It Takes a Miracle

Chapter 2 – Who would take you home?

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Gerry came to her senses after about an hour of roaming around the castle. Boy, it was cold here. And dark. The places her temper would take her. Shit!

Of course, Valerius was right. He had understood it a long time ago while she stubbornly kept looking for something that simply was not there. No matter what she did, she was never good at anything in particular. Better than many, maybe, but never really good. And not for the lack of trying, mind you. She worked very hard, taking extra classes, researching and experimenting on her own, reading books in bulk -- all in vain.

It was probably the time to accept her future as it was intended to be. Gerry knew what she had to do. It was obvious. She would graduate from the University, get married to Valerius, give birth to six or seven of his handsome kids, and raise them. Valerius would start a construction firm, and she would assist him by dealing with customers and handling the paper work. They would be happy. She would be happy. That's it.

Poor Valerius, he had been putting up with her fantasies way too long. They had been together forever, and still did not have a date for a wedding. He could have gotten married to somebody else and had a family by now. But he was waiting for her, patiently and faithfully, gently pointing her into the right direction.

Gerry started to feel guilty. The first day back together, and she had to blow up like that. At least today she could have restrained herself. Really, what was more important to her - her relationship with Valerius or stupid Transfigurations? If she did not leave, Valerius would be holding her in his arms now. Damn, if she did not leave, they would already be in the middle of a hell of lovemaking. But she was here instead, wandering the empty, cold hallways of Hogwarts. Unfamiliar hallways, to top it off. That's it, she was going back. She would grow up. Tonight.

Gerry stopped and looked around. She had no idea where she was. There were portraits on the walls she did not recognize, with inhabitants sound asleep. She wanted to ask for directions, but felt uncomfortable waking somebody up. First, Gerry decided to try and find the way on her own.

She remembered leaving Valerius' rooms, turning at the portrait of some medieval knight, and pacing the adjacent corridor for a long while. Then she went wandering. She could not have gone too far. She did use some stairs, first up, then down. Unfortunately, one could not rely on those vagabonds to find one's position in the castle -- damn things moved so much you never knew where you would wind up.

Gerry walked some more, looking for clues as to her location. Soon she realized that the hallways here were much wider than those on the floor where Valerius' rooms were. It did not look like there were any living quarters here. Gerry thought that she was probably on the ground floor, and if it was so, she should be able to find the Entrance Hall.

"That can't be too hard," she thought with a hope, "the thing is huge." From the Entrance Hall Valerius took her to his rooms just several hours ago. Then they went through the Hall on the way to the dining room and back.

Amazingly enough, the Entrance Hall was literally right around the corner. Gerry grinned, satisfied. "Piece of cake." But when she was about to take the side corridor, which she remembered led in the direction of Valerius' rooms, Gerry heard a noise. Actually, it sounded like knocking.

She looked around, trying to figure out where the noise was coming from, but the Hall was so poorly lit that she could barely see anything. And then Gerry saw a strip of silvery light. "The front door," she realized quickly.

She expected someone to enter, but no one came in. She waited, and, suddenly, the door slammed closed. Gerry heard a bang, a long scream, and all went quiet again.

Just in case, Gerry got her wand out and walked to the door. "Is anybody there?" There was no answer.

She repeated her question louder. Echoes bounced through the Entrance Hall, but no answer came again. Gerry thought for a moment, then cautiously opened the door and peeked outside. All she saw was an empty porch. But she could not have made a mistake. She did see the door ajar, and she did hear a scream.

Gerry stepped out very slowly. The moonlight was bright enough to see well, and Gerry hastily glanced around. There was nobody.

She stood on the porch, thinking and turning her head left and right. Nothing appeared to be moving in the vicinity. Gerry lowered her wand, ready to go back inside, and then she saw him.

Well, at first all she saw was a big dark pile on the ground next to the stone steps. She had to step forward to realize that it was a man. Right away Gerry's gaze went to his face, a light spot between his dark hair and dark clothes. She moved closer and gasped -- what a face. With its noble nose, high cheekbones, a proud chin, the face looked like it came from some romantic novel. Thin and pale, it should belong to a man standing on a cliff under stormy skies, glaring over a roaring sea. A billowing black cloak and disheveled long hair would finish the picture. Gerry was bewildered by the mental image.

