The Fire You Touch

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Chapter 37: Nothing Gold Can Stay

Aeryn pointed her knife to the breadbasket. “Can you pass me the rolls, Harry?”

“And then I think we should go in the lake,” Harry continued, handing them to Aeryn without missing a beat. “It looks like it’s going to be a scorcher today, and I know I’m not going to have a chance to go swimming once I get back to the Dursleys.”

“I can’t believe that school ends in a few days,” Hermione exclaimed, skidding the strawberry jam down the table towards Aeryn. “The year passed by so fast! Can you believe that we’re going to be third years?”

Ron swallowed a huge gulp of pumpkin juice and grimaced. “Hope next year’s a little less crazy than this one was,” he said, poking his fork into a pile of scrambled eggs. Then his face brightened. “Maybe this time we’ll get a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor who’s actually—”

“Ron!” Hermione snapped.

Ron shut his mouth immediately, and there was a sudden silence as the three Gryffindors looked guiltily at each other. Then, almost apologetically, they glanced down the table towards Aeryn.

Aeryn rolled her eyes and stuffed the roll into her mouth. Ever since she had been released from the hospital wing, her friends had made a concerted effort not to mention either the words Snape or Defense Against the Dark Arts in her presence. Although she appreciated their thoughtfulness, it was seriously beginning to get on her nerves.

“I’m sorry—” Ron began.

“Oh, do stop it, all three of you,” Aeryn grumbled through her mouthful of bread. “I’m fine. Keep talking. Ignore me, if you must.” She reached over and shoveled several pieces of bacon onto her plate, pointedly not making eye contact with any of her friends.

After an awkward moment, Harry cleared his throat. “Well. Anyway…what do you think about the lake, guys?”

Aeryn crunched loudly on her bacon as the other three began talking again about their plans for the afternoon. She listened with a half-interested ear, but after several moments her eyes began to wander around the Great Hall. Most of the students had already finished their breakfasts and were outside enjoying the early summer sun—which suited Aeryn just fine.

The days following her release from the infirmary were beginning to weigh like a lead cloak around AerynÂ’s shoulders. The stories followed her in a hissing wake through the hallways, as she walked through the Great Hall to breakfast, even in the Gryffindor common roomÂ….

She killed Professor Lockhart, she heard the mutters in their half-muted, horrified tones as the students drew back from her passing, and though the gesture stung her to her core, that she had been expectingÂ….

Did you hear? She was sleeping with Professor Snape…those whispers came later, when they thought she could not hear them, and when she whirled on her heel to confront—to explain—the whisperers had fled, leaving her alone and her words dying in her throat….

And then, more painful then all the restÂ…

SheÂ’s a mutantÂ….

Aeryn shook her head and dug her fork forcefully into her hash browns. She had known this would happen, she had expected it, it didnÂ’t really bother her, after all, she still had the love and dedication of her three best friends, and after all, wasnÂ’t that worth more than any praise or adulation even from the whole of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry?

WasnÂ’t it?

The fingers of her free hand trailed absently down the silver chain of the sapphire pendant, and she closed her eyes momentarily.

It will be all right, she told herself. In the end, it will be all right.

There was a sudden rustle next to her shoulder. Aeryn opened her eyes and saw one of the seventh year Slytherins standing beside her, holding a goblet in one hand. She looked up at him, puzzlement creasing her face. She had seen him before in the hallways on her way to class, but she couldnÂ’t remember if she had ever spoken with him, or even if she knew his name.

“Hi…er….” She turned slightly in her seat. “What—”

Without a word, the Slytherin held out his hand and coldly upended the contents of the goblet across the front of her robe.

“Oh, sorry, Blake,” he sneered quietly. His face was expressionless, save for the ice in his narrowed eyes. “My hand must’ve slipped.” Before anyone could do anything, he turned on his heel and stalked back towards his House table.

For an instant, no one moved. Then Harry, Ron, and Hermione leapt to their feet, their faces twisted in sudden rage, but Aeryn merely sat where she was, stunned beyond action.

“Aeryn—” Hermione was suddenly at her shoulder, patting Aeryn’s wet robe with her napkin. “Are you okay—I mean—”

“That big, stupid—” Ron growled, pulling out his wand and pointing it towards the retreating figure, but Harry grabbed his arm.

Aeryn batted away Hermione’s hands, trying her hardest to ignore the huge, painful lump that had suddenly sprung into her throat. “I’m fine,” she said shortly, grabbing the napkin from the girl and blotting at the dark splotch staining her bodice. After the first cold shock, the juice—or whatever it was—began to warm with her body heat, leaving the material of her robe sucking uncomfortably against her skin.

It’ll dry and leave an awful sticky residue, she thought, scrubbing viciously at the small spray that had splattered against her cheek. The backs of her eyes were pricking as if being jabbed with small needles, and she strained a breath between her teeth, trying to keep her hands from trembling, to keep the sudden welling in her eyes from—

“You sure you’re okay?” Harry asked.

