EVERYTHING in Severus Snape's home was laced with the biting feeling of cold that sent a chill up and down her spine as she entered into the man's home, without bothering to knock to announce her presence. The bitter air hung in the darkened hallway, and long dark shadows slinked along the tall and narrow walls from the many candles that had been lit throughout the entryway to his home.
The heavy door to his home swung as it creaked closed. A low thud emanated from the old oak wooden panel. Dahlia was sure she had not been tailed by Rita Skeeter or any other reporter that worked for the Prophet, at least, hopefully, she hadn't been. Her breath was almost caught in her throat at the sight of how truly dingy and desolate it was in his home. She'd not gotten a proper good look around earlier, having been confined to his living room while he'd been resting on the threadbare sofa.
The thought of seeing Snape again stirred a bittersweet feeling within her in the form of an abrupt bitterness that had seeped its way into the uncomfortable churning pit in her stomach.
She knew that she owed it to the man as his Healer, however, she knew she would not soon forget the cold and harsh way he'd behaved towards her. Rita Skeeter's words rang in her mind, taunting her, telling her of her resemblance to the Potter boy's mother, and insulting her familial history. She angrily shook her head to herself and tried to rid her mind of such an unhelpful thought.
It would not help her here.
For a long moment, as her eyesight slowly accustomed to the darkness, Dahlia felt an inexplicable chill wash over her, a cold debilitating fear that had her rendered frighteningly disoriented.
She looked for signs of Severus to her left and right, peering into the desolate sitting room that held more books than she could ever hope to read in a lifetime and did not see him. There were a few terrible moments of panic as her concern took hold of her heart and it fluttered painfully in her chest.
He was not sitting in his spot on the sofa where she had last left him.
She sincerely hoped that the man's stubbornness had not compelled him to try to get up and move on his own, as Snape was still incredibly too weak to attempt it. She froze and looked towards the opposite end of the townhouse, having thought she heard a low creaking noise.
Her ears perked up as she listened intently for any sort of sound of movement.
She swallowed and looked along with the other rooms as she slowly made her way towards the hallway, thinking that she thought she'd heard the noise coming from the kitchen. Her eyes lingered on the entryway. Dahlia lowered the brown paper bag containing his dinner and held her wand at chest level with the other, worried.
"Snape, sir? Are you hurt?" she asked softly, hoping that her voice carried through to him.
She was greeted with nothing but silence. She swallowed and moved closer to the kitchen.
"Severus?" she called softly again, stopping in the entryway that separated the threshold of the hallway and the kitchen, leaning against the doorpost for support.
Despite her anxiety, she was growing increasingly alarmed to have not spotted any sign of her patient, and in spite of his cold behavior towards her earlier, as apathetic as she thought she would have to react around him to prevent outbursts like the one he had exhibited earlier from occurring, she would not wish him ill will. The poor man had suffered enough and she was not about to add to Severus's scorn.
Her eyes made a quick scan of the kitchen, only to find Severus sitting perched at the edge of a chair that looked as though it had seen better days. She furrowed her brows as she took note of the sullen look on his face, how his own expression turned into a heavy scowl as he barely spared her a second glance, his attention fixated solely on the blood now stemming from his arm and near his throat.
On the surface of the kitchen table, piles of discarded and bloodied bandages littered the surface. The unmistakable stench of the man's blood wafted through her flaring nostrils. His black eyes were glossed over as she thought he spared her a moment's glance and did not acknowledge her.
He was in shock, she tried to rationalize, as her eyes widened. It was quite a sight to behold, seeing Snape sulking like this as if his soul had been ripped from him via the means of the Dementor's Kiss.
"You came back," he grunted after a lengthy pause, hardly daring to look up at Dahlia, as the young witch lingered for a moment, frozen and rooted to the spot in the doorway of the man's simple kitchen.
Dahlia frowned, feeling herself beginning to grow defensive and even a little bit offensive that Snape had entertained the thought that she wouldn't.
"Of course, I came back," she replied.
The closer she moved towards him as she took a cautious step into his kitchen, she could see how tense and rigid his body was. Every cord was pulled tight across his body. He looked like he was trying to ready himself, trying to summon up enough strength, prepared to pounce at the slightest sign she meant to raise her wand against him. At any hint of a lie or distrust.
