NOTE

Warning for suicidal thoughts and mentions of rape.

11. a map in the clouds

Snape's hands were shaking.

Fay watched from the back of the classroom as he struggled to write the lesson instructions on the blackboard. After a few seconds he let go of the chalk and flicked his wand so that it wrote by itself.

Everyone else had been busy opening their books to the assigned page. But Fay had seen. And she continued to stare at his unsteady hands as he sat down at his desk.

Serves you right. She aimed the thought at him like a dagger, hoping his Legilimency powers were in use. But he gave no sign of having heard.

A stronger version of herself might have remained in her seat all lesson, staring him down, daring him to tell her to get to work. But Fay, as she was, was not so bold. And the murderous frown on Snape's face, the deep-black-void look in his eyes, inspired her to pick up her copy of Advanced Potion Making and hurry into hiding amongst the cauldrons in the back of the classroom.

That morning, according to the looping cursive on the blackboard, they were brewing the antidote to Veritaserum.

Dennis approached her silently. There was an apprehension in him, and a painful gentleness. Fay saw him watching her while she braided her hair back, as though waiting for verbal permission to partner with her. Just when she was about to ask him what he thought he was looking at he averted his eyes and started measuring the ingredients.

Fay was silently relieved. Despite the chaos of her situation with him, the thought of being without her closest friend was a nightmare. And Merlin knew she didn't need any more of those.

The two hours of brewing were exhausting. By the third step she had eye strain, a budding headache and tired legs. But after her arm being in a sling she felt powerful with both hands at her disposal, and was unwilling to sacrifice even the smallest shard of power she could hold onto. She had something to prove, and was so absorbed in the brewing that as time ticked on she nearly forgot Dennis was there.

When it was done it felt like coming out of a dark forest into bright day. The sounds of other cauldrons gurgling entered her ears, and the flood of scents returned to her—including Snape's. It had no effect on her now, though it remained more prominent than the rest. She'd have taken this as a good sign had McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey not convinced her she would soon be at its mercy again as the next moon drew near.

She held her breath when Snape strode through the room, checking the cauldrons. He peered into theirs for no more than a second before moving on, his face expressionless. He said nothing at the end of class, leaving the students to awkwardly clean up and go to lunch.

"What was wrong with Snape today?" someone said, as they were climbing up the dungeon stairs.

"He's just about to get his period," a laughing voice answered.

As if Fay needed a reminder that her cycle was approaching. Her period was set to start in a week or so and already she was struggling, each minute wading through an emotional quagmire, occasional cramps and bouts of nausea sending her into deep frowning stupors. She hadn't eaten breakfast that morning. The week before had never been fun, but since her turning it had been ten times–

She was yanked out of her thoughts by the feeling of a hand on her arm, firm but not too hard. She gasped and turned, half expecting, in her anxiousness, for the hand to belong to Snape.

But it was Dennis who had grabbed onto her.

"You almost stepped on the trick step," he explained.

Fay looked down to see that, indeed, she'd nearly planted her foot right on the step that was notorious for sinking and enclosing your foot in the stone.

Merlin's sake, where was her mind?

"Thanks," she breathed out, and his hand slipped away.

They both skipped the step, and the silence was awkward because the rest of the class had gone ahead and it was just them as they made their way up the rest of the stairs.

"I know you're not okay right now," Dennis said, as they came into the entrance hall. "I have to admit, I was upset when you said I didn't understand anything…" (Fay winced as her own hurtful words echoed in her mind) "...but I understand. I mean, I'm not angry."

Fay worried her lip between her teeth, watching the younger students flooding down the marble staircase into the great hall for lunch. The coldness of the dungeon swept like a ghostly draft against her back, and it seemed any second Snape might come up the stairs and–

"Let's skip lunch," she said, her own hand closing around Dennis's wrist.

His eyes widened and he looked down at her hand, a slight pinkness in his cheeks.

"Oh… erm… okay?"

"I don't want to go in there. Let's just go outside."

Dennis nodded, and waved his wand to summon a few sandwiches from the great hall. Then they went together out the castle doors and down the grassy slope to the lake.

Dennis watched her hair fluttering in the wind.

Fay had changed. She was more alone inside herself now than she'd ever seemed before. It was hard to get to her. He didn't think he'd seen or made her laugh once since the start of term.

