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Love's Labours; Paradise Lost	By : Veresna Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 18697 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Chapter 6: But have I not cause to weep?

As Snape made his way down Knockturn Alley, he could not help but notice that the weather had changed remarkably during the month between his visits. Tonight was turning out to be a cool, crisp and clear autumn evening, without the hint of fog. Nevertheless, his hood was still drawn down low over his head, and he knew that in this neighborhood that would not afford him any special notice. He was just one of numerous figures scuttling down the street, anxious to avoid recognition.

Yes, there were plenty of other pedestrians. And some of them seemed quite anxious to make their presence known. It had been two weeks since the Daily Prophet had published the Ministry of Magic's self-congratulatory epistle, wherein they touted that their temporary increase in the surveillance of the neighborhood had resulted in a marked decrease in crime throughout the area. The leaders at the Ministry had confidently stated that "the crisis was over" and that the extra patrol-wizards had been recalled back to their normal duties. Snape balled his hands into angry fists. Those complacent, idiotic fools! If they only knew the real reason why the Death Eater activity had been so suddenly curtailed, they wouldn't be so smug.

But, he admitted, as he glanced around the lane, the disappearance of the so-called "undercover" constables meant that the prostitutes felt free to openly ply their trade again. They were strolling flagrantly this evening, not only along Knockturn Alley, but even daring to venture into parts of Diagon Alley, he had noted.

He had examined them closely, as a matter of fact. He had observed an astonishing array of flaming red hair that would have put a Weasley to shame, and a veritable cornucopia of blondes, ranging in shade from dishwater to platinum, including one rather stout vixen who was trying, unsuccessfully, to impersonate a Veela. But, he had not seen the crown of light blonde curls that he had been seeking. The notion occurred to him that she was already engaged with a client, and he felt a slight, illogical stab of jealousy at the thought before persuading himself that perhaps she had just not, as yet, ventured forth this evening. Perhaps she was still resting-the night was young, after all. At any rate, he shrugged, even if she had made other plans, he was sure that he could persuade her to amend them.

Actually, he had left his quarters rather early this evening, on the hope that he would be able to seek her out before his appointment. But instead, he had run smack into the trio of Potter, Weasley and Granger loitering about the dungeon, obviously up to no good. A long interrogation, (during which Potter appeared angry, Weasley looked frightened and Granger blushed in embarrassment), proved quite fruitless. And by the time he had managed to penalize them twenty-five points apiece and send them back to the Gryffindor tower, he was quite behind schedule.

He frowned slightly as he continued down the lane. He had planned on taking a leisurely stroll through the neighborhood, and approaching her on the street-with his face obscured by his hood, of course-and purchase her favors for the evening. He would persuade her to give him her address and to tell her that he would be calling upon her soon, and that she was to go back to her room and wait while he completed his other business. Knowing that her usual price was forty Galleons for the whole evening, he had supposed that his unsolicited offer to pay her fifty instead would preclude any possibility that she would refuse the proposition.

Now, of course, he had no time to spend on that scheme. He still hoped that he might encounter her on the street after the meeting. And, as he made his way back down the road, he should probably take the time to at least look into "The Lucky Dragon" and see if she was attempting to seek out customers there this evening. If all else failed, he could always apparate directly to the door of her flat-but how to explain his appearance without giving away the secret of his previous visit?

He smiled suddenly, as a simple yet sinister solution occurred to him. Of course, he could claim that he had received a recommendation for her "services" from a mutual acquaintance-a certain blond-haired gentleman with a snakehead walking stick? That would certainly ensure that she would be flustered and eager to please him, even as her anxiety rose over the fact that she recognized that he was her former, and least favorite, teacher.

His smile faded away just as swiftly as it had appeared. To be scrupulously honest, he would prefer not to invoke Malfoy's image unless absolutely necessary. Even when, in his youthful, unthinking zeal, he had first become a Death Eater, he had occasionally been taken aback by the depth of Malfoy's cruelty. Not that he was innocent by any stretch of the imagination. No, he had often rivaled if not quite matched Malfoy's record for performing despicable acts. But, he had always justified to himself that at least he had been driven to them by his violent temper, which had been fueled by the fierceness of his thwarted ambition. He had merely been trying to rid himself from the gnawing and seemingly bottomless pain that had been seared into his soul by the constant disparagement of his own talents. He had invariably been pushed to the side and forced to watch as other, quite unworthy wizards were being rewarded and cosseted. Even Voldemort, in his consummate depravity, could claim that he had initially been driven to seek out his powers and revenge as the result of the reprehensible prejudice and abandonment he had suffered at the hands of both the wizarding and the Muggle communities. What frightened him most about Malfoy was the sense that the man was essentially, intrinsically evil-that his acts of inhumane violence were all the more horrible because they seemed to flow out of him so easily and effortlessly. It was as if the cruelty he exuded was as instinctive and as automatic as his heartbeat or respiration.

