A/N: My apologies, yet again for the length of this chapter. I never can seem to write a short chapter, but Severus tends to overthink everything, at least in this story, he does.
In the meantime, I will try to have at least one more chapter out for you lovely readers to look forward to before the Christmas/New Year's holidays, as Severus continues to make progress with his Healer and tear down the walls of his hardened heart.
HE stared, unable to take his eyes off the gruesome scene in front of him, feeling certain at first that his mind was making a sport of his vision and taunting him with this. It was bad enough his dreams were filled with visions of Lily, but now, his Healer had to suffer too, and because of him.
Severus gritted his teeth and tried to shake away the vision, but when he opened his eyes and nothing changed, he realized with a sinking pit forming in his churning stomach that this was, in fact, very much real. His heart pounded hard in his chest, hard rhythmic drumming he could hear in his ears. Every nerve in his body was on high alert as he held his wand in his hand as best as he was able.
Snape could not help cursing himself of his current physical weakness and wishing that he'd thought to take a Strengthening Potion this morning before leaving, but it was not the thought of possible defeat that he feared, but the thought that the body of his Healer lying seemingly unresponsive and lifeless in the hallway of the Dark Lord's familial home would be stolen from him.
When Severus had finally managed to regain control over his emotions and had stalked his way back towards Hans Hawthorne's mausoleum, expecting to find Dahlia there, waiting for him with some quip of what took him so long, and she was nowhere to be found, was perhaps one of few times in Severus Snape's entire existence that he'd known fear.
It was a terrible feeling that flooded through him, finding no sign of the pretty redhead witch. He had stood there for a moment or two, blinded by the feeling of this new emotion as he forced himself to try to breathe normally. His jaw was steel, his shaking fists were knots.
It took him at least another three to four minutes, entirely too long, to compose his emotions enough to cast Revelio.
His heart was reduced to little more than a terrified slab in his chest, as he watched the familiar comely silhouette of his prickly little Healer, their phantasm apparitions as his spell were cast now outlined in gold, struggled, as Antonin Dolohov and a few others led her through the woods that would take them up to the hillside, and into Tom Riddle Sr.'s house.
The only way he knew his heart was still beating as he'd set off with purposeful strides towards the ancient home was the sound of it pounding in his ears.
Severus wasn't even aware that he was now as pale as a ghost. His mind churned with fear and questions, none of which he could answer. What had happened? Why had Dolohov taken her?
Was she already lying dead or injured in a deserted alleyway somewhere for him to find? As he'd thrown open the front door to Riddle's dilapidated house, he could feel the sprouting of betrayal, devastation, and sadness raging war within the confines of his chest.
And now, the only thing he felt as his gaze flicked between Dahlia Hawthorne's seemingly lifeless body and then back up to meet Antonin Dolohov's near maniacal glare, all he felt was a burning uncontrollable rage burning in him, but he did not allow Dolohov to see it at all.
He knew that he could stand there as a witness no longer, as the four other Death Eaters, none of whom Severus was familiar with, barreled down the staircase and moved to stand directly in between the path that he needed to get to his Healer and check on her, and Antonin, who looked as though he were itching to raise his wand against Severus, but wanted to gauge the wizard's reaction first.
He gritted his teeth, struggling to control his rage.
He would kill every last man standing in this room or die himself before letting the witch who had saved his life suffer one more moment of anguish.
They would have to kill him to stop him. At this rate, they had all better hope that they killed him, then, because it was the only way they would stop him.
Blood filled his eyes, his newfound and only purpose now getting Dahlia to safety, back home to Spinner's End to assess her wounds.
He would save her life, just as she had saved his.
In a flash of reflexive movement, before the first two younger Death Eaters to his left flank could raise their wand to eye level, Severus drew his wand against the two that foolishly thought they could him at bay, effectively blocking his path to Hawthorne. None of them would be leaving this house alive.
With a practiced flick of his wrist, Severus removed the wand hands of both by casting a nonverbal Sectumsempra hex, the curse of his own making, though right now, even this spell seemed too tame for this lot.
He then slit their throats on the follow-through, just as the Dark Lord had done to him in that damned bloody boathouse that he hoped never to set foot in again if he could help it once he would return to Hogwarts in a few more months to resume his post as their Potions Master.
The two young wizards who looked not a day over twenty fell away, unthreatening. They would bleed to death slowly on the hardwood floor, aware of everything that was happening around them, and powerless to be able to do a thing about it. It took Severus less than ten minutes to dispatch the Riddle House of the Death Eaters that were now seemingly following Dolohov.
The ambush that occurred within the old haunt's walls was a glorious slaughter. Severus raved his path up the stairwell that led to the second floor of the house without giving a chance for Antonin's men to recuperate.
By the end of his purging of his former comrade's men, his wand was practically bathed in the blood of his enemies. He spent his fury well vented in a sea of masked Death Eaters, all masked in the Dark Lord's face—severing through flesh to the bone, enjoying their screams. Amidst all the havoc going on upstairs, he warred his way through the various rooms littered on either side of the second-floor hallway, slashing left and right ungracefully.
His skin was flushing with both terror and excitement as he headed back down the stairs with the intent of dispatching Antonin Dolohov, knowing he wouldn't hurt Dahlia any worse than she already was, that the wizard derived a sick pleasure in taunting his victims, usually with their family or friends.
Severus narrowed his eyes as he surveyed the scene in the hallway before him as Dolohov retreated towards the living room, more open, with more room to attack. Severus followed.
