Fun Fact: Did you know that Witches really exist? FawkesyLady has a magic wand, and she swishes and swooshes it around, turning poorly-written chapters into something nice and readable! It's... magic!

Also, special thanks to Lexi and Nilsia-Tengun for their encouragement and comments. Thank you, thank you, thank you! This chapter was a hell to write, and a hell to revise (ask FawkesyLady, she'll tell you how long we've spent on it), and I hope you'll enjoy it.

Severus was weary. Well, that wasn't enough of a word, but he lacked a better one. He was stretched to the edge of tolerance, beyond that of most mortals. It many ways, it was more difficult to be Voldemort's trusted and valued servant than it was to be out of favour.

The Death Eaters were in a merry mood, celebrating a large influx of new members in the last week - the most recent Slytherin graduates, along with the odd Ravenclaw, were all taking the Dark Mark in a rush. The Dark Lord chose to commemorate his roaring success by descending on a Muggle hotel, one on the sea near Cardiff. The newest followers were disturbingly eager to please - the highlight of the night was the slow disembowelment of an elderly pensioner who had dared to organise a sorry defense against their magical attacks. Severus felt bile rise in his throat as he recalled the enthusiastic roar of the crowd when Marcus Flint cut the helpless man open, allowing his entrails to spill onto the back green, egged on by the triumphant Bellatrix Lestrange who took on the role of the director of events, a macabre parody of a wedding planner.

The evening was brought to a close as the group watched the whole place go up in flames from the beach, purging with Fiendfyre the evidence and evil from what had been a beautiful property. The residents at the time were limited to well-to-do retirees who had stayed over after a wedding for an impromptu reunion, the celebration having been held there the weekend before. The bridal couple were thankfully long gone, and Severus wished them well. In all, including night staff, forty-one Muggles died that night. There were no survivors.

For now, he was granted a reprieve - the Dark Lord had greedily taken in the elaborate lie crafted by Dumbledore last week, and found the information sufficiently useful, allowing Severus to escape another round of punishment. To the rest of the Death Eaters, torturing Muggles was far more entertaining than torturing Severus - no limits were in place and they were encouraged to be as creative as they wished. Still, some of the Death Eaters were visibly disappointed by Severus' good fortune - Bellatrix in particular seemed to hold him in contempt, and 'putting him in his place' was her favourite pastime. The rabid witch was very vocal about her distrust of Severus' loyalty, and the favour with which Voldemort would sometimes grant him vexed her to no end. She was jealous. The very idea made Severus snort derisively.

Severus had lowered his Occlumentic shields as soon as he left the hotel, and nausea hit him immediately. Waves of disgust, shame and frustrated fury threatened to wash away all rational thought. He had waited almost too long, risking corruption of mind and magic - a mind kept under tight reins would always be raw, and when left too long was in danger of insanity. As he trudged up to Hogwarts from the apparition point near the gates, he felt his anger and despair build to a towering pitch. He was in a sorry state when he made his report to Dumbledore, pacing around his office and smashing random trinkets to punctuate each confession.

As he finished the tale of Marcus Flint's new aptitudes, he sent the Headmaster's beloved bowl of lemon drops flying across the room, shattering the delicate crystal into a million pieces. Dumbledore remained unperturbed, smiling benevolently as the younger wizard proceeded to destroy the rest of his possessions.

The report necessarily took a long time with new names and 41 victims to regret, so it was a long time before Severus could regain his balance. As he stood, panting and sweating in the middle of the round office, surrounded by evidence of his wrath, Dumbledore waved his wand nonchalantly and put the room back into order with a too calm inquiry. 'Feeling better now?'

Severus nodded curtly before falling back in his favourite winged chair by the fireplace. He had no wish to look the old wizard in the eye. What an idiotic question. Unless the past could be undone, he would never be 'better.' Dumbledore's question stung like pulverised lemon-drops rubbed into his wounds. If he could wish the geezer out of existence, he would have done it eons ago.

Albus changed the subject abruptly by asking about Miss Crowley, and Severus had to admit that he had neglected his assigned duty to watch over the girl for nearly a week now. Dumbledore's disapproval was evident - the old codger seemed to believe that babysitting little Gryffindors was the right task for a stressed-out, exhausted spy. He insisted that Severus visit her that very night, although when questioned, he refused to explain why.

