Fic for Challenge #4 - Two Means of Refuge

I hope it's not too late to post this. I didn't see a deadline for any of the recent challenges.

Title: Two Means of Refuge
Author: Chastity Pureheart, chazpure
Rating: PG for after-effects of violence
Characters: Severus, Minerva
Length:approx 1900 words



Two Means of Refuge


He ached.

His head was throbbing. His nerves felt scorched all throughout his body. It seemed probable that he had at least two cracked ribs, and his stomach roiled with nausea that had nothing to do with anything he'd consumed.

He put one hand on the cold stone wall to steady himself and cursed to see the fine tremors run across his skin. They were a common enough after-effect of cruciatus, but if he was still so affected, it was a wonder he had managed to apparate without splinching.

He paused, wincing as the pain in his side confirmed the damage to his ribs. The chill dampness of the secret passageway probably wasn't helping any, either. He'd chosen this one because it was the shortest, with a relatively well concealed opening inside Hogwarts, but it was still a longer walk than he could have wished, all things considered.

Wishing wouldn't make his quarters any closer. He continued down the passageway, until he came to the carved panel marking its exit. He tapped the panel and muttered, "Refugio." The panel slid sideways, allowing him to slip out into one of the narrow, dark corridors off the lower kitchens.

Pressing one hand to his aching head, he slumped against the wall and heaved a sigh that was cut off short, as his ribs shrieked in protest.

Home.

Well, nearly there, at any rate. All he had to do now was navigate this corridor, then down the dungeon stairs, through two more corridors, and down one more flight of stairs and he would be in his own quarters, where he could rest in as much safety and security as anyone of his history and nature could reasonably expect to find.

He gritted his teeth and began walking down the corridor, which seemed to grow longer with every step.

"Severus?"

Blast.

"Severus, are you all right?" Minerva came out of one of the kitchen doors, holding a small, covered dish. She walked briskly up to him, peering sharply at him through her glasses.

"Minerva," he acknowledged, holding himself upright and as still as he could manage.

She frowned at him and reached out with her free hand to skim a finger along the side of his robes. "Severus, are you...how badly are you hurt? Shall I call Poppy?"

"No! I'm...fine, Minerva, I--" He attempted to step forward with his normal authoritative stride, but pain lanced through him from everywhere. He gasped and started to crumple.

Minerva caught him, one arm around his waist and the other under his arm; the dish she'd carried fell to the floor with a clatter.

He felt a sudden chill; the corridor spun and blackness swam in his eyes as Minerva struggled to hold him upright with one arm gripping tightly around his broken ribs...

* * *

He was floating, adrift in a black, formless void...no, not completely black; there seemed to be a glow somewhere behind him, casting soft shadows on the walls ahead as he drifted along--

"Minerva!"

"Ah, with me once again, I see."

"Put me down!"

"Now, Severus, I'm not about to drop you; I can't carry you; and you certainly are in no condition to manage on your own, so it's either this, or let me call Poppy." McGonagall's voice was infuriatingly reasonable. "Besides, we're nearly there, so quit making a fuss."

His vision and cognition had regained enough function for him to see that they were only a few feet from the door to his quarters. "Put me down!" he demanded again. "I will not be made a spectacle of in view of my own students!"

"Severus, it's three o'clock in the morning and we're in the depths of the Slytherin dungeons. Any students wandering down here at this hour will have far worse to contend with than seeing their Head of House being levitated along the corridor!" she said with a touch of exasperation, but he felt his feet touch the ground again, and her arm slid firmly around his waist once more.

She gave him a tired smile. "Well, open up. We'll get you settled in no time at all."

He murmurred the password and let her help him across the threshold and into his favorite, well-worn, comfortable chair by the fireplace. He slumped down into it, pressing the heel of his hand to his temple to ease the throbbing.

Minerva sat on the edge of the chair opposite him, watching him quietly. "Cruciatus?" she asked, quietly.

He gave a slight nod, wincing as the pain spiked again. "He was displeased with a number of us. I was fortunate that others displeased Him more than I. Also unfortunate for falling in front of Geoffrey Crabbe, who is fond of kicking any target that presents itself."

Minerva's expression boded no good for Mr. Crabbe, should she ever encounter him again. She pulled her wand from a pocket of her robe and described a curve over his aching ribcage, murmurring a bone-mending spell.

Severus grunted at the tingle running over his side, but found he was able to draw a deeper breath without the savage, piercing pain stabbing through him. "Thank you," he muttered.

Minerva stood. A wave of her wand set the fire blazing. She tapped the hanging teakettle, which began to steam at once. Nodding briskly, she crossed the room to his small kitchen, where he could hear her rummaging through the pantry, before she returned with a teapot and other paraphernalia on a tray. She fussed over tea preparations for a few moments, then surveyed his sitting room with a frown.

