"He did what?"

"Apparently he had a relationship with my mum," Lydia repeated to her wide-eyed friend. They were walking out on their way to the Quidditch field for team practice, brooms in hand, as Lydia related the happenings of the previous night. She blinked sleepily as they dropped their bags at the edge of the field. By the time she had finally made it to the Ravenclaw dorms and literally fallen into bed, it was past midnight.

"That's....ugh!" Thomas shuddered as he inspected his broom. "Who would want to be in a relationship with that ugly, greasy bastard? I mean, really- the man's a snake!" Suddenly, he caught Lydia's eye.

"Thomas," she said, her tone too neutral to be taken at face value, "this is my mum we're talking about. Remember?"

"Uh- yeah. Sorry, Lyd. Forgot for a moment..." he trailed off, taking great pains to inspect the bristles of his broom although he had already checked them twice. "But still!" he said after only a moment. "Still...Snape could have been your father." He stared at her, broom forgotten. "That's just weird."

"Tell me about it. But he said that it could never last, that it was just a bit of...fun. He seemed real sad about it." Lydia frowned. "He said I looked a lot like her."

"Great." Thomas gave her a pointed look. "I've got crazed Slytherins out to fail me in Potions, and you've got crazed Slytherins out to seduce you. Wonderful."

"Thomas!"

"All right, all right!" Thomas held up his hands. "I'll stop. Forget I even mentioned it."

"Good." They mounted up and kicked off, soaring high into the air above the Quidditch field. But as she flew over to her post by the goals at one end of the field, Lydia was aware of a certain odd feeling the in pit of her stomach, the same one she had gotten when Snape first told her she resembled her mother. Again, she felt her face grow hot and flushed, and she knew it wasn't from the effort of flying.

Don't be a fool, she thought to herself fiercely. He was your mother's bloke, and now he's your teacher. Nothing more, nothing less. He's the same man you knew when you first saw him in class. Something inside her, though, was not quite convinced. Luckily for her, the rest of the team showed up at the field just then and joined the two of them in the air. When Roger Davies released the crate of balls, there was no time for idle thought.

"Jay, get out of there! You're supposed to be helping your team get the Quaffle, not knocking them off their brooms! Thomas, swing that bat a little harder, it's not gonna break! Even if it does, then you have two of 'em to use against the Bludgers!"

Davies voice soon dominated the field, driving all thought from Lydia's mind as she roved restlessly around the goals. Twice she thought the Chaser from the "other" team was going to break through, but twice Thomas beat him back with a Bludger. With their limited amount of players, Davies had arranged two "teams" for scrimmages, one Chaser and one Beater on each team, with her and Davies acting as Keepers, though in real games Davies played Chaser. Since Cho Chang was the only one that didn't have a real opponent, she used this time to practice her skills at simply spotting and retrieving the Snitch, releasing it each time she caught it.

"No, Cho! I want you up there, above all this. You can see the field better from up there, and I don't want to risk you getting brained with a Bludger. Oi! Lydia! You awake down there? Don't slack off just because there's only one Chaser trying to get through. There's only one Beater to keep him away!"

"You just take care of Roger Davies," she muttered to herself as she flew back and forth. "I know what I'm doing."

There. Thomas took a nasty blow from a well aimed Bludger and went spinning out of control. Jay Young saw his chance and swooped down low, the Quaffle safe in his arms. He dodged neatly around the other Chaser, evading her reaching arms and darted straight up towards the goal. Lydia bent low over her broom, the air whistling past her as she sped to intercept him, narrowing her eyes against the rushing wind. "Oh no you don't, laddy," she said, too quietly to be heard over the wind. Just a fraction of a second more and- there!

She slammed into the tail end of Jay's broom, realizing a heartbeat to late that her timing had been off. No matter; Jay's broom went spinning sideways as he shouted in surprise, the Quaffle jarred from his arms by the force of their impact. Taylor was already there, catching it as it dropped. She sped off with a wink at Lydia.

The Ravenclaw Keeper hauled her broom around, nearly flipping herself over in the process. Jay had gotten himself back under control and was speeding towards the other end of the field, intent on getting the Quaffle back. Too late, though. Taylor already had the lead and Thomas, who had recovered from the blow- although his flying was still a bit crooked- had already engaged the other Beater in a bout of Bludger beating. The only one who could stop the Quaffle now was Davies.

