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UnBroken	By : OddDoll Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Het - Male/Female Views: 6172 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Unbroken
By Odd Doll
Chapter 3
After sending a policeman away frustrated and angry over his silence, Severus dozed throughout the morning. He surfaced when the nurses came in, but ignored their questions, as he had the day before. He felt a strange reluctance to speak. It went deeper than the need to safeguard his identity. Severus Snape was not ready to rejoin the human race.
Lunch was a cup of applesauce, soup, milk, gelatin, and a cup of weak tea. His jaw and teeth were painful, not badly broken but enough to require wires to keep his mouth closed. An inventory of his teeth showed four were missing, two more than his last count. His memory of the last beating was hazy. He supposed the Russian had knocked out a couple while he was unconscious.
He listened to the muffled hospital sounds from beyond the closed door -- pages, carts and gurneys on the tiled floors, the chime of electronic bells -- before he dozed again. When he awoke, the woman stood over his bed. He took in her figure while she stared, preoccupied, at a few pieces of parchment she held in one hand. She wore a wool suit in dark mauve over a lavender silk blouse. Formal attire like he had seen women wear in the offices in London. None of those women had ever looked like this, though. She had the type of voluptuous figure that no amount of fabric could restrain. Not fat by any means, but well rounded. Tall and robust, with her hair pulled up behind her head, she reminded him of a curvy Amazon, or a Valkyrie. After his long imprisonment, she hardly seemed real.
She looked down at him with amber brown eyes, assessing him coolly, her face expressionless. It made him a little bit wary.
"I hope I didn't wake you," she said softly in a rich contralto. "I tried to be quiet."
He shook his head. While she stood there studying him, he permitted himself to stare, watching the way her hair sparkled with golden highlights in the sun.
"Are you comfortable?" He nodded. "I thought you might feel more secure in a private room."
"I can't pay." The words came out as a series of garbled vowels. She produced a notebook and pen from her purse. Tubes pierced his right arm and she had to hold the notebook steady, but he managed to write out his message.
"Oh, forget it." She waved a hand. "That's the least of my concerns."
She said nothing more for a full minute, watching him with that same cool regard. Several times she glanced down at the papers in her hand, then returned her gaze to his face. Severus grew more uncomfortable until slowly she turned the papers over so he could see them. His own face stared back at him from two Daily Prophet articles. "Severus Snape," she said.
His weakened heart fluttered in his chest, and the world grew dark around the edges as he gasped for air. He closed his eyes and grimaced. Distantly he felt a cool palm against his cheek. "Shhh." He opened his eyes to see her leaning over him.
"Shhh," she said again. "You're safe, Mr. Snape. I won't hurt you." Her voice was soft but authoritative, self-assured. He watched her, mesmerized. "I won't hurt you." He relaxed a little and nodded, and she drew her hand away.
She dragged a chair toward the bed to sit close by his side. The low chair brought her face level with his. Close up, he noted the small laugh lines around her mouth and the tiny lines at the edges of her eyes. She was older than his initial guess.
For a long moment she simply looked at him, a small frown creasing her forehead. Sadness or concern in her face, he couldn't tell. This was followed by an uncertain glance toward the window and her arms crossing. Severus waited, watchful, as she blinked against a bright shaft of sunlight that seemed to have been directed just to the place she sat.
"We need to talk," she said at last, still facing the sun. Only after she had spoken did she turn her face to him again. "So far, I'm the only person who knows you're here, and I intend to keep it that way."
His relief must have been visible because she said, "I'm sorry if I frightened you. I can only imagine how difficult things must be for you, and I want you to know that I still intend to help you."
No one could really help him out of the mess that had become his life, but he wrote 'thank you' on the pad anyway. Her face softened, a small smile. It only lasted a second or two before she resumed a composed, businesslike demeanor, but it went a long way toward reassuring him.
She shook her head. "Imagine the odds. You being found by a witch. I think you may be the luckiest wizard alive."
He could have argued strenuously against that, but let it pass.
"Now, let's get down to business," she said briskly. "I imagine you don't want to go to St. Mungo's. Correct?" He shook his head, and she went on, "We've got to do something, though. There are some things that Muggle medicine is really good at, but your injuries aren't one of them. I think you'd heal more completely and faster with wizard medicine." He was nodding again. "Do you know of any healers that you can trust?"
He wrote 'maybe' but wasn't sure if any of his old contacts were still alive.
She pursed her lips. "There's also the question of where you're going to go when they let you out of here."
He wrote on the pad 'Don't worry about it.' She gave him a frown.
"So you have some place to go?" Her voice was heavy with skepticism.
He should lie to her. If she were an enemy, it was already too late, but he never believed that anyway. If she were just an honest, well-meaning witch, he should lie to her for her own sake. One clear thought penetrated the cloud of drugs and apathy: if he wanted to survive, she may be his only hope. This was quickly swallowed by doubts about whether that was what he wanted at all.
