DAHLIA angrily stood rooted to her spot for a moment on the front steps of Severus Snape's home in the decrepit tumbledown Muggle neighborhood known as Spinner's End. Her heart was still beating wildly against her chest as her hand shot to her heart as she looked around the neighborhood where the former Hogwarts Headmaster had grown up.
A location, she thought bitterly to herself, that was sure to become well-known following Snape's role in the demise of the Dark Lord a few days ago. She was sure the reporters and gossip hounds alike for The Daily Prophet weren't going to cease in their attempts to sneak a photo or get an exclusive with him. Dahlia's hand shot up to shield her face as a sudden blinding white flash of light assaulted her eyes with no warning.
"What on earth…?" she exclaimed angrily in a raised voice, lowering her hand and squinting her eyes to see better. Her suspicions confirmed, Dahlia found herself the subject of a photograph that had just been snapped without her consent outside Snape's home, much to her growing cold dread in her stomach and fear. As her vision slowly but surely cleared and the spots at the edges of her eyes danced away, the result of the bright flash from the camera, she found herself staring into the heavily made-up face of none other than the journalist Rita Skeeter herself, her clipboard hovering just near her ear, and her black Quick Quotes quill poised to write and take down any notes the older witch wanted.
Dahlia's brown eyes narrowed as she silently seethed, stomping, yes, stomping her way down the front steps of Snape's home, waving her wand, and reinforcing the Shield Charm around his home for good measure. More than a small part of her conscience was screaming at her not to engage this witch.
Rita Skeeter was well regarded throughout the wizarding community for spreading vicious lies and slander about those who she disliked or heavily disagreed with, all thanks to her ability to pen a poison-pen story, but the emotional side of her brain was currently winning against her ability to make sound decisions based on logic and clouding her judgment.
However, before Dahlia could fully make up her mind, the reporter spoke first, shattering the silence.
"Ah, Miss Hawthorne, isn't it? I thought I might find you here," she chuckled morosely in a honeyed voice that was too shrill to be anything genuine, as Rita Skeeter peered at Dahlia through her crocodile framed glasses, a simpering smile plastered all across her face, and though the journalist's face was masked with a cold smile, it did not reach her eyes. Rita huffed indignantly and folded her arms across her chest, looking put off when Dahlia made no move to speak. "You're looking a bit peaky, dear, long night, I take it? You're in for quite a rude awakening if you've never dealt with the likes of Severus Snape before," Rita Skeeter offered Dahlia up by way of a greeting in a false, too-sweet, honeyed tone that immediately set the fine hairs on the back of her neck on end. Her tone was as casual as she could manage given the circumstances. "Your lovely little friend, the little Welcome Witch at St. Mungo's, was only too happy to divulge information that pertains to you when I asked. You'd be surprised what a fat envelope of Galleons and a refusal to hear the word no can get you, my dear thing. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to see you here, the witch at the front reception desk said you'd be here," Rita Skeeter smiled, almost friendly enough, if somewhat overdone.
Dahlia gritted her teeth, feeling her slender fingers of her wand dominant hand, her left, curl tightly over the handle. She was more than tempted to jinx this witch into oblivion with a well-aimed Bat Bogey Hex, which was no less than a woman like Rita Skeeter deserved, however, she knew she would only succeed in making things worse for herself, and Snape, besides, and that, she could not allow happening.
So, for better or worse, Dahlia breathed out deeply and slowly through her nose, though she felt her nostrils flaring in the process, and tried her absolute hardest to remain level-headed, however, that was easier said than done, especially around the likes of Skeeter, Dahlia was learning.
Rita Skeeter's voice was smooth and velvety, though nothing the gossip columnist ever said sounded genuine to her. Just her voice alone, excusing her penchant for writing slanderous pieces of trash, was enough to set Dahlia on edge and every cord in her body pulled tight.
"Save the formalities, Miss Skeeter, there is no need for such false pleasantries around me, for I don't plan on giving you any. You can drop the act, politeness was never a skill that you were well suited for, Miss Skeeter, if you don't mind me saying it," Dahlia glowered as she straightened her posture and curled her free hand not around her wand over the strap of her purse, fully prepared to pelt Skeeter with it at least once if the witch did not cooperate and vacate the premises, but only after divulging her reasons for coming here tonight. "Why are you here? What is it that you hope to gain?" Dahlia exclaimed sourly, unable to keep the note of bitterness out of her voice as she looked at the older witch.
The expression on Rita's face shifted from one of faux pleasantries to a heavy scowl as her brows furrowed into a frown.
