Animalexus

Marie sighed inwardly and prayed that her boredom didn't show on her face. She was used to magic being frightening, overwhelming, and dangerous, but magic that was downright dull was a new experience. And yet these transfiguration lessons with Professor McGonagall couldn't be more tedious.

At the moment, Marie was sitting in McGonagall's office, listening to the witch critique her day's work. She'd succeeded in transfiguring a spoon into a key--that one might have been a handy trick to know, had it been possible to create a skeleton key rather than one that only opened broom closet doors--but she'd had a bit more trouble turning a scarf into a tortoise. Marie really thought it should be a moot point, as she couldn't possibly imagine a set of circumstances in which she'd trade a scarf for a tortoise, but McGonagall seemed decidedly--and longwindedly--disappointed.

"...certainly not due to a lack of talent, Miss Llewellur. You are simply not putting enough effort into your work. You cannot doze through the lectures on theory and still expect to produce a finished product of any quality whatsoever!"

Marie glanced up warily; the taut tone of the Professor's already-prim voice seemed to suggest she might actually be finished with her tirade, such as it was.

"One more thing," McGonagall said, raising her eyebrows as Marie met her steady gaze. She stood up and moved to a large cabinet near her desk. Marie held her breath, vehemently hoping the Professor wasn't about to produce some massive transfiguration tome and expect her to have it read and memorized by their next meeting.

Instead, McGonagall pulled out a beautiful set of robes and held them up in front of the window. They were an especially dark and deep red, almost a burgundy, and they were of a cut Marie had never seen before. The neck was wide and plunged rather deeply, lined with a double braid of gold embroidery that continued along the shoulders and down each sleeve. The embroidery was repeated again at the hem, anchoring the layers of light, airy fabric.

"You'll be needing something to wear to the Yule Ball," McGonagall explained, her tone as matter-of-fact as ever. "Professor and staff attendance is required this year on the Headmaster's orders."

"They're gorgeous," Marie said, not taking her eyes off the garments.

McGonagall offered a brief smile. "They really are, aren't they? I wore these my seventh year. I do believe they should fit you, and I can handle any minor adjustments if not." She handed the robes over, and her tone hardened again. "Mind you, my formal attire these days is decidedly less...elegant. It would not do for the students to know that their Deputy Headmistress was ever anything but a stodgy old bat."

Marie grinned in spite of herself. "No, of course not."

"Well, then..." McGonagall's eyes twinkled just a bit, looking very like Dumbledore's at his most genial moments. "Off you go."

Marie rose, but was stopped halfway to the door by the witch's call.
"And Miss Llewellur?"

"Professor?"

"Do try and get at least some studying done between now and next week."

***

Marie hung the robes in her wardrobe, taking extra care with the fragile fabric. She stared at the outfit for a moment longer, wondering if she could really summon the courage to wear it in public. It seemed a silly question to ponder at all, but somehow showing up at this Ball, especially in witch's attire, seemed an acceptance of this world, a statement that she belonged. And perhaps she did. Her parents had grown up here, after all, hard as it was to imagine her parents--a small-town policeman and a veterinarian, as she had known them--comfortable in this place. But while Hogwarts was the introduction to the wizarding world for many a Muggleborn (or Muggle-raised) witch or wizard, the fact remained that nearly all of what Marie knew about this world was Dark. Her parents had never intended for her to know of any of this. And much as she wanted to--God, she wanted to--she didn't believe in her heart that she would be able to stay here.

Snape didn't believe it either, and his evening lessons were making that clearer and clearer. He'd abandoned much of the earlier spell-casting work for the practice of wandless magic, particularly wandless defense. Though she'd met with nothing but failure in that arena so far, Snape's insistence that she continue to practice told her enough.

The new subject did raise some questions in her mind. The book she'd found in the library told not only of the history of the Animalexi, but also of the history of the Cyphirr and Llewellur families. It seemed that the Llewellurs were rumored to have significant skill with wandless magic, though the text also noted that there were virtually no documented cases to back this up. Marie had been wondering about it ever since she saw it in the book, though. That last night in her home--she still winced at the memory, even today--she had seen her father stand and whirl to face the intruders, then throw his hands in the air before being struck down. She'd assumed at the time that it was simply a reflex reaction, but now she wondered. He had moved his hands in a very prescribed, deliberate fashion. Hadn't he?