These two thoughts warred in his muddled head until, almost of it's own accord the word 'no' came out of his mouth. Instantly he hated himself for saying it. I am a fool, clinging to any shred of hope like a shipwrecked man clings to a chunk of debris when there is no possible chance of rescue. And when I sink, she'll go right down with me.
"Then I intend to worry about it," she said with a stubborn set to her mouth. "And I also intend to do something about it."
A thought struck him and he wrote a question on the pad. She smiled and chuckled to herself.
"Phoebe. Phoebe Baher. Now, what am I going to call you?"
He shrugged and ended up wincing.
"Shall I pick a name?" she asked. When he nodded, her mouth twisted into a mischievous smile. "Hollingsworth? Melvin? Tad? Biff?"
He found himself smiling. An unfamiliar lightness stole over him. It had been a long time.
A knock on the door wiped the smile from his face. While Phoebe stood and went to open it, he slid the notebook and pen under the blankets. Phoebe had drawn him out, but he still was unwilling to communicate with anyone else. It turned out to be a wise precaution.
"Good afternoon. Chief Inspector Dunst, isn't it?" Phoebe said to the visitor, who was shielded from his view by the door. A man in a cheap light blue suit entered. He was of average height and weight, with brown eyes and hair. He was so ordinary that Severus felt a brief stab of envy. With a face like that he could disappear anywhere. The inspector studied Phoebe, and then Severus, with a shrewd expression, and Severus went on his guard. The intelligence in his eyes was anything but ordinary.
"Ms. Baher, the nurses told me you've taken an interest in our victim here."
Phoebe looked at the policeman with an amused wariness. "Yes, well, it's hard to see what I saw and not want to do something about it." The inspector was not a short man, but with her heels, Phoebe stood taller than him by at least an inch.
He glanced over at Severus and said, "I imagine so." He walked to the bedside opposite Phoebe. Severus looked up into the man's bland, ordinary his face.
"How do you do? I'm Detective Chief Inspector Dunst from the Plymouth Police Department. I understand you haven't been talking much. I know your jaw's wired shut, but Detective Burgin said you refused to write or even shake your head.
Severus gave him his best cold look, complete with the level unblinking stare. It had no visible effect on the inspector, so he let his face settle into blankness. It was probably the better strategy, anyway. He tried to tell himself it made no difference, but Phoebe's presence in the room reminded him he might have a future.
"Maybe I should go," Phoebe said, eyeing the door and then turning a worried look toward him.
"Actually, Ms. Baher, I have some further questions for you. There aren't many, and if you don't mind I'd like to get them out of the way, since you're here."
"Of course." Her eyes darted from the bed to the inspector with the rapid, searching movement of a trapped animal. She gave no other visible sign of discomfort and her voice was cool.
The inspector took a small notebook and pen from his coat pocket. He flipped the pages, as if searching for something, but Severus suspected the movement was for show. He was playing Phoebe, working up her emotions, trying to get her nervous enough to talk. Severus wondered what was going on.
"You said yesterday that you owned and operated a private resort in Monterey County, California. The Madrone. Is that correct?"
"Yes."
"Isn't it true that your operation is a front for an exotic sex club, and your employees are mainly sex workers?"
Severus watched in fascination as Phoebe's whole body relaxed. Her smile turned almost coy, amused but disdainful.
"Inspector, I run a full-service resort, with a wide range of activities to amuse our members. It's a private resort so that our members can feel comfortable engaging in any hobby or interest they fancy without the worry of outsiders taking undue interest in their pursuits. On my staff there are masseuses, golf and tennis pros, dance instructors, a five-star chef, and a dozen other professionals in related fields, in addition to the large staff required to run a resort of that size." She sounded as if she was reading from a brochure, a prepared speech just for situations like this one.
Unfazed, Chief Inspector Dunst said, "Yes, but in the case of The Madrone, some of those employees are, not to put too fine a point on it, prostitutes. Are they not? And the pursuits your members fancy include bondage, domination, sado-masochism, and fetishes of every kind?"
Phoebe pursed her lips and stared him down. "Let's not mince words, shall we? I never hid the fact that I am involved in the sex trade. It's the reason why I was there. I told all this to the policeman who took my statement yesterday."
"But you did hide the fact that you have an arrest record."
"That was twenty years ago," she said, indignant, showing the first sign that she might not be as calm as she appeared. "And the charges were dropped. No money changed hands."
"So you just gave it away for free?"
"Inspector Dunst! That was uncalled for."
For a second the Inspector glanced at his notebook, his lips pursed as if regretting his lack of tact and wanting to bite the words back into his mouth. Then he rallied. "It's chief inspector." The policeman looked down at Severus. "I just thought you might like to know what kind of person came to your aid."
She grabbed the metal railing of the bed in both fists and leaned forward. "Chief Inspector Dunst," she said, emphasizing each word, "I know where this is going, so let's get down to it. I knew George Filla, and his manservant Pieter Tallinin, by reputation, because he applied for membership at my resort. He has never set foot on my property. If he did, I would have turned him away. What went on in that house bore little resemblance to the practices at my establishment. My employees are used within strict guidelines that protect them from any real harm. They are fed, rested, cared for, and kept in top physical condition. And they are paid handsomely for their time." She leaned back a little and said with contempt, "You know, I volunteered the information I had because I thought it would help you in your investigation. But I did not know anyone in that house and my presence there yesterday was just sheer coincidence."
