This chapter is only half finished . . . but I had to pot something before this story gets lost somewhere within ff.net and is never heard from again.
Chapter 11
It was after midnight when Viola woke up in her own bed. She uncertainly remembered the walk back to her dormitories, but it was hazy and unclear from shock. She couldn't remember dressing herself, but she was back into her clothing, for some reason without her shoes. Her jeans felt a bit damp between her legs, and her stomach wrenched.
She moaned inwardly at the realization that she was still bleeding. She could still feel the very vivid pain, from the burn on her stomach, which was now a stinging blister, to the bruises on her neck, which had darkened to a nasty purple color. The worst pain, though, was not physical.
Her mind reeled in terrible confusion and unbearable sadness at what Brandon had done to her. She knew he had a dark side, and she had always been afraid of that part of him, but to actually have those fears confirmed was such an immense blow to the face that she wasn't sure she even believed it yet.
A blast of agony tore through her damaged cervix as she got out of bed, forcing her to finally believe fully, just what had went on in the boys dorm.
A tear rolled silently down her face, oozing over the puffed up flesh of a black eye. As quickly as possible, with sort of a limp, she left the room, exiting the Slytherin area of the castle completely. She had wrapped her school robe tightly around herself, gathering it securely at her neck, trying vainly to cover the bruises there.
She didn't run into anyone in the hallway, thankfully. Not even Mrs Norris showed her glowing eyes in the dungeons, so Viola's walk was gratifyingly uneventful. It was frightening, though, with only the odd guttering torch to give her light. By the time she made it to her destination, she was trembling with nerves.
Her destination. She wasn't even aware that she had one until she reached its door. The Potions classroom, of course. She needed another healing potion, and this was the only place to get one without visiting Madame Pomfrey.
She faltered before opening the door. Looking over both shoulders, she made sure no one was sneaking up on her. She strained her ears, trying to listen around corners for any sort of muffled footsteps.
Silent, not a sound or trace of anyone. It was uncharacteristic of her to be so edgy, and she tried to dismiss the bad feeling she was getting in her stomach as she pushed the wooden door open and stepped inside.
Much to her shock, she found the classroom brightly lit, a cauldron standing ready on a worktable with ingredients piled neatly beside it. She tried to steady her quaking limbs and looked at the plants and vials of components. The measurements, the weights, everything was laid out perfectly for making just what she needed to make.
A chill crept up her spine, and she pulled her robe a little tighter against the sudden cold. She looked around again, making sure she was alone, but no one else appeared to be in the room with her. She had heard a rumor years ago that Harry Potter had an invisibility cloak, but why would he be in the Potions class in the middle of the night making a healing draught?
She quickly ruled out that possibility, once again fearful of being caught out past curfew, looking like she did. As quickly as she could manage, she began throwing the ingredients into the cauldron, lighting the fire underneath with a fast flick of her wand.
Waiting patiently was not an option. Her muscles were tightly coiled, and she was restless and uneasy. She paced the classroom, cursing the cauldron's slow production of what she needed so badly.
While she waited, she decided to take the time to inspect her injuries more thoroughly. Pulling her sleeves up slightly, she regarded the deep red rings that had been carved around her wrists by the rope. Sore.
He had punched her several times, and each dark bruise on her ribs and chest was punctuated by his families crest, which he wore on an insignia ring on his left hand. It hurt.
The burn from his cigarette had blistered, and was sticking to the fabric of her shirt. She pulled the material away quickly, wincing, and examined she skin she had torn. Aching.
Her neck was swollen and smarting. She glanced into the reflective liquid in the cauldron and cringed, repulsed by the dark colored hand prints circling her throat. Her lower lip trembled again, and the tears stung her eyes, but now she forced herself to keep them back. The potion was nearly ready, and now she was prepared to remove all traces of what had happened and get on with things. She wanted to forget about it, wanted to just phase it out so badly and never think about it again.
Strangely, the way she was feeling then reminded her of how she had felt on Christmas, after Snape had embraced her so intimately. She felt as if she had seen the part of Brandon that no one ever noticed, but instead of the good, she saw that little devil that told him what to do.
Snape slowly dragged his mind away from sleep, and lifted his head from his arms. In full wakefulness, the nightmares had less grip on his senses and he felt safe in the familiar surroundings. Although falling asleep in his office was not the most comfortable thing to do, once in a while it helped to keep him from sleeping too deeply.
