Warning: sexual assault

65. Branded

Callie Warbeck was cracking like glass. The death of Bela had been the straw that broke the camel's back, and now she found that the only way to get through each day was to stay numb. It was just like when her father had died; she shut herself up in her room, barely spoke to anyone, and tried desperately to suppress all thoughts that threatened to push her over the edge. Was her mother all right? Were Harry, Hermione, and Red still alive? Had Dean or Justin or Healer Winslow been captured or killed? How long would Neville and the others get away with their D.A. tricks before something really bad happened? Would the Carrows ever come for her again? Could her eye ever be fixed?

Once in a while she would find herself thinking of Professor Burbage, and struggling to remember Malfoy's exact words. He had said that she'd been killed before she was eaten... right?

God almighty, she hoped so.

The only thing keeping her relatively sane was her studies. Though it seemed rather stupid and trivial what with everything else going on, at least it provided a distraction. However, that was pretty much the only reason why she even bothered trying in her classes anymore. At some point, she'd stopped caring about going into the healer program after Hogwarts, and the application that Slughorn had given her had been shoved in the back of her night table and forgotten. Her great ambition nowadays was simply to make it out of the castle alive, and perhaps join her mother in America. She had already proven herself to be a coward, self-serving, and disloyal. She couldn't even stand up to the Carrows - what good would she be in the fight against the rest of the Dark Lord's forces?

For years, people had been saying that she was a good Slytherin, not like the others. But here she was ready to leave everyone else to fight the good fight while she ran off to save her own skin. She was just as big a snake as all the rest of them.

Oh, to hell with it, she told herself. Part of her new strategy of staying numb was to try not to give a damn about anything or anyone. Another part of it was liquor. She had summoned a bottle of Firewhisky from the kitchens and shut herself up in her dungeon. Like Malfoy, she was keen on getting away from everyone.

But apparently, people weren't keen on leaving her alone. She jumped out of her skin when the door banged open, spilling the amber-colored liquid all over herself. "God, damn it!" she shouted out, conjuring a rag to wipe up the mess.

"Oi, has anybody ever told you that you've got a foul mouth?"

She looked up and saw that it was Crabbe and Goyle who had entered, and her face took on an angry expression. "What the hell are you doing in here?" she demanded. "Get out!"

"It's a public space, Warbeck," Goyle said. "We have just as much a right to be here as you do."

"More so," Crabbe remarked. "Or have you forgotten where you rank?"

"Fuck your ranks," she shot back. "This is my dungeon. I've been working in here for years, no one else ever comes in here."

"Is that a fact?" Goyle asked. "I've seen Longbottom come in here before."

"Yeah. What is this anyway, your secret shag pad?" the other boy mocked.

Callie's lip curled up into a sneer as she said, "You two are swine."

"That's rich coming from the half-breed," Goyle said as he plopped down beside her on the floor. "What's this?" He snatched the bottle of Firewhisky from her hand and read the label. "Ogden's Old. Where'd ya get it?"

"None of your damn business," she replied, rising up and stumbling on her feet. Crabbe reached out to grab her arm, but she jerked it away and snarled, "Keep your hands off me."

"Excuse me for trying to be a gentleman," he said. "Looked a bit unsteady there, ya did. Perhaps you oughta lie down."

She steadied herself, before declaring, "I'm not playing around. Get out of my dungeon." She pulled her wand and aimed it on Crabbe. "Or I'll curse you."

But of course, the other disarmed her from behind. Mother of God, when had she become so bad at blocking that charm? Turning to Goyle, she demanded, "Give it back!"

"Why?" he asked, rising to his feet. "So you can curse my good friend Vince?"

"Yeah, that wasn't very nice of you to threaten me, Warbeck," Crabbe said as he wrapped his arm around her from behind. She elbowed him in the ribs, but he grabbed her by the arms and shoved her up against a wall. "Now that was just dirty," he said. "Dirty fighting from a dirty half-breed, is that it?"

"Get off me!" she shouted. He had her wrists pinned against the wall, and when she tried to kick at him, he stood on her feet to hold her in place. Again, she yelled, "Get... off me!"

"Always been a feisty little bitch, you have," he remarked. "Why don't you be nice to me? We're housemates."

