Search for Socks

"Where is my Potions master?"

She hadn't raised her voice, or drawn her wand...even though she ached to do so...but the face in the fire backed away as if in fear of their life. They had been in the Great Hall when McGonagall had retired Snape as Headmaster: such things tended to stick in your head.

"I shall find out immediately, Professor."

The fire snuffed out, but Minerva was still fuming. It was three in the morning, and Severus was still not home. She'd dispatched Hagrid to the back gate, Pomona was by the Whomping Willow, her patronus was patrolling the boat house, and she'd threatened the Giant squid with the concept of calamari to get it to keep an eye and tentacle out for him around the lake. She momentarily cursed Filius for being away on his memory gathering missions. Her fingernails bit into her palms, and her teeth cracked in their sockets. She felt as though she would burst into flame.

She had tried all the spells she could summon to locate him but drawn a blank. She had been reduced to pacing her office. Her heart hammered, her skin was clammy and she felt sick to her stomach...she'd box his ears when she found him! It was clear he'd done something to himself. Despite her best efforts her mind went back a decade to when she'd sought him out...offered him his old job back.

After his acquittal from Azkaban, Severus had disappeared. Albus had whispered his regrets from his portrait, encouraging her to find him. It had taken immense resources and time to locate him. There had been many influences hindering her: Severus being one of them. After almost a year, she'd found him, barely existing in a decrepit tower block in London. She recalled how she'd had to step through garbage, broken bottles, rusted shopping trolleys and the stench of urine to get to his block. His house in Spinners End was empty and clean, but he'd descended to the grimy back alleys of a neglected city to waste until death caught up with him.

Vagrants had mumbled as she'd walked past, huddling in the gloomy stairwells, clutching bottles to their chests, or staring vacantly as they pumped something into their veins. The more vocal and energetic ones, snarled or spat out disgusting words; they'd been quickly silenced with a sleeping charm. Working her way up the twisting stairs, she'd finally reached the top floor. The corridor was dark, no doubt the gloom amplified by Serverus' mood or spells. There was a pervading stink clinging to the cracked walls and stained linoleum floor. Rooms led off to the left and right, and a barred window faced her. She could almost feel waves of repulsion forcing her back. She'd been close.

Pushing back the charms, she had walked purposefully towards his room. The wards were easy to break: her wrath alone would have incinerated the wood. Bursting in, she cast a defensive shield against his spells and words, and before he could muster himself, she retaliated. Severus Snape had felt the full weight of her might. Bound, silenced and panting, he'd been forced to listen to her as she commenced to tell him...calmly and oblivious to his room and depressing state...that his job was waiting for him. She recalled that his stubbornness had been almost insurmountable, but something she had said or done had broken him, and he'd collapsed, accepting anything and everything she said and did. It had terrified her.

She'd removed him from his toxic pit and had used the summer holiday to get him fit for teaching. It had been hard work, battling him and his demons, but after three weeks, they'd reached an understanding. If he didn't run away to die, then she wouldn't hunt him down. In the first three years, she had inveigled herself into almost aspect of his life, treating him as one her friends, even if he had thought otherwise. She'd known he had hated it... or rather hated the fact that he needed her presence. Slowly, he'd eventually settled into his role, accepted the friendship of his peers and reclaiming some semblance of life. It had been a long battle, and she wasn't about to let it go. Besides, he'd run away, so she had no choice but to hunt him down.

It pained and galled her beyond reason that he had been pushed by the Ministry to something akin to the disheveled and almost dead shell she'd found all those years ago. They were slowly murdering him. The carpet suffered her shoes one again as she resumed her ferocious pacing before the hearth. Her lips silently mouthed every curse she knew.

Her reputation was such that the fire flared into life no more than three minutes later.

"Professor McGonagall?"

"Yes."

"I've checked our logs, and professor Snape was discharged from our premises at nine forty. Aurors Langdon, Michaels and Widdicombe delivered him to Hogwarts at nine forty four." Sensing that the information was not helping to reduce her ire, he coughed and talked hastily to someone out of view. "Ah...er...yes. At the gate. I hope that helps."

"Good enough!"

She stormed out of the office and practically flew down the stairs and past the stone griffin. As she walked along the corridor, she summoned her broom, and within moments she was literally flying towards the gate. The air was frigid and cold rain stung her face, pushing her vision down to almost nothing. In the dark, she was relying on memory rather than landmarks. Through the shifting curtains of rain, she made out the figure of Hagrid, pacing back and forth past the gate. Fang followed his master, his head low and tail tucked under. She yelled out but the rain and wind swallowed it.

Pulling up sharply, she almost somersaulted in a bid to slow down. Twisting on her side, so she was almost parallel to the ground, she dug her left boot into the mud, using the ground to slow her down. Hagrid turned and saw her coming in low, walls of mud and water shooting up on either side, and he stopped, wondering where to go to avoid her. In the end, he stayed still, hoping that she'd miss him. There was no need to have worried. When her forward motion slowed and the broom lost power, she pulled it free and adopted a stance that would have made a surfer sigh. Hagrid opened his arms, to catch her, but she morphed from skid to walk without effort and bypassed him to approach the gate. He turned and followed her, wondering why she was here.

