Well, guess what. After this, the worst will be over and our couple can start bonding. Also, expect to see just how messed up Alice's personality is. I was very tempted to put her over my knee.
Originally, this chapter was supposed to be two chapters, but I am so very sick of all the angst and drama that I decided to merge them into one, longer chapter, just so I can start posting the nicer bits sooner. Phew!
Fun Fact: FawkesyLady is the greatest beta and deserves to be made Minister for Magic. She helped me ensure that this double-chapter flows smoothly even though she had one hell of a day at work. She's just so awesome!
Severus was slipping. Through a haze, he could hear them, laughing as they made another cut, another bruise, another burn. He tried to speak, but his voice failed him, hoarse after an eternity of screaming. His was aware to their bodies, warm and rough and slippery, their hands holding him down to the table's cold surface. His body had gone limp a long time ago. Why were they still holding him like that? He would not run. He was exhausted.
His whole being was reduced to the all-consuming pain. He had accepted it, merged with it. There was nothing beyond the endless agony. No escape. No end.
Somewhere in time, Severus' pleas had ceased, lost among the excitement of the revellers. He no longer cared. His body was broken, and his mind would follow soon. And then, perhaps, it would be over.
His thoughts became a ridiculous parade of sounds and images flashing across his mind's vision - Neville Longbottom's pitiful essays. Sharon's food dish. Potions Weekly's cover. His mother's collection of soppy romance novels. The heart-shaped stain on the rug in his Hogwarts office. Two slices of buttered toast he had eaten for breakfast. Harry Potter, strutting about the castle long after curfew. James's hateful sneer. Harry's eyes. Lily.
He grasped at the image desperately. Stay with me. Her lovely lips, stretched into a wide smile as he presented her with a bunch of conjured flowers. Stay with me. Her sparkling emerald-green eyes, wide in sheer wonder as they stood on top of the Astronomy Tower, looking down at the vast grounds of Hogwarts. Stay with me. Her cheeks, lovely and pink from cold and exercise after a snowball fight. Stay with me.
Despite his best efforts, his grip on her loosened. Slowly, her form began to fade away, the contours of her face blurring, her emerald eyes fading to a dull jade, and then to black. Severus fought, holding on to the last reddish glint of her hair, but before long, it too was gone, leaving him alone again.
More images appeared. Dumbledore's bowl of lemon sherbets. Minerva, sharing a brandy and a bit of friendly banter with Severus after a Quidditch match. Lucius, holding his newborn son, a lifetime ago. Severus' acceptance letter. Hogwarts Express, shiny and red, puffing huge clouds of smoke at King's Cross station. Potions ingredients, carefully labeled and organised in his personal stores. A chocolate bar in purple wrapping. Coffee in a green mug. A teabag floating in a blue mug. An apron ribbon. Matthiola blooms. A kitchen, bright and clean. Safety.
Severus seized the the kitchen with all his willpower. A low, feminine voice crooned, 'You're safe here with me.' It was distant and distorted, echoing through his brain. Severus recognised the voice, but could not put a face to it. It did not matter. If he stayed the kitchen, he would be alright. Nobody would find him there.
Holding onto this promise of relief, Severus' mind began its laborious descent towards the very bottom of his soul.
A million years later, a cold voice reached him from the top of the well, telling him he was free to go. He felt a strong pair of arms lift him up, and then he was standing on his own weak legs, swaying from side to side like a willow pushed by strong gusts of wind. He would soon be home.
Standing in his mind's construct, he half-turned and half-fell, disapparating Home.
Alice woke abruptly as a bang erupted downstairs, loud enough to wake the dead. Her sleep-addled brain supplied that it was merely Barry, coming home and flying into one of the cupboards, and she fell back on her pillow with the intention to deal with the stupid bird in the morning.
Bang.
There it was again, followed by the sound of footsteps. Human footsteps. She bolted out of bed and grabbed her wand, instantly alert and ready to tear the intruder into shreds. 'Let's fucking have it, then!' She seethed internally as she tiptoed down the stairs, listening intently for any more sounds. She had her wand at the ready, a curse hovering on the tip of her tongue. Whoever broke into her home tonight would not be getting out alive.
The downstairs hallway was empty, as was the living room. Quiet as a mouse, Alice padded to the end of the hallway, straining to make out any unfamiliar shapes or noises as she went. Her heart skipped a beat briefly as she noticed that the kitchen door was ajar, but she quickly calmed herself, remembering that she had left it like that when she went to bed. Gently, she kicked the door open with her foot, and carefully peeked inside.
Immediately she noticed a large, shapeless form, slumped down on the floor, darker than the black of night, unmoving. Her breath hitched in her chest as she sneaked towards it with her wand drawn high, its point fixed firmly on the unfamiliar lump. 'What the hell?!' She thought as the shape made a raspy, wheezing noise, loud enough to make her jump. Frightened out of her wits, Alice flicked the electric switch with one sharp, rapid movement and jabbed her wand forward, crying, 'Stupe-'
The spell died on her lips as the ceiling lamp illuminated the kitchen. Instead, a loud gasp escaped her lips as she stared at the shape. Next to an overturned chair, what looked like a man dressed in black was lying at her feet in a puddle of blood. Wide-eyed with shock, Alice padded closer mechanically, with one hand planted firmly across her mouth. She swallowed thickly, and gently prodded the man with the tips of her toes.
