What Connected Us All

The Dark Mark

The return trip to Hogwarts is pelted by hordes of merciless rain. The trek from Hogsmeade Station to the thestral-carried carriages had never seemed so long. Farren is unbearably cold, but apparently the atmosphere does not think it cold enough for snow. Sirius fixes this problem by raising his wand at random and freezing the rain, making it appear as though they were both inside an odd life-size Christmas globe.

They had left Grimmauld Place a day early in order to help Sirius move into the very small, cheap flat located in the outskirts of London. Farren had been the one to secure the space, using mostly charm (and little magic) on the landlord. There hadn't been much to pack. Farren and Sirius departed rather quickly on the motorbike, leaving behind a note that read: Eat pixie droppings - Love Sirius; as well as a surprise in the stew Kreacher had been cooking for his mistress's return (hint: it was pixie droppings).

When they finally reach the carriages from Hogsmeade, Farren feels that peculiar urge to touch the skeletal thestrals. To her shock, Sirius stretches out a hand and begins to pat one with a grin.

"Beautiful, aren't they?" he says, looking up at her with perverse humor in his gaze.

"Yes."

As Sirius and Farren both look at each other with a new kind of scrutiny, an odd moment passes between them. They silently acknowledge the dark connection of their pasts, thinking the same question and not speaking a word.

Farren smiles, realizing how typical it is of her to pick the twisted ones. Even when she thinks she has chosen a shallow, insubstantial, and sheltered bloke, he turns out to be quite a bit more than that. In fact, he turns out to be deliciously haunted and wonderful.

They clamber into the carriage, keeping huddled together for warmth. Farren, as is her custom, stares fixedly into the Forbidden Forest. The forest has always mesmerized her. She often finds herself fantasizing of running naked through the trees, leaping through fallen branches and feeling the adrenaline from within her change the very person she is. She isn't precisely certain as to why she has this fantasy. It has something, she believes, to do with freedom. Farren becomes rather excited when she spots movement in the forest, certain she has just glimpsed the centaur herd. But Sirius quickly dismisses this, saying it must have been her imagination.

"The centaurs never come this close to the castle," he says, pulling Farren closer to him in an attempt to distract her from thinking further on it.

But it doesn't work and she decides that, no matter what Sirius says, it had been a centaur.

Entering the illuminated Entrance Hall, Farren feels a rush of fondness for her school. She has grown rather attached to Hogwarts over the years. She often thinks of it as a living being, a sort of untamable pet that changes by mood or will. And though she returns to her stoically beautiful mansion every summer, Farren likes to think her life has predominantly been spent at Hogwarts. And Farren hopes that when she looks back on these years, she'll think of the memories had within these portrait clad walls. She hopes to remember the Christmas dinners spent with Dumbledore, rather than the ones spent alone with her third wine glass in one hand and a letter of bullshit apology from her father in the other.

Looking about at the arriving students, Farren instantly spots Lily and smiles widely.

"Hullo my fiery vixen!"

Lily, already accustomed to her oddities, ignores the new nickname and speaks in a hurried manner. "Your friend Celia Parkinson is back. She's been asking for you."

All the light airiness inside Farren leaves. "Where is she?"

"In the Great Hall, I think. Get to her as soon as you can, Ren. They're eating her alive."

Farren does not ask who "they" are. She knows and the knowledge makes her strides much quicker than normal

But even as she makes her speedy way through the oak doors, Farren feels slightly cheated. It is not that she doesn't miss Celia. In fact she'd felt pangs of sorrow whenever the girl had been mentioned or cropped up in conversation. But to have to deal with the emotional baggage of her return... that Farren could do without.

But pushing aside these selfish thoughts, she takes a deep breath and turns to the Gryffindor table.

A familiar brunette is sitting, surrounded by several other female bodies who stare avidly at her. When Farren gets close enough, she hears Celia's small but persistent tone.

"--Like I told Alexia before. I'm fine. Really, I am. I don't want to talk about it."

All ill feelings are banished instantly. There is that soft sound that has been amiss from Farren's life for over a month. The girl who had been her first ever real friend, almost the first human being she'd ever really cared for.

"I am very cross with you," she whispers into Celia's ear.

The head spins with dizzying velocity. "Ren!" she exclaims and wraps her arms tightly around the girl. "And why would you be cross with me?"

"You left me here in this jungle to fend for myself," she mutters. Then Farren makes her eyes go wide and innocent. "Alone, small, and with no one to write naughty notes to."

"Or push into lakes," Celia adds.