It took her a full minute to come out of her reverie and start thinking logically. "This is a guy who tried to get in," she guessed. A man, who could not get into the door and now was lying on the ground in the middle of the night, eyes closed, motionless. "Bet, he's just plastered," Gerry concluded with some degree of disappointment. “Probably somebody from the school's staff celebrating the summer holidays.” She considered if she should help him get to his rooms, but then thought a better of it. "Do I really want to drag him through the castle, risking getting lost and being vomited on?" Besides, a plastered wizard could be downright dangerous. “The night is warm, he can sleep it off here. He'll be fine."

Gerry took a last look at him, muttering, "Yeah, a guy on a cliff," and turned to go back to the castle, when, in the corner of her eye, she saw something that made her stop. On the grass, next to the man's head, there was a small stain, which glimmered strangely in moonlight when Gerry moved. She frowned and quickly descended the steps.

The nauseating, irony smell of blood mixed with vomit and something else that Gerry did not care to identify hit her nose. There was no hint of alcohol, though. Gerry gasped and stepped right next to the man. "Oh fucking Merlin," all she could think when she looked the man over.

His clothes were ripped, his face was scratched, his arms, thrown wide, were ending with unnaturally twisted wrists. Gerry could only guess (although the moon was bright, but its light turned every color into shades of black and gray) that the dark stains – on the man's clothes, on the grass next to his head – most likely were bloodstains. Gerry kneeled beside the wizard and pointed her wand at him.

Muttering scanning spells under her breath, she aimed her wand at different parts of his body. White translucent images pored out. She was no mediwitch, but she took a couple of classes in magical medicine, and at least could do basic diagnostics. What she saw made her clasp her free hand to the mouth and say the word "fuck" loud and clear.

It seemed that there was no unhurt part of the wizard's body. Somebody worked very hard on him: the Cutting curse, the Beating curse, the Bone-breaking curse. There were also plenty of non-magical wounds, and Gerry really didn’t care to imagine just how the nasty gash on the side of wizard’s head came about. But what she realized after performing a more advanced scanning made her say "fuck" more than once. The wizard in front of her had been hit with the Cruciatus curse. More than once. A menacing aura of dark magic suddenly became almost palpable, and a cold immobilizing fear washed over Gerry's body. Of course she knew about the return of Him-Who-Can-Not-Be-Named. Of course she read and heard about Death Eaters raids. Of course she was taught to watch out for "bad" wizards and "dark" wizardry from the time she could understand the word "magic." And still all of it existed somewhere else, happened to other people. It was never real. Now, looking at the unconscious wizard in front of her, Gerry had no doubt in her mind that his injuries were an outcome of his encounter with the Dark Side. All of a sudden Gerry found herself in the middle of the war with the Dark Lord.

Hastily trying to push down the rising fear, Gerry considered for a moment where to start and decided to mend the gash on the side of man's head first. She hoped that being inexperienced in magical medicine she would have better chance with non-magical wounds. She pointed her wand and whispered a spell. The ray of light from her wand touched the bloody gush and bounced off of it, like a rubber ball. Gerry bit her lip and tried again. Same result. She pointed her wand at the man's wrist. This time the spell ricocheted back at her, knocking her off of her knees. There was no improvement in the man's condition.

"A mediwitch," she thought, biting her lip in frustration. She must get him to a mediwitch. But where could she find one at Hogwarts? There seemed to be just one way to find that out.

She flicked her wand and muttered, "Enervate."

The wizard stirred, but did not open his eyes. Gerry became concerned and touched his shoulder to help him along. His eyes shot open. They were absolutely black and icy-cold.

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"Take your hands off of from me," Snape thought angrily before he even opened his eyes. He was prepared to hex the intruder into oblivion. Whoever was touching him should better have a bloody good reason to do so.

"Sir, are you awake?" He heard a woman's voice, and his eyes flew open. The woman kneeling beside him had a wand in her hand. "Can you hear me?" she asked, her voice bright and clear, and...full of concern, "Sir?"

She bloody touched him again. Looking suspiciously at her wand, Snape tried to twitch away from her hand, but his body hardly moved. However, the witch probably noticed something, because she said reassuringly, "I will help you."