With a mighty shriek, she jumped back in alarm as the intruder coughed and spluttered, turning his head to face her. A pair of black eyes, obscured by swelling, opened slowly and darted to her face. He rasped out, 'Fuck off, Crowley. Get out of my kitchen.'
His voice was hoarse and barely audible, but Alice now knew that she was staring at Professor Snape, mutilated almost beyond recognition. Frozen in place, her mind had gone completely blank as she stared at his distorted face, covered in dark, purple bruises and numerous cuts of varying sizes. Even his jaw stuck out at an odd angle.
The neat flip of Alice's stomach brought her back to the present as she caught a whiff of the stench emanating from the man - a mixture of metallic blood and sharp sweat, and other fluids she would rather not name. Heaving, she concentrated on not throwing up right where she stood, and wrung her hands, unsure of how to proceed. She finally managed to croak out, 'It's my kitchen. What happened to you?'
'Hell.' He groaned, 'No tea.'
Alice's eyebrows shot up to her hairline. 'You're not making any sense.' At first, it appeared that the sardonic man was merely rolling his eyes at her, but before she could berate him further, he dropped his head back to the linoleum with the tell tale thunk that one might expect of a dropped pumpkin, his head coming to a halt at an awkward angle. The man had cut off all possibility of further defense of Alice's tea making skills by passing out. The twat.
She knelt down beside him, wincing as she caught a whiff of alcohol. How ironic. Not long ago, he had scolded her for drinking, and now here he was, all black and blue and reeking of booze. Her grandmother's voice rang out in her memory, 'Instruct the ignorant, counsel the doubtful, admonish the sinners, bear patiently those who wrong us, forgive offenses, comfort the afflicted…'
Alice wet a flannel and started cleaning his face, gently wiping away the patches of dried blood. It was everywhere, even in his hair, which was stuck together and gleamed black and red under the electric lamp. 'Fuckin'ell,' she muttered, and summoned her collection of various healing potions, the latest batch to be shared between the Hogwarts Infirmary and the Weasleys' shop. A general Healing Potion. Bruising Salve. Cut'n'Graze paste. Painkiller. It wasn't much, but it was all she had, and these would simply have to do.
Steeling herself, she took his head in her hands and turned it to the side gently, as though she was holding a newborn baby. Shuddering repeatedly in disgust, she patted him dry, and hissed in sympathy when she encountered the nasty laceration behind his ear. 'Ooooh, you poor bugger…' Features twisted in an ugly grimace, she cleaned the wound as best as she could and applied a thick layer of Cut'n'Graze, wondering what sort of trouble he had got himself into. She muttered, 'Dunno who did this to ye, but it must've been one hell of a pub brawl.'
While the paste absorbed into the cuts, she started working on the bruising. With gentle circular motions, she rubbed the Bruising Salve into his skin with her fingertips, taking care to keep her touch feather-light. The salve worked fast. Within minutes, the swelling went down considerably and Snape's face was recognisable once more, allowing Alice to take a better look at his jaw. It was not broken as she had feared, but looked dislocated. His nose was a different story - broken, and badly so. She giggled hysterically, 'Didn't think your nose could get any worse, but obviously I was wrong.' The bruises have faded from the angry bluish-black to a nasty yellow, and she knew he would have to wait for the rest to go down naturally. She could see that his skin was flushed and covered in cold sweat, and he was starting to shiver.
She pointed her wand at his nose and muttered, 'Episkey!', setting it back to its original state with a loud crack. The wizard woke abruptly with a growl of pain, tensing his stomach muscles as his upper body jerked upwards. Reflexively, Alice caught his head and slowly eased him back onto the floor. 'S'alright,' She said, locking her gaze with his. 'I need to set your jaw now, but I swear I'll break your nose again if you bite me.'
The wizard's eyes were glassy, his face pinched as he shook his head from side to side, mewling, 'No. No, no, no, no.'
Alice thinned her lips, annoyed that he was now awake and that setting his jaw the Muggle way was obviously out of the question. Choosing to ignore his whining for now, she worried her lower lip in concentration, and waved her wand at his face, hoping for the best.
Snape's jaw clicked as it fell back into place, and the wizard inhaled sharply, with his eyes tightly shut. 'Oh fuck,' he gasped. 'Fuck, fuck, fuck!'
Panting, he curled up in a ball and brought his hand up to cover his face, hiding the tears streaming down his cheeks.
Unsettled by the sight, Alice snapped, 'What?! Not my bloody fault, is it? You show up here in a right state at two in the piggin' morning, and expect me to do what?'