Her reverie was broken by the hard sound of hoofbeats outside. Something about that wasn't right; all of the Hogwarts and student horses were turned out in the paddocks. The steps she heard were on the road connecting the front gates with the stables, and now that Marie strained to listen, she could hear the rattling of some sort of carriage as well. She glanced out her one window, but it faced the castle, and she could see nothing of the road.

Marie hurriedly backed down the ladder to the main floor of the stable and stepped into the wide open doorway. And found herself riveted where she stood.

A matched pair of glossy black horses trotted strongly down the center of the road, towards the barn, towards her. And there was just one man in the cart they were hitched to. He caught Marie's eye just as he said, "Woah," in a deep low voice, hauling back on the reins with his full weight. The horses came to a halt just in front of the barn, prancing in place, their mouths foaming. Both carefully avoided looking at her.

"Well," drawled Lucius Malfoy, in that practiced, casual tone. "Marie Llewellur. What a surprise it is indeed to see you here." His dry manner and half-lidded eyes made it clear it was anything but. He glanced her over, up and down, and smirked silently when his eyes landed on the silver clasp of her cloak.

Marie was aware, in some part of herself, that the moment had long passed for the snappy comment she'd have liked to responded with. She dug her fingernails into her palm, letting the discomfort jar her mind into the present. "I might say the same of you, sir," she managed, finally, and bit her tongue when that last word reached her ears. Habit.

Lucius didn't leave his cart, instead looked down upon her from the height it offered. He smiled darkly. "Miss Llewellur, I may no longer be a governor of this fine school," he said, pulling his gloves from his hands, "but I am still the father of a pupil. Surely I should be permitted to call on my own son?"

"And you came to...'call'...in a horse-drawn carriage." She wasn't sure if the words sounded sarcastic or just plain flat, wasn't even sure how she'd intended them.

Lucius raised one palm in a mockery of a shrug. "It's a rare lovely day, my dear. One cannot Apparate onto the grounds--as I am quite sure you are aware--and I rather enjoy the company of horses." His pale gray eyes narrowed. "Though not so much as I suppose you do."

She had nothing to say to that.

"So, then..." He flicked his wrist, and the long lash of the driving whip curled effortlessly around the staff. "I trust you are capable of looking after them while I attend to my business?"

"I'm not your stablehand," she retorted, realizing a second too late--everything was a second too late--that it was the last thing she should have said. This rediscovered self-confidence of hers was going to get her into trouble.

"Foolish," confirmed one of the horses.

Lucius leapt easily down from the cart, strode to her, and backhanded her hard across the face in one smooth, swift movement. Marie had been shocked the first time Lucius had hit her; his lordly bearing and appearance had always suggested to her that he'd leave such base matters to those less well-bred. But it had soon become clear that he was not only willing, but also that he also moved faster than any man she had ever seen, and when he was in a mood to harm, his strike was nearly impossible to avoid.

By the time Marie regained her bearings, and her balance, Lucius was standing easily again, chin lifted, hands clasped behind him, perfectly at ease. He stared down at her, hard. "Miss Llewellur, you are a slave! The Mark on your arm should not let you forget it, and don't think for an instant that dashing through a fireplace frees you of that. You are anything the Dark Lord wants you to be, anything I want you to be!"

She opened her mouth to fire back a retort, but at the last minute held her tongue.

He smiled smoothly, seemingly satisfied by her lack of reply. "Right, then. Now do look after my animals while I attend to business. Don't bother unhitching them; I shan't be long. And of course," he added, turning on his heel, his heavy traveling cloak swishing behind him, "I do look forward to having you back at Malfoy Manor one of these days. Marie." He snapped her name off of his tongue, and the very sound of it made her wince.

She took the reins, though, and led the horses back into the dark of the stables, the sound of Lucius' boot heels clicking against the stone of the road loud and crisp in her ears.

