NOTE
Warning for mentions of self harm, mentions of rape and abuse, minor injury, vomit, and alcohol use.
8. desperation
"There you are."
Fay's head pounded as she opened her eyes to the bright light of midday, streaming through the opened mullioned window into the small private sickroom off of Poppy's office.
The mediwitch held a teal-coloured potion in front of the young woman's face. "Drink this straight away, for the pain."
Fay didn't need to be asked twice. Every bone in her body felt like it had been scraped down to the marrow, and her heart pushed agony through her organs with each beat.
She swallowed the potion at once, coughing lightly afterward. It had a weird taste, between saltwater and mushrooms.
As the pain faded, Fay became aware of a strange lack of sensation in her left arm. She looked down at it, and winced at the sight of purple bruises blooming over her elbow.
"A joint was dislocated during your transformation back and crushed the nerves in your arm. Hard to heal, nerve damage, but with your arm in a sling and some daily potions you'll be hunky-dory within a week."
It felt invasive, but also comforting to be cared for like this after the full moon. Usually Fay just picked herself up from the forest floor and cast rudimentary healing charms on herself, and concealment charms on the blood stains to keep from being eyed by muggles on the train back home.
That was another major difference.
She wasn't bleeding or stinging from the damage wrought by her own claws. The lack of surface pain allowed Fay to feel the effects of the transformation more deeply than she had before. Her skin was as cold as ice, but her insides felt hot and dry, like they could catch fire.
"How are you feeling now?" Poppy asked.
"Okay," Fay croaked.
"Good." Poppy gave her patient a gentle pat on the shoulder, which Fay was surprised at herself for not minding. Poppy smelled like mint leaves and freshly baked bread. "I told your friend Dennis that you had a bad case of dragon pox. So there's your story once you return to the outside world on Wednesday."
The mention of Dennis brought back the memory of the kiss, and Fay inwardly cringed in shame.
The events of the last week seemed covered in a shroud of madness, the fog thickening and thickening, and becoming the hardest to see through during the transformation itself. She remembered little from the previous night. Only Poppy's scent, and how cold the shrieking shack seemed. And the rage inside her when she found the place where Snape had nearly bled out in May.
Gods.
Snape.
The mere thought of him unlocked the door to the horrors of the past days.
Her only relief lay in realising that the desire, which had controlled her instincts completely in her recent memory, had vanished entirely. The panicked masturbation, the pain, the helpless obsession with her potion master's hands… It all seemed like a bad dream.
Despite the filthy feeling when she recalled those memories, despite the mess she'd made with Dennis and would have to clean up, despite the lingering discomfort in her joints (and, of course, the fact that she had been a large russet wolf not six hours ago), Fay realised, lying in that small white hospital bed, that she felt… normal.
The person in those memories was not her true self.
The pain would come again in a month, but for now she could start over.
She was at Hogwarts. The place she'd been most safe and happy since she'd first crossed the black lake in a rowboat as an eleven year old girl. Where there was no Jonathan Perry to hurt her.
Birdsong drifted through the window, and the small sounds of Madam Pomfrey putting her vials and instruments in order made Fay smile.
Then Poppy sat down in the chair beside the bed.
"There's something I need to discuss with you."
Fay turned her head, furrowing her eyebrows at the grey-haired witch's changed tone. It sounded as though there was something wrong. Probably to do with the transformation. Was the crushed nerve in her arm not her only injury?
Poppy sighed and rested her hands in her lap, one over the other. Of all the news she'd had to deliver over the years, this was by far the most sensitive. She spoke in a measured voice. "This may be confusing to you. I want you to know that it is confusing to me as well, and nothing I am about to tell you is completely set in stone as far as I'm concerned."
Fay's face, which moments ago had been a picture of peaceful renewal, had grown quite wan and drawn. She should have known her feeling of ease and rightness in the world would be so short lived. Now it seemed the room was shrinking around her, and the coolest breeze from the window made her shiver.
"I believe you have come to a stage, in your condition, where it is possible to form a very specific type of connection with another person. I have observed it once before, in Remus Lupin. It is possible that you may require said person's assistance… in coping with your sexual needs."
Fay stared at her as though she had not understood a thing, and Poppy decided to elaborate. "It is possible… Miss Green, it is likely that from this point until you have reached full maturity, you will rely on a certain individual to satisfy you, sexually."
A tall stone wall was erecting itself between Fay and reality. The numbness of ice-cold dread had overtaken her body, and she heard her voice as from a great distance.
"Who?"
Poppy paused before answering. Her tone was matter-of-fact, contrasting with the sympathy in her grey-blue eyes. "I think you must know that already, dear. Professor Snape."
The Great Hall was abuzz as Emma Hare, professor of Muggle Studies, resumed her seat at the high table.
Other than Flitwick's choir, there had been little opportunity at Hogwarts for the performing arts, until now. The announcement of school plays led to much excitement among the students.
Just as Snape had predicted, Sir Nicholas was already floating up to the young Muggle Studies professor to ask if he might play the ghost of Hamlet's father.
But Snape was not there to witness it. Or to wear the smug look he often did when people (or, in this case, ghosts) behaved according to his judgement of them.
The headmistress sighed as she looked beside her at the head of Slytherin's empty place. He hadn't appeared at breakfast either.
Minerva McGonagall's steel-grey hair was pulled back into as tight a bun as ever and her emerald robes, held together by an ornate silver brooch, spoke of power and assurance. Beneath this facade, however, lay a witch beset by stresses and worries. Foremost of which was Miss Green.
She'd never paid much mind to the girl before last week. Fay was a Slytherin, so out of her purview as head of Gryffindor house. Minerva could never recall her being in trouble, or displaying any of the less savoury traits of her fellow Slytherins. She'd kept her head down, and done well enough in Transfiguration to skate by without drawing much attention.
But Minerva was quick to care when given a reason and, since Poppy had come to her saying a student was demonstrating signs of abuse, Minerva had begun to care very much indeed.
Never had she been faced with a situation like this before. Because the girl's stepfather was a muggle, Minerva had no right to alert the Ministry and initiate action against him.
Under these circumstances, the most Minerva could do was try to keep Miss Green at Hogwarts. She couldn't stomach the thought of the girl leaving school and returning to an abusive situation. And what with the latest news, she was no doubt at risk of doing so. If she did leave, Minerva would be incapable of stopping her. She was nineteen, after all, a recognised adult, and could not be confined in the castle against her will as the younger students could.
Poppy had sent her a message just before lunch that she would be absent at the head table that day, deeming it wise to take her lunch in her office after observing Miss Green's reaction to the news.
Minerva felt no small amount of guilt for possibly allowing the situation between Severus and the young woman to escalate. But she and Poppy had agreed to try every preventative measure possible to keep the unimaginable from happening, and Minerva had no doubt that Severus would do the same.
She sighed again. Had there not been the threat of eyes upon her, she would have let her head sink to the table in exhaustion.
Instead, she quietly pushed back her chair, in which headmasters and headmistresses past had struggled with similar difficulties, and stood. It was necessary to build on the brief conversation she'd had with Severus the previous morning, and her mind would not rest until she had seen him.
The students were so absorbed in chattering amongst themselves that the headmistress left the hall quite unnoticed.