"I told you that I wouldn't leave, and I didn't, did I?" Dahlia challenged. She came to step in front of him, and she could tell by his skittish behavior that Severus did not entirely believe her yet. He had that distrustful glint in his dark eyes that was almost fathomless, that told Dahlia he wanted her at a safe distance. "I told you I wouldn't leave you alone on your own and I meant it," she repeated, watching as his breathing increased the closer she stepped to him. He sucked in large breaths through his nose.
There were no words Dahlia thought she could use to describe his discomfort around her.
Her frown deepened as her eyes took in the sight of the man's blood-stained and trembling hands, and how he appeared to be having difficulty in attempting to change his bandages on his own, just as she'd said he would. A momentary surge of triumph sang in her veins as he shot her a withering look, though Dahlia forced her expression to remain impassive.
When she spoke, her tone gave away nothing of what she felt.
"What are you doing, Severus?" she exclaimed in as calm a voice as she could manage, crinkling her nose in disgust as she slid her bag off her shoulder and opened the main compartment, rummaging through its contents for her roll of fresh gauze and a makeshift disinfectant poultice of her own creation.
He scowled, the edges of his mouth pinching downward into a heavy frown as he regarded her.
"What does it look like, Miss Hawthorne?" he spat back meanly, contempt dripping from his voice.
Dahlia frowned and felt a muscle in her jaw twitch. She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that it was going to be one hell of a year, and she knew he'd not make it easy for her.
She walked towards the front of him, thinking she was beginning to already get used to the familiar silence that maimed her whenever Snape was around.
And still, she felt her heartstrings give a painful tug as her own heart cried out for him, despite the distrust of the man that was currently troubling her mind. She set down the bag containing his meal on the opposite side of the table, a firm hand jutting out and stiffly caught Snape's loose jaw, and a strange, odd power surged through her veins at the sight of the older man's crestfallen face.
It was at that moment that she read his coal-black eyes like an open book which revealed to her the real Severus Snape, the man whom the entire public was clamoring to know more of, but she had been granted the opportunity to see it up and close and personal. The scared rejected man who was never good enough for love, or to be loved, or so the general public would have her and everyone else believe.
"Stop it, Severus," Dahlia heard herself command, pleased that Snape looked up at her as if she had just cast the Imperius Curse on him. "You're every inch a Slytherin, aren't you? Stop sniveling and stop trying to do this on your own, you can't manage it. You can barely lift your wand yet, so please don't think of trying anything else stupid, like trying to get up and walk around without my help, Snape, that will be the last time," she growled, a surge of annoyance in her voice. "You're still very weak. Let me help you." Her iron grip on Snape's jaw tightened, and the wizard did not so much as flinch when it did.
The words tasted bitter on her tongue. She could see the bobbing up and down of his Adam's Apple as he swallowed past a lump in his throat. Dahlia swore she felt a strange seeping pressure in her chest that startled as a tingling warmth as the man's dark eyes presented confusion and his lips parted open slightly to gape below her. She was still frustrated with him towards his behavior toward her earlier, but she wished she could give him that missing piece of affection and kindness that his life lacked.
She wanted to heal him, and she hoped that he would let her.
Without waiting for Severus to make some cutting remark, she waved her wand and caused the chair behind her to scoot forward an inch behind her that she could sit down properly and face him fully.
She waved her wand again, causing a small bowl containing clear water and fresh rags to appear on top of the table. She twisted the water out of the excess rag and gingerly dabbed it at the man's arm, wiping away the worst of the excess blood.
"This might sting a little, Severus, sir, but it cannot be helped," she apologized, shooting him a rather pained look. This time, Severus did not look at her, and Dahlia took that to mean that his wounds were finally exposed to her. She swallowed hard and wrestled with the battling emotions in her mind.
She exhaled and leaned forward slightly to wipe at the hardening blood on his arm and edges of his mouth, and he didn't flinch until it was clean. But when she went to dab at his neck, the worst injury of the dozens or so that he suffered from, her hand paused at hearing his sullen voice.
"What do you think of me, Miss Hawthorne?"
She shivered at Snape's question, and despite herself trying to contain her honesty, she couldn't.
"Cruel, Severus, sir, even when the situation doesn't warrant it. You could attempt to be kinder now, you know, that the war is over, there is no need for you to put up these walls around your heart," she answered in a tone that was almost flat and dull and listless.
She saw him unmoved, though she swore she thought she saw a tightening of the man's jaw.
