These characters and this entire Potterverse are the property of the incomparable JKR.
Chapter 21
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 stood in the doorway of the sickroom, surveying the occupants with swiftly contracted brows and thinned lips. In response to his fierce demand of, “What?” Shadow’s volume of crying increased and Sophronia turned tragic eyes to his face. At last, Healer Fairywinkle took a hesitant step in his direction and began to speak.
“Professor, your sister’s condition has worsened,” the Healer said in a soothing voice.
Snape closed the door behind him with a snap, advancing into the room towards the bed. Sophronia stood, pulling her daughters up with her, to allow Snape access to Stormy. Seating himself at her side, he could see that beneath the fever-induced flush, her colour had gone a greyish-white and that the bedclothes scarcely stirred with her breathing.
“What happened?” he asked, his throat constricted in an odd way that prevented him from speaking loudly.
Miss Granger stepped away from the window to stand at the edge of the bed, directly across from Snape. “At around six this morning I noticed a change in her breathing and I Flooed for Healer Fairywinkle. Her respiration has dropped drastically and her pulse has become thready and erratic.”
Snape’s large hand covered the burning skin of the child’s sickly face; as if he were alone with her in the room, he took his wand in hand and thought, Legilimens.
It was like falling into a void. The desperately swirling confusion which had been present in her mind when he entered the night before was gone; it was like having a cloud of dark, damp fog descend upon him, cloaking him in nothingness. It was not painful or distressing “ it was simply a vacuum where once Stormy had been.
Snape broke the spell with a jerk of his upper body, gasping as if he had just kicked his way up from the bottom of a deep pond. Alarmed, Hermione seated herself on the other side of Stormy and reached a tentative hand out to him, stopping just short of touching his shoulder.
“Professor?” she murmured.
Snape opened his eyes and lifted his head, looking not into Hermione’s face, but through her, as if she was not there. “She isn’t ill; she has been poisoned,” he said in a curiously flat voice. “There is an antidote to the poison, but it must be brewed; it is not something I have on hand. It takes time “ I must begin at once.”
Snape stood up from the bed, turning savage eyes to the Healer. “Do not attempt any healing spells; each attempt simply causes her to become weaker.” He took one menacing step toward the kindly older wizard. “Are we clear?”
Healer Fairywinkle fell back one step, wringing his hands in misery. “Of course, of course,” he whimpered, sincerely distressed by the condition of his patient.
Sophronia stepped away from her older daughters and grabbed Snape’s biceps in a violent grip. “How do you know, Severus?” she demanded forcefully. “How could that be?”
Snape met the eyes of his stepmother without flinching. “She ingested poisoned food or drink at the zoo, Sophronia. I was able to analyze a trace of vomit from her soft toy and to isolate the poison. I am “ familiar “ with this toxin; attempts to treat it with conventional healing spells cause the condition to worsen.”
Sophronia stared up into the face so much like that of the man who had been her husband, the father of her children. Anguish filled her eyes with tears, which fell upon her unnaturally white cheeks unchecked as she further tightened her hold upon Snape’s arms. “Can you save her?”
Snape stood within Sophronia’s relentless grip as if he were physically unable to break her hold. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s possible that I can counteract the poison “ but that will not reverse any damage already done to her internal organs.”
“Oh, why weren’t you here?” Sophronia’s voice rose to a wail as she inveighed against the chance which had brought her child to this place. Snape opened his mouth as if to answer, but she cut across him, shaking him with the violence of her emotion. “Go brew it, Severus Snape “ make the potion to make her well, do you hear me?”
As suddenly as it had come upon her, the ferocity drained from Sophronia’s body and she sagged, releasing her hold on Snape and staggering back into the supporting arms of Skye and Shadow. “Severus,” she whispered, “please …”
With a curt nod to Sophronia, Snape stalked blindly out of the room, his feet, by instinct, taking him to his laboratory. All he could see was the blank death mask of Stormy’s face; all he could feel was the void that filled her once-turbulent mind; all he could hear were the reproaches of her distraught mother.
He was entirely unaware that he was being followed.
Snape reached the laboratory and paused at the counter, gripping the edge and holding with all his considerable strength, feeling the muscles in his arms trembling with the rigidity of his stance. He had to empty his mind of all emotion, all thought, save for the task ahead.
He was startled to hear the cellar door open and close again. Without turning, he snarled, “Get out.”
Rather than the panicked scurrying of elf-feet, which he expected to hear, he was conscious of a presence behind him, then before him as Miss Granger moved to stand on the other side of the work space. She had already retrieved one of his work-smocks from the peg by the door and was tying it about her waist; from about her wrist she retrieved an elastic and ruthlessly bound her hair back from her face, just as he had seen her do times out of mind in his own classroom. She then pulled a second black elastic from her wrist and slapped it onto the counter between them. “Pull your hair back; I don’t know how you can work with it hanging in your face like that.”
His lip curled at her derisively. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, Miss Granger, but get out of this room.”
