Refuge

Chapter 6: Compassion

Draco Malfoy stared off into space while he twisted a much-read letter between his fingers. He did not look up when his door opened and Severus Snape entered.

"How much longer do I have to stay in this room? I'm going crazy in here."

Snape pulled back the window curtain, allowing sunlight to flood into the dim room. He stood in the patch of light he had created, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply as the warmth hit him. "Soon I will be summoned back."

Draco stopped twirling the wrinkled bit of paper and stared directly at his professor. "And what am I to do after you leave?"

"When I am summoned, you will be summoned as well." The Potions Master bowed his head wearily. "And Rosmerta will be here to help you resist."

A tremor seemed to run through Draco's body, but he kept his voice steady and his expression resolved. "How did you talk her into it?"

Snape looked at Draco then, and the boy stepped back almost unconsciously. Snape's face was expressionless; there was no reason Draco should have found him more intimidating than usual. However, something about the Potions Master made Draco want to keep his distance.

"You no longer have a wand. Do not attempt to make her bow to your will. And Draco," Snape continued, stepping closer to the boy and placing his hands on Draco's shoulders, "I advise you to submit to her direction. Do not try to force your desires upon her." His hands imperceptibly tightened upon the boy's body.

Draco's throat bobbed nervously, the only betrayal of his discomfort and wonder. "Yes sir," was his humble reply.

Snape glanced down at the now-forgotten letter. His tone softened. "Your mother."

"Yes, I've had it for a while," the boy replied, clutching the note in pale fingers. "She's in hiding...somewhere...she's told me not to worry, that she is safe from Him...and from her sister."

"This is wise. Your aunt Bellatrix would not hesitate to give away her own blood to please Him." Snape released Draco then, and turned toward the door. Just before departing, he stared at the boy intently. "Soon Applethorn's hospitality will grow thin. I will find a new place for you to hide, but do not speak to him of leaving. I trust him less every day."

"Malfoys don't hide," Draco said bitterly.

"This kind of hiding takes a great deal of courage, Draco." Snape's face was grave.

Draco seemed to have recovered himself a bit. He resumed his characteristically lazy, careless attitude as he fingered the edge of a fine damask bed curtain. "Do you think Applethorn would really give us away? He doesn't seem interested in what's happening back home."

Snape reacted with a sharp, barking laugh. "Applethorn would sell his own mother if it would improve his status or gain him a few dollars. Do not trust him, Mr. Malfoy. The sooner you and Rosmerta fly from this place, the better."

*******

Draco was finally sleeping. Rosmerta sat back in exhaustion and twirled a finger through her hair with her remaining nervous energy. This time, the spasms had lasted for nearly an hour; torment to remind the apostate that he had not responded to the summons. She wondered whether war had started at home. She hoped her friends were safe.

Rosmerta closed her eyes in weariness for a few seconds before leaping to her feet and running to the window. She scanned the street below for the source of the loud banging noise she had heard. A magical explosion? Could Voldemort have found them?

Rosmerta felt her heartbeat begin to return to normal as she noticed two Muggles struggling to start a car, which had smoke pouring from the back end. Her shoulders sagged with relief as the vehicle released another cloud of smoke with a loud bang.

The explosion awakened Draco. He cried out, his eyes unfocused, and stretched a hand toward her. "Is He here?"

"No. Go back to sleep." Rosmerta tried to make her voice sound calm.

The racking pain of Voldemort's punishment had taken much of the fight out of the boy. He only showed flashes of his old imperious temper at odd moments, and she was surprised to find him docile most of the time. Rosmerta guessed that Draco's worst torture was the idea that the Dark Lord knew that he was alive and in hiding--that he could not hide and flee forever. Still, in spite of his reduced circumstances, the sight of Draco Malfoy continued to make the skin over her spine crawl.

Snape had spent many hours over the past two weeks preparing her to care for Draco. His concern about the boy had surprised her, but she wanted to master her own will too badly to question his motives.

After their conversation by the fire, Rosmerta had returned to her room to think. The more she considered her behavior since awakening in the marsh, the more she realized how right Snape was about her condition. The Imperius Curse had changed her.

The next several days had been strange. The morning breakfast tray brought with it a note from her new teacher: a polite request for her company in the garden just before noon. He had been waiting for her beneath the oak. His manner was civil; he was distant but not cold. He had shown her how to make the first potion that afternoon.

"If Draco lapses into spasms, or if his muscles seize and he cannot move, you must prepare this draught." Snape carefully measured the ingredients in a bright blue flask. A cauldron bubbled nearby over the previous night's campfire. Rosmerta tried to observe every move his deft hands made; with an old quill she filled her bit of parchment with notes.