As Antonin moved towards the back of the room, near Riddle's fireplace, he did not seem angry at Severus's arrival. Dolohov seemed pleased as he stood stock still, evaluating his presence lingering in the doorway just as much as Severus was considering the shorter, stockier wizard.
"I see that you've enjoyed that little exhibition even more than I did, Snape, I would say it's good to see you, but considering our circumstances, I'm afraid I cannot make that claim, my old friend," Antonin taunted in his silky smooth voice that never failed to make Severus cringe. "You came. I thought you would, Severus. I sensed your pretty little witch's thoughts, you know, despite her best efforts to keep thoughts of you from her mind. I see then that the rumors are true, that you've sided with the likes of Albus Dumbledore all along. What were you this whole time, Snape, the old man's pet?" Antonin breathed out in a taunting voice, the older man's voice was devoid of any fear.
Not even the blood of his comrades that adorned Severus's face now evoked a cringe out of him. Of course, Severus smirked to himself, if a man like Dolohov feared something, he was not on the Death Eater's list, he knew that. He forced himself to speak in a voice that was throttled with repelled fury, dangerously soft and quiet.
"What have you done to my Healer, Dolohov?" he whisper hissed through clenched teeth, the slender fingers of his wand hand curling dangerous tight around the handle.
Out of the corner of his gaze, still lying limply in the hallway against the floor, was his Healer. She appeared to be unconscious and did not look unscathed. She had been injured.
In the fraction of a second Severus had to observe the young witch, he noticed Dahlia Hawthorne had a fair amount of blood on her face and quite a bit more near her breasts.
She looked as though she'd been through one hell of a nasty beating, maybe even two to three, if judging by the black right eye she now suffered from and would for weeks while the nasty-looking bruise healed was any indication of what Dolohov had put his Healer through.
She wasn't moving at all. Severus could not even detect any rise or fall of the witch's chest.
Antonin's hoarse baritone voice rent through the silence of the room, effectively tearing his gaze away from the witch to look back at him.
"Oh, she belongs to you. She's your woman, now, is she, Snape? You always did have a thing for redheads, Sev, my apologies, perhaps I might have been more gentle with this one had I known she was yours, but she never said," Antonin morosely chuckled, sneering, as he strode towards where Severus's gaze lingered and nudged Dahlia's limp body with the sole of his boot. She didn't even flinch.
She remained unresponsive on the floor, staying so still and lifeless it made Severus' blood run cold as he waged war against the dozens of conflicting emotions in his mind. His hands trembled with rage.
He wanted to kill this bastard, again and again. He wanted to bash Dolohov's stupid skull to the very floor, he wanted to hear the wizard's bones all crack. He wanted to watch the dusty rotten floorboards turn red with the wizard's blood. He wanted to see the brain matter paint the ground he now stood on.
At least a dozen black, putrid curses burned on the tip of Severus's tongue, begging to be spat at Antonin Dolohov for what he had done. Except Snape was going to say them. He was going to shout them at him with every ounce of breath his burning lungs could muster.
He wanted nothing more than to send the first assault towards Dolohov right here and now, attack him and dispatch him as quickly as he could, but taking on Antonin right here, where they were still in such proximity to Dahlia's unconscious form would be too dangerous for the sake of his Healer.
Severus knew he could not risk Hawthorne being stepped on, tripped over, or otherwise hurt, maybe even accidentally killed if the witch were to somehow get caught in the crossfire. He needed to get this pathetic, disgusting excuse for a wizard away from the witch so that his Healer was in no danger or any further injury, and time was not on his side. He needed to hurry if he wanted to save her life.
Severus could only hope that he was not already too late. Enough blood had been spilled because of those whom he could not save, as he recalled telling Dumbledore once.
So, Severus did the only thing he could.
He slowly took steps forward into the living room and Dolohov copied his colleague's cautious steps.
"You did come with Dahlia Hawthorne here to see Hans, after all, color me surprised," Dolohov guessed with an amused smirk and a nod of his head, sure of his initial assessment. "And now, you've come to collect your precious little liability? She's a really pretty little witch, Snape, isn't she? Is that the reason?"
Snape knew he owed no answer to Dolohov, and he did not wish to waste precious time arguing over his Healer's worth. With any luck, the former Death Eater would be dead in minutes. Severus did not see the need to convince Antonin that Hans Hawthorne's daughter was so much more than a liability.
It didn't matter what Antonin Dolohov thought of his Healer. She was not his concern. Severus nearly growled with the effort to restrain himself from striking prematurely as he continued talking.
"It would have been a lot easier on the witch if Red would have just told me she'd brought you," Dolohov sighed, clicking his tongue in mock disappointment with a run of his hand through his dark curly hair. "I've no idea why she thought having you here was some big secret that she was trying to protect. Thanks to you, Snape, I've got the answer I wanted, and she still suffered for it," Dolohov laughed. "Drop your wand or sheath it, Snape, right now, don't make me say it again. You know I've always hated saying things a second time, to anyone, snake," he ordered, no semblance of humor or jest in his tone now. "And I just might let you tend your pretty little witch's wounds before the next duel," Dolohov drolled, lifting his chin and glaring at Severus with raised dark eyebrows.
Now it was Severus's turn to raise his brows in incredulous disbelief in Antonin's direction. There was no way in hell he was sheathing or relinquishing his wand to the likes of him. He knew better than to think a man like Antonin was capable of anything but violence. And of course, the offer the man had given, even if it were sincere, was not good enough. Severus was not about to give Antonin the option to Disapparate and run off like the coward he knew Dolohov to be if he could at all help it.
The man would die here and now for whatever he had done to Dahlia Hawthorne. As far as Severus was concerned, Dolohov had dug his own grave with what he had done.
