to the floor. He crossed the distance between them in a few quick strides, hands balled into tight fists at his sides. "You think you could do any better, you ugly git?"

Severus pushed his chair back and stood up, as well. He was tall for his age and the two boys stood nose to nose, glaring at each other with long-suppressed resentment. He did not speak, but the challenge in his mien was unmistakable.

Without breaking the eye contact, Malfoy reached around behind him. "Give me your egg, Nott," he ordered. The entire common room was watching now.

Nott obeyed immediately. "Let's see you try it, then," Malfoy said, holding the egg out defiantly.

Severus took the egg from Malfoy's outstretched palm and laid it on one of the fireside tables. Withdrawing his wand from the pocket of his robe, he pointed it at the egg and cast the necessary spell. A moment later, a small yellow chick appeared on the table where the egg had lain. A wave of nervous laughter swept across the room as the chick shook its head and took a few stumbling steps.

Malfoy stared at it with his mouth hanging open in astonished disbelief until Severus Transfigured it back into its original form. Then his mouth snapped shut and twisted into a bellicose sneer. Before Severus could react, Lucius grabbed two fistfuls of the younger boy's robes and shoved him backwards, hard, until his back slammed up against the stone wall. "You miserable bastard," Malfoy seethed. "I'll teach you to show me up in front of the whole House."

Years of dueling with Benjamin had sharpened Severus's reflexes. Instinctively, he jammed his wand into Malfoy's stomach and shouted "Abigere!" Malfoy flew back as though pushed by a powerful hand, landing in an undignified heap against the legs of the chair he had been sitting in earlier. His head snapped back the moment he landed and there was a loud crrrack! as his face smashed against the wooden frame.

Bedlam ensued as half of the students in the common room rushed over to see if Lucius was all right. Severus stood rooted to his place against the wall, staring at the spectacle with a look of horrified fascination frozen on his face. He felt like he was going to be sick. He had just become everything he hated. It didn't matter a bit that he had only been defending himself… he had used magic to cause pain to another human being, and that made him no better than Benjamin.

Malfoy staggered to his feet and the crowd of concerned onlookers parted before him as he pushed his way toward Severus. A thick rivulet of blood oozed from a gash over his left eye. "You'll pay for that, Snape," he said ominously, shoving his index finger in the stricken boy's face. "That's a promise."

"C'mon, Lucius," Betsy Parkinson broke in. "We need to get you to the hospital wing. That's a nasty cut you've got there." She took Malfoy's arm and dragged him through the crowd, obviously delighted to get the chance to play nursemaid to her fallen hero. Nott and Slattery closed ranks behind Malfoy and the four students headed toward the portrait hole.

Snape watched them go, ignoring the stunned looks of those remaining in the common room. As the portrait swung shut, he gathered his robes around him and ducked through the crowd, hurrying up the steps to his dormitory as quickly as he could. You're in trouble now, Severus, he thought, his breath huffing out in panicky bursts. Dear Gods, you are in trouble now.

***

"Are you out of your mind?!" Avis shrieked. "What do you mean by getting into a fight with Lucius Malfoy?!"

Benjamin leaned back in his seat and calmly lit a cigar with the tip of his wand. He seemed to be enjoying Avis's uncharacteristically angry outburst. Beside him, Marinall sat picking daintily at a dish of lemon sherbet, a smug expression on her face. Severus had been home just over an hour, and the time had passed in tense silence until the family finished their Christmas Eve meal. Benjamin disliked talk at the table, and as usual Avis had deferred to his wishes and postponed the discussion with her son until Benjamin had eaten his fill. But now the words were pouring out of her like a rain-swollen river bursting through a dam.

"I'm sorry, Mum," he muttered resentfully, stunned by the harshness of her tone. He could not recall ever seeing her so angry before.

"You're sorry," she repeated. "Sorry doesn't bloody cut it, Severus. Have you any idea how dangerous the Malfoys are? For the gods' sake, Severus, Diablo Malfoy practically lives in Voldemort's hip pocket!"