"I believe that you should know quite well why I am here, Miss Hawthorne, you seem an intelligent witch, as a Healer, to know," Rita hotly accused, giving her wand a sharp wave, and her Quick-Quotes Quill furiously began to scribble away, though whatever it was writing, it was kept out of Dahlia's sight, which the young witch took as a bad sign. Dahlia secretly hoped that it was not an ill omen of things yet to come.
Rita continued, undaunted by the shift in the much younger witch's expression of steadfast determination and resolve that she would not be leaving here with the exclusive interview that she hoped to obtain tonight, or any other night, as far as she was concerned. Her spiteful glower practically bore several burning holes through Dahlia, who all but squirmed as she shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other under her intense and judgmental scrutiny.
"Severus Snape is alive, Miss Hawthorne, thanks to your incredible talent, my dear," Rita Skeeter asserted in a cold, flat tone that was devoid of any semblance of warmth. "To heal a wizard whose throat has been slit and extracting a poisonous snake's venom from the man's body is no small feat, Miss Hawthorne. Are you not proud thus far of all that you have managed to accomplish, my dear?" she said. "Surely, that alone warrants a quote..."
Dahlia flinched at the sound of the eagerness that had seeped its way to the surface of the overenthusiastic journalist's voice. It quickly became clear to her that she could not deny the obvious.
She had no idea what had transpired between the mob of reporters in the lobby and their hospital's Welcome Witch when she had vacated the premises a day ago with a barely conscious Severus Snape in her arms as she had struggled to get him to wake up enough that he could help her Apparate here. His absence in Dai Llewellyn Ward of St. Mungo's was already noticed. Someone in St. Mungo's had already sanctioned the discovery, she could only hope that their Welcome Witch receptionist hadn't been put under influence of the Imperius Curse.
She wouldn't put it past someone like Rita Skeeter to try. Skeeter had proven herself to be a witch over the years who would resort to any means necessary if it meant getting the exclusive scoop on a story. At this rate, Dahlia thought that she could only do her best to lessen the damage done to Severus Snape, and perhaps to a lesser extent, maybe even herself, and most assuredly Harry Potter, though the boy at age seventeen had his own slew of problems to deal with.
No one, aside from his friends who had fought in the battle alongside him, and Headmistress McGonagall, knew where Potter was. A part of Dahlia hoped he stayed away. She knew that her patient would have enough trouble with recovering and likely preparing for his upcoming and difficult trial with the Wizengamot at the Ministry as it was. She knew he did not need Harry Potter's presence in his life at this given moment in time, he'd be seen as a burden to him.
Dahlia lowered her head, unable to meet Rita Skeeter's eyes as a light pink blush speckled its way along her cheeks.
"Yes," she admitted ruefully with a nod of her head. "Severus Snape is alive." Her voice was barely a whisper.
Rita Skeeter made a sympathetic clucking noise with her tongue as she shook her head briefly. Dahlia slowly lifted her gaze and forced her eyes to look deeply into Rita Skeeter's.
The journalist for The Daily Prophet searched for something to say, and instead looked behind the younger witch towards the Muggle dunghill of Spinner's End that Severus Snape dared to have the audacity to call his home.
"Not a pretty sight, isn't it? You sure you'll be happy here tending to our Hogwarts Headmaster for an entire calendar year?" Rita Skeeter asked rhetorically, not waiting for an answer from Dahlia before continuing. "Must've been more beautiful some time ago," the journalist spoke casually again in an attempt to make casual conversation with Severus Snape's Healer, in the hopes of getting the young and pretty little witch to let something slip and let her guard down.
"I doubt it. It wasn't," Dahlia heard herself reply, perhaps against her better judgment but did not stop there. She looked over Rita Skeeter's shoulder towards the other homes that lined the opposite side of the street and furrowed her brows, noticing those homes weren't much better off. "For me, at least. But…things change when you see even worse, Miss Skeeter, perhaps you'll come to understand that one day. And then you go back to what you thought was ugly, and you find them the most beautiful thing after all this time." Dahlia could feel moisture glistening in her eyes as her throat swamped as she fought back the worst of her tears, determined not to let on her secret to this prying investigative journalist who was sure to turn her family's name into something scandalous before the calendar year was ended.
Rita Skeeter breathed out what Dahlia guessed was supposed to be laughter, and Dahlia was not impressed. She stiffened and gritted her teeth, finding it more than a little unsettling how a moment ago, the sound of several voices, perhaps dozens of reporters for The Daily Prophet, were just outside of Severus Snape's property, and almost the moment she emerged from the disgruntled wizard's home, the only one who remained was Skeeter.
