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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
Chapter 7: You to a Long and Well-deserved Bed

It was so strange, she thought. She knew that what she was seeing was neither the reality of the present, nor the mere phantom image wrought in a nightmare. No, it was merely the memory of a recent, most horrible occurrence. And yet, she was powerless to stop reliving it as the scene played itself out, over and over, before her eyes.

She was sitting at her vanity, blotting the dark, red lipstick that she had just applied to her mouth, when the rap sounded at the door. It was as if she was standing beside herself, watching as she rose from the chair, seeing her eyebrows lifting slightly as if she recognized, even then, that something was not quite right.

"Don't answer it!" she wanted to scream. Perhaps she did scream it, for somewhere there was a low voice whispering in her ear, softly urging her to hush, and tender, cool hands were brushing lightly against the side of her face, trying to calm her.

She followed herself to the door, wincing as three more sharp raps sounded. There was something so strange, something decidedly different about the timbre of the knocks, wasn't there? It was not the sound of a knuckle rapping against the wood, it was more like the sharp clang of a door knocker. Yes, because whoever was on the other side of the door, wasn't using his hands, was he?

"He's using that cane, don't you see?" she cried. Again she was vaguely aware of the voice and the hands as they tried to quiet her into silence.

But it was too late. After all, he hadn't waited for her to open the door. It had swung open, as if in response to his wishes, and he had strode into the room, with that wide, sinister smile upon his face. And then he had idly pointed the cane back towards the door, and it had shut-loudly and firmly. There was a gentle tingle and hiss of magic in the air, and she knew that he had also placed a sealing spell upon the room, so it would do her no good to call for help now.

She had backed away, her voice soft and pleading. "I was just about to leave," she had whispered.

"Oh, so I see, my dear," he had laughed. "But, most fortunately for you, it seems that you do not need to go in search of clients this evening."

She was turning, trying to run into the bedroom, but he caught her wrist and then twisted her arm behind her back as he pulled her up against him, and he had raised the walking stick and used it to brush her hair back behind her shoulders.

"No, this evening it appears that your customers will come to you, my dear," he said, leaning down and licking her ear before he hissed into it, "I am going to throw a little party and you shall have the honor of being the main entertainment."

"Please," she had begged, "I don't want to go. I don't care how much money you're going to give me."

"Oh, my dear, I don't believe I mentioned anything about compensating you for your time, did I?" He laughed again. "I very much doubt that you will be in need of any currency after the festivities are concluded," he added, shaking his head.

She had screamed then and tried, unsuccessfully, to raise her leg and kick him in his most vulnerable spot. But he had deftly moved away and jerked her arm to the side, throwing her off balance. She had spun, trying to regain her equilibrium, tottering on one foot for a few agonizing seconds before the heel had simply smashed off in response to the pressure and she had fallen to the ground, her arm still wrenched painfully behind her. And then he had begun to kick her with the sharp toes of his shoes and thrash her with that heavy walking stick. She had tried, at one point, to crawl away from him, but she had only managed to turn over a chair as her hands reached out, trying to grasp at something-anything-to defend herself.

"You pathetic little Squib," he had taunted, as the blows rained down on her. "Do you really think you have any choice in the matter?"

After a while, she had given up trying to get away. In fact, she had stopped trying to fight at all. She lay, whimpering in pain, for a long time, no longer responding to the fresh strokes as he continued to bludgeon her with the stick. Until he abruptly stopped. She could hear him panting from the exertion.

"Get up!" he ordered. A moment later she felt the fingers of his left hand twine into her hair and she gasped in pain again as he abruptly pulled her to her feet. Still pulling so firmly back on her hair that her head was tilted backward, he slowly ran the silver snakehead over the skin of her cheeks, chin and neck. He had not, as yet, struck her there.

"Now, then," he said, calming himself and smiling slightly. "Ask me, nicely, to take you to the party." He waited, patiently and confidently for her reply.

The look on his face when she spit into his face was priceless. But she was able to savor his look of absolute shock for only a fraction of a second before it had been replaced with an expression of pure fury.

"Stupid bitch!" he had screamed, and he raised his hand up high before the cane came smashing down against her face. There were three blows in quick succession, and her head was jerked violently and abruptly to the left, to the right, and to the left again. After the third strike her head lolled forward limply, and she was aware of the warm, salty taste of blood in her mouth. When he released his grip upon her hair, she had slumped to the ground.

