Sorry it is taking so long to update & finish this! Due to remodeling, I have no home computer access, so I am reduced to writing in a notebook and then transcribing it under the radar at work--or perhaps not entirely under the radar as my friend webgirl can attest:) Anyway, I promise the next chapter will be up very soon, I just wanted to get something posted. Thanks so very much for all the reviews!

Chapter 20

It was early morning when Severus Snape finally limped through the great wooden doors of Hogwarts and managed to drag himself up to the hospital wing. Hagrid had been waiting to meet him just inside the gate and had taken him by boat across the lake, something he hadn't experienced since he was a first year. His stiff, swollen joints were grateful for the gentle ride over the glassy water.

Hagrid had offered to carry him up the steps and to Madame Pomfrey, and it was only his deep and healthy reserve of pride that enabled him to decline and make the daunting trek on his own. As he entered the quiet hospital wing he glimpsed the silhouette of Albus Dumbledore, hunched over in a chair, his chin resting in his hands. His outline was cast in flashing shadows from the lamp on the bedside table, made larger than life against the pale, thin curtain. He sat very still, like a statue; not stirring as Severus softly pulled the door closed behind him.

He was headed towards the forlorn figure behind the curtain when a lamp suddenly lit behind him and he heard Poppy's voice quietly whisper his name. He turned to face her and she gestured silently for him to enter her office. Her eyes widened as he stepped through the doorway but she said nothing as she took in his chalky pallor. He was even paler than usual despite the flush of exertion in his cheeks. He collapsed into a chair without being told, his pain and exhaustion finally getting the better of him.

"What happened, Severus?" Poppy asked him as she began checking him over, her wand humming slightly as it cast its diagnostic spells.

"Dumbledore cursed me," he muttered, his brain too tired to speak coherently. Poppy raised her eyebrows in astonishment and waited for him to elaborate. "He hexed me with some excruciating version of 'Petrificus Totalus'." He sighed, as Poppy's eyes grew even wider. "He had to do something convincing, Poppy, or the Dark Lord would grow suspicious. I was cursed by him twice with the Cruciatus as it was."

"What did you tell him?"

"I gave him the story Dumbledore and I came up with: That I had already left for the Death Eater meeting, and that young Malfoy must have been caught sneaking out of the Halloween feast. He was followed, he and Lestrange found and apprehended; and the Order members used polyjuice and the port key to infiltrate the initiation ceremony."

"And he bought it?" Her words were tentative but hopeful.

"I believe so. He allowed me to return alive, at any rate. I have become quite adept at blocking a legilimens under extreme duress over the years; Cruciatus, Imperio, medieval means of physical torture. I daresay the story would not have worked if Dumbledore hadn't attacked me in battle."

Poppy suppressed a shiver at the casual way he related these facts. She looked at him for a long moment, eyes brimming with compassion. "You are going to be fine, Severus. I am going to give you a potion to ease the swelling in your joints; you should be good as new in a day or so." Her voice had taken on a professional, clinical tone that softened as she handed him a vial. "Drink it down, it should take effect immediately."

He tossed the potion back, feeling a slight burn as it slid down his throat, the warmth spreading across his body. Handing the empty tube back to her he glanced out the office window and asked the question he'd been avoiding. "How is she, Poppy?"

Poppy's grey eyes clouded over with worry and her voice was heavy when she answered, "Not well, I'm afraid. Minerva has always been strong, and there is a good chance she'll heal; physically. But, I don't know, Severus. She looks so—so broken. No one else would have survived. Her body is weakened and the treatments to heal her are going to be taxing and unpleasant. But it is her mind I am worried about."

Severus looked at her, his eyes conveying his understanding. Poppy had good reason to be worried about Minerva's mental and emotional recovery. He knew what she had been subjected to, and overcoming would not be easy.

"Perhaps if you could tell me a bit about it, Severus? What you know? The more I know about what happened, the better equipped I can be to help her."