There was the lingering stress of the war, of course. But Dennis could see that the private trauma she'd suffered over the summer had wrought the most damage.

He felt a boiling anger deep in his gut when he imagined her stepfather, a faceless man, an evil man.

He missed his friend. The Fay that had existed when they were both young and unbruised. But they both had wounds now, and all he really wanted was to be together with her. Being with her made him feel warm. Even when she was cold.

It was a cold day, not as nice as it had been on the weekend. There was still some sun though, peeking through the clouds and painting the surface of the lake a dull silver. They went up to the edge of the water, beneath a tree overhanging the shallows. Fay lay on her front with her nose over the edge of the grassy bank, watching the rainbow minnows.

Dennis sat back on his elbows, nibbling a sandwich and staring at her beautiful hair. Achiness flooded his whole body when he remembered the softness of her lips.

"Dennis?"

A blush of guilt crept across his face, and he was glad she wasn't looking at him. "Yeah?"

Fay twirled her fingers through the long grasses at the edge. "Where would you want to go, if you ran away?"

"Ran away?"

"Just, from everything. To start all over. You know, hypothetically."

He smiled, remembering endless afternoons asking each other such questions when they were young. "America. They love our accents there."

"Posh accents," she corrected, with Slytherin archness. "Everyone loves posh accents."

"See, but Americans, they won't tell the difference."

She gave a small chuckle at that–just one chuckle. Not quite a laugh. Not yet.

"Where in America?"

"New York, probably. What about you?"

"What."

"Where'd you go, to start over?"

A sad stillness radiated from her. "I don't know. It's a stupid question."

"No, it isn't." He could feel her slipping away again and stared up at the cloudy sky, inspired. "Here…"

Fay joined him, lying on her back on the grass and looking up.

"This can be our map," he said. "That one's the States–"

Fay scowled. "It doesn't look anything like–"

"But it is. That one's France, that's Greece, Egypt, and–"

"That's enough, I think."

"Now point up."

She did.

"With your eyes closed, silly."

Fay closed her eyes with a heavy sigh.

"Move your finger around," Dennis coaxed.

She did, and after a moment opened her eyes again. Dennis turned his head and gazed at her. "Look at that. We'll go to America together. Walk off to look for America…"

Fay knew the song, Simon and Garfunkel, and despite everything a small smile rose to her face. They hummed it together for a little while, until they stopped.

Birds chirped in the trees, and the clouds that had formed countries reshaped and floated away.

"What do you want to do after school?" Dennis asked.

Dennis had always wanted to be a writer, but Fay had never really had an answer.

"You're amazing at potions," he said, after a silence.

She grunted, her smile melted and gone.

"You're really good at everything, actually. You could probably be an auror."

"I can't be an auror."

"What do you mean? Of course you can. You can be anything."

Fay was silent, and Dennis sensed a deep emotion radiating from her, anger and sadness together. He had a feeling she might cry if he didn't change the topic, and he didn't want her to cry.

"It's only start of term," he said lightly. "Too early to be thinking about that stuff anyway."

"You're the one who brought it up," she said, with a touch of bitterness.

He watched her anxiously as she sat up, hugging her knees to her chest and staring out at the water.

"Fay," he whispered, her unexpressed emotions rolling over him and making his eyes water. "Can I do anything to help?"

She shrugged her small shoulders.

She was so beautiful.

He sat up and put his hand gently on her arm. "I don't know what I can do to help you feel safe."

"I'm fine," she answered absently, still staring at the water. "I feel safe. I'm fine."

"You're not fine. I can tell." He swallowed down his anger, speaking softly. "Nobody would be fine, after…"

"I don't want to talk about it," she returned, every word sharper and louder than the last.

They struck Dennis painfully, but he hid the hurt, just nodding. "Okay," he said quietly.

She stayed for a minute longer, but he could sense it was already over, and wasn't surprised when she stood up and began walking back towards the hill.

"You should eat something," he called after her.

"I'm not hungry."

He let her go, feeling worse than before. He wanted to chase after her and take care of her, but he was beginning to realise she might never let him.

Snape strode into Slughorn's office that evening, his face so tense it was frightening. Horace, in the midst of making tea, looked up and quickly shielded his alarm with a brightening of his eyes and a smile. An imbecile's smile, Snape thought.