Snape was in his classroom, surrounded by the cauldrons of potion his seventh years had brewed in the last two hours. The class Miss Green would have been in, were she not bedridden.
Most of the cauldrons contained concoctions decidedly not Amortentia, giving off unpleasant odours ranging from burnt toast to dragon dung.
Only from the single perfect batch in the back of the classroom drifted the faint scent of meadowgrass, old books, the sea; and Mrs. Evans' rose perfume, which Lily had worn on the Hogwarts Express long ago, and extended her narrow wrist for 'Sev' to smell.
Her voice had yet to make a comforting appearance that day, its functions limited by Snape's lack of sleep. After harvesting the Moly from the Forbidden Forest he'd stayed up all night brewing, and hadn't collapsed into bed until five in the morning. There followed two hours of dead sleep, but nothing restorative, and his head had ached all through his first two classes. The pain was just beginning to ease when Minerva knocked on the door.
"What is it," he snapped, a step beyond his usual crisp enter.
Minerva came in and regarded him, sitting at the desk in front of the blackboard, which had yet to be cleared of brewing instructions. Snape looked up at her, then averted his gaze out the window, scowling.
"Miss Green is awake," Minerva said. "If you wish it, this evening you could join me in going to the hospital wing. We could discuss this with her together."
"You're waiting until this evening to tell her?"
"She's already been told."
Snape's stomach turned. "How did she take it."
He remained looking out the window, and Minerva felt slightly disconcerted by his avoidance. She stiffened. "Not well, according to Poppy. But I still think it would be best if you join me."
"I hardly think that seems…"
Minerva waited, but Snape did not continue, and she was left feeling rather insecure. Snape never left sentences unfinished.
She was struggling for something to say when he sighed, resting the weight of his head on his thumb and forefinger, which pinched the top of his nose. "I am sure your presence will be adequate."
Minerva stepped forward, letting the classroom door swing closed. "Severus… At some point, you must meet with her. It would be best… that you meet in private, if for no other reason than to foster some trust between the two of you."
Snape scoffed.
"I want to make it clear," Minerva continued, "that I am not in the least submitting to what Poppy has deemed… possible. But for this process to go smoothly we all need to–"
"There is no possibility," Snape interrupted sharply. "I have brewed a suppressant which I am confident will work. Which is why there is no need to discuss anything."
Minerva's lips pressed together as she recognised the wizard's familiar walls shutting her out. She chose her words wisely, balancing her concern with a tone that was not too gentle–for he was known to dislike gentleness. "Severus. Are you quite alright."
Snape scowled. "I have a headache."
"Have you eaten?"
He turned his sharp black gaze on her again, and conjured a green apple. One bite of it was all he took, the crispness sounding through the stone room, before he tossed the rest into the closest cauldron. The potion reacted and exploded in thick grey smoke.
Minerva shielded her face from the noxious cloud and cleared the air with a hand. Her eyes narrowed. "If you do meet with the girl, you might consider behaving less…"
Snape bared his teeth in a sneer. "Less what?"
Aggressive? Bitter? Cantankerous?
"Less… waspish."
He turned away, muttering bitterly. "Better to remain so and scare her away."
Fear struck Minerva to the heart. Snape at his worst had the potential to drive professors out of Hogwarts at a hurried pace. Miss Green would certainly not be immune. "Oh, no, Severus. You mustn't do that. You must be cooperative. Just… treat her no differently than before. Be her professor. Until we've found a solution."
Snape grunted, staring out the window, repelling her with the anger that radiated from his black-robed frame.
Minerva shook her head. "The offer still stands for you to join me this evening. I will go after dinner at eight o'clock. This ordeal will become more difficult for you the longer you avoid speaking with her."
Snape made no movement or sound to indicate he had heard her.
Minerva turned and left the room without another word, more concerned than she'd been when she arrived.
The door closed and Snape coughed from the smoke. With a wave of his hand he vanished the contents of the cauldrons and rose from his desk, standing by the window.
She's right, you know.
A low growl vibrated in Snape's throat, and he shut his eyes, his jaw tensing.
The voice seemed to fade away as easily as it had come, like a long, thin wave on a sandy beach. Snape lacked the will to respond, besides. But the voice made an impression on him as always, and he let it guide him.
He sighed heavily and looked back at his desk. Of course Minerva was right. It would be nonsensical, if not cruel, to neglect the girl at this time.
Despite his conviction in the presence of the headmistress, he could not be confident in the suppressant he'd brewed until he had tested it on Miss Green. And the knot, which had remained in his stomach ever since reading the accounts of similar cases in the library two nights previous, had only grown tighter.
Snape returned to his desk and dipped his quill in black ink, summoning a slip of parchment.
Green.
Your detentions have been cancelled. Report to my office at eight in the evening on Wednesday. We will discuss your circumstances. The deadline for your essay on Amortentia has been extended to Friday.
He folded the note into a paper aeroplane and tossed it towards the open window.
It flew out to weave around the castle and find its recipient, through the open window of her private room in the hospital wing.
Snape did not appear at lunch, and would remain the rest of the day in the dungeons. Students brave or bored enough to venture into the corridors that night would fear encountering the severe professor for no purpose; he would be pacing his chambers, sleepless as a bat.
Fay's initial reaction to Poppy's news had been shocked silence. Afterward, complete denial.
Poppy asked her questions about her symptoms in the week preceding the transformation, which would help her to 'find a solution.' Fay answered in blunt terms, as though telling a story about an inconsequential character in a boring story that had nothing whatsoever to do with her own life.
Receiving word from Snape hadn't broken through the firm iron gates of her denial. All it had done was make her resolved to finish the Amortentia essay by the initial Wednesday deadline. She wouldn't be taking charity from anyone, least of all him.
She'd requested books from the library, and though Poppy hadn't completely approved of her studying when she could have been resting, she capitulated, and sent for the books.
While waiting for them she fastened Fay's left arm into a white sling, so she wouldn't accidentally use it and cause more damage. The sling felt awkward, strapped around her shoulder, her hand lying there uselessly.
The books arrived and Fay spent the rest of the afternoon with them spread on the bed around her aching body. The notes she'd taken in detention days before were somewhere in her school bag. But she was sure they were gibberish given the state she'd been in, so she started over, writing furiously.
She asked to be let out the following morning to return to her classes, but Poppy insisted on retaining her through Tuesday. "You're young but you still need time to recover. Your health is the priority, dear."
Fay had no appetite at dinnertime, and was certain her teeth would fall out if she tried to chew. Poppy gave her a meal replacement potion but declared she would have to eat solid food starting tomorrow.
McGonagall came at eight o'clock, when the sky was already darkening, full of slate-blue clouds. The wind had grown sharper and the window had been closed. Minerva urged Fay again to reach out to the muggle authorities regarding her home situation, but Fay declined. The headmistress then promised to support her as best she could through everything, and Fay just nodded vaguely, convincing herself that by everything McGonagall only meant her transformations, and Johnny. Not anything else.
After Minerva's departure Poppy confiscated Fay's books for the night, encouraging her to sleep.
Now she sat up alone in the darkness of the room, the wind sighing against the window's diamond panes.
Only now that she was sure she would not be interrupted, and the long night stretched out before her full of loneliness and the plain white sheets, could she let her denial slip a bit.
The problem with Poppy's theory was that it was somewhere between impossible and probable.