She got up and began bustling around aimlessly, refilling the bowl with clean water and finding fresh flannels. She grumbled under her breath, 'My name isn't Florence fucking Nightingale. I know naff all about healing. And if you think you can go get hammered and then expect to be nursed, you should've gone St Mungo's. Or Hogwarts. Bet Pomfrey would shit herself with joy, she would. '
The vitriolic tirade died in her throat, the grumbled expletives morphing into a gasp of terror as Snape began convulsing on the floor without warning, wailing, 'My Lord! I didn't know! No, I didn't… I didn't… it hurts…!'
Alice ran over to him and knelt at his side, staring in shock as he twitched and shook uncontrollably. As he flailed, a silver object fell out of his robes, clattering across the floor and towards Alice. Grateful for something to busy herself with, she picked it up for closer inspection, and held it in trembling hands. Immediately she recognised the Death Eater mask. 'Oh dear.'
It hit her with painful clarity. Snape had not been to the pub. He had been with Lord Voldemort, and something dreadful must have happened. Alice may have been a shy student, but she was an excellent listener, collecting all the pieces of gossip circulating around the school. Of course she had heard the whispered rumours about the violent nature of Death Eater gatherings, and had read the various reports of the cruelty with which they tortured defenseless Muggles, but took the tales of how the Dark Lord punished his own followers with Unforgivable curses with a large pinch of salt. Until now.
'Bloody hell…' The clues clicked together like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, and Alice felt sick at the revelation. There was nothing she could do about the convulsions, which she now recognised as the tell-tale aftershocks of the Cruciatus Curse. She berated herself inwardly, wondering why she hadn't seen it earlier - after all, she had spent long enough studying the Unforgivables in-depth in her own time. Spurred into action, she stood up quickly, motivated now that she knew what she was up against. She summoned a vest and a pair of trousers from her wardrobe, and busied herself with transfiguring them to fit the Professor's taller frame, feeling a hot flush of embarrassment rise in her cheeks.
She had let her grievances cloud her good sense, and judged the man harshly without checking all the facts first. She strongly suspected that the man's heavy robes concealed other injuries. He was a bastard, that was true, but she could not leave him like this. She may have been selfish, but she was not completely heartless.
At length, the spasms receded, and Snape laid on his back, whimpering incoherently. Alice sat down heavily with the transfigured clothes in her hands, planning her next move. 'Um…' She began, and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand as the gravity of what she was about to do hit her. 'I need to change your clothes and move you to the bed.'
'I did not know… he never told me… Dumbledore…'
'Is not here, ' Alice interjected firmly, wincing at the sound of the Headmaster's name. Digging for courage, she pushed down the anger that began simmering inside her chest and forced her body to move. Huffing and puffing like an angry cat, she removed his outer garb, having to move him this way and that to pull the sleeves off his arms. He was too heavy for the tiny witch, and the periodic twitches and tension in his muscles, punctuated with sounds of extreme discomfort, slowed down her efforts considerably, forcing her to take frequent breaks. 'I know, I know. This is crap. But it's either this or I'll have to cut your clothes. You probably wouldn't like that, and I don't know if You-Know-Who provides replacement uniform at no extra cost. I'd bloody burn these if I were you, though. Urgh, hell…'
She paused, holding the black robes in her hands. They felt heavy and slick, and stained her fingers in red. A wave of nausea washed over her at the stench that rose up to her nostrils, and she ran over to the sink, heaving. As her brain processed the image of blood, splotched over Snape's snow-white shirt, the witch shuddered once, twice, and vomited into the sink. It was too much to bear. She wasn't ready to continue, not yet, and Snape was reasonably calm. His body tensed and trembled, but not terribly so, and he was throwing his head periodically from side to side, mumbling unintelligible words.
Keeping a close eye on the wizard, she rolled a cigarette with shaking hands and took a deep drag to calm her nerves. The short intermission allowed her to consider the absurdity of the situation. He shouldn't even be here. She shouldn't let him stay. She should Floo the Headmaster immediately and have him transferred to the hospital wing - taking care of an injured wizard was too great a responsibility for somebody who knew next to nothing about healing beyond the magical first-aid course she had taken in her third year, most of which she had forgotten a long time ago. Yes, this was the reasonable and responsible thing to do. She could not be expected to play nurse. It was beyond her capability.
Resolutely, she walked into the living room and stood in front of the empty fireplace, eyeing the bowl of Floo powder with apprehension. 'This is the right thing to do,' she stated firmly, and reached out to take a pinch of the powder, constantly reassuring herself that she was doing it for his own good. Besides, Snape hated her. He had made it clear enough. Surely he would be happier to be cared for by Madam Pomfrey.
'But he came to me,' A small voice piped up in her head. 'Not to Dumbledore and not to Pomfrey, but here.'
'But he hates me!' She responded to the voice angrily. 'And the feeling is mutual. And Merlin knows why he ended up here. I can't care for him - I don't want to! And he might bring me trouble. I don't want any repercussions should the other Death-Eating Muppets find out where I live! He's bad news, Snape is!'
Something held her back. Hesitantly, she withdrew her hand and waddled back to the kitchen, unable to explain why she was so reluctant to release the Professor into Dumbledore's care. The idea of the Headmaster being anywhere near him sent a shiver of revulsion down her spine - if the old bastard could send him out to face Voldemort time after time without batting an eyelid, how likely was he to look after him in his hour of need?