Skeeter had an unhinging presence and left an unsettling presence in her wake. Dahlia wouldn't be surprised if the other reporters cleared off the lot upon her arrival here to Spinner's End, not wanting to be the next target on her list of candidates for a potential article.
"Or maybe this place is still ugly," remarked the journalist as she picked at the edge of her cuticle, seeming to not care that she was ruining her manicured fingernails' bright red polish. "Only now you think this place is beautiful, dear, because you still haven't seen the worst?" Rita questioned casually, though Dahlia caught the glint of a foreign emotion shimmering behind the witch's irises that she did not like.
Dahlia faced her with her head held high and proud, her fingers curled over the strap of her bag, her patience wearing thin with this gossip columnist's presence outside Snape's home.
"I—I'm sorry," she managed to say in a voice as polite as she could possibly manage. "But I'm afraid I have to ask you to leave. You're trespassing on a man's private property, and the man cannot heal properly if constantly exposed to extreme stress. Leave, before I file a restraining order, Miss Skeeter," she threatened, not even bothering to disguise it.
A heavy silence fell between the two witches as Dahlia left her threat hanging in the air, but Dahlia could feel the thick tension in how this reporter sees her. And she did not like it.
Rita Skeeter's eyes, cold emeralds, were masked with a smile but something inside her chilled Dahlia's insides to ice. Dahlia swore she saw the tightening of Rita Skeeter's jaw. Hatred. Loathing, and maybe even a little bit of…jealousy?
Whatever her reasons, Dahlia found herself swallowing.
Rita clicked her tongue again, breaking the awkward pause.
"Well, then, when you put it that way, I suppose I should…get going, Miss Hawthorne." Rita Skeeter hoisted her green crocodile skin handbag over her shoulder, snapping her long fingers, and the black Quick Quotes Quill vanished. The journalist slowly turned her back to the Healer and stopped, her manicured hand on the surface of the bricked walls of another building near her exit, a relatively safe space to Disapparate, as Dahlia had taken care to throw up a few Anti-Muggle Detection Charms around the perimeter of Severus Snape's home that would keep his Muggle neighbors away. "Oh, I almost forgot, before I go, I just have one more thing to say to you, my dear," Rita announced in a light chirp.
Dahlia waited, resisting the urge to roll her eyes, and growing increasingly impatient with this older woman. She perceived the hesitations as if the journalist never actually meant to say the final message. Instead, the tabloid journalist with a famed specialty for writing her poison-pen stories and the St. Mungo's Healer hellbent on healing Severus Snape locked eyes with one another one final time, with Rita's coy and suppressed smile.
It was as if Skeeter knew something of herself and Snape that Dahlia could not yet discover for herself, and to say that it unnerved her was an understatement. Dahlia angrily stood still as an owl, her fists clenched and her teeth gritted.
"You're so beautiful…Miss Hawthorne. Do you think Severus Snape will find you as such, as your father did?" she commented in a dry voice, though Dahlia thought she caught the hint of sarcasm there. "What will your…patient say to you, I wonder, when he learns of your parental heritage? The things that Daddy did to his precious little girl under the cover of darkness," Rita Skeeter simpered in a mocking tone. "Is that why you became a Healer, Miss Hawthorne? To heal yourself by attempting to heal others. Does he know yet? The two of you were practically neighbors, weren't you?" Without even waiting for Dahlia to respond, who was too flabbergasted to even form a coherent reply, Rita Skeeter turned her profile to the side slightly and gestured towards the other row of townhouses in front of her. "Your home, Miss Hawthorne, correct me if I'm wrong, but it was six or seven homes down that way, was it not, dear?"
For a moment, Dahlia was struck utterly speechless.
She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing would come. Her mind was besieged by the same unanswerable questions that had pricked at her mind upon first laying eyes on the notorious blonde journalist.
How Skeeter had really obtained her information off their Welcome Witch was beyond her. She tried to force herself to understand what it was that she could not imagine. How much digging into her own family's past had Rita Skeeter already done? As she stood rooted to her spot on the cobblestoned pavement in front of Snape's home, Dahlia was determined that she would not show any sort of emotion to any of these reporters who might show up at Snape's doorstep demanding a quote from either one of them. She swore to herself that neither anger, nor bitterness, nor heartbreak or hurt would be the cause of anything other than apathy to her reaction at whatever questions these investigative journalists threw at her. However, just the mention of her father had her resolve already fast failing her.