Snape turned and slowly glanced up and down the lane again, both searching for Celia and assuring himself that no one was observing his own movements. Then he darted into the alley that led to the back doors of the stores that fronted the infamous street. There were very few wizards or witches who were comfortable about being seen going through the front door of Borgin and Burkes. The little group gathering for their monthly meeting in the dark, shabby rooms located above the shop were understandably anxious to avoid publicity.

One would have been quite justified in wondering why the attendees did not simply apparate into the appointed room. But it turned out that the large collection of Dark magic paraphernalia secreted within the shop and concealed within the various hiding places throughout the interior of the building had the unexpected side effect of making apparation not entirely impossible, but decidedly difficult. Malfoy and Snape would have managed the complex task of apparating through the various wards and spells quite handily. But other members of the group would have found it much more problematic. And it was presumed that Crabbe and Goyle were quite unequal to the task. Floo powder could be used, of course, but it did require one to state quite clearly and loudly where he was going. The other obstacle to be overcome when traveling by that method was the fact that the upper rooms of the shop had no working fireplaces, so one had to enter through the lower floor. In a rare fit of unexpected camaraderie, Lucius had decided that, since some members of the group were forced to physically make their way into the building, they should all enter by the same means.

So it was that they all traveled on foot during the final stage of their journey to the meeting. One of the least senior of the group (which always meant Crabbe or Goyle) was left to guard the back door until all the members had arrived. As Snape approached the door that opened onto the rickety staircase leading to the upper floors, he saw that this week Goyle had the honor of being the appointed guard dog.

"Evenin', Snape," he grunted. "You're a bit late tonight, aren't you?"

Snape frowned and nodded. "Yes, I am afraid I was unavoidably detained at Hogwarts." Inwardly, he cursed Potter with renewed vigor for causing him to be tardy. Since Goyle had set the wards and was lumbering up the stairs behind him, he could only assume that he had been the last to arrive.

"I hope you weren't waiting too long?" he asked, as they headed up the last flight of stairs. Under normal circumstances, Snape went to great lengths to avoid any semblance of conversation with the hulking dullard. If memory served him correctly, the last time he spoken to Goyle had been months ago when he had make an inquiry regarding the weather report. And the man had ended up squinting his eyes and scratching his head. He was unable, it seemed, to answer such a profound question as long as Malfoy was not there to prompt him. But, tonight, for some reason, the building seemed even more still and ominous than usual, and Snape felt a strange need to break the silence.

"No, not long," replied Goyle, puffing and panting a bit due to the exertion of climbing the stairs. And then he laughed in a loud and incongruously shrill tone. "But, I don't think they waited for you. In fact, I'm sure they've started already," he added, as he laughed again.

Snape, whose preternaturally strong sense of suspicion was always on high alert for these meetings anyway, turned and regarded him closely.

But Goyle contented himself with another chortle and gestured for the other man to precede him through the doorway. As Snape pushed open the door with his right hand, his left hand was already closing around his wand. If he was walking into a trap, there was little doubt that his resistance would ultimately prove useless against a group of Death Eaters, but that was no reason to enter the room unarmed.

As the door swung open, the occupants of the room raised their heads and nodded a greeting to him. But no one seemed inclined to pay too much attention to his late arrival. Instead, their focus was centered upon the middle of the floor, where Lucius Malfoy was just concluding an energetic and brutal sexual violation of a young woman who was chained to the floor.

Snape's eyes drifted slowly up her body. He noted that she was still wearing shoes, although the heel of her right slipper was missing, apparently broken off during a previous scuffle. Her stockings were rolled down to her ankles, and her torn underwear was flung off to the side. Her red silk dress had been shredded into several pieces, but somehow a few tattered remnants of the cloth still clung from her shoulders. Apparently, they had started without him, he thought, as he tried to swallow down the bile that had erupted into his throat. For her legs, torso and breasts were covered with bite marks. And even in the low, flickering light of the torches he could see that more than one mouth had inflicted the damage. As Malfoy grimaced, thrust, stiffened and then abruptly moved off of her, Snape saw that there was already a thick coating of semen running down her thighs. He forced himself to turn his gaze to her face. He had already recognized her clothing and body, of course. Actually, considering the bruised and swollen appearance of her poor, abused countenance, it would have been difficult for him to be certain of her identity otherwise. He had to rely on the other evidence to convince himself that it was, indeed, Celia.

Her own half-open and glazed eyes were staring upward, towards the ceiling. A trickle of blood was running out of the corner of her mouth, trailing down her chin and neck and beginning to pool on the floor. And, for a moment, he wondered if she was already dead. Then he saw her take in a quick, gasping breath and move her face slightly to the side, away from him. Her arms were chained together above her head, and there were shackles on her ankles. But apparently she had stopped fighting, or perhaps they had merely needed to move her legs to another position, for the chains hanging from those irons were no longer attached to anything.