She had closed her eyes then, and made no attempt to defend herself as she felt him move to stand over her, one foot planted on either side of her back. She heard, or perhaps she had merely sensed, the movement as he raised his right hand high over his head and then brought it down with deliberate preciseness upon the back of her head. There was a brief, painful shock at the moment of impact, and sparks flew fly before her eyes. And then, very quickly, she had slipped into blissful unconsciousness.

But, it was not to last. Someone was patiently and methodically slapping her cheeks now, urging her to awaken. She moaned and slowly opened her eyes, finding that she wanted to squeeze them shut again. Partly to shut out the light, for her eyes seem abnormally sensitive to even the faint flickering of the torches. But mostly so that she could not see those faces, those evil, hungry, mocking faces that were looming over her. She tried to move, and found that her wrists were tied together and secured to something above her head, and her legs were splayed wide open, with her feet chained down as well. She kept her eyes closed as she felt strong hands tearing away her clothing, and impatient fingers rolling down her stockings to the ankles, and then rising up and thrusting themselves into her.

"Seems a bit dry to me," croaked one voice.

"Indeed?" Oh, that voice she knew only too well. "Perhaps she needs to be rehydrated."

A cascade of ice-cold water had then splashed into her face, and she had cried out, sputtering as she tried, futilely, to turn her head away. And, as the men laughed again, she opened her eyes again and stared up at the man who was standing over her.

"Really, my dear," he chastised her, "It is quite impolite of you not to at least try to stay awake. Do you require some more water?" he asked. In an instant, the pitcher in his hands was refilled, and he tilted it slightly the side, a few drops spilling out and hitting her on the face. It was unbelievably, monstrously frigid, and she shivered involuntarily as she shook her head.

"Too bad Snape isn't here yet," muttered someone, off to the side. "I'll bet he could give her something that would keep her awake."

"No doubt," replied the blond man, frowning slightly. "But, we can not always rely on our dear Potions Master, now can we?"

"Are you taking the first turn?" asked another man.

"Oh, no," he said, a smile again playing upon his lips. "I prefer to observe for a while." With a wave of his hand, a chair suddenly appeared beside him, and he settled down into it.

Another man had stepped into view, and then fallen down heavily upon her. His rough, strong fingers were pinching at her, clawing and scratching at her skin, and then she felt his teeth sink into her flesh. The group laughed again, and she heard the squeak of chairs being pulled across the floor. Apparently they were all settling down, making themselves comfortable, and patiently awaiting their 'turn.'

After that, she lapsed in and out of consciousness several times, occasionally shifting abruptly back into sensibility by a particularly painful blow, bite, or thrust, especially if it meant that the back of her head was shoved or drawn against the floor, causing the wound to start pounding with renewed vengeance. A few times, she had felt hands slapping at her face, but she had not been forced to endure another deluge. As a matter of fact, she had finally called out for water, feeling a desperate dryness in her throat and upon her lips. But her pleas were answered only by a wave of laughter until someone had finally run his fingers along the inside of her thigh and raised it to her mouth, forcing the thickened, drying semen past her lips.

"Drink that if you're thirsty," he had muttered, and they had all laughed again.

How long she had been there, and how many men had taken her, she couldn't have begun to estimate. After several of them had already sated themselves with her, one had demanded that the chains holding her ankles to the floor be unfastened, and ordered her to raise her legs and throw them around his waist. She had done her best to comply, but she had been simply too weak to keep her legs twined around him, and he had grown angry and had suddenly moved off of her. She had been turned over onto her stomach, and she might have thanked him for finally relieving the pressure from her throbbing skull for a moment, if he hadn't immediately begun biting and striking her upon her backside.

From then on, she had been startled into consciousness only rarely, beginning to feel a strange sense of dissociation settle over her, as if her soul were already preparing to depart from her body and was only waiting patiently for the final release. Even when her eyes were open, everything seemed black and hazy, and the sounds of the grunting and the chatter and the laughter were muffled and distant. Occasionally there was still a sharp enough pain to jar her awake, but these came less and less frequently. Her discomfort did not disappear completely between these painful jabs, but it settled somehow into a dull, constant ache the longer that she lay stretched out on the floor.