Aeryn finally trusted her composure enough to look up at the boy. His face showed no outward expression, but she could see the muscle of his jaw clenching and unclenching as he stared at her, and his bottle-green eyes were unusually bright. Aeryn swallowed hard and gave a short nod.

“Yeah,” she muttered, her fingers wadding the napkin into a little ball. “I’m okay.”

Ron was still glaring balefully at the seventh year. “I’m going to get him,” he growled, giving his wand a warning shake as Hermione, after a hesitant glance at Aeryn, pushed him forcefully back down into his seat. “I swear, if I get the chance and I see that git in the hallways—”

Aeryn looked down at her robe. Her skin was beginning to itch where the fabric was clinging to it. With a little sigh, she scooted back her chair and stood up, brushing a strand of hair from her eyes. Her appetite was lost, anyway—might as well seize the opportunity and head back up to Gryffindor tower to change. She bit her lip and touched the wet spot ruefully. Of course, the day after she had washed all her robes….

There was a sudden whirring of wings overhead, and a flock of owls streamed into the Great Hall, carrying packages, letters, and other assorted objects in their various beaks and talons. Aeryn looked up, watching the swooping dance of the birds as they hovered above the tables, dropping their deliveries in the respective waiting hands. No matter how often she had seen this before, she was always amazed.

She was about to turn away and head for Gryffindor Tower, but stopped suddenly as a huge barn owl dove towards her and dropped a large green envelope on the table in front of her. It gave a piercing hoot as it flapped its wings and shot back out of the open window, becoming a black splotch in the distant sky.

Aeryn blinked in surprise. She never received mail. She looked at each of her friends, raising her eyebrows, but was only rewarded with blank looks. After a second, she shrugged, and sat back down at her place. She reached for the envelope and eased the unsealed flap open. There was a small object inside. She gave the envelope a shake, and a little package wrapped in bright blue paper slid to the table.

Aeryn tilted her head. She reached for it curiously, noticing that one corner looked as if it was already beginning to curl open—

“Miss Blake, no!”

Two hands grasped her wrists, and Aeryn was suddenly and savagely yanked out of her seat. The untouched package rested calmly by her plate as a pair of arms wrapped around her waist, holding her firmly back.

“Don’t touch it,” said Professor Snape in a low voice.

“What are you doing?” Aeryn hissed furiously. The remaining students in the Great Hall had all turned to regard the commotion, and immediately turned to their neighbors and began whispering confidingly to each other. Her cheeks started to burn, and she was acutely aware of the Potions master’s hands clasped around her, and the warmth of his lean body at her back. “Let go of me!”

Ignoring her attempts to struggle free, Snape uncurled one arm from around her and pointed his wand at the package. “Finite Incantatem,” he murmured.

There was a piercing hiss like steam escaping a teakettle, the package gave a little shake, and the paper sloughed away as if ripped by an invisible hand. Aeryn heard the collective indrawn breaths of her friends as they looked at the small crystal ball, filled with a thick, burbling, sickly-yellow substance.

Across the front of the ball was haphazardly pasted a piece of parchment, bearing the sharply scrawled words:

ABSORB THIS, MUTANT BITCH.

“Undiluted bubotuber pus,” Snape said tightly, motioning with his wand towards the ball. “One touch and that glass would break, and you’d in the hospital wing with swollen joints before you could blink.”

Aeryn could barely draw breath into her lungs as she stared at the horrible little ball. “How—” She was vaguely aware of a very faint ringing on the edge of her hearing, and the heat in her cheeks had reached an almost-unbearable level. She swallowed, the gesture difficult. “How did you know—”

She could feel the tautness of his body through his robe, and heard the smoldering anger in his answer. “I fortunately overheard someone discussing it this morning.”

“In your House common room?” she snapped bitterly, trying to ignore the wave of sickness that rose in her throat and threatened to choke her.

The arm around her waist tightened slightly. “No.”

Aeryn closed her eyes, her shoulders sagging wearily. Her hands were cold—there was a buzzing like the whine of dying bees all around her—her mouth was dry, as if in the onset of the flu—I can’t deal with this, I can’t, we were so close, I could have waited until the school year was over—and she exhaled, feeling as if someone had just reached into her chest and squeezed her beating heart until it stopped.

“Protecting her again, Snape?”

Aeryn opened her eyes and turned her head in the direction of the voice. Oliver Wood was on his feet, his eyes glittering as he glared in their direction. The arm slipped from around her waist. Aeryn crossed her arms over her chest and backed away slightly from the Potions master, hoping the sickness she felt wasnÂ’t apparent on her features.