"Including John Doe here?"
"Just because I'm a madam doesn't mean I can't be a Good Samaritan, too."
Dunst's lips twisted into a smile for a second. He glanced from Phoebe to Severus, studying them both. "As for you," he said, settling his gaze on Severus, "have you decided to talk yet?"
Severus stared back at him and didn't acknowledge the question. The policeman tried to stare him down, but even after over a year of imprisonment and abuse, Severus was leagues ahead in the intimidation game.
"Sir, you are a material witness in a murder investigation. We found the room upstairs where they kept you, and we know you were there for a long time. You have to know what went on. I believe you know the names of the others and which one murdered Pieter Talinnin, but for some reason you're protecting them."
The Chief Inspector slapped his notebook shut and put it into his pocket. "We don't believe you were involved in the murder, but your continued lack of cooperation may make us revise that opinion. Think about that." He went to the door, muttered a gruff "good day" and stalked out.
Phoebe sank to the chair and stared at her hands, clasped in her lap for a moment. When she looked up she had a little bit of a rueful smile, but her eyes looked almost sad.
"So, do you still want to accept my help now that you know what kind of woman I am?"
He took the pad and wrote the words 'I was a Death Eater.' She gave him a grateful smile.
"I knew that, but I guess I forgot. It was your Dark Mark that made me start guessing who you were. You know, you're probably the only person alive with a T scar." She knit her brow and stared up at the window for a moment. "Do the wizarding authorities keep in contact with the Muggle police?"
He frowned and nodded, realizing that he was not as safe as he seemed.
"Do you think they would take an interest in a Muggle murder case? Do you think they would find out about you?"
He wrote 'Dark Mark' on the pad, and beneath it 'T,' and then 'fingerprints.'"
"The Ministry keeps track of fingerprints?"
"Yes."
She sat back in the chair, her expression grave.
"We need to get you out of here. How long do you think it would take them?" He shrugged. Phoebe took the notebook and tore out the page he had written on. "Write down your measurements, shoe sizes, all that. I'll get you some clothing. Do you feel well enough to go Side-Along?"
"Yes."
Her eyes unfocused for a moment as she concentrated. "If I walk in here and we disappear together, it will look suspicious." She looked at him and frowned. "Can you walk?"
This time he wrote 'not far.'
"Do you think you could make it outside to the grounds?"
He started to speak, grimaced, and then wrote on the pad 'I will because I must.'
She pursed her lips when she read it, then looked him in the eyes, as if measuring his mettle.
"I will," he said between his clenched teeth.
She nodded slowly. "All right. I'll go get you some clothes, and when I come back here we'll do an invisibility spell. I'll leave and hide somewhere on the grounds until you join me." She thought for a moment, then continued, "Then I'll come back later and act as if I knew nothing about it. Does this all make sense?" He nodded. "From there -- I guess we'll worry about that when we get there. Is there anything else I've forgotten?"
He shook his head, but wrote on the pad, 'don't do this, I'm poison.'
She looked down at the pad and stared at it for a long time. So long that he once again began to doubt her.
"About six months ago," she said in a low voice, "a woman approached me at my hotel in London. She asked me to help smuggle witches and wizards out of Europe, using the resort's jet service. We bring people from all over the world. It would have been a simple thing, but I never even responded to her."
She rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. "We have Death Eaters, too, you know. They're everywhere now. But the battles never touched me. My professional life is in the Muggle world. Still..." Her frown deepened and her gaze shifted up and away. "I couldn't help thinking of the lives that might be lost because of my selfishness and fear." She blushed, still not meeting his eyes. "I just want you to know that I'm well aware of the danger. I've spent the last six months thinking about it. I have to do this, for me as well as you. Do you understand?"
He nodded. He didn't understand, really, but decided to let it go. They were in this together, for good or ill, until he could find a better solution.
He watched her for a time, she watching him in return. She really was beautiful, but her manner drew him the most. Although cool and authoritative most of the time, he had seen that persona slip and something different shine through. Warmth and sensitivity and, at least once, worry and doubt. She fascinated him, and he wished to know more about her for her own sake.
*****
He fascinated her, this brave man who had defied the Dark Lord for so many years, and then threw it all away to save children. Not beautiful by any means, there still was something arresting about his angular face and dark, dark eyes. They drew her gaze again and again. Although broken and defeated, something lurked deeper within, a spark of intelligence and a whisper that spoke of the steel that used to reside there. It tempted her to draw him out and see what type of man he had become after his long ordeal.
"I must go," she said at last, reluctantly.
He nodded.
She reached once again for his crabbed, crippled hand and gave it the gentlest squeeze. "See you soon," she said and went to the door.
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UnBroken