She stood there as still and silent as an owl, digging her fingernails into the skin of her palm in an effort not to allow the bitter and heartbroken tears that swamped her throat to the surface. She was not about to give her that satisfaction.
A wave of cold anger slowly overtook Dahlia's hurt feelings.
"Yes, it was," she voiced quietly, her words more of a hollow statement than a question.
Her mind reeled, at the notions forming in her thoughts as she could not help but to wonder what all of her upbringing Rita Skeeter's digging had managed to unearth and if she planned on slipping in any tidbits into the book she supposedly wanted to write on her patient, much as she had completed her seven-hundred-page book on Albus Dumbledore shortly following the warlock's death. Though before she could mull it over further, Rita spoke up coldly.
"Don't despair, Miss Hawthorne. We journalists have our ways of unearthing deeply buried secrets. Surely, you don't need me to tell you this, my dear. And as for Snape's supposed interest in you, my dear, well, I would have thought that would be quite obvious, but you are naive. You're going to have to get used to it, anyways. Being called beautiful."
Rita watched her target frown and furrow her brows. The ghost of a smile tugged her painted red lips upward, though it took everything Rita had within herself to tamper it back from showing on her face.
If this witch would not allow her into the man's home to speak with Severus Snape directly, then she supposed the wizard's Healer would have to suffice, though worming information from Dahlia Hawthorne would prove to be tricky if what their delightful Welcome Witch at St. Mungo's told her about her was true, that Miss Hawthorne was a guarded woman, and private. The fact that she had managed to engage her in a conversation for this long was a miracle.
But there was hope for this young witch yet.
"What?" Dahlia exclaimed sourly as she glowered at Rita across the way with hardened, narrowed eyes.
"You will have to get used to it," Rita repeated patiently, though just a twinge of annoyance was heard in her voice. "Oh, being called beautiful, my dear, didn't you know?" she questioned, her tone dripping with false concern. "You bear an…uncanny resemblance to the Potter boy's mother, Lily, Miss Hawthorne. You must see that. Rumor has it your patient inside harbored something of an unrequited crush on her all these lonely years. What if he slips and calls you her?" Rita asked, a note of intrigue heard in her voice as she bit down on her lip and wriggled her plucked eyebrows at Dahlia.
Dahlia squirmed and hesitated, admittedly too flabbergasted to offer up a coherent reply, but eventually, she found her voice.
"If he does slip up and call me by that poor woman's name by accident, Miss Skeeter, it can't be helped," she answered coldly, with no semblance of warmth in her tone. "Then I wouldn't hold it against him. I cannot help my looks, Miss Skeeter, my looks are what I was born with," Dahlia snapped, hearing an edge to her voice that had not been there previously.
The journalist raised her brows, wanting to laugh at the young redheaded Healer's discomfort but knew that she could not. Dahlia stared at Rita before looking away in a frustrated exhale.
As she did, Rita gazed at the young woman intently, acknowledging her comely form in her set of simple lime green robes that was a requirement of all the Healers within St. Mungo's Institute for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
Her red hair framed her face in stray shoulder-length wisps and strands. The witch really was a vision of loveliness, even Rita Skeeter could see that. As lovely as the sunrise, and part of Rita hated her for it, as she hated all prettier witches who were much younger than she was, as the years of journalism had taken their toll on her. But this witch, this intelligent and fierce Dahlia Hawthorne was beautiful, of that there was no denying that fact. You would have to be blind not to see it for yourself, and her new status as Snape's live-in for the entire duration of a year if the Welcome Witch's facts back at St. Mungo's were correct, would make for quite the compelling and interesting story for her book.
Cruel sobs welled within her chest. Dahlia swallowed hard and forced them back down.
"Do you even want this assignment, Miss Hawthorne? Surely, it must be...painful for you, to be so close to the childhood home that you surely must have always hated, considering your father?" Rita heard herself asking softly.
"What?" Dahlia exclaimed in a sour voice and turned sideways slowly to look at the journalist.
"Do you really want this job?" Rita repeated.
Dahlia Hawthorne replied to Rita's probing question with silence. The younger witch was good at that. Might as well cut out her tongue as there was no difference in Rita's mind if the witch had one or not. But she quickly proved wrong when Dahlia answered, just a one-word response, but for Rita, it was more than enough.
"Yes."
A rueful sneer flicked across Rita's face as she clucked her tongue and shook her head in mock disappointment.