"I don't need your sodding help!" was Snape's first thought and he managed to make a scowl. Then he tried to raise himself on his elbows to show the meddling woman (and himself) that he was perfectly capable. However, his body would not go higher than a half of a centimeter. "She might be your chance, Severus," came Snape's second thought. At the same time he felt the world had spun around him. His head, barely raised from the ground, hit it again, and the third though that flushed though Snape's mind was, "She is your only chance." Out loud he croaked, "...el... ...e up..."

His voice, usually silky and deep, full of confidence and force, was almost inaudible now, coming from his dry mouth. Trying to mask the agony he was in, Snape kept his voice flat, impassive. Add the weakness to it, and the result was a muffled whisper.

The witch bent closer to him. "Pardon me?"

Snape could not see her face. Her hair, long and wavy, shimmering darkly in the moonlight, was cascading on each side of her face, throwing a mysterious shadow over it. Who was she? A student? No students should be here in the summer. A new teacher? Put Albus to it, he would have one every other week -- the man loved to add a fresh face to the High Table. Especially, if it's a Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. Then something completely terrifying occurred to Snape: what if she was a Death Eater? What if she was sent to follow him?

Meanwhile, the witch was saying, "Sir, I can not understand you. If it is too hard for you to speak, just blink. Or nod. Okay?"

Snape was looking at her coldly. If his head would stop hurting so much for a moment, he just might be able to think logically. As it was, Snape was struggling to finish each thought. Alright, she did not sound like one of the Death Eaters at all. Besides, in his current condition he was of no use to anybody, including the Dark Lord. And if the Dark Lord wanted to finish him off, he did not have to send him back and wait until he crawled to the castle. He could have killed him at the tonight's Revel. On the other hand, the Dark Lord did have his own logic, and may have decided to present Dumbledore with a surprise – a turncoat rotting on the steps of Hogwarts.

"Why don't you just get done with me, wench?" Snape spat inwardly, when he heard her saying, "Let's try it, sir, okay?"

The witch swiftly threw her hair from one side of her face to the back in a habitual nervous gesture. The hair streamed right back, but Snape managed to get a glimpse of her thoroughly bitten lip. "She sounds like an American. Gods, this war will last forever if the Dark Lord has started to recruit in the States. Bloody fucking bastard!"

The witch read something in Snape's glare, because the tone of her voice became stern. "Sir, I understand that you are badly hurt, but I am not the one who hurt you, am I? I promise, as soon as I get you to the mediwitch, I'll be out of your hair."

Snape eyed her, calculating once again the probabilities of her been a Death Eater, and finally decided to give the witch a benefit of the doubt.

"Water." He moved his lips with almost no sound. The woman, however, understood him and conjured a glass of icy-cold water. It took some doing for Snape to drink, since as soon as he would lift his head, the world wouldn't stay still. But after he took a couple of sips, he could talk.

"Help me up," he hissed.

The witch nodded, but after a good twenty minutes of fruitless attempts, he was still on the ground. Snape was barking or angrily whispering his orders at her, but nothing seemed to work. She had pulled and pushed, trying to be careful around his injuries, but only succeeded in exhausting herself. Snape was becoming more and more agitated, blaming the inept witch for doing everything wrong. He understood that he was too heavy for her to lift up. He understood that he was too weak to be of any help. He appreciated the fact that she was not complaining or arguing. Still, he could not help but somehow blame his circumstances on her.

"I am sorry, sir," said the witch, breathing heavily. "This is not working."

Glaring at her, Snape thought, "Thank you for stating the obvious."

"May be you would allow me to float you?" she asked cautiously.

That was beyond insulting. Snape scowled at her and bared his teeth. "I am not... a fucking piece...of fucking luggage, Miss," he hissed through ragged breathing, stressing every word. "I will not allow you to..."

He did not finish. There was another wave of the Cruciatus aftershock. His insides went aflame, his body shook and bent, his limbs flew every which way. Snape swore, his head slammed into the ground, and he passed out, still shaking.

It was over in a minute or so. Then a tiny dark spot appeared in the corner of his mouth, and grew larger for some time. It then spilled itself into a thin line that went down Snape's chin, along his neck, and under the collar of his jacket.