Lydia heard the whoop before she saw what happened and grinned, knowing Taylor had successfully gotten past Davies and sunk the Quaffle. She spun a little on her broom in a silent cheer before regrouping on the ground with the others.

"Not bad, guys," Davies said, addressing each of them in turn. "Taylor, top marks for being alert and ready when Jay dropped the Quaffle, then getting it sunk. Remember, though, in a real game you're going to have to get past someone who's trained to block goals, not just a Chaser filling in. Thomas, I don't know what kind of vendetta you've got against Widge, but please keep in mind that this is not a one on one Bludger match." The team laughed as Thomas grinned and nodded. "Good job, though. Lydia, that was a good save you made against Jay, but your timing was a little off. Cho, you've got to wake up a bit up there. I saw the Snitch twice from where I was, but you made no move to get it." Cho nodded, her pretty face serious. "Right, let's do tactics. Lydia, you man the goals, we'll be coming at you in a variety of maneuvers. Do the best you can. Thomas, I want you beating away from her. Widge, you're working with us. Got that? Mount up!"

The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur, with Lydia blocking Quaffle after Quaffle, sometimes successfully, other times not so. By the end of practice she was tired, sore, bruised and generally knocked about. Davies had insisted on the three Chasers repeating the Hawkshead Attacking Formation until they had it more or less down pat. Unfortunately for Lydia, that meant she had to not only figure out a way to stop the oncoming Chasers, but also perfect those blocks as they came at her again and again. By the time the oncoming dusk forced them the land, she could barely get off her broom.

"How did I ever get so out of shape?" she moaned as she walked back to the castle with Thomas. The Ravenclaw Beater had still not fully recovered from his collision with the Bludger and was walking in a rather crooked line.

"Dunno," he slurred as he felt the rather large lump that had formed on the back of his head. "Gah, this is going to hurt tomorrow."

"Just be thankful it's Saturday and we won't have to go to classes." Lydia winced and reached up to rub at the back of her neck. "I don't even know if I can make it back to the Tower at this rate. I might just crash in the Great Hall."

"I'm with you on that."

Somehow or other, Lydia made it to the Ravenclaw Tower and managed to land on the bed as her legs gave out from under her. Cho Chang came in right behind her.

"I'm too tired to even eat right now," the Seeker complained as she flopped onto her bed with a groan. "Davies had best keep an eye on what he's doing. We won't be any good against anyone if we can't even keep ourselves awake during the game."

"First practice of the year- I guess he's a little...enthusiastic." Lydia rolled over on her back, staring at the ceiling. "I'm going to see Quaffles and Bludgers coming at me every time I close my eyes. I'm going to have dreams about them. I can tell." She gave Cho a sly look out of the corner of her eye. "What say you we slip a little sleeping draught in his pumpkin juice tonight so we can have a restful weekend?"

"Ooh, can I be in on this too?" Taylor O'Shea sat gingerly on this foot of Lydia's bed. "That was just too much after too little. Doesn't Davies know anything about getting back into the swing of things before running his players into the ground?"

Cho chuckled unmercifully. "Just be glad we're not Gryffindors," she told them. "I hear that Oliver Wood's got them out on the field at dawn, rain, shine or what have you."

"Ugh, I don't even want to think about that." Taylor shuddered. "But I still think the sleeping draught's a good idea. Do you want to put it in, or can I? Lydia?"

Lydia started as Taylor shook her gently. "Sorry," she mumbled. "I kinda lost myself there." She frowned as memory began to take over her. Sleeping draught...

"You're probably just tired," Taylor yawned. "I know I am. Probably gonna fall asleep in the middle of supper tonight." She stood and stretched. "Shall we, then? No point dawdling up here. If I stay here too long, I'm gonna fall asleep and miss my only chance to eat."

"I'm too bloody tired to care," Cho said as she struggled to rise from the bed. "The bed's so warm, and soft, and comfortable, and-"

"Enough!" Taylor covered her ears with her hands and laughed. "I'm never going to get out of here if you keep that up. Let's go! Coming, Lyd?"

