WARNING - THIS CHAPTER DEALS WITH PHYSICAL AND SEXUAL VIOLENCE.
A thousand thanks to the amazing FawkesyLady, my awesome beta, who has the patience of a Saint. Please review! Reviews are the best motivation. :)
Severus lay in his bed, riding out another wave of aftershocks from the Cruciatus curse. To say that the Dark Lord was displeased would have been an understatement. Severus had, yet again, failed to bring any valuable news, which made the madman frighteningly furious. The Order had been quiet lately, and Dumbledore was too busy to think up a believable lie for Severus to report. As a result, the spy was forced to serve as entertainment for the members of Voldemort's Inner Circle. The memory of the evening's long hours of torture and humiliation was very fresh in Severus' mind, and he let out an involuntary yelp as he tried to find a more comfortable position in his old, battered bed. His skin was clammy and cold, and his crooked teeth chattered as his limbs jerked and twitched about violently, uncontrollably.
He curled up on his side and shut his eyes tightly, encouraging his mind to enter a meditative state. He tried to cut himself off from his mental torment, to put the pain behind his Occlumency shields. He failed. His energy was depleted, and his normally unshakeable mental walls were weak and feeble, leaving his mind open, exposed and defenceless.
Thankfully, his injuries would not result in permanent damage. The Dark Lord had made it very clear that his patience was running out. Tonight's punishment was a warning to Severus, and he knew that he would be in for a much harder time if he failed to report anything useful the next time he was summoned. It was vital that he speak to Dumbledore, and soon.
The wave of aftershocks finally subsided, and Severus took big, gulping breaths, fighting for control. He was a fool for doing this over and over again. He should never have gone back when the Dark Lord returned. No – he should never have joined him in the first place. If only he had have ran away all those years ago, when Voldemort was first defeated by Lily's son. He should have listened to Lily.
'Lily,' he rasped out, 'I'm doing it all for Lily.'
Every move felt like a herculean effort as he slowly rose and stood on shaking legs. He didn't want to leave his bed. He was hurt and vulnerable, and the dark bedroom provided a comfortable shelter, a lair in which to hide and lick his wounds. He was desperate to bury himself under the covers and sleep the pain away. A hateful voice at the back of his mind whispered, persuading him to stay down and never get up again. That he was a filthy coward and he deserved to feel this pain, every bit of it. More disturbingly, the voice was recognizable. It was as if Sirius Black's shade had risen from the grave for the sole purpose of haunting him when he was at his weakest. 'Look at you, Snivellus. You dirty, reeking, pathetic man. You could scrub your skin raw, but you will never rid your soul of that stink.'
Reeling like a drunk, Severus staggered into the bathroom and removed his Death Eater garb. Tossing the wretched costume to the far corner of the room, he looked down at his skinny body and inspected the damage. The marks around his hips and legs have began to bruise a deep, ugly black, and he had several minor cuts and scratches all over his arms and abdomen. He frowned in distaste. He was used to the disturbing sight of his own skin, crisscrossed with scars of all shapes and sizes, and splattered with fresh wounds and bruises like a freakish work of art.
It was the scent that rattled him the most. The sharp scent of his own fear emanated from his body, mixed with the rank sweat and semen of his assailants. His stomach twisted in knots, and Severus panted, trying hard to hold on to the last shreds of dignity. He would not throw up. He would wash their filth away. He would return to the Dark Lord, and go through more of the same again and again, for he was doing it all for Lily. There was no other way.
He winced as he carefully lowered himself into the bathtub, and sat with his arms around his long legs, letting the warm water soothe some of the pain away.
A strangled sob escaped his throat and he bit back his tears, unable to forget, unable to escape the impossible situation he had found himself in. He would never escape the physical torment, nor the mental anguish, nor the guilt. The guilt, which reminded him, time and time again, that he deserved all he got.
Picking up a plain bar of soap, he scrubbed his body furiously, ridding himself of the dried blood, the sweat, and the stench. As the evidence of his ordeal was washed away, leaving his body in grey soapy suds, he felt his mind grow somewhat calmer. Carefully, he restored his Occlumency shields brick by brick, seeking out the memory of another scent. A complex, balsamic mix of dry, smoky vanilla, bergamot, and deep, golden amber with hints of woods and spices.
Severus found himself drowning in a strange, unbidden fantasy, in which he sat at an old wooden table, sipping awfully prepared tea from a green ceramic mug.