Dahlia felt a flaming heat creep to her cheeks as she felt Snape's piercing stare threatening to burn a hole right through her. Severus looked as though he wanted to say something else to her but thought better of it and tightly clamped his lips shut, scowling at her.
It took the agitated wizard a moment or two to find his voice, and when he did speak again, his voice was so hoarse and faint, that Dahlia almost missed the man's words entirely as she leaned forward.
"I could be crueler to you still, Miss Hawthorne. The fact that I have not been and allowed you into my home, a privilege that few others have in this world, and that I have not yet dismissed you should speak to the fact that it seems I'm left with no choice but to trust your abilities. I would think that should speak volumes towards my character, witch." Severus paused and then went on. "I believe that you…were right earlier, that we should attempt to maintain civility towards one another, and…that I apologize if I cast any aspirations against your character and offended you earlier, I hope that you did not take in my words, Miss Hawthorne, I spoke out of turn and allowed my frustrations to get the better of me," he grunted irately after a moment with narrowed dark eyes.
Severus spat the words out of his mouth as though he'd swallowed bitter poison, and Dahlia blinked owlishly at the man, hardly daring to believe it.
Had Snape just…apologized to her? Was this another trick? Had someone, Headmistress McGonagall perhaps, put him up to this? Could she trust it?
Dahlia narrowed her eyes in suspicion as she searched his face for any hint of a lie, but he purposefully kept his expression blank, and his true emotions hidden from her.
Realizing that she still owed the man an answer, she wracked her brain for something—anything—that she could think of to shatter the awkward silence and came up short.
She compromised by coughing once to clear her throat, turning her head to the side before turning her attention back towards the pressing matter at hand of mending his arm.
A wave of queasiness washed over her and caused her stomach to lurch as the unmistakable coppery scent of the man's blood flooded through her flaring nostrils. Severus, she noticed out of the corner of her gaze, was still staring at her, unblinking as if he were in the middle of some thought.
"Thank you, Severus, I will take your words into consideration, but as far as I'm concerned, I think that you and I are past it," she finally managed to gasp out, wanting to put a quick end to their conversation and leave him alone if that was what the man wanted of her.
She had already managed to upset him once today, she did not want to try for a second time.
Dahlia forced her attentions to try to remain fixated on mending the man's arm, glancing down at her blood-stained hands now that her work was finished.
She could not manage to veil her reflexive gasp of disgust or stop herself from pulling a face of revulsion as she waved her wand and applied another layer of fresh, clean gauze. She hurried to clean the man's table of the remnants of his own blood in order to cause herself no further distress. She grimaced as she rose from her chair and moved to head to the sink to wash her hands.
"You should be fine for the next few hours. They will need to be redressed every four to six hours going forward." Dahlia swallowed down past a lump in her throat. She tried to pretend that she could not feel the man's piercing, quizzical stare threatening to burn a hole in the back of her skull as she sharply turned away from him. Though Merlin, she felt it, hotter than Fiendfyre, causing a searing heat to flame her cheeks. She tried to busy herself by washing her hands at the sink and keeping occupied in the hopes of avoiding what she was sure to be an awkward topic of conversation.
She hoped he had not noticed it.
Severus, however, was not having any of it. Severus ignored Dahlia as if he found her to be a bore, and rose from his chair with a pained grunt, despite Dahlia's quiet protests that he stays seated.
He dismissed her approach with a wave of his hand and clutched at a stitch in his side as he shuffled slowly towards the living room, and Dahlia could only follow him, supervising the man's every movement as he sat down in his chair. The very same one that, unbeknownst to her, he'd sat in when Headmistress McGonagall had visited him but a half hour or so ago.
It took him a moment to regain his breath before he spoke.
"How do you find it?" he asked her, lowly.
"Excuse me?" exclaimed Dahlia sourly as she slowly turned to look at Severus, choosing to remain to stand, keeping her arms folded across her chest, unable to form a polite response as the former Headmaster's pretentious voice was getting the better of her normally pleasant disposition.
She would try to be as polite to the man as she possibly could, but she had hoped that Snape would make more of an effort on his part.
Severus looked annoyed by her curt response but motioned with a flourish of his arm towards the vast amount of books that littered the shelves that lined the walls of his living room.