"Severus!" the ample–bodied gentleman cried, with a jubilance Snape was certain he did not feel. "What a pleasant surprise!"

Snape bit back a sarcastic remark, momentarily imagining the man's flesh bared on the nude beach McGonagall had dragged him away from after the war, tempting him back to Scotland with the honour of the Defence Against the Dark Arts post.

There was no doubt that Snape had more experience in the dark arts than Slughorn did. Minerva, knowing this, had offered the position to Snape first. But by then he'd realised he didn't want it. He wanted to be in his cold quiet dungeon where he was accustomed to being, teaching a subject that didn't remind him daily of the horrors of his past.

Quite well that was going.

"What can I do for you?" Slughorn asked, that smile plastered across his face, his thinning hair curling awkwardly over his large ears. There was a hint of unease in his otherwise welcoming voice. Few had yet to grasp the extent of Snape's sacrifice, and who could blame them? It seemed outrageous, such a tremendous sacrifice made by a man who received no worship for it.

"I have a favour to ask of you," Snape said, his voice rasping from the scarring in his throat, slightly inflamed today.

"Of course, Severus! Anything!"

Snape gritted his teeth, steeling himself for the suspicion that would surely follow. "I need your help in brewing a potion that represses sexual desire by numbing the olfactory sense."

Slughorn lifted his bushy eyebrows, giving a nervous laugh. "Surely you're the man for the job, not I?"

Snape said nothing, only revealed a scroll containing the ingredients and instructions and held it out to the man. Slughorn took it and opened it.

"Merlin's beard, Severus," he breathed. "What is this for?"

In truth, Snape suspected Miss Green's inability to tolerate the suppressants he'd brewed for her was due to the fact that he was the one preparing them. To test this theory he had decided to enlist Slughorn.

"It needs to be brewed by someone other than myself," he gritted out, which was enough of the truth.

Slughorn's eyebrows lifted. Probably he assumed Snape needed it for himself, which was what Snape had intended, and he asked no further questions.

"I will," he said. "I can have it done Wednesday evening, how does that sound?"

Snape nodded sharply by way of thanks and, turning on his heel, went out.

Wednesday found Fay in the darkest of moods.

Again she'd been avoiding Dennis except during potions lessons, when she couldn't, and when he also served as the only barrier between herself and Snape, who never cast a single glance her way.

The news had spread that she'd been at a Gryffindor party, and the glares she received in the corridors were met by equally nasty looks from their recipient.

She was sleeping poorly, having nightmares and waking up in cold sweats that led her to numb hours in the bath, cold, in the early morning when the others were asleep.

Lucy didn't hide her scorn towards Fay for fraternising with Gryffindors, and whenever the blonde girl's judgemental blue eyes lingered too long on her, Fay imagined raking her nails across that perfect doll-like face.

Disturbed by her own impulses towards violence, she isolated herself after classes in the library, essays she'd have once written up in an hour or two taking significantly longer.

The only person she found remotely tolerable was Sadie. She'd left her alone enough that when she finally did approach her that Wednesday afternoon in the Transfiguration courtyard Fay didn't scowl or turn away, but gave a halfhearted wave.

Sadie was silent at first, not looking directly at Fay, allowing her some strange, intimate sort of privacy as the wind rustled through the leaves of the giant oak overhead.

"Are you auditioning for the play on Saturday?" she asked after a minute.

Fay nodded.

"So am I," Sadie said. "For Ophelia… Don't tell Lucy, okay?"

Fay would have smirked had she not been so miserable. "As long as you don't tell her that I am."

Sadie gave a little conspirator's smile. "I really do want to play Ophelia. I'm not going to be like Isobel and audition for 'tree number two' just because Lucy wants the lead."

"Tree number two?" Fay repeated blankly.

"It's a joke."

Fay didn't respond and Sadie cast a worried glance at her friend. "We never got to talk," she said carefully.

Fay gave a dismissive shrug, remembering how Dennis had interrupted their conversation in The Three Broomsticks. It would have been convenient had the out-of-control kiss that followed not tarnished his impeccable timing.

Sadie was quiet for another moment, her thoughts also shifting to Dennis Creevey with hidden jealousy. "Is it about him?"