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Gerry was shocked. The wizard was dying right in front of her, and it was all her fault. First, she wasted too much time ogling at him, then wasted too much of his and hers energy trying to get him up and completely humiliated him by suggesting to a grown man to float him. And now she let him lose his consciousness without asking how to find school’s mediwitch. It should have been her first question to him "Where is a fucking mediwitch?" She should have taken control. She should have been strong. One of the things Quidditch accidents taught Gerry was that the injured men were either vicious or miserable. In either case, first you do what needs to be done and, when it’s done, you can allow yourself to become a recipient of their wrath or whining. NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND! It was all her fault!

Gerry was furious with her self. Who cares that from the moment she looked into the black pools of the wizard's eyes, she just could not think straight? Who cares that near him she felt strangely disoriented, as if she wasn’t sure whether to laugh and cry? "Snap out of it!" Gerry slapped herself mentally. "Stupid fucking idiot! The man can die while you are deciding how you feel about him?!"

Gerry bit her lip. Think, think, think. Run and get help, but she could not leave him like this, all alone. Float him in (sorry, sir) and look for the hospital wing, but it could take forever in the labyrinth of the castle. Try another healing spell, but she has already used the best she knew. Enervate him again, but it could waste the last of his strength. Oh, fucking Merlin, what should she do?

She got up and ran up the steps to the door. Then she looked back and quickly returned to the wizard. Got up again, went to the door, and returned again. The last time she had gone all the way in before hearing a moan behind. There was another moan, and Gerry went running back to the wizard.

The man was in agony. Even under the colorblind moonlight, Gerry could see that his face went green. His every breath came with such an effort that it seemed that it was taking all his strength just to get the air in and out. The thin line of blood coming out of his mouth thickened. His limbs were shifting in dissonance like they were independent of anything and anybody.

Another moan came, and Gerry just knew that that was it. If she were the type, Gerry would start crying right about now. She was not the type, but still... She felt so powerless, so worthless. "Please, please, do not die," she silently begged the wizard. "I can't let you die. Oh Merlin, please..."

And then she felt it. At first, it was just a light tightening sensation around her navel. This sensation quickly spread through her body leaving the traces of its movement all the way to the tips of her fingers. Right after that a warm flow from her navel went by the same routes, and Gerry saw that the palms of her hands were becoming slightly fluorescent.

Astounded, she stared at her hand. Gods, was it really happening? That thing that a lifetime ago her Nana told her about. Could she do it? She looked at the wizard in front of her, and knew that it was her only option.

Still kneeling at the wizard's side, Gerry bent over him, holding her hands over his chest. She locked her eyes on his face, and in a moment they turned bright green and became as fluorescent as her palms. Between Gerry's hands and the wizard's body appeared a shimmering green fog, which from time to time was cut through by something like bright green lightening that connected her and the wizard. Gerry was whispering the words she had no idea she ever knew. She was humming the songs she never heard before. The lightening was striking more and more often. Slowly, the fog began to grow bigger, gradually wrapping in its fluffy green ball the wizard spread on the ground and Gerry kneeling by his side, until they both were inside this cloud. And then it was over.


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When Snape came to the next time, it took him a good couple of minutes to absorb his situation, and even then he could not understand what had happened. He was lying at the entrance door to Hogwarts castle, not feeling any pain. Moreover, there was a pleasant lightness in his body, as if it had been resting for a long time. He carefully tested his previously broken wrists, his unresponsive right leg, but everything was in excellent working order. His head did not hurt any more and the excruciating pain in his abdomen was gone as well. The world was once again firmly back in place – the moon, the stars, and the walls of Hogwarts.

But then came the most bizarre realization of all. There was a woman, lying across his chest, face down, her long wavy hair covering half of his body. Her arms were spread as if she was trying to hug him. She was not moving but Snape could see that her back was rising and falling slightly at intervals, which suggested that she was alive and breathing. He guessed that this was that "inept" witch who was trying so ineffectively to help him up earlier and insulted him to top it off. With all of his body once again pain free and at his command, Snape was not angry with her anymore. It did not even bother him that she was touching him. Forget touching, she was unceremoniously lying on top of him! For some reason Snape started thinking just how good she smelt, vanilla and peach, and something else, sweet and innocent. No one he knew smelled this good. He inhaled deeply. Amazing. Snape felt the warmth of her body seeping through the layers of clothes. He listened to her soft breathing. She was lying there so helplessly, so trustingly, so close. There was more to it. There was a sensation that Snape could not give a proper name to. And, frankly, did not care to. All that mattered was to savor the moment.