"Severus!" cried Lucius, as he arose to his feet and began to close his fly, "We were beginning to think that you weren't going to join us this evening." One would think from the cheery tone of his voice, that it was a lovely summer day and that he had just arisen from his seat at a garden party, rather than the floor of a room in the heart of Knockturn alley. He appeared to be the epitome of a perfect host, fondly greeting a guest, and he stepped lightly over Celia's body as if she were as inconsequential as a used and discarded tissue.

He smiled and extended his hand towards the dark wizard. Snape, his left hand still closed about his wand, forced himself to shake the proffered hand.

"My apologies," he murmured, fighting the urge to wipe off his palm, "but there were some unexpected complications at the last moment." Lucius raised his eyebrows questioningly and he continued, "Mr. Potter was, as usual, making a nuisance of himself," he added, shrugging his shoulders. "And, I could hardly explain that my presence was required at this illustrious gathering." His gaze slowly flitted across the faces of the others. None of them was paying him any special attention, so he was doubtful that he had walked into an ambush.

"Ah, I see," nodded Malfoy, thoughtfully.

Behind him, Snape heard Goyle clearing his throat. "So, are you takin' your turn next, Snape?" he asked, brushing by him and staring down at the girl's body with a leer as his fingers stroked against the front of his robe.

Snape grimaced and jutted that singular nose of his up into the air. "Be my guest," he pronounced, his hand airily gesturing towards the middle of the room. "Assuming, of course, that everyone else has had their 'turn'?" he added, glancing towards the others.

Their assent was signified by the nodding of heads and grunting of voices. Snape turned and walked towards a small table located along the wall, anxious to use the pretext of pouring himself a drink as an excuse not to watch as Goyle undid his trousers and knelt between her legs. However, the quiet gurgle of the liquid flowing into the glass did not cover the sound of her gasp of pain as the floor creaked and the heavy man thrust into her. He forced his voice to be casually polite as he turned and called over his shoulder, "Shall I pour one for you, Lucius?"

"Yes, Severus, I suppose I have rather worked up a thirst with my exertions," was the cool, offhand reply. He turned slightly and accepted a glass from Snape's hand.

The contrast between their hands was stunning. Although there was a certain similarity in the paleness and the grooming of the cuticles and nails, Snape's were undeniably the hands of one who spent his days toiling over the preparation of potions and their required ingredients. His strong, lean fingers were unembellished by jewelry, but calloused and scored here and there with the scars that always result from intimate and prolonged contact with sharp knives and steaming, robust compounds. Malfoy's hands were soft and smooth, with a large emerald ring adorning both the left and right mate of the couple. One might have been tempted to refer to them as beautiful, if they hadn't currently been marred by a thick coating of blood.

I think he be transform'd into a beast;
For I can no where find him like a man.

"Tell me, Severus," said Nott, approaching him, "are you going to condescend to join in the fun for once?" He nodded in the direction of Goyle's heaving bottom.

Snape's left eyebrow drew up to an exquisitely expressive angle. "No," he replied, drawing out that single syllable and infusing it with both disdain and boredom. He closed his eyes and took another sip of the wine.

"I'd never guessed you to be a shy one," said McNair, brushing past him as he went to help himself to drink.

"Oh, Severus has never been shy," purred Lucius. "He has just always held himself to be above such cheap and easy entertainment. Mere rape was never enough of a challenge for you, was it?" he asked, allowing himself a low chuckle.

"Indeed," he replied shortly.

"Oh, no, Snape always preferred seduction over assault. Sometimes accompanied by the use of potions or "Imperio", of course," Malfoy clarified.

"But, you must admit I rarely had to resort to such drastic maneuvers," he retorted, forcing himself to watch calmly, his head tilted to one side as Goyle continued to bounce up and down on top of Celia. He noticed that there was now blood running down her inner thighs as well.

"Well, yes, I must concede the point," said Malfoy, as he took a small, delicate sip. His smile was wide and malicious, "After all, the ladies are always so surprised upon hearing those honeyed words dripping out of your throat, and to see you without that perpetual sneer upon your face, that they seldom require any additional magical inducement to climb into your bed."

"Snape?" asked McNair, a distinctly dubious expression on his face as he looked at the dark wizard's profile.

"Oh, indeed, he is quite the accomplished debaucher," Malfoy assured him. "I remember-" he paused and placed his glass down upon the table, crossing his arms and frowning his brow in concentration, "-oh, what was that stupid little Ravenclaw's name? Oh, you know, Severus," he prompted, "The one that called one of our Slytherin classmates a tramp for being caught in the Astronomy tower in a compromising position?"

"Anne Nicolay," replied Snape, frowning down into his glass. Crabbe was undoing his fly now and approaching Celia, kneeling down over her face. There was a low, muffled sound and out of the corner of his eye he saw her fingers claw frantically at the air for a moment before she lapsed again into immobility.

