His disillusionment lasted only a fleeting moment. He had to act, and quickly. Alice was in critical condition, and every second counted.
First, he examined her most obvious injuries: the makeshift tourniquet tied around her arm was soaked with blood, utterly useless by now. Her entire arm had taken on a livid, almost cadaverous hue, the gaping wounds torn wide open. As he looked at the shredded flesh, Severus felt his stomach churn, but he forced down his revulsion. There was no room for weakness now.
Time was working against them, and he could tell Alice had already done everything in her power to treat herself before his arrival. But not a single drop of dittany remained in the school, not even in the infirmary. Dittany was their only hope to save her arm—and possibly her life—at this stage. Without wasting another moment, Severus slid his arms beneath her and lifted her, holding her unconscious body tightly against his chest. He had to get her outside, where he could Apparate and obtain what she so desperately needed.
The usual route would take too long, and the thought that each passing second could be her last spurred him to think quickly. He remembered one of the seldom-used secret passages in the dungeons: the Troubled Waters painting. It was a large canvas depicting the Black Lake, its dark waters seemingly frozen in a mysterious fog. Years ago, Severus had discovered that the painting concealed a passage once used regularly, though Filch had sealed it off with a heap of stones. He had never imagined the day would come when that hidden path might be vital, but now it was their only chance.
In one swift motion, Severus pressed his hand against the painting's surface, tracing circles on the depicted water. Ripples formed, the lake stirring as though a storm were brewing, and then the painted surface dissolved into a cascading waterfall, revealing a narrow, dark corridor. Without hesitation, Severus plunged into the passage, still clutching Alice tightly.
Ahead of him, a pile of rocks blocked the way, but he didn’t falter. Drawing his wand, he bellowed a powerful “Bombarda!” The stones exploded into shards, clearing the path.
He knew the blast would draw attention, but it didn’t matter. He raced through the dusty corridor, moving as quickly as possible, until finally, he emerged into the fresh air outside. Holding Alice even closer, Severus focused his thoughts on the best place to treat her. Grimmauld Place.
Last month, at Dumbledore’s request, he had sent an emergency supply of potions there, including essence of dittany. It wasn’t the most logical option—there were closer places—but it was fast, and something else had influenced his decision. What had happened to her? And, whatever it was, was it tied to the Order? To her past? He didn’t want to bring further trouble to Alice, and so, seeking the safety of secrecy, he Disapparated without delay.
Molly had sent the younger ones to bed, a task that was never simple but was particularly arduous that evening, with excitement and endless questions swirling among them. In the dining room, Sirius and Remus sipped scalding cups of coffee. Remus, exhausted and guilt-ridden over the mistake he'd made earlier that day, had briefly considered drowning his remorse in alcohol. But he thought better of it, choosing instead to anchor himself with the warmth of the coffee in his hands.
A tense quiet settled over the house, broken only by the clinking of dishes as Molly tidied up, still simmering with anger. She seized every opportunity to shoot disapproving glares in Sirius's direction, glares that he avoided meeting entirely.
Sirius, attempting to mend the strained atmosphere, straightened in his seat. "Molly, I did it for Harry. She would probably never have told him if we hadn’t forced the issue," he said, his tone almost defensive. "Right, Remus?"
Remus exhaled deeply, weary of the conflict. "Leave me out of it, Sirius. Please..." He had spent the evening trying to mediate and had no energy left for further disputes.
Sirius opened his mouth, likely ready to throw a biting comment at his old friend, when a sudden noise interrupted them. A loud, urgent pounding rattled the front door, each knock more frantic than the last. Both Marauders leapt to their feet, wands drawn, braced for anything.
Despite the powerful protective charms surrounding the house, the door gave way, swinging open to reveal a shadowed figure emerging from the darkened hallway. Their steps were heavy and deliberate, their form carrying an ominous weight.
Sirius raised an eyebrow, wand still at the ready. "Snivellus," he sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Who else would barge in like an utter brute at this hour?"
"Alice!" Molly's scream shattered the charged silence, filled with horror and recognition. Her eyes locked onto the pale, unconscious body in Severus’s arms.