"Prof..."

"He was dropped of here," she interrupted briskly.

"But I were 'ere with Fang," he explained.

"It didn't matter!" she snapped with more bitterness than she intended.

She didn't wait for a response and missed the flicker of pain crossing Hagrid's face; she walked through the gate and cast lumos. "Severus!"

She strained to listen, but the rain hammered down, smothering all other sound...only her heart was louder. In desperation she studied the ground and churned up mud that could belong to Snape and the Aurors. Tracking was not something she'd trained to do, but she would try anything at this point...she'd even slit a rabbit's belly and become an haruspex. Hagrid joined her, confused and anxious.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I couldn' find 'im."

"Severus doesn't want to be found!" On seeing Hagrid's face, she softened. The skin between hair and beard was white, and his dark eyes glimmered with desperation. Rain clung to his beard and flattened his hair. "He did this a long time ago," she clarified. "He ran away and waited to..."

She couldn't finish the sentence. Instead, she turned away and lifted her wand. "Severus! You answer me right now!" Something rustled and she turned on it, but only a rabbit shot out. "Damn!"

"'E couldn' 'ave got far," Hagrid offered after staring at the churned mud. "I think these are 'is boots 'ere... an' 'ere."

"Follow them, Hagrid!"

Minerva was beside herself. She could ask every member of staff, every student to come looking, but a wizard who didn't want to be found was worse than trying to find a needle in a haystack...because they could make the haystack disappear. They had been looking for almost twenty minutes, which meant Severus had been out in the rain, in November, at night, in his indoor clothes, for almost five hours.

Her tears mingled with the rain, but she wouldn't give up. Her wand trembled as she searched yet another ditch. Her fingers ached from the cold, and her clothes were heavy with rain. Later, she may dedicate some time to bemoaning her lack of foresight in not casting a charm to keep herself warm and dry, but for now, her mind was frantic. The chill air burnt her lungs, and her face stung, urging her to greater dread. She'd been out for mere minutes...Severus for hours. Weather like this could kill. A sound behind caused her to whirl around, and she came face to face with Winky, soaking and bedraggled, clutching a butterbeer bottle. Minerva shook her head as though sloughing off a dream, her mouth working silently as she studied the elf, wondering just what she was doing.

"I can help," she squeaked. "We elves has magic better than wizards's."

"Winky!" Minerva fell to her knees in the mud and sobbed. "He doesn't want to be found."

"You be getting up," Winky scolded. "I has to be cleaning that dress tomorrow."

"He doesn't want to be found, Winky!" she repeated, her voice breaking.

"I know...but we won't be looking for him."

Minerva sniffed and shivered, but the elf's words morphed her grief and despair into something approaching hope. "I don't understand."

Winky took a swig of beer and hiccupped genteelly. "Hundreds....thousands of socks," she said tipsily. "And we has to find 'em...and pair 'em."

Behind Winky, more house-elves popped into view, bobbing reverently before the Headmistress, their feet squelching in the thick mud. They cast hopeful, longing glances towards Winky. She was the only elf who could bend the rules. She was the only one who was free.

"He never thought wishing his socks away. We's looking for his socks."

Minerva burst out laughing and darted forward to hug Winky. At her words, the house-elves scurried away on their search, the sound of their feet slapping against mud emerging from the darkness. Only looking for socks...that way, they didn't have to report to the Ministry, didn't have to tattle-tail to the Aurors...could help the dark wizard. Must look for the missing socks. Within minutes, there came high-pitched squeals and cheers from a nearby copse. Minerva lurched to her feet and rushed over, slipping and cursing. The house-elves stood in a circle, but there was nothing in the middle...just mud. Winky tugged excitedly on her dress and pointed.

"His socks are here, Professor Minerva," Winky affirmed. "You got to get him now."

Minerva nodded and started to cast spells over the area, slowly, agonisingly slowly, she found the magical signatures which showed her the spells he'd used. The clever fool had made himself unplottable. Cursing him, she broke the spells, layer after layer, until she could see him.

Her heart broke. He was deathly pale, so still, soaked through and curled in a ball. She fell at his side and smoothed the sodden hair away from his white face. "Severus," she called, rubbing his cheek. "Severus," she repeated louder, slapping his check. "Oh gods, Hagrid!" she cried. "What have they done to him?!"

Hagrid had no answer, and Minerva's distress cut through him worse than hippogriff claws. He bent down and simply scooped him up like a child; Snape felt too cold in his arms. He undid his coat and tucked Snape against his chest, as he'd done with cold lambs out on the hillside. The warmth offering more good than a cold stretcher.

"Come on now, Sev'rus," he wheezed out, his throat tight. "Ye gotta be okay."

He made sure his charge was safe, then started to walk smoothly but quickly back to the castle; he knew better than to jostle Snape: his heart could stop. Minerva shot past him on her broom a moment later to alert Poppy that Severus was on his way. She urged her broom to a speed beyond its specifications, and opened the doors from a distance so she could break the rules and fly in through the main doors and up the staircases. The stairs tried to move in response to her, but they only moved to catch the water droplets flung in her wake.

