Many thanks, like always, to Joycelyn.

Chapter Three: Painful memories

It was bedtime, so Snape escorted Connor to his bedroom. It was a small room near the hospital wing, so if there were any trouble Madam Pomfrey would be able to hear him. Also, there was a house elf always ready to fulfill Connor's demands, which weren't many. The kid felt quite uncomfortable around those weird creatures, so he didn't call them too much.

Connor undressed at an amazing speed and jumped into the bed. He was really tired, after spending most of the day playing with Fang and running around the school grounds, always careful not to be seen by the students. Dumbledore didn't want too many people to know about his presence at Hogwarts. There would be too many awkward questions.

After muttering the typical 'Sleep tight', Snape turned to leave. When he had reached the doorstep, though, he heard Connor's shy voice.

'Professor Snape, may I ask you a favor?'

He was surprised. Until now, all the boy had dared to ask for was a glass of water. Intrigued, he turned round and asked him almost politely what he wanted.

'Would you tell me a bedtime story?'

Now Snape was shocked. He had never told a bedtime story – or any kind of story – to a child in his life. In fact, he had never heard many of those stories himself, because his parents had never been very keen on that sort of thing.

'Daniel always told me a story before I slept. And I miss it.'

The adult understood he wasn't only referring to the tales, but also to Daniel and the life he'd left behind. When he looked at the child's wide open eyes, he felt something he hadn't felt in a long time – sympathy. The poor child had had a tough life, and he had lost the only people he had been close to. He could understand the way he was feeling.

So instead of refusing, which had been his original idea, he sat on the bed next to him and asked which kind of stories he preferred. He hoped it wouldn't be those silly Muggle fairy tales. He'd feel way too stupid telling a tale about items of decoration.

'Daniel always told me about places and things he had seen, things we didn't have at Pylea, like oceans and stuff. But my favorite tales were those about English Kings and wars.'

Snape was relieved. It wouldn't be so hard, after all. He didn't know much about Muggle Kings, but he remembered a few of Binns's lessons that would make anyone to fall asleep.

'I don't know much about wars and Kings,' he admitted, 'but I'll tell you how this school was founded…'

Not surprisingly, Connor fell asleep a few minutes later. A little more surprisingly was that Snape also fell asleep, lying next to the child.

Binns's lessons were truly boring.

The two suns shone brightly at the blue sky. Spring had arrived and everything looked full of life.

He was walking down the main road, signing a song under his breath, Justine's hand holding his. Some people nodded at them when they passed, but most averted their eyes. He didn't care. Everything was just so perfect…

Until that man appeared, and suddenly Justine was terrified. She told him to run, but he didn't understand what was going on and he wouldn't leave her alone. Then that man had bellowed something in another language.

That was when the pain started…

Screaming woke him up. What on Earth…? It took him a full minute to realise that it was Connor who was screaming, and another minute to remember why he was there and react.

'Connor? Connor, what's wrong?'

The kid didn't answer. Tears strolling down his face, he twitched and screamed in terrible pain. Snape was reminded horribly of Cruciatus Curse's victims. He looked around, but there wasn't anybody else in the room. What was going on?

Without thinking, he took the small child in his arms. At once, Connor's eyes snapped wide open. He looked terrified for a moment and winced, but Snape kept holding him. The boy began to shake, but the worst part seemed to have passed.

'Shh, shh.' Snape, uncertain about what to do, began caressing the child's head. He calmed down a little, and his sobs grew fainter. 'What happened?'

'Night…nightmare,' Connor babbled, hiding his face in Snape's sleeve, who was frowning. Nightmare? Yeah, sure.

He repressed a sigh. Definitely, taking care of this kid wouldn't be easy at all.

'I'm telling you, Albus, that wasn't a normal nightmare. It was something else.'

Professor Snape and the Headmaster were at his office, discussing what had happened the previous night. Dumbledore had tried to calm him down, but Snape still felt upset about the whole episode. Seeing Connor in such pain had brought painful memories he'd thought were gone forever.

