These characters and this entire Potterverse are the property of the incomparable JKR.
Chapter 20
Thou are not lovelier than lilacs, “ no,
Nor honeysuckle; thou are not more fair
Than small white single poppies, “ I can bear
Thy beauty; though I bend before thee, though
From left to right, not knowing where to go,
I turn my troubled eyes, nor here nor there
Find any refuge from thee, yet I swear
So has it been with mist, “ with moonlight so.
Like him who day by day unto his draught
Of delicate poison adds him one drop more
Till he may drink unharmed the death of ten
Even so, inured to beauty, who have quaffed
Each hour more deeply than the hour before,
I drink “ and live “ what has destroyed some men.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Snape sat at the small wooden table before the open window, his right elbow planted on the table and his right cheek resting in the palm of his right hand. An abandoned quill lay atop a parchment covered with his spiky handwriting; it appeared that he had been making a list, but the many crossed-out lines made the writing hard to decipher. Next to the parchment lay an odd cube-shaped object, covered on all visible surfaces with small squares of colour: red, green, blue, white, yellow and orange. With his left hand, Snape idly fingered the stem of the wine glass on the table before him as he inhaled the salty sea air and brooded.
His sojourn in Paris had been productive, but not satisfying in the least. The investigative wizarding firm had been persuaded to open their files to his scrutiny, after which he had made two calls of his own. The registrar of the university in Lyons had been happy to provide monsieur with the dates of Val Delacour’s attendance, once he had seen the colour of the gentleman’s money. The dean of students, however, required a bit more urging to part with his information.
It had been as Snape had suspected. François Delacour had paid a large sum of gold to have his son’s record at the university expunged. He could scarcely blame the investigators for not discovering that fact; he had not asked them to look for a cover-up, so there was no reason for them to suspect one.
His next visit had been made to the Delacour estate, outside of Paris. Boldly walking up to the door, he pulled the bell and introduced himself to the non-English-speaking house-elf as Mademoiselle Fleur’s fiancé. The small elf bowed him into the sitting room and promptly went to call her master to attend the visitor.
Snape’s father-in-law-to-be shook his hand with cautious reserve.
“To what do we owe the honour of your visit?” François inquired delicately, after inviting Snape to sit and seating himself in a Louis XIV armchair.
Severus crossed one booted leg over the other and regarded the older wizard. “I have been to the last school from which Val was expelled for attempted rape. You bought the silence of the university. I would like for you to tell me now what else about your family you have concealed from me.”
Monsieur Delacour had the grace to look shocked. “Nothing, Severus! Why would I do such a thing?”
A pronounced sneer settled on Snape’s face. “Are you familiar with the Muggle proverb? ‘Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.’” Snape rose to his feet and towered over Delacour. “I do not appreciate being made to appear foolish, monsieur.”
François cowered in his chair. “It was a private family matter! It has nothing to do with Fleur’s suitability as an eligible wife for you!”
“To introduce a known rapist into my home without informing me of it is a private family matter?” Snape’s volume was decreasing, but he was so angry that he fairly spat the last three words. “Your sense of propriety is a complete mystery to me, monsieur. Kindly let me be the judge of what is pertinent.” He bent and placed his hands on the armrests of the chair, his face inches from that of François, who immediately moved to cross his arms protectively across his chest and to press himself more firmly into the cushion at his back. “Tell me what else you have kept hidden from me.”
“Mon Dieu, monsieur! Nothing!”
Snape stared with disgust at the sweat-drenched wizard before him for a long moment before he turned and strode to the doorway. Turning to look back at Delacour, who was mopping his face with a silken handkerchief and a shaking hand, Snape’s very demeanour emanated menace.
“If I find you have lied to me, you will be sorry in the extreme.”
The stout man pushed himself, shaking, to his feet. “I am already sorry in the extreme! Sorry we ever met you!”
Snape was in front of the man again in three long strides. “It is within your power to remedy that situation,” he said.
“Don’t think I haven’t tried,” Delacour sputtered. “Fleur will not listen to reason. She and her mother will have you, regardless of what is said to them.” His small eyes narrowed. “Is it your wish to terminate the contract?”
Snape’s lips were pressed into a thin line, as if to prevent himself from uttering the words he wished to speak. His nostrils flared, but he did not reply.