"Very well," Dolohov sighed with a light, nonchalant shrug of his shoulders as he rolled his neck to crack it. "I'm going to enjoy keeping your pretty little witch around once you're dealt with. The slag certainly is a fun little toy, Snape. You do have a way with women, don't you, Severus?" he snorted, finding it difficult not to roll his eyes at his comrade's expense. "A strange way indeed. What is she sees in you? She tries so very hard not to cry, but she failed, Snape. There's only so much pain a witch like her can take before it breaks her, Snape, but you know that almost better than any of us, don't you?"
The pressure in Severus's head finally exploded along with a low warning growl that emanated from the back of his throat, causing his chest to thrum with the force, and a gash on Dolohov's neck, though the spell was not enough to kill him. He lunged towards Dolohov, though the wizard immediately drew his wand and deflected Severus's jinx he sent his way. Severus slashed through the air a barrage of hexes, one right after the other, not allowing Dolohov a moment to catch his breath to give him the strength enough to utter the incantations needed to defend himself, much less think them.
He finally managed to slice a shallow, superficial gash in Antonin's right arm as he attempted to dodge a window that exploded as Severus's Stunning Spell was meant for him, and it would have hit him too, had he not ducked at precisely the exact moment as it hit. Dolohov hissed in pain through gritted teeth and clutched at his now-bleeding arm, waving his wand, a merciless heavy firing of Snape's curse, Sectumsempra, that only very narrowly missed Severus's right shoulder had he not stepped aside.
If it would have made contact with his arm, he'd have lost it. Severus gritted his teeth as he lashed out at Antonin again, but the man blocked his spell sent his way and turned on the heels of his boots, the loud, cracking noise of the man Disapparating drowning out the anguished roar of Snape's hair-raising and haunting scream that he let out at letting the wizard escape death at the end of his wand.
Severus stood there rooted to the spot for a long moment, staring at the space where Antonin Dolohov had stood only moments before, his angry glower burning a hole through the floorboards. Breathing out a tired breath, Severus slowly turned back on his heels and swiftly strode towards where Dahlia still lay on the floor, kneeling into a crouch and looking her over.
He would deal with Dolohov later.
For now, he had to see to Hawthorne and see what could be done for the young witch.
Dahlia was lying on her back, with one arm limply draped over her stomach and the other at her side. Her eyes were closed, though occasionally, he caught the twitch of her eyes behind closed lids, thinking she might just barely be perceptive, her eyebrows knitted together with worry.
The witch's thin mouth, complete with a bleeding cut on her lower lip, was set in a pout and she looked deathly pale. Severus's hands immediately shook as he rested his left hand on the witch's chest, careful to avoid the bruises around her breast.
Rage charged through him like an electrical current as imagined images of the torment Dahlia Hawthorne had suffered through under Antonin Dolohov's hand flitted through his mind as though he were watching them in the Pensieve in Headmistress McGonagall's office.
Panic rushed over him in huge, nauseating waves. Why him? Why now?
He held her very life in his hands yet saving the life of the witch who had saved his life was admittedly the last thing he was prepared to do. At the same time, Severus knew he must rescue her, he owed her that much, at the least. His jaw clenched together so tight that he heard the audible clicking of his molars as he braced himself for the task ahead. Severus knew he would need to examine her for injuries, and that included touching her. He would have to touch her. Had to do it.
His hands shook a little as the bone-white appendage moved up towards her collarbones before, without even thinking, he brushed aside a strand of Dahlia's dark red hair and let his hand hover over one of the nasty welts, close to her right breast. Her skin had lost so much color, standing out in pale relief against the stark contrast of the deep black lace of her dress, making her look almost washed out. Keeping his teeth tightly clenched, Severus forced himself to honor Hawthorne's modesty and waved his wand shakily to conjure a thin woolen blanket and draped it over her shoulders and around her chest, hoping to provide some small modicum of warmth.
Yet, he knew he did not need his eyes to detect and appreciate Dahlia's graceful curves, the smooth texture of her creamy, pale skin. Her skin, he noted, was dangerously cold.
Fortunately, the fire that one of the Death Eaters had roared to life in the hearth here in the living room provided just enough light for Severus to assess his Healer's various injuries.
Severus exhaled a tense breath as he first forced himself to take a closer look at her chest, which seemed to be the location of the most serious of her wounds that he could tell. Dolohov had scratched her, had cut her skin with his knife.
Severus sighed, frustrated, as he closed his eyes when his gaze drifted downward towards her arm.
His Healer did not deserve this treatment, not for an instant. Breathing in a steadying breath, Severus forced himself to resume his work. Dahlia would want him to be calm now.
There was no use in him expending all of his injury being angry towards Dolohov at this exact moment.
He had to keep a clear head so he could properly treat the witch's injuries, though something inside of him told him that were Dahlia awake right now, the fiery redhead would insist, stubbornly, that she be allowed to heal herself, and he'd not let her do that.
Severus almost allowed a coy smirk to flit across his features, as the edges of his mouth tugged upward, but he fought it back, his expression as grim as a graveyard as he continued with his initial assessment of her physical injuries.
Her wrist appeared to be broken and her shoulder looked dislocated. He would not have noticed it if he hadn't attempted to move her arm to examine it and nearly drew his hand away, shocked by the extreme heat that emanated from the delicate appendage, and when he carefully lifted her hand to place it over her middle, he noticed the break was in at least two places.
A part of him thought to mend her broken bones while she was still unconscious to save her the embarrassment and pain, though the more selfish aspect of his personality and mind told him that he wanted her awake for this, to see the gratitude in her eyes when she realized it was he who'd saved her.