Severus found himself walking briskly along the pavement, seething in the chilly air of a summer's evening. He could feel a vicious headache coming on, and decided to get Miss Crowley out of the way as quickly as possible. He would keep the visit short, limiting their interaction to an enquiry about her well being, and then he would apparate straight home. What he really wanted to do was to forget everything, this night, this war, even his own name, and he wasn't too proud to use a potion to find release. His steps reverberated loudly as he rounded the corner, and on reaching the gate he pulled up short, wondering if the girl was even awake. After a half-hearted struggle with his conscience, Severus pushed the wooden gate open and entered Crowley's backyard. The light was on, bathing the paving slabs in a soft, golden glow, and the air was thick with the sweet scent of matthiola blooms planted below the windows. The back door was wide open, and through it he caught a glimpse of Miss Crowley's back. Good. She was still awake.

Padding softly across the yard, he reached the door and put one foot on the doorstep. Taking a quick inventory of the kitchen, he ascertained that everything was in order – the room was neat and tidy as usual, and he could hear 'Brothers in Arms' by Dire Straits playing quietly on the radio. Something about Alice grabbed his attention, and a knot of concern formed in his belly. She didn't react when he entered the room, and her back was turned to the open door. Then he saw the empty glass held loosely in her hand.

Crowley, oblivious to the wizard's presence, picked up a half-finished bottle with uncoordinated movements, and spilled some of its contents on the table as she tried to fill up her glass. Severus suppressed a groan as he recognised The Happy Harpy - a cheap, nasty wizarding wine that his mother used to favour. It was sweet and easy to drink, and had left him plastered many times in his youth.

Alarmed, he cleared his throat and stepped further inside. Before he had a chance to utter so much as a 'Good evening,' the girl swung around abruptly, knocking one of the bottles over and sending it clattering onto the floor. She appraised him with unfocused eyes, squinting as she struggled to put a name to the face.

'Professor!' She slurred as she recognised her late-night visitor. 'Professor Snape has come to visit meee!' She squealed with delight and dissolved into a fit of giggles.

Propping herself up against the table, she rose on shaky legs, and staggered over to where he stood. Leaning against the countertop for support, the young witch's eyes darkened as she warily considered the Professor, who towered over her, a menacing scowl printed firmly across his brow.

'Have you come to criticise me?' She demanded angrily, and Severus' took a step back, surprised by the sudden change in the girl's demeanour. 'Because if you have, then you might as well save your fucking breath.'

'You're drunk, Crowley.' He stated, looking down on the girl's angry face. Her scowl matched his own, and she was staring at him in utter defiance – although the effect was lessened somewhat, since her eyes were swimming in and out of focus and her body swayed unsteadily from side to side.

'An'f I am? 'S none of your business, sir. We're not at fuckin'ogwarts!'

Severus ground his teeth in annoyance. He wanted to shake some sense into the girl, but the alcohol in her system guaranteed that it would be a wasted effort. Judging by the empty bottles, the small witch had drunk two full bottles of wine, and was making good progress on the third. Had they been in school, Severus would have sent the Gryffindor House Points into negative numbers faster than one could say 'House Cup.' The fact that Crowley was an adult in the wizarding world, allowed to purchase alcohol and drink to her heart's content, did nothing to alleviate the wizard's fury.

But they weren't at Hogwarts. Severus knew that his usual tactic of scaring unruly teenagers into sobriety would not work on this occasion, and irritating a drunken, hostile witch would only make the situation much, much worse. Choosing to proceed with care, he threw up his hand in a placating gesture as he took a step towards her and spoke in calm, silky tones. 'Calm down, Miss Crowley. I have no interest in how you spend your evening. I've come to check on your wellbeing. Sit down before you injure yourself.'

'Wellbeing, my arse!' The witch snorted as she took a few wobbly steps before falling heavily into her chair. Her head rolled backwards, and she didn't notice the subtle swish of Severus' wand which emptied the glass and the bottle of its contents. She would not be drinking any more of that swill tonight.

