I Understand

GRIEF

Severus Snape was sitting at his desk in the Potions classroom late that night, grading the essays the third years had handed in that morning. Fairywings before dragon scales! In a memory potion! he thought disgustedly, dunderheads and idiots, the lot of them! He was sure to run out of red ink before the essay was graded, and he knew he didn't have any left in his personal stores.

He looked down at the current essay disgustedly. It looks as if I've stabbed a rodent and allowed it to run rampant over the parchments. Hmm, I am low on ink. The students probably believe I do that anyway. He snickered to himself. However entertaining that might be, Albus Dumbledore would not be pleased if he found out. Oh well, I must keep that one in mind for future reference.

Lack of red ink meant a trip to Hogsmeade tomorrow. He needed a few other things anyway, so he would get what he needed for his classroom stores as well. At least it wasn't a Hogsmeade weekend. Thankfully, there would be no students running amuck eating too many sweets and swigging that dreadful tasting butterbeer.

He had just stood up to check his storeroom and make a list of what needed replenishing when the door to the classroom slammed open. It banged against the wall with crash and a cloaked figure stumbled in. He had his wand out in a second with a curse ready on his lips when the figure held out a white, shaking hand and whispered "professor" before slumping to the floor in a dead faint.

Recognizing that voice, he hurried to the crumpled body lying in the middle of the classroom. When he ripped back the hood of the cloak, he saw the broken and bloodied face of Draco Malfoy.

"Oh my dear boy, what have you done now?" he whispered. Picking up the unconscious boy, he gently placed him on the table nearest to the door. He performed a spell to check what injuries the boy had received that night.

Voldemort was becoming more and more angry at Draco's refusal to take the Dark Mark. It looked as if Draco had pushed him too far tonight.

"I've told you your mouth would get you into trouble that your wand couldn't get you out of. But do you listen?" Snape sighed as he looked down at the boy who had forced him to care. Of course he doesn't, he said to himself, he learned it from you

Muttering what few healing charms that he knew, Snape was glad to see the tension drain from Draco's face and his breathing return to normal. He left him for a moment to get water and a clean cloth to wipe the blood from his face. He truly preferred this method of medicine to the magical one. He felt the actual physical touch helped the sick or injured person feel better. As with potion making, this was a more hands-on approach. Something he could touch, could feel. He would have considered studying the medicinal arts but for the fact that he could do few healing charms well; and honestly, he just wasn't a 'people' person. He hated the whining and crying a sick person was wont to do.

Thanks to Lucius' harsh treatment of his son, Snape was the only person allowed to touch Draco at all. The boy would probably try to kill anyone who did dare touch him but Snape was not concerned about that. The arrogant blond made it plain by his manner and actions that familiarity was not allowed.

Snape would only admit it to himself, but cleaning Draco up after every meeting made him feel better as well. It gave him hope that he would survive as well. And if his compassion was ever discovered, his reputation as a cold hearted bastard would be ruined. We couldn't have that now, could we, he asked himself mockingly.

Draco groaned and opened his eyes to see his favorite professor and fellow spy, staring intently down at him. His familiar scowl was nowhere to be seen. Right then Draco knew that it was bad. He winced slightly, but said nothing as Snape finished cleaning his injured face. Placing the cloth back into the now bloodied water, Snape silently waited for him to speak.

"Water," Draco tried to say, but the request wouldn't get past the dryness in his mouth. His tongue felt swollen and there was a faint copper aftertaste of blood in his mouth from where he had inadvertently bitten down when he tried not to scream out his agony. On further reflection, everything hurt. Classic signs of the Cruciatus curse, ran through his head.

How many times had he suffered Cruciatus? Draco couldn't remember, he had lost count after five. It doesn't matter, he told himself. I survived. That matters.

Snape either instinctively understood what he had attempted to say, or simply knew from personal experience, because Draco heard him say, "Accio!waterglass" and was soon holding a cold glass of water to his parched, swollen lips. After taking a few small sips, Draco pulled his head back and sighed in relief.

"Thank you. That's much better," Draco's attempt at a light tone was marred by the hoarseness of his voice. "What would I do without you to patch me back together?"

Snape smiled slightly. He still had not spoken. He knew that Draco would tell him everything he had found out when he was ready to speak on it. He never pushed his student to talk, just waited for him to speak.

What the young man said next wiped even the hint of a smile from his face and chilled him to the very inner core of his being.

"Vol..Voldemort," Draco shuddered and drew in a deep breath clenching his hands into fists he forced himself to speak.

"Voldemort raped my mother again tonight." Draco's voice cracked at the end of that sentence and the thin control he still held over his raging emotions cracked. He started shaking uncontrollably once again and his sobs covered the shocked gasp that came from neither of the men in the classroom.

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