A/N: A bit of a longer delay, again. I confess that I got a bit stuck on this chapter, so between that and work just being work, it took me a while to get this done. Sorry. As always, I wish to thank everyone who has taken the time to leave feedback. It means so much to me, you have no idea.

Cautionary Trigger Warning for a passing mention of suicide and blood this chapter.

Chapter Seventeen

0o0

As anticipated, when Madam Pomfrey released Ron from the Hospital Wing that evening, Professor Snape was there to collect him. The man hadn't said much, though neither had Ron. Snape had escorted him to the room he'd been staying in so he could collect his things. As he packed up his belongings, the teen couldn't help but notice that his potions kit was missing.

He wasn't surprised.

Closing the door behind him for what was likely the last time, the key hanging on the hook just inside, Ron couldn't help but feel that he was losing something. The redhead shot a glance towards the corner where that hallway and the next met up. Somewhere on that other hall was Millie's room. Ron never did know which one. Even though he knew the girl wasn't mad at him, moving farther away from her again filled him with an odd sense of trepidation.

"Come along," Snape's voice broke him from his contemplation. Ron fell in step behind the man, his trunk floating along after them.

They descended down to the first floor, then the ground floor, continuing on to the dungeons. It occurred to the teen that he was about to see the inside of the Potions Master's quarters – something, that to his knowledge, no other student had seen before.

Ron wondered what sight would greet him. Would Snape's rooms be like his classroom, or more like his office? Like many of his fellow students, he had often speculated that the man's private quarters must be filled with all manner of gruesome potions ingredients stacked onto shelves interspersed with a number of dark artifacts, perhaps complete with cobwebs and live bats.

Amused by these thoughts, Ron almost missed when they passed by the Potions classroom and Snape's office. Passing by the lab they had worked in together the times Ron had taken the man up on his offer, they rounded a corner, turning in the opposite direction of what the Slytherins took on their way to their dorm.

A final turn brought them to a dead end, the wall of which was adorned by a portrait. Its subject was a young woman with a dark mane of hair and keen hazel eyes. She was seated in a chair, elbows propped upon a smaller frame within her portrait. Curled around one of her arms, head raised above her fingers was an adder, its red eyes focused upon the two wizards while its tongue flicked out as though to smell them. The woman peered at Ron with interest.

"Is this your new house guest, Severus?" she queried in a pleasing alto. "I can see how you would tolerate him more than others. He shares your sadness. I can see it in his eyes." This caused Ron to shoot a curious glance at his professor, but the man was giving the portrait an impatient glare.

"Nalaia, this is Ronald Weasley," Snape informed her, swinging the smaller frame away from the wall to reveal a dark green hand print underneath. "As you have ascertained, he will be living in my quarters until further notice. You will grant him access. Do be on your guard, however, he has a friend with an invisibility cloak." The man motioned for the boy to place his hand against the print.

"A pleasure to meet you, Ronald," said the painting. "I am Nalaia. Nalaia Slytherin."

"Slytherin?!" Ron echoed in surprise, nearly pulling his hand from the wall. Snape grabbed him by the wrist to keep his hand in place, continuing to murmur in Latin and wave his wand in order to key the boy to his wards. He seemed intent to pay little mind to Ron's conversation with the painting.

Nalaia gave a laugh. It was warm and mellow. "I am, of course, Salazar's granddaughter," she told the teen. "Or was, anyhow. Just a portrait, now."

"Uh... It's nice to meet you, too," Ron replied, still feeling a bit off-balance by the revelation. His professor finished what he was doing and Nalaia's portrait obediently swung back into the wall to reveal a short entryway beyond.

She gave him an impish grin, turning her attention to her snake as she stroked its scales. "I like this boy, Severus. He's amusing," she addressed the man. "I shall be seeing you, Ronald – and do tell me if you bring your friend with the invisibility cloak around. I should love to learn what mischief you've all been up to."

"You may close, now," Snape told her a bit pointedly as he ushered his student into his quarters. The portrait closed with the sound of hissing as Nalaia spoke to her snake.

"I didn't know Slytherin had a granddaughter," Ron said, looking back over his shoulder as though he could still see the woman.

"He had granddaughters and several other descendants," his professor drawled. "How else would he have had an heir?"

"Oh," the boy murmured softly. That made sense. He turned to face the living room of Snape's quarters and froze, blue eyes widening. It looked so... boring.

