Chapter 7 – Help Me I Am in Hell
A/N: This is a story about Hermione, lies, and fear. It takes place during and after the events in DH, ignoring the epilogue and allowing certain characters to live. This story has several implied themes including, but not limited to: rape, non-con, mental manipulation, BDSM, and phobias. If you feel that these may offend you, I recommend you seek out a different story.
Agoraphobia – The abnormal fear of being helpless in a situation from which escape may be difficult that is characterized initially by panic or anxiety and finally by avoidance of open or public places. As a result, severe sufferers of agoraphobia may become confined to their homes, experiencing difficulty traveling from this "safe place."
In case you live under a rock, Harry Potter and associated characters belong to J.K. Rowling. Chapter title is from Broken, Nine Inch Nails.
Her colleagues stared at her; a confused expression was evident on all of their faces. McGonagall tried to say something but was at a loss for words. Determined, she tried again.
"He does know that Albus is dead, correct?"
"Yes, he seems to. However, when I tried to speak to him, he would not acknowledge me. He would not look at me, and he would not answer my questions. Albus repeated the questions I asked and then he would answer, directing his answers to the portrait."
"Did he manage to say who did this to him?" Harry asked.
She shook her head. "I am sorry, Harry. He was only conscious for a few moments before the pain and potions took hold of him, forcing him back under."
"What do we do now?"
"We wait. With the number and severity of his injuries, he probably will remain unconscious for a several hours."
"I hate waiting," Harry muttered.
"When he does awake, he will be very weak for a few days and will need more rest. I will not have you tormenting him with questions he is not ready to answer," she said, giving Harry a sharp look.
"In the meantime, we should alert Nymphadora to this new development," McGonagall said.
"No!" Harry exclaimed, jumping up from his seat.
"Why ever not, Mr. Potter?"
"If you tell Tonks, she will have to make a report. If whoever did this finds out that Snape is here and alive, he may try to come after him, or he may panic and try to flee. This needs to be kept quiet for as long as possible. For his safety and Hermione's."
"You think the two of them were held by the same person?" Poppy asked.
"Yes, and the more I think about it, the more I am convinced. I mean, first there are those potions, which Professor McGonagall assures me have Snape's handwriting on them. Then there is that wand outside Hermione's flat. It looked familiar. I could not place where I had seen it before at the time, but now I am sure that it is his. If I am right, that wand is the perfect tool to use against Hermione. The Ministry assumes he is dead and would not think to track his magical signature because of that.
"We need to determine how he got here. If we knew that, we might be able to track him back to his last location and then to who was holding him."
"Hagrid, you said you were alerted to his presence by an alarm?" Poppy asked.
"Yea', the one that always sounded when he returned from a meetin' with You-Know and he was injured."
Hagrid still found it difficult to say Voldemort, even after all these years.
"That means he had access to one of his Portkeys. But why did he wait so long to use it?"
The nurse had spoken this question more to herself than to the others in the room.
"Portkeys. What Portkeys did Severus have?" the headmistress asked.
"He always had at least three on him at all times. Albus insisted. They were in case he was too injured to Apparate. Just press and say a word. There was a necklace, a Prince family ring he wore on his right hand and a small band around the little toe on his left foot. All three were made to bring him to the gates and set off the wards.
"The necklace and band were charmed to be invisible and undetectable as a Portkey. The ring was an heirloom, and he always wore it except when brewing. Nobody would have suspected that it was a Portkey."
"But why so many, and why didn't anyone else know about them?"
"Albus wanted to make sure he always had a chance to escape in the event his spy status was questioned. He felt that if the true purpose of the ring was discovered, then he would have one of the other two.
"The necklace could have been felt if someone touched him on the neck, but the chances he would willingly let someone that close to him were slim. But the one on the toe, no one would suspect and no one would look. It was the perfect spot, as long as he could touch it.
"They were all for his safety, which I would think is the same reason he never told anyone else about them. If I am right, he probably never told Hagrid anything other than Severus would be at the gate injured when those wards sounded."
"Tha's about right, Poppy. I never once asked 'im how he got there. Jus picked 'im up and delivered 'im to you."
"Just a moment. Let me check on him," Poppy said as she rose and made her way to the little room.
She held a small band in her hand when she returned. She handed it to Harry.
"Will you be able to use that to track his movements?"
"Yes. This is the Portkey you mentioned?" She nodded.
"There is a wizard that works in the Portkey Office that owes me a favor. He might be able to trace it backwards. It will depend on the protection spells Professor Dumbledore placed on it. I will go and see him in the morning."
"There are still a few hours till morning; I suggest we all go get some rest. I am sure Albus will wake us if anything happens. He is not likely to leave that room until Severus is well," McGonagall said.