"Yes, that too," Farren says with a laugh. And then she attempts to pull Celia from the seat. But, as she had stated before, Farren is rather small and her desperate pulling shows no avail. Celia stands on her own, giggling at her friend.

They make their way out of the Great Hall and eyes follow. Lily had been very right. They feed off of Celia's misery, undoubtedly noticing her weight loss and over all disheveled appearance. They're like parasitic leaches, Farren thinks with contempt, almost snarling at a nearby second year.

Initially their walk through the castle is rather awkward. Farren wants desperately to tell Celia of all that has happened in the past month, but knows doing so would be quite egotistical. Celia has just been through an ordeal. She wants to talk about it, doesn't she? Or perhaps she doesn't. Perhaps she wants some sort of distraction...

Farren stops to look at Celia seriously and decides there is only one way to get an answer. "If you want to talk about what's happened, I will listen endlessly and without interruption. But there is no need. I won't judge you, no matter what you say."

Celia sighs in relief. "The truth is I really don't want to think about it anymore. I've spent too much time stuck inside my house, with nothing else to do but join in the mourning. Why do people insist on "talking through it" and "sharing our feelings"? It's all a load of poppy-cock. I feel just as shitty as I did before, no matter how many times I voice my bloody concerns. And anyway I much rather hear what's been going on a[Author ID1: at Wed Feb 6 15:36:00 2008 ]round here... Is that a horrible thing to say?"

Farren smiles. "No, it isn't horrible." Then she examines a curl and says nonchalantly, "Well,[Author ID1: at Wed Feb 6 15:37:00 2008 ] I shagged Sirius Black."

"You didn't!?" Celia squeals. "I never thought you two would last."

"Thanks," Farren says, grinning. This reaction is, of course, exactly what she wants.

"Is he any good?"

She tells Celia everything. From the new group of friends she finds herself in, to the developing friendship with Lily Evans (If Farren is not mistaken, Celia looks quite jealous when relating this), her plans to become an Animagus, and how shagging Sirius had been.

Well, alright, she doesn't tell Celia everything. Snape is notably kept out. But Farren doesn't think she'll ever tell anyone about him. What she has with Severus... It is beyond that of words. It is based solely upon meaningful glances, movements and actions that they must each trust the other can understand. They never speak reassurances that - really - they need each other, no declarations of love. And it is so exhilarating to know that you could be wrong at any moment. Because each time Severus touches her or steals a glance, Farren is flooded with a blissful reassurance that she feels could conquer any uncertainty.

Celia and Farren bump into a large group of Slytherins when they reach the hall of moving staircases. The Slytherins also feed off of Celia's misery, though in a different way than the others. They taunt her and shove Farren hard in the shoulder. She hears Bellatrix say something like, "Why so sad, Parkinson? Your family should be proud that we got rid of that squib brother of yours!"

"They think it was her," Celia says, once the Slytherins had been chased away by a cold and scathing remark from Farren. "Bellatrix Black. They think she sent the dementor."

Peering back up at the Slytherins, Farren sees something that sucks the breath from out of her lungs: Severus Snape speaking to Lus[Author ID1: at Wed Feb 6 15:39:00 2008 ]cius Malfoy, smirking as the boy whispers something into his ear. And there beside him stands Bellatrix.

"Oh, Ren--" Celia says when she catches the expression on Farren's face. "You know I don't think of Sirius as a Black. He has nothing to do with Bellatrix. I know that, don't worry."

But that isn't why Farren feels as though the Earth is dropping from beneath her feet. She already knows that family members are nothing more than the people with whom a person shares feeble and unimportant ties to. The Black family is nothing more than a badge of Sirius's strength and courage. She knows that.

No, it is the sight of him, standing in a cluster of people Farren recognizes as would-be -- if not present -- Death Eaters. What is far worse is the fact that Snape looks more comfortable than Farren can ever remember seeing him. He looks at home as he laughs with the boy that had nearly broken her--

"I know," Farren says to Celia, sounding empty even to herself.

She cannot understand why this reality hits her with such force. It should have been obvious! Of course he is friends with them. All the brilliant Slytherins were sucked into that circle. And God knows Snape is more brilliant than even than precious Lucius.

"Are you okay? You look a bit... peaky."

She imagines Snape towering over a faceless victim, his wand raised and hate consuming his unknowable eyes. She watches as a smile curls those permanently sarcastic lips as he murmurs the curse. Avada Kedavra.

Would he have enjoyed the sensation of killing? Of holding complete power over another human life at the tips of his fingers? Of taking that life?

"What did Sirius get you for Christmas?"

"A kneazle," Farren says through numb lips.

