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CHAPTER TWO: A LOT OF THINKING
It was early evening when he stepped from the shadows bearing a shivering burden into the thresholds of salvation.
He walked over and rapped at the door of Number 12, Grimauld Place, that will serve as his charge's resting place. The post-war violence was still on-going and no hospital was safe from Death Eaters, no hospital would be safe for a member of the Order. Albus had told him to bring her straight to headquarters. It was only logical. Here she would be healed. In body, at most, he thought savagely.
He tapped his foot impatiently, staring down at the girl he held in his arms, shivering lightly. He should be shivering too, out there, in the heart of the cold December winds, but he did not. True, he had given the girl his cloak, but she needed it most now. He only hoped that she wasn't feeling the bite of winter. An ill timed disease would not help her situation. She had a long way to go before full recovery, and he was talking only of her physical well being.
He sighed, his breath taking shape before him, into a translucent cloud that appeared in an instant and vanished into the air in another.
He rapped again on the door. He heard his angry rap bouncing about inside the headquarters, echoing down the hallways and empty rooms. Silently, he pleaded for that Dobby, the houself whose services the headmaster that acquired to take care of her with him, to be up and about. The girl needed healing charms and potions and. . . basic signs of affection and care if she was going to recover. . . in any way.
This time, the rhythmic pounding of his foot on the cement stoop occupied his thoughts for a moment or so, before he turned his mind to more important matters.
This girl needed healing draughts and dreamless sleep potions. She needed them in great quantities, he smirked to himself, Albus was a genius! Employing the help of a spy and a Potions Master to take care of a girl. At first, he was dubious. Why should he? There were countless other members of the Order who would take up the job. Unfortunately, they were all dispatched and busy. . . at some point. . . and Albus needed someone who knew how the Death Eaters thought, how they tortured and, most importantly, where they tortured. He had been hesitant to accept at first, knowing Albus, he was sure he was going to become the new favorite tracker. He had not been sarcastic. When he found his new mission, he had quickly decided that he would rather be ' new-favorite-tracker' than a nanny.
His thoughts raced over memories that made him cringe in horror.
"Yes, Headmaster?" he answered politely, walking into Dumbledore's study with his customary billow of the black cloak.
"Ahh, Severus, welcome!" Albus said, greeting him kindly and motioning for him to take a seat.
He gladly obliged. Turning to face the older man, he asked "Headmaster, I have new orders from the Order, have I?"
Dumbledore's twinkling eyes only brightened.
"Actually, you are correct, Severus."
He sighed audibly. "Then, with all due respect, what is it, Headmaster, I do not wish to spend more time playing word games with you, so I will be blunt. . . for a change." He scowled.
"Yes, Severus, always to the point, I see." He paused, his mood and tone becoming grave. "Miss Granger has been dispatched, as you know, to find out remaining Death Eaters and report back to headquarters. Unfortunately, she has been missing for some time now."
He leaned in closer, moving to the edge of his seat to hear Dumbledore's account of Miss Granger's disappearance, much like a young lad would, upon hearing his favorite tale being retold in all the glory it should posses.
"She has been captured, Severus, and, I believe, being tortured. Find her." Dumbledore has never before used those two words in one sentence all by themselves. He had always sounded like a wise old man who was requesting something out of the simple logic in the task, never before has he seen Dumbledore command someone so bluntly. Ahh, but Dumbledore's bluntness was his fault, after all.
"Very well, Headmaster." He stood and swept out of the room.
And he kept all his doubts to himself, still astounded at the Headmaster's forward. . . command. Suddenly, as he swept down to the dungeon, it dawned on him that the Headmaster was worried, anxious, for Miss Granger's well being. And suddenly, as well, Severus hurried, being infected with the Headmaster's worry as well. There was always the possibility for the worst.
And Severus feared for Miss Granger, that that was exactly what awaited her.
It was a few hours later, when he was away from Hogwarts, already seeking out Miss Granger, did he receive an owl from Dumbledore, instructing him further.
Severus,
I am sorry.
You left so soon and looked so determined, I was not given the chance to explain further.
When you find Miss Granger, please take her at once to headquarters, you are to treat her there until she has healed.
Do not worry, Severus-----
At this point, he was sure Dumbledore already knew him too well since he could discern his mood so quickly. He looked livid, he forced the anxiety to be replaced by anger, boiling, hot, destroying anger. He was no nanny! Although, to anyone who might have seen him then, he looked ready to kill, he himself was ready to die. How, for the love of Merlin, was he supposed to heal Miss Granger by himself?! If truly she had been, and is being, tortured, she would no doubt have many wounds and hurts [ now he took into consideration both Miss Granger's physical and emotional, not to mention, mental, well being ] and to be placed with the task on healing her alone? What was this daft old man thinking?
-------- your help will be at headquarters when you have found Miss Granger. Dobby the houself will be most helpful, I trust, with Miss Granger's healing.
Yours,
Albus Dumbledore
He had searched thoroughly, having to torture a few times to gain necessary information, but never resorting to killing anyone. A feat, he deemed, commendable enough to make him candidate for Order of Merlin, First Class.
Well, Order of Merlin, Second Class, at the least.
Searching for her had not been such a difficult ordeal, merely tiring. He first thought and tried to recall what horrors the Death Eaters would most likely inflict upon a young spy. There were the forbidden curses, but those, when too overly used, would eventually kill the spy. [ that, or render them as the intellectual equal of a bowl of clam pudding. ] There were other tortures for spies, varying with the circumstances when the spy was captured. Rape was one of the favorites, because it broke the spirit, and gave pleasure to the Death Eaters. Though, granted, the Death Eaters gained all the pleasure they wanted in killing, but, the pain they inflicted would bleed and shrivel the soul. Oh, they loved this one to bits.
