My Foe
GURR! You cochon! Stand and fight!
Show your mettle! Snarl and bite!
Spawn of an accursed race,
Turn and meet me face to face!
Here amid the wreck and rout
Let us grip and have it out!
Here where ruins rock and reel
Let us settle, steel to steel!
...
Ah, indeed! We well are met,
Bayonet to bayonet.
...
Bah! You swine! I hate you so.
Show you mercy? No! . . . and no! . . .
Robert W. Service
(abridged for purposes of this story)
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06. The Enigma
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Severus gaped, too stunned to catch her fall. Giving his head a good shake, he swiftly knelt down at her aside, checking her pulse and breathing to make certain that she was indeed lying unconscious and not merely attempting to fool him with a ploy. Smoothing back the tumble of blonde hair that was obscuring the girl's face, he took a closer look, realizing that she was older than he'd previously assumed—probably old enough to be a Sixth or Seventh-year if she were attending Hogwarts. And judging by her accent, she was most likely American. Shining his lit wand tip over her prone form, the Potions Master noticed three long, bloody slashes running across her middle that had been hidden from his view before by her arms, the red coloring of the flimsy bit of fabric masquerading as her shirt, and black jacket and pants. Gingerly, Severus lifted the tattered material of her blouse along the tears to find blood oozing steadily from the deep gashes which had left the surrounding skin angry and raw.
Realizing the gravity of her condition, Severus made up his mind to assist now and interrogate later. Tracing his wand above the first of the three slashes, he muttered a melodious incantation and then repeated it for the second and third wounds. For several moments, he stared at the broken skin, waiting intently for the magicks to take effect. The Potions professor's brow furrowed in consternation when he realized that the powerful healing spell was neither easing the blood flow nor knitting together the parted flesh. Frowning, Severus repeated the spell a fourth time, but was met with the same nonresponse. Sighing, he effortlessly conjured up a stretcher and attempted to levitate her body onto it. Except, she wouldn't budge. He tried again. Nothing. A frown pulled at the corners of his mouth. What brand of sorcery is this? Pointing his wand to the air, he attempted a simple charm. It worked perfectly. So, it is not the wand. Curious, very curious.
Resigning, Severus gently slid one arm under the girl's neck and another under her knees, easily lifting her slight, limp weight off from the ground and onto the stretcher. He detected a faint hint of alcohol lingering on her shallow breaths as he did so. Staring into the mystery girl's cherubic features, Severus silently enumerated all the questions that were pressing on his mind. 1. Who is she? 2. What was she doing in the Forbidden Forest? 3. How did she get into the forest in the first place? 4. How did she obtain her injuries? 5. Why didn't the magicks work on her? 6. And why hadn't she been the least bit intimidated by the confrontation? Frowning again in frustration, Severus decided that this was perhaps a mystery better suited for the cleverer Headmaster. With a practiced flick of his wand, the Potions professor hurried off towards the castle with the stretcher floating behind him in tow.
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Within a minute, the school matron bustled into the large room from her private quarters at the other end, looking flustered and bleary-eyed in a pink nightgown and fuzzy slippers. She halted to a stop when she saw the face of the unconscious girl, which appeared uncharacteristically pale from the recent blood loss. "Oh dear! It's Miss Ashbery!"
"You know this girl?" Severus inquired, his gaze snapping from the blonde to the mediwitch as indignation and annoyance instantly flared. Apparently, someone had deemed it proper to leave him out of the loop.
"Yes," she answered distractedly as she pulled out her wand, "Miss Ashbery is Albus's guest."