But before this reality set in, Snape was livid. For the second time this night he lost it! He almost jumped, barely restraining himself. What the bloody Merlin was wrong with him tonight? What was it, a night of happy thoughts? Christmas in July? Get a grip, Severus. First, he wanted to die. Now, he wanted to... Oh no, Snape was horrified even to formally verbalize the thought. It was plainly unthinkable. Quickly push it to the darkest corner, hide it between other useless stuff. There, that was much better. Much more realistic.

"Excuse me." He almost touched the woman's shoulder. No response came. He said a little louder, "Miss?"

Again, there was no response. Snape took a deep breath, as if preparing for the inevitable, and very carefully, almost gently, rolled the woman off of him to the ground. He quickly sat up and looked at her. Nothing remarkable. The woman was short and slender. She had light, plain robes on, which seemed to have been put on in a hurry since only a couple of top buttons were used. The undone robes allowed a glimpse of gray sweats underneath. The witch's boots looked more like the ones that a Midwestern cowboy would enjoy wearing, not a proper witch.

"An American," sneered Snape, confirming his previous guess. But what was she doing here? Who was she? And what, bloody Merlin, had happened?

Snape quickly glanced around, listening carefully for any suspicious or unusual sounds. No, nothing looked out of the ordinary, and they seemed to be alone, the witch and he. So, he turned his full attention back to the witch, who still hadn’t moved.

He could not see her face covered by the hair, and after a moment of hesitation he very cautiously moved the hair to the side. Oh Merlin, she was a just child. She did not look much older than his seventh years. With her eyes closed, she seemed to be fast asleep. Calm and peaceful. She was not beautiful, but there were so much warmth about her face that it looked attractive nevertheless.

"She, probably, has a great smile," Snape guessed before hastily forcing himself off of the dangerous line of thought.

So, how was he healed? Even assuming that the girl had gotten Poppy, there was no good explanation for his miraculous recovery. Madam Pomfrey, the school's mediwitch, although experienced and thorough, would not be able to mend him so well so fast. Actually, Snape couldn’t even guess how the healing was done. There was only one person who probably would be able to help him in solving this mystery - the witch in front of him.

Snape took a long look at the girl, put his best sneer on, and said, “Miss?” But the girl kept on sleeping. He touched her shoulder and gave it a quick little shake. “Miss?” That didn’t work either. The enervating spell was unsuccessful as well. All Snape managed to get was a couple of green sparks that clicked in the air and vanished. Snape was at a loss. What was wrong with the girl? And why were there those sparks? Snape hesitated for just a second and muttered a different spell. Instead of the array of translucent images he expected, all he could produce was some green fog with familiar sparks. The fog dissolved completely before Snape could take a close look at it.

Snape sat back and frowned. Why didn’t his spells work on the girl? Another piece to the puzzle. What a night. Snape eyed the girl thoughtfully. Whatever it was, he had better take the witch to Madam Pomfrey. She might have some suggestions.

Before going to the hospital wing Snape tried to enervate the witch one more time. At the flick of his wand the girl shifted. She did not open her eyes, but it seemed that every muscle of her body stiffened. Then her fingers rolled into fists, her jaws clenched, and the heels of her boots dug into the ground. Her breathing became rapid and shallow. Snape could see beads of sweat appear on her forehead. What the fuck? He tried the scanning spell again. Shit! Shit! In the mist of the green fog, which became less dense now, he could read the translucent images. The girl was in agony. Quickly he went from her head all the way down, trying to determine where the pain was coming from and what caused it. The first problem was easy to solve -- the pain was everywhere. As for the cause... Snape was shocked when he saw the all too familiar curses that mere several hours ago were sent his way by his fellow-Death Eaters. The curses that had almost killed him. She got them all.