Grinding her teeth in anger, she marched over to Snape's prostrated form and took a quick inventory. He was breathing steadily, and had passed out again. Good.
'We might hate each other, but we're on the same side.' She whispered as she started to work on his clothes once more. 'Dumbledore is just as responsible for this as You-Know-Who, or whoever did this to you. I won't let him near you.' She asserted, deftly undoing the many buttons of his shirt. 'Don't expect me to put up with any crap, though. You owe me, Severus Snape.'
She discarded the filthy garments to the side with the intention of throwing them in the washing machine at the earliest opportunity. The sight of the extensive bruising around his middle made her wince, but she was able to clean his chest and and stomach with a certain degree of clinical detachment, refusing to stop and think, knowing full well that a moment's rest would only cause her to break down. 'Bastards, bastards, bastards.' She chanted as she covered his upper body with copious amounts of bruising salve. She only hoped that she had a sufficient supply.
Without pausing, she undid his belt and opened his trousers, ignoring her own discomfort at this interference with the wizard's privacy. She worked as briskly as her shaking hands allowed, tugging and pulling at the black woolen fabric. To distract herself, she imagined that she was only changing the bedding - a familiar task, deeply ingrained into her day to day life. This was just another chore that had to be done, and then her world would be clean and tidy again.
One quick look at the Professor's legs revealed more cuts and bruises, and confirmed her suspicions that he had lost control of his bladder, but she could not explain the large patches of blood around his thighs - she could not see any deep wounds, and his legs were, overall, in a much better state than his upper body. Alice could not bring herself to remove his underwear, breathing in through her mouth to avoid the revolting stench of piss. It was as though all of her greatest fears of disorder, bad smells and bodily fluids had morphed into one giant Boggart, except that there was no simple spell to turn it into a bunch of violets. Struggling to contain the hysteria, Alice hugged herself with both arms, half-sobbing and half-laughing as her capability reached its limits. 'I don't know what to do,' She squealed, frantically rocking back and forth. 'What should I do…?'
Her grandmother's voice rang out in her mind again, 'Feed the hungry, give water to the thirsty, clothe the naked, shelter the homeless…'
Clearing her throat nervously, she hooked her fingers underneath the waistband of Snape's soiled underwear, carefully easing them off his hips, unveiling the nightmare inch by inch. She was transfixed in soul-wrenching horror as the extent of the man's injuries were laid bare before her eyes. She missed the signs that should have warned her that he was rousing, so she was taken unaware by the deceptively strong right knee connecting with her chest, sending her sprawling back onto the linoleum. It knocked the wind out of her.
It was some time later and a great deal of swearing that brought Alice back around to attempting to connect with the man, who was hunched defensively, his moans intensifying to a terrible growl anytime he sensed her trying to get close enough to touch him. His eyes were unfocused, wild, and so scared. How was she going to get him off of this floor? Out of pure exhaustion, she settled nearby, where she had the best view of her patient's eyes, and started to talk quietly. At first it was strange. She told him about the house, about her Gran, and how much she missed her and the sausages and mash that she would make when Alice was scared or sad. She talked about going to church with the woman. It was helping Alice at least, and as the words flowed, she could feel the tension relaxing from her, and she imagined that her Gran's spirit might be nearby, watching.
Snape had quieted when she sat in clear view, but she observed that his once ragged breathing had evened out, giving the appearance of sleep. She was disquieted to see the reflected light of his eyes watching her from shadow. She held her breath, and at length she was surprised to hear his deep voice comment, 'You aren't Jacqueline Crowley.'
'No, it's Alice. It's alright. You're safe.'
Professor Snape stopped kicking. A spark of awareness flashed through his eyes as he grated out, 'Crowley? Is it really you?'
'Does a bear shit in the woods?,' She quipped, grasping his hand in her own. 'I changed your clothes, and now I need to get you in bed. I need you to co-operate. Do you think you can do that?'
He nodded weakly in reply, and Alice sighed, relieved that he was willing to work with her on this at least. Carefully, Alice gathered the wizard in her arms, supporting his back as she encouraged him to recline against her chest. 'I'm going to side-along you upstairs.' This was not without risk, but it seemed safer than levitation, or, Merlin forbid, hauling his weight up the stairs.
'Are you ready?' She asked as she wrapped her arms around his waist and closed her eyes in preparation. When he failed to reply, she opened her eyes and looked at his face, rested against her shoulder. The empty look in his eyes indicated that his period of half-awareness was over, and he had now slipped into delirium again, moving his lips, but no sound came out. With a sigh of disappointment, Alice held him tighter, resuming her mild meditation. The warmth of his body against hers was a calming influence, and the steady beat of his heart provided the desperately needed reassurance that allowed Alice to relax. Soon, her breathing matched his, and she extended her magical senses, encapsulating them both, grounding him.
She concentrated on the image of her own bed, firmly fixing her willpower on the precise spot where she wanted them to land. When her awareness narrowed down to her destination, wiping out any other memory and thought, she turned, opening the channel that allowed them passage.