"Miss Green."

The deep, cold voice came from behind them, interrupting the quiet scene.

Fay's every fibre stiffened, standing at attention as she turned around. He was there, her incubus draped in black, the dark star of her recent nightmares.

"Be in my office at seven o'clock."

"Yes sir," she said automatically.

Then, before she'd even got a proper look at his face, he walked away with his silken cape billowing behind him.

"Why does Snape want to see you?" Sadie asked.

Fay couldn't speak.

"Is it about the party?" Sadie's voice grew urgent as her mind jumped to the worst. "Did something happen? Fay?"

But Fay was running across the grass, over the grey flagstones beneath the arcade and into the girls' loos.

A couple of first years were loitering by the sinks and their faces went slack as she ran past them, slamming one of the stall doors shut and dropping to her knees. She gagged over the toilet and through her heartbeat pounding in her ears she heard them whispering as they went out, leaving her alone.

She was going to vomit. She wanted to. To expel the dark emotions eating away at her insides.

She gagged a few more times, but nothing came up. There was nothing to come up; she hadn't been eating.

Her stomach clenching, pushing up into her burning lugs, her ribs constricting, reminded her of how it had felt when Johnny–

She stopped her thoughts by gripping the toilet seat with both hands. Staring down at her grey reflection in the water, her breath seething through gritted teeth as she fought back tears.

Last night she'd tried touching herself again. She'd stopped mere seconds after she'd begun, shocked to crying by how much it hurt. It was like her fingers were fire and she burned herself even with the lightest touch.

The idea—no, the fact that she was unable to touch her own body was wrong. It meant that her body wasn't her own anymore. Instead, it was his.

Snape's.

And she hated him.

Since their conversation, and that demeaning contract, she'd lived in fear of the next moon. He'd said she would be the one to approach him? To initiate? Well, she would NOT approach him! She would let herself die of fever if it came to that!

And yet it seemed impossible to defy a direct order from him to come to his office. She recalled how her body had responded to his command. The need inside her to appease him, even now.

Disgust rolled through her, and more fear.

What would happen later? Would it be a mortifying but harmless continuance of their previous discussion? Or would he hurt her, grip her wrists in his hands and pin her to his desk—

Fay shuddered and gagged again, horrified that the wolf deep inside her was aroused by the thought.

She consoled herself, shaking her head as she took deep breaths.

Snape wouldn't do a thing like that. If he'd wanted to fuck her he'd have taken advantage of the multiple times she'd lost consciousness in his office.

But that had been before Madam Pomfrey's diagnosis. Would he take advantage of it now? Assume, because of the wolf, that she was just what Johnny had made her out to be? Little slut…

Was it true? Was there part of her, not just the wolf, that pined for his attention? That wanted his coldness, his roughness, directed at that part of her which had been so terribly abused? Hoped, in some twisted way, that he could… heal it?

"No," she said aloud, her voice echoing off the tile walls.

She would resist his command. She would not go to his office that evening. The worst that could happen was expulsion, and then she would be free to run far away where nobody cared about her, and there she would…

She whimpered at the thought.

She was sick. So very sick.

She didn't know how long she stayed on the floor, hurting too deeply to cry.

Snape stared at the face of the clock, long pale fingers interlaced on his desk.

She was late.

He had expected it. She was stubborn, and he knew she had to be in order to survive. But the minute hand was creeping towards ten past. If she delayed much longer he'd have to give her detention and that was the last thing he wanted: her presence in his vicinity for an extended period of time, in silence.

It was nine past when he heard her footsteps outside the heavy door and three sharp, uneven knocks.

"Enter."

She looked terrified, face drained and eyes unfocused. It was obvious she hadn't wanted to come, but here she was and Snape chose not to investigate more deeply than that. His expression was a stern mask.

"Close the door."

She did, her hands strikingly thin and pale.

"Have you eaten recently?"

She stood there in numb silence.

Snape summoned a sleeve of digestive biscuits from his tea cupboard and they hovered in the air in front of her. He wasn't about to force her to come closer to his desk. Not now.

She stared at him, her eyes dark with fear.

"They're not poisoned," he sneered.

Her first word was a mere croak. "Why?"

"You will be trying another potion."

