Eye of the Beholder

Chapter 3

Chapter 3. Reflections.

Sasha made it back to her house common room. Upon giving the password, ‘white meat’, to the painting of the buzzards feasting on a dead animal carcass, she was admitted access. Tonight they were laying around after their feast, casually picking the remainder of their meal from their teeth. She always wondered who had the sick sense of humor to choose this particular painting as the guardian of the Ravenclaw common room. Well, she thought laughingly, at least it was not a group of strutting turkeys.

 
She made her way up to the room she shared with the other sixth year girls, and was relieved to see their beds were either occupied with the drapes closed, or else empty. She went to the cedar chest at the bottom of her bed, took out her wand and pointed at it, quietly muttering the spell that would remove the locking charms. She opened the lid and moved aside clothes and books until she found her two lab notebooks. She had better get them out now, she figured, so she would remember to give them to Snape tomorrow. These notebooks were the cumulation of her life’s work in potions making, as pathetic as that may be, she thought. Both lab books were identical, labeled Volume 1 and Volume 2. Volume 1 contained her earliest works, and was not worth wasting Snape’s time on, so she placed it back into the bottom of the chest. She put Volume 2 into her knapsack, and closed the lid of the chest.

 
She undressed quickly in the cool room, climbed into her bed and closed the drapes. She lay under the covers in the dark and thought back on her detention with Snape. She could not believe she had actually cried in front of him tonight. Worse than that, he managed to make her to show him her hated scar. Of all people, Professor Snape! The most feared and hated teacher in all of Hogwarts. She was disgusted with herself. After all these years building up her defenses against people, and pretending to be immune to the looks and comments on her appearance, she let HIM get to her.

 
Be honest, she thought to herself. What really disturbed her was not that fact that he just looked at her scar, but that he actually chose to feel it. Nobody had ever dared touch it like that before. She had not even let Madame Pomfry examine it too closely. And Snape did not just touch it, he traced his fingers along it, feeling all of the disgusting bumps and ridges. She could not imagine how he could not be revolted by it. By her. And yet, she remembered the way he was very gentle, hesitating when she was frightened, and wanted to bolt out of the classroom. He looked right at her, waiting calmly for her unspoken permission before continuing to trace the scar. These actions were oddly reassuring to her. And most odd of all was the fact that she believed him when he said he would not hurt her.

 
She realized that for whatever reason, she trusted Snape enough to let him touch her face. She thought back to the moments when he cradled her face in his hands. While he was examining her, she was watching him. She noticed the way his inky black hair hung down in greasy strands, but she was not grossed out by it. It actually had a faint lemony smell, as if it had recently been washed. His face was very angular, and she had to admit, was surprisingly handsome. His hooded eyes, however, appeared black and soulless, as if he had seen too much during his life and had lost much of his humanity. She had heard the rumors that Snape was really a Death Eater, but she was not sure if they were just rumors or not. His hands were warm and soft where they touched her, and she remembered the strength in his fingers when he grasped her by the arm to pull her close to him. She remembered his lips, very firm and full, and his smell; very masculine with an undertone of unidentified spices. Not an unpleasant smell at all.

 
She realized that although she was disturbed by the conversation they’d had, she was not put-off by Snape himself. On the contrary, she felt like he would be one of the few people she could actually open up and talk to about her ‘issues’, without fear of being ridiculed. If it weren’t for the fact that he was one of her teachers here at Hogwarts, she would have thought Snape could have been quite a mentor to her. However, she reflected, he probably thinks I am just some ugly git with major emotional baggage. With that, Sasha rolled over and as the weariness of the day took over, she soon fell asleep.

 
***

Meanwhile, Severus Snape was relaxing in his office with a snifter of brandy, reflecting on the detention with Sasha. He first thought about the scar along her face. He knew that there was nothing Madame Pomfry could do to alter it, since the wound had healed long ago. The only way to change something like that would be to brew a very strong, highly potent, fading potion. He realized Sasha was he rhe right track when she abandoned her work with wormwood. No, something like this would require mush stronger ingredients. Ones that, at her age and level of potions training, she would have no way of obtaining. But, he smiled smugly to himself, he would.

 
With that thought, Snape set down his snifter and walked over to his private collection of potion books and articles. He knew there was no published literature available that would list such a potion as she would require. Years ago when he started at Hogwarts, he had tried to make something similar for himself, in order to hide the Dark Mark on his arm. The potion he finally achieved was quite complex, and took weeks to create, but he was successful in redg thg the Mark to a faint shadow of its former self. Unfortunately, the the Lord Voldemort called his ‘faithful’ to him once again, the Dark Mark flared up as red and painful as the first day he was branded. And it stayed that way to this day.