The sitting room door opened and Snape whirled to face it, his left hand reaching for his wand. Val Delacour, seeing the identity of the mysterious visitor closeted with his father, ran as if for his life and disappeared into the nether regions of the house.
Snape returned his wand to its customary place up his right sleeve and tugged on the cuffs at his wrists before once again walking to the doorway. “I will bid you adieu, monsieur,” he said, and executed a brief bow before exiting the room and letting himself out of the house.
Snape roused himself from his brooding and pulled the parchment toward him again. It was imperative for him to put his own convoluted affairs aside so that he could fulfil the duties of the position in which Dumbledore had left him.
One of his duties was to see the Order of the Phoenix young ladies settled in marriage contracts. It appeared to him that Miss Lovegood and Draco would make a match of it; he had also been quite pleased to note that Potter seemed to have given up his pretensions regarding Skye and begun to pursue Ginevra Weasley. The way Miss Weasley had responded to Potter’s attentions had answered his earlier question regarding her wistful behaviour “ the silly chit had been mooning over Harry-ruddy-Potter. There was certainly no accounting for taste. The Spinnett girl seemed to have sought out Mr. Finnigan; it might be necessary to give Finnigan a nudge to move him in the proper direction.
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose against the threatening headache. That left only Hermione Granger and Nymphadora Tonks to be settled and he could scarcely bear to think of either of them. A kaleidoscope of images assaulted his mind, and though he clenched his eyes closed and turned his head away, Miss Granger’s face paraded through his consciousness: eleven-year-old hand-waving know-it-all; Petrified casualty of the Basilisk, in need of the potion he brewed for its victims; joining her wand with Potter’s and Weasley’s to disarm him in the Shrieking Shack; running from his presence with her hand clamped over her quickly elongating front teeth; leading Dolores Umbridge to her unfortunate meeting with the herd of angry centaurs; timidly approaching him regarding her seventh-year Independent Study project; sleeping in his arms, the curves of her body pressed to him in an intimacy which decent teachers did not share with their students; in his arms again in a flame-coloured gown, mesmerising him, enticing him “
“No!”
Frustrated, he picked up the cube with the multi-coloured squares on it. He had found it in a Muggle shop along the promenade, near the shore. According to the packaging, one could twist entire sections of the cube in various directions, mixing up the coloured blocks; the objective then became to rearrange the blocks so that only those of the same colour were on each side of the cube. Experimentally, he twisted the top row of red squares to one side. Now that row was occupied by the wrong colour on each surface of the cube. The mathematical nature of the problem appealed to his scientific curiosity; he was certain that accomplishing the task of sorting it out could not possibly be as difficult as the advert implied. He also thought it would be an intriguing puzzle for Stormy, who apparently adored Muggle toys. After all, her favourite game was the one Hermione had purchased for her and taught her to play “
“No!”
With a near-physical effort, he pushed Hermione Granger out of his mind and determinedly concentrated on Nymphadora Tonks “ clumsy, good-natured Nymphadora. She was not attractive, not in his eyes, but she had admirers. He did not understand why she had entertained the notion of Lupin’s offer if she were not planning to accept it, but the thought processes of women “ particularly of young women “ were a complete mystery to him. If Nymphadora had not toyed with Lupin’s affections, he might not have rebounded into Hermione’s arms.
“No!”
He wrenched his thoughts back to Tonks. Now, Nymphadora had Krum interested in her, but Krum was not a citizen of their country and was not required to comply with the marriage law. Additionally, Krum was bloody well supposed to marry Hermione. Had he not kissed her in the stands at the Alumni Quidditch Match? In this day and age, a man did not go about kissing females he had no intention of marrying. Did Krum not realise that his actions towards Hermione were dishonourable? Had not Snape himself made important decisions based on those actions?
“Dammit!”
With several random, vicious twists of the cube, he disarranged colours in every direction. Now, he would put it right. Working over a puzzle of logic was an excellent way to bring one’s thoughts under control; he had known this since his miserable youth at Hogwarts.
As his long fingers worked over the multi-coloured object, he realised he had been attempting to gain control of his thoughts for days, to no avail. Never in his thirty-eight years on the planet had he possessed less command over his wandering mind than he did now. He was determined not to return to Grimmauld Place until he harnessed complete power over his wayward wits.