Afternoon followed long afternoon, and if Rosmerta's attention drifted during their lessons, Snape's sharp voice or the cold grasp of his slender white fingers on her wrist would recall her to her duties. He never reprimanded her or lost patience. She began to realize that she was rather good at preparing potions, perhaps because of the years she had spent carefully brewing and mixing drinks at the Broomsticks.

Apart from her newfound talent at potions, Rosmerta began to discover something else as well: small acts of kindness. One morning she discovered a fresh packet of parchment and a new quill at her bedside. These gifts were followed by a new cauldron, and a mortar and pestle. She knew Snape was responsible, but they never spoke of it.

In spite of the improvements in her relationship with Severus Snape, she still did not feel at ease in Applethorn Mansion. Charles Applethorn was becoming more and more aggressive in his pursuit of her, while his wife Vera looked at Rosmerta with increasingly poisonous eyes. She found her space of safety gradually shrinking, until she barely ventured out of her room at all except for lessons with Snape.

Rosmerta sighed at these memories as she moved back to Draco's bedside. Snape had been a good teacher. She had been able to ease the boy's pain more than either of them had hoped would be possible. Draco was sleeping again, and she was glad. It gave her time to be alone and think.

"Who took care of you?" she had asked Snape one day, her curiosity overcoming their mutually agreed upon silence.

"Dumbledore."

"He made your healing potions?"

"Yes, but he also...he knew how to help me relax and escape from the pain."

"How?" she asked.

He had looked at her then in a strange way. She stared back without lowering her eyes. "Come here," he said.

Obeying, with the knowledge that her obedience might not be all her own doing, Rosmerta moved closer to him. Snape took her by the shoulders and turned her around, so that she was facing away from him. "Close your eyes," he commanded.

She did as she was told. He moved his strong fingers gently across her temples and down the sides of her face to her jaw. Rosmerta's facial muscles instinctively tightened at his touch, although part of her wanted to yield to it.

"Relax."

She found herself obeying again. As he traced gentle circles across her forehead, her cheeks, her jaw, and her neck, Rosmerta felt the tension begin to drain from her shoulders and lower back.

"Dumbledore was quite a guy," she said softly. His fingers stopped.

"His methods were effective, but we'd best get back to the lesson," he said stiffly. "This salve helps to sooth the skin around the Mark when it turns raw and black. Now pay attention."

That had been the last time Snape touched her. From then on, he kept his distance. She never saw him at meals, only during their afternoon meetings. If they did pass each other in the halls of the house, Snape stood back respectfully against the wall to let her walk by him. The space between them seemed to grow, and his manner toward her was as polite and distant as ever.

Hearing Draco moan softly, Rosmerta recalled the task at hand and quietly approached the boy's sleeping form. His white-blond hair was plastered to his forehead with sweat, and his hands were clenched around the sheets. The air in the room was cold, and she threw another blanket over his still body.

Sitting beside him, she twisted her hands in her lap. There was nothing more she could do for Draco; she had applied the healing poultice to his arm, had given him a potion to still his tremors. She had finally administered a tonic that soothed his jarred nerve endings. He moaned again, but did not wake.

Rosmerta stared around the small apartment that Snape had located for them. He had found them a place above a shop run by a Muggle who practiced the arts of Tarot and palm reading. Rosmerta found the whole business completely distasteful, and the odors of incense that permeated the house tended to choke her; however, the palm-reading landlady had been quite taken with Snape and had lowered the price for them.

The apartment was rather spare and overlooked a small brick side street decorated with antique gaslights. From her window, Rosmerta could occasionally see Muggle men and women dressed as wizards and witches passing up and down on the pavement. She found the whole scene quite extraordinary; it kept her from getting too bored in the small two-bedroom unit. Draco, too, had made a habit out of staring out the window. Rosmerta felt something akin to pity for the boy, who could not risk going outdoors for fear of Voldemort's spies.

When Draco was sleeping, Rosmerta occasionally indulged in a walk up and down the street to get some air. She had never seen a city that seemed more open to witches. On more than one occasion she had thought about trying to talk to a Muggle, but never quite got up the courage. She preferred to blend in with them.

In spite of its shortcomings, the apartment over the Tarot studio was far more comfortable than Applethorn Mansion. Rosmerta recalled the last night they had spent there. She had taken to locking her door, although she knew that Charles or Vera could gain entrance if they really wanted to. She had never before felt more keenly her want of a wand as she climbed into bed that night. Charles was becoming more and more aggressive, and Vera more threatening.

She had revealed her concerns to Severus, to her surprise. He was trying to teach her a new potion, and they had been waiting for the cauldron to boil; she broke the silence with her concerns.

"Severus, Charles and Vera scare me. I don't know whether I'm about to be raped or knifed in the back from one moment to the next. I need a wand."