Severus could not help the dark swirling tempest of thoughts that were clouding his mind, as visions of enacting a swift death upon Antonin Dolohov for what he had done flitted through his mind.
He had known Dolohov was capable of brutality, of course, and Dahlia was so delicate and fragile when compared to those who were likely the man's usual victims.
A part of him was even a bit surprised his former colleague even knew how not to kill someone so delicate when Antonin was used to inflicting great pain without showing mercy.
Dolohov could have hurt his Healer so much worse, and he could not comprehend why Antonin had been holding back unless he had required her skills as a Healer for something.
And if she refused to cooperate with his demands, then he would save his harshest torture towards the end. Severus closed his eyes and let out a breath. The rage coursing through his bloodstream burned hot and bright and showed no signs of letting up at the thought of how close his Healer had come, and with absolutely no other reason for her death beyond enjoying seeing Hans Hawthorne's daughter suffer, he supposed.
Severus continued his examination, careful to be as gentle and thorough as possible. He could not allow his anger to prevent him from saving his Healer's life if it could be helped.
He closed his eyes and concentrated, resting his hand over her chest and spoke to her, in his impossible telepathy as a Legilimens, and hoped that the prickly Healer could hear him.
Come back to me, Dahlia…come back…to me…
SHE thought she could hear him. Dahlia thought she could hear Severus, speaking to her, low, and faint.
To me…
Dahlia thought she could pick out his voice that was otherwise drowning in a blur, though Severus Snape's voice sounded distant and muffled, as though the man were speaking to him underwater.
Here…back to me, Dahlia.
It was cold. Merlin's Beard, it was so cold. Tendrils of ice swelled in her veins, her throbbing heartbeat now reduced to a quivering corded mass of muscle in her chest felt like a glacier of ice. A horrible abstract of grey colors clouded her vision as her eyelids slowly fluttered open, haunting, and dreary.
Breathe…Dahlia, breathe… come back…
She felt a stiff groan caress her throat. Surprisingly warm but rough hands steadied the sides of her face, the strong thumbs sweeping off strands of red hair from her cheeks that had come loose from her bun. And red. Red droplets of something sticky and garish trickling from his face down to hers. The blur was fading now, as her vision slowly but surely cleared, and the giddiness danced away. And before her very eyes were glittering dark pools that belonged to Severus Snape, those windows to his soul.
"Good, Hawthorne. Come back…to me…breathe, slowly, you're going to be alright. You're alive."
Snape's ragged voice was a fire that ignited her insides, the heat that flushed from her core and washed her away like an explosion within. Her chest started to heave, and Dahlia parted her lips as her lungs heaved to cough, and she sucked in air as if she were a newborn baby.
She coughed and inhaled as she groggily sat up as life flooded back into her system.
As she came to, she realized Snape's hand was on her shoulder, staring at her with a placid expression on his face. Dahlia looked around and found herself sitting on the floor of the hallway of the Riddle House, with Severus crouching over her and their faces were barely inches from each other.
He was a disaster, in a nutshell, face adorned with likely the blood of the men who had taken her hostage and brought her here. She blinked and moved her head, a tiny groan of pain escaping her lips.
The back of her skull throbbed and hurt like hell. It took a few moments for the fog of confusion she found herself in to dissipate. There was always this horrible debilitating fear.
It was not necessarily an experience of suddenly remembering her situation being consumed with fear after a sense of comfortable confusion. Instead, it was simply a realization of the cause of the sense of impending doom, unless Severus had taken care of it. and then the memory came flooding back to her.
Dolohov.
No holes were missing. None that she could remember anyway. She stiffened and gritted her teeth as everything within her body clenched in fear. She felt as though she were in some kind of trance, her heart racing so quickly she feared it might explode in her chest, her breathing shallow, and her ears filled with the rushing sound of the blood of her heart as it pounded.
Dahlia blearily lifted her gaze to Severus's and furrowed her brows, though even that hurt as the cut above her left eye stung and sent a swell of pain through the bone. He didn't seem as agitated as a normal human being should be given the situation, but there was something different in the wizard's sallow features. Perhaps it was his kind of fury, or maybe rather, a sense of quiet disappointment.
The nightmare was over, she realized with widened eyes as Snape was coming closer towards her, reaching his hand to help her stand. She had somehow managed to remain in one piece, and yet, even now, she did not feel saved. Everything in her was still clenched in fear.
She stared at his outstretched hand for a while, unsure whether or not her legs would even support her body weight if she were to try to stand upright, and she was unwilling to touch any man at the moment, not even her patient, who had just saved her life, she realized, as a pit began to form in her belly.
Severus waited for a moment, and then changed his approach and lifted her on his own, his hands underneath her one good arm, careful not to jostle her injured shoulder. Dahlia shuddered at his touch and almost opposed it, though she was too exhausted physically and mentally to ask him to let go.
"You're safe now, the men who had you are...dealt with," he stated, speaking to Dahlia in a low voice that she could only describe as a growl as he led her outside and into the fresh air, carefully leading her down the steps of the old Riddle House and pausing only when they reached the gates of the home.
She stiffened at his arm around her waist. She did not want his touch right now, she did not want anything except for the world to leave her alone, to let her alone for once in her life.
"You're hurt, and don't even bother lying to me, Hawthorne. What happened to you?" he snapped through gritted teeth, his dark eyes making a quick scan of her battered and bruised appearance, taking note of how her equilibrium was off, and she could barely stand upright without his assistance.