It seemed so far-fetched, so absurd. And yet her helpless obsession with Snape in the last week had been quite real; even though it felt like a nightmare now, and Fay didn't feel so much as a tingle (except for a tingle of disgust) when she tried to think of him that way.
She might have tried touching herself now to test it. But the thought of probing that dangerous place between her legs frightened her. She didn't want to touch herself anyway. The arousal was completely gone, and she figured she would take advantage of that for as long as she could.
Besides, her body was all dysregulated after the moon. She wouldn't be able to have an orgasm regardless; there was no energy left to go into it.
Fay sat up for a long time. Snape's note seemed to draw the light of the waning moon, and she had trouble not staring at it. Isolation trickled through her veins, and she had the childish impulse to ring the little bell beside her bed and bring Poppy in. Just to have another person's presence, to comfort her.
But she couldn't show even the slightest sign of weakness. They all thought she was helpless. Damaged. She would have to prove them wrong.
It was still a gesture of weakness, though, when she was forced to take the draught Poppy had left her in order to fall asleep.
Tuesday came and went, and Fay finished her paper. Once it was done there was nothing left to do but sit there, suppressing wave after wave of anxiety.
Finally, before breakfast on Wednesday morning, Poppy released her with reminders to be careful with her arm, and to return daily for more healing potions.
Fay rolled up her essay and crept down the cold staircases to the dungeons.
The unicorn was waiting for her, and its calm grey eyes seemed to know all her darkest fears and secrets as she whispered the password.
Her roommates were still asleep, bedcurtains firmly drawn against the chill, and Fay was quiet as a mouse as she gathered clean clothes from her trunk and stole into the bathroom for a shower. The hot water felt wonderful on her strained muscles, and she clung to the sensation of comfort… of normalcy.
The other girls had woken by the time she emerged, and they promptly turned to stare at her when she appeared in the steamy doorway.
Ruby Burke looked down her nose at Fay, her lip twitching in unmitigated disapproval. "Where have you been?"
Sadie's face was filled with genuine concern, and she stepped closer, her hand pressed to her chest. "We were so worried! You just disappeared… What happened to your arm?"
"I had dragon pox," Fay said, the lie slipping off her tongue with a bitter taste. "It had a weird effect on my arm, I guess, and I can't use it for a couple of days."
Isobel furrowed her raven-dark eyebrows. "I've never heard of dragon pox doing that."
Fay shrugged. "Pomfrey said it was a bad case."
"Well." Fay's eyes were drawn to Lucy Malfoy, where she stood before the vanity in her pale blue dressing gown, staring into the mirror. "Green, you've missed the most exciting news…"
From that point on the main topic of conversation shifted from Fay's convalescence to the Shakespeare plays, and Fay was grateful for the lack of attention–though Sadie kept casting her long looks of worry.
By breakfast time the appetite loss from the pain potions had subsided, and Fay felt like she could eat a Hippogriff. The high table was free of the pitch-black presence of the head of Slytherin, so there was nothing to prevent her from gorging herself on the eggs and potatoes without a speck of manners.
Lucy was so distracted by her own monologuing that she didn't mention, as she otherwise would have, that Dennis Creevey was fairly staring holes through the back of Fay's head from the Gryffindor table.
When the time came to leave the hall, Fay slipped a green apple into each pocket and set off to History of Magic.
Her sudden surge of energy didn't erase the underlying exhaustion, and it was difficult to climb the stairs with her achy joints. But her focus had improved, and she took a sharp interest in her studies as she had always done before that summer. The last week had been a fluke, and now she was back to her usual self.
She put an unwarranted amount of focus on Binns's droning voice, taking vigorous notes. The queasiness in her belly was easily dismissed as an aftereffect of the transformation and her hasty eating at breakfast, as the two hours drained away… at the end of which would be Potions.
In the queue outside the classroom door, Fay smelled Dennis–peppermint and rosemary–and schooled her face into a mask of innocent obliviousness as he approached.
The young man looked at her silently for some time, and a helpless blush entered his cheeks when he recalled how her lips had crushed against his own. Then he spoke, holding his copy of Advanced Potion Making like a shield between the young witch and his racing heart.
"Hiya, Fay."
"Hello," Fay responded.
"I tried to come and see you but they said you were ill."
Fay nodded, still staring ahead.
Dennis felt his palms getting sweaty, and glanced down at her sling. "Are you feeling better?"
"Yes, thank you."
Dennis was a deep-feeling and sensitive young man. And though he was thrilled to have received the hint (declaration complete with fanfare, more like!) that his best friend, and hopeless crush since fifth year, returned his feelings… he also understood the significant complication of Fay's horrific summer, and was sure she would be reluctant to address what had happened between them outside Hogsmeade on Saturday.
The thought of her bastard stepfather filled him with anger.
But that kiss…
He needed to be patient, and take his time. Which he had no qualms about doing, if it meant that, in the end, she would be his. Which, to his mind, meant holding her hand on walks, kissing once in a while, and maybe someday, far in the future…
He stepped slightly closer to her, and when her eyes flickered up to his, hazel with breathtaking flecks of green, his pulse throbbed to the tips of his fingers. "I can catch you up on what we did in Defence yesterday. If you want to… go to the library later?"
Fay parted her lips slightly, casting about desperately for something to say as the sound of his heartbeat flooded her ears.
Then the classroom door flew open and any talk abruptly ceased as the students filed in.
Snape stood at the front of the classroom, black eyes glaring coldly, hands clasped behind his back. The moment the seventh-years had taken their seats, he summoned the vials from yesterday's class and commenced a withering interrogation of those students responsible for the failed potions.
As she'd been absent, Fay busied herself with taking notes, head bowed over the parchment. Very cautiously, she drew in a slow, deep breath.
Snape's scent was still prominent above the others in the room. Though she couldn't ignore it, it didn't inspire arousal… or any overwhelming sensation of any kind. She couldn't imagine that she'd ever masturbated to the fantasy of his fingers as she watched him deliver scathing criticism to each pair in turn, his face set in a sharp featured scowl. There was nothing swoon worthy about Snape. Poppy was wrong.
Still, Fay avoided raising her hand even for questions she knew the answers to from her thorough research. And she was relieved when the class ended without Snape having looked her way once.
As the class was dismissed and the students began to pack up their things, Fay considered turning in her essay. But above all she needed to escape Dennis, who was staring at her again. So she left the paper in her bag, and hurriedly left the classroom. She would give it to Snape when they had their meeting later.
Care of Magical Creatures was Fay's only afternoon class. She planned to spend the rest of the time burying her worries in her studies, but Lucy cajoled her into joining her and Isobel by the Black Lake to enjoy the beautiful day. "If you must read, at least do it outside!"
The only other people by the lake were a couple of seventh year Ravenclaw boys, and Professor Longbottom, wading around in wellington boots in the shady shallows, picking up little pieces of green slime. Lucy chose a spot under some rustling birch trees and transfigured a handkerchief into a blanket so they wouldn't have to sit on the grass. It was only large enough for two people and Fay, knowing where she ranked, settled for the cool earth at the foot of the trunk. She didn't mind it, anyway.
She ate her last apple while looking out at the lake. The giant squid was skimming just below the surface way out there, making the water shine white in the cool sun.