"Severus, haven't you a...oh, never mind." She picked up a linen napkin from the tea tray and transfigured it into a cheery red and yellow plaid blanket that she shook out and draped over his legs.

"Minerva! I don't need you fussing over me!" he growled, dividing his scowl between her and the offending blanket.

She chuckled. "Oh, very well, Severus!" With another wave of her wand, the red and yellow plaid seemed to crawl off the blanket, to be replaced by bright green and light gray. "There. Better?"

He glared at her, but the warm woolen blanket seemed to be leeching all the pain from his tortured nerve endings. He slipped his hands under it, unconsciously pulling it up a bit to cover his abused ribs as well.

Minerva poured tea, thoroughly adulterating his with a variety of unwanted substances and pressing the mug into his hands. She added a good dollop of honey to another mug and sat down again, sipping from it.

"Drink it up. The honey will help with the after-effects, as much as anything can. And lemon is good for you."

He scowled, but sipped the steaming beverage anyway. He'd smelled it, of course, but was still surprised at the sheer quantity of brandy she had added to the tea.

"A drop of brandy won't do any harm, either," she said, in reply to his arched eyebrow.

He could feel the warmth slowly easing the worst of the pain away. The fire's glow on his face, the blanket over his legs and torso, the hot brandied tea seeping through his body... He wanted nothing more than to surrender to the comforting warmth and let oblivion claim him.

He mustered a glare at his companion.

It was met by Minerva's calm, unblinking gaze. She drained the last of her tea, rose, took his cup and refilled it.

"You needn't stay," he said ungraciously, "I am capable of sitting in this chair without injuring myself, unlikely as that may seem."

McGonagall snorted. "You know you shouldn't be left alone, not after those sorts of injuries."

"I have been left to deal with far worse, on more occasions than I care to recall," he said sourly, staring into his tea.

Her silence made him look up.

"I...am sorry, Minerva. That was uncalled for," he said quietly. The expression on McGonagall's face was hard to interpret, but he knew the remark had hurt her. Wincing at the effort it cost him, he reached across the occasional table and lightly rested two fingertips on her hand.

She startled at the contact; her mind obviously miles away. "Not at all, Severus," she assured him, resuming her usual brisk manner. She drained her second cup of tea and stood up. "Are you sure you wouldn't be more comfortable in bed? Well, I'll just tidy this tray away, then."

He nodded slightly, suddenly too weary even to speak. He still ached, but Minerva's spell and the healing potions she had slipped into his tea along with the honey, lemon and brandy were helping to ameliorate the worst of the pain. He would probably be able to resume classes on Monday without more than a slight stiffness of manner - not that any of his students would notice.

There was a slight hum from the far side of the room, and music flowed up to embrace him. He didn't need to look to see that Minerva had activated the charmed music box - a "seedy player," was it? - that Albus had given him last year. A cello and violin sang plaintively together.

He leaned against the deep wing of the chair and closed his eyes for a moment to feel the soft thrumming of the strings. Beneath the music, the soft taps and clicks and other indications of Minerva's efforts were rather soothing. He could almost sense the energy radiating from her aura, another source of warmth against the chill. He allowed his consciousness to slip, just slightly, resting his body and mind while still retaining awareness of his surroundings.

The quiet sounds from the kitchen stilled, as the music softened. He heard Minerva approaching, but continued to doze. She stopped by the hearth. He heard the slight grating of porcelain against stone, as the jar holding floo powder was moved. There was a dusty noise, and the warmth of the fire flared against his face for a moment, before subsiding to its prior level.

He felt an irrational disappointment that Minerva had given in so readily. He had fully expected another hour of argument before she left him in peace. Ah, well. He shifted a bit, pulled the blanket closer, drifted with the music, and let his awareness fade toward sleep.

He was nearing full slumber when a fraction of his consciousness insisted he take note of...something. Nothing alarming...but there was a...heaviness on his right leg...a localized source of heat. What...?

The anomaly was enough to bring slightly more of his consciousness to the fore. There was...something on his leg. Not a threat; he would have jolted to full awareness at once if it had been anything dangerous. The blanket? No, too warm, too solid...

It was almost like dreaming; his arm moved slowly and smoothly without feeling anything, until suddenly his fingertips encountered softness and warmth. He managed to lift his hand enough to slide up onto the soft shape, resting it on a convenient curve. The warm shape shifted ever so slightly, softness brushing between his fingertips and against his palm. He flexed his fingers lightly, as he started drifting back toward sleep. A gentle vibration thrummed against his hand and his thigh, melding with the music.

He smiled slightly. "G'nigh...M'nrva," he breathed, as he finally fell into slumber.

The grey tabby closed her slitted eyes and continued purring.


~end~

There are two means of refuge from the miseries of life: music and cats.
--Albert Schweitzer (1875-1965)