Nodding in agreement, the others made their way out of the infirmary and to their separate quarters. Answers would have to wait.
He was lying on a soft bed with warm blankets covering him. It had been so long since he'd last had this dream. He could hear raised voices coming from the other room. He could make out a male voice and a female voice as well, possibly two. It all seemed so real, maybe it wasn't a dream this time.
The voices sounded angry. He decided to lie still and try to figure out where he was and what was going on before he gave away any indication he was awake.
He could feel his arms and legs; they did not seem to be stretched and tied tightly to the bed posts. He wiggled a finger and almost jumped when he felt it move near his side.
Without changing his breathing or opening his eyes, he tried to get a feel for his surroundings. Everything smelt fresh and clean, and a comfortable bed was not something he was used to. His tormentor never gave him comfort or care, so he must have escaped or been rescued.
Determined to figure out whether he was safe or in more danger, he cracked an eye open a fraction of an inch. Peering through his lashes, he was able to make out the smooth granite walls of what could possibly be Hogwarts' infirmary.
A few quick glances around the room confirmed he was alone and at Hogwarts. He closed his eyes and controlled his breathing. How did he get here? His mind was a mess. He tried to organize what he could remember: his childhood, his school years, the beginning of his teaching career.
Concentrating harder, he began to remember his spying activities and the rebirth of the Dark Lord. The following few years when he was forced to return to the Death Eaters and bow at the feet of that monster.
The sharp pain he feels in his chest reminds him of what he had to do to maintain the façade of loyal Death Eater. His mentor and friend, dead at his hands. The last year he spent at Hogwarts replacing the man he looked to as a father.
He remembers giving Lily to Harry Potter. All of his memories, good and bad, of the girl he loved were gone. An empty hole is all that remained. Another ache develops.
His last clear memory is trying to heal himself in the shack; everything else is hazy. He tries to remember what happened after that, but it is like fighting his way through a thick fog. He has glimpses of memories but feels no connection to them.
He can see himself looking worse than he could have imagined possible: brewing potions, staring at a ceiling as he was bound to a bed, tied to a pole, beaten and bruised, raping and torturing what looks like Hermione Granger, being raped himself, but it doesn't seem real.
Did this happen to him? Did he do those things to that girl? He fought the urge to be sick. That would alert them to his awakened state, and he wasn't ready for that yet.
Just as he took a few deep, calming breaths and reinforced his shields, the door opened and in walked Poppy. She looked over her patient and noticed he was still sleeping. She went to the foot of the bed and lifted up the blanket. A quick swish of her wand and she removed the band from his toe. She turned and left him to his thoughts once again.
The band. That had been his salvation. His last hope. That band had kept him going during his darkest days. He remembered now. He had escaped. He slipped into his thoughts and began to remember the last few weeks.
Ma… Master. His master had left him on the care of an elf. Mot was the cruel little creature's name. Years of working for the master had made him a perfect slave. Mot would come three times a week to clean and shave him, feed him his miserable little meal, force him to drink potions and reinforce the spells that controlled Severus. Mot never touched him and never let him out of the straps that held him to the bed and dug into his arms.
For over a month, the elf came and did his master's bidding while the man was away. Then a few days went by without any sign of the elf. Severus began to regain some sense of himself. He started to regain control of his thoughts. After a week, hunger had become a constant feeling. The small glass that was charmed to fill every 12 hours did, but no food was brought to the man.
He was used to this by now; the master had used food as a punishment before. Starving him for days to see what he could tolerate before he weakened and passed out from hunger. But something was different this time. He felt stronger, somehow. Mentally and physically.
A few days ago, the spells holding the straps in place had weakened enough for him to pull his arms closer to his face. It took him some time to chew through the leather. He had to stop occasionally and sleep to regain some strength.
After several days, he was managed to get through the one on his right arm. He paused for a few minutes, letting the blood flow back into the abused limb, before removing the one from the left side. He was careful not to irritate the wounds in his wrists and ankles as he escaped the bed.
He was free and in control for the first time in over a decade. Reaching to his foot and praying it was still there, he grasped at his toe and softly whispered, 'Home Sweet Home'. A tug at his navel proved that Albus' spells had worked, and no one had found the little band of safety.
Harry Potter awoke after only a few hours of sleep. He dressed quickly and headed downstairs to greet his wife and children. Grabbing a slice a toast, he headed to the Floo and the Ministry. He was determined to solve this mystery, and if he had to blackmail that man in the Portkey Office, then so be it.
A/N:To all those who reviewed, Thanks. I am sorry I didn't respond to all of them. I somehow deleted my inbox. But I wanted to thank you all anyway. My thanks to Sempra for reading through this, time and time again, until I got it all right. Mot means 'death' in Ugaritic