It really was a pretty day. The trees surrounding the lake were beginning to change colour and the sky was blue, with clouds crossing it rapidly. The wind was quick in the sky, but near the ground it was no more than a light breeze.
Fay let herself forget everything, closing her eyes and taking in the scent of the forest, the air, the water.
"He's so romantic!"
Fay cracked an eyelid and peered out at Lucy, who was staring down at a piece of parchment. Probably a love letter.
"Who?" Fay asked, humouring her. "Zabini?"
Lucy stuck her chin up haughtily. "No, silly. Shakespeare."
She then cleared her throat, and Fay could tell from the tolerant expression on Isobel's face that she had already heard Lucy read out whatever was written on the paper multiple times since the announcement yesterday.
Fay listened as Lucy gave voice to Ophelia's famous lamentation of the madness of Prince Hamlet, whom she loved.
Lucy read well, but when it came to the end she seemed to give over to her flair for the dramatic, and Fay was reminded of a bad film she'd seen once at the muggle cinema in Hull. "Oh, woe is me! To have seen what I have seen! See what I seeee!"
Lucy held her pose for a moment, eyes actually a bit misty, then sighed and folded the paper away. "I am going to play her," she declared. "Ophelia."
"I'm sure you are," Isobel said with sycophantic sincerity, luckily exempting Fay from making any such statement.
"Blaise is auditioning for Hamlet," Lucy added, dreamily. "I can't wait for next Saturday!"
She sighed again, and looked over at Fay as though she were a set of china Lucy had forgotten she owned.
"You should audition, Green. I've read the whole play already… maybe you could be one of the troupe of actors that come to Prince Hamlet's palace. They don't have many lines, but you'd like that, wouldn't you?"
Fay sat silently on her bitterness. She knew Lucy hadn't meant to be offensive–she never seemed to mean to–but Fay decided all the same that, just for that, she would audition. Even if she loathed the thought of being watched in any capacity, and would be bollocks at acting anyway.
At five o'clock Fay went into the castle, to get some reading done before dinner. Her first stop upon entering the library was the table in the centre of the study area, which was clearly dedicated to the Shakespeare plays.
There was a heavy, leather-bound Collected Works in the middle of the table, currently open to a scene in Romeo and Juliet. Piles of speeches sat around it, labelled for girls and boys according to their year group.
A trio of younger girls were gathered around the Midsummer Night's Dream pile, whispering together under Madam Pince's watchful eye.
Under Hamlet for the sixth and seventh years, the only options were Lucy's Ophelia speech for the girls, or a speech of Hamlet's for the boys. Fay took one from the girls' pile and folded it, sticking it into her pocket for later. Then she made for the shelves, in search of a book on Troll treaties that Binns had recommended that morning.
She had just spotted it when she noticed Dennis in her peripheral vision, sitting at one of the small tables against the shelves and writing by lamplight. She tensed and promptly turned around without the book, creeping towards the end of the row. But the Gryffindor looked up at the wrong time, and she cringed when he called her name.
She should have known he would have been here, hoping she might show up after his offer before Potions to help her with Defence.
"What you looking for?" Dennis asked, standing and putting his hands in his pockets.
"Just this book for History of Magic, it doesn't matter…"
She was about to turn and go, but Dennis stopped her. If the death of his brother Colin had taught him anything it was not to let opportunities slip by, not to give the fates too many chances to trick him into living a life of regret.
"Sit down for a minute," he said. "I'll tell you about the Defence lesson."
Fay lingered. It wasn't as though Dennis was suddenly some stranger after what had happened. He was still her closest friend. She only hoped that he was as eager to forget all about Saturday as she was. Besides, she did need some help with the lessons she had missed.
"Okay," she said, letting her shoulders relax. "Thanks."
Dennis pulled out the chair next to his and she sat down, self consciously brushing her hair over the shoulder where her bite mark was, even though it was well concealed beneath her turtleneck.
Dennis swallowed and tried to keep his voice level as he began.
"...Snape had better not mark you down for being absent if you were sick," he muttered, once he had summarised Slughorn's lesson on Bombarda Maxima.
"He had me write an essay instead."
Dennis raised his eyebrows. Only for a model Slytherin student like Fay would Snape ever offer an alternative assignment. "Oh. That's good. But I guess you missed out on the practical aspect… I mean, you won't know what yours smells like."
Fay shrugged. "I don't really mind."
"Snape had me partner with Peters and Garret in a group of three. Our cauldron was a complete mess, but Amott and Bartlett got it right, and Snape had us all queue up to take a sniff…"
He may have been a Gryffindor, but Dennis felt his fingers tingling with anxiety as he veered the conversation in a bold direction. Though his heart hammered, he spoke looking right into her eyes.
"Mine smelt like daffodils and burning wood… and pumpkin pasties."
His tone was heavy with implication, and Fay inhaled shakily. It had been a tradition of theirs to share pumpkin pasties on the train every first of September, since they'd first met.
Fay felt cold. "Dennis–"
"I like you."
The confession was immediately followed by a holding of breath, and the boy's head sank down onto his hand in a moment of disbelief before he looked at her again. "Fay, I really like you. Not just as my friend. Not anymore."
Fay was silent, staring at him with eyes unmoving.
"Y-you don't have to answer," he stammered. "Or… Or talk about it, but I really do feel… that way… and, I think you should know that Saturday… was my first kiss. And it was… really good. I mean, you're a good kisser. I think."
He averted his eyes, blushing to the ears.
Fay felt as though she'd committed a terrible crime. Her shoulders were shivering. "Dennis, I'm really not–"
Dennis noticed her trembling and his eyes darkened with concern. "Are you cold? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, I just… I'm a bit of a wreck at the minute."
"No. No, you're not. You're brilliant. Smart and strong and funny, and… I really care about you."
Fay hugged herself and looked away from the overwhelming warmth in his eyes. Guilt pooled in Dennis's stomach, and he lowered his voice even more. "I know what you went through. And I want you to know that I don't need anything like… like that. All I want is to be closer to you. And maybe…" he blushed once more, and continued in a near-whisper. "Maybe a kiss, once in a blue moon."
Fay grimaced. She couldn't help wondering, for the umpteenth time, whether he would be treating her as he was if he knew the real reason she'd been in the hospital wing all weekend.
Dennis stared at her urgently, searching her for any reaction. He didn't know what to make of it. That kiss had been… breathtaking. He'd been sure she felt the same and would be, if not as enthusiastic as he was, at least more receptive than this. Had he read into the wrong signs?
His heart sank. "Or we can continue as friends and we'll just forget all about it."
But Fay knew from the poorly buried devastation in his tone that to 'continue as friends' would be impossible. If she rejected him, he would be embarrassed beyond repair. He might never see her as his friend again anyway, and he might even come to hate her for taking his first kiss and then turning her back.
There may have been a time when she felt something for Dennis. But whatever potential had existed before that summer had been ruined by the attack and the abuse. Fay would never be with anyone now, not really, not long-term, and she knew it. She'd never been like Lucy, dreaming aloud of a knight in shining armour. She'd always seen a romantic partnership as something that might someday befall her by accident, and would probably be a curse before it became a blessing. Then Johnny had crashed into her life, and she'd developed a strong aversion to the whole idea.