Severus sighed. "I don't know everything that happened, understand." But what he knew was more than plenty, he mused bitterly. More than should ever have to be endured. He didn't know if he should tell anyone. He had confided in Dumbledore, but anyone else, even Poppy—might be a breach of Minerva's confidence. She was so private, so dignified. There was a good chance she'd be furious with him if he told. On the other hand, Poppy Pomfrey was Minerva's oldest and closest friend. And she was a healer, bound by the rules of patient confidentiality. She was right, he knew. She needed to know the details, or she couldn't properly treat her patient, and she couldn't properly help her friend. There was nothing to it, but just to begin, and so he did—plunging into the cold facts as if he had merely been an outsider reporting for the Daily Prophet.

"She was kept in a completely dark, freezing cold cell. The first night she arrived she was—raped. He shut his eyes against the harsh word. "By the Dark Lord. That was to be, I believe, repeated many times, over the next days. There was an evening when she was given to Crabbe and Goyle for an entire night; after being subjected to the Cruciatus Curse some twenty-one times."

Poppy's mouth had dropped open in horror. "Twenty-one hits?" she breathed, her words a mixture of anger and incredulity. "How? How could she survive—my god, Severus, twenty-one times?"

"In succession."

"Oh, my—"Was all Poppy could say.

"She was subjected to lengthy sessions of legilimens. He invaded her mind, learned all of her darkest memories, all of her fears and used them against her. He played them out over and over; changing the scenarios to match her worst nightmares. And then, there was Lucius Malfoy." His voice tremored with anger as he spoke the name. "You saw her back? Her face—her ribcage?"

Poppy nodded, swallowing a painful lump of tears rising in her throat.

"Compliments of Malfoy," he said flatly. "I don't know specifically of anything else, except the muggle boy."

"Brian?"

Severus shrugged; he didn't know the child's name. "He was brought to the ceremony for Minerva's benefit. She had to endure the Crucitatus three times in total silence or they would torture the boy."

"No!" Poppy exclaimed, horrified at the thought of the chubby, brown-eyed toddler an object of torture. Tears were now falling from her eyes. "But Minerva—surely, Severus, she didn't—you meant to say three hits—"

"She did. Three hits in total silence. I feared she was dead, so still was she when it was over. But then the Dark Lord ordered Potter to kill the boy, and she spoke up, and stopped him. She crawled to him on her hands and knees, she knelt before him—" he had to stop for a moment, remembering the revolting, humiliating sight of the proud and noble Minerva McGonagall humbly offering herself to the Dark Lord in trade for the child. The image made him ill. "She kissed him, fainted, and Dumbledore and the rest of the Order appeared." He said the last sentence rather quickly, wanting to spit the words out and be done with them. He was glad to be finished with the tale, he wanted nothing more than to put it behind him for a few hours; to forget Minerva's face as she pulled the Dark Lord's mouth down to hers, to forget the way she had looked so frail, and felt so utterly breakable that night in his arms after Malfoy had had his way with her. He knew he would not forget it, though, not soon—perhaps not ever.

Poppy sat silently for a few moments, stunned, absorbing the words Severus had spoken. Her mind rebelled against the images it automatically conjured as the facts were relayed; horrific scenes that made her heart shudder for her friend—though she knew her worst imaginings could not do justice to the brutal reality of the events. Her gaze wandered to the shadows against the curtain just outside her door and she noted again that Albus had not moved since she had left him, his body not shifting an inch. Being one of the few privy to the private lives and relationship between Albus Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall she knew that this might perhaps be even harder on him than her. Minerva's nature was ever practical; she tended to look things straight in the eye and move forward, accepting them as they were. Albus, she knew, would hold himself responsible no matter that he was not at fault. He would blame himself regardless for the rest of his life. If Minerva pulled through, if she could put this behind her, she would pull Albus through as well. If not, well, Poppy feared she would lose more than one friend and patient. Albus took everything in stride; he was ever optimistic; ever hopeful. He was wise, and he knew the perspective that life's decisions and their respective consequences should be given. But he took everything to heart, nonetheless, having to live with the responsibility his power and influence wielded on the lives of others. He could take things in stride; endure the consequences and responsibility—because he had Minerva to come home to. He had her wisdom, strength, and love to shore him up, unwavering against the tides and storms of life. Now that levy was in danger of breaking. Would Albus Dumbledore survive its collapse?