The mediwitch hastily cast a curing charm to stem the bleeding. A look of bewilderment flashed across her face when she saw that it had no apparent effect whatsoever. Attempting the charm once more, Madam Pomfrey's face fell as she was yet again rewarded with nothing for her efforts. Opting to switch tactics, the mediwitch rushed off to her office, returning with a tray that was almost toppling over with an assortment of bottles, salves, cotton balls, and gauze. Pulling off the topper of a small bottle, Madam Pomfrey soaked up some of purple liquid with a cotton ball and began dabbing the deep cuts with it. After a couple of seconds, she bristled in rising panic. "I—I don't understand. Why isn't the Wound-cleaning Potion smoking and cleansing the wounds like it should? Why won't she respond to the magicks!" she asked more to herself than Professor Snape, her shrill tone of voice indicating to the perceptive Potions professor that she was teetering precariously on the verge of hysteria.
"I encountered the same problem earlier when I had tried to heal her injuries myself. I had hoped it was just me. Wait here, while I fetch the Headmaster," said Severus, who had been watching the mediwitch work with a deep frown etched into his face.
"Yes, yes—" the mediwitch nodded uncertainly as Snape strode out of the Hospital Wing, black robes billowing. Corking the bottle of Wound-cleaning Potion, she stood in a daze, staring down worriedly at the motionless figure of the Headmaster's dear friend. The Hogwarts school matron had never felt so helpless in seeing to a patient before. Madam Pomfrey loathed the feeling.
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Severus dashed up the stone spiral steps, too impatient to wait for the slow lift upward by the moving staircase. "Albus! Albus!" he called, rapping on the brass knocker before opting to barge in without further ado.
The Headmaster trudged into his office wearing an obscenely bright, purple nightgown and matching nightcap just as Snape slipped through the doorway.
"What is it, Severus?" he asked in a tired voice, rubbing his eyes before pulling on his half-moon spectacles.
"A girl is injured," Snape answered, "a Miss Ashbery."
The Potions professor's words had the equal effect of splashing a bucket of icy water on the silver-haired wizard's person. Dumbledore's clear blue eyes widened for a fraction of a second before he was off and running for the infirmary without so much as a word or backward glance, leaving a nonplussed Potions professor to trail behind. They arrived to see Madam Pomfrey pacing frantically beside Buffy's bed.
Belatedly, the mediwitch registered their presence and turned to Dumbledore with pleading eyes, looking positively crestfallen and dangerously close to having a panic attack. "I can't heal her, Albus! I've tried with my wand, and the Blood Replenishing Potion, and salves, and everything I could possibly think of!" she half-shouted, flailing her arms wildly about.
The Headmaster's sharp gaze flitted to the immense pile of tubes and bottles cluttered on Buffy's bedside table from his position beside the petite blonde. "It's alright, Poppy. Just heal her the Muggle way," he calmly assured the mediwitch, giving her a gentle pat on the back for moral support.
To which Madam Pomfrey blinked, blankly.
Albus discreetly instructed while bending forward to closely inspect the Slayer's injuries, "Complementary medicine, just clean the wounds with Muggle antiseptic and stitch up the cuts. The rest should take care of itself. Ms. Ashbery has the great fortune of being an extraordinarily fast healer."
Madam Pomfrey's mouth opened to form a silent 'o' as her mind immediately called up the latent medical knowledge she had never had to practice on a patient before. With new determination settling on her face, Madam Pomfrey bustled off once again to return with another tray of sundry medical supplies and a pair of white cotton pajamas. Sliding the tray onto the crapped bedside table, the mediwitch started to tug down the blonde's jacket by the collar, but encountered understandable difficulty. Glancing up expectantly at the two wizards who were currently standing a little ways off, she demanded, "Well, don't just stand there like a pair of ninnies, help me change her already!"
At that, Dumbledore and Snape hurried to offer their assistance, although the latter did so with a pronounced scowl at having been ordered around so briskly. With their combined efforts, the light jacket was quickly removed, followed by the black leather ankle boots. Severus found himself becoming fast distracted as they eased off the form-fitting trousers to be replaced by the pajama pants. When they had gotten down to the red top, both wizards paused awkwardly. It was clear from the way the blouse was secured by a string at the neck and two more across the back that it didn't allow room for any undergarment. Thankfully, Madam Pomfrey saved them by clearing her throat quite obviously. "I think I can handle it from here, gentlemen," she said, pulling privacy screens around the bed after more or less pushing the pair out. "You can come see her in the morning," the mediwitch informed in a stern voice that insisted they should leave immediately and not show their faces until the designated hour.