Snape’s face was calm as he turned his coal-black gaze on the sixth year. “Mr. Wood.” Aeryn barely caught the infinitesimal lift of his chin, the slight clenching of his jaw muscles. “Although—”

His words were cut off as the Gryffindor Quidditch captain launched himself across the floor and smashed his fist with all his might into the Potions master’s face. Snape went stumbling backwards against the Gryffindor table, and suddenly, all chaos broke loose. Flying fists—a blur of black—the startled shouts of the students—Aeryn scarcely noticed as Hermione grabbed her hand and Harry and Ron stepped in front of her, as if to shield her.

“She’s your student!” Oliver spat as Fred and George Weasley, their faces white, grabbed his arms and forcibly pulled him away from Snape’s folded form. The Quidditch captain’s face was twisted with rage, and he strained at the hands holding him back.

Snape crawled slowly to his feet. His black hair shrouded his bowed head, but as he pulled a hand away from his mouth, Aeryn could see that the fingers were stained red. “Mr. Wood—” he slurred.

“You sick fuck!” Oliver screamed. “How could you do such a thing!”

There were hands tugging at her sleeves, voices speaking her name—but Aeryn could not hear them, could not feel them, could not even think—she felt as if she had just swallowed a cannonball—her breath was short and strained in her chest—a stinging, burning sensation ran up and down her skin, as if a thousand fire ants had suddenly attacked her—

In the distance, she could hear the voice of Dumbledore roaring for silence, and before her she saw the pale faces of Harry, Ron, and Hermione as they turned to her, their mouths moving as if speaking—but there was a twisting pain in her chest and Aeryn could not take it any more. With a strangled sob, she blindly pushed away from her friends, Oliver Wood, everyone, and fled from the Great Hall.

* * *

“Aeryn, what’s wrong?”

Startled, Aeryn looked up. Her three friends were looking at her with very concerned expressions on their faces. “Oh…nothing,” she said quickly, giving a little smile.

Harry didn’t look convinced. “You’re not eating anything.”

Aeryn glanced down at the coleslaw she had been absently pushing around her plate. Her stomach lurched, and she laid down her fork. “I’m not hungry.”

“You said that at breakfast, too.”

Aeryn rapped her fingertips against the tabletop. “Must have been something I ate last night,” she said after a moment.

Harry’s face was condemning. “You didn’t eat anything last night.”

“That is not true,” Aeryn protested, pointing a finger at him. “I had some chocolate before I went to bed, and you know that.”

“But—” he began.

“Stop it, Mom,” she said firmly, raising an eyebrow.

Harry made a face at her and turned his attention back to his food, grumbling something under his breath. Ron and Hermione looked as if they wanted to press the matter further, but Aeryn pointedly bowed her head and resumed playing with her coleslaw. She probably should be eating something, she thought as she used the prongs of her fork to draw a smiley face, but if she forced anything down her throat she was reasonably certain that it would just come back up a matter of minutes later.

She didn’t even want to be down here. After the events of yesterday, she would have been perfectly happy to lock herself up in the dormitory and stay there until the Hogwarts Express came to take her away. However, her friends had bodily dragged her with them around the castle, refusing to let her wallow in her self-pity. All of which she appreciated—in a way—but even the best of friends couldn’t shield her from the accusing glances or the scathing whispers.

“Are you guys done yet?” she asked for the fifth time.

Hermione sighed and slammed her spoon down against the table. “I am,” she said, getting to her feet. “C’mon, let’s go back to the common room.”

Thankfully, Aeryn followed her brown-haired friend from the Great Hall. “Thanks, Hermione,” she murmured as they made their way up the staircase. “I think I was going to be sick if I had to smell that cabbage smell for much longer.”

“You do need to eat something,” Hermione said primly as they hopped over the missing stair and walked up to the Fat Lady. “Forget-me-not,” she said, and the painting obligingly swung open.

“Don’t you start on me, now,” Aeryn said grumpily as they crawled into the common room. “I’ve told you a hundred times, I’m not hungry.”

“Hungry or not, I’ve got a parcel in our dorm that my parents sent me, and I think there’s some biscuits or some such thing in it,” Hermione said, steering Aeryn towards the stairway to the dormitory. “And whether you like it or not, you’re going to be eating some—”

“Miss Blake?”

Aeryn and Hermione stopped in their tracks and turned slowly around. Professor McGonagall rose from her seat before the fire, her eyes serious behind their square-rimmed glasses as she walked towards the girls. She clasped her hands before her and nodded at Aeryn. “I need you to come with me, please.”

Aeryn openly stared at the deputy headmistress, and she realized with a start that she had not seen McGonagall in the Great Hall for lunch—nor had she seen Dumbledore—nor Snape—nor the other Heads of Houses—

Her hands were suddenly cold.

“What is it?” she choked.

McGonagallÂ’s face was unreadable. Without a word, she very gently placed her arm around AerynÂ’s shoulders, ushering her towards the common room entrance.