'Well, come in then, cop a squat,' She rasped out as she cocked her head to the side and opened one eye to look at her Professor. " You always loom over ush, like a vulture with a taste for haunch of dunderhead. Grates on me last nerve, I don't mind tellin you." The disparaged Professor tossed a purple wrapped chocolate bar onto the countertop as he came further into the kitchen.

'And shut that fucking door, will you? Was you born in a barn?'

Severus wisely chose to ignore the ruddy chit's appalling lack of respect. He knew better than to poke an intoxicated lioness, although he filed the insult away for future reference. He was a patient man, and would ensure that the witch paid for her insolence at a later date. For now, his task was to keep the chit safe - and as much as he wanted to simply grab the girl by the arm and put her straight to bed, he had a niggling feeling that this wouldn't go down well at all. He despised his Gryffindor students. They were foolhardy and pompous, but he did try to prevent them from killing themselves whenever possible.

He eased himself into a chair opposite Miss Crowley, and observed the girl intently without saying a word. She had been drinking on her own, he assumed, since there were no other glasses in sight. Her appearance was… dishevelled, Severus thought. The messy waves of golden hair that fell past her shoulders were tangled, her stormy eyes were blood-shot and glassy, and her cheeks were red - a stark contrast to her otherwise porcelain skin. Her head kept rolling back, exposing the pale column of her neck, and Severus could not help thinking that even in her marinated state, the young witch was rather striking.

'Crowley.' He stated her name in a low growl, and the girl's brow quirked upwards as she opened one eye lazily, indicating that she was listening. Leaning forwards, Severus enunciated, 'How much did you drink?'

'Not enough,' she rasped, and reached for her glass to take another sip. Finding the glass empty as she raised it to her lips, she fixed him with an accusing glare from over the rim. 'Not. Enough.' She repeated, and slammed it on the table. She reached across for her tobacco tin, and rolled a cigarette with unsteady hands, her eyes never leaving his face. 'It's shit, isn't it?' She asked as she licked the paper. 'To be you.'

Severus' brows shot upwards in surprise as he stared at the witch incredulously, tilting his head in confusion. 'I'm not sure I understand-'

'Rubbish!' she spat, her features twisting into a rictus of spite. Standing abruptly, she sent her chair tumbling down onto the floor with a clatter. When he looked back at her, he found himself pushing his chair backwards. There Alice Crowley was, leaning over the table, sneering at him in a fair mockery of a Professorial pose. The scent of bad booze blasted him in the face as she hissed angrily, 'I don't know what the fuck you think you're doing... " She squinted at him and lifted a finger, shaking it close to his face for emphasis with every word, "But. You. Don't. Fool. Me!'

Severus struggled valiantly to prevent the wave of anger from breaking out of his control - he'd already taken out his ire on Dumbledore. Alice was innocent in this, and furthermore, the girl was pissed. Whatever she was on about, he didn't even care to guess. What was a certainty was that hammered witches are dangerous. Merlin preserve him, where was her wand? This could be very tricky...

'For fuck's sake, Crowley! Go to bed, you're intoxicated!' The words were out of his mouth before he had a chance to bite his tongue, and the moment he saw the girl's eyes darken, he knew she was going to attack.

For all her inebriation, the witch was quick as a snake. With surprising agility, she lunged forward across the table, intent on grabbing Severus by the hair. His reflexes were faster, and he caught her outstretched arm in a vice-like grip.

'Fuckin' cunt!' She shrieked as he walked around the table, maintaining his hold on the girl. Coming to stand right behind her, he gently pushed the witch ahead into the dark, narrow hallway. The witch would not be led - she stumbled and fought like a lioness, yanking them both around as she struggled to shake him off. Severus remained outwardly calm and collected throughout the ordeal, although his patience was running out quickly. When she threw her head to the side with the intention of biting his arm, he slammed her into the stairwell wall, pinning her wrists above her head, his other hand pressed against her solar plexus to keep her from wriggling away. He kept her legs to the outside of her right hip, assuring that she couldn't make yet another attempt at assaulting his manhood. This left her feet precariously tiptoed on the edge of the step above him. She was helpless.