However…
What she had gone through, as Dennis had put it, didn't prevent her from longing for security. A sense of protection, and togetherness with another person. Dennis was so warm, so comforting. His presence was a breath of fresh air after Lucy and her grovelling crew, and Fay was desperate to keep his friendship. She trusted him, and wasn't it about time she was with someone? Other than her rapist stepfather? Properly?
Her heart warned her against it, but when Fay Green made a decision, not even she could stop herself from going through with it.
She looked at her friend of eight years, mustered a very small, weak smile, and said, "Yes."
Dennis's soft brown eyes widened hopefully. "Yes, you'll…"
The smile lingering on her lips, she nodded.
Dennis let out a breath of relief and joy. "May I hold your hand?"
She nodded.
He subtly wiped his hand dry, for it had been sweating, and took hers very gently. The happiness radiated from him and he beamed at her like the sun.
Dennis interpreted Fay's turning her face away as shyness, not what it really was: shame.
At eight o'clock Fay walked down the cold stairs to Snape's office and knocked on the door.
"Enter."
The door opened with a low creak, and for the first time she noticed how odd it was that it hadn't been fixed with an oiling charm.
Snape sat behind his desk, his hands steepled in front of him, the light from the fire flickering across his pale skin.
Fay glanced at him once, then looked away. "Why don't you fix the door, professor?" she said, as she closed it behind her.
Snape's eyebrows pinched together. It dawned on him that, other than the notable impression her talent at potions had made upon him, he really knew nothing about her. Of course he didn't. Why would he know–or care to know–anything beyond the bare minimum about a student?
"The sound exposes intruders," he explained. "Sit."
Fay approached his desk and held her essay out to him. She remained standing as he took it.
"Sit down, Green."
She sat.
Snape directed his icy stare at the leaves of parchment. "I believe I gave you an extension."
"I didn't need it."
Her voice had dropped lower, perhaps from nerves or lingering bodily weakness. Perhaps as a defence mechanism. Snape set the essay aside and interlaced his fingers. "That remains to be seen."
A silent moment passed, and Fay sat very straight and still in the uncomfortable chair. Snape's gaze dropped to her sling. "What caused that."
"Pinched nerves. No, crushed. Crushed nerves."
Snape's face remained still. Not even a lifted eyebrow. "That will inconvenience you in tomorrow's lesson."
What was she supposed to say to that? Of course it would, but it wasn't as though she had chosen to transform into a werewolf and mess up her arm whilst doing it!
Fay had come here with a cold wall firmly built around her. It helped that she had Dennis now, his affection surrounding her like a shield, keeping out all that had happened in the past week.
But it had been much easier to imagine sitting across from Snape's austere person than it was to do so in reality.
She couldn't forget how she had fainted in this very room–on more than one occasion. The last thing she could remember before waking in her wolf form was Snape giving her the suppressant, and how it had made her want to tear his throat out and swallow his pulse whole.
"I believe you left a bar of chocolate on my desk when you were here last."
Fay's opinion of her head of house had changed many times over the years. At first, when she'd been young, he'd been a frightening man, looming over her small form and her luckily adequate cauldron. When she'd grown slightly older he'd become a bit less threatening, because she happened to have fallen into his favour, and there had grown in her a secret urge to please and impress him. Then he had become dangerous and terrifying as a powerful Death Eater and seemingly tyrannical headmaster. Quite quickly afterward the whole Wizarding world's perspective of Severus Snape had been turned on its head by the revelation that he had been fighting in secret for Dumbledore's side all along.
Snape had been many things to Fay Green, but at this moment she wasn't sure what he was. This stoic man asking her about the chocolate she'd left on his desk didn't fit under any of the definitions she'd once contrived for him.
But she kept her conflicting thoughts and memories hidden as she remained silent, reflecting his cold exterior.
Snape subtly uncurled one finger, and a bar of Honeydukes chocolate appeared on the desk in front of Fay. An exact replication of the one she'd brought, but clearly not the same one. She remembered the sight of the sticky, melted chocolate when she'd pulled aside the red wrapping paper. How it had made her nauseous. This was a perfectly wrapped bar of chocolate, like new.
Snape stared at her. "I vanished yours."
Fay furrowed her eyebrows as she realised he was offering it to her as a replacement.
If his question about the chocolate had been confusing, this gesture was a shock.
The idea of Snape giving her anything rubbed her wrong. If she wasn't going to accept an extension, she certainly wasn't going to accept this.
"Thanks, but I don't need it. Sir."
With a flick of his hand the peace offering vanished, and now the cold control in Snape's face gave way to annoyance.
"Miss Green, there is no cause for anxiety. I am obviously not going to have sex with you."
"I'm not anxious," she lied.
Underneath her cool facade was a writhing mess of nerves that would have put a sun-soaked Devil's Snare to shame.
Not only had the word sex come out of Snape's mouth, but it had come out so silkily that Fay began to doubt, for the first time, that he lived like a monk.
Pomfrey suggesting that the wolf required Snape to sate its sexual appetite was one thing if he was a celibate person. But Snape had said sex as though he'd had plenty of it, and she was far beneath his standards.
On her next inhale she subconsciously tried to detect the traces of another person in his scent, but came up with nothing. Only now there was an undercurrent to his scent she hadn't noticed before. A masculine musk that spoke of undeniable sexual power.
Fay was glad the firelight hid the colour of her face, for at that moment a heavy blush rose to her cheeks, and the shame she felt over the response bred even more redness.
The blush was not a product of some girlish embarrassment or a momentary fantasy. There was no room for those in her mind or body anymore–except, evidently, in the days leading up to the full moon.
Then, Snape's words might have induced a flood of arousal in her knickers.
Now they made her want to run from the room.
The thought of being alone with an older man who was capable of doing what her stepfather had done to her, on the most basic physical level, made her heart pound and her palms grow instantly clammy. The only thing that kept her in her chair was what he had said.
'I am not going to have sex with you.'
She prayed to Merlin that would be the case.
Snape sat rigidly in his chair, his fingers still steepled in front of him. He knew what lay beyond her still and silent walls, but he wasn't about to peer over them. Not for her sake, but because he had no desire to see. It suited him well to have this conversation with a detached person, rather than an overtly frightened one.
"I will ask you the obvious question. Have you put Poppy's theory to the test?"
Fay was at risk of crying as she realised he was asking if she'd tried to have an orgasm. She shook her head, for she was sure if she spoke her voice would shake and betray her.
Snape's jaw tensed in further annoyance. "Do so. It will benefit all involved. Hopefully we are losing sleep for no purpose. Only then will we be certain."
Fay remained silent.
Snape paused and regarded her closely.
"Is my scent having any particular effect on you at this moment?"
Her eyes widened slightly, but she shook her head.
"Describe it," Snape commanded.
"The… the scent?" Her voice trembled, and her cover was quite thoroughly shattered.
Snape frowned. "Obviously."
"...why?"
"Because I am curious."
She could see the impatience in his sharp black eyes, and knew he would not cease the line of questioning. So Fay answered, looking into her lap as though confessing a shameful secret. Which, in a way, she was.
"Leather shoes… books… ink. And… rum, maybe."
Snape was silent for a while, considering it, making no comment.
Then he stood quite suddenly, and swept around the desk, approaching a black cabinet by the door to the small brewing room. "I have made something for you to try."
Fay clasped her hands tightly as Snape picked up a small pear-shaped bottle of midnight-blue potion, trying with all her might to recover some semblance of control.