***

Snape glared at the room at large. Midyear exams were a smaller affair than finals, which meant that they were held in classrooms rather than in the Great Hall and, unfortunately, that Snape was therefore relegated to proctoring duty for each Potions exam. He would have liked to use the two hours of uninterrupted quiet to work, but he didn't trust his students not to cheat at the very moment he averted his eyes. He supposed he needn't worry with this particular group; the Ravenclaws were too proud of their academic prowess to cheat, and the Hufflepuffs seemed to think they'd be struck down by divine bolts of lightning should they even entertain such a dishonorable notion. Still, there were exceptions to every rule, and if any of them were sitting for this exam, Snape was determined that they would fail it. Miserably.

Therefore, he was extremely irritated when someone knocked loudly and urgently on the classroom door. He was of half a mind to ignore it, but the sound came again, even more loudly, if possible, and any students who hadn't already turned towards the door did so now.

"Back to work," Snape snarled, rising and striding towards the door. He yanked it open only a few inches, but it was enough to see Marie Llewellur's frightened face. "Madame Lancet," he said coolly, more statement than greeting. "I am in the middle of administering an exam. This is--"

"I really need to speak with you, si--Professor." She glanced behind her, then looked back to Snape.

He squared his shoulders. "I repeat, I am--"

She threw up her hand, as though afraid he would slam the door in her face. Which he was certainly considering doing. "No, you don't understand, this is--I have to talk to you. Right now."

Snape searched her eyes--he searched a bit more than just that, truth be told; the unbroken eye contact was too inviting--and Marie winced slightly at what Snape knew to be a familiar intrusion on her thoughts. She didn't look away, though, and that, coupled with the knowledge that she guarded the privacy of her mind nearly as fiercely as he himself did, convinced him. He spun on his heel to address his class and twisted his face into the most grotesque sneer he could summon. "Eyes on your own exams. Not a word, not a whisper, not a grunt, from any of you. Any sound, any cheating, and I will know about it." He paused, just slightly. "Should I catch any one of you engaged in such behavior: You. Will. Regret. It." He let his gaze slide around the room, over each face. Satisfied that he had sufficiently terrorized his students, he slipped into the hall and pulled the door firmly closed. He turned his glare on Marie. "Unless the Dark Lord himself is standing on your doorstep, I sincerely doubt I will consider this as urgent as you do."

Marie seemed horrified by the mere suggestion of such a thing, but merely gasped, "Lucius."

Snape glanced down the hall, both ways. "My office," he said.

Inside, Marie wasn't so terrified that she didn't gape openly at the contents of the room. Most students who entered here seemed most transfixed by the admittedly monstrous jarred potions ingredients suspended in their various preserving solutions that lined his shelves, but Marie didn't give them a second glance. Instead, her eyes went directly to the row of stoppered potions on a (warded) top shelf. Snape watched interestedly as she studied them with a far more practiced eye than even his most advanced Seventh years could have acquired. Of course, he reminded himself, her knowledge would be purely practical, with no academic understanding behind it. Her stare lingered on the single wooden rack of tiny phials, each containing just three drops of a crystal-clear solution. His Veritaserum stores.

Snape leaned forward over his desk and steepled his fingers in front of him. "Miss Llewellur," he said, just a bit of an edge to his tone.

She immediately tucked her hands inside her cloak--an interesting instinctual reaction, that was--and snapped her eyes to his. He lifted one hand and pointed to the chair across the desk. She sat gingerly, at the very edge of the seat. Her eyes were dark with fear, and she'd adopted that automatic docile demeanor Snape had watched her acquire over the last few years.

"I presume," he began, keeping his tone cold, "that, judging by your exceedingly irrational behavior, Mister Malfoy is here at Hogwarts."

She nodded.

"And did he see you?"

Marie's eyes held their dull appearance, but her mouth twisted in a humorless smirk. "He arrived in a touring cart, driving a team of horses."

Snape folded his hands into loose fists and laid them in front of him on the desk, one next to the other. "I see."

Lucius' meddling didn't surprise him; the man was forever on the lookout for a way to gain further esteem in the Dark Lord's eyes. Snape had long believed that Lucius felt trapped in the Death Eaters just as he did, if not quite to the same extent--their political beliefs aside, neither of them had expected the organization to devolve into what it did--but while Snape became a spy to--what, save his conscience?--Lucius had opted to work towards as high a rank in the Dark Lord's inner circle as possible, no doubt in order to preserve his physical life. Snape had always been the one with the reputation as an intellectual, but in this particular instance, it seemed clear that Lucius had chosen the far wiser path.