"Oh, yes, that was right. You see, McNair," Lucius continued, lowering his voice slightly, "that little bint made the mistake of making her remark in front of the whole 'Defense Against the Dark Arts' class. Of course, Professor O'Hara was much too deaf to hear her remark and reprimand her for it. But then she sealed her fate by declaring that anyone who did not remain a virgin until her wedding night was a hussy and a strumpet."

Nott, apparently familiar with the story, chuckled and leaned back against the wall.

Malfoy turned and waved his hand in Snape's direction. "Most unfortunately for her, her assigned partner in Arithmancy was none other than our dear friend, Severus. Who suddenly took an assiduous interest in his heretofore-ignored confrere." Lucius raised his hand thoughtfully to his chin. "How many days did it take you to get her on her back in that classroom that you were 'studying' in?"

"I don't recall the exact number, Lucius," he retorted, languidly.

"Well, not many at any rate. And, of course, I and another good friend were already hidden away in the cupboard. You should have heard that little fool simper and moan. 'Oh, Sevvie, you're so big! Put it in me' ", he mocked in a high, lisping voice.

McNair shot another skeptical glance in Snape's direction.

"And, the next day, when she walked into the Great Hall, each and every one of the Slytherins made a point of walking behind her and repeating her words back to her. Until she fled out of room, of course."

"So, I must admit," Lucius continued, as McNair laughed, "That I didn't expect you to join in tonight. Which is why I did not demand that everyone wait until you made your appearance before we began to ravish her."

"But, surely we have more important business to discuss," muttered Snape, as he forced himself to walk casually over to Malfoy's side. "This can not be the only item on our agenda," he noted, jerking his head in Celia's direction.

"Oh, actually, it is," replied Malfoy, sadly. Raising his voice slightly, he continued, "It seems our Lord is still determined that we continue to keep a 'low profile' for some time to come. He apparently wishes to allow the fools at the Ministry additional time to bask in the glow of their stupidity. He prefers that they be assured that their pitiful little measures were effective, and thus strengthen Fudge's stance that any so-called Death Eater activity is the result of a disorganized and unpredictable group of ruffians and is certainly not the doing of He-Who-Must-Not-Be Named."

He shrugged. "And since we are not allowed to partake in an all-out Revel, or to attack a group of defenseless Mudbloods or Muggles, I thought I would provide for some other different entertainment for this evening," he said, nodding in the direction of the floor. Crabbe and Goyle were both arising, having apparently achieved simultaneous satisfaction.

"She's not a Muggle or a Mudblood?" asked Snape, raising his eyebrows and carefully searching Malfoy's countenance. He still was unsure of whether or not the blond wizard had known about his association with the girl.

"No," assured Malfoy with a sneer. "She is merely a Squib and a tart. I purchased her for an evening's worth of fun months ago, and decided she was tasty enough to be shared with my dearest friends."

"But, since our Lord has declared a moratorium on attacks, won't he be angered when her body is discovered?" inquired Snape, idly.

"Her body?"

Snape shrugged. "I assume you are going to kill her?"

"Oh, yes," he replied. He nodded and looked down at her thoughtfully. "But since when does the murder of a whore draw much attention?"

"It still would not be wise for her to be found dead since the Ministry has just so recently pronounced their success in reducing crime. There just might be enough public outcry to demand more than the usual, perfunctory investigation of such a matter," Snape argued. He paused for a moment, as if giving careful thought to the subject "If, on the other hand, she were simply to disappear, it should probably not be noticed," he mused. He set down his glass, turned and walked over to her body, staring down at her.

As his eyes trailed again over her still body, the words sprang, unbidden, into his thoughts:

For I have none to lament me,
the world no injury,
for in it I have nothing;
only in the world I fill up a place,
which may be better supplied when I have made it empty.

"My word, Severus," said Malfoy, looking at him with a great deal of interest. "I declare you are looking positively, voraciously hungry. Have you decided to take advantage of the opportunity after all?"

He shrugged. "Will you permit me to appropriate her-after you are finished, of course?" The docility of the request was belied by the force with which his back teeth were grinding together.

Malfoy's eyebrows raised again.

"Well," he continued, drawing his arms over his chest, "I have recently been successful in developing some new variations of some very potent and poisonous elixirs." He frowned. "They seem to be very effective when tested upon animals, but it would be invaluable to have a human test subject." His frown deepened as he bent down to his knees and studied her. "Unless she's already dead," he added, his voice irritated and disappointed. Her eyes were completely closed now, and he had noticed that she had shown no sign of hearing their conversation.

"Oh, no, she's still breathing," assured Malfoy, lightly.

Snape drew his wand out of his pocket and pointed it at the bindings at her wrist, releasing her.

"Now, hold on there," interjected Nott. "I'm not sure we are done with her yet."

