A/N In which we meet our unfortunate hero.

BY ANY OTHER NAME

Variations of a Theme

PART 2

Minerva had been very cross with him. She had threatened to take his roses away, her bony hands reaching out to snatch away his current bouquet for the week... but something on her face softened when she heard the distressed noises he made and she relented. She took away some of his pictures instead, leaving the walls to his room bare.

He moodily stroked the brick surface, a dusty mix of brown and gray, as he recounted the tongue-lashing he had received. His blood had been simmering the whole while he bore the brunt of her accusatory abuse, but he had said nothing. It was better if she thought he was simple that week. She always left him alone when he was being simple. All he did was just sit and stare at a spot on the wall, anyway. She got bored of that very easily. A couple minutes of her staring at him with all the pity in the world and then she would leave.

It took her longer to go this time, but then, she was very angry.

"You've broken your promise to me!"

He stared stonily at one of his pictures. A wood-carved print of the Palazzo Vecchio and Duomo in Florence.

"You've gone out of your room!"

He looked to her then. A blank, but sceptical glare as if to ask her how on earth he could manage a feat like that? The red patches on her cheeks darkened, but she couldn't find a rebuttal.

"I don't know how, but suffice to say you know full well what you've done. I won't tolerate it."

She huffily got up and snatched the print he was staring at off the wall. He trained his eyes to the floor instead. Leave. Leave. Leave.

She sat down beside him, gently patting his shoulder. He kept staring at the floor. Her trying to be understanding was much more bearable than her displeasure, but it was still something he merely tolerated.

"You know this is only for your safety. If you're bored or if you're wanting for something, just tell me. We'll get it for you."

She stared fondly at him for a quiet minute before playfully shaking his shoulder.

"Would you like Albus to visit you this afternoon?"

He shook his head slightly.

"All right then, suit yourself. I'll check up on you again tomorrow. And remember... "

The stern tone crept into her voice again and she shook the pictures she had torn from his wall at him. "... I catch you up to any more mischief and I will confiscate your roses."

She left his room, swinging the door shut behind her. The force required to shut its substantial weight stirred the air in the room and tickled a loose strand of hair across his face. She wouldn't be back in the morning. Every time she told him that she always forgot. She didn't use to forget. Before, right around the beginning, she had always remembered her promises. He always had fresh roses then.

He looked to the flowers on his table, half-wilted. Well, they'd be good until the end of the week. He could wait until then.

Restless, and now without a chaperone, he quickly made his way to the window and peered outside. The glass was charmed so that he could look out but no one could look within. He could see the beautiful grounds of Hogwarts, so delicately dusted with snow that it must have come from a master painter's hand.

So... what he had felt then was real. Someone had found his rose. It had fallen... fallen... sinking through the air until it met the ground with a soft impact and had lain there, outstretched and reaching towards the sun.

Someone had found it.

Someone had found him. The small magical tickle he felt had been the presence of another. The small invisible thread he felt in his mind that he had been teasing closer to him actually led to another person. It had not been in vain.

Closer. Come closer.

I'm here.

Severus shuddered uncontrollably, face pressed against the cold, frosted glass. He was thinking of how he finally had someone within his grip, and that he would not be able to let go.

Severus squawked in protest when he felt the sharp sting of strands of his hair being yanked from his scalp.

"Sorry, Severus. Try to hold still."

Minerva fussed momentarily over the abused part of his scalp before moving onto brushing the hair on the nape of his neck. He huffed unhappily at her carelessness, but contentedly closed his eyes when the stinging abated. She had found the perfect mix between gentle yet firm brushstrokes, and Severus let his head fall forward. The bristles scraped lightly, and he revelled in the slight pull of his scalp as the brush worked its way through the locks of his hair. She did this for him every time before treatment so he would relax and cooperate. He had learned to take his small pleasures where he could.

When Minerva set the brush down he deflated slightly.

"Come now, Severus. Don't look so glum," Minerva intoned airily, tossing the brush to one side. From the corner of his eye he could see the fresh batch of roses he was to be given that week. He thought it was quite clever of her, one of the few remaining things she did that were clever these days. By bringing the roses into the room with her, she gave him the incentive to get his treatment over with as quickly as possible for the promise of his beloved flowers.

The acrid smell of the ointment hit his nostrils and he recoiled in disgust. Minerva set the flask's stopper down and reached for his face. He tried to remain still as the ointment was smeared onto his skin, but it burned and he couldn't help but wince.

Minerva had been doing this for so long that she barely grimaced whenever she saw his face now. With a firm hand under his chin she angled his face upwards so that she could see it more easily. So much of Nagini's venom had been exposed to his face and neck that the wounds he had suffered would never fully close or heal. On the left side of his face there were open channels of bared, blackened flesh that traveled along the curve of his eyebrow, cheek, and split into tributaries that formed a spider's web across his jaw and converged back to a raw chasm on his neck. Around the marring scars his flesh almost seemed to have twisted and formed away from any natural grace or order.