A few things near the end had broken through that gauzy veil of blessed catalepsy. When the blond man had finally decided to it was time to take her, he had gone to great lengths to make sure she was aware that it was he who was on top of her and in her. He used his hands to grasp and pull at her hair, opening up the wound farther and causing the traumatized scalp to prickle anew with sharp stabs of pain and then laughing in her ear as he began his deep, savage strokes. If she had been capable of tears, they would have flown then. But, instead, she had found, to her relief, that her vision and hearing were once again beginning to fail.

Shortly afterward, she was vaguely aware of someone pounding between her legs again when someone thrust into her mouth. It wasn't that she cared any longer about the indignities that she was being forced to endure, she simply didn't like the weight of the organ against her injured, swollen tongue, and wondered vaguely if she would end up choking upon it. She had sputtered and fought for just a moment, and then had lapsed into stillness again. But somewhere, through the dull, echoing sounds and the haze there came another voice that she recognized dimly. And somehow, even through all of her current discomfort, it caused a palpably different ache to arise, a sharp, concentrated stab of pain located directly between her eyes when she tried, briefly, to think of who it was that was speaking.

Then, thankfully, the wonderful, velvety blackness had begun to envelop her again, and she had surrendered herself to the serenity promised by the inky void. Therein she would find neither pain nor shame that she was no longer strong enough to try and fight them. Her moan upon awakening might actually have been a cry of disappointment that she was still alive and that her agony had not, as yet, ended.

The next sensation had been one of shock, as she felt another finger brushing past her lips. She had drawn back in disgust, and then realized, after the fact, that this time the moisture had been merely water. Her body had betrayed her then as her lips and mouth gratefully sought out more of the cool fluid even as her mind argued that it would be better to deny herself, since at this point she was merely postponing the inevitable. And still, she had been unable to keep from moaning again as the glass was withdrawn from her lips. But, the voice had promised her that she could have some more, hadn't it? Or, perhaps it had only been another of their jests.

The memory made her run her tongue over her dry, cracked lips again, and she heard herself cry out quietly. He must have been lying, for he had never returned to offer her another drink.

Instead, she had been distantly aware of a strange, floating sensation, feeling as though she was suddenly speeding through the air. She had wondered, briefly, if this was what if felt like to die, and if her soul was wafting through the ether, finally free of its earthly shell. But then, with a resounding thump, she had felt her all-too-mortal form falling down on her back again, albeit this time she lay upon a much softer and somehow familiar pallet.

She had next been roused by the sound of a man and a woman's voice, chatting somewhere nearby. And then she heard the man's voice again, shouting an oath, this time accompanied by a loud banging noise.

And now, to her annoyance, she was being kept awake by a strange, intermittent sound. She shifted slightly and attempted for just a moment to open her eyes before deciding that it was not worth the effort. She grimaced slightly as the bizarre noise repeated itself and she struggled to identify it. Something was being torn, perhaps even ripped apart, and the rhythm of the cacophony was just obtrusive and intermittent enough that she was unable to ignore it and drift back to sleep. When it finally did cease, she heard the gentle tinkling sound of glass hitting glass, the sloshing of liquid and the low clang of a spoon being used to stir something in a large tumbler.

Upon hearing the soft, swishing sound, she was again cognizant of the fact that her mouth and throat were parched and as dry as a bone. She tried to ask for a drink, but even the single syllable of 'please' appeared to be beyond her capabilities at the moment, for only a light puffing sound came out of her lips as she tried to form the word. She took in a deep breath, forcing her eyes open slightly and tried to pronounced 'water' instead. And though it sounded much more like 'waa-er' when she finally managed to breathe it out, it appeared to be understood. She felt arms going around her shoulders and she was lifted up gently, angled slightly to the side, and a glass was brought up to her lips. She sucked greedily at the liquid contained within it. But, she had barely begun to swallow it before the bitter taste had made her grimace and she had spat out the remainder. She felt like weeping in frustration and anger-she should have known that it was merely another trick. And then she heard a grunt and a deep, disgusted-sounding voice rumbled in her ear.

"Oh, you foolish woman, what the blazes are you doing?"

The glass was brought to her lips again, and this time she made a feeble attempt to bring her arm up to push it away. She choked back a cry, and then the glass was removed. She heard a dull thud as it was set down upon a table, followed by the sound of a heavy sigh.

"Celia." The voice was quiet, but commanding, containing just the hint of a warning in its tone.

"Yes," she replied.

"I am trying to help you." The words were spoken slowly and succinctly. "You need to drink this," She felt him bend over and pick up the glass again.

