Innocent Enough

Author's Note: Why did I decide to start writing something so extensive when I knew I would be so busy? Lord knows. I promise you that I will not forget or drop this story, however. I know how it feels to be on the reader end of that situation... And, to Sally the Bear, your wish is granted. Snape's fate was fixed that way before you even said anything!

Chapter 3: Flattered, I'm Sure

Snape drew in a steady breath, recognizing the voice instantly. An emotion welled up inside of his chest that he could almost name. Disappointment, perhaps with a pinch of anger? Yes, that sounded right.

He remained silent as the lead boy nudged his side with a shoe. "It's embarrasing to see a Slytherin looking so pathetic and helpless. Even spoke with that Weaselbee, you know. It's not wise," Draco Malfoy jeered, now speaking directly to Snape as he laid there, face to the floor, "to meddle with such filth. Weaselbee may be pureblood, but his whole family is full of traitorous beggars. Sad, poor bastards..." His voice trailed off.

Snape withheld the temptation to roll his eyes. Even though Draco was his godson, it didn't stop him from being a bigger thorn in his side than even Potter could manage. He was not only insufferable, but he was completely self indulgent. So much false pride. Snape had left Draco on top of his silly throne out of respect for the Malfoy lineage as well as to irritate the Potter boy further. As much as he had wanted to put the snivelling brat in his place, Severus had restrained himself for the better good. But he was Esmond Thorne right now. Not Severus Snape.

Snape's quiet voice sliced through the air like Death's scythe, words carefully articulated. "If I were you, Mr. Malfoy, I would try and find some dignity somewhere down in that cowardly, disgraceful head of yours. Lacing your words with such contemptuous, filthy language is unbefitting of someone of your high status." He continued, "If you can not handle yourself properly, perhaps you should run back to your father's side, in his shadow, where you belong. You worthless, spineless, hopeless boy. I can not imagine the utter disappointment your parents must feel every time you walk into their household..."

A small murmur fell from Draco's lips and a rush of wind filled the hallway. Snape closed his eyes tightly as dust attempted to blind him. He could hear a few breathless metallic sounds, like the gnashing of teeth in the maw of some unknown horror. The eerie beauty of the sounds and wind was interrupted as he felt sharp pains erupt all over his body. Grinding his teeth, Snape forced himself to ignore them. It was an instinctual thing for him, as he had been made to endure many atrocities at the hands of Voldemort in the past. The stabbing pains continued, and other pains were added into the mix as Malfoy placed a powerful kick across his face.

When Snape felt the familiar sensation of trickling blood, he clenched his fists. This had gone on far enough. As the wind continued to whip and whirl around him, the steely whispers singing into the rushing air, Snape pushed himself off of the floor, his arms holding firmly beneath the weight of whatever spell bound him. With one thought, one wordless pulse of magic, he shattered his restraints.

Now standing up to his full height, only now did he turn to face his agressors. He mused that he must have looked like some sort of hell bent demon at that moment, his black hair untamed in the wind, his eyes glowing with hatred, his stance powerful and forboding. Draco gaped at him, his pitiful face very much resembling that of a dying fish. It took only one smirk from Snape to send him running away as if he had met with Death himself. The backs of Goyle and Crabbe stumbled along closely and clumsily.

Only after the magical whirlwind and the sound of desperate footfall had both faded did Snape notice that he was injured.

He hissed in contempt as his body ached and stung. Looking himself over, he groaned. His new uniform was sliced and torn in many places, a complete wreck. His pale skin peeked through many of the cuts in the fabric, contrasted by a deep red that was seeping its way downward. Some of them were small, comparable to paper cuts, while others were gashes and would require medical attention, probably leaving scars. Letting out a slow, frustrated sigh, Snape ran a hand through his hair. It stopped suddenly, however. He could feel his face grow hot with fury.

His long, black, even locks had been desimated. While they still held a similiar length, every lock was an uneven length, the slicing spell leaving the tips sheared in odd angles. Grinding his teeth together, Snape turned on his heel and headed in the direction of the dungeons. His stride was steady but hastened. No, he would not allow anyone to see him in such a state. He wasn't even skilled enough at healing spells to fix himself, it was pathetic. He would rely only on his potions, not the silly wand waving of some irritating healer.

Only steps away. He had been only steps away from the staircase that would lead him to safety. Three, perhaps four. But it was not to be. Fate, the cruel and horrible bitch that she was, would not have Snape keeping his dignity. No, not this year. Every fiber of Snape's body restrained the erge to hex the group of students who, upon seeing 'Esmond Thorne' covered in gashes and stab wounds, were now rushing to his aid. His rescue. Oh, that was just ripe.