He looked up at Minerva balefully as she disinfected the sore, open flesh. His right eye blinked, while its brother could only twitch. He had learned to forget about pain after the first year. It was now a rare occurrence for him to even feel a white-hot twinge from his neck or cheek. It only hurt when Minerva had to clean it. But he complied because it hurt more when she forgot to clean it. It became infected and began to weep then.

Severus saw something dark cross Minerva's face and it caught his interest. He glanced down and noticed she had come to his neck. As she rubbed in the ointment she was looking at it with a curious mixture of resentment, pity, disgust and nostalgia. He thought he understood. Within the flap of his gnarled skin one could see only blackened, curling, mangled flesh. Nagini had completely ruined his vocal chords and he could not speak. It was a miracle that he was even alive, and had remained alive and relatively healthy for so many years. He looked away from Minerva, suddenly overwhelmed with ill will.

"There, I'm done."

Usually Minerva would spend the rest of the evening with him, either reading a book by his table or complaining to him about some other stupid thing Albus had said to her. However, she saw the stony look on his face and realized the black mood he had suddenly fallen into. His sudden mood swings were something she had quickly accepted and learned to avoid. She gathered her things together, left him the hairbrush as a gesture of good will, and quietly left him alone.

Damn him. Severus knocked the hairbrush off the table and sent it clattering to the floor. Damn his complacent nature. He never used to be like this. But the poison… that cursed snake's poison… it had done something to him. It had made him weak, vulnerable and susceptible to manipulation.

He hadn't understood at first, but in the beginning he had also forgotten what he used to be like. What used to belong to him: his mind, his cunning, and his anger. Poppy had been alive then, and she was the one who had finalized the procedure his treatments were supposed to take. She was also the one who had run the tests on him to try and determine his condition. He remembered the concerned whispered dialogue that passed between her and Minerva, at the time not fully understanding the implications of their unsettled, sad glances. Nagini's venom, the magical venom had not only infected him through entry points in his neck but also on his face and temple. It had killed certain nerves… leaving him fewer circuits to function on. Sensory. Pleasure.

Unconsciously his fingers had already snaked to the side of the table the fresh roses were on. They curled around the velvet hips, thumb smoothing over the petals and his fingers flexing slowly amidst the tangled vines. When he realized he had already fallen slave to their texture his fingers curled around the bud and crushed it into his palm.

Nothing else made him happy anymore. Nothing else caught his interest. In the darker times at the beginning when he had first been brought to this room, Minerva had wanted to resurrect him. Fully. Severus Snape, in all of his former glory. She had brought him his old books, his wand, the equipment from his dungeon laboratories… and he had looked at them and rubbed his face against the worn paper and tapped the silver scales against his teeth, entranced with them in a different way. She had hated him then, back when her own mind was still sharp and she longed for her former colleague and friend to return. She accused him of doing it all on purpose, of putting on another façade and another show in order to save himself from the cruelties of the world.

Ironic, then, that she should be the one to keep him under lock and key.

Severus groaned and stretched himself over the table, pressing his face against his pillow of roses. Their sweet, spicy scent invaded his nose and made his head swim. They felt luxurious against him, soft and ticklish, but sweet and yielding. Pressed together the petals went from dry to damp, sticking to each other and releasing a stronger scent, moving from ephemeral to overwhelming. Severus closed his eyes slowly, his eyelashes leaving small kisses against the buds and he rubbed his face against them, sinking slowly until they merely formed a small layer between his skin and the wooden surface of the table. He could muster no more effort for recollection or bitterness. He just never could these days. Nothing else really existed apart from what he felt and what he could touch.

Well… until recently. Severus' eyes snapped open and his hand convulsed against the table.

Come closer.

Who had found his rose? Who had found the one token that was the proof of his existence? What did they feel like?

And what could this mean for him, that after living for almost twenty years as a secret he was about to be discovered?

I am here.

Severus pushed a small bud into his mouth and bit down, shuddering uncontrollably against the red-smeared table.

Hermione stood on the platform for the Hogwarts Express and suppressed a shiver that began from the nape of her neck right down to her tailbone. She massaged the base of her skull, curious as to where the shiver had come from. It wasn't the sort she usually got when she was chilly… it almost felt as if someone was watching her.

"Mum! It's here!"

Hermione snapped back to the present and ran after Hugo, catching him by the scruff of his cloak so he didn't barrel headlong into the train tracks in the hopes of reaching the train's doors first.

"What did I say about being patient, Hugo?"

"Oh, you should have seen him at the Quidditch match, mum."

It was Hugo's first year and his first time taking the train back to wizarding London. Hermione had secured her holiday and had taken the opportunity to take the train with her children. She could easily have Apparated them back to their small house, but they were all in the festive mood and she liked the romantic notion of watching the scenery change before her eyes with her children snuggled beside her. Despite being in the same school, they didn't have the opportunity to do many things together after all.

"What about this compartment?"

