A/N: Trigger warning: Child Abuse

"Ah, Ms. Malfoy, nice of you to join us," Professor Snape said dryly as Evanna slunk into the back of the classroom the next morning.

"Sorry, Professor," she mumbled. "I wasn't feeling well."

His eyes flashed in concern. "Very well-if you're not in infirmary then you may as well take a seat."

She looked at her dorm mates, who looked rather apologetic that she had been so late to class. But, they had seen her the night before and likely had decided she needed the sleep. She gave them a brief smile that had Eva perking up and Elin returning it with a face-splitting grin. The only seat left was the one next to Ginny Weasley and the redhaired girl looked about as bad as Evanna felt, pale and withdrawn with bags under her eyes.

Can't remember… can't remember anything. Hope Tom knows…

Evanna blinked. She didn't know anyone named Tom. Why would she care what Tom knows? And her memory had always been very good…

Most of their classmates had already begun brewing. It looked like a simple hiccoughing potion. She glanced down the ingredients list before making a decision.

"Do you know where Tom is?"

The effect was instantaneous. Ginny nearly jumped out of her skin, splashing in far too much essence of comfrey that Evanna knew would cause some rather odorous fumes later, if not poisonous.

"I'm sorry," she said somewhat breathlessly.

"I said, do you know where the thyme is?" Evanna asked innocently, even as her heart leapt to her throat. Ginny relaxed visibly.

"Here, I've some left," she said, shoving the herb to Evanna's side of the table. But she barely paid any mind to it. Had she heard Ginny's thoughts? Was that what was happening to her?

Obviously, Ginny knew this 'Tom', whoever he was, and Evanna did not. (It also seemed that the other girl was trying to keep 'Tom' a secret, a fact Evanna may have found more interesting if she hadn't more pressing matters.) She had been looking straight at Ginny when she had that thought-had it come from her? And the noise surrounding her that caused her so much pain-was that the result of the thoughts of nearly a thousand students and staff pressing in on her? Was that why she had been kept so isolated throughout her childhood?

No, she remembered, what her mother had said was going on with her, her father had never believed. He had kept her separated from the world at large to train her, nothing more. Yet, he had not done the same for Draco, his heir apparent, had he? No, he had just done it for her, as if she was the literal black sheep of the family, all dark hair and hooded eyes and sharp cheekbones, nothing, really like a Malfoy…

Madness. Madness had run in the Black line she knew. It ran in too many Pureblood families these days. Everything that was going on in her head was complete madness.

The period ended and she was only halfway finished with her potion. Her classmates left in a hurry, always eager to leave the dungeons.

"Ms. Malfoy, if you think you can get away with being late to my class and then not completing your work, you are sorely mistaken," Professor Snape said, standing over her cauldron with his arms crossed.

"Sir, do you speak with my mother often?" she asked.

What kind of question-?

"I do my best to keep open lines of communication with all my students' parents, which I would be rather worried about if I were-"

"Could you please give her a message?" she asked, interrupting the man, something most would not dare to do. But Evanna was desperate. "Tell her that what happened on the train is getting worse. Tell her I need her to let me know what is going on. Tell her-tell her I'm afraid I'm going mad."

Evanna finished with a whisper looking in fear at him.

I can't refuse her.

"Alright," he said slowly. "I will do my best to pass along your message."

Evanna wasn't sure what made her do it. Stress, maybe. Longing for some sort of human connection. Or maybe it was just that she knew, however much he may deny it, that he would give the comfort that her real father would never, and perhaps could never, give her. She reached up and wrapped her skinny arms around Professor Snape's waist, pressing her nose into his waistcoat and breathing in the herb scent. The Professor froze completely before patting her shoulder twice and then pushing her away.

"Get on to your next class," he said. "I doubt your next teacher will be as lenient."

The week passed slowly, everyone whispering constantly about the Chamber of Secrets. History of Magic actually deviated from the normal dry lectures about the Goblin Wars for a moment to explain the legend (and that it was not history). Though she still avoided the Great Hall, random students between classes would ask Evanna if she knew anything, what she had been doing there with Potter, but she brushed them all off. Potter seemed to be trying to catch her eye in the corridors, but Evanna did her best to ignore him, a growing pit in her stomach every day that an owl had not come.

Evanna did not receive any message from her mother, but she had expected that. What was surprising, however, was the fact that she had not received any letters from her father letting her know how much of a disappointment she was of a Malfoy. By Wednesday, she was questioning whether Draco had indeed informed their father of her misdeeds. By Thursday, she as breathing a little easier. By Friday, she was hopefully optimistic. And by Saturday, she was actually contemplating seeing whatever it was that Potter was trying to catch her attention for. She had forgotten, however, that it was the first Quidditch game of the season. Draco's first quidditch game.