She shook her head. "Water?" she pleaded. This time she managed not only to pronounce it correctly, but also made it clear that she was begging.

"You may have some water after you finish this. But, you need to drink this first." The glass was against her lips again.

She tried to shake her head.

"You stubborn, silly girl, it is medicine to relieve your pain!" he hissed.

Oh, yes, the pain. Now that she had been nudged, reluctantly, back into consciousness, it seemed as if every muscle, fiber and nerve of her body was being set on fire, and the sensation was growing in intensity every second.

"Drink!" he commanded, and she trembled-both with the pain and with the fear that she was arousing his anger by disobeying him. And it was never wise to make him angry. Because he was-

She moaned slightly as the headache began to pound behind her eyes again, and he took advantage of her open lips to slop some of the fluid into her mouth again. She grimaced and gulped it down. After a moment, she managed another swallow. It didn't seem to taste quite so bad now, and she could already feel the pain beginning to numb. And it was, despite the acrid taste, still something to relieve the dryness of her mouth. She managed, in the end, to drink down the whole glass rather rapidly, even though the last dregs of the beverage were especially tart.

She felt him bend down again, and when he returned, pressing another glass against her lips, she was ecstatic to discover that this vessel did contain water. She slurped it down greedily, unconcerned even when she detected the salty tang of blood in her mouth again as the wound on her tongue began to ooze slightly.

She cried out again as the last, delicious drops flowed down and she heard him replacing the vessel upon the table. She was being placed on her stomach once more.

"You may have some more later," he said, firmly, "But I need to attend to that head wound right now." She heard footsteps going away from the bed and the sound of drawers being opened and shut. He finally seemed to find what he was looking for, and she heard him approach the bed again. He bent down over her, and she felt his fingers brush against the back of her head. "Does this hurt?" he asked.

"No," she murmured. "I can feel it, kind of," she qualified, for she was, indeed, vaguely aware of a faint pressure against her scalp, but compared to the burning, raw feeling that had previously occupied the area, it was quite tolerable. "but it doesn't really hurt."

"Good," he answered, before sighing again. "Please try to remain awake for awhile," he instructed, "I want to make sure that there is no real damage, and I may be asking for your responses."

"All right," she replied, and then tried to open her eyes. Unfortunately, he had just begun, at the same time, to brighten the lamp to full intensity and she cried out in pain again.

"Yes, try to keep your eyes closed," he instructed. "You are quite sensitive to light at the moment."

She felt his arms underneath her as he began to push her onto her left side. She was aware that there was a dull, indistinct area of discomfort growing as he moved her there, but until she struggled to take in a breath and he heard the strange, rattling noise he was not aware of her distress.

He immediately rolled her onto her back, his left arm still supporting her shoulders as his right hand drifted down under the blankets and began to tentatively probe the area of her ribcage. When he reached the left side, he felt her shudder and gasp for breath again.

"Bloody hell," he murmured, "Broken ribs as well." He hesitated for a moment, considering. "I suppose I should immobilize those first. 'Accio bandages'," he called, followed shortly by 'Wingardium leviosa'. She felt herself being lifted up and he quickly began wrapping something tightly about her lower torso, before she was eased down again. "Well, he pronounced, "I am certain you are more comfortable, but I doubt you are quite up to lying on your left side yet." He clucked his tongue. "I suppose I shall have to keep you on your stomach for the moment."

He gently helped her turn over and then, to her surprise, she heard the bed creak as he eased himself onto it and took a kneeling position, straddling her back but being careful not to place any weight upon her. And then she heard the click and snip of a scissors for several minutes, and felt him bend over several times to place something on the table. When she dared crack her eyes open again, she darted a glimpse towards the side and wondered, at first, why there was a pile of spaghetti there. Then she realized that it was her own hair, caked with dried blood. She moaned softly again.

His motions paused. "Am I hurting you?" he asked, softly.

"No, it's just-" she sighed and lay her head down again.

She heard the clank of the scissors as he laid them down upon the table. "I need to get a good look at the injury," he explained. "And with your abundant hair, I do not believe the damage will be too obvious."

He leaned over and picked up one of the bottles. "This should not hurt, but it does have a rather unpleasant smell."

She nodded and felt him pour out something upon the back of her head. It did feel uncomfotably warm for a moment, and then she became aware of a bubbling noise as an obnoxious odor wafted down to her nose.

"It is to clean out the wound," he explained. "Thankfully, it does not appear that he fractured your skull. You are merely suffering the effects of a rather substantial concussion."