Fay took the package and Snape watched her take a bite of the round biscuit before standing, pulling out the flask Slughorn had delivered to him earlier.

"What is it?" she asked.

"The same suppressant we tried last time, with alterations."

Her lip quivered briefly, then went still as the rest of her. "I don't want to throw up again."

He stared at her without pity, sending the flask through the air to her with a wave of his hand.

Resigned, she took it, pulled out the cork and drank it all. Her eyes were full of haze, lost in some place other than this one. When she finished she held the flask at her side and continued staring into space.

Snape summoned the flask and the sleeve of biscuits. "Well?" he demanded.

The stale air of the dungeon was cold with tension as silence ran on. Snape was prepared to draw his wand. If the potion had a bad effect on her, she could attack him.

But all Fay did was stand there and shake her head. She could still smell him, and all the potion had done was give her a faint stomach ache and make the world seem even more awful.

Her eyes cleared slightly, the dullness burnt away by intense hatred. All her energy went into the experience of that all-encompassing emotion, and it was enough to make Snape freeze.

He was accustomed to weathering the anger of men. He'd learned to cope with it, to brush it off. Even the cold, dangerous rage of the dark lord, the disappointment of Dumbledore.

The anger of women was a different matter.

It was intimate and hard, striking directly at his softest places. McGonagall was terrifying when angry, and Bellatrix's fury had been paralysing beyond anything he'd ever seen.

This, though, was on another level altogether. This small battered girl staring at him like she wanted her eyes to bleed him dry and burn him alive.

"What is it?" he snapped, his own defences rising to meet her.

The stare continued and she made no answer.

He couldn't take it and his hand slammed down upon the desk, shattering her stoicism, making her flinch.

"Do you think I want to do this?" he seethed, teeth bared. "Do you think I'm some kind of predator? If I wanted to do this, would I be using my precious time to invent these potions, for your benefit?"

"The potions are a front," she said, as though stating an obvious fact.

The full weight of the accusation hit Snape in the chest like a curse. "Don't flatter yourself, Miss Green," he retaliated, his words thick with venom. "You're a teenaged rape victim with the body of a child. It is beyond anyone sane to desire you."

Fay snapped back without a pause, her voice rising as if his words hadn't crippled her, deep down in her heart. "You've missed the most important thing!"

"And what is that."

"That I'm a WEREWOLF."

Her voice was too loud. Someone passing outside the door would have heard.

All emotion drained from Snape's face, leaving the danger at his core fully exposed.

"Silence."

"Oh, afraid someone will hear, are you!" she said, her voice not taunting but hurling itself out of her like a long-captive prisoner. "What if I'm tired of keeping secrets!"

Snape took a step towards her but she stopped him.

"I'M A WEREWOLF!" she roared, her hands in fists, her face going red. "I'M A WEREWOLF! I'M A WERE—"

With a lunge Snape was across the room, his hand clamped firmly over her mouth, leaving the rest of the word to strangle itself in her throat.

The girl whimpered, staring up at him, tears springing into her eyes at the sudden violent contact. Snape's nostrils flared, his face so close, too close, his eyes freezing the fire in hers.

"Do not say that aloud," he said softly. "Ever again."

She nodded, her hands gripping his strong forearm, and he unhanded her.

He heard her suck in a trembling breath and was turning back to his desk when her bitter words stopped him in his tracks.

"I bet you like this. I bet you raped, just like the rest of them."

His back tensed and he wheeled on her. His hands itched to shake her, squeeze her, these awful vengeful impulses he hadn't had for years.

"Leave," he snarled. "Now."

He wanted to take her by the arm and throw her out the door but if he did that he would break her in her fragile state. His feet grew deep roots into the stone floor, not letting him move.

The girl's eyes had widened, the possible repercussions of her accusation dawning on her. "I didn't— I didn't mean that—"

"Get. Out."

She sobbed and ran out, the door closing behind her with a rush of cold air.

Snape crumbled, his shoulders rounding as he bent down, air squeezing itself through his windpipe. That damnable shaking was back in his hands. He groaned, took two steps one way, three steps the other. Blindly he picked up the nearest object, fragile, glass, and he threw it at the wall where it shattered into hundreds of glittering pieces.

NOTE

Thank you to all who have left reviews!