She gazed at him briefly before the strength in her legs left her completely and she felt her knees buckle. She would have fallen to the ground had Snape not caught her fall and waved his wand to conjure a chair, in which he bade her sit, forcefully guiding her into the chair while being careful to be mindful of her wounds. The question sounded more foolish to her than anything ever before.
Dahlia almost snapped at Severus before some reason came back to her mind.
Get a grip, she chided herself. Remember, he saved your life. You owe Severus.
"N-no…I'm...not hurt," she managed to gasp out as his rough fingertips brushed against the column of her throat, his brows raising at the sight of the blood that stained them as he pulled his hand away. "I'm not, Severus. N-not much. You…got here on time."
Even as she spoke the words, she knew she was lying through her teeth as she clenched her jaw as swells of white-hot flaring agony shot up and down her left dislocated shoulder and a broken wrist.
Dahlia clamped down on her tongue hard enough that she tasted the blood lingering there to keep from screaming as her injured wrist accidentally brushed against the fabric of her now-ruined dress.
Severus merely looked at her in silence a moment, rubbing his blood-stained fingers against each other, frowning. It was clear that he did not believe her, and even Dahlia knew her words lacked the conviction to sell the argument that she realized to make, that she was fine when she wasn't.
Dahlia attempted to put on some mask of gratitude or relief or force herself to thank Severus for saving her life, but she couldn't. Her body still violently shivered as she tried to curb her pained breathing, the horrors still too fresh and vivid in her mind.
Luckily, her eyes were dry, thank Merlin for that much.
She did not want to have him witness her tears, either. It was bad enough Dolohov saw. Severus's narrowed black eyes went down her injured arm that she clutched to her breast, stopping at her non-dominant wand hand, which was so badly shaking it was a wonder she could hold her wand at all.
"You will get better protection, Hawthorne, I can assure you. You won't be needing that for a few days. Hand it over, you won't be able to use your magic for at least four days, Dahlia. Don't make me ask again. One thing you should know of me if you're to remain in my company for the entirety of a year, is I hate saying things a second time. Please, don't make me say it to you again a second time, Hawthorne," he warned a slight edge to his voice that had not been there moments before.
He reached out his hand expectantly, his thin lips pursed into a narrow rigid line, quirking a brow at her. With reluctance, Dahlia handed her wand over to him, for a fleeting moment almost wishing to jinx him with it, hoping this wasn't another of the man's traps to keep her trapped and alone in the confines of his desolate house.
Severus took Dahlia's wand and hid it behind his belt. Dahlia could only gaze blankly at her wand now resting on his hip for a while, unable to function, much less form a coherent thought in her mind. Finally, she swallowed all the bile that had crept its way up into her throat and looked up at Snape, hoping to convey just the right amount of gratitude, relief, and horror.
In a way, she knew she should be truly grateful, that he had been right. If he had not come with her here today, and if he had not barged in when he had…
She shuddered at the thought and licked her lips to moisten them, searching for her words.
Finally, she found her voice again, and when she did speak, her voice was so hushed and faint, that her words were almost lost on the wind as a harsh blustery gale blew her hair which had come loose from its bun off her shoulders and out of her face.
"Thank you, Severus."
It was everything that she could utter at this exact moment, glancing fearfully over her shoulder at the Riddle House looming alone at the tip of the hill that overlooked the village and the graveyard.
His motives for saving her life were likely egotistical in nature and nothing more, but he had saved her from things worse than death this morning either way, and she knew she owed him her thanks.
She had not forgotten that she owed him a supposed favor, though a part of her skin crawled to think what this 'favor owed' to him might be, what the wizard could poss in mind for her.
Dahlia took advantage of the sudden silence between them to study his face.
Snape's bangs were lightly pushed out of his face, and Dahlia held the wizard's formidable gaze, determined not to shy away from the piercing stare and the vicious scar that now snaked its way across his right eye and ended at the edge of his lips, that she knew had to hide a kind soul within.
The man's kindness and missing pieces of affection that she thought she could give were buried beneath layers of abuse and hurt, she suspected, not unlike hers, but as the man's Healer, she was determined to bring it out if she fully intended to heal the man's injuries, the physical and mental alike.
He acknowledged it with a small nod. "Dolohov and any left who are under him won't be bothering you anymore," he said, quietly observing her with furrowed brows.
"Wh—what happened to them? What did you do?" Her voice was quiet, slightly quivering, and her hold of her injured arm with her one good one tightened even more.
She discovered that she still didn't have much control over her body, as it continued to shake, prepared for another violent assault.
"A-are they gone?" Dahlia asked, very quietly. "D-did they leave? How did you find me?" she whispered, not sure if she wanted to know the answer, but at the same time, she had to get the question out. "Th-there were at least four others, Severus, I...h-heard them, with Antonin when they brought me through the woods to the house," she informed him in a soft and trembling voice as she reached for the man's hand instinctively without her mind aware of what it was that she was doing.
Severus visibly startled as her hand slipped into his hand, almost effortlessly, as though they were two pieces of a missing Muggle jigsaw puzzle that fit together perfectly, looking down at their conjoined hands for a moment, then up to her, his mouth parted slightly in surprise, his expression impassive, but Dahlia could see the intense hurt in his eyes, glistening behind those pools of black.
"Dolohov managed to escape, but his men are dead. I would not have let them leave even if they wanted to," Severus quietly informed her after a moment, carefully holding onto his Healer's hand, surprised at how cold and numb her palm was in his hand. The tingling sensation burned him.