Aeryn quickly twisted around and looked back at Hermione. Concern was plainly written across the girl’s features, reflecting the same emotions writhing in Aeryn’s heart. Summoning up all her courage, she gave the girl a brave smile. “See you in a bit, ‘Mione, ” she said, and then allowed herself to be led through the portal.

They wordlessly walked through the Hogwarts hallways, AerynÂ’s stomach churning with every step they took through hidden passageways, behind tapestriesÂ…finally, they found themselves in a wide stone corridor facing a foreboding pair of double doors hinged in bronze. McGonagall lifted the heavy bronze knocker and rapped several times.

“Enter,” called a voice.

Professor McGonagall pushed open the door and ushered Aeryn inside.

Six heads looked up from the long table as she entered, and Aeryn swallowed hard to dislodge the huge lump that had formed in the base of her throat. Her eyes skidded about the room. It was small and dusty, and the only windows were small and crossed with heavy iron bars. She bit her lip and turned her gaze back to the row of watchers. Headmaster Dumbledore gazed kindly at her, while Professors Sprout and Flitwick gave valiant attempts at friendly smiles, and Professor McGonagall tried to look pleasant as she sat down at the end of the table. But it was the two Ministry wizards that her eyes fell upon, and even more importantly, the gray haired figure sitting next to Dumbledore.

“Please sit down, Miss Blake,” said Cornelius Fudge, motioning to a chair facing the table.

Aeryn numbly did as she was bid, trying to ignore the yawning pit that had just opened in her stomach. She folded her hands tightly in her lap and, after a momentÂ’s hesitation, looked up at Fudge.

The room was cold. God, how it was cold.

Fudge brushed a hand through his hair and gave her a large grin that held all bravado and no warmth. “Well.” He looked on either side of him, but all he received from the Hogwarts professors and the Ministry wizards were serious stares. He gave a little laugh. “I don’t know how to say this gently, so….”

AerynÂ’s fingers twisted painfully against each other.

“Miss Blake, as I’m certain you have guessed, we are doing an investigation into your relationship with Professor Snape.”

She felt her face go white.

For a moment, it was as if time had stopped—save for the fact she could feel the blood pounding through her veins, hear her breathing as loud in her throat as church bells—and it took her an instant to realize that Cornelius Fudge was still speaking to her, his words slightly muffled by embarrassment.

“Of course, we have already heard the—er—basic details of the, um….”

Why, oh why was her throat suddenly so dry, the words sticking to the inside as if they were catching on flypaper? She paused and swallowed, trying to form her jumbled thoughts into something resembling speech. “He was—taking—” Her voice trembled, and her tongue felt thick, as if it had been wrapped in cotton— “the Berserker’s Mead—that’s—that’s why—”

“Miss Blake.” Headmaster Dumbledore’s voice broke gently through her ramblings. Gulping, Aeryn looked up at him, and her heart plummeted at the gravity in his blue eyes. “That will all be taken into consideration.”

“But this is a very serious matter, and we are treating it as such.” Aeryn looked back over at Cornelius Fudge, his face serious and his hands folded against the top of the table. He raised his eyebrows and leaned forward slightly. “It states clearly in the teaching contract that all Hogwarts professors must sign that they are forbidden to have…intimate…relationships with students.”

This was what you wanted, her inner self chided her quietly. All along, through the BerserkerÂ’s Mead, this is what kept you going. She opened her mouth, trying to speak, trying to form wordsÂ…but there was too much to say, and she merely sat where she was, stunned, too lost to even begin.

She looked down at the hands tightly clenched in her lap and wondered, in the chill of the room, why her cheeks were burning.

There was a soft rustle of cloth and a light fall of footsteps as Cornelius Fudge rose from his seat and walked over to her side. Very gently, he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Miss Blake.” His voice was warm and low; a tone that would have been soothing in another time, in another place. “We want to give you some closure, Miss Blake, but we can’t do that without your help. All we’re asking is for a little bit of your time, and the answers to a few of our questions. That’s all.”

Aeryn closed her eyes and bit her lip, twisting her fingers against each other.

“We realize that it will be hard for you, and believe me, we would rather not put you through this, but this is the only way.”

She dared risk her composure enough to sneak a glance up into his face. The Minister of Magic’s face was calm—too calm—even in her agitated state, Aeryn could feel his self-control, his careful desire not to press her too hard too fast. He gave her a little smile and patted her shoulder in a fatherly way. “And I promise we will make this as painless as possible for you.”

As if anything could eradicate the pain of my memoriesÂ…

Cornelius Fudge knelt at her side, his eyes fixed upon her face. She could see the minute lines of tension edging his eyes, the slight working of his jaw, but when he spoke again, his voice was quiet and calm.

“Let us help you,” he said softly.