A beige sofa and a plaid chair sat facing the fireplace, a somewhat scarred wooden coffee table sitting atop the sage-colored rug between them. On the left-hand wall stood a large bookcase filled with books while the opposite wall bore a tapestry with a coat of arms Ron didn't recognize, the large letter P leaving the boy further baffled. Across from the fireplace, near the ceiling with its bottom level with the ground outside, was a small window, just large enough for an owl to pass through. The open archway beside the tapestry clearly led into the kitchen, which Snape soon confirmed.

"Other there is the kitchen and dining area," the man said with a wave of his hand. "As I seldom eat in my quarters, you will be expected to attend meals in the Great Hall, although you are welcome to help yourself to tea or whatever snacks you may find in there."

"Yes, sir," Ron said when it was clear his professor was waiting for a response.

Snape moved to the hallway next to the bookshelf, gesturing to the door that had been visible from the sitting room. "The bathroom," he said as he kept walking, then indicated the only door on the right, "My private lab – the one we worked in before. I prefer you did not go in there when I am not present, or without my express permission. The doorway at the end leads to my bedroom. You will always knock before entering. You will likely only find me there at night.

"And this, shall be your room." The man opened the second door on the left, motioning the boy inside.

If the main room hadn't been anywhere near what Ron had expected, this was even farther off. Not only was it normal, but the room was decorated in blues and yellows, the walls painted in soothing but definitely colorful shades. The bed was a four-poster like the ones in the dorms, the hangings dark navy in color and the duvet covered in varying stripes of blue and yellow. A thick brown rug covered the middle of the floor, leaving room for a desk, wardrobe, and small bookshelf. The room was practically cheery.

"Is the room not to your liking?" Snape drawled when he didn't say anything.

"No!" Ron shook his head, as much in denial as to try to focus. "It's just, uh, I was expecting something a little different, is all."

The man arched an eyebrow.

"Sir," the boy added hastily.

"Not as many cobwebs as you expected?" the Potions Master asked sardonically. "That can be arranged, of course, though from what I've heard tell, you're not precisely a fan of spiders."

"It's fine, Professor," Ron said quickly, not entirely convinced the man wasn't being serious. "Thank you, sir."

Snape gave him a long look. "If you would prefer a different color scheme-" he began.

"No, thank you. I kind of like it how it is," the teen replied.

"Very well," the man said with a nod. He directed the boy's trunk to settle beside the wardrobe. "I shall leave you to get settled in."

"Yes, professor," Ron responded as the Potions Master departed, closing the door behind him. The redhead looked around the room once more, with its completely non-depressing color theme. He might not have really expected there to be bats and skulls and the like, but he at least thought there'd be a lot more green or black, maybe. "This is weird," he muttered to himself. Shaking his head, he moved to start putting things into their new places.

0o0o0

Teddy was grabbing her by the arm, forcing her to face him. "He's not him!" the boy hissed.

"I know," she insisted. She tried to twist her arm from his grasp, only it wasn't her arm, it was Ron's, and she herself was the one clinging determinedly to his wrist. She shoved at his sleeve.

A hand was mussing her short hair, although her hair hadn't been all that short since she was twelve. "Stop fretting, Mills," Nick told her, voice lilting teasingly even as his blue eyes peered at her reassuringly. "I'll be fine. I promise."

Her small bare feet moved quietly across the hardwood towards the frantic cat.

"Why are you sitting here?" Ron was demanding, although no sooner was she peering across at him than she was practically skipping beside him, Fitz cradled safely in her arms.

She grinned up at him. "I'm going to be a good friend for you, Ron."

"He's not him, you know," Teddy said again, tone soft this time, but she was already shaking her head in denial.

"Please, you have to help him. You need to stop him," she sobbed desperately. "I can't lose him, too..."

"Don't tell, okay?" Nick was speaking, but she couldn't look him in the eyes, her stricken gaze fixed upon the blood staining the tile. "I'm going to stop. I won't do it again. Promise."

She had reached the bathroom door, desperately trying to turn the handle. It wouldn't budge. Horror building within her, she started pounding against the wood. "RON!" she screamed frantically, shoving against the door with all her might. "RON!"

Millie jerked awake, gasping as she sat bolt-right up in bed. She pressed a hand over her heart as she tried to slow her own breathing. Ron was okay. He was okay. He was with Professor Snape in his quarters. The man wouldn't let him-

A scared keening escaped her lips despite herself. It was still too fresh, too real. Their blue eyes were practically the same and red hair was not so very different from brown in some lights.