Severus hoped though that with Miss Granger, this was not the case. Unfortunately, Severus was incorrect and his hopes were dashed when finally, he found Miss Granger, and saved her. Though, Severus thought with growing dismay, she might never recover.
The door finally opened and Severus walked in, glared at Dobby who flinched visibly, walked up the stairs to the quarters that he knew were prepared for Miss Granger and set her gently on the bed. Dobby followed him upstairs and he paled at the sight of Miss Granger, lying there, cold as death, hardly breathing.
Severus took out his wand and with a small wave, transfigured his cloak into a suitable dress for Miss Granger. Then, he turned to Dobby, still glaring.
"You will fetch some warm water in a basin and you will wipe Miss Granger's face, carefully. You will feed her three meals a day, and you will put exactly three drops of this---" Severus took out a small vial of bluish-white liquid from his robes " into her water or juice. It is a healing draught, Dobby, and it will heal her cuts and aches. When she wakes, perhaps three days from now, you will call on me and I will see to it that she well fed and any other hurt will be mended. If Miss Granger desires any dreamless sleep potion, you will call me. Are my orders UNDERSTOOD?"
Having instructed Dobby on how to care for Miss Granger, Severus left the room, walked down the hall and into his own room.
He could hear Dobby shuffling about, readying the food for Miss Granger.
Severus was exhausted. He lay down on the bed but found that sleep was no where near him, and he could not sink into his black void. Restless, he lay there, thinking and turning things over in his mind, Miss Granger's limp form constantly touching his thoughts.
He sympathized with her, knowing full well what she was going through in the dark recesses of her injured reality. She was experiencing hell, still being alive when you wished you had died in your sleep.
He knew that she was brooding, away from the mortal contacts and physical world that was calling to her. He knew that right now, as Dobby was gently washing her face with a warm cloth, and wiping away the grim, the dried sweat and tears and saliva that had been poured on her face, she was inside—somewhere, reeling from that simple contact. Somewhere, she did not know where the difference lay between a violent assault and a caring touch. She had lost grip, Severus knew, and he only felt compassion.
Sadly, he could not show it. A battle was raging inside him also, even as his dreamless sleep potion washed over him, bringing him on the shores of his black beach, behind a curtain of steady-pouring gray rain.
He did not want to put down his façade at all. He felt compassion stir in his heart, though he knew that he had long ago squashed that emotion. Most of it, anyway. When he had become a Death Eater, to have a conscience was a known weakness, therefore, he threw his away, throwing away his heart with it.
He could not stand it anymore. When Severus woke up, he stood up and walked the few meters that separated him from his charge. She was still asleep.
He bent down, and frowned as he saw her forehead crease slightly and her slightly opened mouth seem to utter a scream that was followed by a hollow, numb and resolute silence.
He felt his heartstrings being pulled, wrenched from within him as he watched her move her head, turning it slightly to the left, as a matching moan escaped her lips.
She was so broken.
Severus wanted so much to comfort the girl, but he knew that he could not. Not now. He would have to wait. He would have to wait till she could trust him enough to let him come near, but right now, he was content to watch in the shadows outside her darkened sphere of subconscious reality, waiting for the first stage of healing to claim her: acceptance.
She was running to him. He was waiting, Harry was waiting for her.
Harry. Good Harry. Understanding, patient, loving, Harry. He had never rushed her, never wanted to take her before her time. Never wanted to touch her, more than what their first love conscience allowed him to. He would listen for hours, just waiting to give her a reassuring smile.
He was at the end of a familiar corridor in Hogwarts, waiting with arms out-stretched for her. She was running to him, ready to tell him all about her sufferings, her ordeal. . . her used body and the pain she held within her. She wanted to tell Harry that she felt torn, that now, she did not want to be touched, that the warmth of even his familiar fingers on her face would scare her, scar her and leave her to dream that night about the countless villains she gave pleasure to. She flinched. Rag-doll of the enemy.
When she got to him, she stopped before jumping into his arms, stood frozen on the ground, rooted to the spot, her eyes disbelieving at what they beheld.
It was not Harry that she was looking at, not the familiar green eyes that stood out from his mat of hair, not the lopsided grin he gave her after their long talks, of which he valiantly fought [ and won ] his battle against impending sleep only to give her that innocent grin. The one that told her he could never lie to anyone. It was someone else who wore a look of great concern, someone who made no effort to take her into his arms and comfort her. She guessed she would not let him anyway. His cold exterior was gone, replaced by sad eyes that have seen too much of the world, too much pain, and he bore it all, unable to scream it back out at the world, being trapped behind an impenetrable wall of solid-ice. He stood behind that wall, silent, cold also, and worn from the times he wanted to escape, only to find himself fighting against his own defense-army that prevented him from leaving, prevented him from freedom and kept him in sanity.
She saw a man that bore a look of understanding effortlessly, who have waited a lifetime to be able to share his own chaotic emotions to someone who, possibly, might have their own. He had waited for someone like her who suffered enough to understand him, and he showed himself to her in that dream, told her all this in one look.
He also said more: I am also here.
Severus Snape.
She did not know why, but his presence there in her mind's eyes was comforting, even though he also existed beyond that.
TBC