Usually, Apparition happened so quickly - a split second of an uncomfortable sensation, as though one was being squeezed through a very tight tunnel, followed by a moment's disorientation, and then it was over. This time, it was different, as Alice took her time in Neither Here Nor There, gently pulling her passenger through the channel. It felt like pushing through a dense wall of warm air, and made her slightly breathless as she ensured that the Professor travelled smoothly and slowly. Before she led them out of the Channel, she double checked that she had not Splinched him, that not a single eyelash had been left behind. Their traverse lasted much longer, and took an extreme amount of effort and concentration, but they both made it to their destination in one piece. Their landing was softer too. Instead of struggling for balance, as was the norm in normal Apparition, they simply appeared in the middle of the bed, sinking into the mattress as it made contact with their bodies.
Alice was elated, and felt like she could dance for joy. It worked. She transported him safely. She eased him down with gentle hands, and covered him with a heavy blue blanket, observing the bead of sweat that appeared on his temple. He was flushed and shivering, and she wrinkled her brow, brushing a stray lock of hair off his forehead.
She held up a small collection of phials. 'I need you to drink these. General Healing Potion, Blood Replenisher, Sleeping Draught and Painkiller.'
Snape had been a million miles away, staring into the middle distance with fluid eyes and mumbling to himself, and it surprised Alice greatly when he turned his face to look at her, a glint of awareness appearing in his gaze once again. He eyed the phials warily, and Alice rolled her eyes, annoyed at his distrust. 'It's good stuff, I brewed them myself.' She began uncorking the phials. 'Now, I know that nothing I do is ever good enough for you, but that's tough. It's all we have. You can either take them or not. Your choice.'
He stared at the proffered potions for a long time, and Alice huffed impatiently, 'Well?'
Finally, the wizard gave a weak nod, and fell back on the pillow with a heavy sigh, seemingly resigned for his fate. Alice thinned her lips, thinking, 'Oh, ye of little faith!' and supported his head with one arm as she eased the contents of the phials into the Professor's mouth. 'Alright… easy...' She muttered as he swallowed the potions. He coughed and spluttered periodically, and managed to dribble all over himself, but eventually drank all of the medicine. Alice was aware of how dreadful it tasted.
Aided by the Sleeping Draught, Professor Snape closed his eyes and fell asleep within seconds of swallowing the last mouthful, his haggard face relaxing, his breathing evening out. Alice stood over him for a long time, observing his skinny, abused form. Outwardly, she appeared stoical and indifferent, but inside, her heart was bleeding, torn apart by this new-found knowledge of just what Professor Snape had to suffer in order to keep them all safe. There, in her bed, laid the embodiment of courage and sacrifice, the likes of which she had never before imagined. A new strength filled her from within, and she whispered, 'Dumbledore had failed you, but I won't.'
Outside, the sky had turned to a dark grey, announcing the approaching dawn. Reassured that the Professor was in a natural slumber, Alice rubbed her eyes and padded out of the bedroom and down the steps. She pulled back, retreating down to her basement lab, intending to bury herself in her work. She reflected that the Sorting Hat would have felt entirely justified in its decision of six years prior. She had been very brave, but now she was spent and confused, feeling as though she had aged by a century.
Down in her basement lab, Alice worked, bent over a cauldron, unaware of the first rays of sunlight that were slowly creeping up on Spinner's End. She had been there for hours by now, brewing one of the most challenging potions she had ever encountered, following the recipe from an old, battered book that hovered in mid-air above her cauldron. It was a fascinating tome, one that Fred and George had smuggled out of the Order Headquarters a few weeks prior, full of obscure recipes for healing potions she had never heard of before. The thick, grey fumes that rose from the cauldron obscured much of her view, and the witch squinted, straining her brain as she committed each step to memory.
Weary and drowsy after the night's events, Alice picked up the mug of strong coffee she had placed at her side. Her eyes never left the text as she necked the lukewarm beverage in one go. It tasted disgusting, and left a sour aftertaste in her mouth, but she was aware of just how desperately she needed the energy if she was to help Professor Snape.
By now, she was quite sick of being his personal nurse, having had to divide her time between brewing and tending to the man himself without a moment's rest. He was still slipping in and out of delirium and had developed a high fever. He was now mercifully asleep after a particularly violent fit of convulsions, and Alice was grateful for the moment of peace which allowed her to restock at least some of the necessary medicine.
She was as exhausted as her supply of healing potions, and the only thing that kept her going was the thought that the sooner he was healed, the sooner she'd be rid of him. By now, she was unable to count the amount of times she had to clean him up - a difficult task, as the man would often become either violent in his delirium or a dead weight in periods of unconsciousness, and at some point, his vomit had become streaked with blood. It worried her immensely.