Thirty minutes later, the completely disordered cube lay abandoned on top of the similarly forsaken parchment. He could no more set the cube right than he could set his life right “ how in the hell was he supposed to sort out Nymphadora Tonks and Hermione Granger into the bargain?
A brisk knock at the door of his room brought him instantly on the alert. Rising stealthily, he drew his wand and silently cast the spell to cause the door and the wall surrounding it to become transparent. With an impatient jerk of the door, he said, “Get in.” When Lucius Malfoy passed him into the room, he carefully looked up and down the inn corridor before closing and warding the door again.
“I see I’m late,” Lucius said, eyeing the empty wine bottle as he shrugged out of his heavy travelling cloak and tossed it on the bed, all the while narrowly surveying his old friend. “You’re bloody hard to find,” Lucius added as he and Snape seated themselves across from one another at the wooden table.
“I bloody well meant to be hard to find,” Snape retorted acidly.
Lucius glared at him coldly. “I’m sure you had your reasons.”
Snape Summoned a bottle of brandy and clean goblets from the sideboard and poured a measure for each of them.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Lucius leant forward. “Stormy came over ill on Thursday morning, Severus. Sophronia asked me to fetch you home.”
Snape paused in the act of raising the goblet to his lips; his black eyes closed and a spasm of emotion crossed his face and was quickly gone.
“It’s Saturday,” he commented evenly.
“I bloody well know what day it is, Severus. I’ve been combing the damnable Continent for you for two days, after spending one day looking all over England for you.” Lucius looked about the slightly seedy hotel room with disdain, noting the corpses of dead flies littering the floor, a sure sign of Snape’s boredom. “What in blazes are you doing in a dump in Boulogne-sur-Mer?”
Snape waved an impatient hand. “Tell me about Stormy,” he commanded.
Lucius shook his head. “The Healers at St. Mungo’s could not identify the illness; Sophronia has taken her home to the Estuary. She’s asking for you.”
Snape’s head snapped up and he stared hard at Lucius. “Stormy is asking for me?”
Lucius made a gesture, as if to touch Snape on the arm, then quickly covered by picking up the goblet and swallowing brandy.
“Not Stormy. She had not regained consciousness when last I received word. It is Sophronia who is asking for you.”
Snape rose and began to pack his belongings in his small travelling case, wielding his wand as if he wished to do the blameless articles of clothing deadly harm.
“Severus, there is something else you must know.”
Snape looked up at the tone in Malfoy’s voice. “What?”
Lucius rose and began to pace. “The night before you arrived to spend last weekend at the Manor, three Death Eaters accosted me in the garden.”
Snape became completely still as he stared at Lucius.
“It was Alverard, Severus. He has Mulciber and Macnair with him.”
Snape’s throat was suddenly so dry that his words came out as a croak. “What did they want?”
Lucius stopped and looked squarely into Snape’s face. “They wanted information about your whereabouts and your movements.”
In two strides, Snape crossed to Malfoy, stopping just beyond reach. “Why have you not told me this before?”
Malfoy stood his ground. “You should have been told, immediately. The only thing on my mind was Sophronia and that blasted ball.” For an instant the mask slipped. “I meant to offer “ then Sirius-bloody-Black showed up and ruined everything.” Lucius looked away, only the muscle of his clenched jaw betraying his distress. “Alverard was the last thing on my mind. When I thought of it again, you were gone. I had no idea you were leaving the country for an extended holiday.” He stepped away from Snape and began to pace again.
Snape gripped the back of the chair he had previously occupied. “What did you tell them?”
“I pled ignorance and gave them gold.”
“Did they inquire after … anyone else?”
Lucius frowned. “Why would they? It all came out in the trials after the war, Severus. They know you were the one who stole Miss Granger from them.” He began to tick them off on his fingers. “Mulciber was humiliated that she was taken from the safe house under his command. The Dark Lord tortured Cliffe to death in front of all the Death Eaters as an object lesson, and Cliffe was Macnair’s cousin. Even Alverard lost face with Voldemort for not recapturing the prisoner once he arrived on the scene.” He shook his head and his near-white hair moved about his pointed face. Snape, to whom none of this was news, turned away and resumed his frantic packing.
Malfoy spoke again. “It’s you they want. Alverard is fixated on you and the other two are allowing him to do their thinking for them. It’s entirely your fault, as far as they are concerned. You are the cause of all their troubles.”