"Anxious for another 'turn', Nott?" asked Snape, allowing his eyes to drift down to the front of the wizard's trousers. There was no sign that he was ready for another bout of intercourse yet. "It would appear you are not quite 'up' to it at the moment," he noted maliciously.

Nott reddened visibly and clenched his fists, but before he could reply Snape had returned his attention to the girl's body. Meaning to turn her over on her side, he placed one hand on her hip and the other underneath her head. A moment later, he pulled his hand out from underneath her and scowled fiercely as he regarded the blood coating the palm of his hand. His gaze shifted back to Malfoy, and then he flicked a look at his walking stick that was leaning against the wall. It appeared Malfoy hadn't bothered to clean it yet, for there were specks of blood on it as well.

The blond man shrugged, apologetically. "I'm afraid she had to be persuaded to join us this evening."

"Wonderful," he muttered, as he arose to his feet. "It appears that I shall have to heal her first before I dose her, or I shall never know how well the potions work," he noted, shaking his head.

"Well, now, Snape I know how anxious you are to prove your worthiness to our Lord, but you needn't go to such extreme measures," mocked Malfoy. "You can always find another guinea pig. I'm sure that, soon enough, we will be allowed to go searching for other prey."

Snape used his wand to perform a cleansing spell, watching as the blood disappeared from his skin. "You know, Lucius, I have the distinct impression that our Lord gave you no permission to do this," he said, his nostrils flaring indignantly as he pointed to the girl's still body. "Why don't we decide upon a mutually satisfactory agreement?" he asked, coming towards him. "You allow me to take her now," here he paused and cocked his eyebrow again, "whilst there is still a chance she will be of use to me, and I will agree not to mention to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named that his most trusted servant was careless enough to allow the entertainment to get out of hand?"

The other men in the room held their breath as they watched the two men glare at each other. Finally, Malfoy shrugged and waved his hand. "If you are that intent upon taking her, you have my permission," he muttered, under his breath.

"Where does she live?" asked Snape, as bent down over her again. "I assume she keeps a flat in the area?"

"Why?" asked Malfoy, suspicion again crossing his features as he stared down at the other man.

Snape sighed in exasperation. "Well, I am not going to try and repair her here," he noted. "Besides," he added, his brows drawn together in a frown, "Since she is about to disappear, it would make sense that at least a few of her personal items would vanish with her." He sat back on his heels and nodded. "It will probably be assumed that she decided to leave town quickly and quietly, without paying her rent."

He looked back at Malfoy. "And as clever and talented as I am, I must admit that even I am unable to apparate to somewhere unless I know where I am going," he taunted.

At that Malfoy grinned and threw back his head to laugh. "Ah, of course, Severus. I suppose that would be the best plan after all."

He paused and looked around the room before speaking again. "Well, it seems, gentlemen, that this evening's sport has been abruptly concluded," he noted sadly. "But, I daresay that soon we shall be able to satisfy ourselves with such a plethora of sacrificial lambs that tonight's little escapade will be seen as nothing more than "un petit aperitif ."

Snape observed that Crabbe and Goyle greeted the latter part of this statement with furrowed brows, staring dumbly at Malfoy until they noted the laughter and smiles on the other men, and hurriedly plastered stupid grins onto their own thick lips.

Malfoy moved to the door and bowed his head in a formal gesture of farewell to each of the others as they stepped past him and filed out of the room. In the meantime, Snape returned his attention to the girl's body, raising her up slightly and moving her onto her right side, being careful this time not to disturb the wound on the back of her head.

There were bite marks on her back and buttocks as well, he noted. And some bruises on her shoulders and hips that he suspected were from the application of Malfoy's walking stick. He was somewhat surprised to note that there was no sign that she had been sodomized. But perhaps, he reflected, as he slowly eased her on to her back again, even the Death Eaters preferred not to be staring at that ugly gash and mass of bloodied hair while they assaulted her. She murmured incoherently as she rolled back into her former position, and her eyes fluttered open. He leaned farther over her, and observed that she was struggling to focus her eyes. But, he sincerely doubted that she saw more than a dark form looming over her-most certainly she was not in any condition to recognize him. And then small, whimpering sounds emerged from her mouth as her tongue darted out and tried, unsuccessfully to wet her lips. He saw, rather to his relief, that the blood trickling down the side of her mouth was coming from a gash on her tongue, and he studied it, trying to decide whether she had bitten down on it herself during the attack or if one of the others had wounded her.

"Perhaps she is too damaged, after all." Malfoy's voice was full of false regret.

Snape raised his eyes to look at the other man. He had finally washed his hands and was now slowly and methodically cleaning the head of his walking stick.