His hands still shook slightly from his encounter with the many Dementors, and all at once he remembered that he had started preparing a healing potion in the classroom. Cursing his forgetfulness, and wondering vaguely if he had left the cauldron simmering, he swung open the door which separated his office from the classroom.
He stood, transfixed, in the doorway. For a moment he just stared, and he was struck by a chilling feeling of deja vu, as if he had seen this stage before. Viola was making a healing potion.
Annoyance surged through him. He was tired, so very tired, and the last thing he wanted to deal with was a student. Any other student, he supposed, he could have handled. Just taken a round fifty points from their house and send them off to bed. But why did the gods want him to deal with this particular student on a regular basis? Why did their paths keep conveniently crossing, to the point where he couldn't keep his hands off her?
He knew there was something wrong with her. It was obvious, lately, with the way she carried herself. Head down, always alone or with that boyfriend of hers . . . And now, even, covered in bruises and stifling tears. The voice of Albus Dumbledore filled his memory briefly, reminding him of his prior request. That he keep an eye on Viola Rienne, and make sure she did alright in Slytherin. She did need help. Even, perhaps, his help. He was, after all, her head of house and therefore her mentor.
Another thing was that he knew that Brandon had done this to her. He had seen the strange tendencies in the boy from his first year at school, and frequently saw them in Adrien Carter, his father, at Death Eater revels. The little boyish habits, like pulling the legs off of spiders had steadily escalated into bullying, and now, obviously, blatant sadomasochism.
But he had also kissed her once, and that was enough to make him want to mind his own damn business and stay away. Current circumstances made it . . . difficult to keep a student/teacher relationship in clear perspective.
But it was so obvious she needed someone. Anyone, to just reach out a kind hand and help. She needed a few reassuring words, the borrowed strength of a stronger person.
Well . . . thought Severus to himself. Not bloody fucking likely.
He shoved the door completely open, and Viola yelped in shock as it slammed back on its hinges, revealing the tall, threatening shape of a very angry Death Eater.
She backed away from him as much as she could, gripping her robe closed around her neck. She backed away from her cauldron until her back touched the wall, and she still wasn't far enough away from him.
It was interesting, he felt, that he didn't even have to say a word to have her sufficiently terrified. It wasn't until he reached the worktable and caught his reflection in the glassy surface of the potion, that he realized why she was so afraid.
Instead of his aristocratic features being reflected at him, he saw the bleached white fabric of his mask, horrifying in its simplicity, really, and he was tremendously shocked at his own stupidity.
Viola had begun to tremble violently, pressed against the wall almost hard enough to disappear inside it. Her entire body was taut and nervous, and spasms in her muscles caused more blood to soak her jeans. She was suddenly aware of how much she really needed that healing potion, but she would rather bleed to death before she took a step closer. She wished desperately for her wand, but it was laying on the work table, a million miles away.
How could he have forgotten to remove his mask? How could he had let his guard down so horribly as to be seen by a student? His anger was turned now on himself, no longer on the shaking young girl who cowered in front of him.
She sank down to the floor, covering her face with her arms and sobbing in terror. In her panic, she thought the Death Eaters had invaded the school. There had been so much talk about it lately, in the Slytherin common room, and she now feared very vividly that it was finally happening. Oh gods, they had all been right. . . Malfoy and Brandon . . . Miles and Allison Nott and Danica . . . their parents had been right . . . Voldemort was taking the school and she would die because she was a mudblood . . .
She didn't notice when he crossed the room and crouched in front of her. She didn't notice he was so close until he gripped her upper arms and shook her, none to gently, in an attempt to make her look at him.
He had taken the mask off.
She punched him in the face.
Not some girly little swing, or a bitch slap, but a real left hook that connected quite solidly with his mouth. She hit him hard enough to make him back away and take his hands off of her, and that was all she needed. Quick as she could manage, her potion forgotten, she ran from her teacher to the door, trying savagely to open it, but he was holding it locked with his wand.
"Viola, stop this and listen to me." he tried to reason with her, and refused to let her out of the classroom until he had at least obliviated her memory slightly. He wiped a trickle of blood off his chin with the heel of his hand.
"Don't talk to me!" she screamed back at him, attempting to keep as much distance between them as possible. "Gods, don't you dare talk to me!"
"Viola, I'm not - "
"You're disgusting!" she spat at him, and he accepted that. "How can you live in Dumbledore's school and . . . and . . ."
"I'm not a Death Eater." he said calmly. There was no point yelling back at her.