Snape glanced at Lucius, his black eyes inscrutable. “They have not yet begun to see trouble,” he murmured before slamming the lid closed on his travelling case.
Hermione trimmed the wick of the oil lamp and dimmed the light in the room where Stormy lay, slack and unresponsive. She had combed out the matted corn silk hair and gently pulled it into a short plait down the child’s back. A bowl of magically-cooled water, scented with lavender, was situated upon the marble-topped bedside table in the best guest room of the Estuary, the Snape country estate. Hermione had taken a fine handkerchief of ivory lawn and dampened it before bathing the fevered face of the unconscious little girl. Now she moved her chair close to the window and alternated gazing out the window at the moonlit garden and watching Stormy sleep.
Sophronia’s first action that Thursday morning had been to Floo the Healer in the village near the Estuary. Healer Fairywinkle had attended each of Sophronia's children from birth and knew their constitutions and medical histories. He had gladly stepped through the Floo and followed Sophronia to the nursery at Grimmauld Place.
“It is most likely a bug, Madam Snape,” he said soothingly as he first stood over Stormy, taking her pulse. He pulled out his wand and cast a number of diagnostic spells; it seemed to Sophronia as if he repeated some of the spells more than once, and that each repetition simply confused him more. At last, he sheathed his wand and turned to Sophronia with a grave look. “I think, to be on the safe side, we ought to have her checked over by the Healers at St. Mungo’s, Madam Snape. I’m sure it is nothing to worry about, but we must be careful to cover every possibility.”
Next had passed a very hectic twenty-four hours at St. Mungo’s, with the Healers on one side, attempting to send Sophronia home to rest while they ran diagnostic spells on Stormy, and Sophronia on the other, steadfastly refusing the imploring of her daughters, Sirius, and Minerva McGonagall. She was not about to permit Stormy to wake up in a strange and frightening place without her mama.
At the end of the period of observation, a team of Healers had come to speak with Sophronia, who was supported on one side by Sirius and on the other by Skye and Shadow.
“Madam Snape, we feel that it would be best to confine her to the Contagion Ward. We cannot be certain that her condition is not infectious and it is imperative that we take every precaution. We have not yet identified what the illness may be, but we do have some experimental potions we can try to bring Miss Stormy out of her coma.”
Sophronia instinctively reached out to her daughters at this last, frightening word, and the three women huddled together as Sirius sat helplessly by, utterly confounded in the face of this situation. After a moment, he said, “What kinds of experimental potions?”
When Sirius asked his question, Sophronia seemed to rally for a moment. “No! No ‘experimental’ potions! Her brother is a Potions master “ he will be the one to say if she is to receive anything experimental.”
The Healers stirred nervously. “Miss Stormy is related to Professor Snape?” the youngest of them inquired.
Sirius bristled. “How many Snapes do you know, Healer Howser?” he demanded. “You people have had Stormy here for a full day “ can’t you tell us anything worth hearing?”
The eldest of the Healers stepped forward and addressed Sophronia. “Madam Snape, your daughter is gravely ill. She may be contagious, and of danger to yourself and your other children. She is going to require round-the-clock care, which we can provide her with at St. Mungo’s. Leave her with us and we will care for her.”
In less than an hour, Sirius had obeyed Sophronia’s command to move the ailing child to the Estuary, where she meant to tend her daughter with her own hands, aided by her daughters and her house-elves.
Hermione had not asked permission or informed anyone of her intentions, save for Minerva McGonagall.
“Sophronia can’t sit with Stormy day and night; she will have to rest sometime, Professor. I can be useful to her. I couldn’t bear to stay here and attend parties knowing that Stormy is so ill.”
Minerva, distressed that she was unable to assist Sophronia in any more material way, was thankful to give her permission for Hermione to go to the Snapes’ to help take care of Stormy. Minerva could very well manage the remaining girls under her care without additional assistance. Pressing the soft pink hippopotamus into Hermione’s hands, she waved as her former student Disapparated to the Estuary.
Hermione quietly shook her head when Skye said that she should stay in London and continue with her social engagements. “Don’t be daft,” she said, and held Skye in her arms when the other girl dissolved into tears upon her shoulder.