"You do not have to lie to me, Miss Hawthorne. We are both witches, you and I, and intelligent women. I hope that we can be…honest with one another, Miss Hawthorne. Please do not insult my intelligence. You and I both know that you were ordered by our newly appointed Minister as well as your supervisor…." She paused to check her clipboard, "A Mr. Gregory Smithwick, to accept this assignment. Whatever you hope to achieve by undertaking attempting to heal that man inside is a lost cause, dear," Rita snapped scornfully, unable to keep the biting bark out of her tone as she folded her arms across her chest, wanting in her mind a moment to linger, to see the younger prettier witch's discomfort plaster its way all across her face like a Permanent Sticking Charm with the knowledge that she had put it there.
Dahlia angrily held up a hand to silence this older blonde witch with the silver languid tongue that she was sure must be hung in the middle of her mouth so that it could wag at both ends.
Her growing dislike for this woman was rapidly spiraling in the pit of her stomach as a hot fire-seed of anger, and she feared for her own well-being if she could not rein in control of her emotions.
She was more than eager to put an end to this conversation and head back to her room at The Leaky for a hot meal. Her cheeks were flushed and her temper was rapidly swelling the longer she spent time in the presence of Rita Skeeter.
She really needed a moment alone. Her mind still was reeling from everything that had just happened to her.
"What I want is to heal Severus Snape, Miss Skeeter. Nothing more and nothing less than that. I do not care that I'm so close to my old childhood home, and any good feelings I might have had for the monster who dared to call himself my father is dead and buried alongside him in the rubble I found him in." Dahlia's jaw was cut like steel, and her lips pursed stiffly with anger as she curled her hands around the strap of her small brown purse, wishing she carried something heavy within her bag that she could swing at this nosy reporter's nose and break her nose with it.
Dahlia could not understand why she was so easily yielding her usual obsession with her own privacy to answer the tabloid reporter so open and honestly. Perhaps her judgment was clouded by her irate rage.
"Why have you taken an interest in him? Severus Snape, Miss Hawthorne, is a very dangerous man. If you hope to have him grow comfortable enough around you to open up and confess his deepest darkest secrets that my readers, save the rest of the continent for that matter, at clamoring for the truth, then you are naïve and mistaken," Rita growled through gritted teeth. "I hate to say this, but he will not open up. There's nothing there. What's left of Severus Snape is pure evil, dear." Rita Skeeter angrily pursed her lips.
"It's Dahlia, thank you, Miss Skeeter," Dahlia interjected with a cold smile and a curt shake of her head as she dismissed the reporter's falsified claims about her patient. "And that's where you're wrong. There is something within him, otherwise, he would not still be alive. He is a broken man, yes, damaged in more ways than one, and there is something inside of that man, and it's my job to bring it to the surface."
Dahlia paused and fell silent as she thought about her patient, and how her recent encounter with him inside had left her mind reeling. Severus Snape had been different than Dahlia had originally imagined him. The horror stories she had heard of the wizard from Father gave birth to a version of a towering, quiet but brutal-looking man with the look of pure evil about him. Severus Snape, however, the damaged man that she had just seen, was tall and well built, but nothing monstrous, not the snake that the public would paint him out to be, and Snape did not look evil, but vacant.
There was nothing all that remarkable about him, with his shadow raven black hair in need of a comb and a trim, and his face was that of a normal, plain man. He was a few years older than her at thirty-seven and were Severus Snape not her patient, then Dahlia might even go as far as to say that he was handsome.
His eyes, though, did give her something to think about. They were a deep, rich, smoldering black.
She would not, however, say that they were absolutely void. There was little there, no surface emotion could be seen within his guarded expression, but there was thought going on behind Snape's eyes.
What was he thinking about her, about his situation, however, that was almost the frightening part, she knew?
And insufferable types like Rita Skeeter would have the public's mind set on the former Hogwarts Headmaster being devoid of emotion, evil incarnate, and a man that could not be trusted an ounce.
But Dahlia could not bring herself to believe that. There was always something more going on beneath the surface of a person's exterior. It was one of many reasons why she had chosen to do some good with her life and become a Healer. To understand what made people tick, as well as to heal them and pick them back up when they fell.
And Severus Snape, he had to be the most interesting case she had ever, and ever hoped to come across. And she certainly was not about to let Rita Skeeter, of all people, interfere with her work.
She would be damned to the seven hells below if people like Rita Skeeter made her bend to their view of what they thought it meant to heal another person, though in reality, they had no idea what it was like.
Dahlia blinked in astonishment as the unmistakable sound of the blonde journalist coughing lightly to clear her throat reached her ears, and she was forced to come back to herself a bit.