'Connor has had a tough life. It's no wonder that he has terrible nightmares. Probably a past episode of his childhood is haunting him. Or maybe it's just the change of scenery, which has affected him more than we'd thought.'

Snape shook his head.

'Connor is doing just fine here. No, that's not the problem.'

'It might be the former, then.'

They both fell silent, thinking what episode of his life could have caused him such a terrible nightmare. An idea formed in Snape's mind. It was risky, but it was a desperate situation.

He explained his plan to the Headmaster, who frowned. He was afraid that following the young teacher's idea could cause more harm than good to Connor's already unstable state of mind. However, he was pretty sure that Snape would want to give it a try anyway, and he wouldn't cease until he had convinced him.

'I allow you to proceed,' he said, 'but I warn you that doing this can have a terrible cost for Connor. He is still very unstable and something like this could affect him more than you think.'

'Maybe it's risky,' Snape said. 'However, I find it much worse to let him to keep on like this. He isn't stable now, but if we don't do something soon, he'll never be.'

Albus Dumbledore admitted defeat, and the teacher hurried to get out of his office and find Connor. The Headmaster kept staring at the door several minutes after he had disappeared.

'Who would have thought old Snape had a soft spot?'

'Phineas…' Dumbledore said warningly at the portrait of a man wearing Slytherin's colours, even though deep down he felt the same way.

'Before we start, is there something you want to tell me? About what you dreamed last night?'

Connor shook his head.

'I don't remember anything else, Professor.' He was sincere. All he remembered was the pain. Snape nodded.

'Very well, then. We'll start, if you feel ready.' Connor gave a little nod, and Snape retrieved his wand from his pocket. In spite of himself, the child pulled his chair backwards when the teacher pointed at him with it. Seeing this, Snape lowered his wand again. 'Connor, if you aren't certain about this, we won't do it,' he told him almost gently. 'But I want you to know that this might be the only way for you to get over those nightmares. And also I wanted to say that I,' he took a deep breath, wondering if the boy would believe him at all, 'would never hurt you.'

The kid stared at him, as if he was trying to decide whether he believed him or not. Finally, he appeared to decide that Snape's words were sincere enough, because he nodded more confidently and said:

'I am ready.' For a moment, his voice wasn't the voice of a child but the one of an adult. Snape raised his wand again, and this time Connor didn't even blink.

'Now, Connor, I want you to relax and look at me in the eye, okay?' The boy nodded, his eyes widening, and Snape pronounced the spell: 'Legilmens!'

Getting into his mind was much harder than he'd expected. Usually children were very vulnerable to Legilimenccy, but he already knew Connor wasn't like any other kid. In fact, Snape was startled to discover that the boy was resisting the spell much better than many grown-ups he knew.

'Connor, easy. Try to relaxe'.

The boy slowly did so, and soon his head was filled with memories that weren't his. A blue sky with twin suns…farms along the countryside…weird and dreadful creatures like the ones Connor used to draw… A severe-looking man teaching a small kid how to hunt ('If you can't hunt, then you can't have dinner') and telling him about the Bible… A red-haired woman singing to him… A horrible monster chasing a fourteen-year-old girl with shinning dark hair, before Connor himself knocked it out with a stone…

And at last, the memory he was looking for. Years of practicing Legilmenccy had taught him to recognize what was important and what irrelevant in an ocean of memories, and he could do it at once.

Connor and the woman were walking around what looked like a market. The boy didn't look much younger than he was now, so it hadn't been a long time since then. Suddenly, an old, decrepit man came out of nowhere. The woman was terrified, and most villagers ran to hide in their homes. Before she could move, the man took out a wand and immobilized her. While she was struggling to get rid of the spell, the man pointed at Connor:

'Crucio!'

Snape was filled with cold dread when he saw what happened to Connor. Who in his right mind would do such a thing to a mere child?

The wizard had a twisted smirk plastered on his face, smirk that disappeared abruptly when the same dark-haired girl he'd seen before broke a basin on his head and knocked him out.