 
Snape grimaced at the thought of being called upon again. It had been some time since the last Summoning, and that meant sooner, rather than later, the Death Eaters will be called to gather again. Snape sat back down on the leather couch and hung his head in his hands. His mind drifted back to all of the evil deeds he had accomplished in the name of Lord Voldemort. Of the potions he brewed that caused the brain to swell, resulting in excruciatingly painful headaches. These were sufficient enough to cause one poor soul to use his wand to drill holes in his head in an attempt to relieve him of the extreme pressure build up. Other potions he created caused the internal organs to liquefy, but only days after the victim had unwittingly imbibed it, slipped casually in a cup of tea or bottle of butterbeer. There was no antidote for that one he thought grimly.

 
Snape despised himself for his hand in these unforgivable crimes. No matter that he had finally realized what he was doing was wrong, and that those who first recruited him were doing so for their own manipulative reasons; the fact was, he was still an active and willing participant in those crimes. He knew exactly what he was doing when he made those potions. Even dragging himself to Dumbledore, hating himself, repentant and ashamed of his actions, he knew he could never redeem himself in the eyes of others. Especially his own. There were days when he loathed his very existence, and if it were not for Dumbledore’s support, and yes, Snape admitted, his friendship, he would have gladly swallowed a vile of Eternal Dreamless Nights, and be done with it.

 
Now that the Dark Lord was growing stronger again, Snape knew that he, along with the other Death Eaters, would be Summoned more often. He remembered the last time a full Gathering had occurred. Lucius Malfoy had accused Snape of being a traitor to the Dark Lord, and demanded that he be tested and questioned. Lord Voldemort turned on Snape, and the interrogation had been more than thorough. He had cast the crucio curse again and again on Snape, testing his mental and physical limits.

 
Sitting on his couch, Snape visibly shook and broke out in a cold sweat at just the memory of the pain he had suffered during that trial. If it was not for his ability to shield his thoughts, Snape realized for the hundredth time, Lord Voldemort would have instantly realized that he was a traitor. As it was, Voldemort released Snape from the curse moments before was about to break. Snape felt there was no way he could ever go through that torture again, and survive. He still did not know how he managed, but the fact was, he did.

 
Snape smiled at the memory of Malfoy’s look of surprise when Voldemort announced that Snape was still faithful to him. And now he could use that proclamation to his advantage over Malfoy. Snape had been tortured and tested by the Dark Lord himself with regards to his allegiance, and he had passed. This meant that Lucius and the other Death Eaters could no longer question his loyalty to Voldemort. The thought made Snape smile. It was a small victory for him and Dumbledore, but a victory nonetheless.

 
Snape leaned his head back against the cool leather of his couch. It felt good after the painful events he remembered. It reminded him of the feel of Sasha’s skin earlier on in the evening; soft and very smooth where it was not marred by the scar. Snape pondered for a moment what incident she must have suffered to cause such physical and emotional damage. He wondered if she would ever tell him the full story of what happened. Snape realihe whe was not the sort that people confided in; however, there was one thing he could do for her. Help her create a potion that would fade the scar. Even if it were not a complete success, just reducing it to a light shadow would probably be an immense boost to her self-confidence. Hmm, he would have to think about this a bit. What ingredients he would need, how to adapt the potion he previously made for his Dark Mark...

 
For the first time in a long, long while, the f emb embers of hope glowed in Snape’s mind. Not just the hope that he could help Sasha, but that for once he could actually do some good with his talents. It was an odd feeling for him, that such a small spark of hope could, for a moment, chase away some of the guilt and self-loathing he had felt for so long. Now all he had to do was convince Sasha that she would want this. It would not be easy, and he would have to be honest with her about the time and effort this particular potion would require of both of them, but he was sure he could convince her.

 
A slow smile spread across Snape’s face. It had been so long since he had applied his knowledge to something new, and he was starting to look forward to it. Also, he admitted to himself, he warmed at the thought of having Sasha there to help him. An image of her sensual lips and graceful neck flashed across Snape’s mind. He remembered cradling her face in his hands, feeling her pulse pounding wildly in her neck, and wondered if he ever dared kiss her.

 
Snape, you really and truly are a pervert, you know that, he thought. Sick, sick, sick. Still, the thought of kissing Sasha was not such a terrible one.