Hands covering her face, Millie curled in on herself. Sobs soon wracked her body. She should have told someone. It was all her fault. If only she had told someone...

But she hadn't. Not the first time, and even the second time, she'd nearly been too slow.

Tormented by these thoughts, she drifted back into a restless slumber.

0o0o0

The next morning, Ron made his way out of his professor's quarters. The man himself was nowhere to be seen, so the teen assumed he was already in the Great Hall. Nalaia had bid him a good day as he exited into the corridor, and after a short hesitation, Ron thanked her and went on his way. It was odd to be leaving from the dungeons. Previously, the only times he had even been in the dungeons was for a class or detention, now he was living there.

He encountered a couple of older Slytherins when he reached the main corridor. Ron had halted, gazing at them warily. One of them, a perfect, spared him a glance, but neither she nor her companion had any real interest in him and continued on their way without a word to the displaced Gryffindor. After a moment, he trailed along in their wake.

Millie was waiting for him outside the Great Hall. It was a bit earlier than she usually got around for the day, but there she was. Ron wondered how long she'd been waiting on him.

A bit of tension seemed to leave the girl's shoulders when she spotted him and she offered him a brief smile. "Good morning," she said.

"Morning," Ron returned, falling in step next to her. His brows furrowed a bit as they moved to the Gryffindor table in silence. It wasn't that they always talked, but it seemed to him that the girl was far more subdued than she'd been since Fitz had been poisoned. Granted, after what had so recently happened, he supposed he couldn't blame her.

"So, I see you haven't been turned into potions ingredients, yet," Millie spoke up, her tone light as she started to dish some food onto her plate.

Ron gave a soft laugh. "Not yet," he agreed, mirroring her actions. "There's probably still time."

The Slytherin gave a snort, finally seeming more like herself. "Just don't do anything to tempt the man. He is the Head of Slytherin House, you know. If anyone could hide the evidence..." She took a bite out of her toast, chewing and swallowing quickly, before she continued. "So, tell me about Snape's quarters, already. More like his office or his classroom?"

Without further prompting, Ron launched into a description of the Potions professor's disappointingly normal living space. He was just detailing the oddly cheery color scheme in his own room, when Harry and Hermione hurried into the hall.

His two best friends had been alarmed when Ron had told them about his new living arrangements before dinner the night before. In previous years, their concern would not only have seemed warranted but would also have been wholly endorsed by the redhead. Something had changed, however, at least in regards to how the Potions Master was around him. Ron couldn't quite put a finger on what and he hadn't spent a lot of time thinking on it, but it was there.

Despite how well he'd taken the news himself – or perhaps, because he had taken it so well – Ron knew his friends would be anxious to follow up with him that morning. In fact, he had been a little surprised they hadn't been awaiting his arrival like Millie had. Ron was guessing that had been more Harry's doing than Hermione's.

The other two Gryffindors stopped behind the redhead, where they hesitated uncertainly. Hermione gave Millie a wary glance, her hands fidgeting as she clearly deliberated whether they should sit. Harry had just opened his mouth, no doubt to diffuse the awkward quiet that had settled over the group, when apparently the Slytherin had enough.

"Oh, for the love of Merlin," Millie snapped, practically throwing her half-eaten toast down onto her plate. "Will you just bloody sit, already? What am I going to do, hex you for sitting at your own damned table? I do have a brain, you know, Granger. I did manage to work out that you and Green Eyes happen to be Ron's friends. You think I didn't figure I might sometimes end up sitting with you guys? Bloody hell.

"You know what, just – never mind. I'm going to take my chances with my 'Huffle bestie.' See you in class, Ron." With that, the black-haired girl rose from her seat, snatching up her plate and relocating to the next table over. Laura-Belle Gant – Ron presumed – let out a happy squeal as Millie sat down beside her, throwing her arms around the Slytherin, who stiffened uncomfortably at the contact.

Hermione lowered herself onto the bench beside Ron, clearly put off. "Oh, I see how you're friends, now," she muttered sarcastically.

"Hermione," Harry admonished quietly, taking a seat himself. He shot a glance at the Slytherin in question before turning his gaze back to Ron. "She does have a point, though. Bulstrode's not exactly, uh, friendly."