Celia becomes excited. "Oh, that's wonderful! They're really rare. What's its name?"

"Pandora."

She laughs. "You would, Ren. While other people name their pet's Spot or Fluffy, you go for a mythological connotation."

All of a sudden Farren cannot stand to be there any longer. She feels a pressing in her chest that demands she get away immediately. She cannot be around Celia and her optimism. She cannot be around people.

"I have to go," she says wildly. "I... forgot to finish the Transfiguration homework."

Celia shoots her a simultaneously fond and weary look. "You'd forget your own head if it wasn't attached to your body."

Farren laughs and it sounds a little insane. "I know. I'm so s-stupid." And, hating herself, she dashes up the marble steps, leaving Celia alone and confused. But Farren has never quite gotten the hang of moving staircases. For a long while all she can do is run in hopeless circles, searching frantically for the common room. She stumbles over herself and a portrait calls, "Watch yourself now, girly. Wouldn't want you to break that pretty little neck, would we?"

"Where's the Fat Lady?" she barks at the man. "How do I get to her?"

Looking taken aback, the portrait points and gives her directions.

And soon enough Farren is shutting the door to the mercifully empty Girls Dormitory. She throws her school bag in the general direction of the four-poster bed, misses, and hears something crack. Going to her knees with more exasperation than is necessary, Farren discovers a broken ink bottle on what looks suspiciously like her Transfiguration essay. Karma is, indeed, a bitch.

And then she spots something else peeking from out of her bag. It is a small piece of parchment with very few words written on it.

It reads:

Meet me in the room that I took you to on the night of Celia's departure.

She does not need a signature to know who the letter belongs to. The unnatural frankness speaks for itself. Farren rubs her palms deep into her closed eyelids, as though trying to squeeze the thoughts out of her brain. Colored dots burst through her vision as she remembers the Slytherin which had bumped into her while Bellatrix had heckled Celia. She'd thought nothing more of it until now. It seems Snape had urgently needed to give this note to her. In fact, Farren wouldn't be surprised if she found out it had been he who suggested teasing Celia, in order to get close enough.

She will go, of course. Farren will go to the room where Snape had cured her after Malfoy - his friend - had attacked her. She will go because the truth is that she still wants him. She still stupidly, stupidly, believes in him.

XXXXX

"You need to cut the daisy roots more finely," he says. "Here, let me show you."

Severus is being a lot gentler tonight when correcting her potion making. But this, rather than being a comfort, makes Farren appear even more agitated in contrast. When she accidentally snags her index finger on the knife for the second time that night, Snape puts down his copy of the Advanced Potion Making textbook in annoyance.

"What has happened?" he asks wearily. "Why are you so... reserved?"

"I'm not reserved," she says, sucking the blood on her finger. "It's just that I was thinking today and..."

"What?" he snaps when Farren hesitates.

"Did you know Bellatrix set that dementor on Celia's brother? I remember what you told Lus[Author ID1: at Wed Feb 6 15:46:00 2008 ]cius that night. That she hadn't returned from a duty for the Dark Lord... Did you know?"

Snape studies her for a moment before saying, "I knew she was on a job--" Farren's breath catches in her throat "-- but no. It was not my understanding that the task included attacking a thirteen year-old boy."

With mounting desperation, Farren realizes his words do nothing in calming her. An unbidden eye flickers briefly down toward Severus's left forearm. He notices and jerks his arm away from her gaze. But, catching himself mid-motion, he lowers it.

"Are you wondering whether I have been branded," Snape asks in his softest, silkiest, and most dangerous voice.

There's no help for it. "Yes."

"And would that finally be enough to send you running? Or does the idea of a mark that represents my own self-damnation excite you?"

"No!" she shrieks in horror.

"TO WHICH QUESTION?"

"TO BOTH, YOU BASTARD!"

Snape opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again before finally settling on a throaty noise that sounds like a growl. He looks fixedly past Farren, as though she isn't there at all. She notices a muscle in his jaw jutting out as if it attempts to withhold his anger.

With a sigh, Farren falls into the chair behind her. "I wish it were enough to send me running, Severus. I really do. Things would be a lot easier. But it isn't and I still..." but when she turns back to him, she is - as always - distracted by those eyes. They are even more captivating than usual. With a shock Farren realizes she's never been quite this close to him before.

"Your eyes," she says without meaning to.

Snape raises a single brow. "Yes?"

They are the darkest shade of blue Farren has ever seen. A thick ring of black surrounds the slightly lighter iris. It is easy too see how one could - upon first glance - mistake the coloring.