Obediently, the Headmaster and Potions professor filed out into the corridor before the former prompted, "What happened tonight, Severus?"
Resisting the urge to scowl at his employer as Severus remembered that he hadn't been informed of the girl's presence, the Potions Master replied shortly, "I was merely harvesting nightshade in the Forbidden Forest when the girl came across the forest path. She fainted before we got a chance to speak."
Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I see. Well, if that's all, I suggest we retire for the night and check on her in the morning." He made to leave.
Severus quickly stopped him. "Wait! Who is she, Headmaster? And why did you neglect to inform me of her stay at Hogwarts?" he asked in a slightly indignant tone.
Albus sighed. "Forgive me, Severus. I did not anticipate you two meeting so soon, seeing as you arrived at the castle well past tonight's dinner. Her name is Elizabeth Ashbery. The girl is a very dear friend of mine."
Snape stared at the Headmaster for a long moment. "But what was she doing out there in the forest?"
Albus' brilliant blue eyes twinkled under the light from Snape's lit wand tip. "Ah, it appears that you have discovered Miss Ashbery's night job. Well then, I best be off. Good night." With that, the wizened wizard retreated in the direction of his office, leaving a thoroughly confused Potions professor standing in his wake.
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Oh god. She was there again.
Groaning, the Slayer slowly opened her eyes only to instantly squeeze them shut as she caught sight of the one standing before her. Her heart began hammering fearfully against her chest. She was lying on her side, her cheek pressed up against an luxuriously soft pillow. Buffy felt ice seep into her bloodstream as the waves of evil emanating from the being crashed upon her, poisoning the very air she breathed until Buffy felt as though she were suffocating from it. Whoever said Hell was a hot place had obviously never been there. Feeling the bile rise to her stomach, the blonde Slayer swallowed, tasting blood as she did. Buffy turned her head away as she felt the mattress dip under a weight at her side, ignoring that way her aching muscles screamed in protest at the small movement. She winced as a smooth hand caressed the side of her face. The contact burned like acid—acid that had been heated and mixed in with shards of broken glass. Without opening her eyes, the Slayer slowly curling her fingers into a fist and lifted them to strike out at him, even though her arms felt nothing more than two dead weights.
The tiny blonde began to thrash on the hospital bed as a soft moan escaped from her parted lips.
With a musical laugh and a careless wave of his hand, the prince of fallen archangels deflected her weak blows. "You do realize that your stubborn resistance only arouses me more?" he pronounced in a low, rich, lilting voice that would have driven mortal women to him in droves. His hand gripped her jaw hard enough to bruise, tilting it upward. "Didn't your mother teach you to always look at the person who's addressing to you?"
"You're not a person." The almost inaudible rasp tore from her bruised throat as Buffy snapped open her hazel eyes open to stare defiantly into the twin fires burning as his irises, eyes devoid of pupils.
"No," he laughed. "I am so much more," the Morning Star smirked as one hand easily secured both of hers above her head.
"You're nothing!" Buffy hissed with clenched teeth as his other hand slipped in between her inner thighs. "You can't even—" her voice transformed into a strangled groan as pleasure then consuming pain exploded through her system. Buffy bit down on her lip to keep from crying out. She had learned her lesson a long time ago; the Slayer wouldn't give him the satisfaction. She struggled weakly to wrest her wrists from his restraining grip as he lowered his mouth to her chest, his perfectly white canines elongating into fangs that slices two trails of gleaming red down her breast. Hot tears stung her eyes as she felt his hard, grainy tongue laved at the torn edges of her skin, drawing blood from the wounds painfully. "The blood o' a Slayer. Like ambrosia, it is," remarked a familiar voice that caused Buffy's heart to clench painfully in her chest.
