Scar Mates

HALLOWEEN

He waited until the noise level in the classroom reached near din level. Pursing his lips as he stood from his office desk, he gathered his class materials. They require a little special handling today, he thought. Instead of entering the class from his office, he sauntered out into the hall. Pausing briefly to set the sneer on his tired face, he flung the back door to the classroom open, taking the aisle to the front in a half- dozen long strides. By the time he had gained the dais, the room had fallen utterly silent. As he slowly turned to face them, the little first years struggled to straighten grins and affect innocent attention. He stood still as a statue, one hand resting lightly on the lectern, as he surveyed them desk by desk. One by one they lowered their eyes as his gaze moved over them. Young Malfoy did meet his eyes, giving him a slight nod. Snape did not acknowledge it, moving on, mentally taking roll. At the last table, he inwardly groaned as a pair of green eyes peered back at him. His breath hitched, waiting for them to drift down. He would not give way, Potter or not. The inquisitive eyes narrowed slightly, and Snape felt the familiar burning in his outstretched arm. Still, neither of them would be the first to disconnect, and the moment dragged on. At last the boy dropped his gaze, in the now familiar hand-to-forehead motion. Snape released the breath he was holding, and turned away from the class, using the movement to pull his left arm in to his side. Merlin, this one was bad, he thought. This can't go on. The boy knew, must be wondering about his Potions Master by now.

Steeling his mind, he turned to start the class, some of which had started to drift into inattention. He snapped them back with five points from Gryffindor for giggling, and another five from Hufflepuff for dropping a text. Within moments he had them busy setting up their ingredients in preparation for today's potion. He had regained control of himself in short order, and walked casually along the tables, checking their progress. As he intended, the last table he came to was Potter's. He was mentally shielded, and needed to confront the boy to see how effective it would prove in such close proximity. Pausing to place the fingertips of his hand on the table, he narrowed his eyes in concentration.

"Mister Potter, I see you have, once again chopped, instead of sliced."

Vivid green eyes bobbed up to glare at him. Snape felt his heart pound strangely. Those eyes. How am I ever going to be able to look him in the face? Feeling a small flash of despair, he looked away from the boy.

"Sir, they are sliced."

Turning back to the boy again, pulled to those eyes, he realized suddenly he felt...nothing. He cautiously increased his level of hostility.

"No, Mister Potter, they are not. If you do not know the difference by now, I suggest you get Miss Granger to show you. Five points from Gryffindor."

Ignoring the squeaks of protest behind him, he swept back to the front of the class. I can control it then, if I plan the encounters. Wonderful. As if I can plan the next seven years worth of chance meetings, student fights, potions mishaps, not to mention the uncanny way we seem to catch each other's eyes in the Great Hall. No, he could not prepare for all of these.

He slumped miserably in his chair, waving his hand in a shooing motion as the class time came to an end. He watched darkly as the students scampered out, the excitement over the Halloween celebrations once more rippling through them. All except Potter, who was still stuffing papers into his pack. He froze as he saw Snape studying him, then slowly a small, white hand crept up to his forehead. Snape groaned, then flicked his hand toward the door.

"See you at the feast then, Professor," the boy said timidly, then was gone.

Head in his hands, paying the price for his sleepless night, Snape surrendered without a fight. The old man was right, as usual. He hadn't wanted to concede the point so easily. But looking into those green eyes today, he'd had to face the truth. Lily was inextricably tied up in this. What had she done?

Snape sat sullenly at the staff table, ignoring the small talk around him. He was to meet with the Headmaster tonight, and felt ill-prepared to face the Pensieve again. But first there was this bothersome feast to suffer through, followed by a raucous house party where he would have to make at least a fleeting appearance.

They had just started in on the ridiculously garish meal when the back doors to the Hall were thrown open, admitting a stumbling Professor Quirrell, who barely made it to the head table. The hall had fallen suddenly silent, and everyone heard him gasp out before collapsing, "Troll---in the dungeons---thought you should know."

Snape and Dumbledore both jumped to their feet, as pandemonium broke out in the Hall. It was quashed by some fireworks from the Headmaster's wand. After directing the prefects to lead their students back to their houses, he turned to the teachers.

"To the dungeons, shall we?"

As the teachers filed out the side door, Snape lingered to make sure the students were evacuating the Hall. He glanced irritably over to where Quirrell lay, and was surprised to see that the man was gone. His eyes scanned the emptying Hall, finding no trace of the him. He knew the man had not exited with the teachers. His lips were now a grim line. Quirrell. What is the man up to? He paused, a scowl settling on his face. I've been far too distracted by the Potter boy. Making a decision, he crossed the Great Hall, leaving by the opposite side entrance. He didn't know how he knew. He just did.

He fumed as he made his way up the staircase. Quirrell! He should've known that his distaste for the man was more than just his usual disdain for whoever held the Defense Against the Dark Arts position. It wasn't just the man's ingratiating groveling. It had been confirmed the first time Snape had tried to use his Legilimens skills on the man, and had encountered...a wall. What is the man hiding? Well, he had his attention now. His resolve increasing with every step, he reached the third-floor corridor, his steps becoming silent as he approached the doorway to the first grid area. It stood ajar, and through it, he could hear the beast within snarling, and a voice crying out in fear.