Aeryn stared helplessly at him, feeling the gaping pit in the base of her stomach yawn even wider. She had wanted this so badlyÂ….

She forced her lips to move.

“Okay,” she whispered.

Fudge nodded and gave her a small, reassuring smile. “Okay.” He squeezed her shoulder gently and then rose to his feet. He cleared his throat loudly as he walked back to his chair, squaring his shoulders and running a hand through his iron-gray hair. “Um….”

Aeryn leaned back against her chair, her eyes flitting nervously among the assembled witnesses. Professor Sprout was looking intently at the paper before her as if she could glean the answers to life from it, and Professor Flitwick was nervously running his wand between his fingers and muttering to himself under his breath. Professor McGonagallÂ’s lips were pinched together tightly, and her gaze was fixed somewhere on the far wall.

A quill pen appeared in the hand of one of the Ministry wizards, and he tapped it once against the parchment he held as if to assure that it was real. He turned to Fudge and gave a brief nod.

“Miss Blake.” Fudge folded his hands before him and fixed his gaze on Aeryn. “As well as you can remember, when did Professor Snape’s attentions first begin?”

Aeryn exhaled slowly.

As she turned to go, SnapeÂ’s hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist. The professorÂ’s head lifted and his empty black eyes flickered across her form. After a moment, the faintest ghost of a smile flickered at the corner of his lips, and he gently released her wrist.

“A few days before school started,” she said.

The scratching of the Ministry wizardÂ’s pen echoed in the dusty air.

“What did he do?” Fudge asked.

It felt like there was something stuck in her throat. Aeryn swallowed hard and looked at the floor. “Nothing, at first.” She dragged her foot slowly against the stone. “Just…looked at me…and said…things.”

“Things?”

You would have made anÂ…exquisiteÂ…addition to Slytherin House.

She didnÂ’t answer.

There was a heavy silence.

“All right.” Fudge rapped his fingertips sharply against the tabletop. “So his attentions began a few days before school started. Was there ever a specific incident where you noticed that his comments…might have been overstepping the professorial line?”

Aeryn gave a little shrug. “Not specifically.” She chewed slowly on her lower lip. “Um…not until….”

No more subterfuge, Miss Blake. I am tired of my advances being ignoredÂ….

She forced herself to continue speaking. “Not until…he came out directly and said so.”

“And when was that?”

“October. Shortly before Halloween.”

The scratching of the quill pen was deafening in the stillness of the room.

“And what did he say to you?”

Blackmail is such an ugly word, Miss Blake. I prefer to think of it asÂ…capitalizing upon personal knowledgeÂ….

Aeryn tilted her head back and looked up at the ceiling. The ancient stone was streaked with soot, as if the smoke from a thousand candles had stained it until it would now never come clean, no matter how much magic or elbow grease was used. “In a nutshell, he told me I had two options.” There was a slight quaver eating into her words, and she tried to keep her voice light, to not to think too hard about what she was saying. She blinked, hard. “He said….”

I can give you protection against the Ministry and keep your secret hidden from DumbledoreÂ…that is, of course, if you give me what I wantÂ….

She could feel the control in her voice slipping, and she cleared her throat nervously. “He would go to the headmaster and…tell him I was a mutant…if I didn’t do what he wanted.”

“Which was…?”

Cornelius FudgeÂ’s calm, even voice asked the question as if he were merely inquiring as to the time of day, and Aeryn looked up at him, stunned that he could show such an obvious lack of emotion. His features were gentle, his eyes mild, and Aeryn felt the minute tremors in her muscles and the sickness in her stomach, and she was suddenly furious.

The clumsy, half-hinting prodding, trying to be so gentle but only succeeding in being agonizing, was as if someone had reached into her and was slowly tearing away the scabs covering her soul.

A small, bitter laugh escaped her lips, and a small portion of her brain was pleased as every eye in the room turned to her in surprise.

She gave a small toss of her head and folded her arms across her chest. “Let’s just cut the crap, shall we, Mr. Fudge?” She leveled her glare directly at the Minister of Magic. “If you want me to tell you when he started fucking me, just come out and ask it.”

The Minister of Magic flinched as if she had just slapped him, but Aeryn ignored him and doggedly continued.

“November first. No, excuse me, November second. Shortly after midnight, if memory doesn’t fail me.” She spat the words from her mouth as if they burned her. “And thus it continued practically every single day, until two weeks into December, when I beat him into a bloody pulp during Potions class when he tried to kill Harry.”

The faces turned towards her were now tense masks of seriousness. Aeryn noticed absently as a muscle started going in Professor McGonagallÂ’s cheek, as Professor SproutÂ’s lips firmed into a thin line. She sniffed, trying to ignore the welling lump in her throat, and her gaze fell upon the note-taking Ministry wizard. With a haughty raise of her eyebrow, she motioned with her shoulder towards the quill he held.