Lydia blinked sleepily. "Yeah...in a minute...give me a second to summon the energy to stand up..." She stretched and groaned as she felt her back and neck crack. "I'm going to be sore in the morning, let me tell you."

The three of them trudged down to the Great Hall where supper was already in full swing. They took their places at the Ravenclaw table. Lydia ate quickly and automatically, she barely even registered what was on her plate. Several times she was elbowed awake by Taylor before she could fall face first onto her plate. It wasn't until they were back up in the Tower that she realized something had slipped her mind.

"Drat and blast!" she scowled, turning on her heel in front of the portrait door. "I forgot something," she explained to her startled friends. Was he at supper? I didn't notice- if he wasn't he's probably still in the Hospital Wing. Maybe if he's still there I can catch him.... "Nah, don't bother waiting, I'll be up in a bit. Password, Taylor?"

"Phoenix Tear. You sure you don't want some of us to come with you?"

"It'll only take a minute. Wait for me inside." Lydia turned and ran back down the stairs before either of them could ask any further questions. She hadn't told anyone except Thomas what had happened last night after she had run from the Hospital Wing, and she wasn't sure if she was ready to deal with it herself just then. Plus, Dumbledore might not want word getting around that Hogwarts' Potions Master was prone to fits, blackouts and could throw off the Draught of Living Death like an old blanket.

Come to think of it, she had never figured out exactly how he had been able to do that. Obviously Dumbledore had been able to figure it out, judging by his reaction to Snape's rather cryptic signals. Wasn't the Draught supposed to put any living being under in a sleep almost as deep as death? Yet Snape had awoken from it without warning, hours before it should have been possible...

Lydia was so engrossed in thought that she nearly missed the last step to go flying into a nearby wall. She managed to catch herself before she went sprawling, but as a result ran headlong into a student she recognized as Mitchell Sarrington, one of the Slytherin Chasers.

"Watch it," he snarled, tearing his robes free from her grip and nearly sending her stumbling again. "Stupid girl."

"Prick," she said under her breath as she watched him head grandly down the stairs to the Slytherin common room. Was it her imagination, or did she hear him snicker as he descended down the stone stairway?

Snape was no where to be found when she entered the Great Hall. His usual seat at the end of the table was empty and it looked as if it had been unoccupied for some time. Frowning, Lydia scanned the huge room once more before ducking back out into the hallway.

Hospital Wing, she decided. As she navigated her way through Hogwarts' winding corridors she asked herself for the first time since last night exactly why she was so adamant about finding Snape. As far as she was concerned, Thomas was right. He was a greasy, heartless bastard who favored none but his own and to hell with everyone else. His only good qualities were that first off, the man was a genius in his own right. The only mind that may rival his own would be Professor McGonagall. Second, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that he was the undisputed Master when it came to working with Potions. He could read a simmering cauldron as clearly as most people read books, he knew exactly when to add which ingredient and how much after making the damn thing only once, and there was not a potion in the book the students were given that Snape didn't know inside and out.

Still, that was no reason for Lydia to go searching him out when she had other perfectly useful things she could be doing. Sleeping, for instance. Why then, was she out roaming the halls in search of a man she didn't at all care for?

Curiosity always got the best of you, that's why. Her mouth quirked a little. The fact that Snape had been in a relationship with her mother certainly played a huge role in it. Lydia never knew much about her mother's school days; Juliana had been carefully private whenever Lydia broached the subject. Now she had unexpectedly come across someone who had known her mother better than anyone back then, and she wasn't going to let the opportunity to learn more slip by.

She pushed open the door to the Hospital Wing and shut it softly behind her. There was no noise in the infirmary as she walked quietly across and poked her head in.

"Miss Johnson."

Lydia jumped at the sound of her name and looked over at the source of the voice. Snape was lying in one of the beds, propped up on a pile of pillows. "I was wondering when you were going to show up."

"You- you knew I was coming?" she squeaked in surprise.

"Students are all the same. They never learned the lesson that curiosity killed the cat. In more ways than one, might I add." He motioned her over wearily. "Might as well get this over with. Have you come about last night, or to ask about your mother?"

Lydia blinked at him. "My mother. How did you-?"