Voldemort. Severus felt his blood run cold as the meaning of Lucius's bragging about the "high circles" in which his father ran suddenly became terribly clear. He knew of Voldemort's reputation, of course. How could he not? Anyone paying even the most cursory amount of attention to The Daily Prophet knew of the storm gathering around the self-proclaimed Dark Lord. Before his father's death, Severus had often heard his parents discussing the outrages Voldemort's followers inflicted upon Muggles and mudbloods in hushed, worried tones. He was the most powerful Dark wizard in close to a century. And now Severus had made the mistake of deliberately antagonizing the only son of a man who was almost surely one of Voldemort's Death Eaters.

Small wonder that Avis was so angry.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get the words out Marinall pushed her chair back from the table to allow a small calico kitten to jump into her lap. "Isn't she beautiful, Severus?" the teenager gushed, scooping the cat up into her arms and hugging it tightly against her breast. "Daddy got her for me for Christmas." She beamed at Benjamin, who returned her smile with the affectionate look he reserved for her alone. "Her name is Tabitha," she cooed, tickling the kitten under the chin.

The sight of the kitten seemed to prick a pin through the balloon of Avis's anger, and the color drained from her face. The hair stood up on the back of Severus's neck when he noticed this abrupt shift in his mother's mood.


"Where's Sirius?" he cried, an ominous sense of foreboding sweeping through him.

Avis placed her hand gently on his. "Severus…" she began, "we…"

"Sirius is gone," Benjamin cut in harshly. "I had him put down."

The air whooshed out of his lungs in a sudden rush, and for a moment he felt dizzy enough to pass out. "Why?" he wailed. Hot tears sprang into his eyes, but he did not let them fall. Don't cry, don't cry he thought. Don't give him the satisfaction of seeing you lose it on top of everything else.

For Benjamin did look as though he was enjoying the boy's anguish. "Because you weren't here to take care of him and I didn't feel like being burdened with him any longer, that's why."

"He was in a lot of pain, Severus," Avis added softly in a conciliatory tone. "You know that."

"Besides, he was nipping at my little Tabitha," Marinall chimed in, and Severus knew immediately that was the real reason Benjamin had ordered Sirius's destruction. Marinall and her precious fucking kitten. It was not the first time Benjamin's devotion to his daughter had made him run rough-shod over the other people unfortunate enough to be part of his life.

"Why didn't you just keep her in another room?" he demanded, his voice squeaking under the weight of his emotion. "He couldn't even move! If you just kept her away from him, everything would have been fine!"

Benjamin leaned in angrily. "Don't take that tone with Marinall, boy," he growled, fingering the hilt of his wand where it lay on the table at his right hand. "That dog was a menace. He had to go before someone got hurt."

A menace. Sweet, gentle, loving, lame Sirius – a menace. If he hadn't been so heartsick, he would have laughed in his stepfather's face. "You didn't even give me a chance to say goodbye," he said miserably.

Avis glanced nervously from her son to her husband. "Severus, perhaps it would be best if you left the table," she stammered, fearful of the familiar murderous glint in Benjamin's eye.

Severus stood up so suddenly that his chair flipped over behind him. "I hate you," he hissed. "I hate all of you."

He stalked out of the room stiffly, halfway expecting Benjamin to hurl a curse at his retreating back before he got out the door. But the attack did not come. He wandered through the house, checking each room in the vain hope that it was all a lie and he would find Sirius plopped down in front of one of the fireplaces if he just looked long enough. Each empty room was another disappointment, another shot to the heart. His best friend – and the last link he had to the happier days of his childhood – was gone.

"Happy Christmas, Severus," he whispered bitterly to himself, the tight ache in his chest making it difficult to breathe. "Happy bloody fucking Christmas."

A/N: My thanks to orien for pointing out that something was missing from the end of the last chapter, thus helping me figure out how to write the opening of this chapter. That kind of constructive criticism is invaluable to an author.

It's interesting to learn that my Snape is similar to characters in the Dragonlance books and David Copperfield…. considering that I've never read either of those. *grin*

Thanks for the feedback, everyone!