Rose pulled a face. "But that's where the Slytherin's normally sit."

"And? The Slytherin students aren't infected, Rose. Honestly, I can't believe this house rivalry rubbish still goes on – who on earth puts these notions into your heads?"

Hermione slid open the compartment door and shooed them in. They had finally settled themselves by the time the lady with the lunch trolley clattered by. Hugo had settled himself against Hermione's side, his head nestled on top of her stomach. Rose, who was already at the age where she fiercely wanted her independence, had relaxed somewhat away from the scrutiny of her peers and allowed Hermione to play with her hair.

It was feeling warm and peaceful, with mountains and trees rolling by on the window, that Hermione fell asleep.

Hermione was being held.

Her eyes snapped open and the sensation left just as suddenly. She gasped, as if taking breath for the first time. Looking around she saw she was in the corridor… moonlight streaming in through the window…

Come closer.

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but coughed instead. Something was tickling her throat. She pressed two fingers against her tongue and felt something damp and velvety. Teasing it out slowly, Hermione withdrew a fat rose petal from her between her lips.

Who?

Hermione looked around her, the sodden petal clinging to her fingertips like a second skin. The candles had just been blown out, smoke rising lazily from their wicks. Where was he?

"I'm here," she said, and she felt the air stir.

The crouched figure.

That face.

"Professor!"

She ran towards him, but it was as if she were moving underwater. He looked up, saw her, and grew pale. He almost seemed to fold into himself, withdrawing as far away from her as possible. Hermione stopped, confused. Was he scared of her? Before she could call out again, she felt liquid bubble up from her throat. Wiping the back of her hand across her mouth, she saw red smears.

He continued to recoil, eyes now trained on her with a mixture of fear and fascination.

Hermione made to take another step toward him and all of a sudden felt a forceful push somewhere in between her eyes. She cried out in pain.

"Mum?"

Hermione woke with a start, almost dislodging Hugo from his comfortable perch. Rose looked at her with naked concern on her face.

"Are you all right?"

Hermione inhaled sharply, feeling the uncomfortable dampness of spittle rattling back into her mouth, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Fine… "

Hermione was in her mother's kitchen. Her hands suddenly went slack and the bowl she was holding tottered precariously in her fingers.

A lingering, pulling, electric touch had suddenly enveloped her… smothering her. Her entire body was singing, right to her very magical core and the electrical intensity of her nerves being jangled became so much that she shuddered and the bowl finally fell to the ground, splattering its contents all over the floor.

Hermione gasped, it wasn't over, still pulling, still caressing. It tugged on a network of strings in her body that connected all of her secret, sensitive spots, right from the soft skin behind her ear to the backs of her knees. She felt a spasm in her lower abdomen and finally collapsed, sinking to the floor, unable to do anything except wait for the sensation to abide. It left slowly in rippling waves that were both apologetic, but purposefully tempting and she lay there shuddering, occasional twitches running through her body, feeling for all the world as if her bones had melted away.

Hermione walked through the doors of Hogwarts with a slight feeling of trepidation.

She would have said that her small holiday with her parents and then briefly with the Weasley's at the Burrow was thoroughly enjoyable, save for the one incident when she had collapsed from a sensory overload. It had troubled her and lingered in the back of her mind since the day it happened, thus preventing her from enjoying the rest of her time fully. She wasn't sure why, but coming back to Hogwarts almost made her feel vulnerable to it again.

"I'm back," she whispered, unsure of who was listening, and then pushed open the doors that lead to the Great Hall.

The second Hermione opened the door to Minerva's office she sensed something was wrong. The room appeared to be completely empty, and Albus wasn't in his portrait frame. Hermione set down the small gift she had brought for Minerva onto a chair and walked into the office.

"Hello? Minerva?"

Hermione gave a cursory glance to the Headmistress' desk, messy as always, and then circuited the room.

"Hello?"

"Oh thank Merlin, Hermione!"

Hermione whirled around to see Albus had returned to his portrait. "What is it?"

"She's collapsed in her chambers, I've been trying to tell someone."

"Goodness!" Hermione ran towards the direction of Minerva's private chambers, hidden away within the office itself amidst a network of small wings and corridors. Albus flitted from frame to frame, following her journey.

Hermione finally came to the door and pushed on it to find it locked. She looked to Albus' portrait. "What's the password?"

To her surprise, he fidgeted. He glanced nervously from the chamber door to Hermione's inquiring face, pressed by urgency, but also battling something within him.

"Why can't you tell me?"

"It's rose buds."

Hermione felt something icy wash over her and the guilty expression on Albus' face did nothing to alleviate the unsettled gnawing that had begun in the pit of her stomach.

"Rose buds?"

The chamber door swung open. Hermione looked straight into Albus' eyes for a moment longer, searching, before running in and kneeling by Minerva's side. As she checked her old friend's pulse and was examining her for bruising, she heard Albus' weary voice mutter behind her, "Sometimes I feel so helpless… "

TBC