Reading aloud, she muttered, 'Drop nineteen pine needles into the potion and stir ten times clockwise with an iron rod… stir one quarter-turn anti-clockwise…'
The cauldron contained a dull grey liquid that felt thinner than water, providing almost no resistance against the stirring rod. Alice struggled to judge whether or not she was brewing correctly. The instructions were frustratingly vague - they provided the precise amounts of ingredients that had to be used, as well as all the right tools and methods of preparation, but did not describe what the potion should look like at the various stages of brewing. She had to trust her own abilities, and hope that the finished product would resemble the thick, opalescent grey liquid with a thin layer of apple-green scum on its surface, the one somewhat-helpful description at the end of the recipe.
'Leave the potion to swirl and simmer for three minutes. Crush the juniper berries and soak them in castor oil for thirty seconds…'
She began crushing her berries, closing her eyes to give them a moment's rest as she worked, counting the seconds in her head. When the time arrived to add the castor oil, Alice struggled to keep her eyes open, feeling as though she had heavy weights stuck to her eyelids, pulling them down. Her fingers had gone stiff, but still she persisted, aware of the ticking clock behind her back.
'Pour the berries into the cauldron and add a pinch of coriander. Wait for the berries to sink and the oil to float, then leave to simmer for three minutes…'
She supported herself on both arms placed on the edge of the workbench, and leaned forward, staring into the cauldron as the pulverised berries sank languidly to the bottom. The hope that sparked in her heart as the potion thickened and darkened flickered out as the fumes darkened too, and soon turned into thick clouds of acrid smoke. She shielded her face against the assault of the stench of old leather and burning rubber. It stung her eyes and threatened to singe her eyebrows with its intensity, and she waved her hands to clear some of the smoke away, desperate for a gulp of air. A few minutes later, the lab was tinted grey, and the cauldron revealed a smattering of a gloopy substance in a deeply unpleasant shade of tar.
Alice's heart sank in her chest, the bitter taste of defeat causing bile to rise in her throat. She swallowed thickly, blinking against the tears that prickled her eyelids as she stared at her work in dejection, wondering where she went wrong. Hours of hard work, ruined by an unknown mistake. She inhaled a shuddering breath, allowing the tears to fall.
Long moments passed before Alice finally opened her eyes. She massaged her temples, wondering if she had made a huge mistake in keeping Snape in her house. She should have sent him to Hogwarts, where Madam Pomfrey would look after him better than she ever could. What on earth had possessed her, what sort of idiotic pride made her believe to be capable of caring for a beaten, cursed, traumatised wizard?! Her arrogance may cost the man his health, or worse, his life. His sanity had already gone, and she felt her own, straining to run around the bend after it.
A strong tingling sensation washed over her brain like pins and needles, and she straightened her spine in alarm as the wards on her bedroom informed her that Professor Snape was awake. 'Not a moment's peace!' She wiped her eyes and nervously combed her hair with her fingers before apparating upstairs, ready to tend to him again.
Professor Snape laid on his back, spread out on the bed like a snow-angel. The curtains were drawn, and in the semi-darkness, Alice observed his face, drawn and white as a sheet save for the red flush across his sunken cheeks. His forehead glowed with a layer of cold sweat, and he was shaking, the incessant chattering of his teeth sounding like death rattle to Alice's ears.
His eyes darted to her face as she approached. They were blood-shot and glassy, and from his face she could read that he was in a lot of pain. She wrinkled her brow at the pleading look she shot her, and leaned forwards, trying to ascertain what was wrong. 'Can you hear me?' She asked, gently wiping his brow with the back of her hand.
Snape did not answer. Not coherently. She could hear his mumbling, quiet whispers the meaning of which she could not quite decipher. Even with eye contact, he seemed to be looking through her, rather than at her. She soaked a flannel in cold water, and gently wiped around his mouth. 'I need you to drink.' She said, and inserted the flannel into his mouth. She dared not let him drink from a glass, not after the last attempt, when the man started to choke. She was relieved when he began to suck on the flannel greedily.
He drank for a long time, half-emptying the jug on the bedside cabinet, and when he finished, rejecting the flannel, Alice wiped his face again and turned to the cabinet, taking a quick visual inventory of the remaining stocks. She had made enough Blood Replenisher and Sleeping Draught, but was down to the last phials of General Healing Potion and Painkiller. The two measly doses wouldn't last, and the new batches were still simmering downstairs.
The sound of Professor Snape's voice shook her out of her anxious ponderings. She whipped around sharply, and leaned forward, listening. 'Um… Professor?' She asked when he didn't speak after a while, her tone laced with uncertainty.
'Crowley…' His voice was wheezy, barely audible, and she leaned closer still as he continued, 'You're fucking beautiful, Crowley. You know that, don't you?'
His pronouncement caught her completely off-guard, and she stared at him, wide-eyed, for a long moment, her weary brain processing the wizard's words. Unable to come up with an appropriate reply, she finally managed to croak out, ''Um, yes, as a matter of fact, I do.' She averted her gaze, clearing her throat nervously. 'You're not too bad yourself, actually.'
Snape gave a quiet snort. 'Good. Now listen, girl. I need to tell you something, and it's very important.'
Alice had busied herself with lining up the potions on the bedside table, ready to be administered. 'I'm all ears,' She said, and yelped as a hand grasped her wrist, tugging at it. 'What the...!'