"I'm not stupid!" her bravado was fading fast, but her revulsion was still there. "Gods, those people at the train station . . ." She looked strait at his eyes. "They were Death Eaters . . . you brought me there with you!"
"I had to take you with me." he justified himself. "Please, would you stop being such a child and let me explain something to you?" He was not one for patience, and her display was starting to wear on his nerves.
"I let you touch me!" Her voice was full of disgust.
He opened his mouth to reply, but thought better of it. That one stung, because he knew exactly what she was talking about. They were both silent for a moment, until he mumbled, "Your potion looks finished." before turning and disappearing inside his office.
As soon as his back was facing her she bolted to the door again, but he was still holding it shut. He wasn't going to let her go.
She took the abrupt silence as time to sort out her thoughts as she scooped the potion into her mouth with her hands. The beautiful feeling of the hurts disappearing calmed her somewhat, and she found she was able to think quite clearly.
There was the shock of seeing Snape dressed as a Death Eater, but she wasn't as afraid of him as she had been. If he had wanted to kill her, he would have . . . unless. . .
She shuddered. She knew what Death Eaters did to people they captured. She had read about it in the Daily Prophet countless times, about the things they did to women and girls. And Snape . . . well, he obviously had some sort of interest in her.
Snape watched her from the doorway again, his wand in his hand. He was deliberating weather or not he should erase her memory of this entire evening, but was quickly deciding not to. He should have, really. He could even obliviate the memory of their kiss in the hallway. It would surely save his own ass.
But he didn't want her to forget that, for some reason. His jaw throbbed where she had hit him, and for that reason, he didn't feel she deserved to have her memory eradicated. He wasn't angry that she had struck him, in fact, he admired the way she had fought him. She was convinced that he was a Death Eater, and for all she knew he could have been preparing to rape her, or worse.
He found himself wondering, again, why she was a Slytherin.
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Sometime later, when the initial shock had worn off, Viola would find herself wondering how the events of that night would find her once again in her teacher's arms.
After she was sure that he wasn't watching her anymore, she established a plan. It was desperate and weak, at best, but it was the only way she could think of to get the upper hand. Quick as possible, she ran to his desk and began searching through the drawers, breaking the locking charms in her desperation without any effort at all.
"Shit . . . Where is it?" she muttered to herself, tearing through the contents of the drawers. He had shown it to them two days before . . . in class . . . but where had he put it?
Relief flooded her as she brought her hand out of the bottom drawer, tightly clutching what she had been hunting for. A tiny glass bottle, half full of completely colorless liquid. Veritaserum.
She calmly emptied the bottle into the healing potion, and then resumed her position of dread against the wall, waiting for him to come out and face her again. He said he would explain everything, and she had definitely made sure that he would.
A moment later, Snape exited his office, dressed now in normal denims and a button down shirt. Traditionally black, of course, but it made him look far less threatening. His lip was still bleeding where she punched him, and just as he predicted, and scooped a glass into the cauldron and drank deeply. Silently, Viola prayed that it would work. His adams apple bobbed up and down as he gulped, and she couldn't resist testing him.
"What's your full name?" she asked suddenly, causing him to stop drinking and sputter in a very undignified manner.
"Severus Anthony Gordon Snape." he said immediately, and a look of alarm danced over his face. He had meant to ignore her stupid question, but had answered involuntarily. His throat tightened with fatal recognition as she showed him the empty glass bottle, a wicked smile curling her mouth.
Surprisingly, he smiled back, just as evilly. It unnerved her. "You should be careful what you ask me, miss Rienne . . ." He murmured. "That was intelligent, but I wouldn't want to frighten you with the answers to those . . . inevitable questions which I know you'll be asking me." He wanted to laugh at her accomplishment, to congratulate her on deliberate cunning. But unfortunately, he was very worried about the questions she might foolishly examine.
She shivered, but maintained eye contact with the man that would tell her anything she asked him, and she was suddenly aware that she probably didn't want to know most of it.
"Before you interrogate me . . ." his eyes narrowed. "Ten points to Hufflepuff, for your cleverness."
"I'm a Slytherin, professor." she reminded him, as if he was a bit less than sane.
He laughed cruelly. "You certainly are." and then he lunged at her.
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Jesus am I ever getting lazy . . . its been forever since I sat down to write this stupid story . . . oh well. Once school starts I'm sure I'll be updating way more often . . . summer just has so many distractions . . .
Please drop a review!