Snape uncorked the bottle and handed it to the girl. A strong scent of something onion-like rose from the opening.
"I trust it will prove an improvement from… the last attempt."
Fay eyed it dubiously, but there was really no other choice, and she downed it in two bitter swallows. Snape watched her intensely, waiting for any effect.
Her face went suddenly pale, so pale it was nearly grey, and she pressed a quivering hand to her stomach. Snape summoned a bucket and thrust it into her hands. She grabbed it, and promptly bent her head to vomit.
It was an awful feeling, but more awful than usual because Snape was watching.
The sound of her groan echoed against the tin. "Sorry."
"A natural reaction," Snape said dismissively, though his face was twisted in a scowl of frustration.
She lifted her head enough to glare at him, wrinkling her nose at the foul stench of her own sick. "You knew this would happen?"
"There was a risk of it, it contains a bulb of amaryllis belladonna. Are you finished?"
Fay nodded miserably. Though her stomach still ached, and her throat felt as though fire had been forced through it, she could feel no threat of more retching. Snape vanished the vomit and sent the bucket away. Then he handed her a common anti-nausea draught and she took it.
"What was that supposed to do?" Fay asked, after she'd swallowed wincingly.
"To erase my scent to you completely. Had it succeeded, you would not have been sick."
Fay frowned and looked at her lap, holding back tears. What was so wrong with her that things had to be removed from her, like squares ripped out of a quilt? Her wand robbed of the ability to cast sectumsempra. Her nose robbed of its ability to smell Snape.
Anger rolled off of him in dark waves as he returned to his chair and sat. "I will try something else. You may go."
Fay couldn't help feeling that the anger was directed at her, and after the mortifying vomiting episode she was all too eager to escape Snape's presence.
She stood and went directly to the door, and she was twisting the doorknob when her essay caught Snape's eye and his voice stopped her. "Why did you not make use of the extension."
Fay was already half-way out the door, and stared at him from behind the shield of the ancient wood.
His black eyes bored into hers, demanding an answer. At least this one answer.
Fay took an uncertain breath, and found herself saying the only honest thing she'd said all evening.
"I want to be treated like everyone else."
Empathy inflicted its uncomfortable pinch, deep in Snape's stomach, and his eyes darkened.
"You are not like everyone else," he snapped.
Then he snatched her essay from the edge of the desk and looked down at it, and Fay slipped from the room, leaving the door to creak closed behind her.
As she walked up the stairs to the entrance hall, and down the stairs to the Slytherin dormitory, a creeping, gnawing sense of wrongness pervaded Fay's body. The insecurity and anxiety she'd been suppressing emerged from their hiding places. And there was something more. She felt she had disappointed Snape, and that knowledge made her extremely depressed.
She dragged her feet down the seventh-year corridor at the bottom of the cold spiral staircase.
Lucy was rehearsing her speech again, seeming to condone the playing of Isobel's Vsevolod Velimirovich record now that it was being put to use as morose background music.
Slightly exaggerating her mounting headache, Fay disappeared inside her four-poster without being pestered, and cast a spell to shroud herself in lonely silence.
Snape's annoyance at her failure to do the obvious by masturbating came back to haunt her after three sleepless hours.
She numbly opened her legs enough for her hand and touched a finger to her dry labia.
Her finger felt cold and she withdrew it and lay on her side. Even if it made her feel inexplicably guilty to avoid doing something Snape had so clearly directed her to do, the simple fact was that she didn't want to, and so she didn't.
Fay stared at the dark green velvet of the bedcurtains and silent tears rolled down her nose. It was a long time before she drifted into an uneasy sleep.
At lunch on Thursday, Fay entered the Great Hall hand in hand with Dennis Creevey.
She'd expected it to be rather more difficult, but had discovered when he'd found her in the Charms corridor and taken her hand that all she had to be was a bit more passive than she usually was. Which wasn't a struggle, as all she seemed to want recently was for someone to take control of her life and steer it for her.
Lucy and the others stared, as though Fay had just tamed a Chimaera.
Lucy looked archly at Isobel. "See? They are."
Sadie was confused and crestfallen, but hid her feelings when Fay joined them at the Slytherin table.
Yet again, the staff table was missing one head of house.
Fay recalled how he had mentioned 'losing sleep' over the most pressing problem posed by her condition, and wondered if he'd meant it literally. The possibility made her guilty, but also filled her with a different feeling that she couldn't define. All she knew was that it made her uncertain and uncomfortable, so she ignored it.
In Potions they brewed an antiseptic. Fay's arm prevented her from being much help on the manual side of things, but her mind was sharper than it had been since the first day of term. Dennis did his best to follow her instructions, and by the end of the class they'd managed a perfect potion.
She hoped Snape might give his approval. But all he did when he looked down his nose into their cauldron was to give a silent nod and move on to the next.
After class she let Dennis lead her into the Transfiguration courtyard and they sat together under the large oak tree.
"Gryffindor's having a party tomorrow night," he told her.
Fay lifted her eyebrows. "Have you forgotten you're a Prefect?"
Dennis gave a rather cheeky smile. "I just thought… if you wanted to come…"
"Tsk. Inviting a snake into the lions' den and all."
His face became suddenly firm. "I don't see you that way and you know it."
Fay directed her gaze across the courtyard. She'd certainly lived up to the nastiest of Slytherin stereotypes by manipulating him as she had.
Dennis gently took her hand, trying to bring her wayward attention back to him. "If you want to do something more peaceful we could. I'd just like to spend some time with you."
Normally she'd have declined to go to any party. Fay always went to her room when there were parties in the Slytherin common room, and avoided drinking. But she was willing to do anything to stay away from Lucy and her ceaseless I-told-you-so's… and taking her mind off things didn't sound like a bad idea.
Maybe she could get drunk enough to touch herself, or to let Dennis touch her. That would prove Madam Pomfrey and Snape and McGonagall wrong. Prove that she didn't need anything from them.
"I'll go with you," she said.
She realised she was quite attracted to the rule-breaking part of it, too.
Who was she becoming?
"I refuse to let her in unless she stops her ears!"
The Fat Lady's exclamation was made in such a high pitch that it shouldn't have been audible to humans. This overdramatic, pink-robed lady with a piping voice posed such a contrast to the silent guardian of the Slytherin dormitory that Fay couldn't help staring at her the way Snape stared at his specimens.
Dennis turned to Fay apologetically, and she stuck her fingers in her ears while he said the password.
The Fat Lady narrowed her eyes at Fay in a suspicious glare, but in the end the portrait swung open to reveal the chaos that was the Gryffindor common room.
Fay had never been there, but the difference between the Slytherin and Gryffindor common rooms was just as stark as the difference between the entities that guarded their entrances. The warm-hued tapestries protecting from drafts and the cosy-looking armchairs were a complete contrast to the frigid stone walls and black leather sofas in Slytherin. As Dennis led her through the portrait-hole and onto the red artisan rug, she might as well have been entering another dimension.
Perfect.
Fay, foreign to party culture and not one for showing skin, had selected her plain black turtleneck and some dark blue trousers. Despite the gloomy colour scheme there was nothing in her attire to mark her distinctly as a Slytherin, and most of the Gryffindors were too busy getting plastered and dancing badly to the loud music to notice the intruder.