"Always liked it rough, didn't you Slayer?" he leered at her wearing Spike's demonic visage, his lips and protruding fangs painted red with her blood.
"You're not him," she whispered, shutting her eyes tightly and shaking her head stubbornly from side to side as they were the only movements his restraints permitted.
"No—William the Bloody is not nearly good enough for you, sweetheart. Not for Daddy's little pumpkin!"
Buffy's hazel eyes involuntarily snapped open as his voice changed again. A ripple of fear and abject disgust traversed down the length of her spine as her gaze flitted up the face she hadn't glimpsed in years. "No!" she choked in agony and began struggling with increased fervor as he suddenly slammed himself into her with enough force for her to recognize that the scent of blood now tainting the air was her own.
This was too much. After everything she had endured over the past however many days, this was just sick. Perverse. She'd rather be tortured for days on end and killed. Again. Anything was better than this. Anything. Buffy wanted desperately to pass out, but the pain of his punishing assault was too acute. This was sacrilege. More than just an invasion of her body. The more the blonde Slayer thought about it, the more her eyes narrowed into hazel slits. At once, Buffy sensed a glowing ember of righteous anger she had been too numb to summon for ages. Focusing on that tiny flickering spark, she allowed it to coalesce with the essence of the Slayer within until it exploded into a raging inferno. An inhuman war cry erupted from the small blonde as Buffy viciously jerked her hands free and lashed out at the one wearing her father's face with a fevered savageness that she had never allowed herself to display before, uncaring of what she hit as long as she hit something...
-
Severus started as he heard an agonized scream sound from the Hospital Wing. Hastening his steps into a run, the Potions Master burst into the room just as Madam Pomfrey rushed out from her private quarters, obviously awakened by the racket. Pulling back the privacy screens that hid the girl's bed from view, the pair froze at the sight of the petite blonde thrashing wildly in her bed, silent tears streaming down her cheeks and a look of absolute horror and anguish contorting her fair features.
"Stay back," Snape barred the mediwitch's path with a restraining arm as she began to move closer to check on the girl. "We wouldn't want you to get hurt now," he added, tightening his hold as the school matron struggled to move forward despite his warning. "I think it would be prudent to notify the Headmaster." For a moment, Madam Pomfrey appeared positively indignant at being ordered around, her nostrils flared as she glared before relenting.
Severus approached the girl warily as the mediwitch raced away, careful to keep out of arms' reach. Elizabeth's thrashing gradually slowed. He frowned as he watched her upraised hands feebly attempting to push some invisible entity or assailant off her person. It was obvious to the Potions professor that this girl was suffering from some horrendous nightmare, or worse - a remembrance. Professor Snape was interrupted from his grim thoughts by the arrival of the Headmaster followed closely by Madam Pomfrey.
Dumbledore swiftly crossed over to the opposite side of her bed. As he leaned in to inspect the tiny blonde girl, her eyes suddenly snapped open wild and unseeing. In a blur of movement that lasted no more than a second, she had one hand enclosed around the Headmaster's neck and the other reared back in a ready fist. Eyes growing wide, Severus felt his heart pause at the spectacle before him. Madam Promfrey was similarly rooted to the spot. Albus emitted a choked cough as he tried in vain to pry the girl's fingers loose from his windpipe. The spell broken, Severus woke from of his daze and trained his wand at the girl before realizing with profound irritation that it was essentially useless against her, unless his genius plan was to poke the girl to death with it.
