Into The Light

I own nothing you recognise. This chapter was beta-ed by the Amazing!Alexandria!

“You were just in time you know.” Poppy was at his shoulder, and he didn’t know when she’d gotten there. Circe only knows how long he’d stood staring at the frail sight, gently covered by a sheet up to her collar bones, in front of him.

“She’ll be ok then?”

“I think so.” Severus couldn’t help but remember the fierce way Poppy had forced numerous potions and nutrient broths down the girls throat the second he’d stepped out of the fire, not even giving him time to put her down. It was the closest he’d ever seen the mediwitch come to panic in all their years of working together. “She was on that verge Severus, ten, maybe fifteen minutes more, and it would have been too late.”

“How long do you think…?” He gave her a questioning look to complete his sentence.

“Has she been without water? Most die after about three days without liquid, so I’d say seventy hours or so, maybe more if she’s a tough one, but she wasn’t in the best condition to begin with.”

“What happened?” He gestured helplessly at her, already knowing the answer. He’d seen Lucius’s mind tricks and sadistic games played many times before, but never to this extent. They’d always been dead within a month, either due to boredom on Lucius’s part, or physical weakness on the victims. He couldn’t fathom what it would have done to her psyche to have been under his rule for two years, although what it had done to her physically was obvious. He felt nauseous.

Poppy touched his shoulder. “I’ll go into her condition further when Albus, Minerva and Harry get back from the press conference. I sent them an owl. For now, I’m going to clean her up a bit, and get rid of that,” she gestured with a disgusted expression to the manacle, “thing. I’d better wash her off first, there’s no need to do it prematurely and get dirt in the wound.”

Severus nodded, suddenly feeling absurdly protective despite the fact he knew there was no way in heaven or hell Poppy would harm her. It must have been showing on his face because she touched his shoulder gently and asked, “Would you wash her hair while I sponge her off? It’ll get done quicker that way.”

He nodded, grateful to be allowed involvement, and went to fetch a basin of water and some shampoo, while Poppy grabbed her sponges.

Half an hour later and Severus was feeling frustrated. Her top half was clean or thereabouts, revealing numerous scars and bruises that made him wince – Poppy had gone through four changes of water just to do that - and while he was reasonably sure her hair could now be counted as clean too, there was no way in hell he could untangle it.

“I give up.” He announced to Poppy. “I’ve tried every detangler and lubricant I’ve got in stock, this is not combing out.”

She regarded the mass of wet brown hair he’d been wrestling with, and nodded resignedly. “It’ll have to be shaved again, poor dear. But there’s no way around it.” Snape nodded, and applied the shaving charm with practised ease. He’d just finished when Poppy’s gasp made him look up.

She had been cleaning the girl’s concave abdomen, and under the layers of grime and sweat, a mass of scars was showing through, concentrated in two particular spots about 5 inches in from either hip bone. He couldn’t fathom what they could be from, but apparently Poppy could because she burst into tears.

“Oh…god….no…” Was all he could hear gasped out between sobs. He put the bowl and the stray bits of hair down on the side table and knelt down beside her.

“Poppy,” he said as softly as possible, touching her shoulder. The woman continued to bawl into her hands. “Here,” he said, fishing a handkerchief out of his pocket and offering it to her. She took it and slowed her breathing in the halting gulps classic to someone who needed to cry but was stopping themselves. Waiting to speak until she’d blown her nose and wiped the ears away, and when she finally had control of herself, he asked “What are they?”

She gulped, obviously trying not to burst into tears again. “They’re operation scars, muggle operation scars, from tying the fallopian tubes, to prevent pregnancy. Or at least that’s what the positioning suggests. But if it was done by muggles, it would be a simple straight line over each ovary not, “ she waved a hand at the scar tissue that was definitely not just ‘one straight line’, “that. What she’s got suggests it was, it was…” Her voice broke again, and she buried herself back into the handkerchief, while Snape stared at the scars in horror.

“Done by wizards.” She nodded miserably beside him. It turned him cold. Knowing Lucius as he did, the bastard had probably put her under petrificus totalus, then done it himself while she was conscious. He wouldn’t enlighten Poppy on that fact though; it’d probably give her a stroke.

“She could’ve died!” The witch beside him wailed. “And she must have been in so much pain! Oh Circe, the poor, poor child.” Snape patted her awkwardly on the shoulder again, not sure what to do. After a few moments of watching her sob he decided practicality was their best option.

“Come now Poppy, her friends can’t find her like this, and they need you to tell them that she’s going to get better, won’t they?” He deliberately made it a question, forcing her to reply to it. She nodded tearfully and straightened, before getting to her feet.

“You’re right. Of course, you’re right, Severus.” She patted her eyes once again, and rose to complete cleaning her patient. Severus, his task complete, averted his eyes from the scarred, emancipated figure on the bed, and went to the hallway, content merely to pace with his thoughts for company until others arrived.

