Cinnamon

Dark. It was too dark. He could find you in the dark, and you couldn't run away. You can't hide from him, she thought with a crazed laugh that turned into harsh, gasping sobs. He'll find you. You can't run when you're tied down, she giggled. You can't hide from him. Where's the light? Why is it so dark? He can find me in the dark.

It hurts. Mama, why does it hurt? You never told me it hurt so much. Blood. The blood is red, and the bruises are black. Scars are white, she laughed. Funny, because the blood is so red on the knife. Edges to cut away the pain. Maybe the blood will drown the pain. Maybe, if I bleed enough, the memories will go away. She slipped out of bed and crept into the bathroom, chuckling hysterically. She pulled off her nightgown and stared at herself in the mirror.

Skin is so pale, she thought with a frown. She held up her arms for inspection and smiled with satisfaction. Some of the scars were white. Some were pink, and a few were still red. The bruises were gone, had been gone for a while. She could still see them, finger-marks on her wrists and her arms, on her waist and her breasts. "Not enough blood," she whispered. "Have to bleed away the memories."

She pulled a knife from behind the mirror and held it up to the light. It gleamed. "So pretty," she murmured. She gripped the hilt and made a long gash down her left arm. It didn't bleed enough, or hurt enough, to make her forget his hands on her, her blood on the sheets. She made an identical slice on her right arm, but she could still remember. She let out a thin howl. "Go away, go away, leave me alone," she whimpered. "Let me forget you."

'Pretty little child,' his voice hissed in her mind. 'Pretty little girl, don't you like what I teach you? Don't you like it?'

"No! I hate it, I hate you, go away!"

'I'll never go away,' he purred. 'Not until you tell me you like it.'

"GO AWAY!" The knife slipped from nerveless fingers and clattered to the floor.

'Tell me you like it, little girl. You know you do. You want it. You want me to play with you.'

"I hate you," she whispered.

'Silly little girl, do you think I care? Pretty plaything. That's all you are, all you'll ever be.'

"Leave me alone," she sobbed. "You're not here, I'm just imagining."

'You'll remember me,' he hissed. 'You'll remember me, little girl, and I'll stay with you until you die. You'll remember everything, and you'll go mad. And I'll be waiting...' His taunting laugh echoed in her head.

She screamed, and kept on screaming. The doorknob rattled, and she grabbed up the knife. He wouldn't get her. Not this time.

"Alohomora!" Professor Snape opened the door and stared at the thin, pale girl wearing only her underwear, bleeding on the nightgown piled at her feet.

She stopped screaming and held the knife against her throat. "Go away," she cried. "You can't have me. I'm not your plaything, I'll die first. GO AWAY!"

"I won't hurt you, Blaise." Snape held completely still. "Blaise, please put the knife down."

"I'll do it," she hissed, staring at someone who wasn't there. She pressed the knife harder against her throat and was rewarded by blood dripping down. "I'll do it. GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" She scrambled backwards. "I hate you," she sobbed. "Leave me alone."

"Blaise!" Snape snapped sharply. "I will not hurt you! I am Professor Snape and I am ORDERING you to put that knife down!"

Her head jerked up. "Professor Snape?" she whispered, hope glistening in her eyes. "Make him go away?"

"Of course. But first, will you please give me the knife?"

She held out the bloody blade, smiling. "You'll make him go away," she murmured with complete confidence. Professor Snape could do anything.

"Please put on your nightgown?"

She nodded and obediently put on the bloodstained white dress. "Where are we going?" she asked as he gently pulled her out of the bathroom.

"To my room. Is that all right?"

"Of course," she said tranquilly. It was an eerie change from the girl he'd seen in the bathroom only moments ago, screaming at a man who wasn't there and holding a knife to her own throat.

In his room, she stood exactly where he had left her as he fetched some potions and salves off his shelves. "Why don't you tell me what happened," he suggested as he began smearing salve on the cuts in her arms.

She began speaking in a soft, indifferent voice. "It was last summer. He must have told my father he wanted a plaything, or something, because Daddy told me he had a present for me, and he took me down to the basement. HE was there," she said with a shudder. "He sent Daddy out of the room, and he had a little pudgy man with a silver hand--tie me..." she broke off, shaking so hard that her arm jerked out of Snape's hand.

Snape hesitated, then hugged her carefully. She buried her face in his robes, crying. "I won't lie and say it'll be all right. It won't. It'll hurt and you'll want to die again. But I think you need to know that you're not alone. And you're not the first."

She looked up at him out of red-rimmed eyes. "You too?" she asked.

"It was a long time ago," he replied. "When I was still at Hogwarts. My sister helped me get through it. I don't know who helped her. It's a long chain and it's an ugly one. But it helps when there's someone who understands." He ran a gentle hand along her hair.

"Yes," she agreed, "it does."

"Stay here for a moment," he requested. He pulled a trunk from beneath his bed and opened it. When he straightened, she saw that he was holding a teddy bear the size of a five-year-old child. "This is Cinnamon. My sister gave her to me, when..." his voice trailed off. "In any event, she's soft and cuddly and likes to be hugged. If you cry on her, she won't mind. But she doesn't like blood, so you can't cut yourself anymore, all right?"

She nodded and held out her arms for the bear. Snape handed it to her, and she hugged it tightly. "Cinnamon," she whispered.

"If you have bad dreams, or there are things you don't want to tell anyone, you can tell Cinnamon. She'll make him go away. But if you need to talk with someone who understands, I will always listen." She nodded, smiling peacefully at the bear. "Blaise, I can guarantee that you won't be the last Slytherin this happens to. And we can't stop it. But if you ever find someone else who needs an understanding ear and a hug, please give it to them. Consider it payback."

She stood on tiptoe and kissed him lightly. "Thank you, Professor. I will." And she walked silently out of the room.

He watched her go, smiling wistfully. Cinnamon had been spelled to help her owner get through the worst problems life could throw, and Blaise certainly need that more than he did.

"Oh, well," he murmured, "I guess I am a bit old for teddy bears."