Blue eyes fixed on the back of his newest friend's head, Ron could only frown, feeling perplexed. Something was wrong. Everything had been normal again for a moment, but then it had changed. He'd thought Millie wasn't mad at him any more, but clearly she was. Unless there was something else, but what? What would make her turn back into Bulstrode again so suddenly?

"She's not usually like that," Ron said softly when he noticed his friends were still looking at him inquiringly. "Guess maybe she's still upset."

The other two shared a look, but apparently agreed not to comment. Instead, as Millicent had but a short while before, they asked about his new living arrangements. With less enthusiasm, Ron recounted the tale again.

0o0o0

"Entrar!" a feminine voice called pleasantly in response to his knocks.

Severus entered the first-floor office, noting that it was still in a state of disarray with boxes everywhere and seemingly nothing put away. Amid all the mess was a rather petite witch garbed in a muggle t-shirt and jeans. She possessed a riotous mass of curls which she was presently tying back from her face as she turned to face him, her dark eyes seeming to take quick assessment of the man.

"Healer Jimenez," he began.

"Anita, please," the woman corrected.

"Anita," the Potions Master acquiesced. "I am-"

But she cut him off, stepping awkwardly over a box in order to peer down at one of the parchments on her desk. "No, don't tell me! You are... Severus Snape. The Potions Professor, yes?" She grinned at him, clearly certain of her accuracy. Her English was spoken with a noticeable Scottish brogue.

"That is correct," Snape responded, feeling a bit testy. He did not appreciate being interrupted. "I know that you are still settling into your office here, but as it is my understanding that you will start seeing Mr. Weasley over the winter break, I came to inquire when I should send him to see you."

"You're right. The Headmaster said that they'd considered not having me start until the new term, but felt that it would be best to have Ronald begin sessions with me sooner rather than later, especially since the previous Mind Healer had so little success with the boy," Anita confirmed. "Granted, between you and me, the other gave up too easily. Traumatized children are very slow to open up to a stranger. Traumatized anyone are slow to open up."

"Of course. And the best time to have him come see you?" the Professor prompted a bit impatiently.

"Right. Sorry. I will be here every Sunday from here on from 10 a.m. until six at night, and then Mondays and Thursdays from 4 p.m. until eight," the woman finally replied. "Naturally, if I am needed at any other time, the Headmaster knows how to contact me. I would be happy to give you my contact details, as well, as you may need them."

Snape could see the sense in this. After all, he was for all intents and purposes the boy's temporary guardian until he moved out of his quarters. "Very well," he agreed. "I thank you."

"Not at all," Anita said cheerfully as she found a blank piece of parchment and a self-inking quill. "I don't suppose you have a bit of time, just now?" she asked as she straightened back up, folding the parchment in half.

"I suppose, although I daresay there isn't much I can tell you about the boy other than what I've observed," the man told her, accepting the parchment.

The Healer gave a short laugh, shaking her head. "Oh, no, no. Anything more I should need to know about Ronald I should be able to get from him," she said. "I actually wanted to ask about you. When do you think our sessions should start?"

Snape stared at her. "I will not be having sessions with you," he said.

"Hmm. Is that so?" she responded doubtfully. "Your mediwitch disagrees."

"Regardless of what that meddling woman believes, I have neither need nor desire to have my head shrunk," the man snarled. The gall of Poppy, suggesting he speak to someone. It was nobody's business! None but his.

Anita canted her head to one side, not the least bit fazed by his less than cordial response. "I think you'll find it's not optional," she said. "I mean, I can't force you to talk, of course, but the Headmaster seems to want you here about as much as Madam Pomfrey. Don't worry, though. The room will be much tidier by the time we start our sessions. When do you think you'll be by?"

"I shall send Mr. Weasley to you at ten o'clock on Sunday," Snape bit out.

"And shall I expect you that afternoon, or would you prefer Monday evening?" she questioned boldly.

"Neither," the Potions Master hissed. "I shall be speaking to the Headmaster about this." In a swirl of robes he strode towards the door.

"Monday it is, then. I'll pencil you in as soon as I find my calendar. Six o'clock?"

Snape didn't deign to answer. He would most certainly be speaking to Albus about this – and that blasted mediwitch!

To be continued...

A/N: I would love to hear any thoughts you all have on Anita. She won't necessarily be making a frequent appearance, but if people like her, I will try to utilize her a bit more than I otherwise would.