'Let go of me, scumbag!' She roared at the top of her lungs, and Severus had to shift quickly to the side to avoid a poorly-aimed headbutt that threatened to collide with his sternum. As the girl's forehead hit his pecs, he huffed an audible 'Oof!'. The impact held no real force, but it was obvious that Miss Crowley would not go down without a fight. He tightened her grip on her wrists, and his onyx eyes bore into her steel-grey ones as he said, 'Not until you've calmed down.'

'Fuck off!' Hissed the little witch. 'How dare you tell me to calm down! Get over yourself! You've been bullying me for no good reason for years on end, and now you think you can just come in here and… bring me breakfast and… do what? What the fuck do you want from me, dickhead?!'

The girl's voice rose to a hysterical shrill and tears welled up in her eyes as she continued hurling abuse at her Professor. Lowering his face to her ear, Severus whispered silkily, 'Speak to me like that once again, Miss Crowley, and you will find yourself in a very undesirable situation. I want nothing from you. You are my student, and I take my duty to look after my students very seriously indeed - whether you choose to cooperate is of no consequence.' He seriously considered leaving the witch where she was. Hadn't he suffered enough to keep the wizarding world safe?

'Do excuse my disrespect, Professor,' the girl's voice was falsely sweet as she batted her eyelashes at Severus. He narrowed his eyes dangerously, sensing a shift in the vaporous wind. Before he had a chance to formulate a scathing reply, the witch continued. 'How about we kiss and make up?' Her tone was mock-innocent, but her eyes slid slowly down his face, her gaze coming to a stop on his lips. The tip of her tongue came out of her mouth, sliding lasciviously across her upper lip.

Severus leapt backwards reflexively as though he had been burned. Women did NOT find him attractive, and he could just imagine Miss Crowley, waking up and remembering her outrageous behaviour, feeling ashamed for even considering kissing the greasy git. His cynical nature supplied the most likely outcome - she would run crying to Dumbledore, weeping crocodile tears whilst shifting the blame onto the obnoxious Bat of the Dungeons, who stormed into her house uninvited and took her by force… No, he would not add another conviction to his already questionable track record. He could be accused of a great number of things, but he was NOT a rapist.

The hallway was narrow, and the wizard's back hit the opposite wall. He leaned against it for support, his heart racing as he stared at the witch in dismay. 'No.' He stated flatly. His rejection had the desired effect, and Alice dropped the fatuous smile that had been playing about her lovely young lips moments ago. She pouted like a petulant child, then threw her head back, cackling like a mad woman.

'What a shame,' She crooned in mock-regret. She shot him a narrow-eyed glare before she spat hatefully, 'Picky, are we? Oh, but of course, a Gryffindor isn't good enough for you, eh? Not when there's a crowd of pureblooded Slytherin women willing to spread their legs for you!'

The witch was mocking him, and Severus' patience had finally run out. She had crossed the line, and would not get away with it. With a contemptuous sneer, he turned on his heel and made to leave, choosing to let the little idiot fend for herself. Just as he was about to exit the hallway, her raspy voice assaulted his ears once more.

'Let me tell you something, Professor. You fancy yourself so fucking clever. You pander to Dumbledore just like the rest of them fools. And you don't fucking see... none of you lot see... that you're nothing to him. Nothing. Just cannon fodder, a tool to be used and discarded at our sainted Headmaster's whim. That's what you are, Severus Snape! And now the bastard's got me too...'

Severus froze mid-step, his head whipping around to gape incredulously at the girl. She was struggling to remain upright, leaning against the wall and staring back at him with the hollow eyes of the trapped, the hopeless. Why was she so thin? Since when was she so… old? He dry swallowed, finding that his tongue was made of dead wood and his legs made of cold lead. He could not move. His mind was spinning. 'Explain,' he croaked finally, needing to understand.

'Obvious isn't it?' Crowley chuckled blackly. 'We're disposable. We are but puppets, caught in a game between two insane wizards." She hitched an arm up against the step and got her legs back underneath her. He found those too-wise eyes boring into him again. "Isn't it confusin'? I'd have trouble remembering who was on my side." She lifted a finger to point at her own chest, "Us. That's what we can count on."