"You like to read. I saw you eyeing the collection of books earlier," Severus replied sarcastically, just as the early faint glow of the moonlight streaming in through a crack in the living room window caught the glint of his shadow raven hair. "And please...don't even think of lying to me. I'll know if you're lying."
Annoyed, he almost huffed in indignation and shot the curtains a withering look.
Sensing what he wanted, Dahlia darted forward and drew the curtains, though she frowned, wondering why he preferred it so dark in here.
"I do," Dahlia admitted as she kept her back temporarily facing Severus, unfazed by his query. She did not move, however, and remained close to the window, gripping onto the windowsill. "You've more books in this one room alone in your home than I could hope to read in a lifetime," Dahlia heard herself mutter in a tone that sounded impressed.
"So, then, you admit, Miss Hawthorne, that there is at least a little something joyous of this place?" he commented in a tone dripping in sarcasm, though a part of him sounded curious. Dahlia blinked.
Registering the astonished expression on the Healer's face, Severus reacted by smirking in somewhat of an intimate manner, as if her patient were enjoying some sort of private joke with himself.
He looked towards a random bookcase that was closest to his chair, noticing one of the more careworn and beaten ledgers, and slid the ancient-looking tome out of place.
Snape's lack of response irked Dahlia, and she began to feel more than a little bit nervous.
What, in the name of Merlin, did he want with her? Was he toying with her, because of what had transpired between the two of them? Was he hoping to goad a reaction out of her?
Noting Snape's continued silence as she watched him beginning to flick through a book, Dahlia began to feel rather irritated, if she was being honest with herself. She bit at the wall of her cheek, trying to think of something to say that might supplicate him. If there was something that he wanted of her, why did he not just come outright and speak whatever was on his mind?
"Is there something that I can help you with, Severus? Do you need anything, sir? There's a meal for you from The Leaky Cauldron on the table if you're hungry? Do you need water, perhaps? Are you thirsty? What is that I can get for you? What is that you need?" asked Dahlia as she moved away from the windowsill and turned around to face him, unable to play along with his antics any longer.
"Nothing, in particular, Miss Hawthorne," replied Severus in a flat tone, raising his eyebrows in false surprise as he turned to face her, the book still in his hands.
Letting out a concentrated breath, Dahlia forced herself to level her gaze with his as she did her best not to raise her right eyebrow at the man in a sarcastic manner.
Snape seemed to enjoy her discomfort, for he proceeded to smirk and regard her curiously, clearly gauging Dahlia's reaction to their conversation thus far as he began to speak.
"Except, a question that I would ask you…" he drolled, letting his voice trail off as he looked at her blankly with raised eyebrows, which only succeeded in perplexing Dahlia further.
"Yes?" she probed, her tone perhaps coming out more curt and harsher than she would have liked, for she saw Snape flinch away in a sense of antagonized hurt and surprise at how cold her voice sounded. "What is it?" Dahlia asked, trying to keep the edge out of her voice that had not been there previously, but so far, in the relatively short amount of time she had spent with her patient, he had that effect.
He merely motioned for her to sit, gesturing towards the second leather armchair that rested opposite his own, which just happened to be near the edge of the rather cramped and tight living room.
She could only comply. Dahlia's eyes narrowed as she noted the way the man's fingernails raked down the sides of the arms of his chair. She frowned at the strange behavior. She was almost of half a mind to tell him to knock it off, that he'd not have a chair by the end of the night if he continued to peel the fabric off, though considering his vulnerable state, and the fact that this was so far, an improvement from earlier, she kept quiet and waited for him to speak, trying not to shiver while gritting her teeth.
"Why are you still here? Considering circumstances from our...encounter earlier, I'd have thought you would request reassignment," Snape asked Dahlia calmly in a level-headed tone, yet there was a cold and calculated look in his dark eyes, an expression that she felt inadequately prepared to interpret.
She frowned. "Because I was given this position, sir, by Minister Shacklebolt and my supervisor, sir, and I told you, I made a vow to those that I swore to heal when I became a Healer. To my best recollection, I was never given a choice on whether or not to accept this job. I've never turned away someone who's come under my care," Dahlia replied, cringing as she realized it took every ounce of strength she had within herself not to avoid Snape's penetrating gaze.
She did not particularly like the way that he was looking at her, as though the man's eyes bore holes straight through her own and could see into her very soul.