Before he could do anything, another memory showed itself. Connor was lying in some precarious bed while shouting was heard. The woman and the man were arguing:

'Daniel, you can't go after him. He is too powerful…

'No one capable doing something of that sort to a child will go unpunished as long as I live.' There was a fire in his eyes that could have terrorized Grindewald himself. The woman hesitated.

'Will you kill him?' she said in a hushed voice. The man's face was somber.

'Killing him would be too merciful.'

He pulled himself out of Connor's mind just in time. The boy had fallen from his seat and was crying on the floor. Snape felt an unexpected pang of guilt. Had he gone too far? Was Dumbledore right, and his experiment would cause more harm than good to his troubled mind?

He sat next to the kid and put an arm around his shoulders.

'It's over now, Connor. No one will hurt you here.' But his words made him sob harder against his chest. Snape was panicking. He hadn't the slightest idea of what to do. He wasn't used to being gentle. He never had to comfort a child before, and his own parents hadn't been an example of tenderness.

Instinctually, though, he wrapped his arms around Connor's tiny body and held him tightly. None of them spoke for several minutes, and after a while Connor's sobs became fainter.

'He was an evil wizard, wasn't he?'

Snape sighed. There was no point in denying the truth.

'Yes, he was, though I've no idea what he was doing in Pylea. I'm afraid there are many of them everywhere. But that doesn't mean that all wizards and witches are evil, you know that, right?'

Connor nodded.

'Now I do,' he whispered, looking at Snape in the eye for the first time. He looked at him back, and was surprised at what he found in his blue eyes. Something he had never seen in those eyes since he'd meet him: trust. 'I didn't remember what…what he did to me. Why didn't I remember,' Connor demanded. Snape gave it a thought.

'Sometimes, we block the most painful memories. We try not to think in them, and after a while we are able to erase them. But they are never truly gone. They just hide there, in the shadows of our own mind, and they haunt us when we least expect it.'

He was afraid that his explanation might be too difficult for a five-year-old, but Connor nodded as if he had understood every word he'd said. And probably he had. He wasn't like any other child.

'Why did he hate me so much?' he mumbled. 'Why did he want to hurt me so badly?'

Snape sighed. Another difficult question in less than five minutes.

'I think… I think he was afraid of you.' Connor stared at him, puzzled. 'He had realised what you were able to do, and he was terrified. I don't know whether he thought that you'd overpower him, or that people wouldn't be so impressed of his magical abilities if you had them too…I don't know. But he was scared of you. He was weak.'

'But he was so powerful and all…'

'Connor, you must learn that power is not the same as strength. A person can have a lot of power and yet be weak inside' And believe me when I say that I know that very well. 'He was weak, and pathetic, and ruin. You shall no longer fear him. He can't do you any more harm.'

The kid nodded.

'I know. Daniel took care of that. He cut his hands and his tongue, so he wouldn't be able to cast any more spells.'

Snape stared at him, but Connor's face clearly showed that he wasn't lying. He repressed a shudder. Connor has had a tough life… Yes, he had, apparently for more than one reason.

He changed the subject.

'What happened with that girl you saved?'

Connor looked bewildered for a second or two, then he remembered.

'Oh, Ayelet? I didn't save her. I just hit the drokken (that's what those beasts are called) and distracted it until the villagers arrived and killed it.' Connor smiled. 'Daniel was very proud of me. And Ayelet gave me a basket full of berries to thank me. I think she got married or something after that.'

The boy was almost normal now. He wasn't shaking anymore, and there was some colour in his cheeks again, while his voice sounded more confident. Snape was sure that very few kids (and grown-ups) would get over a trauma like that so quickly, and he admired the child's inner strength.

Maybe he didn't lack of fear like he had thought at first, but definitely Connor wasn't a normal kid. He was exceptional.

As he helped him to stand up and cleaned his short robes, the Potions Master thought (even though he'd never, ever admit it out loud) that perhaps taking care of Connor wouldn't be so bad after all.