Snape pulled her down with surprising strength, so close that their foreheads nearly touched. Alice stared, baffled, into his shiny black eyes, boring into hers with a searing intensity that sent a chill down her spine. She nearly missed it when he said her name again, entranced in the depths of his gaze, but caught herself quickly and turned her head, allowing him to whisper in her ear.
She shuddered as she felt his warm breath tickle her ear. When he spoke, she recognised his professorial tone, now softer and more transparent as he instructed, 'I need you to boil fresh, cold water. Take it off the heat when it comes to a gentle boil.'
Alice wrinkled her brows in confusion, but listened intently, striving to memorise every word in the hope that the wizard was giving her instructions for a potion that would help his healing process.
'...add the… amount of… leaves into the pot and pour in the water…'
'Professor, can you repeat -'
'Steep for three minutes. Three minutes, Crowley, do you understand?'
'Yes, yes, but what exactly am I -'
'Good. Now you know how to properly brew tea, so there will be no excuse if you ever present me with a dreadful brew again.'
Alice's face fell. In a rush of indignation, she grasped the edge of his blanket, fighting the urge to shake him. Tea. There she was, fighting for his life with tooth and nail to save his hide, and he was telling her about tea?!
She clenched her fists and set her jaw tight, lifting the blankets to check whether or not he had lost control of his bladder again. She had her wand tucked behind her ear, having decided that she would clean him with magic. She was too tired to go through all the ceremony of washing and drying the Muggle way. She carefully inspected his lithe body, checking his dressings. She was glad to see that the Cut'n'Graze seemed to be working rather well, and that his bruises were fading. The bedsheet, however, was cold and soaked with sweat.
Alice marveled at how skinny Professor Snape was. His usual frock-coat added quite a bit of bulk, concealing the fact that he was literally skin, bone and sinew. She could easily count all of his ribs, but his long, lean muscles gave the impression of a black panther, svelte and strong and agile. She reflected that whilst he was no oil painting, there was a strange kind of beauty to the sour Professor. Even his feet were lovely, long and sleek and groomed, without a toe hair in sight. Fred and George would never believe her if she told them.
Now that she was looking at him, she was not surprised that he liked to cover himself from the neck down to the tips of his fingers. A multitude of scars covered his limbs, chest and stomach. They varied in shapes and sizes, some thick and gritty and raised, others clean-cut and thin. While most appeared old and long-healed, Alice could tell than many were fairly fresh, and that after tonight, he would have more.
His chest and stomach were the worst. The flesh there was so abused that Alice struggled to find a spot that wasn't in some way damaged. A particularly nasty scar, inch-wide and eight inches long, ran from the base to his ribs and down across his stomach, raised and an angry shade of pink. She had seen those scars many times during the course of the night, but every time she lifted his vest, it felt like the first time, making her breath hitch. She remained outwardly composed, but inside, she was cursing all humanity to the deepest pits of hell and beyond.
She finished her inspection, pleased to see that the Professor was clean, and that a simple freshening charm on the bedsheets sufficed to make them dry again. She began shaking out the blankets, ready to wrap the wizard back in his cocoon, when a mild twitching of his limbs caught her eye. She dropped the blankets and jumped back with an audible gasp, coming to stand at the opposite wall, a safe distance away. It was starting again.
Snape stiffened and threw his head back, groaning through clenched teeth. Beads of sweat appeared on his temples, soaking his raven hair as they ran into his hairline. His body tensed and relaxed continuously, the twitches growing in strength by the second. His scrunched-up features spoke volumes about the pain he had to endure.
He was struggling to breathe, inhaling sharply and holding his breath until the contortions subsided, only to pick up again a few seconds later with a vengeance. Alice's knees buckled under the pressure of her own impotence. What was there she could do? Her mind raced, reviewing her options. She made the mistake of trying to restrain him earlier, and she was sure she'd have a foot shaped bruise on her chest for her trouble. Besides, it only made him wilder, and he was likely to do himself a harm. She had hoped that the Zaragozian Elixir would ease the spasms, but her attempt to brew it this morning was a spectacular failure, and now he had to ride them out on his own. A helpless keening escaped Alice's throat. She forced herself to stay, to bear witness to the brave man's suffering, if only so he would know he was not alone.
Snape opened his mouth, screaming hoarsely at the top of his lungs, filling the bedroom with a sound of agony that pierced Alice's heart like a dagger. Every tear that trailed down his face was another stab, another soul-deep wound that she knew would never heal.
He grasped the sheets in a white-knuckled grip and fixed his gaze on the ceiling above him, taking in quick, shallow breaths, his body tense like a string drawn taut. His hips rose off the bed in a picture of indescribable suffering, and he kicked, twisted and turned, his head whipping sharply from side to side as he screamed, 'I DIDN'T KNOW! TELL HIM I DIDN'T KNOW! PLEASE! NO!'