The faint glow of morning light was beginning to shine through the window. "Severus," Poppy said firmly, "You need rest." She was determined to have at least one patient sleep.

He shook his head. "I will sleep later. I want to look in on Minerva first." He stifled a yawn, and rose determinedly to his feet. The room swayed ever so slightly and then cleared again as he steadied himself by bracing his hand against the wall. He was tired, he admitted to himself. But Severus knew there would be no rest until he saw Minerva breathing with his own eyes, and spoke with Dumbledore.

"Very well," Poppy sighed, wondering not for the first time why everyone wanted her assistance but never heeded her advice. "Tell Albus I shall be in shortly to check her over myself."

Severus stepped through the opening in the curtain but Albus did not look up. His eyes were open, fixated on Minerva—or perhaps were seeing beyond her. He was surprised to see the little muggle child sleeping soundly, curled into Minerva's good side. It would have been a pretty picture of domestic tranquility if not for the purple blotches covering her exposed skin above the blankets. Dumbledore was still looking at or through his wife's sleeping face and he cleared his throat, perhaps a little too loudly, announcing his presence.

Dumbledore turned tired, hollow eyes to his. "Severus? I'm glad you made it back in one piece. Are you all right?"

"Quite." He didn't feel the need to elaborate further; Dumbledore could easily guess the aftermath of the battle. "How is she?"

"She has been resting peacefully since we've been back. Little Brian seems to comfort her, her breathing and pulse evened considerably when he crawled in with her. She hasn't woken; I don't know whether that is good or bad. Poppy says she won't until morning at the earliest."

"It is good that she is sleeping so soundly. I feared the pain would make her restless."

"She was, until the boy climbed in with her. I am not sure if she knows she is safe, and I believe she is worried about him. His nearness reassures her." He sighed again, heavier this time. In a few hours Arthur would be performing the memory charms and returning Brian back to his family. It was selfish of him, he knew, but he wished in his heart the child could stay a little longer. He wasn't entirely sure how Minerva's subconscious would react to his absence. "Her injuries are far worse than I had imagined."

Severus nodded slowly, knowing that Dumbledore had imagined the worst. But he hadn't really been prepared, none of them had. Severus had not seen her up close like this since the night he had found what Lucius had left of her. He hadn't known anything that had happened since, though apparently quite a lot had. He felt the guilt rising; he had done all he could—but it wasn't nearly enough.

He could sense that Dumbledore did not wish to talk. That he just wanted to be left alone with his thoughts and his grief. Severus felt the same. "The Dark Lord seemed to believe the story, Headmaster."

Albus smiled apologetically. "Good. I am sorry about the hex. I know it is quite painful."

"It was necessary." He turned to go. "Poppy says she will be in to assess Minerva in a moment."

"Thank you, Severus." And then, Dumbledore's eyes turned hard, a coldness shining through them that he had never witnessed before. "And Lucius?" His voice had a distinctive edge to it as he spoke the name.

"Ah. I believe that Lucius Malfoy will be spending a lengthy visit in St. Mungo's." He paused for a moment, his voice void of emotion. "He has a wretched set of boils from head to toe, and he was also hit with Sectum Sempra."

"Indeed?"

"He has lost a great deal of blood. The bastard almost bled to death before the Dark Lord conceded they seek treatment for him. Damn shame, if you ask me."

Dumbledore closed his eyes, allowing himself the briefest of smiles. His expression quickly sobering again as he said with a venom that made Severus step back in surprise; "Death is too swift a punishment."

His eyes had returned to Minerva's body, weak and shattered on the bed before him. Severus was struck at the pain and fear in the old man's eyes as he gazed upon her, as if his desperate vigil could heal her, hold her life to his. It was clear that he was no longer aware that Severus was in the room, so focused was he on the subtle rise and fall of her chest, proof that she was still among the living. "Get well, Minerva," Severus's voice a pleading whisper, inaudible to anyone's ears but his own, as he quietly slipped out of the room and down the hall, towards his own rooms deep under the dungeons.