“Well?” she asked snidely. “Why aren’t you writing this down?”

The wizard’s eyes were accusing as he tapped his pen against his roll of parchment. “Miss Blake, we’re only trying to help you,” he said in a low voice.

“And you’re doing a damn good job of it, sir,” she hissed, her eyes glittering as she leaned forward in her chair towards him, refusing to back down, refusing to break his gaze, refusing to be cowed, and after a long, tense moment, his gaze faltered and slipped away from hers.

The silence was stifling.

In the back of her mind, her rational self was furiously whispering, they are trying to help you, you know that, you should just tell them everything, itÂ’ll hurt less once you get it out in the openÂ…but, like a wounded animal shying from the fire that had burned it, Aeryn snarled and pulled her mind away from the furtive insisting.

Fudge heaved a long sigh and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. “All right.” His voice was weary. “Well….”

—if he runs the Ministry like this, it’s no wonder that it’s practically falling apart—

Aeryn bit her lips tightly together before anyone could hear her pained whimper.

Fudge dropped his hands and looked straight at her. “There is something else we could try…but the choice is completely up to you.”

Aeryn shrugged wordlessly, doing her best to ignore the pressure of unshed tears building behind her eyes.

Fudge got to his feet and picked up a small case next to his chair. He placed it on the table and flipped it open. From it, he drew a large bowl, which he pointedly tilted slightly so Aeryn could see the contents. Against her own will, she leaned forward, her brow furrowing with interest. Inside the bowl swam a luminous, milky-white substance that shimmered like a pearl.

“This is called a Pensieve.” He rested it against the table and drew his wand from his belt. He paused meaningfully, and Aeryn slowly raised an eyebrow in puzzlement.

“Which is…” she said.

“An object used as a storage place for memories.” The Minister of Magic did not look at her as he tapped the point of his wand against his palm. He gave a little cough and continued. “However, with the use of a simple spell, those memories can…also be shown to others.”

AerynÂ’s eyes darted from the Pensieve, to the tapping wand, and back to the Pensieve again. Then, as the realization of what he had just said belatedly hit her, she sat up straight in the chair, her eyes widening.

It seemed to take a very long time for her to be able to form words.

“You want to see my memories.” Her voice was broken, choked.

This isnÂ’t happening.

Fudge gave a small, barely audible sigh. “It might be easier on you than this question-and-answer session,” he said after a pause.

Aeryn stared at him, stunned beyond speech.

This canÂ’t be happening.

Unbidden, like a rising tide against the floodwall, the memories she thought she had locked away sprang into the forefront of her mind, and along with them all the fear—the pain—the lies—

“Miss Blake?”

The wound inside her was ripping apart, laying open her bleeding, quivering soul, and for a moment, Aeryn thought she was going to be sick. But there was no choice. She had to do this. With a greater effort than she could have imagined, Aeryn gritted her teeth and firmly squashed the whimpers echoing through her brain.

The sooner you do this, the sooner it will all be over.

She nodded curtly and waved her hand.

“Fine, fine.” She drew a deep, shuddering breath, feeling the hysterical beginnings of tremors wracking her body. “Go ahead.”

Fudge walked around the table and came to her shoulder. As he very gently placed his fingers on the side of her face, she strove valiantly not to flinch.

“Just relax,” he murmured. Aeryn screwed her eyes shut and bit her lip hard, willing her mind to stop whirling, for the sickness in her stomach to dissolve.

There was a soft tap against her temple, and Aeryn nearly jumped as she felt something pull away from her. She twisted around in the chair and saw Fudge walking carefully back towards the Pensieve. His wand was delicately held out in front of him, and Aeryn saw a pearly-white strand clinging to its tip, twisting gently as if in a slight breeze. She nervously settled back in her seat, folding her arms protectively across her chest.

Fudge placed the strand carefully into the Pensieve and waved his wand over the luminescent interior. “Pensai defoi,” he murmured. There was a soft hissing noise, and a bright glow spilled from the interior of the Pensieve. After a few seconds, the light rose into a vertical column and thinned into a sort of screen. As the viewers watched, a scene slowly came into definition: the interior of the girls’ bathroom.

“You okay, Aeryn?”

There was a slight groan as the scene wavered slightly and then came to rest on the somewhat sleepy face of Hermione Granger. “Yeah,” grunted Aeryn’s voice as she obviously struggled to rise to her feet. The image swayed unsteadily for a moment, and then righted.

“Of course,” Aeryn muttered to herself as she watched the projected Pensieve image. Hermione had disappeared from view, and they were now walking back into the Gryffindor dormitory. “It’s my memory, so they’re seeing it through my eyes….”

Hermione’s face floated above as she tucked the covers up around Aeryn’s chin. “It’s midnight,” the girl whispered. “You’d better get some sleep—but if you need anything, you know, water or something like that, just wake me up and let me know, okay?”