In an instant, Remus dashed toward them, his focus wholly on assessing Alice’s injuries. His expression twisted with panic as he took in her condition, her deathly pallor and still form hinting at how grave the situation truly was.
But Severus stopped him with a sharp gesture, his voice cold yet trembling with urgency:
"Essence of dittany, now!" The command cut through the air, clear and unrelenting, but it took several seconds for the order to penetrate the shock gripping the room's occupants.
"Weasley!" he barked again, the sharpness in his tone jolting Molly out of her stunned state. She nodded quickly, as if snapped out of a trance, and darted toward the back of the dining room, rummaging frantically through drawers to gather the necessary potions.
"Upstairs, Severus," Remus instructed, motioning for him to follow. The three of them ascended the stairs, Remus leading the way with determined strides while Molly, clutching an armful of vials and ingredients, trailed close behind. Sirius remained frozen in place downstairs, his face pale and his expression unreadable.
On reaching the first-floor landing, a door creaked open slightly, revealing the curious faces of the boys who had been roused by the commotion. Without breaking her stride, Molly shut the door firmly with a flick of her hand, preventing the children from witnessing the scene unfolding, her focus unwavering.
At the second floor, Remus gestured toward an empty bedroom. Severus, his face a mask of focus and tension, carried Alice inside and laid her carefully on the bed, his movements meticulous as he handled the blood-soaked makeshift tourniquets.
Molly, her complexion paling, turned her eyes away from the grim sight, but Remus, steadier under pressure, levitated the crimson-stained bandages away with a swish of his wand, discarding them into a conjured receptacle.
Severus leaned over Alice, his hands steady but his mind racing. "Give me the dittany," he demanded brusquely, holding out a hand without breaking his focus on the deep wounds that marred her pale skin.
"Is this all that's left?" Severus growled, uncorking the small vial of essence of dittany and scowling at the pitiful amount inside.
Molly felt guilt clawing at her insides, silently cursing herself for the countless times she had used the precious potion on scratches and minor injuries for her children—grown adults now, yet still too demanding at times.
"Is there anything we can do to help?" Remus asked, his worry genuine as he watched Severus work.
"Hold her," Severus snapped curtly, his voice sharp but focused, as he moved closer to Alice's mangled arm. "This won't be pleasant." He tilted the bottle above the gaping wounds, allowing the few precious drops to fall onto the torn flesh.
Remus and Molly quickly moved to hold Alice's arms and legs steady. Though unconscious, her face twisted in pain, her brows furrowing and her lips tightening as her body began to react to the searing sensation.
"This will barely be enough to seal the wounds," Severus muttered, his voice low and taut. "Certainly not enough to prevent scarring... but survival is the priority."
Slowly, deliberately, he let each precious drop of dittany fall onto the open wounds. Green smoke rose into the air, curling ominously as the potion interacted with her torn skin. The injuries began to knit together, but the process was not without agony. Alice's body tensed violently, a guttural, almost animalistic scream ripping from her throat as the pain overwhelmed her unconscious state. Her limbs jerked reflexively, trying to escape the torment.
"Keep her still!" Severus barked, not pausing for a moment as he reached for another vial. This one, filled with essence of murtlap, would soothe the inflamed wounds. Carefully, he poured the soothing liquid over the raw, half-healed skin. The tension in Alice's body began to ease slightly as the potion did its work, quelling some of her anguish and calming her thrashing.
Finally, Severus took the last vial—this one filled with blood-replenishing potion—and brought it to her lips. Supporting her head, he tipped the bottle gently, ensuring she swallowed every drop of the restorative potion.
"There," he murmured, his voice edged with exhaustion but firm. "That will stabilize her—for now."
The following minutes felt like an eternity, but little by little, Alice’s features began to relax. Severus observed her intently for what felt like a quarter of an hour, never taking his eyes off her. Eventually, she drifted into a calmer, more peaceful sleep. Letting out a deep sigh of relief, he felt the weight of exhaustion suddenly settle on his shoulders. He straightened, glancing down at his hands, still smeared with Alice’s blood, before heading to the adjoining bathroom to wash and collect himself.