The imaginary kitchen was tidy, and the morning sunrays penetrated through the white, lacy net curtains. The window was open, letting in the fresh air penetrated with the sweet smell of matthiolas planted on the outside, just below the window sill. Muggle radio played in the corner, and a dainty blonde woman stood in front of him with her back to him. She was humming along with the radio in a soft, pleasant alto, preparing a full English breakfast at the cooker. A strange, sweet feeling of complete serenity washed over Severus' mind, and he reclined slightly in his chair, enjoying the soft caress of the summer breeze on his face. He caught a glimpse of an apron ribbon, swaying back and forth between the hob and the worktop, and a pair of feminine hands, chopping up the foodstuffs with nimble dexterity.
Severus was sure he knew the kitchen and the woman, and strained his brain to remember, but at that moment, the memory seemed strangely elusive. He knew her rich, deep, heady scent. He knew her name, which hovered on the tip of his tongue.
'Breakfast?' The fantasy woman asked as she turned to face him with a gentle smile. Severus eyed the girl, taking in the sight of her plain but pretty face, the ashy hair that fell past her shoulders in a messy wave, and the stormy-grey, almond-shaped eyes. The sense of safety and tranquility came crashing down, and Severus let out a surprised gasp as he realised who he's been dreaming of.
She was his latest project. The girl whom he had accosted, the one who stood up to him and nearly kneed him in the balls in self-defense. The girl who smoked like a chimney, kept her kitchen surgically clean, and made a pathetic brew. The girl who smelled heavenly. The girl who was hiding something.
'Alice.' He stated as he rose from the tub and walked back into his bedroom. 'Her name is Alice, and tomorrow, I shall bring her breakfast.'
Meanwhile, Alice sat curled up on the settee in her living room, studying the fourth volume of Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa's 'De Occulta Philosophia'. Her eyes were glued to the old, yellowed pages as she swung her damp hair over one shoulder and absent-mindedly braided it into a long, loose plait.
It was getting late, but the hot Summer night and the uncomfortable humidity made it impossible for her to sleep. Despite having had an evening shower, she already felt sticky and sweaty, and seriously contemplated washing herself again. It would only give her another excuse to linger in the bathroom, engaging in her favourite ritual of anointing her freshly-washed body with the silky body lotion, powdering her shoulders with the matching body talc, and finishing it all off with a drop of her favourite perfume dabbed onto the most strategic places.
Alice wanted to take the evening off, having spent the last few nights researching and perfecting her special potion. The project was complicated and dangerous, requiring extreme care and precision in the preparation of ingredients as well as the actual brewing process. For the past few weeks, Alice's entire time and concentration were fixed entirely on the task, and the mental and physical strain were truly beginning to show. The Headmaster was merciless with his demands, always pushing Alice to work harder, longer - and for what? A bloody pittance.
She was desperate to take her mind off the Potion, and tried her hardest to find something else to do. She cleaned her house. She changed the bedding. She had a long shower. She even inspected her toenails for chips in the nail polish, but found none. A pedicure would have been a lovely way to spend the evening, but her toenails were still perfectly squared off, glossy and red, the cuticles were pushed back, and her feet were perfectly light, soft and smooth. There was no point in wasting precious product. Alice was living on a shoestring as it was. The modest salary she received from Dumbledore as compensation for her brewing work was just enough to pay for overheads, and very little was left for luxuries. Alice wasn't particularly bothered by her low income. 'Make do and mend' was her life motto, and she wasn't above stopping the gas and electric meter with magic either.
Having failed to distract herself, she ended up researching possible ways of speeding up the completion of her project. Her vast Dark Arts library, studded with all kinds of unsavoury knowledge, contained no answers. Until Dumbledore got back to her, she was truly stuck. She was missing a crucial ingredient, which would unlock the true potency of the Potion, but the writing on the ancient scroll was indecipherable with age, wear and tear.
Alice jumped out of her skin as the fireplace suddenly blazed with green flames. She shrieked in surprise, and the book in her lap tumbled to the floor. Two red-haired heads appeared in the fireplace, pushing each other in and out of sight.
'Fred! George! You blighters scared the shit out of me!' Alice yelled, before running over and kneeling down on the mock-persian hearth rug to better see her best friends.
'Hello, Ala dear! Getting lonesome out here in Yell? How nice of you to write to us after all this time! We were beginning to think you don't love us anymore! ' Fred Weasley flashed a wicked, toothy grin.
'Barry delivered your letter today. He nearly bit my bloody head off! You want to do something about that bird, you do!' George cut in, pushing Fred's head to the side with one hand.