Trying to ignore the fiery heat creeping to her cheeks as her blush caused her face to flush with color, she realized almost forgotten about Skeeter. She turned a cold glare towards Rita Skeeter. Dahlia took in a moment's breath to steady herself, desirous of giving off the appropriate emphasis to the reporter with a penchant for writing her disgusting poison-pen stories. Then her brown eyes turned steely, narrowing to daggers.
"You need to understand, and make it known to your colleagues at The Daily Prophet as well, that if you set one foot near this man's home again, him, or me, in the process of his recovery and should you cause him any undue amount of stress or discomfort that impedes in his ability to adequately recover…" Dahlia's tone left nothing to be misinterpreted. "Then you're going to wish that you had never taken up journalism as a career, Miss Skeeter, I'm warning you. By the time you finish with me, you'll wish that you were dead," she threatened, Dahlia's pale face never once changing from her mask of cold anger, as she turned on her heels and Disapparated off the front steps of Severus's home.
Rita Skeeter was left alone to sneer at the very spot where the younger woman had stood just moments ago but did not need to be told twice as she sensed that her job here, for now, was done, though she had a feeling this was not the least she would be seeing of young Dahlia Hawthorne.
She sensed that with this young witch now planted into Snape's home and his life whether the cantankerous git liked it or not, that she would have new stories to tell her adoring public all clamoring for fresh news before the year was out.
If only she could have known how right she was… Rita Skeeter smiled to herself as she turned and followed suit, copying Dahlia Hawthorne's movements and Disapparated, already planning her next attempt to get the scoop.
She would get that story, one way or another, no matter what she had to do...
DAHLIA breathed deeply through her nose as she shut the door quietly behind her and leaned against the old oak panel, her heart still beating wildly against her chest. What in Merlin's name had just happened? She shook her head wildly to herself to rid herself of the sudden dizziness that stemmed from pure anxiety. She could not deny the copious amounts of courage and adrenaline that dried out her throat, drawing a thirst for water that made her wonder how she'd manage to become so bold with a witch-like Rita, who had the power with just one lie to utterly ruin her life.
Her simple room above The Leaky Cauldron was warm and comfortable, a fire already roaring in the hearth, and offered a welcome respite from the cool air of the evening outside. Sliding down to the hardwood floor, she shakily knitted her fingers together as she tried to calm down by forcing herself to breathe slowly in and out through her flaring nostrils. There was sure to be an article splashed all over The Daily Prophet about her first thing in the morning, she was sure of it. She knew she had upset Rita Skeeter just now, but Dahlia was not going to stand for her prying.
Dahlia bit down on her inner cheek as she felt an uncomfortable pit forming in her stomach.
She'd heard rumors of course, of Severus Snape, from her father, and a few of his colleagues, other Death Eaters who would pay him a house call as the Dark Lord's war raged on and it grew in intensity, so it wasn't as if she were completely ignorant on the topic of the man himself. She had heard rumors swirling around in St. Mungo's shortly after she had brought him into the hospital that Severus Snape's allegiances lay with Albus Dumbledore the entirety of his tenure at Hogwarts as their Potions Professor, and that there had been a woman in his life at one point, but…but…
Dahlia closed her eyes and leant her forehead against her wrists, exhaling a shuddering breath. She attempted to forget the entire incident, both with Snape inside his home and outside the building with Rita Skeeter just now, but she couldn't erase the sight of the man from her mind, or Rita's words ringing in her ears.
How she was rumored to look like Potter's mother. Perhaps that was the reason he had treated her so coldly, as she brought unbidden to the surface of his mind painful memories, things he'd rather not think about, but like it or not, this was how she looked. Dahlia resembled her mother heavily, except for her nose. She supposed if Rita's words rang true, and she did resemble the woman whom he had once loved, she could not blame him for his adverse reaction.
But that did not mean that he had not frightened her with his sudden aggressive behavior that was almost rabid. The strange creature who'd almost flown into a rage and would have likely attacked her had she not reacted with her own wand and pinned him against the sofa was the last thing she had ever expected. She had assumed, given what little she knew of Snape, that the man would be cold and collected, almost detached. Despite all of this, however, his appearance, the man's jarring and unpredictable personality, he did not surprise her in the slightest with his aggressive moods.
Dahlia did not want to linger on the way Severus had looked at her. Dahlia let out a breath and opened her eyes. What had that been about? Unlike the beginning, when the man was first coming to his senses, he'd looked almost bewildered when she'd held her ground and had verbally chastised him for speaking ill of her profession. Why that was, Dahlia had no idea why, but it made her feel uncomfortable. Vulnerable.