"You were friendly enough with your Gryffindor chums," Goyle piped up, taking a swig from the Ogden's Old. "'Til they realized what a traitorous whore you are."

"Fuck you!" she spat.

"Right, 'cause that's about all you're good for," Crabbe said. "I've seen you flirt with every bloke in this castle. I bet you gave it out to every one of them. Longbottom, Finnigan, Macmillan..."

"Millie Bulstrode said there were nights when you never came back to the dormitory. Whose bed were you sleeping in, Warbeck?"

She struggled with all her might against Crabbe, while Goyle came to stand beside him. "Let me go!" she yelled. But all her efforts ceased when Goyle pulled a knife out and held it in her face.

"Didn't Carrow say that muggle women were sluts?" he asked Crabbe. Then, nodding to Callie, "You've got muggle blood in you, ya filthy tramp. Thought we oughta give the next bloke who comes along a warning."

He then proceeded to slash the knife into Callie's left forearm, and she screamed at the top of her lungs. But Crabbe smashed his hand over her mouth to try and shut her up. As Goyle continued to dig the blade deep into her skin, Crabbe pressed his massive body so tight against her that she couldn't even move, let alone try to fight him off. The pain was unbearable, and it wasn't only one quick cut, but several. She felt like Goyle was carving something specific rather than randomly slashing away at her. Like she was being branded.

When he was done, he studied his work and said, "What d'ya think, mate?"

"Nice work," Crabbe replied with a nod of approval. Staring Callie in the eye, he then said, "'Suppose I can see why everybody's always had their eye on ya, lass. Filthy as you are on the inside, you're not so bad to look at." He removed his hand from Callie's mouth and reached around to squeeze her arse. In response, she spit in his face before calling out for help.

"Bitch!" he yelled, grabbing her by the throat and shoving her harder against the wall. "Now you're really gonna get it!"

"LET ME GO!"

"Shut up!" He tightened his grip on her neck, making it almost impossible to speak or even breathe. "Greg, hold her arms." Goyle did as told, and with one hand still on Callie's throat, Crabbe shoved the other down her pants and grabbed her. "You like that, eh? I can give it to you better than Longbottom could."

"Whoa, hold up," Goyle said. "I'm not gonna stand here and watch you shag her."

Removing his hand to give the boy a hard shove, Crabbe shouted, "Then get out!" He then pinned Callie's arms above her head, leaving her free to scream again. "Shut the fuck up or I'll cut your tongue outta your mouth!"

"Vincent, please!" she begged.

He was able to hold her wrists in place with one hand while he reached down to undo his pants. To Goyle's credit, he seemed to be rather disturbed with the direction this had taken, despite having just cut up her arm like a piece of meat. He was slowly backing up towards the door when it suddenly flew open, and the next thing Callie knew, Crabbe was knocked unconscious and fell to the floor. A mere second later, Goyle got the same.

Callie herself dropped to the ground, as her legs were too shaky to hold her up. She crawled to a corner of the room, away from the boy who'd just assaulted her, and buried her face in her arms, the left of which was covered in blood. She didn't look up to see who had come in and stunned the two bastards - not until she heard that unmistakable voice. "Imperio," it said.

Crabbe was back on his feet, but he had a completely glazed over look in his eye. As Snape held his wand on the boy, he declared in a soft but commanding tone, "You will never put your hands on a female student again." He paused for a second, then continued, "You will return to your dormitory, and forget what has just happened." He gave it a moment, then lowered his wand. Without a word, Crabbe wandered off with a blank expression on his face. Snape then turned on Goyle, reversed the Stunning Spell, and performed the Imperius Curse with the same words he had given Crabbe.

When both boys were gone, he shut the door and turned to Callie. She was staring up at him with tears and blood all over her face, trembling uncontrollably and gasping out sobs. He approached her very slowly, as though she were a scared, trapped animal. And then he knelt before her and reached for her bloody arm, but she jerked it away and yelped, "No!"

He studied her a moment, before he muttered, almost inaudibly, "Den prókeitai na se pligóso."

I'm not going to hurt you.

She was absolutely bewildered. All she could do was gape at him, and wonder if she wasn't currently having another of her incomprehensible dreams. When she didn't say or do anything, he took her hand - very cautiously - and murmured, "Come with me."