Only once Dennis had pulled her deeper into the room was she sniffed out.
"Oi! Creevey!"
The voice just managed to break through the music, which was making Fay's eardrums vibrate something wonderful. She'd realised, once getting over the volume, that it was The Verve's Northern Soul album, and was relieved to learn that someone in this school had good taste in muggle music.
The owner of the voice swam through the crowd and came to stand in front of the unlikely pair, a beer in his hand. He had curly honey hair and a strong jawline, and just oozed Quidditch player.
Fay didn't recognise him, but when he introduced himself, suavely, as "Ephraim Zinn," she recognised the name she'd heard shouted from the Gryffindor Quidditch stands in years past. A chaser. His body had matured in a way Dennis's hadn't, and though Dennis seemed to falter slightly in his presence, Fay stood closer to the slimmer boy, making her favour clear. She couldn't quite untangle the scents of multiple girls that mingled over Zinn's general odour of beer and chips.
"What do you think you're doing with a Slytherin in here?"
Another boy slung an arm around Zinn's neck. "Creevey's Prefect, he can do what he wants. And you owe him, Effie. We all do."
Ephraim gritted his teeth in response to the very unfortunate nickname, and Fay smirked.
"I'm Jack," the other boy said, extending his hand. He had lank curtains of brown hair, and quite a few acne scars on his forehead and nose.
"Someone should report you, Creevey," Zinn sneered.
"The only Prefect to ever shut down a party was Percy Weasley," Jack said. "Creevey's… a Creevey. Come on, let me show you to the drinks."
Dennis took Fay's hand and they both followed Jack eagerly. "Sorry about him," he said to Fay, once they were out of earshot of Zinn. "Can be a right arse."
They finished shouldering their way through the crowd–something about the cacophony of scents was thrilling to Fay rather than overstimulating–and Jack gestured grandly to the table of alcohol. "Here we are…"
By then a few whispers had erupted underneath the loud talk, and eyes were directed at Fay. Jack, though, was completely at ease. He picked up a beer and examined it before offering it to the outsider.
"Oh…" she said. "I don't, really…"
Jack raised his eyebrows and smirked. "Right. Everyone knows Slytherins can't hold their liquor."
Clearly he'd spoken in jest, but Fay narrowed her eyes, eliciting a chorus of oohs from the small group of onlookers.
A boy with spiky black hair stood behind the table acting as bartender, and with a grin on his face he offered Fay something algae-green in a thick glass pint mug. High on the adrenalin of being challenged, Fay took it. It smelled sharp and extremely strong.
Dennis squeezed her arm. "You sure you'll be okay with that?"
She nodded, even though she had no idea what it was, her eyes fixed on Jack, who had crossed his arms. The only thing she cared about now was impressing the people watching and waiting to see if she would drink the concoction.
Fay drank the whole thing down, the taste lost under the flames the alcohol sent racing through her body. Jack went bright-eyed with surprise, and the Gryffindors nearby cheered as Fay slammed the empty glass down rather too hard on the table.
"Found yourself a good one, Creevey," the black-haired boy said. And Fay, who normally would have reserved a particular kind of irritable scowl for such a remark, barely even heard it.
An hour passed, and Fay was dancing. She'd never had a reason to dance before, except in the privacy of her bedroom in her mother's house, before Johnny came. But she wasn't thinking about him now. She wasn't thinking about anything except the music and the wild hot feeling inside her.
Dennis had stayed by her, increasingly more worried, and finally managed to coax her away from the centre of the room, tentatively touching your shoulders. "You should be more careful with your arm!" he shouted, over the music.
"Feels… fine," she slurred. There had been a few more drinks along the way. People had handed her things, and she'd taken them–how simple!–but her small and inexperienced body wasn't handling it too well.
She laughed loudly for no reason. "I've never been like this before!" she exclaimed, as Dennis led her to the cool area of the steps to the dormitories. He had to help her sit, and she couldn't seem to stay still, body careening, limbs swaying heavily.
A couple was snogging a bit further up the stairs. When Fay and Dennis sat down, the girl giggled, and they disappeared around the shadowy corner towards the boys' dormitory.
"Yours are up-stairs," Fay noted. "That's weird."
To Dennis she might as well have been speaking a foreign language.
A girl nearby was securing something to the tapestry on the wall with a messy sticking charm, and held up one of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes fake noses in the air, proclaiming "PIN THE NOSE ON THE DUNGEON BAT!"
Had she had the wherewithal to identify her emotions, Fay would have been confused as to why defensiveness was her first reaction to the sight of the cartoonish sketch of Snape's face. As it was, the strong feeling quickly subsided, and it all just seemed hilarious.
Laughter spilled from her. "Dennis…" she began, her voice low as she smirked. "What d'you think Snape's cock looks like? I mean, he's got such a massive nose…"
Dennis cringed and looked at her with concern. Fay never talked about those things. The alcohol had loosened her up too much and he was sure this was her trauma talking. Anger and pity twisted around his heart.
"Fay…"
"Hmm?"
"Have you ever been… like this before?"
Fay furrowed her eyebrows. "Yeah, loads of times."
But it was clear she was lying.
Dennis shook his head. "This was a bad idea." He had got into drinking over the summer because of Colin, and then the bad news in Fay's letters and her refusal to come and stay at his parents' house. But it hadn't helped. He should have known this was the wrong thing to do, bringing her here.
"I should take you somewhere else," he said.
Fay shook her head no. "I want to stay here with you," she whined. "Didn't you want to kiss me?"
Dennis blushed. "No… Not like this."
"You're really nice," Fay murmured, sliding her hand over his knee. "Just a… nice person…"
She fumbled with his shirt and pressed a sloppy open-mouthed kiss on the tightened corner of his lips. He tried to stop her halfheartedly, but relented in the end, softly brushing her lips with his, her panting breath blowing over his chin. His hand rested chastely on her side and he mostly kept still as she did what he hoped she needed and wouldn't regret later—if she even remembered it. His heart was racing and the feeling of her right there, so warm, her lips and her tongue so soft and wet, was completely intoxicating.
But beneath everything she did was a faint scent of damage and decay, and he knew he shouldn't have been letting her kiss him.
The guilt was becoming nearly too much for Dennis, and he was preparing to guide her off of him, when Fay started shivering. She moaned and pulled away, and her head sank into her hand. Her teeth were chattering. "Unh… I don't… feel well…"
He put a careful hand on her upper back, and found the black fabric of her shirt to be damp with sweat. She was feverish, burning up. Something was wrong and he needed to get her out of there now.
Without a second thought, he lifted her (she was quite light, and though Dennis was not muscular like Ephraim Zinn, he had muscles fit for use), and he carried her around the edge of the common room and out the portrait hole.
The corridor had gone very dark, lit only by a lone torch in a sconce on the wall. Fay pushed on his shoulder. "Put me down…" she groaned.
Dennis obeyed and kept her upright with an arm encircling her waist. She wasn't looking good, and she kept moaning in some combination of disorientation and pain. "It's okay," he cooed.
He knew he'd made a mistake, and by bringing Fay to Madam Pomfrey he would have to admit it. But his sense of justice was strong enough that he understood when he himself was deserving of punishment, so he helped her along towards the hospital wing without hesitation.