Thankfully, she'd stepped outside after that, and she would not be seeing Snape again for at least two more hours, closer to supper. She would bring him food from downstairs and change his bandages and apply a fresh poultice if needed, but for now, she needed a moment alone to herself to collect her thoughts. Her mind drifted back to thoughts of Snape, how his black eyes had glittered dangerously, the edges of his lips pulled back to reveal his gums in a wild, feral snarl. That was perhaps the moment that Dahlia became truly frightened, perhaps for the first time in her life.
She had always believed herself to be resilient and strong, she'd had to be, growing up, with what Father had done to her, and aside from him, she had never felt scared of another man before. It wasn't as though she lacked experience. There were plenty of times while shopping in Diagon Alley or even making her rounds through the halls of the Dai Llewyn Ward at St. Mungo's when some idiot would come up to her and try to cop a feel. She'd always managed to fend them off with an air of cold, professional detachment, even defend herself with a well-aimed hex or two on a few occasions. But… there was something dangerous about Severus Snape. The man was unpredictable, unhinged.
It was frankly too much for Dahlia to process, but one thing was made abundantly clear to her in the short time she had spent in the man's company thus far. Severus Snape was not at all what she'd expected.
He had been staring at her with such smoldering anger in those fathomless black pits that were his eyes, that Dahlia felt sure with just one surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins, he would have summoned up enough strength to be able to raise his wand and attack her for daring to hold her ground and talk back.
She did not know why he had suddenly had a change of heart and hadn't attempted it and let her go, but Dahlia supposed she could only be glad that there existed at least a small amount of mercy within him. Perhaps Snape had taken pity on her or realized that when he had asked her if she planned to leave, she would file this on an incident report and likely face some form of consequences from the Ministry of Magic, not that it would be a legitimate reason for concern on his part. A part of Dahlia believed that after all the man had done, he could get away with anything.
But the way that Snape had looked at her. She was having trouble getting it out of her mind.
The pain and torment plastered all over his face like a Permanent Sticking Charm, rendering her able to see the shadow of agony that Snape had lived under for so long, the likes of which Dahlia had never seen before.
It was the last thing she expected to see in his eyes. Dahlia did not dare let herself think it, but she could swear that he'd almost looked ashamed of his behavior. She thought she was beginning to understand why Severus chose to keep people at a distance. He did not want people to see that side of him. He did not want people to see his weakness and vulnerability. She sighed in frustration and lifted herself off the floor, draping her purse over the back of the chair that rested in front of a small writing desk shoved alongside the wall to the left of the door.
She would not know it yet herself, but her deduction on Hogwarts' Potions Master and former Headmaster was one very few in the lonesome and forlorn man's life had ever dared to make, except those few like Minerva McGonagall who knew Severus Snape the very best. Dahlia was possessed with the rare ability to be able to see past the surface exterior of a person's appearance and into the inner goings-on of those around her.
It was a unique gift, one as a Healer, that she cherished. She'd achieved something no one else had ever had. She'd held up the mirror towards him and had gotten the upper hand against Severus Snape.
And her actions were about to have consequences, beyond anything Dahlia could have ever imagined. Her mind still feeling like it was reeling, Dahlia slowly made her way in front of the roaring fire in the hearth that someone, probably Tom, had lit for her. She wondered what the coming months would bring as the man's personal live-in Healer. Would she be constantly looking over her shoulder, fending off the man's advances as her patient tried to goad her?
And what of Skeeter?
Her conscience chimed a warning bell in the back of her mind, telling Dahlia that she was sure she'd not seen the last of her. Surely, that was a distraction to his recovery process that Dahlia could not abide by. No matter what happened. She had his overall health and well-being to think of, and Dahlia knew she needed to keep her wits about her.
Stop being foolish, she told herself angrily. Snape will treat the matter with utmost skill and tact. He's a professional, just as I am.
But if that were the case, why then, was she growing so nervous? Why was she restlessly pacing the floor and finding it hard to breathe? Why then could she not stop thinking about him?
Dahlia's conflicting thoughts were finally halted by a knock at her door. She looked timidly over her shoulder towards the thick carved oak panels, dreading whoever might be on the other side. If it was Skeeter, then the witch had better be prepared to face the tip of her wand and have a restraining order filed against her for the intrusion.
Even a witch-like Rita would surely understand her fatigue and need for solitude at this given moment.
With a very, very deep breath, she crossed the room and opened the door just a crack, just enough for one eye to peer through the too-dusty hallway outside.