He had looked at her intently. "I've noticed their behavior. Charles is more dangerous than he looks, and Vera was driven mad by jealousy long ago. I will not let anything happen to you."

Snape's tone was flat and not particularly gallant, but Rosmerta felt as though a load of cares had been washed from her soul. It was the first time she had been able to confide in anyone since the Curse. It was a bit unnerving that Snape should be her confidant, but the feeling of release dimmed her prior prejudices.

"Thank you," she said simply.

That night, she had shut and locked her door as usual, and had not been asleep for long before hearing a frightful row in the bedroom across the hall: shouting, doors slamming, and the unmistakable sound and scent of an explosion. She was not prepared for Vera Applethorn's sudden entrance into her room.

The woman had pointed her wand directly in Rosmerta's face. "My husband will never have you," she spat. Rosmerta expected Avada Kedavra to be the last words she would hear, but before the end came, Vera had been disarmed and pinned to the wall with invisible bands.

Snape was sitting on the edge of her bed then, chafing her wrists.

"Thank you," she gasped. "I think we should leave tonight."

"In the morning," he said in an uncharacteristically gentle tone. "Try to sleep. Charles has fled the house, and Vera can be confined to her room." It was done, and he settled down to spend the rest of the night in a half-watchful doze in an armchair at the foot of her bed.

"Severus," Rosmerta whispered as she felt herself drifting to sleep.

"What, Rosmerta?"

"I don't think I can touch Malfoy's head the way you touched mine. I...I don't want to touch him."

"That is up to you, Rosmerta. Potions can be learned, but you must desire to be compassionate in order to show compassion." He was silent for a moment. "Many times I have chosen not to be. It is not in my nature."

His words kept her awake longer than she would have wanted. They had haunted her thoughts ever since their last night in the Mansion. She recalled what Snape said on the day that he left.

"I am returning to England today, Rosmerta."

"Have you been summoned? Is He calling you?"

"No, but I feel it will be soon. You know enough now to manage Draco's pain, and I believe you trust me to uphold my end of the bargain?"

"If you...survive. Yes. I believe you will teach me what you know about regaining control over my will."

"You are already learning to make your choices your own. When we meet again, it will be a simple matter I think."

Rosmerta shifted uncomfortably. "Are you going to bid Draco farewell?"

"I've had a long talk with him this morning. He's afraid, Rosmerta, more than anything. I've taken his wand away from him for your sake, but I want you to have this." Snape pulled a long, delicate box from inside his robes and opened it, revealing a new wand.

"Maple, with unicorn hair. Not much, but it was the best I could find in this town, and I do not want to leave you unarmed--particularly with Vera and Charles Applethorn in the neighborhood." His lips curled into a sneer. "Perhaps we'll get lucky and they'll kill each other off. In any case, you should not leave the apartment unless you absolutely have to. You should never let Draco leave, and this wand will help you to enforce your will if need be. He knows what I expect of him, and he knows what will keep him safe."

Rosmerta extended her hand and took the wand from him, noticing that he flinched when her fingers brushed against his. "You really trust me," she said carefully. "What if I decide to desert Malfoy and return to Hogsmeade?"

"You will do the right thing," he said offhandedly. "I must go, now. You will not be able to contact me. You are on your own."

As he turned to leave, Rosmerta reached out and took his arm. "That wasn't an adequate goodbye."

Snape raised his brows again, and his eyes widened when Rosmerta reached up and gently kissed the corner of his mouth and the edge of his jaw.

"For luck," she said shyly. He nodded. Without taking his eyes from her, he Disapparated.

Their parting kiss had been almost fraternal. There was nothing in it of the bewitched passion from the night of their failed dinner together. It had been different from the kiss he had commanded her to perform. It was the first time their lips had met on equal terms.

Rosmerta thought about this kiss as she sat by Draco's bedside. She wondered what her next meeting with Snape would be like. The war could not last forever, but she wasn't sure how much longer she could remain in hiding in this close attic space with a boy she had only recently learned not to loathe. Nothing about it felt particularly safe. Suddenly, Draco cried out in great distress. He thrashed about as though he was having a bad dream.

"Mother!" he screamed.

"It will be over soon, Draco," she soothed, but his screams continued until she thought his throat must be bleeding. What must the Muggle downstairs think of this noise?

Hesitating a moment, Rosmerta reached forward and began to stroke the hair back from his temples. Following the movements Snape had shown her, she traced soothing lines down his temples, across his quivering cheekbones, and over his tightened jaw. Almost imperceptibly, Draco's tortured features began to relax. The screaming and flailing died into whimpers, and then into silence as he settled exhausted into the reprieve of dreamless sleep.

"It will be over soon," she repeated softly.

THE END