"Do you suppose he's going to try to make me..." She cleared her throat uncomfortably. "That is, do you think he'll take me back to..."

Snape raised an eyebrow, but it was quite clear that Marie was incapable of finishing the sentence. No matter, her meaning was abundantly clear. "No," he said, bluntly, "that would be a rather over-obvious move. Still," he mused, frowning, "I would suggest you keep your distance until he's gone. And do be careful what you touch when you return to the stables. You wouldn't want to find yourself portkeyed to Malfoy Manor."

Marie looked as though she were about to vomit. Snape just barely restrained himself from ushering her out into the hall; he did not need to deal with a mess of that sort, no matter how easily a cleansing charm might have eliminated it.

Now that he considered it, actually, it might save him some significant trouble if Lucius were to portkey the girl to his manor. She'd be gone from here, at least, and the task of bringing this situation to its inevitable end would have been lifted from his own shoulders. On the other hand, if someone other than himself were to return Marie to the Dark Lord, Snape doubted the outcome would be pleasant. Merlin, if a visitor could snatch her away so easily after Snape had gone to such lengths to explain his own delays to the Dark Lord--no, far better that Marie and Lucius be kept well away from one another this day.

Snape stood, shoving his heavy chair backwards with the rough scraping of wood on stone, and Marie followed suit. "You go upstairs to Minerva's office and stay there until I send word that you may leave." McGonagall was as Gryffindor as they came, the bloody old bat. Lucius would certainly stay well away from that corner of the castle, never mind that particular Head of House's personal office.

Marie nodded again, and hurried to the door. She pulled it open and was very nearly struck in the face by Lucius Malfoy's ever-ostentatious silver-headed cane, which he had apparently been intending to use as a makeshift doorknocker. His hard eyes moved over Marie and past her to meet Snape's own. The older man's mouth twisted up into something like a smile, but the sharp eyes didn't change.

"Severus," he said, the greeting so soft it was nearly a whisper. He stepped over the threshold of the office, taking it for granted that Marie would move out of his way. She practically leapt backwards and stumbled over herself to move aside. Bloody hell, she was almost more afraid of Lucius than she was of the Dark Lord. Snape went to great lengths to avoid finding himself at Malfoy Manor; he hadn't realized what a large and fearsome role his old Housemate had been playing in Marie's life.

Snape didn't return the greeting, merely raised one eyebrow. He and Lucius had not been on terribly friendly terms since well before the Dark Lord's fall. Instead, whenever they crossed paths, they played out this charade, a facsimile of social politeness, each constantly on the lookout for an opportunity to ruin the other. Snape was all too aware that in finding Marie in his office, Lucius may have just stumbled into a fortune in that regard.

"Now this is indeed a surprise," he drawled, glancing at Marie and smoothing a hand over his blond hair, though it hardly needed tidying. "Who would have thought that the first person Miss Llewellur would have run to for help would be one of the Dark Lord's most loyal Death Eaters?" Lucius let the last words veritably drip with mockery.

Marie's face was positively ashen, but she took a small step forward anyway. "I am not--"

Lucius silenced her by shoving her hard against the wall and holding her there, his heavy cane held at an angle across her chest.

Snape didn't take his eyes off Lucius. He hoped his expression appeared sufficiently unconcerned.

"Well, Severus?" the other man asked, still maintaining the cover of civility. "You always were a quick thinker. A gift I imagine you treasured in our school days," Lucius added, in a tone suggesting he were talking to himself, "as you did have a rather large deficiency in the financial department to make up for. Ah well, no fault of yours, I suppose." He sniffed, ignoring the quiet fury that Snape knew had to be spreading across his face. "In any case, I trust you have an explanation for Miss Llewellur's rather...unlikely...presence here?"

Snape forced his anger away and snorted derisively. "I may teach, Lucius, but if you believe me capable of explaining the workings of an adolescent mind, you will be sorely disappointed. Besides," he added, tossing a callous glance in Marie's direction, "this mind in particular is beyond comprehension, thanks in no small part to your fondness for using it for your personal amusement."

Marie made a small movement, and, without looking at her, Lucius closed his fingers more tightly around his cane and straightened his arm, forcing her harder against the wall. Snape heard the painful crack of Marie's skull colliding with stone, but he didn't let himself look in her direction, even for a moment.