'Ay up me ducks!' Squealed Alice with delight, sticking her head into the hearth, thrilled to see her two partners in crime. 'I am so so sorry, I've been so busy, and I completely forgot to write, and oh, I'm so sorry about Barry, he's such a horrid creature! And then Snape found me here today, and…' She trailed off, and paused as she spotted the angry looks on the twins' faces.
'Yes, that's why we called, actually. What do you mean, the greasy git found you? Did he hurt you?' George spat, his brows drawn together menacingly. The twins were clearly alarmed, having reach their own, sinister conclusions.
Alice rushed to explain, 'No no, I'm alright, honestly. I was a little shaken up before, but I'm okay now. Snape lives in the area, and wasn't expecting to bump into me, so he wasn't very happy to see me at all... But it's alright. He's gone now. He didn't hurt me.'
'Blimey,' George began, 'We had no idea you're neighbours...'
'...With Snape!', finished Fred, unsuccessfully suppressing a chuckle. 'This is gold! But really, Ala dear, he would only ever be happy to see any of us if our heads were severed off and hung from the Astronomy Tower!'
At that, the trio dissolved into a heartfelt fit of giggles which stretched for many minutes. Holding her belly, which ached from laughter, Alice wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and sighed happily, looking at her friends with affection. 'I love you two,' she said softly, and the twins smiled sweetly in return. Shortly after, the mood became weighty and serious, and Alice could see the serious concern in her friends' eyes.
'You tell us right away if he so much as looks at you cross-eyed...' Fred began, and Alice tried to hide her blush as she remembered the penetrating onyx gaze of her Professor,
'...Or lays one grubby finger on you…!' George chipped in, and Alice flinched as she felt her stomach drop and twist into a tight knot. She momentarily lost her concentration and much of the twins' tirade escaped her as her mind presented her with a visual reminder of Snape's long, graceful fingers; the way they delicately held a cigarette to his lips, how strong his hand felt, wrapped around her arm, and how thrilling it would be to…
Shaking herself out of her reverie, Alice spluttered and searched for something innocent to say, when the rest of the twin's speech finally reached her ears.
'Because we have lots of things you could slip into his tea...'
'And we'd even give you best-friend discount!' The twins finished in unison, grinning like madmen, he corners of their eyes crinkling with mirth and a hint of malice.
'Honestly, you two!' Alice jabbed her finger at the two freckled faces in mock-scorn. 'You never pass up an opportunity to make a few sickles out of your poor friends, do you?! And besides, I doubt I could slip anything into Snape's tea and live to tell the tale!' She was laughing too now, partly in genuine joy, and partly in relief that the conversation had strayed away from such dangerous topics as hands and eyes belonging to one Potions Master.
'Well, business is business!' George said with a shrug,
'- But we're happy to help if you need to teach the Big Bat a lesson!' Shouted Fred with enthusiasm, then promptly added in a more serious tone. 'Ala, you know where we are if you need us. We keep telling you, come to the Burrow, Mother won't mind…'
'And you won't be stuck there like a bloody recluse with Snape, of all people, for company!', George cut in, waving his finger at Alice.
The girl sighed wistfully. She would have loved to go to the Burrow, but it was too crowded, too loud, too… lively. She loved the Weasleys with all her heart, but always felt awkward around the big, happy family. And she had work to do. One could never keep secrets in the Burrow for long, and her project was very demanding and very sensitive.
'I would if I could', she began with an apologetic smile, 'But I can't. I'm sorry. I've been very busy recently. I'll come and see you next week. Tuesday, perhaps?'
'Sure thing, Ala,' said Fred, bobbing his head up and down.
'We'll go out for lunch!' his twin shouted, pumping his fist in excitement. 'You'll have to see the shop, it's...'
'Awesome!' finished Fred, and his eyes widened, shining with unadulterated pride.
'Alright then!' Alice clapped her hands with an air of finality, 'Tuesday it is. Remember to polish your shoes and iron your shirts. Have I made myself clear?'
'Yes, Your Majesty', George replied with a mocking bow.
'Are you going to check if we've washed our necks and ears as well?'
'Less of the cheek, thank you!' Alice turned her nose up at the two ruddy slobs. 'And for the record, Snape really values his privacy, and for good reason. Don't mention our… encounter to anyone… please?' She bit her lower lip, afraid of what would happen if the Professor found out about her big mouth.
'Don't worry about it, Ala. We won't tell a soul. See you Tuesday, love, and stay safe!' The twins winked, waved, and disappeared from view. Within seconds, the fireplace was empty again.