“Okay,” mumbled Aeryn’s voice, but as Hermione disappeared from view, it took on a desperate tone. “He’s going to be furious,” she whispered as Hermione’s breathing slowed across the room. “If he blows a gasket when I’m late for Potions….”

“When was this, Miss Blake?” Fudge asked.

“I don’t remember,” Aeryn murmured, her eyes riveted to the Pensieve vision. She shook her head slightly. “It could…it could have been any day.”

But the words rang untrue in her ears, for she did remember this dayÂ…remembered every second with horrifying clarity, and numbness began to seep through her body as the vivid memory of what had happened leached through her consciousnessÂ….

A clock was now visible in the image, showing it to be a quarter past twelve. “I have to go,” her voice whispered, and the image tilted as Aeryn clumsily crawled from her bed and silently began to make her way out of Gryffindor Tower.

The image shook as the memory took them through the journey to the Slytherin chambers. It was gruelingly long, for every few feet it halted as Aeryn leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. Finally, she reached the entrance to the common room, gasped the password, and made her way through the lamp-lit hallways to the heavy oaken door of the Potions masterÂ’s bedchambers. The door did not creak as it slowly swung open.

Professor Flitwick cleared his throat loudly.

The clock chimed as she entered.

Snape turned from the fireplace and glared at her. “You’re late.”

Back in the interrogation chamber, AerynÂ’s throat was tight as she forced herself to keep watching the vision. Sickness bled through her body as his image advanced, his features impassive save for the sparks burning flintily in his coal-black eyes.

“I’m sorry.” Her memory’s voice was weak, trembling. “But—”

Even in memory he moved with the speed of lightning. His hands leaped out and buried themselves in her hair, pulling her head back until a cry of pain rang from the vision.

Professor Sprout gave a muffled gasp, and Professor McGonagall put a hand to her mouth. Bile rose in AerynÂ’s throat, and she pulled her eyes away from the vision, the memories surging within threatening to overwhelm her.

She tried to breathe normally as she wrapped her arms around her trembling body. She would be all rightÂ…it was only a memory, it was overÂ…she could do thisÂ….

“You will not be late again.” His voice was calm. “Do you understand?”

“Y-yes, P-Professor—” her voice whimpered, but her words cut off in a choking noise.

She would remain in control of herselfÂ…she had lived through worse, it was only a memoryÂ…nothing was happening to her, nothing would happen to her, but why does it feel like my heart is being ripped out of my chest, she would be all rightÂ….

“How many times do I have to beat it into you?” Iron had entered the Potions master’s voice. “While in my chambers, you will call me Severus.”

“Please stop,” she begged.

“Say it,” he growled. Then his voice became throaty, a mockery of seduction as he whispered in her ear: “You know very well what happens when I go to bed angry….”

—she must remain calm—

“Severus,” she spat, her voice laced with sobs.

“Good enough.” he said calmly.

The chamber was filled with the muted murmurings of the gathered questioners, and there was nothing from the vision save for a pained, heavy breathing. After a second, Aeryn trusted her composure enough to sneak a look back up, and saw the image of Snape regarding her passively. The vision was slightly blurred, and Aeryn realized it was from tears of pain.

—she would remain in control—

“I can’t.” The words exploded from her lips. “No, not tonight, I can’t, I’m sick, I have the flu….” Her memory gulped. “Tomorrow, yes, I will, I promise, but…I can’t…I’m too sick….”

A sneer twisted the Potions master’s face as he stared down at her. “Is that the best argument you can come up with?” he drawled, a cruel glint entering his eyes. “I’m disappointed, my dear, I really am. I expected better of you.”

—she had to remain in control—

“No…it’s not…S-Severus, please….”

“Not good enough, Aeryn.” The image stumbled as he gave her a forceful push, sending her stumbling backwards. There was a soft thud and a groan. Snape motioned with his arm, his black eyes beginning to flame. “Now. Get in there.”

A sudden, horrible coldness filtered through her blood—her pulse thudded deafeningly through her veins—she shook uncontrollably from head to foot—there was a dull, mournful ringing in her ears—

—no—

“Stop…” she choked desperately, but her voice was so quiet that no one heard her.

The bedroom door slammed shut.

“Well.” His words were quiet, calm, but in them Aeryn heard the same edge she had come to know very well. “You’ve made me wait over half an hour, my dear, and as you very well know, I’m not a patient man.”

She couldn’t breathe—her limbs were like lead, caught in molasses, no matter how hard she tried to move, she was immobile, stuck—she wanted to scream, to thrash away, to cover her eyes and her ears so she wouldn’t have to hear—wouldn’t have to remember—but all she could do was watch, stunned as an animal in a trap, as the memory played Technicolor before her—

She hugged her quivering body until pain shot through her chest. “Stop….”