Healer Fairywinkle had been in to see Stormy settled; it was decided to put her in one of the spare bedrooms rather than in the nursery, to provide the patient with a larger bed and her attendants with more room to manoeuvre. Nanny, the ancient house-elf who had attended the nursery since before Severus was born, received her instructions from the Healer with near-reverent attention. Later that night, after watching for hours as Stormy lay without moving, Nanny had confided to her mistress that she was sure the illness was the Black Water Influenza.
Sophronia’s reaction had caused Healer Fairywinkle to be summoned from his bed to attend to Madam Snape.
When Skye was five years old, and Shadow was two, Sophronia had given birth to a son. Simon Snape had been a bouncing baby, with his father’s coal-black hair and unfortunate nose. Just before his first birthday, baby Simon was stricken with the Black Water Flu. Not all of the skill at St. Mungo’s had been of any use. He was sent back home to the unceasing care of his mama and his nurse, for there was nothing the Healers could do to halt the progress of the disease ravaging his little body. Simon Sandoval Snape was buried in the family plot on his first birthday. It was five years before Mr. Snape could convince his quietly grieving wife to bear another of his children “ and Stormy was born.
Hearing old Nanny state that she was sure Stormy was suffering from the same illness that had claimed her baby boy sent Sophronia into an abyss of despair from which she could not be calmed. It was not until Healer Fairywinkle tipped a combination Calming Draught and Dreamless Sleep potion down her throat that Sophronia quieted and finally fell into unconsciousness.
When Severus arrived at the Estuary on Sunday afternoon, he had already availed himself of visits to Professor McGonagall and the Healers at St. Mungo’s. He entered his family home to find his step-mother recovering from an excess of nerves, his sisters upon their beds for quick naps, and Miss Granger in command of the sick room.
He went first to speak with Sophronia, and her sincere anguish alleviated his impatience with her tears. He had only seen his half-brother once, having received a cursory summons to appear at the child’s naming ceremony; he had therefore felt no particular emotion when required to attend the placing of that minute white casket in the unforgiving earth. His developing affection for his half-sisters provided him now with a frame of reference for that loss. He devoted himself to the task of allaying Sophronia’s fears with more patience than anyone would have credited him. Would not the Healers have said so if Stormy had the Black Water Flu? It was undoubtedly some other ailment; Sophronia should remain calm and rest to regain her strength for later, when Stormy would be awake, and would need her mama.
When he could escape, he did, and went to find Skye. She had just gotten up from her nap and was coming out of her room when she saw him on the landing. Her wan, tired face lit up at the sight of him, and she ran into his arms, which, for once, dutifully opened to receive her.
“Severus!” she exclaimed in a hushed voice, “Thank goodness you've come!”
“You look tired, Skye.”
“I hardly do anything, really. I just sit with Mum so she will not fret so much.”
“How is Stormy?”
“Unchanged. She has not been awake since Wednesday night.”
“May I see her?”
“You’re not afraid of infection?”
Snape’s snort was answer enough.
“No, of course you’re not. Come along “ but don’t be shocked, Severus. She is in a coma.”
He was both shocked and disturbed to see his ebullient baby sister laying so still and white upon the bed with the covers pulled up to her shoulders. She wore the fluffy pink pyjamas with the blue and yellow bunnies; tucked in beside her was a soft pink hippopotamus toy. Already, in the week since he had last seen her, she had lost so much weight that her face had sunken to a skeletal appearance. Stepping up to the bed, he drew his wand and cast a number of spells, which caused different parts of the small body to glow beneath the sheet.
“The Healer did that, Master Severus,” Nanny informed him in her squeaky voice.
“I know he did, Nanny,” Snape answered his old nurse. “Nevertheless, I must see for myself.”
He and Skye exited the room and went across the hall, into Skye’s room, to speak.
“Nanny is not competent to have charge of the sickroom,” he said. “She is simply too old.”
“It is Hermione who is in command,” Skye assured him. “Healer Fairywinkle says no one could manage better, for Hermione can be trusted to follow his directions implicitly.”
Snape knew precisely how well the young witch could follow directions, when she was so inclined. “We are very much obliged to Miss Granger,” he said, “but she did not come to us to act as a sick nurse.”
Skye was silent for a moment before saying, “No, she did not “ but you haven’t been here, Severus. You don’t know. She is so much like a part of our family that we just don’t think about whether or not we should let her do these things.”