A part of him was tempted to shirk away from the intimate gesture, but a selfish part of him was content to remain just as he was, sensing that the witch's clinging slender fingers weren't going to let go anytime soon, and his Healer's obvious need for physical comfort outweighed that of his discomfort.
"I—I'm sorry, Severus, I-I know that I should have acted more properly," Dahlia spoke in a whimper. She sounded utterly exhausted, and his voice trembled slightly as he spoke, as though she had been screaming or crying until her voice was hoarse. Which, of course, she had been. "He-he showed up, out of nowhere. I couldn't call for you, Snape. I couldn't give away your position to him like that."
Suddenly, Dahlia could not force herself to meet his gaze, too ashamed to look into his eyes and see the disappointment and anger burgeoning within the man's eyes.
Undoubtedly, he was likely furious with her for not calling out for help.
Severus shook his head to himself, trying to send away the horrible images his mind's eye was showing him of the torture she had suffered at Dolohov's hands.
Though the details of how and why this had happened to his Healer were the least of his concerns at the moment, he still wondered how it was this prickly little witch had managed to get herself into this predicament without Severus hearing or seeing any sort of a struggle.
"Why didn't you call for help or send up red sparks with your wand? You could have sent a Patronus," he hotly accused, unable to keep the wavering note of anger from seeping into his quiet tone.
The furrow of confusion and growing anger between his brows furrowed as he glared at her. He could not understand why the witch had purposefully put herself into danger like this.
Surely, Dahlia had to recognize that attempting to take on five experienced Death Eaters by herself was an extremely dangerous and foolish endeavor. So why had she done it? Was it her pride? Her vanity? Did she fear that asking for help would mean in her mind losing the respect that he had gained for her?
He did not understand and hoped that the witch would elaborate as to her reasons why.
Her eyes stared into the distance over the shoulder, so hurt that her emotions would not break through the walls that she'd built around her heart. She felt dazed as the words left her lips.
"Why didn't you kill him, Severus?" she asked, the confusion and disappointment echoing in the man's ears.
She was right. Of course, his Healer was. Severus could not deny the truth in Dahlia's allegations.
The weight of his failure to act settled over him like a dark cloud. He should have killed Antonin before tending to Dahlia. He had been presented with the perfect opportunity. He should have sent the worst and final of the Unforgiveable Curses his way. His fingers should have crushed the breath from Dolohov's throat as he watched the light leave the wizard's eyes. His blunder shamed him.
He lowered his head reverently at her.
"You are right," he conceded, hissing the words through gritted teeth, and sounding as though they caused him great pain to utter. "Antonin Dolohov's body ought to be rotting inside the Riddle House right now, and by my hand. Ever since he was old enough, he's been doing foul things to witches that he deems beautiful," he agreed sorrowfully, sharply turning his head to the right so the witch would not see the blush that flushed his cheeks. He hoped she would not catch on to the double meaning of his words, and breathed out a steadying breath and forced himself to continue, hoping to make Dahlia understand why he hadn't killed him. "Understand that I allowed him to live only because I made a promise to see you unharmed. There was a risk that if I would have killed him, you would have been caught in the crossfire and killed." His dark eyes bore deeply into Dahlia's as he explained.
"But you could have done nothing greater to protect me, than to have killed him there and then," Dahlia protested, biting down on her bottom lip in anguish. "He wanted me to—to rid his arm of the Dark Mark, a-and he…attacked me when I told him the truth, that I could not help him," she whispered tearfully, raising her hand to her throat and running her shaking palm along the bruised skin there.
"Where are you hurt?" Severus asked, his eyes solemn and angered as he stared at his Healer. "Tell me what Dolohov did to you, and where you're hurt, and be honest with me. Don't lie to me, Hawthorne," he warned. "I'll know firsthand if you lie to me, Dahlia. Being injured is nothing to be ashamed of, and I don't want you hiding anything from me for the sake of appearances," he snapped angrily.
"My—my wrist and shoulder are broken, I think, Severus," Dahlia whispered in a warbling voice laced with tears and shame speckled her cheeks pink with color as she clumsily clutched her injured arm to her breast. "It hurts when I move it. Dolohov, he-he pulled me up by my arm hard. I think I even heard a popping noise," she admitted with a half shrugging of her other arm, causing him to raise his brows at her. She was speaking so calmly of her injuries, as though she were telling a story of what had happened to someone else, one of her other patients she might have cared for, once.
Severus's frown deepened, the edges of his mouth pinching downward into a groove as he ran his fingers over the witch's delicate wrist, as carefully as he could while assessing the damage.
"I can pop your shoulder back into place in a moment," he added as he finished running his fingers very carefully over her arm. "It does not seem broken. Perhaps more swollen now than before, but not broken. For that, Dahlia, you are extremely fortunate. I don't know that I've ever met someone who survived Antonin Dolohov's…affinity, for breaking a defenseless witch's bones. You're lucky that I was there to put a stop to it, Hawthorne, before he could do worse to you," he added harshly to remind Dahlia of the severity of the precarious position she'd narrowly escaped from, with his help.
"He would have, probably, if given more time." Dahlia heaved a frustrated and exhausted sigh as she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the headrest of the chair that Severus had conjured for her. "I—I'm more or less okay." The witch shrugged nonchalantly as though the entire situation were no matter. "I'm just….tired, Severus, and I want to go home," she confessed, very softly.
Severus gaped at his Healer and could not help but shake his head slightly, feeling certain that he had misheard the witch's words just now. Though the fact that she had just mentioned that her home was now his, was not lost on the man, he was too stricken to immediately form a coherent reply.