Far too shaken, confused, and exhausted to protest, she let him lead her down the corridor and into what had used to be his private quarters. Though as she looked around and noticed that all his stuff was still in place, and it looked as if it were currently being lived in, she wondered vaguely if he hadn't still been using it instead of the headmaster's quarters on the seventh floor. But she didn't really care to ask at the moment. Instead she kept quiet as he set her down in a chair before his desk and took in her appearance. She must've looked about as dazed as Crabbe and Goyle had, and probably a little bit grotesque, what with all the blood.

He lifted her chin to make her look at him, and she didn't bother hiding anything - not even the disgusting way that Crabbe had touched her. Though he kept his expression composed, he took a deep breath as if trying to steady himself. She noticed that his jaw was very firmly set, which had always been a dead giveaway that he was pissed. Shifting his eyes away from hers, he asked, "Did... did he... force himself on you?"

Hesitating, she replied, "He didn't get the chance. I showed you everything that happened."

"But he touched you."

She couldn't look at him as she whispered, "Yes." With her eyes on the ground, she simply waited for him to say or do something, not at all sure what to expect from the man. He had once treated her with kindness and mended her injuries, but only a month ago he'd left her broken on a cold, hard dungeon floor in pitch blackness.

After a moment he conjured a rag, wet it, and brought it to her face. As he cleaned away the blood, fresh tears began to roll down her cheeks, and pretty soon, she was weeping again. "Calm yourself," he ordered. "What's done is done. They're not going to come near you again."

"I know," she said in a quiet voice. "You Imperiused them. Did you Imperius Pansy when she attacked me in fifth year?" He didn't answer her, but she took his silence as confirmation.

He moved from her face to her arm, wiping away the blood before he paused, staring down at what Goyle had carved into her skin.

SLUT

The wound was so deep that fresh blood poured out every time he tried to clean it up. "It's never going to fade," Callie remarked dully. "Even with dittany." She still had the scar from Umbridge's quill on her other arm, and now she was going to have to spend the rest of her life marked with Goyle's handiwork. That thought got her going again, and she didn't bother trying to stifle her tears for the headmaster.

He went to retrieve something from his supply cabinet, then conjured a second rag and said, "Bite down on this."

She gave him a quizzical look but eventually complied. His instruction made sense when he performed some kind of spell that made her feel like her arm was on fire. And sure enough, a thick layer of crinkly, charred skin was forming where the cuts had been. She wanted to pull the rag out of her mouth and beg him to stop, but perhaps a great big burn scar was better than being branded a slut.

When it was over, he proceeded to rub a thick green substance into the raw, hypersensitive skin. At first it was almost as painful as the spell itself, but eventually it eased up and left a much more bearable tingling sensation. "What are you doing to me?" she asked, her face soaked again and her breaths coming in short, shallow gasps.

"It's a regenerative spell," he explained tersely. He kept his eyes averted from hers as he worked, but she stared up at him, wondering where the hell this Snape had been when the Carrows had tortured her.

Perhaps she should've stayed quiet and been grateful that he'd just saved her from an attempted rape, but she couldn't help herself. "Why didn't you help me that night in Dungeon Twelve?" she asked.

There was a brief moment of hesitation before he replied, rather coldly, "I got them away from you, did I not?"

"And you left me in there all night," she countered. "I was hurt. I was terrified. I thought you were going to leave me to die in there." He was completely unmoved, just as he had been that night. With a scoff, she whispered, "I hate you."

Wiping the residue from the green salve off his hands, he remarked, "A sentiment shared by many," clearly unaffected by her words.

"Many who already hated you," she said. "I didn't. Christ, I liked you. I defended you to everyone who thought that you were shit. Malfoy told me that you were still loyal to the Dark Lord, and I refused to believe it."

"Then you must really be kicking yourself now," he replied.

She glared at him, shaking her head to herself. After a moment she said, "All summer I kept praying that it was a mistake. That Harry was wrong, or even that he was lying." It was true. She had been desperately clinging to the hope that there was some other explanation - right up until that night on the Astronomy Tower, when he'd confirmed it himself. "What happened to you?" she asked. "You weren't always like this, you had a heart."