Meanwhile, Molly took it upon herself to tend to Alice. She carefully cleaned the blood from her body and changed her clothes with the help of a few efficient spells. The metallic scent of blood clung to the air, and the sight of the crimson-stained fabric churned her stomach, but she remained focused on the task.
In the bathroom, Severus stood over the sink, his hands under the running water. He scrubbed them repeatedly, the blood stubbornly lingering, at least in his mind. No matter how much he washed, it felt as though it would never come off. Realizing it was just his frayed nerves playing tricks on him, he forced himself to stop.
When he finally looked up, Severus met Remus’s gaze through the slightly ajar door. The werewolf gestured with a tilt of his head, inviting him downstairs.
"Join us when you’re ready. There’s more to discuss, more to clarify," Remus murmured, his voice steadier than he felt.
Severus nodded, drying his still-trembling hands. He lingered for a moment, drawing in a deep breath to regain his composure, before stepping out to face the others.
As he exited the bathroom, Severus suddenly found himself face-to-face with Harry Potter. The young man’s face was tense, his eyes filled with anxiety, and it was clear he was brimming with questions.
"That screaming—it was Alice, wasn’t it?" Harry asked urgently. "What happened? Is she okay?"
Severus raised a hand to silence him. "Potter. I am in no mood for your endless stream of questions. However," he added, his tone softening slightly, "for what it’s worth, your godmother is out of immediate danger."
Harry visibly relaxed at the words, though the concern in his eyes remained. Severus brushed past him, not waiting for further conversation, and made his way toward the stairs to join Remus and Molly.
Severus's cold tone offered no reassurance; it was brusque and detached, far from the comfort Harry had been hoping for. The truth was, Severus himself wasn’t entirely certain of the outcome, but he refused to let this weakness show in front of Lily’s son. Without another word, he descended the stairs in silence, heading toward the kitchen.
Molly emerged from Alice's room at that moment, visibly drained.
“Harry, dear, and the rest of you, go back to bed. We’ll talk about this tomorrow, all right?”
Her pleading gaze fell on the young faces. Reluctantly, they obeyed, unusually compliant, and retreated silently toward their rooms, casting one last worried glance at the door behind which Alice lay.
Downstairs, Severus found Remus and Arthur, the latter roused from his sleep by the commotion. Remus silently handed Severus a glass of alcohol, which he accepted with a curt nod. Sirius remained seated in a corner of the room, exuding an icy silence.
Severus took a sip, letting the sharp burn of the alcohol loosen some of the tension coiled within him. The kitchen had finally returned to an uneasy calm.
“By Merlin, Severus, what happened?” Remus finally broke the silence.
“To be truthful, I don’t know much more than you do,” Severus replied, taking another sip of firewhisky before continuing. “I found Alice unconscious in the potion storeroom of the dungeons.”
“That’s it?” Sirius suddenly interjected, his voice sharp and accusing.
“What were you expecting, Black?” Severus retorted, his tone laced with venom. “That I’d admit to being the one who did this?”
“That’s not what he meant, Severus…” Remus intervened, exhaling deeply before draining his own glass. “We’ll have to wait for her to wake up to get any real answers.”
Severus stared into his glass, watching the remaining liquid swirl under the dim kitchen light. The weight of the evening bore down on him, though he showed no outward sign of it.
Molly re-entered the kitchen, her face drawn with worry. She approached Severus and spoke softly but firmly.
“Severus,” she said, her voice tinged with gratitude, “you did the right thing. I’m certain Alice will thank you when she wakes, but I want to thank you now—from the bottom of my heart. I don’t know what would’ve happened to her without your intervention…”
Severus gave her a small nod without meeting her gaze immediately. The words felt foreign to him, though he knew they were true. The brutal reality was unshakable: without him, Alice would likely be dead by now.
The thought hit him like a blow, and for a brief moment, the weight of the night pressed down on him, heavier than he could have anticipated.