Recognition flooded back into Buffy's psyche as she realized with a start that she was looking into a pair of piercing blue irises, not the sinister burning red of her tormentor's. Abruptly, she flinched away from the gasping Headmaster, staggering backwards until her back pressed into the corner where two walls met. With a muffled sob, the petite blonde pressed her hands to her temples, trying to push herself farther into the corner as she slid down to the floor. Appearing unaware of anyone else in the Hospital Wing, Buffy drew her knees up against her chest as her body began to shake uncontrollably, her face hidden behind a curtain of golden hair.
It was Dumbledore who recovered from his shock first. "You can put away your wands now," he croaked out, turning toward the other two occupants in the room. Snape and Pomfrey did as they were instructed with great hesitation, Severus clearly more so. The Potions Master's mind was still reeling from witnessing the girl's violent outburst earlier. He certainly hadn't been expecting that. His hands twitched, ready to draw out his wand at a moment's notice as he observed the Headmaster cautiously approached the tiny blonde.
Crouching in front of the Slayer, Albus lowered his voice so that the other two would be unable to hear him. "It's alright, my dear. You're awake now, Buffy. It's alright," he whispered soothingly, albeit a little more hoarse than usual. Slowly, Buffy raised her head from her hands to peer at the wizened wizard through her hair as she firmly pushed back the awful memories. To Dumbledore's immense relief, the crazed glint left the blonde Slayer's hazel eyes within seconds as his words sunk in.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered as she caught sight of the angry, red handprints gracing the wizened wizard's neck that were already beginning to bruise.
"Oh, it's nothing, dear," Albus assured as he climbed to his feet and offered her a hand up. "I'm perfectly fine, in excellent health, even," the silver-haired wizard said lightly, but the effect was somewhat ruined when he fell into a fit of hacking coughs.
"Shall I get something for your—erm—throat?" inquired a nervous Madam Pomfrey.
At the Headmaster's affirmative nod, she all but ran out of the room.
Seeing the mediwitch's frightened reaction, Buffy felt even guiltier as Albus sat her down on the hospital bed she had apparently occupied the night before while he took a seat beside her.
"Are you alright, dear?" he asked, gently tilting her chin up to meet his gaze.
Buffy glanced back at him apologetically before starting to answer, but was interrupted as Madam Pomfrey bustled back in and handed Dumbledore a small vial filled with glowing pink liquid.
Dumbledore graciously accepted the vial, "Ta. That will be all, Poppy."
The mediwitch fled the room with unnerving speed, eager put some distance between herself and the volatile girl.
Dumbledore downed the potion in one draught, his voice at once stronger. "Now, where were we, Eliza?"
"Guess I scared her away huh? God, I'm really sorry, Dumbledore. I must be the worst guest ever. I bet none of the other ones have ever tried to throttle you to death before."
"As I said before, I'm perfectly fine, Eliza. It takes more than that to finish off this old fart," he deadpanned with a small grin. "So, desist from your incessant fretting and tell me instead what transpired yesterday evening."
Buffy smiled gratefully at the Headmaster as he tucked a few loose strands of hair behind her ears with affection. "Oh—okay then. I was doing my usual patrol through the forest last night when—"
Severus's ears perked up. "Patrol? What's a little girl like you doing dillydallying in the Forbidden Forest at night? And so far past your bedtime?" Snape interjected.
Buffy and Dumbledore simultaneously whirled around to face the source of the deep, smooth yet biting drawl. It hearkened her to the image of black silk and was a voice she would have loved if it hadn't been so damn rude. Both had long forgotten there was still another present. The young blonde narrowed her eyes dangerously as they fell on the tall, thin, thirty-something wizard swathed in black. Everything on the offending man was monochromatic, from the sleek wizarding robes to the cold and empty eyes that stared at her with calculated intelligence to the shoulder-length hair that hung in limp, greasy clumps. His skin was so pallid that she would have thought him a vampire had there not been a distinct lack of tingles at the back of her neck. Her gaze settling on the scowl that was seemed to be permanently etched into his hard, sharp features, Buffy suddenly recalled him jumping in her way the night before. Annoyance flared up in her chest instantly as she realized that she had embarrassingly fainted in front of him.