Farren suddenly shoots up from her seat, going on tiptoe-toes to reach his lips. That is another thing she had failed to notice before. Snape is actually rather tall. This discovery is not nearly as pleasant as the other. It takes a great deal of effort to kiss [Author ID1: at Wed Feb 6 15:50:00 2008 ], considering Farren had stopped growing by the age of eleven.

"This," Snape says, "could be a problem."

"Well it isn't my fault. You're hardly bending your neck," Farren sniffs, defensive of her vertical deficiency.

"I meant no offense. I was simply stating my concern for your comfort."

She snorts. "That's rich. Severus Snape concerned with anyone but himself? I don't believe it."

He suddenly spins Farren around so that she faces the chair once again. And, before the room even has a chance to stop swaying, Snape is pushing back onto the seat. "Sit down and put that tongue of yours to better use," he says with tolerant amusement.

Snape watches Farren as she situates herself on the wooden chair. He notes the hands gripping so tightly to the edge of the seat that her knuckles appear white. She is nervous.

Severus reaches for her hand and turns it right-side up. Her skin is extraordinarily pale, though with a slight pink undertone that reminds him of a new-born baby, or perhaps a porcelain doll. It gives the impression of something pure and untouched--which in some ways, Farren is. He thinks of the crude manner in which she speaks and acts. A manner that only differs from the bluntness of a child in its wittiness.

Farren is so candid, so impulsive and uncalculating. She is everything he is not, and Snape now understands what had initiated their attraction. It had been the admiration of opposites, the respect one must have for the person who completely counters their way of living. But he likes to think it runs a little deeper than that now. He believes it to be more than a simple case of "opposites will attract".

Severus touches the branching blue vein on Farren's wrist. It stands out rather nicely on her skin. And when he finds the pulse, he relishes in its frantic pace. Farren wrenches herself free of his grasp, embarrassed of the way Snape affected her so. She blinks at him, chewing her bottom lip.

He smirks. "Why is your heart beating so fast, Farren?"

"Because you touched me," she says.

"Very well," he said, rising to his full height.

"Where are you going?"

He gives the chair a quick once-over. "This cannot be the most opportune place for our particular activities. The sofa will be much more accommodating."

But Farren stops him abruptly and, before Snape can do anything, she yanks the sleeve of his robes...

There it is, gleaming against his sallow pallor with unsettling clarity. His Dark Mark.

Severus is momentarily paralyzed by the horror of it all. How could she? How could she betray him like this? But then movement returns and he seizes her throat. Farren's eyes widen in shock, hurt by his intent rather than the actual [Author ID1: at Wed Feb 6 15:53:00 2008 ]pain. Her pulse, which he had only just admired minutes before, now races against his palm like a trapped butterfly.

For a full minute, he imagines tightening his grip, of actually hurting her. But then everything slides back into focus. He sees the braced expression on Farren's face and is reminded, for some reason, of his childhood and the despairing hopelessness of it all.

He releases her and Farren stumbles back, unprepared for this act of mercy. And, for the first time in his life, Severus Snape says something impulsive and uncalculated. "Do you hate me?"

She does not look at him as she touches her neck. "I will always hate you, but not because of this---" she gestures at the Dark Mark. "I hate you because despite all evidence, despite all fact, and despite this... I still won't ever give up on you."

And Snape sees himself as Farren does: as her capture. He would hate him too. But truthfully, Farren's role is not all that different for him either.

"When were you branded?"

"During the holidays."

Farren gives him a look of deepest regret. Snape hates it. He would rather have her yell at him and call him a moronic, sadistic bastard who is destined to die alone. But instead she throws herself into his arms and he forgets about the look. Not having much of a choice, Severus allows the chaste press of her body. And part of him - a part buried so deep that initially he does not recognize it - thanks her silently. A few moments pass in which they remain in their embrace. Farren begins to do a slight movement with her head that reminds Snape of a cat.

"Make love to me," she murmurs into his shirt.

Without speaking, he takes her small hand into his and begins to guide her toward the familiar sofa. Farren is the first to sit down. She gazes up at him and, for a moment, Severus is startled by how very young she appears. And he realizes that Farren Graham will never fully reach adulthood. She will forever remain slightly stunted and fragile, despite all her attempts to be otherwise. She will forever remain the eager first-year Snape had noticed on platform 9 ¾.

And for that he is very grateful. [Author ID2: at Sun Feb 24 09:56:00 2008 ]

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[Author ID1: at Wed Feb 6 16:04:00 2008 ][Author ID2: at Sun Feb 24 09:56:00 2008 ]