Alice sat huddled in her spot by the wall, struggling to control the racing of her heart. Her quiet wails were drowned out by Professor Snape's screams, and the witch began to tremble, an uncontrollable fury soaring inside her chest once again. Her hatred was so strong that had Dumbledore been standing in front of her, she would have been able to cast the Killing Curse without any effort. She listened to the sounds of agony, letting them fill her from the inside out and resonate through her skull, wishing that she could ease his suffering and absorb some of his pain. The framework of her quiet life had been feeble before, an illusion of relative safety inside these walls, but now it was crumbling in front of her eyes. This thrice-damned war had come to her doorstep, and the reality of the revelation felt like a punch to the gut.
She began rocking back and forth, praying for Snape to stop screaming, but he continued, his strangled voice slashing through her skull, 'DO SOMETHING! PLEASE, NO MORE! I CAN'T… NO MORE! I HAVE GIVEN YOU EVERYTHING, EVERYTHING! WHY?! WHY DO YOU JUST STAND THERE... !'
Abruptly, the screaming stopped, and Snape's voice rose in pitch to a strangled howl, 'He's going to kill me, he will kill me next time, I can't die yet!'
He fell back onto the mattress, and turned onto his side, hugging himself as he tucked his head down, closing his eyes. The convulsions subsided, and he lay there, defeated and broken, crying in muffled, wracking sobs. Alice rose and wiped her eyes, approaching him carefully, like she would a wounded animal. He ignored her cautious, 'Professor?', continuing to sob in his curled-up position, apparently stuck in his own world. She wondered what was going on in that brilliant mind, what horrors he must have seen and been through. It was too much to consider.
Her mind was swimming as she picked up the discarded blankets again, wanting to give him some warmth and comfort, compassion for the wizard and hatred for his oppressors fighting for dominance. A glimpse of red appeared in the corner of her vision, and she froze, her hand hovering in mid-air as her gaze followed the pool of blood growing rapidly around his lower body. She gasped, 'Oh Merlin,' and ran out of the bedroom in panic, her face as white as a sheet. 'I'll be back… don't move!'
'Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!' She repeated as she sprinted down the stairs and into the kitchen, frantically looking around for what, she did not know. Guided by instinct, she bolted into the backyard, leaving the door wide open. Without thinking, she attacked the wards around her shed, dismantling them one by one with amazing speed, her mind screaming at her to work faster, knowing that every second could well be the difference between his life and death.
When the last ward gave way, she pushed the door open and made a beeline for the cauldron at the far end of the shed. There, she gathered the first ladle and phial within the reach of her hand. She vaguely remembered Dumbledore's order to never, ever use the Potion on herself or on another, but she shoved the memory aside, muttering, 'Fuck you, Dumbledore. Fuck you. Just fucking die already.'
She continued her furious muttering as she took out her ritual knife, and caught herself, freezing once again just before the ornate blade touched the skin of her palm. She retracted the knife, standing still, trying to calm the hateful voice in her head. 'No, no. No. This isn't about Dumbledore. Intention. Intention is everything. My intention is to heal. Heal, heal, heal…'
She breathed deeply, concentrating on her intention to heal with every fibre of her being, obliterating the Headmaster from her mind. Then she felt it, a rush of power running in her veins as she continued repeating, 'Heal Snape. Heal Snape. Heal Snape' until her wish filled her completely, imprinting itself in her magic. She brought down the knife and slashed her palm in one quick movement, and allowed her blood to fall into the potion's gleaming surface.
Alice healed herself as the Potion accepted her blood, bubbling and hissing before becoming still again. She picked up her ladle, and filled the phial with shaking hands, praying fervently that it would work. 'You are his last resort,' She whispered aloud as she stoppered the phial and turned away. 'Please work.'
She ran up the stairs and into the bedroom, tripping and falling numerous times she sprinted up the creaking staircase, her quivering legs failing to keep up. In the bedroom, Snape was still exactly as she left him, shivering and mewling quietly. Frantically, Alice snatched the last dose of Healing Potion from the bedside table and opened it with her teeth. Carefully, she poured one drop of the Essence into the Healing Potion, chanting, 'Heal, Heal, Heal,' for good measure. She swirled the phial to mix the contents, and fell to her knees at Snape's side, gently turning his head so she could open his mouth.
He mouthed, 'It hurts.'
'I know it does, love. But it'll stop hurting if you drink this. Please, trust me.'
He sniffed and whimpered in reply, slurring his words, 'You said it would stop hurting. Still hurts.'
Alice sighed, sending a quick mental prayer for patience. She brought the phial to his lips, and crooned sweetly, 'I know. But I need you to trust me one more time. It's good stuff, I brewed it myself.'
Snape drew in a shuddering breath and parted his cracked lips, allowing Alice to pour the potion into his mouth. He swallowed and winced, groaning, 'Fucking 'ell, Crowley. Worse'n your tea…'
'It'll do you good.' She interjected firmly, feeling a little cross. He was a bloody ungrateful bastard, that was obvious. 'Now stop biting the hand that heals you, you cantankerous tosser. Just rest, you...'
She was interrupted by the sound of snoring, and as she looked up to see his face relaxed and calm, a look of relief spread across her face. She rose and busied herself with cleaning up the bloody mess as she finished her thought aloud, 'You sweet, tortured man.'