"Be that as it may," Lucius said, spacing his words evenly through clenched teeth, "I doubt that the Dark Lord would accept teenage folly as a justification. You have been telling him for weeks that you have no access to his Animalexus, that Dumbledore is watching your every movement, that you can't hope to get close enough to her to return her. And yet..." He raised his free hand in a sort of what-have-we-here shrug. "Here she is. With you. Alone."

Marie suddenly inhaled sharply and winced. Lucius didn't even seem to have noticed, but Snape sneaked a glance in her direction. She blinked hard, once.

Snape leaned back against his desk and folded his arms, sincerely hoping that the gesture appeared casual rather than forced. "I do hate to shatter your illusions of my conniving, calculating intellect, Lucius, but I am afraid that this is a simple case of sheer stupidity," he hit the consonants of the word especially hard, "on Miss Llewellur's part." He turned his most acidic glare on her. "I am not her savior, a fact most would have picked up on after watching me slay their loved ones."

Marie didn't react. At all. It was only when her newly oft-volatile temperament did not show itself that Snape noticed that Marie's eyes were lost and unfocused, their pupils dilated even further than what should have been dictated by the limited light of the dungeons. Upon further examination, he saw that her jaw was clenched as well, and her hands circled into tight fists.

"Bloody--" Snape shifted his gaze to his old schoolmate and sneered. "Honestly, Lucius, you're like an addict." He waved a hand dismissively and infused his tone with all the disdain he could muster. "Stop mucking about in her head. I have no desire to watch you amuse yourself in such an utterly sordid fashion."

Lucius raised his head and curled his lip in a sneer to match Snape's own. "No," he whispered, "that never has been your style, has it, Severus?" His voice stayed quiet, but the pitch went up slightly, mockingly. "All business. No play. Pity."

He did drop whatever magic he'd been using to toy with Marie, though, and he pulled his cane away from her body at the same instant. She collapsed immediately to the stone floor, and almost as immediately clawed her way back up to a standing position. Her eyes, Snape couldn't help but notice, were glittering with the memory of pain.

"Oh, fabulous," Snape intoned, letting his eyelids drop halfway. "Now she looks as though she were run down by a rabid hippogriff. What am I supposed to do when she goes running to the Headmaster, hmm?"

Lucius' pale skin flushed suddenly pink. Snape's stoniness always did have a tendency to infuriate the man. "I am quite sure you'll think of something. But, I would suggest, Severus, that you worry less about that doddering old fool, and more about our LORD!" He was grimacing such that he was actually baring his teeth, and Snape took some satisfaction in knowing that his own expression was as impenetrable as ever. Lucius held his gaze for another long moment, fuming, before turning, snarling viciously at a Marie who seemed oblivious to anything but the demons in her head, and spinning on his heel and storming from the room. The door slammed behind him of its own accord.

Snape held his position for a moment longer, just in case Lucius burst back in as violently as he'd left, but the door stayed shut. He ran a hand through his hair and turned to Marie. "Miss Llewellur, I do hope that next time you think better of--" He broke off, realizing that she wasn't listening. He strode over to her, leaned in slightly. "Miss Llewellur," he said, very deliberately. Nothing. "Marie!"

Her eyes snapped up, and just as quickly Marie had broken from her position against the wall and darted out the door.

***

Marie ran blindly, her eyes glossing over everything, on the lookout only for Lucius. She sprinted past a group of younger students on their way to the Great Hall, ignoring their indignant protests and hurried shushings when they realized she was staff. She barely missed Hagrid on the path down to where his hut and her stables were. She was out of breath, but she didn't stop, didn't let herself feel the nagging pain of her tall leather boots cutting into the backs of her knees, or the bruise forming on the back of her head where she'd hit the wall.

How dare he? How dare Lucius use her in that way, manipulate her like that, here? This was Hogwarts, this was supposed to be safe. She didn't expect it to last--she kept telling herself she didn't--but this was sanctuary.

First it had been a flash of another stone room, another dungeon. For an instant she wasn't in Snape's office, she was in Malfoy Manor, in the rooms below the house. The cold stone was the same against her back, but she knew the difference, knew the cut of those blocks, the damp chill of the air, the feel of heavy metal circling her wrists. And then he had released her from the memory and she was back. That was the worst of it; he wasn't even fabricating any of it; it was already in her head, memory upon memory ready to be rifled through, selected, and forced to the forefront of her mind by Lucius.