Casting about in his mind for an acceptable solution to the continuing problem of the presence of Hermione Granger he said, “We would not ask her to attend the sickroom, but surely Miss Delacour could spend time with Sophronia and free your time for Stormy.” Perceiving a change in Skye’s expression, he said, “I know Miss Granger has encouraged you to despise my affianced wife, Skye, but surely you can see how she could be “ and would wish to be! “ of service to us now.”
Skye turned from him, saying only, “I am sure it is just as you say, Severus. See if she will come to this house.”
With a muttered imprecation, Snape did just that, Apparating to London and walking to the Delacour dwelling.
He was ushered into the sitting room, where Fleur greeted him with a fine balance of tenderness and reserve. He soon found that though Fleur sympathised with his family in their affliction, she had no intention of exposing her person to the dangers of infection. She told him that her mother had forbidden her to enter the house until all danger of contagion was past. When Madam Delacour joined them in the sitting room, and found that Snape had had the imprudence to visit Stormy in her sickroom, she became visibly alarmed.
“Severus, it is not wise,” Fleur said, pressing his hand fondly. “There can be no need for you to take such a risk “ gentlemen have no place in a sickroom.”
Snape removed his hand from Fleur’s grasp and stood, disgust evident in every line of his rigidly held body.
“Are you afraid that I may become a carrier of the disease and infect you?” he demanded dangerously. “I beg your pardon. I should not have come here. I will not do so again until Stormy is well.”
Hélène Delacour spoke up. “Excellent thinking, my dear Severus!”
Fleur sprang to her feet, placing imploring hands on Snape’s chest, having forgotten the disastrous results of her last attempt to touch him. “You will always be welcome here, my love. Please, come to see me whenever you can. I have missed you terribly!”
She stood on tip-toe as if to kiss him, her beautiful face tilted invitingly for his caress, but he put her from him with ungentle hands.
“Good day, madam,” he snarled, executing the most perfunctory of bows before stalking from the room without a backward glance.
Snape’s anger was pushed brutally aside. He had no further time to waste on such trivialities. As his vague suspicions began to coalesce, he realised it was time for him to gather more important information.
The Healers at St. Mungo’s had explained all of the diagnostic spells they conducted on Stormy and what they revealed. There was no known illness that corresponded with Stormy’s sudden onset and her coma.
“Did you attempt any general Healing?” he inquired.
Healer Howser looked up uneasily from the chart to which he was referring for information. Professor Snape had dogged his life through seven years at Hogwarts and still had the ability to make the fully qualified Healer feel as if he were a cauldron-melting schoolboy.
“We attempted Rennervate, and administered an Invigorating Draught,” Healer Howser admitted after looking through the notes.
“What were the results?” Snape snapped impatiently.
“If anything, each attempt caused a drop in her heart and respiration rates.”
Healer Howser stood anxiously as the bane of his school years stared over his head at a spot on the wall, then turned and was gone with a swirl of the ever-present black robes.
Snape Apparated back to the Estuary and descended to his basement laboratory. He had not been in residence much thus far, so this laboratory was sparse as to the amenities he planned to install, but the basics were in place.
Methodically, he set out the ingredients to brew a simple Calming Draught for Sophronia, occupying his hands as his mind mulled over the information at his disposal.
Years of living a double existence undoubtedly had the tendency to give one certain paranoid inclinations. He was the first to admit “ though only to himself “ that his mind usually leapt to the least flattering, most unpleasant explanation for any set of facts. However, it did not take an Arithmantic genius to arrive at the possibility that Stormy might have been poisoned.
The examination conducted at St. Mungo’s had been perfectly adequate; his own revealing spells, cast to look for traces of Dark Magic, had revealed nothing new. The puzzling feature of what he had learned thus far was that the Healers’ attempts to improve Stormy’s condition had caused a degradation of her status. Generally, an unsuccessful treatment would leave the patient unchanged, rather than causing the condition to worsen.
When he had decanted the Calming Draught into several doses, he sealed each phial and arranged them in his cupboard, which he then locked and warded before climbing back up to continue his investigation amongst the occupants of the house.
Over the next few hours, everyone who had been in Stormy’s company at the zoo was closely and repeatedly questioned by the unsmiling Potions master.
“No, she was fine that morning. She ate her breakfast and was bouncing around and annoying everyone.”