Did she even listen to herself? Did she realize what Dolohov and those under him would have done to her had he not intervened? Antonin Dolohov was a man who killed indiscriminately, but he was also known to keep his chosen victims alive and take delight in torturing them when it was convenient for him, and him keeping a defenseless witch around for weeks, or even months, would have hardly been an inconvenience to Dolohov.
Dahlia was lucky the man had only a half-hour or so to do what he wanted with her.
She had no idea of what the disgusting man was capable of, what she had narrowly escaped.
"Do you even hear yourself, do you even know what it is you're saying, Hawthorne?" he hissed angrily, his voice lowering an octave as he glared at her. "You don't, do you?" Severus accused.
He wanted nothing more than to scream and yell at the witch, to tell her never to stray so far from his side again as long as she remained his assigned Healer for the year. He wanted to inform the prickly insufferable witch of what horrible things she had narrowly avoided this morning, and that she was only alive now because of his efforts to keep his word to her that she would be safe so that she would know how important it was not to allow herself to get into a situation like this ever again.
Dahlia needed to understand that, but perhaps this conversation was saved for later.
Right now, the witch was looking positively miserable, and a lecture from him was not at all what his Healer was needing. Yet. He gritted his teeth as he willed his temper to cool a little before reaching for the witch's broken wrist and dislocated shoulder.
Dahlia blinked owlishly and looked taken aback, her lips parted open slightly in shock, but she shook her head. "Y-yes, I do know what it is I'm saying, sir. I'm not...I'm not stupid. I know what could have happened to me, but as your Healer, it's my job to protect you. I'm just sorry you had to save me," she whispered. "I'm sorry, Severus," she admitted, downcasting her gaze and not looking at him.
Severus drew back and considered the witch and her apology for a moment before carefully resting her fingers on his Healer's hurt arm. Seething, he allowed his temper to cool before addressing her further. He motioned toward her dislocated shoulder and broken arm with a jerk of his head.
"We should pop this back into place, Dahlia," Severus suggested in a dry voice, curling his fingers around her arm lightly. "May I?" He paused, frowning. "I won't lie to you. This is going to hurt."
Dahlia sniffled, breathing fast as she commanded him and sharply turned her head away, "Just fix it, Severus," she said flatly.
"Dahl—"
"Just fix it, Snape, please!" Dahlia snarled, in tears, her pain currently dominating her reason. When his mood darkened and a shadow of anger at her outburst against him clouded his face, it only darkened her ire. She sighed out of frustration and squeezed her eyes shut. "Please…I've been through worse." She frowned as she noticed his brows knit together in confusion. Severus looked as though he wanted to ask what 'worse' meant for her, but had the intelligence enough to remain silent, for which she was grateful. She did not want him to know what 'worse' meant for her.
As in Father breaking her arm and thumb and forefingers once as punishment for talking to a neighborhood boy her age when she was fourteen, making it painstakingly clear that he had claimed his little girl for himself and him alone, before mending her bones himself.
The lashing had hurt worse than her broken arm being resent by Father afterward.
Oh, she'd had worse than this alright. Such as being bitten by a baby basilisk once on her left hand and she still had the scar on the knuckle of her index finger to prove it where the phoenix tears had not quite managed to heal it wholly—kind of worse.
The only difference now was her immediate rescue, thanks to Severus.
"You've done this before?" she asked, dreading what her patient's answer would be, feeling she already knew it. He let out a morose chuckle, and Dahlia was surprised to find the tiny spark of anxiety in his voice almost sounding, well…cute.
Slowly, her eyes fluttered open and she lazily turned her head to look at him.
"I haven't." Severus shrugged as he watched a lump bob down the witch's slim, lovely neck.
"It's…it's quite simple, Severus, just…try to pop it back in, ngh…SLOWLY!" she screamed, feeling the man's hands quickly grab onto her shoulder and heard the crunch of broken bone snapping closed as her shoulder was popped back into place and her wrist relocated in two swift movements with the expert navigation of the man's hands. Her body shook and rattled in an explosive, mortifying pain.
And Severus was forced to listen to the loudest, torture-stricken scream from a witch that he had ever heard. He dug her head beneath his jaw and suffered the muffled screams from his Healer as Dahlia clawed on his arms, leaving angry red ribbons on his skin.
If not for how injured and weak she was, and how she'd not be using her wand for a few days while her wand-dominant arm healed, she might have already jinxed him into the next decade, he thought with a wry smirk. When her weight sagged and the violent, wracking convulsions died down to mere sniffles, Severus exhaled a frustrated sigh of relief.
He peeked at her face as he pulled back to study the witch's flushed, tear-stained face and was met by a deep frown and a weak mutter, "You—I wasn't ready! You could have warned me!" Dahlia shouted hoarsely, her voice spent from how much screaming she'd done.
"Mhm. You're welcome, Hawthorne," he drolled, almost tempted to ask for another proper 'thank you, his quip earning just a ghost of a smile from Dahlia as she summoned enough strength to stand, with Severus's help and tried to pull away, leaving Severus to sigh, trying to catch fragments of the witch's warmth still idling in his chest. "Give it a few more minutes to settle," he advised in a low murmur.
"Severus—" she started to say and tried to take a cautious step forward in the hopes of putting as much distance between herself and the Riddle House as possible.
But Dahlia was forced to cut herself off from saying anything else further, clamping her lips shut the moment she heard the low growl rumble from deep in his chest and felt his hands rest on her shoulders. His fingers were gripping onto her shoulders tight enough to leave more bruises there.