"I'm the same as I've always been, Warbeck. You just didn't know me as well as you thought you did."

"Obviously not," she agreed. Then, after a pause, "But all those times you were actually nice to me? Why did you pretend to care about me? Why couldn't you just go on hating me like you always had?" Anger was brewing inside her as she recalled the way he had hoodwinked her all those years. "Damn it, Severus, I'm not Dumbledore. You had no reason to fool me into trusting you like you did him."

"Do not called me 'Severus,' young lady, I'm your headmaster. You will address me as 'Professor' or 'Sir.'"

She gaped at him, stunned that with all else considered, he would rebuke her for something so absurdly stupid. "That's all you have to say?" she asked in disbelief.

"What would you like me to say? You put your faith in an admitted Death Eater. I didn't fool you into trusting me, you were just too daft to pay attention when, as you said, everybody told you I was shit."

Even as he spoke so harshly, he continued to tend to her arm, rinsing it with water and then circling his wand over it. When he did so, the crinkly skin started to crack apart, and Callie watched with a furrowed brow as he sloughed it off, leaving her arm as it had been before the cuts - with no hint of Goyle's brand. She inspected the area very closely. Nothing. Not even the faintest hint of a scar. She trailed her fingers over her perfectly unmarred skin, and after a moment of silence, began to weep yet again.

"Oh, for God's sake," the headmaster muttered to himself. "I don't care to listen to this, Warbeck. If you're not going to control yourself then take it somewhere else."

But she wasn't ready to leave. For the first time in months she'd gotten a glimpse of the man that she used to know, who actually gave a damn when she was hurt and who spoke to her in their special language. The careful way he had handled her, and that angry glint in his eye when she'd shown him what Crabbe had done... That was her Snape, and the ghost of him that apparently still lingered was keeping her glued to her seat.

Gazing down at her inner arm, it suddenly occurred to her that Goyle had cut her in the same spot where the Death Eaters had their Dark Mark tattoos. She looked from her own arm to Snape's, recalling how Karkaroff had said that the Mark never faded, and wondering if the spell he'd just performed on her could get rid of his own special brand. He had let her see it once, and she could remember how... ashamed he had seemed. But apparently, even that one little detail had been part of the act, too.

"Do you ever regret it?" she asked. Malfoy sure as hell did. Looking Snape in the eye, she thought back on all the boy had said in Myrtle's bathroom. I can't take it anymore, I want out! I can still hear the screaming... "Do you ever hear the screams? Or Charity Burbage begging you to save her?"

She so desperately wanted to see just a hint of remorse in his eyes, and was deliberately trying to coax it out of him. But he remained impassive as he vanished the bloody rags and replied, "Draco Malfoy is a child. And a weak one, at that. Before you compare the two of us, consider the fact that the boy had had a year to carry out a task that I accomplished in mere seconds." He returned the healing ointment to his supply cabinet, then turned to her and added, "I only regret that I didn't step in sooner. We could've saved ourselves a lot of time and trouble."

All she could do was stare at him with a disgusted look on her face. After a moment, she shook her head and muttered, "You shameless bastard."

"Shameless," he echoed pensively. "Funny how things have worked out. I've proven myself to be quite loyal to my comrades. I've fought rather valiantly for our cause. I've even laid my very life on the line." He paused, stalking towards her, before he went on, "But you can't say the same anymore, can you, girl? A few hits with the Cruciatus Curse and you abandon your fellows like a rat fleeing a sinking ship. Would you not consider that to be shameless?"

She simply glared at him, fighting the urge to pull out her wand and curse the son of a bitch.

A shit-eating grin curled his lip as he said, "Struck a nerve, did I? Go on and do it. Show me you've still got some backbone in you."

Her right hand was itching to go for the wand, but she knew better than to play into this little game. Taking a deep breath to try and calm herself, she rose up and made for the door. "I don't have to do anything," she called over her shoulder. "You've dug your own grave. One day Harry is going to defeat the Dark Lord - again. And then there won't be anyone to protect you, Professor." Pausing in the doorway, she glanced down at her healed arm, then gave him one last look. "O Theós na eleísei tin psychí sou," she said.

May God have mercy on your soul.