Chapter Six: The Price of Failure

Chapter Six: The Price of Failure

Running her hands through her daughter's curls for the final time, the older witch smiles and decides she is happy with the result. Tiny white flowers adorn the girl's crown where her hair is caught into two jewelled clips. Below this, caramel-coloured curls entwined with white, silk ribbons fall to her waist. Her face, only lightly made up with a little mascara and lip-gloss, glows with good health. She is clad only in a simple shift over the delicate underwear chosen to delight her husband-to-be.

"Before I put in on, tell me about the cottage," the bride prompted.

The cottage was a simple, two-storied cob structure with small, intimate windows and an impeccably kept garden of summer flowers. It faced west over the small loch and the surrounding hills. No other dwelling or evidence of human presence was within sight.

Hermione felt the wards as she passed through unharmed, assuming Snape had keyed them to her magical signature already. As she hesitated for a few seconds before the quaint, red-painted front door, it swung open to reveal a beaming house-elf clad in a purple spangled pillowcase.

"Missie Hermione. Motty is being expecting you," she stated proudly as she ushered Hermione into the cottage. "Welcome to the Haven."

"Er. Thank you, Motty," the witch replied, then gaped at the cosy, indubitably floral interior. The image of the dour professor relaxing on the overstuffed sofa, complete with frilly cushions, taking tea from the delicate, porcelain teacups was disturbing to say the least. Then she remembered it was Albus Dumbledore's cottage, and suddenly the décor seemed appropriate. Who but the eccentric, late headmaster would dress his house-elves in such a garish fashion?

A small tug on her sleeve roused her from her reverie.

"Is Missie Hermione hungry?" asked the eager house-elf.

"I am rather, Motty," Hermione replied.

"Sit, Missie, and Motty will bring you a meal fit for a queen."

"No, no, just a snack will be fine."

Motty's idea of a snack consisted of copious quantities of tea, a large stack of delicate sandwiches, scones with jam and cream, and a generous wedge of chocolate cake. After eating far more than she should at that time of the night, Hermione groaned and yawned.

"Would Missie like to be shown to her room?"

"No, thank you. I would prefer to wait for Professor Snape to return."

Motty's little face clouded over and her ears quivered. "Poor Professor. Poor, poor Professor," she wailed.

Hermione sat up, immediately wide awake. "What? What is the matter? Has something happened to the professor?"

"Motty doesn't know. Motty has seen the professor hurting and worries about him when he is away with the bad, bad wizards." The house-elf wrung her thin hands and sniffed loudly.

Hermione considered the facts. Snape had been sent on a mission for which he had provided the intelligence. The mission had failed. Making a decision, she gently took Motty's hands and soothed the anxious creature.

"Motty, do you want to help the professor?" she asked.

The elf nodded, looking up with her big, bright eyes glistening with tears. "Motty will do anything to help the professor. He is kind to Motty."

"Can you go to Hogwarts and fetch some things from Professor Snape's quarters? You would have to be very, very careful not to be seen."

"Motty is very discreet, Missie," the elf said, ears stiff with pride.

"Okay. Now, I will need you to go and find some special potions in case the professor is hurt when he returns." She wrote a list of everything she could think of that Snape may have had in his rooms: Pain relieving potion, muscle relaxant, wound healing paste, Blood Replenisher, essence of dittany, and sleeping draughts, with descriptions and possible locations. Suddenly, her heart sank as she realised Snape would never have left his quarters unwarded. "Can you get past wards, Motty?"

"Motty is a Hogwarts elf, Missie. We can enter any room in the castle."

"Good. Now, be as quick as you can, please."

With a soft pop Motty disappeared, bearing the precious list. Twenty minutes later, she reappeared, carrying all the requested items.

"Oh, well done, Motty!" Hermione was very impressed with the elf's achievement in so short a time. Her wide grin had the little creature dancing with excitement.

"Missie is pleased with Motty?"

"Very pleased. Thank you."

The sunshine of Motty's smile lit the room as she disappeared back to her usual duties.

Hermione checked through all the vials once again, Transfigured a towel into a pile of clean cloths, and prepared a bowl of charm-heated water, unsure of what else she could do. If Snape arrived injured, she wasn't sure she had the skills to heal him adequately. Noticing the extensive book collection in the adjoining room, she quickly perused the shelves and found a text on basic healing spells. Over the next two hours, she went over the spells to heal cuts and bruises, simple broken bones and dislocations, and burns. Anything more and she would need help. And she was not sure if there was anyone who would be prepared to offer assistance to the supposed murderer of Albus Dumbledore.

Just as dawn was chasing away the shadows on the hill behind the lake, a rattle at the door woke the girl curled up sound asleep on the sofa. She jumped to her feet as Snape staggered in the door and promptly passed out at her feet.

"Oh, Severus. What has he done to you?" she whispered as she knelt by the fallen wizard. Blood coated the left side of his otherwise ashen face, running into the sticky mess that was his hair. His robes and coat were missing, leaving a half torn off shirt, also partially soaked with the bright red of his life force. His trousers were muddy, as if he had been dragged across the ground, and his precious dragon-hide boots were missing. Tremors racked his battered body as he laid half-curled up on the cold stone floor, his breathing laboured.