The sound finally ceased and she felt him pressing down upon her scalp again, and this time he was murmuring a spell, and she saw, even through her closed lids, the glow of a golden stream of light, slowly moving back and forth.

She had to struggle to remain still. "That tickles," she finally whispered.

"That is a curious choice of words to describe the sensation, considering the fact that I am suturing the edges together," he replied.

She found her arms beginning to rise up, and she had to truly fight with herself not to bring her hand up to push him away.

"Finished," he said, suddenly, moving away from her and off of the bed. She heard him picking up and uncapping another bottle and then there was a faint, slightly sweet scent in the air. He pressed down a cloth against the wound and began to wind a bandage around her head, securing it firmly.

"That's tight," she whispered, not quite aware that she had spoken aloud.

"It needs to be, you bint," he rejoined, shortly, and she felt his hands underneath her again, moving her to her back. She began to protest, until she realized that he had placed the pillows carefully and was also propping her up by magic so that the weight of her head was not pressing down upon the bandaged wound.

Then she saw a flash of light through her eyelids again, and felt something warm and soothing moving over the bruises and cuts of her face, and she heard a low, murmured incantation. She felt his fingertips brush against her skin, and she relaxed and allowed herself to drowse again, secure in the knowledge that she was being healed. She was startled awake when she felt the covers being drawn down and felt the cool air rush against her skin, at the same time she heard him snort in annoyance.

"The bastards, they had to bite you all over did they?" She heard the clinking sound of the bottles rattling again. "I swear, a human bite is they worst of all to deal with," he muttered.

"Yes," she heard herself replying. "Because of the anaerobic bacteria."

There was a short, stunned silence. "Well, well," he finally murmured, "Back in the land of the living, are we? And dispensing wisdom, no less."

She swallowed and ran her tongue over his lips again. "May I have some more water please?"

"Open your eyes."

She slowly managed to force her eyelids apart.

"How many fingers?" His hand, quite blurry at the moment, was held before her eyes.

"Two." She stopped and squinted, "Three?"

He suppressed a chuckle. "Close enough for now."

She closed her eyes and felt a straw being inserted into her mouth. She sucked on it gratefully, still desperate to quench her thirst, until he gently removed it.

"Stick out your tongue," he said, suddenly.

She found herself giggling uncontrollably.

"So that I may repair it," he admonished, sternly.

With difficulty, she managed to keep her tongue extended and she felt the by-now-familiar sensation of warmth upon it. After a few minutes, he indicated she was finished and she withdrew it back into her mouth. Although it still felt somewhat enlarged and tender, she was grateful to discover that it was no longer bleeding.

"All right," he began again, and she heard him pouring liquid out of a bottle, "this is going to sting quite a bit, despite your anesthetized condition."

Before she could respond to his warning, he brought the cloth up to the first bite mark, and she gasped. There was a distinct, burning sensation, and once again it sounded as if the liquid was frothing and bubbling. After a few moments, she felt him blot off the compound with a clean cloth, and then his fingertip applied a dab of an oily, soothing gel onto the wound. It seemed to take him a long time to work his way down her body and legs, and she found herself drifting back into unconsciousness, despite the occasional discomfort. She woke slightly as he turning her onto her right side so that he could heal the marks on her back, and then she felt him press her down on her back again, and pull the covers up to her neck.

She heard his footsteps fading away again, and when she next awoke, she heard the soft, splashing sound of water in a metal basin. She felt the covers being pulled out from the foot of the bed and slowly raised up to her waist. And then, she felt his hands beginning to gently work between her thighs.

"No!" she shouted, trying to sit up.

His hands pushed down, softly but firmly, against her shoulders. "I am not going to hurt you," he assured her.

She shook her head, still distressed. And then she felt him press a warm washcloth into her hand.

""Merely soap and water to bathe you," he affirmed again. "I shall do this as quickly as possible," he promised.

She swallowed and allowed herself to be nudged back against the pillow. She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath as he began to clean her, unable to keep a few whimpers from escaping from throat as he began to work.

"Silence," he muttered softly, his strokes gentle and circling as he worked through the dried layers. He carefully washed one side and then the other, pausing many times to wring out the cloth. And then she felt his hand drift up to her stomach and lay there, with the palm of his hand barely in contact with her skin.

"Will you allow me to cleanse you completely?" he asked.