Snape snorted and rolled his eyes. "As I said, students never change. You're all so- predictable. Now," he said as he raised himself up a bit higher. "About your mother. Start by telling me what you know of her."

Lydia was taken aback at the sudden turn of the table. "She never really talked about her school days here," she said hesitantly. "The only things I know about Hogwarts came from my father, Halloway. We all call him Hal."

"Hal?" Snape looked at her sharply, his black eyes glittering. "Hal Curtiss?" Lydia nodded. "I always wondered about them...I suppose it all makes sense now."

"Yeah, I gather they got married soon after they graduated. I was born a few years later. My mother never changed her name, she said Johnson had been good enough for her and her family for so many years that she saw no reason to give it up. I was given the choice when I was old enough."

"You chose Johnson, I see." Snape gave her that strange look again, his eyes distant, as if though he was seeing something in her that no one else was supposed to know about. "You take after your mother in so many ways." His eyes cleared as he blinked, and he waved his hand absently. "Continue."

Lydia shrugged. "That's about it," she said. "My parents moved to France a few years ago; my father works with Gringotts, and my mother's an Auror. She- are you alright?"

Snape had gone deathly pale at the mention of her mother. Lydia stopped, not sure whether she should be concerned. "Should I go get Madam Pomfrey? Are you feeling okay?"

"Yes, I- it's nothing." Snape shook his head and scowled, but it seemed directed internally, not at Lydia. "I'm fine."

"If you say so." Lydia felt that there was something more than what appeared on the surface and that she could figure it out if she just thought about it hard enough. For the time being, however, it escaped her. "I started school at Beauxbatons a year late because of my father's traveling schedule. After four years of schooling in France, my parents decided that I should finish up here at Hogwarts, where they had gone."

"Yes, that sounds like something Hal would want. Still a Hogwarts Gryffindor to the last, I see." Snape didn't bother to explain, but began his own narration instead. "Your mother and I met in our fourth year. I believe the first time she addressed me, it was by calling me a stupid git." His stare was pointed. "No doubt your friend Mr. Applegate has referred to me by that term a few times." Lydia flushed, but said nothing. "We started off rather...badly. She ended up feeling guilty and I punched a wall. That's a different story for another time," he said, noticing her confusion. "Your mother, however, was a very outgoing person. She couldn't stand to see people unhappy. Not even me." Snape's bitter smile was so filled with self-loathing Lydia had to look away. "She forced us into a reconciliation of sorts. I didn't know it at the time, but that's when I believe I fell in love with her." He sneered at the memory. Lydia noticed he seemed to have two main expressions, sneering and scowling; the latter was usually directed towards the rest of the world, the former towards himself.

"I don't know what would have happened if it wasn't for dear Professor Carroay. I have nothing else to thank that man for, and I don't believe anyone of my classmates did either. He was a useless man, and for that I thank him."

"I beg your pardon?" Lydia blinked in confusion, trying to sort out what Snape could possibly mean.

"Your mother was a dismal failure at Potions," Snape said bluntly. "Carroay was no help. That left me. It was in the dungeons where I suppose you could say our brief relationship really took off." He snorted, but Lydia heard the distinct softening of the bitter Professor's tone when he spoke of her mother. "She was the only fourth year I ever knew who couldn't brew a simple shrinking solution. Not even your friend Applegate is that incompetent."

Lydia felt her face heat and she had a scathing retort ready on the tip of her tongue when she realized that Snape was teasing her. She was so surprised almost swallowed her tongue. She gaped at him, wondering if she had heard him correctly, if she had misinterpreted his tone. But he was still looking at her in that peculiar manner, his black eyes glittering. She suddenly became aware of what she was doing and shut her mouth with a snap, hiding her smile behind her hand. "You must have been really fond of her." If simply talking about her mother put him in such a mood, then he must have been a different person entirely when he was actually with her.

"You have a penchant for understatement, don't you?"