"I am not a little girl, Mr. Tall, Dark and Greasy. And I never dillydally," she hissed in a low, dangerous voice.
The scowl was replaced by an altogether unpleasant sneer. No one had ever had the gall to speak to Professor Snape like that, not even the bigheaded Potter brat. Severus glowered at the petite blonde with a glare that would have peeled paint off of the walls and she glared right back in response.
Albus sensed an ensuing staring match and quickly broke in, "Oh dear, where are my manners? I believe introductions are in order. Eliza, this is Professor Severus Snape, the Potions Master at Hogwarts. Severus, this is Elizabeth Ashbery, my esteemed guest. Now, if you would please continue, Eliza."
Buffy eyed the wizard in question for another beat and then proceeded to pointedly ignore him. "Anyway, I was just walking along when I heard a hubbub. I ran toward it and found a group of centaurs fleeing from something. Firenze told me it was a Hungarian Horntail just as it caught up to us. I made Firenze leave and fought it—"
Severus scoffed incredulously at that. "Right, and we are to believe that someone like you could actually take on a dragon of that severity?" he asked in a tone that clearly indicated he doubted she could take on a Cornish pixie, let alone a full-grown dragon.
"I can handle myself," Buffy stated evenly, fixing him a steely glare.
Snape gave the tiny teenager a contemptuous sweep from head-to-toe. "Is that so? Because from here, it looks as if a stiff breeze could topple you over," he commented snidely.
Buffy was overcome with a sudden urge to thrash the wizard. This Severe Snake guy was grating on her last nerve. She was this close to kicking his uppity ass. But before she could throw out a nasty comeback, Dumbledore butted in again.
"Ah yes, Severus, but you of all people should know that appearances are deceiving," Albus quickly added, laying a restraining hand on the Slayer's forearm. "Go on, my dear," he urged.
Buffy glared at Mr. Cranky Pants for a few more seconds before continuing, "As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted—"
Snape scowled crossly.
"—I fought it off for a while before hitting it with Quies quietus. I think it should still be out."
"Ah, yes, I believe your assumption is correct. That particular incantation is quite powerful. Well done, well done, my dear! And where did you leave this slumbering dragon?"
"I think we were in a clearing about a mile and a half northeast of the big willow tree that hits back."
Albus chuckled softly at her description of the Whomping Willow. "Excellent! Now, if you will excuse me, I must make immediate arrangements to have the Horntail shipped off to a colony. I'll pop by later. Eliza. Severus."
The Headmaster inclined his head towards the pair and slipped out before either could get another word in edgewise.
Severus pounced on Buffy as soon as Dumbledore was out of earshot. "Just what do you think you're playing at?" he growled, managing to cram more disdain into those words than she'd ever considered possible.
"What are you talking about?" she asked, irked by his hostile attitude.
"I believe you know full well, Miss Ashbery. Why do our magicks not affect you?" he asked, attempting to intimidate her with his superior height as he towered over her by a head.
"I'm just special, I guess," Buffy shrugged in feigned innocence.
Out of all the people she'd met thus far, Buffy certainly didn't feel obliged to explain herself to him. Staring up at his long, crooked nose, the Slayer idly wondered if it was crooked because other people had also wanted to punch the snarky bastard in the face and had logically went for the most obvious target over the years. She certainly hoped so.
The scowl returned with a vengeance. "The Headmaster has shown an unfortunate propensity of trusting unsavory characters in the past. However, I won't be so easily fooled."
"Well, good for you," she retorted, her tone saccharine.
"I'll be watching you," Severus threatened before storming out, his black robes billowing behind him with a theatricality that made her wonder if the wizard possessed his own personal wind machine.
"I'm shaking in my stylish and expensive boots!" Buffy called after the Potions Master's retreating form. Pompous prick.