The girl took a step towards him and stumbled, coming dangerously close to collapsing in a heap on the tiled floor. Severus stepped forwards and neatly caught the witch about the waist just as she was about to tip over. He searched her face, trying to divine where this had all come from. Her head lolled about, but her eyes were open, and she returned his regard with a strange air, 'I am not a complete dunderhead, you know. I know you're keeping me safe.'

'It is my job,' Severus replied, swallowing thickly as he held the witch steady. He made an awkward attempt to steer her up the staircase. He needed to get her into her bed safely and leave. Everything about this moment made the hairs on his neck stand on end.

'Who's keeping you safe? Who looks out for Professor Snape?' She cooed sweetly as she rubbed his arm in long, fluid strokes. She giggled as he tensed under her hand. 'So strong...' He shuddered, forcing himself to ignore her manipulations. He knew what to do when he was paying, but this? This was an unfair test that he would fail, no matter how he answered.

He had been silent too long. 'I am quite capable of taking care of my own safety.'

Crowley rested her head on his shoulder and whispered, 'But you are never safe, are you? Do you even know... what it feels like?'

Severus had too many limbs to juggle, and he lost track of his own under the increasing weight that the witch... the student was placing on him. He tripped on the step, and rather than allow the whole kit and kaboodle to fall, he clutched Alice closer with his right arm, and flung out his left to brace against the wall. Alice was briefly suspended under him, as one might dip a dancing partner, but there was no grace as he faceplanted into her exposed neck. A swift intake of breath followed as he straightened them both upright once more. The heady mix of smoke, vanilla and sweet witch was even more intoxicating at its source, and he knew that the divine scent of the woman tucked under his arm would later haunt his dreams. A thought struck him - he would tell his owl, Sharon, tonight when he got home, 'She smelled like the Empress of all Kings and Queens.' His owl was his repository for all of his deepest, most aching secrets.

To Severus, safety meant being needed by someone, becoming indispensable. This dream of being loved and understood with no hidden hooks was only that. No one had ever, or would ever look after him. It was touchingly arrogant of this girl to think there was anything that she might have to offer to him, even in her wine-induced wisdom. No, he was the Professor, the protector. He alone understood the evil that he stood up against, had seen it first hand and come back from the edge of such madness to report the tale.

Crowley's eyes were shut, and the witch wasn't even trying to walk. He was hauling her up each step - well, he could do better than that. Sweeping her off her feet in one fluid movement, he carefully traversed the remainder of the staircase. A glance down the hall revealed that one of the three doors was left ajar. He gently kicked it open with his foot, and under the dim light from the streetlamps outside the window he could make out the contours of a sparsely furnished bedroom.

The witch had gone completely limp in his arms as he lowered her gently onto the bed. She stretched and yawned before opening one eye to fix on his face in the shadows. Alas, for Severus, she was not done with him. 'You're safe here with me, you know,' her voice was honeyed sweet, and at Severus' answering scowl, the witch burst into a fresh fit of giggles. Wriggling on the bed in paroxysms of mirth, the witch squealed, 'Even if you're a grumpy fuck. A grumpy grump-grump fuckity fuck!'

Severus stood still, praying to Branwen, Morrigan and any Deity who would listen that the girl would tire herself out quickly. She paused for breath, and hiccuped dangerously as she inhaled large gulps of air. After a moment, she snorted, 'Severus Snape is a grumpy fuck. But, I like having you here…' her words were now an effort to hear, each getting quieter than the next in the stillness. 'You're smart, and you have pretty eyes and... legs… I could love… grumpy fucker...'

The witch's breath converted to a delicate snore. Dumbfounded, Severus stood staring at Alice, illuminated by the moon's glow. A dusty back room of his mind spat out orders and he turned away, only to return a few minutes later with a dusty phial of Happy Hangover that he had located in the bathroom cabinet a few steps down the hall. With one last thoughtful glance, Severus set the remedy on Alice's bedside table.

When he apparated back into his own kitchen, he felt soul-splinched, as though he had just cut off something vital and left it behind.