"What's it to you?" she shot back and immediately wished she hadn't. Snape's jaw tightened visibly, and his eyes lost their shine. "I'm sorry," she said awkwardly, trying to bring back the man who had been there just seconds ago. "I didn't mean it like that. I was just-"

But Snape shook his head, cutting her off. "It's not you," he said, probably more harshly than he intended. "But one can only hear those words so many times before they begin to wear away at one's inner mind. When word of our- my and Julia's- little liaison got out, there were more than a few people who were quite willing to tell me the same thing. I had no business consorting with a Ravenclaw, and certainly not one as pretty as your mother." His words were mocking, and it took Lydia a second to realize that Snape was directing them at himself. Her heart filled with an indescribable pity for the man whom no one believed deserved anything, and who agreed with them wholeheartedly. She longed to do something- to say something but she knew Snape was not a man who would accept anyone's pity, and certainly not a student's. She kept silent, but some part of her still wept for the man who had nothing left but memories of what might have been.

"What time is it?" The change of subject was so abrupt Lydia didn't even wonder at it until after she answered.

"Supper was just ending in the Great Hall when I came here. There were only about a dozen students left."

Snape nodded. "Time for you to go," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "It had been most...enlightening."

"Likewise, I'm certain," Lydia said under her breath as she turned to go. She turned as she reached the door. "Do you know when we should expect you back in class?" Now where had that question come from?

"By the beginning of next week for certain. Until then, unless the Headmaster has found adequate supervision for you, you have until next week off. I will see you then, Miss Johnson."

Lydia felt the dismissal keenly and blushed, ashamed that Snape had believed her motives for asking so juvenilely selfish. Yet why had she asked? She shook her head; she was too tired to think right now. All she wanted to do was make it up the stairs to the Ravenclaw Tower, find her bed and pass out for the next twenty four hours. Weariness slurred her words so badly it took three tries before the portrait could understand the password and let her in. By that time, the world at the edge of her vision had grown fuzzy and she barely made it to her bed before everything went gray, then black. Lydia Johnson was out for the count.

Back in the Hospital Wing, Severus Snape was having a more difficult time reaching the empty oblivion he craved every night, the same restful state of nothingness that eluded him time after time. He tossed restlessly, closing his eyes for the countless time only to open them seconds later.

Tonight he thought he knew the reason of his sleeplessness. While there had always been nights in which his nightmares had given way to more pleasant- but no less painful- memories of days spent in her company and nights in her arms, never had his mind been so filled with the sound of her laughter and the scent of her hair. And all because of that girl, Lydia.

He did not disillusion himself; he knew for certain that his newest bout of memories was brought about by the unexpected appearance of Julia's daughter. After all, how could he not be affected? The young Ravenclaw looked just enough like her mother to create a spasm in Snape's heart every time he saw her. Yet she resembled her father, too, and that fact drove home the point that Snape had, as in so many other things, lost to another. Lydia was Hal's child, not his, and never would be. Julia had chosen Hal over him, and who wouldn't? He was everything a girl could want, strong, handsome, tall, good natured. A Gryffindor to the core. What girl in her right mind would turn him down in favor of a sickly, short tempered Slytherin? Yet she had, even if only for a short while...

Snape started to brush his thoughts aside impatiently, but something made him stop. He had been repressing his memories for so long now that he had forgotten what it was like just to let them take him over. He had lived without them for so long that when they broke loose from his control he could no longer even function. Yesterday evening had proven that, and his current residence in the Hospital Wing was even stronger proof of the matter. There were only so many times he could let that happen, and the fewer the better. Weeks spent recovering in the Hospital Wing because he couldn't keep a grip on reality just weren't feasible. He knew what he had to do, he just wasn't certain he could do it- it had been so long since he had last delved into the farthest reaches of his own mind he was no longer even certain what he would find there.

Severus Snape, ex-Death Eater, frightened by his own memories? The voice was back, mocking him as he had so often mocked himself. Snape scowled and tried to block it out, but the more he tried the worse it became.

Strange how you were never bothered by the screams of the people you killed, it went on mercilessly. Strange how their faces never came back to haunt your sleep, how you buried them as easily as you buried their corpses.

Untrue! he wanted to scream. Untrue, that was a lie. They had, their voices had followed him first in sleep, then even after he had woken. They reached with their dead hands and hollow voices beyond the realm of sleep until every moment of his existence was a waking nightmare. It got to the point that driving the memories so far back into his mind was the only way to keep from going mad.

You talk of keeping yourself sane, and yet you still have arguments with a voice in your head? You may just want to reassess your position...