Remus Lupin shut the door close and threw his cloak on an old-fashioned armchair. His eyes watched the surroundings dully.

It was a small room, with twin armchairs, a wooden cupboard and a fireplace. Even though it was very clean, the place looked musty. The armchairs and the curtains were almost colourless, while the cupboard had begun to rotten. The fireplace was in better state, of course: he needed it to travel. It wasn't like he could afford a car, was it?

Apart from that, there was an even smaller kitchen and only one bedroom, where there was room just for a bed and a desk. The rest of it was occupied by several boxes in which he put all the stuff he'd bought when he could afford doing so.

Certainly, he wouldn't be able to buy anything other than food and Floo Powder in the near future. Not until he got a new job, which due to his condition wouldn't be an easy task. No one wanted to hire a werewolf.

For centuries, magic folk had feared his kind and rejected them. Many times werewolves were forced to live in the woods, far from civilization…when they weren't murdered by their fellow wizards. Or by Muggles.

Nowadays people were subtler. They didn't need to force you to live in a forest, it was enough not to let you to get a job and keep you out of the society. Of course, no one would say that you weren't wanted because of your 'condition', no. They could be accused of segregation. They'd just make up a lame excuse ('we aren't taking anyone at the moment', 'the job is taken', 'you aren't the person we're looking for', etc) and kick you out of their office as soon as they could. Most people didn't want to stay too close to a werewolf, in case it was contagious or something. Yes, he was very aware of what people thought of the ones like him. Which had happened that morning at work was a perfect example.

When he had first got the job, he was relieved. He'd thought that finally he'd found his place. His boss, Mrs. Laribe, was a practical woman, and she'd told him that she didn't care whether he was a werewolf, as long as he could find a replacement when he wasn't able to go to work. She'd promised not to tell anyone about his condition, and at first things had gone smoothly. After a while, however, some of his coworkers had put two and two together. Then, the whispering and the rumours began, and after few weeks the whispers turned into nasty comments and complaints. Finally, someone had complained to Mrs. Laribe's boss. She had no other choice but to ask for his resignation.

He'd been tempted to refuse, then he thought that being fired wouldn't look too good in his curriculum vitae. But probably his curriculum didn't matter, or at least it wasn't enough to make employers forget about what he was. In fact, as soon as they found out about that, they didn't even bother to read it. He snorted. His chances of getting another job soon were very, very few.

He sank on the remaining armchair and closed his eyes. He was so tired of this. He had gone through that sort of thing since he was a child and he was sick of it. It was like a nightmare he'd never be able to wake up from.

He remembered a time when his condition hadn't mattered. A time when he had had true friends, friends that had accompanied him in his worst hours and had turned his transformations into the best moments of his life. A time when he had been happy.

That time was over. Two of those friends were six feet under, and the other one…well, he didn't want to think about him right now.

He took the Daily Prophet, looking for a more or less suitable job. Here we go again…

Spike lit a cigarette. He was outside, at Buffy's porch, because he couldn't bear it any longer. If he stayed in that house one more minute, he'd go insane.

After all, who in his right mind would willingly stay at the same house as a bunch of supernatural teen girls? That without mentioning the annoying Andrew, the Whelp, the Watcher and, it hurt him to admit it, the always too cold Slayer. What had happened to her, anyway? He remembered a time when she had been so full of life…Now she was a mere shell of the girl she'd been.

She died, moron. She was pulled out of Heaven by her friends, had a not so healthy relationship with an enemy, who later on tried to rape her…Ok, he got it. She'd had a hard time. But when had she got so dead inside? So empty?

The answer hit him cruelly. Since Angel died. Her soulmate is dead and it won't matter what you do. She'll stay dead too.

If he hadn't been so lost in his own thoughts, he'd have heard the almost inaudible steps behind him. But as he wasn't paying attention, his heart jumped to his throat (figuratively) when a hand was placed on his shoulder.

'Spike?'

That voice…He knew it too well, but it was impossible…Wasn't it?

'Darla?'