He'd kept up his end of the conversation, if it could be called that, with Snape, but he hadn't let her go. Not even a minute after the first flash, there was another, this one of a lean, creased face, a thumb and forefinger twisting the end of a thin line of a moustache. McNair, a frequent guest at Malfoy Manor. He always watched her with that incredibly cold, calculating anticipation. If he was in the room, Marie felt his eyes on her. Lucius left him alone with her on occasion, each time he let the man go just a bit farther before returning. Marie still couldn't decide what was worse: the absolute certainty she had, every time, that this was the one day on which Lucius would not come back just in the nick of time, or her inevitable relief and reluctant gratitude when he did.

After that flash, Lucius forced a steady stream of memory on her, moments of terror and pain she wasn't even aware, in some cases, that she remembered. He was skilled, that was undeniable. He could find a memory of an agony that had last a fraction of a second, force her to recall it, and hold it for minutes on end. A shade of pain might be nothing like the reality, but it was damaging enough. And she was powerless to fight it, to stop him, to keep him out of her head.

And then he'd dropped it all, suddenly. Marie had heard Snape's droll tone. Lucius had left. And she needed to get out.

All she wanted was to forget. So she ran. And ran.

Marie skidded to a stop at the paddocks, looking over her shoulder hurriedly before calling to the first horse she saw. "Archie! Archie, where's Rinnamash?"

The cob raised his head and spoke around a mouthful of grass. "Ah...I think he's over in the far paddock, back behind the barn--hey, Marie, are you okay?"

She nodded, then shook her head. "I'm--I need Mash."

Archie pricked his ears intently. "Stay here. I'll get him."

"No, I can't--" But Archie had already galloped away, kicking up a cloud of dust behind him. Marie sank to the grass and leaned against a fencepost. She couldn't see the stables from here, but the main gates of Hogwarts were clearly visible. It was a good distance, but if Lucius were leaving, and he turned around--she was far away, certainly, but he'd know it was her if he looked. She couldn't stay; she had to leave. She pulled herself to her feet and turned away. She had no real destination, only away.

"Marie! Wait!"

She turned to see Mash sprinting towards her, Archie well behind him. He didn't slow as he reached the fence, instead launched himself into the air and cleared the four-and-a-half feet with room to spare. He ground to a halt in front of her, his hooves cutting into the soft ground. All that movement, suddenly still.

"Marie, what's wrong?"

She shook her head.

"I can't--here--I don't--"

Mash searched her face intently for a moment, then tossed his head. "Get on."

Marie nodded dumbly and pulled herself onto Mash's bare back. She took hold of his thick mane with both hands, wrapping the tangled, bristly hair around her fingers. She leaned forward, so her lips were very near his ears. "Run," she said.

Mash's entire body tensed beneath her, every muscle suddenly taut. Anticipation, she thought. "Where?"

"Anywhere. Away. Just run."

"Hold on," he said, and launched into a gallop as quickly as a racehorse bursting from a starting gate. His hooves dug into the earth, and within several strides they were flying. The ground was little more than a smudge of dull color underfoot. Marie leaned forward, Mash's mane whipping into her face. She might have been gripping his sides too tightly, but she didn't care, because it could only make him go faster.

And she couldn't go fast enough.

***

Marie wasn't in her flat in the loft when Snape called that night for her lessons. He'd expected that she might turn him away--he didn't intend to put up any fuss if she did--and he could hardly blame her for it; he wasn't certain as to how much of what he'd said in his office earlier she had heard, but none of it would have been conducive to trust. Still, Snape couldn't help but wonder where she was, and since she had also been absent from dinner and had evidently neglected to bring the horses in from their paddocks even though it was long past dark, he determined that he had little choice but to search for her. Just in case.