"Merlin... what happened to you? Who did- are you alright? Here, let me..." Hermione Granger rushed over to Snape, leaving her friends behind to look upon him with widened eyes. He almost chuckled despite himself, the absudity of the whole situation was absolutely ridiculous. Granger looked so worried, concerned, and for Snape. It was laughable.

As she lifted her wand and began to cast a healing spell, Snape stopped her with a fixed glare and stern words. "Stop this instant. I don't need any assistance, as I am fully capable of treating my own wounds."

Hermione raised an eyebrow and began to make a retort when Harry stepped forward and waved a hand dismissively, shaking his head and keeping his gaze warily on Snape. "If he doesn't want your help 'Mione, don't bother. He's just a Slytherin anyway, he probably deserved it." Putting a hand on Hermione's shoulder, he pulled her back and away from Snape gently.

Shaking away from his touch, Hermione turned around and glared at Harry, apauled. "How could you say that Harry? He may be a Slytherin but that doesn't make him any less human, even if that's what they would like us to believe." Turning back to Snape, her voice softened and an apologetic smile graced her features, "Please, excuse my friend, he didn't mean it." From the glare that he was recieving from just behind Granger, Snape could tell that Potter had indeed meant his words. As the two shot daggers at other, Hermione seemed to take notice and promptly moved to stand directly between the two boys. "Honestly... Now, please, won't you let me heal you? I'm quite sufficient at-"

"As I stated before, I do not. Require. Sympathy. Nor. Assistance." Snape let each word fall from his lips with steely emphasis, his features remaining cold and distant. I will not give these nitwits the pleasure of being the heroes any longer... Merlin knows that Potter and his gang don't need to inflate their egos any further.../ Snape relaxed, although not visibly, when Hermione simply settled for letting out a small sigh.

The four stood in silence for a moment, all of them assessing the others. Potter looked absolutely annoyed, ready to be on his way again. Hermione was troubled, obviously feeling inadequate. Ron simply watched, observing, some unknown emotion in his eyes. 'Esmond Thorne' was blank, his body rigid.

"Come on then... let's leave him alone like he wants, for Merlin's sake." Potter huffed, not willing to wait around any longer. As he turned to leave, Hermione followed immediately, if not a little hesitantly. Only Ron stayed behind, eyes resting on Snape thoughtfully. Snape let his eyes rest on Ron as well, although his gaze was far colder in comparrison.

Once the footsteps of his companions had faded into the distance, it was Ron who finally broke the silence that filled the room. "Episkey..." he murmured, a small smile playing along his lips as the spell went to work. Snape felt a comforting warmth fall over him as his sharp pains slowly faded away into small annoyances. His larger gashes remained, but the majority of his injuries had gone without a struggle. His gaze narrowed and he began to make a retort, when Ron spoke again softly, "Vulnera Sanentur... Tergeo..." His wand made little circles as the words left his lips. When had Ron pulled out his wand?

The deeper gashes tickled and stretched, slowly pulling themselves together, flesh knitting itself back into place. The blood that stained Snape's clothing was whisked away. He still looked like a wreck in his tattered clothing, but at least he wasn't a bleeding wreck. Snape stood deathly still throughout the whole treatment, his gaze never leaving that of the Weasley's. His fists balled unconsciously, but it was the only physical symptom of his inner distress. "I thought I made it clear that I do not require anyone's assistance." The words were dangerous in tone, quiet and frigid. They seemed to have little affect on Ron, however, as he only shrugged in response.

"If it's any consolation, Esmond, you can still fix your clothing and your hair." He smiled with satisfaction, obviously pleased with himself. Although Snape would not admit it to himself, he was impressed with the familiarity and expertise that the Weasley had used when handling the healing charms. This did not, however, stop Snape from being any more harsh with his words at the behavior Ron had shown.

"I assure you, your worries are misplaced. If you truly hold my best regards... then you would be best to leave. Now." Snape growled the words out, low and menacing, and again they were greeted only with a nonchalant shrug.

"Suit yourself. See you 'round." With one more curious glance, Ron Weasley finally left, following the path that his friends had taken what felt like so long ago. Furrowing his brow, Snape made sure to keep the coldest glare upon him as he left, as if intending to turn the annoying boy to stone if he had the audacity to turn around to face him once more. Why had he stayed behind anyway? It infuriated him that the Weasley boy had the nerve to go against his wishes, even though he had made them plainly clear...

Snape's features became serene and unreadable once more as a curious thought dawned on him once more. Questions now flowed through his thoughts in the stead of seething annoyance.

Why hadn't Potter and the girl noticed that Ron had stayed behind...? And what was that damned, knowing look Ron had given him?

When did the world suddenly decide to stop making sense?