She felt tears flowing from the corners of her eyes, but managed to nod.

She gasped slightly in pain as he began to ease the washcloth into her genitals. He worked swiftly and tenderly, but she still sighed in relief when she felt him raise up from the bed and heard him toss the washcloth into the basin.

"There is another matter that we should address," he said, apologetically.

She kept her eyes closed, but moved her head slightly in his direction so that he would know she had heard him.

"I should-" he paused, and cleared his throat. "I should perform another healing spell, and a contraceptive spell."

She swallowed again, and another tear dripped down her cheek.

"I shall need to place my wand there," he added, quietly.

She drew the blanket up to her mouth, and he saw that her fists were clenched tightly around the border of the covering. But she nodded her assent, and she slowly raised her knees and spread her legs slightly.

She shivered as she felt the tip enter her, but it was there for only the briefest time while he performed the spells. And as soon as he withdrew it, she heard him mutter another incantation. Even as the blankets moved down over her again, she felt herself being clothed, magically, in a nightgown. Her hand moved slowly down beneath the covers and she stroked at the fine, luxurious material. It was a soft, warm and silky type of batiste, and the drawstring at the neck was tied in a prim, secure bow. Her hand reached down and pulled aside the gown and she smiled as she realized that he had also managed to conjure up a pair of sensible cotton knickers.

She nestled down into the warmth of the bed and sighed in exhaustion.

"Well," he said, turning the lamp's flame down to a weak, faint glimmer, "I suppose that it is best that you rest for now." He nodded and rubbed his eyes wearily. "I can wait until tomorrow to complete the mending of your ribs." He stood still for a moment and stared down at her, his face seemingly devoid of any emotion.

"Do you require any more of the pain medication?" he asked, as he leaned over her, tucking the blankets securely around her shoulders.

"No," she whispered. "I just want to sleep, please."

"Yes," he replied, watching her carefully. She felt the tips of his fingers graze lightly against her forehead, delicately stroking back and forth. "Sleep," he urged.

And, as she swiftly sunk back into unconsciousness, she was faintly aware that it had been more than a mere suggestion.

*****************************************************************

This time her slumber was free of dreams, for which she felt quite thankful. Nevertheless, it was not a particularly restful repose, for she found herself being roused from her sleep many times during the night. On some occasions, she was vaguely aware of the sound of Snape's voice droning softly beside her, and even heard, to her surprise, that she was murmuring something in reply. Before she could fully focus on the conversation, however, she would drift back into her trance.

When her eyelids did finally flicker open long enough for her to remember exactly where she was, and what had happened to her, she found that the blessed numbness of the narcotic had evaporated away, and she was once again in a great deal of pain. Although her eyes still felt weak and sensitive, and her vision was still somewhat blurred she was familiar enough with her surroundings to be able to pick out some of the furnishings in the room. She started as a flash of light suddenly blazed forth, and her accompanying, involuntary jump only served to exacerbate her discomfort. It wasn't until she heard the rumble of thunder, many seconds later, that she realized it had been merely a bolt of lightning and not, as she had feared, a spell. She sighed and closed her eyes, trying to fall back to sleep, hoping that her body was weary enough that she could ignore the agony of her injuries for a little while longer. But the thunder and the lightning continued, and at a pace that was just erratic and irregular enough to startle her afresh with each strike. She slowly became aware of a low and steady sound in the room, and concentrated on that, trying to allow its slow, rhythmic pulse to lull her back to sleep. But, just what was making that noise, she wondered?

She managed to turn her head slightly to the side, and saw that Snape was sitting in a chair that was pulled up close to the bed. The whiteness of his shirt, particularly in contrast to the dark fabric of his pants and the chair, stood out clearly even in the dim light. The paleness of his face was similarly distinct, and she could tell that he was resting, with his head propped over the low edge of the chair. And she suddenly realized that she had tracked down the source of the sound. He was snoring.

She had to admit she was amazed. She would have thought, with that large, voluminous nose that his snores would have been earthshaking in their intensity. Instead, he was emitting only a quiet, almost purring sound. She squinted her eyes and could see that his hands were resting on the arms of the chair, and that his lips were slightly parted, a hint of a smile upon his face. Yes, she thought, that was almost exactly how he had looked when she had knelt before him in a chair.

She recoiled in surprise, and then fell back against the pillow, feeling quite puzzled. For not only had she suddenly remembered that detail, equally surprising was the fact that the resurgence of the memory no longer seemed to be causing her physical pain. Yes, she was definitely starting to recall details of that evening, although as yet the images seemed to be random and unconnected.