He jumped to his feet and, without a second thought, scooped up the girl, and rushed into the castle. She was tiny and feather-light in his big arms. He could feel a slight shaking of her body, and knew just how much she was suffering right now. What he did not know was if she could survive all this. He was not looking at her face, only clenching her to his chest as close as he could and whispering something under his breath. Snape rarely asked for anything from anybody, but now, running though the empty hallways of Hogwarts, he prayed to gods, ghosts, spirits, anything that would listen, to save this girl's life.

He felt a slight relief when they reached the hospital wing.

"Poppy!" shouted Snape at the entrance. All was dark and quiet. He whispered "lumos,” and went inside.

With the girl in his arms, he walked around, calling for the mediwitch from time to time. There was no response. He went to Madam Pomfrey's office and called again. Her quarters were next door, and she ought to hear Snape's voice. Still, there were no sign of her.

Snape stopped and looked around. Now he could see the immaculate condition of the office – it looked like nobody had been working here for a while. Shit. He completely forgot that Poppy was away on vacation.

Snape went back to the hospital room and put the girl down on one of the beds. Quickly stepping to fireplace, he firecalled to Dumbledore's office. "Albus, I need you in the hospital wing. Now!"

"Severus, are you alright?" Dumbledore was waiting for him, anxious to see that Snape had come back in one piece tonight.

"Fine," said Snape curtly and repeated, "I need you in here. As soon as possible."

"I'll be there in a minute."

The moment Dumbledore's head disappeared from the flames, Snape turned on his heels and hurried back to the bed where he left the girl. She was still breathing, but her body seemed to be shaking more. He looked at her face and saw a tear rolling from under her eyelashes. The witch was fighting for her life, and he was just standing there, not being able to help her. Snape ground his teeth. He could not just watch her suffer like that. He had to do something, anything. But at the same time he was hesitant to use any healing spells, scared to worsen the girl's condition, since his last enervating spell brought about the witch's agony. He could not use the potions either with her being unconscious. Oh bloody Merlin, help her!

His gaze fell on one of the girl's hands, which had slid down when he put her in bed. The hand was pail and small, and looked disarmingly innocent, hanging like that, almost touching the floor. Snape bent down to take it and put it back on the bed. The girl's hand was warm and soft to the touch, tiny in his big hand. He hesitated for a split second, not wanting to let go.

Suddenly, he felt a movement, as if her fingers were trying to press on his palm. Snape jerked his head to look at the girl's face and was astonished to have his gaze met by a kind smile in a pair of devastatingly blue eyes. She parted her lips, chipped and dry, and whispered, "Thanks gods, you're alive." Her eyes closed again, but this time she was not shaking anymore. Her breathing became calm and slow, as if she had fallen asleep.

For a moment Snape stood there, thunderstruck, speechless, her hand still in his. Then, he hastily put her hand on the bed and stepped back. There had to be a mistake. Thanks gods? Did he really hear that? Who would, in his or her right mind, ever thank gods for his life? Poor girl, she must have been in agony. The pain could do tricks on one's mind. As nobody else Snape knew it all too well.

"Are you alright, Severus?" In walked Dumbledore.

"Albus, I am fine." Snape turned to the Headmaster.

The old wizard took one look at him and gasped, "Are you sure?"

Snape gave himself a once over for the first time since coming back to Hogwarts and realized that he looked horrible. His clothes were torn and smeared with blood, vomit, and dirt; his hands, and, probably, his face scratched and smeared with the same stinking mixture. He gave Dumbledore a gesture of dismissal, "I am fine, really. But we do have a problem."

He motioned the old man to the bed, where the girl lay. The Headmaster took one look at her and turned to Snape. "What happened to Ms. Ardant?"

"I do not know," said Snape truthfully and asked, "Ms. Ardant?"

"She is visiting at Hogwarts," explained Dumbledore briskly, stepping to the bed. The old wizard put his hand on the girl's forehead and looked at Snape. "Would you, please, explain, Severus?"

For a long moment Snape just stood there, unable to process the Headmaster’s request. Explain?! What was there to explain – the girl was dying and she needed help, for Merlin’s sake! But then Snape managed to forcefully compose himself. If the old wizard were to help, he had to know what little Snape could tell him about the events of the night. And so he quickly related the facts: came from the Dark Revel, got to the castle, asked the girl for help...