Dennis was struggling to help her up the final flight of stone stairs when Snape appeared out of the shadows.
"Mr. Creevey," he said, in what could have been called a snarl. He'd quickly assessed the situation, and any Gryffindor out of bed so late with a thoroughly inebriated member of his house was due for serious punishment.
Dennis was certain Snape was about to begin a full-length interrogation, but after a closer look at Fay the professor seemed to decide there was no time to waste in getting her upstairs.
Snape cast a wordless spell that made Fay hover off the ground, and glared daggers at the boy. "Your assistance is no longer needed," he hissed, and started up the stairs with the small Slytherin in tow.
Dennis hesitated for a moment on the stairs before going after him. He would stay by Fay as long as possible, and though Snape certainly heard his footsteps behind him, he didn't turn his head.
Poppy emerged from her office in a sleeping cap, a dressing gown pulled over her pinstripe pyjamas.
Snape set Miss Green down on the bed at the end of the room, a good distance from a young Hufflepuff boy recovering from a trick laughing potion, who now and then chuckled softly in his sleep. Fay was still conscious, and had barred her good arm across her chest as her teeth chattered, her face flushed with fever.
"Explain," Poppy said to Dennis, her voice strict but not unkind.
Dennis was resolved to tell the truth, and stood confidently in the knowledge that had done wrong. His voice was clear, but wavered slightly with guilt as Fay continued to shiver and sometimes spasm and moan on the small hospital bed. "She was drinking. Someone might have put something in… something. I wasn't really looking."
"An unworthy Prefect and an irresponsible drinking partner," Snape said, his voice as sharp and deft as a blade. "Tell me, Mr. Creevey, did you plan to get my student drunk?"
Dennis bristled. "It wasn't like that!"
"Enough," Poppy said. There was something in her tone that would have made any male, man or boy, fall silent, which they both promptly did.
The Hufflepuff at the other end of the ward gave an unconscious giggle.
Poppy gave Fay a potion, which relieved the effects of the alcohol enough for her to speak sensically. The fog in Fay's brain seemed to clear, though there was still a pain low in her belly, like the worst menstrual cramps of all time. Upon seeing Dennis she remembered what she'd done and was flooded with self-loathing. But even worse was the sight of Snape standing by with his arms crossed, staring down like a gargoyle in the shadows. Fay clenched her eyelids shut.
Poppy asked questions, and Dennis took the lead in confessing what had happened. With a heavy blush and a rather hoarse throat he admitted that they had been kissing when Fay's symptoms had started.
"Thank you, Mr. Creevey," Poppy said, after a moment's thought. "You can go now."
Dennis looked at Fay, hoping she might look back, but she was deliberately keeping her eyes closed as she continued shivering. He reluctantly turned and began the long, shameful walk to the arched doorway. "You will be dealt with later," Snape called after him in a cold promise.
"The kissing might be something," Poppy muttered to herself, once Dennis was gone.
She used her wand to completely extract the alcohol from Fay's system. Still the girl continued to shiver, her face flushed and feverish, twisted in an expression of severe discomfort.
"What are you feeling right now, Miss Green?" Poppy said.
Snape's eyes stared down at the girl on the bed, his face warped by an unusual mix of fury and concern.
Fay gathered her legs towards her chest, wishing she could transform into a ball and roll into some hidden cobwebbed corner, lost. "C-cold and h-hot… h-h-hurts…"
Poppy gave a hum. "Her system wasn't reacting to the alcohol. It may be that she reacts badly to intimacy with anyone other than you."
Snape realised that Poppy was addressing him, and he glared at the mediwitch, resenting her casual way of speaking about the issue, and as though the girl couldn't hear.
Fay had very much heard, and when Snape saw her eyes they were hot with terror. "B-b-bollocks," she shivered.
"Well," Poppy went on, rubbing Fay's arm. "The good news is you can have that sling off now."
Fay jerked away, a low sob coming out of her as she pressed her hand to her belly.
Poppy frowned in sympathy, doing all she could to remain optimistic despite the dreadful situation. "It's very normal to be sensitive after the moon," she said soothingly, again reaching towards Fay's shoulder to help remove the sling.
Fay jerked away again. "She clearly doesn't want to be touched," Snape snapped.
Poppy looked at him, and there was something in her pale blue eyes that made Snape regret his tone. She looked down again, and summoned a vial containing the purple dreamless sleep Snape had brewed that weekend.
"Alright, Miss Green," she said quietly. "You can stay right here until you've slept off the effects. But…" Fay opened her eyes, and there was such sadness in them as the pale moonlight touched her face, that Snape had to glance away. "...but I cannot recommend that you continue any kind of physical relationship with Mr. Creevey."
The sadness turned to anger and Fay bared her teeth in a snarl. "I fucking hate you."
"No, you don't," Poppy said calmly. But Fay frowned at her until the end, even as she submitted to drinking down the potion.
The girl's head fell back on the pillow and Poppy sighed heavily. Even after two wars and decades at St. Mungo's, her empathy had never lessened. And no-one, not even Remus Lupin, had ever tugged at her heartstrings quite as much as Miss Green.
Snape paced in front of his office fireplace.
He knew it had been unfair to accuse Creevey of manipulating Miss Green. It would take a blind mole-rat not to recognise the boy's feelings for her, and Snape had no doubt his intentions had been innocent. But he had been so infuriated by the sight of her, barely able to stand up straight, that his ire had simply sought and found the nearest target.
What shocked Snape was that the girl seemed to have been a willing participant in the drinking and the snogging. After reading her excellent Amortentia paper and seeing her perfect brew in class on Thursday, he'd thought her mind must have returned to its usual sharpness and smooth functioning. Clearly he'd been mistaken. She was not handling her situation well.
Not that Snape was, either.
Heaving a frustrated exhale, he paused, tugging the hair at his scalp.
He had been pale and unwell and frankly riddled with anxiety in the past days. Taking meagre meals in his chambers, delivered by the nervous Hogwarts house elves, he hadn't appeared in the Great Hall once.
He hadn't been like this since the first war, when he was under constant stress over the possibility that Lily might be harmed. And his body didn't appreciate the return to that wound-up feeling.
On his desk lay a long scroll of parchment, covered in the inner workings of potion devising. He had been up nights working on it since the second failure on Wednesday.
Snape was accustomed to experimental potions failing. It was a necessary step of the process of inventing one. But he was unusually impatient with himself this time, as the success or failure of the potion would have a direct and extreme impact on his own life. He had to find a solution, and quickly.
Snape stared down at his work, the thus-far useless calculations and ingredient lists, and had the urge to toss it in the fire and watch it burn.
But sense made him leave it there, untouched.
He slumped into his chair and pressed his forehead into the heel of his hand as the image of Miss Green shivering feverishly on the bed flashed through his mind.
He had been avoiding the reality of the situation, and could procrastinate no longer; for the girl's own safety, and his own sanity.
There was a limit to what he could discover about the details of her condition in books, and clearly no-one at Hogwarts had any clue where to begin in order to help her.
There was nothing else for it. Snape would have to seek out a werewolf.
NOTE
Happy holidays! Reviews make me so happy, if you've got a minute to write a thought or two!
I will try not to go a month without updating again. That was unusual for me. I have another story, EQUAL TO HIS STORMY HEART, and if there's a delay here it's because I'm working on that one.