A sigh of welcome surprise left her throat when she saw that it was only Tom, carrying a heavily laden lunch tray with the meal that she had asked for when she'd first Apparated downstairs into the bar's area.
"I've brought you your dinner, mum," he announced with a toothless grin that made her smile.
Dahlia smiled at the wizened, stooped-over old hunchbacked wizard clad in all black, feeling a bit foolish, and opened the door wider for the innkeeper to enter. "Oh, yes, ah, thank you, Tom. I—I'd forgotten I'd asked you for it, thank you," she stammered shyly, peeking briefly into the hallway to make sure no reporter had managed to follow her.
Tom laid the tray on a low wooden table near the fire and waved his wand to conjure a cozy-looking leather armchair to create a makeshift dining area. Then he turned obediently towards the young Healer and offered Dahlia an awkward little half-bow, as much of one as his twisted vertebrae would allow him.
"I took the liberty of having fresh towels ordered for you. They'll be up soon as they dry," he smiled shyly.
"That will be great, thanks Tom," Dahlia nodded, staring down at the simple meal of fish fingers and custard on the metal tray, her mind preoccupied. "I should like to request some supper for my patient, please. I plan to take dinner to him in a little while."
Tom offered a nod of his head, saying to her without words that he would see it done. He shuffled towards the door but paused to look over his shoulder at her.
"Is there anything else you need, Miss Hawthorne?" Tom asked as he ducked his head, staring at the floor.
"No. Nothing, thanks," Dahlia answered flatly, only half paying attention, still wrestling with her thoughts.
Tom bowed to her again and left the room quickly, for which Dahlia was immensely grateful. She was not particularly in the mood for any idle chit-chatting. She was glad to be left alone once more with her thoughts.
Dahlia settled into the chair in front of the fire with her meal and ate slowly, trying to relax a bit.
After dinner, she padded barefoot towards the bed, undressed, and headed into the bathroom to shower. The hot shower itself felt heavenly, but Dahlia could not truly enjoy it. Her muscles ached and there was a constant feeling of fear. She could only think of what was to come in the coming hours when she went back to Snape's home with his dinner and to check on him. She scrubbed herself clean vigorously, forcing herself to step out of the hot steaming shower and into the frigid cold air. Dahlia let out a hiss as her bare feet touched the cold linoleum tile and she shivered.
You don't have a choice. Take the one bit of power you do hold over him and use it to his advantage. It's not like you've dealt with his type before. Still, Dahlia shuddered slightly at her thoughts. She wrapped the towel even tighter around herself. With deep, slow breaths, Dahlia attempted to slow her pounding heart. She wondered what she could have done to handle the situation in his living room differently, but nothing was coming to her mind now. You did what you to do. Now be strong. For you. For Severus. The man is counting on you to do this.
Dahlia stepped out into her bedroom, still wrapped in the towel. She tried not to think about what Snape's reaction was going to be the moment she stepped over the threshold of his front door and saw her back again.
He might throw another fit or try to jinx you, call you names. Grow up and get over it, Hawthorne.
The words in her brains were rather viciously aimed at herself. It was how she used to survive Father's abuse. She would force herself to grow up before she'd been ready. It was eventually how she had convinced herself to leave his home when she turned seventeen. Now, she hoped her resolve would see her through this. She closed the door to her bathroom and froze as the realization came to her, as she spotted her jade green dress draped over the back of her chair.
On the nightstand, a glass of house-elf made red wine, that Tom must have conjured for her before he'd left and she'd been too distracted to pay any attention to it. She nodded slowly to herself and let out a sigh as she took a hearty sip.
The alcohol burned her throat going down, and she had never been much of a drinker, she knew this about herself, but Dahlia thought that a little liquid courage before heading back to Spinner's End, to him, was well warranted.
As she drank and set her empty cup down back onto the small wooden table when she'd finished, Dahlia she knew what she had to do.
Take care of him, Dahlia thought as she nodded, padding towards the chair, and beginning to dress and apply makeup once she had dried her hair with a quick Heating Spell from her wand.
At the very least, she could recognize that as she mentally prepared herself to return to Severus Snape's home for the second time in one day, that the beginnings of a tentative understanding of Severus Snape were forming in her brain.
A/N: I've always wanted to bring Rita Skeeter into a story. She's a character I've not tackled too much yet, and I like to think she's going to cause quite a bit of chaos for poor Dahlia and Severus before her year with him is out! I hope you are continuing to enjoy it, and please like/favorite, and review if you do! Your comments mean everything :)