He didn’t have to wait long, and he heard them before he saw them. Potter’s heavy footsteps, with what sounded like several Weasley voices. He turned in order to stop them from entering before Poppy was done, but Albus apparated beside him before he could voice his warnings.

“Headmaster’s privilege comes in useful with all these young legs around, don’t you think Severus?” He winked, as Severus nodded. Potter, with Miss Weasley and her twin brothers skidded around the corner, and nearly collided with the pair. For the first time in his life, Potter seemed to pay no note of the elderly Headmasters state, and attempted to push past them, panting, “Hermione!”

Albus, with a wave of a wand-less hand, forcibly sat them on the benches lining the hall, intended for waiting relatives or friends.

“Gentlemen,” he said, his voice stern, “and lady.” He nodded to the girl. “Miss Granger is in the best of hands, and you will be briefed on her condition and allowed to see her, if she is well enough, once Madame Pomfrey is available. Until then, I suggest you wait quietly, and not attempt to mount an attack of epic proportions on our own hospital wing.”

Potter had the grace to look abashed.

“How is she, sir?” Severus was startled to realise that it was he who was being addressed. And The-One-Who-Lived-To-Be-Not-Quite-As-Annoying-As-His-Father was using a modicum of respect in his tone as well. Wonders, apparently even in this day and age, never did cease.

“Unwell, Potter.” The boy might have been respectful, but that sneer had been in place too long for it to be banished easily. “She was starved, dehydrated to the point of death, abused, tortured and chained to a wall when I found her. I would suggest you do not hope to find the child you were once friends with behind these doors, that would be foolish in the extreme.”

The four of them were pale now, the Weasley’s freckles standing out like splatters of ink on their faces. “But, she’s alive sir? Right?” The twins seemed determined, once again, to look on the bright side of life.

“Barely, Mister Weasley, and even then, only in body.” They looked depressed and he was sure that he was about to be peppered with more questions when the door opened, and Poppy stepped out.

They all, even Severus, looked at her expectantly.

She sighed. “She’s alive. It’s the best we can hope for at the moment. And given the,” she paused as if looking for the correct way of phrasing it, “markings we found on her body, that in itself is a minor miracle. No, you may not see her.” She cut off Potter’s questioning look with a death-glare that Severus coveted for use on his fourth years. “I refuse to allow her visitors for at least the next three days.”

A chorus of protests rose and she quelled them with another look. “It will make no difference to her, I assure you, as she will not be regaining consciousness for the next three weeks. She is too close to the edge for that, she will need to rebuild her strength before she embarks on any of the expenditures of energy life will demand of her. Such as messy, emotional reunions with her friends,” she glared again, “or accounts of what happened to her to the authorities or a healer. Come back on Wednesday, and you may sit with her. No exceptions.”

It was clear each of the young people wanted to argue, but didn’t quite have the courage to do so. Severus found himself considering apprenticeship to Poppy if only to learn how she managed to handle Gryffindors of all people, like this.

“Severus,” Poppy caught his eye. “I need your help with the item we discussed earlier? It is refusing to be removed by normal methods. Headmaster, your opinion would not be unwelcome either.” She disappeared back into the infirmary, Albus behind her and Severus bringing up the rear. He could feel the envious, venomous glares on his back as he slid the door closed.

She lay as she had when he’d left her earlier, so pitiful it made her hard to look at. Pomfrey flipped back a corner of the blanket at the foot of the bed, exposing her foot, the manacle and length of chain. Albus cast an experienced eye over it.

“I believe this may be your area of expertise, Severus,” he said. There was an indefinable sadness in his voice, and Snape stepped up to examine the circle of metal.

It was smooth, he noted as he squatted beside the bed. No hinge or lock in evidence, almost as if it had been molded directly around her foot. He tried alohomora anyway, and tasted the backwash of the failed charm as it fractured and rebounded. Something there made him frown in hazy recognition, and on an instinct he started rolling up his left sleeve,

Many thought that the dark mark would vanish immediately when Voldemort died, as it had when he first disappeared the night he attacked the Potters, but that was not the case. Instead, it was fading, slowly, but surely, never to return. His own was now little more than a grey smudge on the inside of his forearm, but it should be enough if the cuff was what he thought it was. He slowly pressed the remainder of the mark to the metal, and immediately it widened, allowing them to work it out of her flesh, and off her foot. As Poppy bustled in with antiseptic charms and lengths of wide, white bandages, he examined it with a scowl. Albus was peering over his shoulder at it too.

“Severus,” the Headmaster said slowly, “is that what I think it is?”

He nodded. “The strongest slave bracelet in existence. But Albus,” he looked at his mentor in confusion. “The reason it’s so strong is because it’s consensual. She agreed to have this put on her.”

They gazed at it, their minds twisted into non-comprehension.