Alice's knees complained as she stood up and made her way out of the living room. She prepared a cup of tea for herself, and pondered her situation. She would need to speak to the Headmaster about the Potion. She knew it was a powerful brew, and if her Arithmancy predictions were correct, it would yield interesting results already. According to the theory, the power of the finished product would be unimaginable. The problem was, that the ingredients required had been unobtainable for centuries, and nobody had ever succeeded in completing the potion. The recipe was vague at best, and Alice had had to circumvent several obstacles already, filling in the gaps using her own instincts as well as countless rolls of parchment filled with mind-boggling Arithmantic equations. She had already got used to the feeling of her brain being fried.
An idea popped into her head, and she almost dropped her mug on the floor as her eyes lit up with unsuppressed excitement. 'Snape is a Potions Master and knows a thing or two about the Dark Arts...' she mused as she lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. 'And he lives nearby… perhaps if I could get him to trust me… if I befriended him, or…' Her eyes flew wide open and she gasped, refusing to finish her mind's preposterous suggestion. 'Ugh, he's an ugly bugger, remember?! But perhaps he could help me without even realising!'
Alice considered the idea. She was planning to befriend Snape. Snape – the enigmatic, dangerous Dark wizard, the most unfriendly man she had ever met. How would she even go about establishing trust? She knew the plan was foolhardy to say the least, and had the potential of backfiring on her in a frightful way should her manipulation be discovered. She would have to tread carefully, and perhaps enlist the help of the Headmaster, who knew Snape a lot better than she did. She hoped she could persuade Dumbledore to help her come up with a viable strategy… it was, in the end, for the greater good.
'We are neighbours, in the end...' She tapped her finger against her upper lip, deep in thought. 'Maybe I should go around his house and ask to borrow some flour?' She snorted at her own stupidity.
'Flour, right. He doesn't seem like the kind of man who would keep flour in his kitchen. Unless he has a wife… does he have a wife? Or a girlfriend? Is he even single?' She just realised that she knew next to nothing about her Professor, and her mood deflated. She had no explanation for why it made her feel disconcerted to think that the Potions Master could possibly live with a woman.
She rose from the table and began preparing her supper. Beans on toast yet again. She should have bought more food. Her plate and utensils clattered loudly as she handled them roughly in irritation. 'I don't even know where he lives exactly,' She muttered to herself as she thrust the knife into the piece of toast, cutting it angrily into perfect squares. 'And perhaps,' she added in between bites, 'this was just a one-off meeting. I might never bump into him again anyway.' She chewed the toast and the beans with a frown, trying to make sense of the irritation and exhaustion that fought for dominance. The simple meal she usually enjoyed suddenly seemed stuck in her throat, bland and unappealing. Swallowing with effort, Alice pushed the leftovers away and decided to call it a night. Feeling very rebellious, she decided not to wash her plate.
She climbed the rickety stairs and stomped into her bedroom. The walls were painted a horrible, muted shade of 'harvest gold', an unsightly reminder of the 70s fashion, now terrible outdated and somewhat depressing. Alice wrinkled her nose at the sight of mould that was beginning to come through in one corner. She had spent a long time trying to get rid of it in the first place. 'Long live the great English architecture,' she grumbled under her nose as she shed her clothing to get ready for bed. 'This house is a fucking shithole,' she muttered as she reached into the massive, clunky chest of drawers, looking for fresh pyjamas. Realising what she just said, she paused in her tracks and guiltily whispered a quick prayer of gratitude for her grandmother's largess, and peace for her soul. She firmly shut the drawer, abandoning the search for pyjamas in favour of sleeping only in a pair of pastel-yellow knickers instead. It was a very hot night, and bedclothes would only have made it harder to sleep comfortably.
She climbed into the double bed – a utilitarian iron frame topped with a thin economy mattress. It wasn't the world's most luxurious bed, but it was Alice's first purchase in her new home. She didn't feel comfortable about sleeping in the same bed her grandparents died in, and the one she bought was cheap, cheerful, and would do nicely until she had enough money to buy something better.
She tossed and turned for a long time. Her mind was busy working over the problem of getting Professor Snape to help her on her own terms, ideally without finding out what it was she was doing with Dumbledore. Idea after idea was weighed in her active imagination, and she was hard pressed to keep it on track. Fantasies of how things might evolve began to occupy her thoughts, each less likely and more thrilling than the last. Finally, in the early hours of the morning, the exhausted Alice dropped off to sleep, whispering,
'Lunch. Next time I see him, I'll invite him for lunch.'
Author's Notes:
'Yell' is a place in the Shetlands, a very remote part of Scotland. Alice doesn't live in the Shetlands. Fred was only making fun out of her living like a hermit.
Also, Alice's amazing scent is Guerlain Shalimar.