"I see." He nodded his head slowly and paused for a moment as if he were trying to come to terms with something that was irritating him. After a moment or two, he looked towards her again as he set the book aside on a small wooden round side table near both of their chairs. "And why do you believe they assigned you to me?" he asked. "You seem to be an intelligent witch, Hawthorne. What do you suspect?"
Snape's nonchalant gaze grew intense as he proceeded to stare at her with unblinking eyes.
Dahlia hesitated. She felt as though the man were attempting to interrogate her, to worm an emotional response out of her that she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing for himself, and yet at the same time, she was aware at least, that the man whom she heard so many stories of from Father really did seem to be listening to her. He had remembered what she had told him earlier.
A part of her did not know how to feel about that.
Finally, Dahlia managed to find her voice after needing a moment to collect her thoughts.
"To keep out of Mr. Smithwick's way, I suspect, sir. He believes me to be a nuisance more times often than naught when I disagree with his more ah…unconventional methods. I believe that he would see me eventually turned away from St. Mungos' and towards something else," she replied, swallowing hard.
She refused to let herself think of the second to last time she had been summoned into the man's office when he had more or less yelled at her for a solid fifteen minutes for daring to keep a newly turned boy no older than seven who had been bitten by a werewolf in their ward so close to the full moon. Dahlia had refused to relent and had wound up receiving a verbal warning, the next would likely be a Howler, and her third offense, despite being one of the wizard's top Healers under him, would result in her firing.
There was an awkward pause that lingered in the air before Severus continued.
The intensity glittering in his dark eyes seemed to lift, at least somewhat, and it was replaced by something a bit vaguer, something she had trouble placing.
Dahlia could not figure out the man's otherwise impassive reaction to her words.
Considering their rocky start, she had expected Snape to be pleased with her own self-deprecation of her abilities as a Healer, however, instead, he merely looked curious.
"You truly hold such a low opinion of yourself, Miss Hawthorne?" he asked, rather quietly.
"No, I don't, Snape," she retorted hotly immediately, feeling her anger flare up within her before the words had even fully left her lips. Already, she could feel her defensive behavior taking hold of her.
She did not understand why the man was asking her all of these questions about herself. Why was he even wasting his time speaking with her? He had not taken an interest in her since he had originally regained consciousness, seeming to prefer to be left alone, so why the sudden shift in his attitude?
She had assumed that given their previous encounter earlier, that he'd never want to speak with her again, and there was admittedly a part of Dahlia that would have been satisfied with that sort of arrangement. There was something of Severus Snape's presence that set her on edge.
She presumed that it mostly came from the fact that she would not soon forget his poisonous words spat at her in anger earlier when she'd tried to help.
"Mr. Smithwick and I merely don't see eye to eye on many things when it comes to how the Dai Llewyn Ward is run," she continued, her tone clipped and defensive. "It is simply a fact. I believe he assigned me to you as your live-in Healer to…keep me out of his way for a little while, sir."
Dahlia had not even realized, but despite her steadfast determination to remain as closed off and stoic as possible, she'd looked away from Snape.
Quickly realizing her mistake, she looked up, only to find the former Hogwarts Headmaster smirking at her, and he had relaxed his posture back against his chair. She could not explain how, despite the darkness and otherwise decrepit nature of this room, the entire home, really, what little she had seen of it thus far that could use a good cleaning, something of this room itself set her at ease, and perhaps because of earlier, Dahlia knew she had already done the worst by insulting him.
"You're troublesome then, in other words," Snape concluded after a moment of silence, his hoarse and weak voice was sharp, but not angry. "Not exactly surprising, considering your past behavior," he commented, his dark eyes glinting.
Dahlia tensed, fully prepared to spring from her chair and quit the scene and this conversation entirely, however, before she could even scoot forward, Severus spoke once more, pulling her attention back towards him, halting her movements.
"How is it that you are a qualified Healer for one of the more serious floors of St. Mungo's that deals with some of the most heinous, gory, and disturbing injuries a witch or wizard could ever possibly suffer through, yet you have no stomach for the sight of blood?" Snape asked, very softly, smirking at her.
Dahlia's cheeks reddened and she immediately looked away, studying the dusty floorboards that she'd be cleaning for him tomorrow morning in a far too engrossed manner.
Timidness at that moment would likely have never been questioned in any other witch.
Was everything about her to be mocked?
She frowned.
Severus noted the Healer's crestfallen and angry reaction and realized she had mistaken his meaning.