“I walked with her in the wizarding zoo. She was happy and full of questions. She did not feel poorly, not then.”
“I don’t know how many sweets and treats she had that day. As far as I can tell she sampled everything they had.”
“It wasn’t until the end of the day that she asked to be carried, but you know how children exhaust themselves with excitement.”
“She didn’t eat her supper and she was quiet in her bath, but she was still talking to us when we put her to bed.”
It was getting late by the time he entered Stormy’s room again. She lay in the exact same attitude he had left her in hours before. An oil lamp, wick trimmed low, burned on a table near the window; in the chair by the lamp sat Hermione Granger, a book open upon her knees. When she saw him come in, she closed the book and rose to meet him at the foot of Stormy’s bed.
Twining her fingers and clasping her hands before her, Hermione was able to control her trembling. Though she knew from his sisters that he had returned, this was her first glimpse of Professor Snape since she had left him with a Veela draped over him in the kitchen at Malfoy Manor over a week before. Her keen eyes noted the pronounced, vertical lines about his mouth and the deep crease between his eyebrows; the stubbly shadow on his jaw and the way his oily hair hung about his face told the tale of how long it had been since he had last attended to his own toilette. Eschewing an effusive greeting, she spoke to him as if they had parted only moments before.
“Hello, Professor.”
Snape’s impassive eyes travelled from her face to her feet and back again. “Miss Granger,” he said with a slight inclination of his head. “Any change?”
Hermione shook her head. “None.”
Snape stepped past her, approaching the side of the bed; as he did so, the sleeve of his robe brushed against her clothing and her strawberry-almond scent swept over him.
“Miss Granger!” he growled, momentarily losing his focus.
Hermione jumped, still so close to him that her movement caused her to collide with him at Stormy’s bedside. “Sir?” she said, startled and a bit confused.
His arm shot out and his hand closed about her upper arm; he glared down his ugly nose at her, his gaze settling on her parted lips, through which she was breathing in little panting gasps. The seconds ticked by, and neither of them moved to step apart. Hermione forced herself to swallow and her lower lip was tugged between her teeth; Snape’s glittering black eyes followed the path between her teeth and he watched with unnatural intensity as she gave in to one of her most annoying habits and began to chew nervously on her lower lip.
Releasing his hold on her arm as if she were suddenly too hot to touch, Snape deliberately turned his back to her and seated himself at Stormy’s side. “I am going to attempt Legilimency “ please leave us.”
“Sir “ may I not observe?”
Snape closed his eyes, struggling to put the confusion brought about by her proximity out of his mind; he had to concentrate.
“If you seat yourself over there and do not make a sound, you may observe,” he said.
Hermione did not answer, but moved back to her chair and sat down, glad of the chance to take her weight from her traitorously trembling legs.
Snape turned the bedclothes neatly down until they rested at Stormy’s waist. Legilimency was best performed when one had direct eye contact with one’s subject; as this was not possible, he knew that physical contact would be imperative. He took her right hand and held it clasped in his right hand, and he spoke aloud to her: “I’m going to come inside your mind, Stormy. There is nothing to fear.”
With his wand in his left hand, he cast the spell without speaking the incantation, then lay his wand upon the duvet and placed his left hand over her forehead.
In her fevered state, Stormy’s thoughts were in turmoil as Severus gently entered her mind. Uppermost was her distress “ she had done magic in front of the Muggles and Mummy was cross! He saw in quick succession the pink pygmy hippopotamus and the horror on the faces of the adults as they returned it to its natural state. Next he saw Stormy handing money to a vendor and accepting a cup of fizzy lemonade; he felt her pleasure as she sucked on the drinking straw, then the dampening of her spirits from the slight reprimand from Fleur. He would have to remember to thank his fiancée for her care of his sister.
He stayed with her for some time, wanting to be sure that he had seen all there was to see of her zoo outing. The little imp had a pocket full of spending money and she spent it at every opportunity on a world of rubbish. He was amazed that a person as small as Stormy could ingest so many sweets without becoming violently ill, poison or no poison.
After the third re-play of the pinking of the pygmy hippopotamus, Snape ended the Legilimency spell, retaining his position by her side, with his hand on her fever-scorched face. There had been ample opportunity for her to have been poisoned; he was certain that her gradual flagging of energy and of spirits as the day drew to a close was the result of villainy, rather than natural illness. Now the puzzle was to determine what the poison had been. He had to be entirely sure of the poison before he attempted to provide an antidote. Dosing her with the incorrect antidote would be nearly as bad as giving her an additional shot of the poison that had made her ill in the beginning.