She slowed when she hit the required floor and stormed into the Hospital Wing. The matron rushed out of her office, her face set ready to reprimand whoever had burst in, but on seeing Minerva, she inhaled sharply and rushed forwards. Minerva banished her broom and in gulps and hasty breaths, told Poppy about Severus. Poppy promptly set to work to receive her patient. Only her years of training and experience allowed her to ignore Minerva's agitation and her own. She readied her spells, potions and warmed blankets, and she prayed under her breath that he wasn't as cold as she feared. It seemed an age before the hospital wing doors opened and Hagrid, dripping and exhausted, stepped in.

"Come quickly!" Poppy demanded, pointing to a bed near the door.

Hagrid nodded and rushed over, laying Snape gently upon the white sheets.

"Now. Out of those wet clothes!" Hagrid nodded again, having no energy to speak, and started to undo Snape's buttons. "Not him! You!"

The half-giant blushed and staggered away. He was past exhaustion, his eyes almost closing and his lungs barely able to cope. He sat down heavily on a spare bed opposite Snape and let his shaggy head drop. Dry sobs wracked his large body. The last time he'd carried someone back to the castle had been Harry, and that had damn near broken him...damn dark lords and the Ministry! Would it never end?!

"He's extremely hypothermic," Pomfrey stated simply. "I can't detect a heartbeat."

Minerva let out a stifled cry, her hands over her mouth and her eyes wide. Hagrid's moan drew her over, where she held his huge hand, drawing as much strength as she tried to offer. She ignored how his hand gripped, tight and painfully, as she had eyes only for Snape. She wanted to be closer, to call out to him, but she knew Poppy would not appreciate her hovering by the bed. She could only watch as Poppy worked.

Pomfrey's wand hovered over his chest, but her initial assessment remained. Her own heart fluttered in panic, and her guts churned, but she was a matron first and foremost: she could cry later. Her lips moved, silently uttering life-saving spells. It was currently unwise to try to restart his heart or breathing: his chest was too cold, which for the time being was a blessing in disguise. She continued to mutter, warming his blood slowly...just a little, bit by bit, warming him from the inside out. Too quick, and his own body would destroy him. The urge to work quickly was almost overwhelming, as he was distressingly cold under her hands, his temperature just above twenty degrees Celsius. Bodily functions had ceased, but he wasn't dead. He wasn't dead until he was warm and dead.

With agonising sluggishness, his core temperature rose a few degrees. Satisfied it was high enough, she charmed his heart. There was a flicker, a flutter, then a series of stuttering beats...then nothing. She swallowed her intense nausea and tried again. Her next attempt bullied his heart into irregular beats, but at least it was beating on its own. Another careful spell checked his heart until it thumped regularly...if weakly. Then a spell opened his throat, so she could charm warm air to circulate his lungs. His breathing and heart were controlled by her spells, and she purposefully kept it slow and steady. Finally, the warmed blankets were placed over and around him.

It wasn't over, though, Her trained eyes watched him, waiting for the first flicker of movement. Now he was warming up, his body would start its own remedies, which normally would be perfectly fine, but now, it would be dangerous: he was just too damned cold. Under the sheets, his abdomen lurched, then shuddered. The force of the contractions was beyond belief: aggressive and quick. Behind her, she heard Minerva whimper, but she ignored it. Wand raised, she cast spells to quieten the muscles, to stop the intense shivering. His arms were next, shaking violently underneath the blankets. She tried again, but before her spells took, he was jerking on the bed as though suffering a fit: a truly distressing sight.

Minerva was openly crying, her arms wrapped around Hagrid's arm. Her fingers gripping with preternatural strength. Hagrid's chest was shuddering with silent sobs, and he idly patted Minerva's hands where she crushed his bicep. He knew the little lambs...cold as death...would often wake up, but he'd felt his faith slipping as time dragged. For him, the sight of Snape shuddering was a mixed blessing: it hurt him to see him struggle, but he knew the man was warming up. And that meant life. His tears fell as he released the tension, the fear, and allowed hope to flare into being.

Poppy let out a great shuddering breath and straightened as Severus collapsed bonelessly against the bed, his intense shivering halted. Tears prickled and her own heart banged painfully against her ribs. She was barely satisfied, but she had done everything she could. It was still despairingly undecided. Remembering Minerva and Hagrid, she looked at them both, seeing the utter despair on their faces.

"And I told you two to get out of those wet clothes. If you think I'm having three of you in here with hypothermia, you can think again!" she snapped.

"How is he?"

Poppy sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "He's critical, but stable," she said softly. "He'll need constant monitoring over the next twelve hours or so."

"But he'll recover..."

Poppy walked over and smiled gently. "He's still in a dangerous place," she disclosed, her voice betraying the smallest hint of her own fear, "but he's strong." She gave Minerva's arm a reassuring squeeze. "Give him some time."

"Thank you, Poppy," Minerva said, grasping the matron's hands in gratitude.

"Okay, now go and get some rest yourselves. I'll let you know as soon as anything changes."

From between Hagrid's legs and under the straining bed, Winky nodded her approval and popped away...the others would want to know that the socks were safe.