Evanna was spending a quiet morning in the Common Room, reading her Charms text by the window into the Black Lake, when someone quite tall began blocking her light.

"Come," a voice said.

Evanna looked up. A man, tall and elegant, hair tied back with a velvet ribbon and a face like thunder. Her heart rose to her throat and she knew that her worst training sessions would not hold a candle to whatever Lucius Malfoy had in mind now. She briefly debated placing a permanent Sticking Charm on herself so that he could not do anything-after all, there were several seventh years milling about in the Common Room…

"I suggest you do not try my patience," Lucius hissed.

Evanna climbed out of the window seat and Lucius quickly scanned her. She winced. She was wearing one of the outfits she and her roommates spelled out of Witch's Weekly-some black denim trousers with strategically placed rips, a Weird Sister tank top with a thick striped cardigan to keep her warm in the cool dungeons. All in all, about the furthest away one could get from dressing like a proper Pureblood heiress. Lucius' look darkened even further as he placed a hand on her shoulder rather more tightly than truly necessary as he guided her out.

Lucius pushed her roughly into an empty classroom, where only catching herself on a dusty table stopped her from falling to the stone floor. She heard him locking the door with a charm and then putting up wards so that they could not be heard. She felt of her pocket, realizing that she had left her wand in her dorm room that day. Dread filled her. Being unarmed would likely have the opposite effect of her father going easy on her.

"Your brother tells me that you have not been keeping wise company while here," he said in a low voice. "Sitting with a Weasley, playing dress up with a half-blood, holding hands with Potter. On top of that, shouting and carrying on in front of the entire Common Room. I am most disappointed, Evanna."

"I am sorry, Father," she said. He gave a chuckle that was utterly humorless.

"Yes, well," he said darkly and suddenly his wand was out of his cane and a fiery purple streak was racing toward her. She only just dived out of the way, the spell burning something fierce where it had grazed her hip. "Where is your wand?"

Evanna mumbled. Lucius sent another curse toward her that she ducked out of the way of.

"Diction, Evanna."

"I don't have it with me."

"Then shall we hope that you remember how to dodge?" Lucius said with a ferocious smile.

And suddenly spells were flying and Evanna was dodging. A slicing spell caught her shoulder. Her wrist cracked as she dove to the floor to avoid a spurt of fiendfyre. The leg of a chair hit her head after an Expulso Curse. And on and on, Evanna becoming more out of breath, sweatier, more bruised, bloodier with each passing moment in the empty classroom. And then, a new spell. One that she had read about, but that Lucius had never included in her training sessions.

"Crucio!"

Pain. Pain ripped through every inch of her. Her muscles were tearing, screaming, her bones splintering into tiny pieces inside her. From far away, she heard terrible shrieks and sobs and it was only when the spell lifted that she realized that it was her shrieks and sobs she was hearing. Tremors ripped through her, worse than anything after her headaches. She looked up at her father through her hair. He was blurry through the tears that still clouded her vision.

"Get. Up."

Slowly, Evanna pushed herself upright, tears still pouring down her face. She had to support herself on the table as she stood-she thought maybe she had twisted her ankle. As soon as she was upright, Lucius flew across the room, grasping her face sharply, steel eeyes burning with fury. He twisted her face upwards to make sure she could not look away.

Should've told Narcissa to throw her out.

Evanna whimpered.

"Listen well, girl," he hissed. He was so close she could feel his breath on her face. "I have worked too hard to make you into a warrior for you to ruin by gallivanting around with those lessor beings. Do you understand me?"

Evanna gulped. "Yes, Father."

Her voice sounded hoarse. Weak.

"See to it, then," he sneered, then stood up straight, ever the aristocrat. He shoved Evanna away harshly, making her cry out as she hit her bad wrist. "And do try to help the Heir, would you?"

With that, her father left, leaving Evanna crying and shaking. She needed to be healed, but the infirmary was so far away and there would be too many questions in the Commo Room. Where could she go then?

Without truly deciding where to go, evanna limped to the door, leaning against the wall and clutching her wrist to her chest. Before too long, she was standing in front of Professor Snape's door arguing wirh herself. It was a Saturday, so there was a large chance that he could be out, relaxing or socialing. Evanna suppressed a snort at the image of the professor having a pint at the pub with Professor Flitwick. But, surely, his office would be warded so he would know if one of his Snakes needed him? Evanna's decision was made for her when the man in question opened the door and stood there, looking down on her in surprise.

"Ms. Malfoy," he said slowly, eyes tracking over her body, taking in the limbs she was favoring, the rips on her shirt, the bruises, her tremors, the tear-streaked face. She felt anger wash over her like a wave.

"I think I need some help, sir," she said softly, still quite hoarse.

"I would think so," he sneered, opening the office door still further and ushering her inside.