Without hesitation, he barreled through the door, and stopped short at the sight before him. The three-headed dog was stretched almost to the end of its chain, Quirrell backed into the corner, with no further room to retreat, waving his wand uselessly at the creature.

Moving without thinking, Snape lunged at the chain on the floor, jerking back on it with all the strength he could manage. The dog reared back sharply, its front feet coming off the floor, turning now to focus its fury on the new intruder. It hunched, snarling as it circled back around to creep towards Snape.

"Quirrell," he commanded in a low, hypnotic voice, "back your way around the room. No sudden moves, you bloody idiot. Get to the door." He could see Quirrell begin to move around the periphery, even as the dog was slowly advancing on his own position. He waited, hardly breathing, as the shadow moved along the wall. Just as he sensed that Quirrell was finally behind him at the door, the beast made its move. Snape jumped backwards, feeling Quirrell's arms grasping around his chest and tugging. But not fast enough. He heard himself scream as the dog's claws raked across his lower leg. Even as he registered pain, his highly honed survival skills asserted themselves. Lifting his free leg, he kicked fiercely at the beast's head, managing to both stun it and use its broad face as a pushing-off point. The force of it propelled both he and Quirrell backwards into the corridor. Still lying on top of the man, Snape raised his wand to reset the wards.

"Insularae."

Twisting off the man in one swift movement, he dragged him up into a sitting position, his hands around the man's throat as he pressed him into the wall, his knee against the man's chest. Quirrell's eyes widened in shock, as he pedaled his feet frantically in protest. Snape held him there for a moment, taking the time to slow his own ragged breathing and pounding heart. He loosened his grip around the man's throat, just enough so the man could breathe.

Leaning in, his face only inches from that of the terrified man, he hissed out the words.

"Quirrell. Think very carefully before you lie to me. You were in the Grid. I will have the truth out of you, you bloody fool, one way or another. There's no one here to help you, Quirrell. Do you understand? I...will...have...it." He banged the man's head against the wall in tempo with the last four words.

Quirrell was paralyzed with fear, but when the Potions Master arched an eyebrow in question, the man nodded in constricted, little jerks. Slowly Snape released his neck, and sat back on his haunches, waiting while the man gulped in air hungrily. He tried not to look at Snape, and gasped when he felt a cold hand grab his chin, forcing it upwards.

"Look at me Quirrell." His voice was soft, laced with menace. "Ah yes, that's better. Now, talk." The dark, glittering eyes caught and held Quirrell's, who could not look away, even had the hand not held him there. He licked his lips and tried to speak, but produced no sound. Snape eyed him with disgust as the man tried again.

"S...S...Severus. The t...t...troll...all I could think w...w...was somehow that the G...G...Grid was breached. C...C...Could only think of g...g...getting up here to s...s...see..."

Snape narrowed his eyes. He realized that he had allowed the man too much time to compose himself. His attempts at Legilimency were once again being blocked.

"Quirrell," he gritted in warning. "You're an accomplished Occulmens, are you not?"

The man's eyes darted to the side. "Really, S...S...Severus. Someone had to c...c...come up here and..."

Snape cut him off, squeezing the man's chin painfully. "Stop it. I know you're playing at something. So...be...warned. I'm watching you." He held the man's eyes for a moment longer, then slowly withdrew his hand.

Staggering to his feet, he looked down at the quivering figure.

"Get up. We still have the rest of your mess to clean up. If one single hair on the head of a student has been harmed, I will be responsible for what happens to you."

Quirrell was now on his feet, fingering his neck, then obediently followed the limping Potions Master.

Drawn by the noise, Snape and Quirrell blundered into the first-floor girl's bathroom, close on the heels on McGonagall. They were both brought up short by the scene before them. The room was wrecked, porcelain and shattered wood strewn everywhere, the floor still flooding from the broken fixtures. A twelve- foot mountain troll lay unconscious in the midst of the debris.

Snape sighed in resignation as he took in the three guilty-looking students standing there, not surprised to see the green-eyed boy glaring at him for the second time that day.

"I can't do this again, he wailed inside himself, bracing himself for the sensation of the connection to strike.

But the boy looked away, shamed, as were his two companions, by McGonagall's high-pitched tirade. In short order, after a dizzying taking and giving of points, they were dismissed and on their way to their common room with their head of house.

Snape stood still, watching Quirrell, who was seated on the wreckage of a toilet.

"Tell me, Quirrell, that this is not the troll from the Grid."

Quirrell winced at the sound of his voice, his fingers straying back up to his throat.

"

"N...N...No." he offered feebly.

Snape leaned in, both hands on his knees as he flung out his parting words.

"Be very careful, Quirrell. I don't know what you're hiding, but I will be watching you now. One misstep..." He didn't finish.

Standing up, he added one last comment, in a deathly monotone.

"You're aware of my reputation? My past, hmm? Don't trifle with me."

Giving the man one last, withering stare, he turned in a swirl of robes and was gone, leaving the man still shaking with fear.

As Snape limped towards his rooms, he remembered his meeting tonight with Dumbledore and the Pensieve.

I...don't...think...so. Not tonight.