"Motty!"

"Yes, Missie."

"Quickly. We must get the professor upstairs. Can you do that without hurting him?"

Motty nodded, fear and anxiety in her great, green eyes. With a snap of her fingers, she levitated Snape up the stairs and into the bedroom. Leaving him hovering over the bed, she flicked back the covers and lowered him to rest on the soft, cotton sheets.

"We must remove these soiled clothes," Hermione directed. Before she had a chance to unbutton Snape's shirt, Motty had snapped her fingers again and left the man bare except for a pair of black boxers. The bruising over his ribs and thighs, evidence of a rather more Muggle style of attack, as well as the long, deep laceration across his abdomen, served to distract the young witch from any unwieldy embarrassment.

Hermione paused and thought back to her First Aid classes back in primary school. Muttering to herself, she recited, "ABC. Airway – seems okay. Breathing – not so good." Waving her wand the way the book had described, she used a charm over Snape's bruised chest to find and mend two broken ribs. His breathing settled back into a more normal pattern once this was achieved, and his colour improved.

"Right. That's breathing sorted, now Circulation." His pulse was rapid and thready, which she remembered could be caused by blood loss. She hoped it was the cause, as she had a potion for that, but if it was anything more complicated she and Snape were in trouble. Summoning the cloths and water from downstairs, Hermione and Motty worked as a team, carefully cleaning the cuts on his left cheek and abdomen and washing off the remaining mud from his sickly, pale skin. Sprinkling dittany on the wounds and murmuring an incantation she had only learned two hours earlier, Hermione was relieved to see them slowly fuse, leaving neat, white lines where the flesh had been gaping and bloody. Next, she used another charm to ascertain whether he had any internal injuries. Thankfully, none were evident.

As his wounds were closed, Snape started groaning and struggling.

"No, no, no! My Lord, I didn't know..." Arms raised to protect his head, Snape fought imaginary attackers.

His voice changed – quiet, pleading. "Albus, don't make me do it, I beg of you... Don't go, Albus, don't leave me alone..."

Suddenly, tears made silvery tracks down his cheeks as the delirious wizard entreated desperately, "Hermione, sweet Hermione... forgive me... please forgive me!"

Hermione captured his thrashing hand in hers and spoke soft words of reassurance. "Hush, Severus. You're safe now. We will take care of you." The sound of her voice appeared to anchor him back to reality as his eyes slowly opened, pain etched in their depths.

"Hermione?"

"I'm here, Severus. Now drink these," she ordered as she dripped pain relieving potion and Blood Replenisher into his mouth.

Complying with some difficulty, he sighed and sank back onto the pillows. Eyes closed, he winced as her fingertips found bruises he had not realised existed.

Hermione opened the jar of bruise salve and began lightly applying it to the varying sized, ugly welts on Snape's chest and arms.

"Motty, can you please roll him over so I can check his back?" she requested.

A gasp escaped her control as she discovered more extensive bruising around his kidneys and lower spine. It was hard to believe he had managed to Apparate to the cottage without splinching. Rubbing the paste into the damaged skin of his back, she noted the old scars she found there and wondered how often he had suffered at the hand of his evil master. As the bruises slowly faded, she could feel the tension draining from him.

After Motty had returned him onto his back, Hermione tackled the purpled skin on his thighs. As she applied the salve, she suddenly became aware of the pattern of small bruises she was treating. Amidst the larger bruises, on each inner thigh were two sets of five small marks.

Fingerprints.

A wave of nausea threatened to overcome her as she realised the significance. Swallowing hard, she lifted her head to meet two intense, black eyes pleading for redemption.

With a voice barely more than a whisper, she asked, "Is there anywhere else?"

Shaking his head, at first in denial, then in despair, the broken man held out his hand. "I'll do it."

As he reached into his boxers to treat the remaining areas of injury with the salve, she turned her head, tears falling unheeded.

"Thank you," he rasped, handing back the jar.

Hermione could not think of anything to say, so simply sat on the bed beside the wizard who had suffered so much to save her parents and held him as they both silently sobbed.

"Did they use Crucio?" she asked tentatively after some time had passed and Snape was lying, staring at the ceiling.

"Only enough to subdue me while they employed more... physical methods of punishment."

"It's all my fault. I should have dealt with my parents sooner." The guilt weighed impossibly heavy on her slender shoulders.

His hand found hers and squeezed. "They need few, if any, excuses for brutality, Hermione. That is why we are fighting this war, so men like those cannot prevail."

"But they beat you and hexed you and..."

"Don't say it... please! I don't want to think about it," he demanded, bitterness sharpening his tone.

Silently, they watched the sunrise through the small dormer window, each enveloped in their own thoughts and anxieties, never letting go of the other's hand.

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A/N: Thank you to ladyinthecloak for her wonderful beta skills.