"You are insufferable, witch. Can't you listen to me just for once? You. Let. Yourself. Heal." Severus glowered at her until Dahlia's lips fell in a tight straight line and she leaned her head against his shoulder. "Good," he growled and did not protest the feeling of her head against the crook of his shoulder. "Rest it for a few days, no magic, and your arm will mend fast enough," Severus snapped.
He sharply turned his gaze away from her, though he felt Dahlia's stare burn a hole through the side of his skull. He hated seeing the witch so hurt and hated that his Healer had any need to heal such numerous injuries, but in a way, he was grateful at least, she seemed unaffected by the trauma that Dolohov had just put her through. He could not help but wonder with a sickening feeling in his stomach if she had grown so accustomed to unthinkable abuse at her father's hand growing up, that she was used to such horrible treatment from men.
It did worry him, however, that the young witch did not seem to grasp the gravity of the situation. How Dolohov always took an interest in beautiful witches, the prettier the better, and added to her looks, her abilities as a capable Healer made her a prime target for someone like Dolohov to want to keep around a while. She was behaving as though her injuries were nothing serious, not as though she had narrowly escaped weeks of vicious, unthinkable torture followed by a painful death.
Severus was nearly torn in two, between wanting to feel relieved that his Healer seemed less affected by the situation than he probably should and feeling angry that perhaps Dahlia Hawthorne, thanks to her sheltered upbringing, did not understand just how dangerous the world around her could be.
"Come," he barked in a rough, hoarse voice that for a moment, reminded him of Black, and he began to tug on her uninjured arm with the intent of pulling her away from the Riddle House and to the edge of the graveyard's gates, intending to head for his home and this time, she'd stay there.
Severus stared at her for a moment in silence, and Dahlia somehow withstood his gaze, trying to keep her feelings repressed buried deep within and not let them reach her eyes.
"Wait, please," she pleaded, her hand-winding out and her fingers curling over the man's bicep.
Severus halted in his steps, taken aback by Dahlia's sudden request to linger here in front of this damned haunted house, yet another place that would bode nothing but ill memories for her in the days that were to come. He grew puzzled when Dahlia did not directly look into his eyes when she voiced her request to stay. Instead, the witch kept her hardened and stoic expression fixated on the old Riddle House on top of the hillside, an interesting gleam in her eyes as she stared.
Her face threatened to crumple as he spoke, pressing against his temples with his thumb and forefinger, almost begrudgingly, stifling the urge to touch her, to feel the smooth coolness of her palm in his as she'd held his hand. It was a feeling he wanted to experience again, that he could bottle it in a vial and keep it for himself selfishly, then he would, so he would never forget what the feeling felt like.
"What is it that you need?" he asked, quietly.
It took Dahlia several moments to find her voice, and she had not realized that she was shaking, or that her hands were becoming clammy, something she had not anticipated.
"Burn it," she whispered in a voice so faint that it was almost lost on the wind as the breeze wafted the skirts of her dress as she paused to fix her hair, pulling it back up into its bun. "I don't want to look at it again, and if Dolohov is using Tom Riddle's home as a safehouse for something, don't let him, Snape."
This time, it was Severus who was at a loss for words. His mind began to race in consideration. Visions of enacting the worst possible sort of revenge against Dolohov flitted through his mind, and if burning his supposed safe house was a start down that path, then so be it. He silently vowed to himself that Antonin Dolohov would pay for what he had done, that he would kill the man himself.
But more important than killing the wizard who had so brutally harmed his Healer, a deeper layer of him wanted to fulfill any request the witch had that would have her smiling again and smiling because of him. The corners of Severus's lips twitched as he turned on his heels and raised his wand.
"Incendio."
The incantation left his lips without any semblance of thought, and the witch and wizard were left to watch at the bottom of the hillside as Tom Riddle's house burned, the old home going up in smoke.
As he watched the red and orange flames rise into the dull and grievous grey morning skies above their heads, the flames of his incantation that had now set Tom Riddle's house ablaze rose into the sky as if they thought they could challenge the heavens to stop their consumption of what was Dolohov's safehouse, but before that, had been Voldemort's father's home. There were times, such as right now, Severus thought as the glint of the fire danced in his eyes, where fire was the only solution.
Somewhere, deep within him, there swelled a want to know if what he was doing now because of her, and for her, was right. That it was not stupid to let Lily Potter's ghost-free, after all this time.
That it wasn't stupid to save a witch from the nightmares that were sure to haunt her after being forced to spend an hour in the Riddle House.
It would be ugly for Dahlia, he thought, just as ugly as his years spent as a spy for both sides.
As the whiff of the bitter air and cold rain began to dampen his face, clearing a path between the streaks of red blood on his face, he felt vindicated and free at last. Severus looked around for something he wanted to see but was not sure of what that thing was, at first.
But then, he found it. He knew he found it when his Healer lifted her face and regarded him with a sense of pride and dare he even think and hope for this next part, affection.
Merlin, but even in the light of the fire and in her anger over what Dolohov had done to her, there was no denying that this witch was beautiful. He did not even notice the weeny ashes and bits of debris that were now settling onto her shoulders.
He wondered if Dahlia even took notice of it at all. Her dark red hair glowed even in the grey skies above her, her skin turning amber and harboring a radiant glow to it from the fire burning Riddle's home to ashes in front of them. He felt a tug to his arm and was pulled out of his mind's musings as he looked down to find her arm resting over the top of his bicep.
She was tugging on the sleeves of his dress robes and pulling him forward.
For once, Dahlia Hawthorne and Severus Snape locked in a brief stare before she turned away, silently indicating without words she was ready to go, shyly eying him out of the corner of her lowered gaze.
And Severus swore he saw Dahlia smile.