"I merely confess myself…curious, nothing more and nothing less than that, Miss Hawthorne." He tried to correct his error. "It's not something one typically sees in a medical professional," Severus said dryly.
Dahlia was all suspicion, her eyes narrowed, as she tilted her head to the side and studied his reaction. She could not help but feel rather wary at this strange turn. She grimaced as she knew that Severus had heard her gag in the kitchen shortly before she had gotten up to wash her hands after mending his arm.
Every fiber of her body was screaming at her in protest not to answer, that she owed Severus Snape nothing that would satiate his curiosity after the way he had treated her earlier. Every inch of her conscience told her that she should be cautious of this man, this broken wizard, but she could not manage it at all.
"You're mistaken," she said coldly, her fingernails digging into the fabric of her dress as she nervously rested her shaking hands in her lap.
Much to her surprise, Severus chuckled a soft rumble that came from deep within his chest. "No, Hawthorne, I don't think that I am,' he responded. "You are quickly proving to be a terrible liar, Miss Hawthorne. Come now, open your mind to me, and let me in. If you and I are forced to spend an entire year together, don't you think we should know each other? Surely you can muster a warmer approach to your patient who is trying to make amends?" His tone was casual but dripping in sarcasm.
Dahlia made an indignant noise as she growled, pulling up her knees and pulling her legs beneath the skirts of her dress as she kicked off her shoes. She noticed him frown at the gesture and made a mental note to file it away for later. He seemed awfully particular about his furniture and everything in their proper place, she noticed, as she took one quick look at the bookshelves and realized that all of their titles were alphabetically organized meticulously, and perhaps he had a few house rules she had yet to learn for herself, though what they were, Dahlia could not even begin to guess.
With how dingy it was in here, she highly doubted cleanliness was one of them.
She was sure she must look like a sulky child as she frowned as she looked around, but Dahlia couldn't manage to pretend to care a whit. She meant to form another lie and spit it back into the man's face, but the truth was ripped from her lips instead, hot, angry, and uncontrollable.
"If I tell you, would you promise that you would at least make an attempt to consider a truce of sorts?" Dahlia asked, angrily.
Severus narrowed his eyes. "A truce? That would depend on your terms, Miss Hawthorne."
Dahlia arched her brows. "Just Dahlia, please. And I was not aware that our time together would need terms. Are the two of us at war, Snape?"
Severus scoffed. "Perhaps. I daresay it is time that we put aside any…negative feelings to rest."
"Why?" she asked. She considered him for a moment before unfolding her knees and crossing one leg over the other. She thought she saw his gaze flick interestedly towards her bare feet but then his eyes flicked back up to meet hers. "I think, given what I know of you, you would grow bored, Snape," Dahlia said tiredly after a minute.
Severus tried to control his expression but could not quite hide the upward twitching of his lips.
"Very well. As you wish," he murmured. "You still owe me an answer, Miss Hawthorne, and my…cooperation going forward, depends upon conditions," he remarked as he sat back in his chair.
"Conditions?" Dahlia demanded, unable to ignore the pang in her chest. "Such as?" she asked.
Severus shrugged.
"They are simple enough," he remarked. "Given that my...miraculous recovery has captured the attention of reporters for The Daily Prophet, I was brought to light the lack of adequate security measures at The Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley." He frowned, scowling at her. "Considering that I would have the Healer assigned to me to be relatively unharmed, the inn is no longer safe for you. You will remain here in my home, where you will be safe from the scrutiny and prying of the reporters who are no doubt clamoring and throttling one another to catch a glimpse of this," he growled, his hand instinctively drifting upward to settle over the scarred tissue around his throat.
He furrowed his brows as he watched her face drain of what little color was left.
"There's a spare bedroom a few doors down from mine. Take it, I have no need of it. It's well furnished and you should be comfortable enough," he snapped. "And as for you…" His eyes suddenly blazed with cold fury. "You, Miss Hawthorne, will answer all of my questions. I like to consider myself an amenable man, Miss Hawthorne, and I do not think I ask you for too much. I would say that's agreeable enough."
Dahlia smiled bitterly, though it was not enough to stop the flicker of guilt that flashed across her face. She knew that Severus had seen it, judging by the way he smirked. She suddenly grew timid.
Depending on his questions and what he wanted of her, she was not sure she was prepared to answer any of them.