"No," he replied shortly, rising to his feet, "but I do need to attend to her as quickly as possible." He glanced over at the table upon which the wine and glasses were sitting. As he walked over to it, he considered his next words carefully, regretting the fact that it appeared he was going to require Malfoy's assistance. He selected one of the unused glasses and tapped his wand against it, filling it with water. "Perhaps," he began, striding back towards Celia, "it would be prudent for you to apparate with her to the flat while I return to Hogwarts for some supplies." He knelt down over her again and dipped his finger into the water and then gently touched the girl's lips. She shrunk back for a moment and then, realizing he was offering her a drink, opened her lips and tried to raise her head. He gently helped her, holding her firmly around the shoulders and lifting her up slightly as he brought the goblet to her lips. More than a few drops spilled down her lips and onto her chest, but she managed a few swallows before he drew the glass away. She moaned in protest, and he whispered a few soothing words as he slowly lowered her again. "That's all for now," he murmured. "You can have some more soon," he promised.

He arose once more and looked at Malfoy, who was glaring at him with more than a hint of annoyance.

"Why should I take her back?" he protested. "As a matter of fact, Severus, I'm not sure I even recall where her residence is located," he added, petulantly.

"Oh, I am certain that you do, Lucius," he replied calmly, as he set the glass upon the table. "Since I believe you must have accosted her there and apparated with her to this room."

"What makes you say that?" asked the other man, his eyes widening in innocence.

Snape snorted loudly before replying. "Oh, come now, even the denizens of Knockturn Alley might have been struck by the image of a young woman being delivered, kicking and screaming to the door of Borgin and Burkes." He tilted his head and regarded the other man thoughtfully. "Though I suppose she was already unconscious. Nevertheless, I do think the sight of the eminent Mr. Malfoy bashing a girl's head in and then dragging her along behind him might have provoked just a bit of a comment."

"You are so clever, aren't you, Snape?" sneered the other man, in return.

He contented himself with staring back into those cold blue eyes, his own expression carefully blank.

"Oh, all right," Malfoy barked, waving his hand dismissively. He drew his wand out of the walking stick and with a loud crack, a piece of parchment appeared in the air and slowly wafted down to the floor. "There's her address," he snapped, returning the wand to its usual place and pausing to throw his cloak around his shoulders. "I'll take her there, then. Just don't expect me to play nursemaid to her."

"Thank you, Lucius," he murmured, as he bent down and retrieved the piece of paper. He noted, to his satisfaction, that Malfoy had actually supplied the correct information, even including the exact location of her flat on the uppermost floor. He stuffed the parchment into one of the pockets of his cloak and turned back to face him. "Of course, I do not wish to inconvenience you any more than is absolutely necessary. You may simply deposit her there and take your leave. But, on the other hand-" he warned, his voice dipping down to it's lowest, most dangerous tenor, "I have made a very thorough examination of her. And I would be quite distressed if I should discover she was suffered any additional injuries during my absence."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it," replied Malfoy, airily. "Although, I should think that one as arrogant as you would welcome the challenge of dragging her back from the brink of death," he mocked. He waited in vain for a reply, as Snape contented himself with another glower in his direction before suddenly vanishing before his eyes.

Malfoy snorted into the silence and stared down at the girl, his stick waving back and forth in the air for several seconds. Finally, with a shrug and a sigh, he snapped his fingers. With a small popping sound, both he and Celia vanished from the room.

Meanwhile, having apparated as near to Hogwarts as could be accomplished-even with the aid of Dark Magic-Snape was running as fast as he could towards the gates opening up to the school. He was trying to remain calm and collected, forcing his brain to concentrate on what supplies he should collect and bring back with him.

As he sped through the large main doors of the castle, he paused for just a moment, debating with himself whether or not he shouldn't simply just go to Madam Pomfrey and ask her to return with him. But he frowned and shook his head, directing his steps, instead, to the nearest stairway that led down to the dungeon. Although the Mediwitch had some inkling of his role as a double spy, this was a situation requiring the utmost discretion. If he brought Pomfrey into the matter, he would also have to apprise Dumbledore about the particulars of the crisis. And, he had to admit, he was just a little bit fearful that the Headmaster would infer, quite correctly, that his desire to interfere in the affairs of this unfortunate little whore was not altogether altruistic.

At any rate, he assured himself, forcing his pace to slacken slightly as he began to descend the stairs, he was sure that he was quite capable of restoring her to full health, though he might not be quite as adept and efficient as Pomfrey. He only wished he could have dared procured the supplies that he needed at one of the stores in wizarding London. However, he reiterated to himself, it might raise too much suspicion for him to be buying so many healing supplies at one setting. And he had no wish to advertise his presence in London this evening.

By this time, he was at the door of his storeroom and he began, while pointing his wand towards it, to recite the incantation that would undo the wards that were sealing it. Out of the corner of his eye, he suddenly noted a movement in the shadows and he spun around with his wand upraised.

"Who is it?" he snarled.

"J-just me, P-p-professor," stammered a small, frightened voice. And out of the shadows stepped a pale and shaking Neville Longbottom.