He had a vague idea of where she might be--particularly since, near as he had been able to ascertain, Rinnamash was also missing--so he set off towards the farthest corner of Hogwarts' property. Snape knew these grounds backwards and forwards--the so-called 'Marauders' hadn't been the only ones to explore--and he'd traveled them countless times in the dark, but even so, when he was far enough from the castle to go unseen, he said, "Lumos," and let his wand cast a stark wash over the landscape. Nothing. Black trees, gray hills, the vague and distinct indistinct forms of mountains. The stars and moon were hidden by a thick cloudcover, and everything looked so utterly miserable that Snape couldn't help but wish he were back in his quarters, a fire blazing.

He refused to feel anything even remotely like guilt for the events of the afternoon. He was not responsible for Lucius Malfoy, of all people. He'd been taught that long ago; a Slytherin was responsible for none but himself. It was one lesson he'd taken to heart. He'd fucked it all up early, and was paying for it still.

He might have avoided it all. His first day at Hogwarts, the Sorting Hat had suggested it put him into Ravenclaw. Had tried rather strenuously to sell him on the idea, in fact. Promises of like fellows, freedom to follow his passions, appreciation for his skills. Snape knew better, of course. Aside from the rather pressing matter of what his father would do to him if he came home with the Ravenclaw crest sewn onto his robes, the simple fact was that Snape had nothing--as Lucius had pointed out, not so much as a sickle in pocket money; no flock of eager followers trailing him about; no broomstick or even the skill to fly one; even his tuition had been paid for by the school's anonymous Board of Governors--he had nothing, save for his name. He had his name. Snape. It meant poverty, yes, and an address in Knockturn Alley. It meant short tempers and violent outbursts. But it also meant old blood. Wizard blood. Pure blood. Snape had known, all his life, that his only chance at respect came with the label of 'pureblood'. So he cursed the Sorting Hat and chose Slytherin, and later, long before the true nature of the beast had revealed itself, such as it was, long before anyone had ever heard the words 'Dark Lord', he cursed Dumbledore and chose Voldemort.

And what would have happened if he had not? Surely his life would not have been the sunshine-and-flowers vision Albus seemed to believe in. Snape knew the realities as well as anyone, better than most; he likely would have been cut down in the swath of murders that accompanied the Dark Lord's first rise; purebloods who refused to support the cause fell even before Mudbloods. Or, taking into consideration the fact that even as a young man he had been well-known for his potions skills, he might have been kidnapped instead. Snatched in a midnight raid, locked away and tortured, forced to do the work he instead gave freely. Snape snorted. Hell, had he not made the choices he did, he might have ended up alongside Marie Llewellur, a slave whose quality of life could only improve with death. Gryffindors and their ilk might have the opportunity to stand off to one side and observe and pass judgment; people like himself and Marie had one choice, and one choice only: oppress or be oppressed.

He spotted her, suddenly, in a shallow bowl-shaped dale nestled beneath the hillside he stood on. Rinnamash was there, too, lying in the deep grass. Marie was next to him, her body curled against his huge barrel, asleep, a sleep of exhaustion rather than peace. The hood of her cloak was up, the fold of the cloth not quite shielding her face. Rinnamash raised his head at the sound of Snape's footsteps, and the horse's usually benign expression was hard, his ears pinned back against his head.

Snape stopped. Marie, unlike many people, usually appeared no younger in sleep than she did when awake. Now, though, was an exception; her muscles had relaxed, and her youth showed through on her face. That shouldn't have swayed him--he'd never let himself be moved by the picture of a sleeping innocent; innocence could often be equated with weakness, after all--but Rinnamash tossed his head angrily, once, twice, and something about the sight of an animal Snape knew to be flighty and nervous by nature aggressively defending the girl struck him.

Snape took one step backwards, more concession than he was used to offering. He suddenly couldn't remember what Marie had said when she'd explained the extent of her powers under Veritaserum, years ago. Could animals understand people who weren't Animalexi? It seemed that the answer should be no, but something in Snape's memory made him hesitate.

"I'll leave," he said, haltingly, glancing at the horse. His horse, he reminded himself. In name if not deed.

The animal remained still.

"I was looking for her." Snape nodded to Marie. "I didn't see her all evening. I thought it best if someone--" He cleared his throat, lifted his chin. "I was...concerned."

Rinnamash made no movement, and Snape had no way of knowing whether the horse understood him or was simply dumb as a rock. He took another step or two backwards before turning.

As he crested the hill, he thought he heard Rinnamash lay his head back down and let out a sigh.