Angry now, Snape shut his eyes tightly as if that would drive the voice away. And yet he couldn't but help to wonder if maybe the voice was right. Maybe he had lost his mind, just didn't realize it yet. Maybe Voldemort really had driven him over the edge, right into the realm of insanity. If that was the case, then maybe it wasn't so bad...

At least, if it wasn't for the damn voice. It never seemed to go away, it just went into remission for a while, coming back when it felt it had to make a point. Good God, he was thinking of it as a whole separate entity now, not just a part of him. What next, was he going to name the thing? He just couldn't imagine the voice with a mundane name like Henry, or Rob. He snickered just to think of it, then realized what he was doing.

Good God, he was going mad!

All of a sudden, Snape wanted to laugh, to scream and to cry. The world seemed to be spinning out of control and he felt terribly alone. He wanted someone there with him, Pomfrey, Dumbledore, McGonagall, Julia, anyone. Even Lydia. Anyone would be better than the terrible aching loneliness that was descending on him. He had been alone all his life, ever since Julia had left him. He made as if that were the way he wanted it, had done so for so long that he began to believe it himself. But too often he would be unable to hide the wince as other teachers carefully avoided him, as students whispered insults and rumors behind his back. Too often he would lay there in the darkness of his room and whisper to himself that he didn't care, then wonder why he had to try and convince himself. He knew why. He told himself he didn't care because he was afraid to face the truth; he was afraid to come to grips with the fact that the minute he stopped pushing the world away he would find out that it was really the world pushing away him. He told himself time and time again that he didn't care about anyone or anything, but at the same time he was terrified that no one cared about him.

And so he held the world at bay, captive of his own dark fears and insecurities. He covered his life with lies that hurt him as much as anyone else because he was afraid of what the truth might be, and that it might hurt him more. He was afraid the life he lived was a lie. Perhaps it was not so, but he couldn't risk finding out. Not now, and not ever.

Yet it hurt, dammit. It hurt so badly that Snape sometimes feared it would kill him or drive him off the brink of madness. If it hadn't already. The pain grew greater with every passing day that he kept it locked up, and he knew that it would continue to grow until he could no longer contain it. What would happen then was anyone's guess, but he knew for certain he would not live through it.

He was a time bomb, and he knew it. When all hell broke lose, he knew he would have only one person to blame: himself. When the dam did break, there would be no few innocents crushed in the rising flood, and he knew they didn't deserve to die under the hands of a madman who could not bring himself to admit he was afraid. Where was the fairness in that?

Even as he thought it, Snape knew he could never bear to tell another living soul what lay in the shadows of his heart and mind. Even if he could, who would care? Who gave a damn about the sallow, sunken shell of a man that called himself a Potions Master? He was just another shadow in the Hospital Wing, another body to be patched and sent out again, to infuse others with his knowledge, others more personable than he so that he could be killed off all the quicker with none of his teachings lost. He was bringing closer his own death with every class that passed through the dungeons. As more and more students mastered his craft, his own usefulness ran out until he could be safely killed off. He was not a Professor, but a walking corpse, bringing closer the time when it could be buried and forgotten.

He lay back in the silent Hospital Wing, eyes shut tight against the emptiness of the room. The silence did not bother him now, he had grown so used to it that not even the heavy ringing disturbed him. It sadden him, that fact, but not so much that he couldn't mix it all up with the rest of the burden he carried on his shoulders, diffusing the emotion like he would a potent ingredient, until it was as dilute and harmless as he could make it. What else was there to do in a world where no one cared about you, where people passed you by like a stray shadow gone missing from its body.

Yet she had cared, for that one short time, she had cared...

But now she was gone. She was gone and Snape would probably never see her again, and even if he did the meeting would bring nothing but pain. She was married now, to a man who was all the things Snape could never be and more. The closest he would ever come to her again was through her daughter, a selfish brat just like all the rest of them. Her father's child.

Silently, though there was no one around to see or hear, the river Styx flowed from that Hospital bed. Under the cold eyes of the moon, the river of unbreakable vows sprang to life from one sickly, tired body, a body too weak and fragile for such a momentous flood. Somewhere in the dark, empty Hospital Wing, Severus Snape turned his face to the wall and wept.