"Longbottom!" he snapped, advancing on him, menacingly. His left hand reached out and gripped about the boy's robe, pulling him off his feet for a moment before slamming him back against the wall. "Tell me, boy, what is it with you infernal Gryffindors this evening? Why are all of you sneaking about my domain?" At the last words, he brought his wand down to within inches of the boy's forehead.

"I d-don't know, sir," he gasped. "I'm just looking for Trevor, sir."

As if on cue, a loud croak echoed through the corridor, coming from a spot about twenty feet down the hallway.

Snape slowly released his hold and drew in a deep breath. "It appears you have found him, Mr. Longbottom," he noted with a sneer. He jerked his head in the direction of the sound. "Go retrieve him and then-" he leaned down over the frightened boy again, pausing for maximum effect. "get out of my sight."

The boy gulped loudly and nodded, scrambling to make his way over to his pet. Snape pivoted and returned his attention to the unlocking of the storeroom. He had just slammed open the door when he heard the boy's faltering footsteps going past him.

"Wait!" he cried, and gestured at the wall behind him. "Stay here for a moment, Longbottom, I require you to run an errand for me."

Neville, his face white and his eyes still round in shock nodded again and stood as unmoving as a statue as Snape proceeded to quickly go through the shelves, seeking out ingredients and tossing them into a basket. He sighed and studied the bottles for a moment before abruptly turning and exiting the room, slamming the door shut and resetting the wards. With an curt snap of his head, he indicated that the boy should follow.

He handed the basket to Neville as he impatiently undid the spells guarding his office and then snatched it out of his hands again. The boy wavered indecisively for a moment, not sure if the man wanted him to enter the room or stay in the hall. In the end, he stepped onto the threshold and stood there awaiting his orders.

Setting the basket down, Snape retrieved a piece of parchment from out of a drawer in his desk and then grabbed his quill and quickly scratched a short note upon the paper. He frowned as he re-read what he had just written:

Dear Headmaster,

An urgent problem, rather personal in nature, has presented itself to me, and I find that I must needs return to London to resolve the matter. I believe it is probable that I shall not return to Hogwarts for several days. I shall owl you immediately should it appear that my absence will be extended beyond that period of time.

S. Snape

He hesitated, remembering Dumbledore's words to him after the last meeting, and hoped that Albus would be tactful enough not to ask any questions regarding this abrupt departure. And then he set the parchment down, and waved his wand over it. Obediently, the parchment rolled itself into a tight cylinder. He arose, retrieved the basket, and walked swiftly to the door, with Neville nearly tripping over the jamb as he tried to back out of his way.

"Deliver this to the Headmaster immediately!" he ordered, thrusting the roll of paper at him. He quickly locked and warded his office and began to sweep down the corridor.

"Yes, sir," said Neville. "B-but where do I-"

"To his office, you dolt," snarled Snape, whirling around.

The boy's mouth dropped open and his eyes were flung wide in panic.

Snape sighed in frustration. "Ask Potter!" he spat out, before turning back and swiftly climbing the stairs. Dear Merlin, he would have thought even Longbottom was up to the simple task of delivering a letter.

He walked briskly through the corridors, heading towards the main entrance again. He managed to contain himself from breaking into a run again until he was well beyond the lights that illuminated the gate, but he fairly galloped the rest of the way. The sound of the bottles and vials beginning to clink against each other persuaded him to slow down just a bit, and he forced himself to catch his breath before allowing himself to begin the apparation. He remembered at the last moment to retrieve the bit of parchment out of his pocket. He frowned and considered whether or not he should go directly to her bedroom. On the slim chance that Lucius was still hanging about, it would appear rather suspicious that he had managed to apparate directly into her room if he had never been there before, he supposed. Instead, he apparated to the street in front of her apartment building and studied the edifice for a moment, making sure no one was observing him when he disapparated again and reappeared in the hallway of the uppermost floor.

He found, as he had expected, that there were no wards placed upon the door. He was rather surprised, however, to find out that it wasn't even locked. He cautiously cracked the door open and peered about her living room. There were clearly signs of a scuffle-the rug was in disarray and a chair was knocked over. He walked into the room and closed and locked the door behind him, peering down at a small, cylindrical object on the floor. He picked it up and sighed, belatedly recognizing it as the missing heel from her shoe. He threw it aside and went towards the closed door of the bedroom. He armed himself with his wand again before throwing the door open, but it appeared that Lucius had already vacated the premises.

He walked into the room and regarded the still figure lying on the bed. Malfoy had tossed her there and left, it seemed. He must have been in quite a hurry, for he hadn't even bothered to cover her with a quilt or even to remove her shoes.

I must confess that I do have a certain fondness for seeing a lady in high heels.

He shook his head in irritation at the sudden and unwelcome remembrance of his own words. And then any further thoughts along those lines were halted by his realization that the pillow underneath her head was fast becoming soaked with blood.