"Where did she come from?" inquired Dumbledore.

"I am not sure," Snape answered and shook his head. "I opened my eyes, and she was there."

"And you asked her for help?"

"He just wants to humiliate me completely," Snape thought angrily, and said, grinding his teeth, "I could not get into the Castle."

"Was the Revel that bad today?" asked Dumbledore quietly, his voice filled with concern. He looked at Snape, who, exasperated, whipped his wand out and muttered a cleaning spell under the breath. That took care of his clothes, hands and face. The younger wizard threw triumphant glare at the Headmaster as if saying, "There, I am fine," and uttered, "The usual," and got back to his story.

When Snape finished, Dumbledore took his hand off of the girl's forehead and gazed at her kindly. "I think I know what happened to Ms. Ardant."

"Is there anything you could do for her?" Snape didn’t care that his alarm was obvious. "Albus, she is in a great deal of pain."

"She was, but not any more." The Headmaster glanced at Snape, who was holding his breath waiting for explanations, and then returned his gaze to the girl. "Right now there is nothing I can do for her,” he said with regret. “Nor anybody else for that matter. All she needs is rest, I believe."

“Albus…” Snape furred his brows and stepped closer to the witch’s bed. The Headmaster moved aside, as if inviting the Potions Master to see for himself. The younger wizard cast a scanning spell on the witch’s prone body and carefully studied the translucent images that pored out. Nothing of the previous horrors was in evidence. Everything looked normal. Except for the occasional green sparks, but even those disappeared quickly.

“Have you just…” Stunned, Snape turned to the Headmaster.

“No.” The older wizard shook his head. “She’s done it herself.”

“But how?” Snape looked at the pale face of the witch in total disbelieve.

“I am afraid, Severus, I can’t answer this question.”

“But what about the spells that don’t work on her? And the green sparks? And the fact that I couldn’t enervate her?” Snape was shooting one question after another, but in truth he only wanted to hear the Headmaster confirmed that the girl was all right.

Dumbledore understood his Potions Master. “I don’t know, Severus. I can only guess, and I’d rather not confuse you with my wild speculations. I do believe, though, Ms. Ardant does not feel any pain now. And I do believe she will be fine."

Snape jerked his head in acceptance of the older wizard’s explanations, although he couldn’t shake off the feeling of anxiety.

“She will be fine,” the Headmaster repeated, his gaze tender behind the half-moon glasses. Then he asked, “Did Ms. Ardant come to at all?”

"Just for a moment,” Snape said curtly. He was not going to tell Dumbledore about girl's words. The old wizard was worried about him too much as it was.

The Headmaster slowly nodded, his face solemn, almost mournful. "Severus, you probably have realized that Ms. Ardant healed you, have you not? Actually, it is more likely that she revived you."

Snape jerked his head, avoiding the old wizard's eye. "But it was not you who harmed her. You should not blame yourself." Snape jerked his head more fiercely. "Right now the pain is gone," Dumbledore stressed the last word as if trying to make sure that Snape accepted it, "and she is asleep. She will need a long one to recover."

"But she will be fine, you said. Won't she?" He really didn’t want to have his concern to be so apparent, but couldn’t stop himself.

"I believe so."

Snape nodded, trying to keep his face expressionless. There was so much he wanted to ask the Headmaster - who the girl was, and why she was in Hogwarts, and how she saved him, and what that would mean for her own life, - but for now he had to concede that she was safe and she would recover.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore asked, "Severus, could you spare another half hour of your night?"

"Of course, Albus," replied Snape. "What do you want me to do?"

"Would you wait for me here? I need to make some inquiries and, to be prudent, owl Poppy. But I do not think we ought to leave Ms. Ardant alone just now, oughtn’t we?”

"I'll stay." Snape's face remained blank. He was not about to demonstrate to Dumbledore that he wasn’t all the eager to leave the unconscious girl. He was not about to admit it to himself either.

Dumbledore stopped in the doorway. "I reckon I should inform Mr. Tresini too."

"The builder?" Snape arched the brow.

"She is his fiancée," said Dumbledore and left.

Snape almost felt into a chair. A fiancée...
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A/N A huge thanks to my beta Odddoll