Think, Severus! he chided himself. He had a rather keen notion of what the poison was, but he had to be absolutely certain. Samples of body fluids would be of no use to him after this period of time; the toxin would already have metabolised. If only he had been here when she took ill! He could have collected specimens from her then and deduced the poison before it had time to begin causing damage to her internal organs.
Sod that “ if I had been here I would have accompanied her to the zoo and no one would have dared harm her!
With an audible groan, Snape removed his hand from Stormy’s face, inadvertently dislodging the soft pink hippopotamus and sending it tumbling to the floor. He bent to reach for it, but Hermione was there before him, dropping to her knees and retrieving the soft toy, then extending it to him.
Wordlessly, Snape reached for the toy, his fingers brushing hers as the hippo went from her possession to his. Riveted, Snape stared at his long fingers, which were tingling from the contact with her soft, warm hand. As he stared, he became distracted by an anomaly on the preposterous pink fur of the plush toy.
“Lumos,” he murmured, not bothering to pick up his wand to light the branch of candles on the bedside table. Instantly, the candles sprang to life and Snape stared hard at the toy in his hand. That looked like … well, it looked like someone had been sick on the pink hippo.
“Miss Granger “ did Stormy vomit Wednesday night?”
“Yes, Professor. She had so many sweets and other rubbish that we weren’t surprised when she threw up all over her bed. Why?”
“Was this toy in the bed with her?”
Hermione saw the gleam of exhilaration in his eyes. “Yes, she wouldn’t even put it down when Professor McGonagall bathed her that night.”
Snape was up and moving before Hermione regained her feet.
“You think she was poisoned, don’t you?”
Snape stopped half-way to the door and gave her an appraising look.
“Well done, Miss Granger. And what am I going to do now?”
Hermione approached him, her face glowing with excitement. “You’re going to analyse the vomitus from the toy and isolate the components of the poison “ then you’re going to brew the antidote.”
The quirk of his lips was the closest to an outright smile she had ever seen grace his face.
“You should be a Potions master’s apprentice,” he murmured as he swept out the door.
Hermione twirled once in place, punching the air and saying, “Yes!” as she had seen the boys do after scoring in a Quidditch match. Then her eyes fell on the unmoving form of Stormy, and she knew she ought not to celebrate prematurely. She crossed and dipped the waiting handkerchief into the lavender-scented water and bathed the burning skin of the child before she pulled the covers up and tucked Stormy back into the bed.
Snape staggered up the steps leading from the basement laboratory and headed for Stormy’s sickroom, the formula for the offending poison scribbled on the fragment of parchment clutched in his hand. He had left off his robes and his coat somewhere in the night; the soiled cuffs of his white shirt were rolled up on his forearms and the shirttail was partially untucked from his belted trousers.
He pushed the door to the spare bedroom open and paused in the doorway, the sunlight pouring in from the window dazzling his eyes for a moment. As he squinted, a figure across the room moved to pull the shade down, blocking the blinding glare. Snape became aware that Miss Granger was not alone in the sickroom; Healer Fairywinkle, the old fool, was standing on the far side of the bed, whilst a dressing-gown-clad Sophronia was seated on the near side of the bed, clinging to Skye and Shadow, who were each crying into her shoulder.
Cold dread clawed its way into Snape’s belly as he stared at the tableau before him.
“What?” he said.
A/N: What?
Minerva gave the little stuffed hippo to Hermione for her to take to Stormy because it had been left behind in Stormy’s bed when they first rushed her to St. Mungo’s.
The puzzle Professor Snape is playing with in his hidey-hole in Boulogne-sur-Mer is a Rubik’s Cube. You may blame SubHub for this.
The indefatigable Keladry Lupin advised me that JKR has re-named the spell I knew from Goblet of Fire as “Enervate.” It is now properly called “Rennervate” and has been corrected in later editions of the book. Who knew?
Yes, all right, I am deeply ashamed of myself.
No, really.
LariLee’s Note: You should be ashamed of yourself. Really.
Keladry’s Note: Subversa, you better hurry up with Chapter 21. And don’t forget I know where you live.
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