She gave a whimper, but did not pull away. (Even at that point she had learned well enough not to struggle, for then it would be over all the soonerÂ….)

“You’ll forgive me if I dispense with the foreplay, won’t you?”

Her throat constricted—the sonorous ringing in her ears was like alarm bells, pushing away every rational thought—a high-pitched whine escaped from her throat, and a blistering pressure threatened to explode behind her eyes—

“Stop—”

There was a sudden, savage ripping of cloth—

The sound tore through Aeryn like a gunshot, blinding her. Her sudden scream cut through the air, all but masking the soft cry of her memory, and she struck out before her with her mind, trying to crush it—bottle it away, shove it back into the deepest recesses of her mind, never again to see the light of day—sobbing desperately as she lashed out again and again, deaf to the surprised exclamations of the assembled questioners.

“No—no—stop it—please—” The words fell from her lips in a babbling stream, punctuated by her wracking sobs. She curled into a ball in the chair—covered her head with her arms—an animalistic keen, half-sob and half-shriek, shuddered from her—

“—I can’t do this again—I—stop—please—”

—and it all came rushing back to her as if it was happening that very moment, all the horror, the gut-wrenching sickness, the feel of his hands roaming across her body, shaming her—the pain—the—

“—please—no—stop—”

Hands—someone grabbing her shoulders, trying to calm her as she thrashed—the muffled buzz of assembled voices speaking—

“Miss Blake—Aeryn—Aeryn—”

Professor SproutÂ’s voice, desperate and shocked, rang suddenly in the hysterical girlÂ’s ears, and the trembling Aeryn suddenly felt herself being held, at first so tightly that she could not move and she gave a small wail, and then the strength disappeared from her trembling muscles, and Aeryn began to sob, heartbreakingly, her hands twisting painfully in the material of the Herbology professorÂ’s robe as the teacher sank to her knees, pressing AerynÂ’s face into her shoulder.

For a long moment, no one moved, and the only sound that filled the chamber was the slowly-calming sound of AerynÂ’s tears.

“That’s enough, Cornelius,” Dumbledore said finally. His voice was so hoarse that it was barely recognizable.

Aeryn drew a shuddering breath and half-lifted her head from Professor Sprout’s shoulder. She blinked hard to clear her blurred vision. On the table lay the Pensieve—or what had been the Pensieve. Her frantic telekinetic thrashing had shattered the bowl into miniscule pieces. Between the shattered shards dripped the pearly-white essence of memories, smoking slightly against the dark wood of the tabletop.

The faces of all those assembled were sickening to look upon. The two Ministry wizardÂ’s features looked as if they had been carved from stone, and Cornelius FudgeÂ’s eyes were tortured. Professor FlitwickÂ’s head was bowed, but Aeryn could see his shoulders shaking, and Professor McGonagall had gone oddly pale and looked as if she was about to vomit.

And Professor Dumbledore—

“Yes,” choked Cornelius Fudge, the word sounding as if it was being torn from his throat by meat hooks. Aeryn slowly rolled her fogged gaze back to him. The Minister of Magic rubbed a hand across his face and exhaled. “Miss Blake, thank you—thank you for your—” He paused, and Aeryn could visibly see him struggle to search for a word. “Cooperation,” he said finally, and the obligatory smile he belatedly remembered to paste on his features was like the grimace of a skull.

Aeryn hiccupped.

The Herbology professor clumsily lifted the girl to her feet, steadying her as she stumbled drunkenly, nearly falling down again. “Come along, dear,” she whispered as Aeryn sniffed and dragged a sleeve across her face. “I’ll—take you back to Gryffindor Tower.”

“Okay,” Aeryn whispered miserably, and allowed the squat little witch to half-lead, half-carry her from the interrogation chamber. The door swung shut behind them with a sharp screech.

The pacing figure in the hallway halted immediately at the sound and turned in their direction. Aeryn lifted her head to see who it was, and froze like a deer caught in the headlights of a car.

Professor SnapeÂ’s coal-black eyes jumped from Aeryn, to Professor Sprout, and then back to Aeryn again. Concern immediately darkened his features, and he took a quick step towards her.

Aeryn flinched away from him with a whimper, jerking her arms up before her face like a shield.

The pendant around her neck was suddenly as heavy as a millstone.

After a second, she slowly lowered her hands. The Potions masterÂ’s face again came into her range of vision, his features smoothed into an expressionless mask. He swallowed and she could see the muscles of his jaw working as he turned to the Herbology professor.

“Daisy.” His voice was low and tight. “I—”
. The

SproutÂ’s hand lashed out, slapping Snape so hard that his head rocked backwards with the force of the blow.

A suffocating silence fell.

Without a word—without even another glance—the Herbology professor pushed past Snape and steered Aeryn down the hallway back to Gryffindor Tower, the trembling of her hands as she held Aeryn her only visible emotion.

~*~*~*~*~*~