"Is this really necessary, sir?" she asked, angrily. "I saved your life, Severus, there's no need to treat me as though I'm a threat to you. I told you before, that I only want to help you. If you've questions, ask, there is no need for you to make these demands of me, to form these so-called 'conditions' of yours," she retorted hotly, hearing herself spiced and offended. "What is it that you want of me?" she demanded.
"The answer to my original question, for now, will suffice," Severus answered, very softly.
She hesitated. Something within Dahlia realized that she thought there was no reason why she should not trust Severus Snape.
This was perhaps the longest he had engaged her in a conversation yet, and she knew if she hoped to heal him, they would eventually have to learn to get along or at least tolerate each other's presence. She did not want to seem ungrateful that he was at least attempting to make amends for his earlier harsh reaction towards her efforts to help.
Dahlia supposed it could do no harm to enlighten the wizard as to the reason for her disgust.
"When I first told my father that I wanted to become a Healer," she started slowly, staring into the depths of the fire roaring in the hearth, somehow hoping to burn the horrific memory out of her mind. "He said that I wasn't strong enough, wasn't good enough." Her gaze grew distant as if lost in the past. Snape said nothing by way of response but listened intently to her words. She heard herself pouring out her painful memories to the man, glad to finally let them out. "I was twelve years old when one summer, he let me work with a neighbor who ran a local menagerie." She swallowed hard but continued. "My job was to dissect any wounded animals that came through injured, any that were beyond saving so that I could learn their anatomies, their venomous poisons if they had any, and how to treat them if a witch or wizard was ever attacked." She closed her eyes as if the thought was almost too disturbing to face.
Seeing the woman's pain, Severus stirred in his seat. Dahlia did not see the man's movement but went on her with recanting of events that she had tried to bury deep within herself, hoping never to talk about them.
"They were—they were…still alive when the owner of the menagerie forced me to slit their throats. How they all cried and screamed, those poor creatures." She stiffened. "By the end of the day, I was covered in blood from head to foot and I think my own screams were just as loud, if not louder than theirs."
Severus gnashed his teeth together as he could plainly see how the retelling of this disgusting event was hurting the young Healer. Her breaths were coming to her in shallow waves, and she was gasping as she spoke as if she was finding it difficult to breathe.
"I had my clothes burned that night," she confessed in a meek voice. Her face hardened after a minute or two as she let herself have a minute to compose herself. "But since then, I've never hesitated to tend a patient who comes into my care." Her fist clenched in triumph around the arm of her chair.
"I am…sorry that happened to you," was all Snape said quietly to Dahlia, as she shook the image of the now long-ago trauma from her mind.
It was almost as if Severus Snape's quiet voice brought her back to her present reality. Even as he regarded her silently, mulling over the young witch's bravery at a ripe young age of only twelve, Dahlia immediately looked away to hide the embarrassment on her face.
She had not intended to be so candid with the man, to give so much of herself away like this in their first initial interaction where neither of them yelled at the other.
Her eyes glistening with stifled tears that she furiously attempted to blink back, not wanting Snape to see it, Dahlia lifted her face to his to find a similar sorrow there. Part of her was so overwhelmed at the wizard's supposed empathy for her, that all she wanted to do was look deep into the man's black eyes and unearth what secrets of the man's life that he would let her have access to. The part of her that won, however, was that which wanted to crawl away from Snape and hide.
Dahlia quickly snapped herself back to her usual stoicism and hid her emotions as quickly as she had allowed them to surface.
"Well," Dahlia announced uncomfortably. "I—I'm sure that you are tired and are wanting time alone to rest." She bolted from her chair as if the simple piece of furniture were on fire. Remembering her courtesies, she added, "Thank you…for talking with me. For allowing me to stay in your home, Severus." She bashfully turned her head to eye Snape out of the corner of her lowered gaze. "And…for listening. I hope I answered your questions," Dahlia added, truly grateful, but overcome with awkwardness.
Before Severus could answer, she disappeared out of the living room and down the hallway, but not before calling over her shoulder that she would be back momentarily. She was merely swinging by the Leaky to grab the rest of her things that she had packed, and then she would return here to him.
Severus could only stay in his chair, leaving him watching her go.
As the air around her clamped and Dahlia made a beeline for the front door of the wizard's home, she tried to ignore the way the man's black eyes followed her interestedly to the exit.
She was smart enough not to look back.