With an oath, he swiftly strode across the room and, flinging the basket to the floor, raised her up by the shoulders again to re-examine the wound on the back of her head. It appeared to be bleeding more profusely, he noted grimly, and he gently repositioned her so that she was lying on her stomach, her head turned slightly to the side. With a wave of his wand, he managed to get her underneath the warmth of the blankets and the quilt. Then he went to retrieve the bottles that he would need out of the basket and set them on the table. To his surprise, and annoyance, he found that his hands were shaking so much that the bottles were sent skittering across the tabletop when he tried to set them down. He took in a deep breath to steady himself and then held his hands out in front of his face again. They were still trembling.

He looked down helplessly at the girl for a moment, and then turned on his heel and walked out of the room. He marched over to the liquor cabinet and selected one of the open bottles of port. He threw the cork to the side, and was almost desperate enough to raise the bottles to his lips before his sense of decorum overtook him again, and he reached out for one of the glasses. As he poured the liquid and raised the chalice to his lips, his eyes wandered over the various bottles, observing that she had entertained a variety of customers-there did not appear to be a single type of intoxicant that had not been sampled. He grimly noted that the Cognac must have been vastly appreciated, for that bottle was almost empty. Then he closed his eyes and gulped the drink down, feeling the warmth trickle down his throat and begin to radiate throughout his body. He debated with himself for only a few seconds before pouring and quaffing another drink. He set the glass down and held out his hands again. They appeared to be much steadier now.

He turned and walked back into the room and approached the bed again. As he neared her, his eyes wandered over the clock that was perched on the back of the table.

Dear Merlin, it had barely been an hour since he had walked into that hell-hole and discovered her.

He shook his head again and quietly recited:

And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,
And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot.

"Who's there?"

He blinked in shock. There was a voice-a woman's voice-coming from the dressing room. Within seconds, he had leapt into the other room, his wand raised and held in a defensive position. But there appeared to be no one there.

"Show yourself!" he snarled.

"It's just I," was the low, whispered response. He stared at his own reflection in the mirror and then slowly dropped his arm back down to his side and walked forward.

"Is the other man gone?" the mirror asked.

Snape's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Yes," he replied slowly.

"Is-is she hurt?" asked the voice, nervously.

"Yes," he replied, without a trace of emotion.

"What are you going to do?"

He studied the magical device for a moment before replying, "I am going to heal her."

"Oh, thank you," was the grateful reply.

Shaking his head in irritation, he turned and retraced his steps into the bedroom. He reached into the basket and took out several other bottles, arranging them in order on the table. He bent down to brush the hair away from her face, making sure that her breathing was still deep and even. He was also relieved to see that, now that she was covered, there was a bit of warmth returning to her cold, pale flesh.

He straightened up and removed his cloak and frock coat, throwing them impatiently to the side. Then he carefully rolled up the long white sleeves of his shirt and went to unscrew the cap of the first bottle.

"Bollocks!" he yelled suddenly, throwing the cap against the wall in a fit of fury.

"What's wrong?" questioned the mirror, timidly, from the other room.

Snape gritted his teeth and drew his left hand through his oily mop of hair. How could he have been so forgetful? With a growl of frustration, he trudged back in the direction of the dressing room.

"I forgot bandages," he stated, his tone icy and furious. "I am in need of some kind of linen-bedsheets or tablecloths or kerchiefs-where would they be?" he barked.

There was a very long hesitation, and he quickly decided that it was not because the mirror did not possess the requested information.

"The sooner you answer me the sooner I can begin attending to her injuries," he hissed.

"Yes," the mirror replied, reluctantly. "Well, she doesn't have any other bedsheets."

Snape raised his eyebrows and huffed in disdain. Apparently, he would need to embark on another shopping expedition in the near future.

"But there are some rags in the bathroom cabinet and-" It paused again.

"Yes?" he asked, through his gritted teeth.

"And some handkerchiefs in the bottom right-hand drawer of this table," it finished, very quietly.

He nodded and pulled out the drawer. He grabbed a handful of the soft linen and then his eyebrows rose again as he uncovered the book hidden within the folds of the fabric. With a scowl, he tossed the handkerchiefs onto the table and cracked open the pages of the ledger. His frown intensified for a moment, and his nimble fingers quickly flicked the pages back until he came to the pertinent date. The muscles of his jaw clenched even more tightly as he perused the writing, while his face paled noticeably.

"Oh, please," whispered the mirror, "Please, you mustn't be angry with her."

Snape slammed the book shut and set it down carefully upon the vanity.

"Are you-are you not going to help her now?" asked the mirror. Its tone was so plaintive that when he raised his eyes back up to it, he half-expected to see tears-or at least drops of condensation-running down its front.

"Oh, you needn't worry," he whispered fiercely, a grim smile appearing on his face. "I assure you that I am now more convinced than ever that she is in need of my undivided attention."
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Love's Labours; Paradise Lost