The other problem was that, now that she had been shocked into full consciousness, the aching of her body refused to be ignored any longer. She squeezed her eyes shut again and tried to concentrate upon the quiet cadence of Snape's breathing and the patter of the rain that had finally begun to fall. Unfortunately, after just a few moments, it became apparent to her that not all of her current discomfort was due to bruises and cuts. She was suddenly aware that her bladder was painfully, excruciatingly full, and the sound of rain pounding down was accentuating her plight. In fact, she suddenly realized, perhaps she needed to get up right now and attend to the situation.

She jerked out spasmodically with her arms and legs, frantically trying to break out of the cocoon of blankets that were covering her. But this only sent her entire body into a fresh spasm of anguish, and the shock caused by her sudden movement had a most unwelcome side effect. And for the first time since her horrible ordeal had begun, she found herself wailing hysterically, unable to contain her tears or her cries.

"What?" She heard the chair screetching against the floor as he suddenly jumped to his feet, instantly awake. A few seconds later, the glow of the lamp had brightened considerably.

"I have more medicine here," he said, and she felt his hand upon her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she sobbed, struggling to raise her hand up to her face to wipe away the tears and mucus.

"Nonsense, you should have taken some a while ago," he began. And then she heard him sniff, his sensitive nose detecting the unexpected odor. "Oh, bugger," he muttered, and she heard him replace the tumbler of medicine on the table. "I see," he said quietly. "Apparently, this is how I am rewarded for being so generous as to allow you a copious supply of water?"

She closed her eyes and tried to turn away, but found that she was too weak to do so. "I'm sorry," she repeated.

"Oh, be quiet, woman," he retorted, in his most irritated tone of voice, as he began to draw the coverings off of her. "It's not the end of the world. But please be so good as to lie still for a moment and to cease that useless caterwauling," he ordered.

She swallowed and managed to quiet herself. Within moments, the mattress and sheet underneath her had become warm and dry again. And it took only a few more seconds before he had managed to dress her in a clean nightdress and underwear, and was drawing the blankets up over her again.

He used a handkerchief to wipe her face and nose and then a straw was placed between her lips. She drank greedily, anxious for the relief to be found in the bitter liquid. Afterwards, she kept her eyes closed and tried to pretend she had already drifted back to sleep.

"Do you not want any more water?" he asked, quietly.

She shook her head, feeling a sudden warmth as her cheeks reddened.

"Oh, come now, don't be foolish," he chided. "I fully expect that you need more fluids." For the barest of moments, a teasing smile played upon the corners of his lips. "Particularly as it would that appear you are most probably quite empty now?"

She heard him bend down and felt him place his lips next to her ear. "I would, however, appreciate it if you would attempt to alert me to the situation just a bit more promptly next time? Before the inundation, perhaps?"

She found herself choking back a laugh, but she kept her eyes determinedly closed. Still, when the straw was placed at her lips again, she found herself unable to refuse. She tried to take a few, ladylike sips, but her real, undeniable thirst raised its head and she found herself slurping down the entire glass.

"More?" he asked, and this time there was a definite hint of amusement in his voice.

She grimly shook her head again, but there was a trace of a smile upon her lips.

"Very well," he said, placing the glass on the table.

She saw, through her closed eyelids, the light being dimmed again. She heard him sit down in the chair, and she felt herself starting to fall back to sleep. But she was still awake enough to hear that, after a few moments, he sighed and arose from the chair and approached the window. She heard his fingers tapping nervously against the pane. She opened her eyes and saw that he was standing at the window and staring down into the street below. She stared at him for moment, noting both his distinctive profile and the fact that he looked very, very tired.

"That chair wasn't meant to sleep in," she whispered. "Why don't you lie down on the bed?" she added.

His eyebrows had risen slightly when he heard her begin to speak, but he had remained looking out the window, his eyes watchful and wary. "Miss Graham," he replied, bringing his arms up and frowning slightly, "Are you trying to seduce me?"

"No," she answered, quietly. The wonderful warmth and numbness from the medicine was creeping through her veins again, and she felt her lids droop down over her eyes. She found herself drifting back to sleep.

However, sometime during the night she awakened briefly. And this time his snores were coming from the left, as he lay beside her on the bed.
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Love's Labours; Paradise Lost