Her face took on an obstinate look which would have been entirely familiar to Harry and Ron; Snape, however, had yet to encounter this facet of Hermione.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Professor. We have some work to do and we had best get to it.”
Snape pulled himself together, his anger pushing Sophronia’s voice from his mind. “I do not require your assistance,” he spat.
Hermione slapped the surface between them. “She’s dying, Professor! How many other N.E.W.T.-standard potioneers do you see here, waiting to assist you?”
Black eyes held brown for several beats before Snape snatched the elastic from the counter and wordlessly tied the hopelessly greasy hair back from his darkly stubble-shaded face. Reaching for an unmarked parchment, he shoved it in her direction, followed by a battered quill.
“Take down these instructions,” he barked, and she immediately grabbed the implements.
“What is the poison?” she asked as she dipped the quill into a nearby inkstand.
“It has no name,” he answered.
“Then how do you know what it is?” she queried.
“Because I created it.”
Sophronia dried her face and stared for a moment at the haggard person confronting her from the mirror. With a determined lift of her chin, she turned from the glass and walked from her bedroom to the room where Stormy lay. Skye and Shadow looked up anxiously as she entered.
“I’m all right,” she said in calm tones. “Shadow, I would like for you to go to your brother’s laboratory and see if he needs any ingredients from the apothecary. Skye, I would like for you to stay here with Stormy; I must speak with Sirius.”
Unaccountably relieved at this return of the mother they knew, the girls moved to do her bidding.
The Dark Lord seldom had anyone about him who served only one purpose. Lucius Malfoy was useful because he was fabulously wealthy and he had influence at the Ministry of Magic. Bellatrix Lestrange was useful because she was insanely loyal and pathologically cruel. Snape was useful because he was a spy in Dumbledore’s camp as well as a Potions master.
Snape’s job was not completed simply by feeding information regarding the movements of the Order of the Phoenix to Voldemort; he also was required to brew potions designed to suit the Dark Lord’s fancy. Snape had lost count of the number of toxins he had created over the years he had spent as a lapdog of Tom Riddle. He had made it a point that he never presented the Dark Lord with a poison before an antidote had also been created. The Dark Lord never knew how many of his cruel, “unstoppable” potions had secret counter-agents hidden in Severus Snape’s personal stores.
The potion which had been used to poison Stormy was a clear, azure blue compound which had been the last potion Snape had ever created to the Dark Lord’s specifications. Voldemort had planned a dire attack on a Muggle village with the poison, but the Order of the Phoenix had forced the war to its climax before the village-poisoning plan had been implemented. To be on the safe side, Snape and Dumbledore had created a plan to counter the Dark Lord’s scheme, and Snape had brewed the necessary quantities of the antidote. After Voldemort had fallen, Snape had been the one to lead the Aurors through the armoury, helping them to identify all the substances in the Dark Lord’s arsenal and assisting in the destruction of the toxins. Once that job had been complete, Snape had seen no point in keeping stores of the antidote.
He had reckoned, however, without Alverard.
The poison in question would appeal to Alverard’s driving need to torment his victims with the pain and suffering of their loved ones. Oh yes, Snape could perfectly understand why Alverard would wish to use this poison against an enemy. There was a part of him, currently relegated to a subordinate place in his mind, which thought that, almost certainly, Alverard had also reckoned without him.
Hermione stared. “You created it?”
Snape had turned from her and was pulling ingredients from the shelves at his back. “As the Dark Lord’s Potions master, it was my job to create potions to accomplish his aims. This potion was one of his.”
“Then you have an antidote.” Hermione spoke with absolute certainty.
“I have a formula for an antidote,” he corrected, placing the last ingredient container on the counter and turning back to face her.
“Do we have everything we need? How long will it take?”
“We do not have everything we need. Some things are at Hogwarts; others must be obtained from the apothecary.” He frowned now, staring at a spot on the wall over her shoulder as he thought. “This potion usually takes forty-eight hours to prepare, but we do not have forty-eight hours. I must devise an accelerant.”
The cellar door opened and Shadow approached warily. Snape directed his attention to her with a glare.
“What is it?” he demanded.
“Mum wants to know if you will be needing ingredients from the apothecary, Severus.”
Snape opened his mouth to deliver himself of his opinion regarding the skills of non-Potions-masters at shopping for fresh, potent potions ingredients, but before he could speak, Miss Granger said, “Thank you, Shadow. We’ll put a list together and have one of the house-elves bring it to you, all right?”
Shadow nodded gratefully to Hermione before hastily retreating.
“Just don’t,” Hermione said, holding up one hand in a halting gesture. “I’m sure there are parts of this which require less specialized skill, only competence “ those are the things I can do for you. There are other things that only you will be able to do.” She looked up into his face, her quill poised over the parchment. “I know you prefer to work alone, sir, but you obviously haven’t slept in a while; you need to reserve your strength for the things with which I cannot help you. Use me.”
The vehemence with which the last words were spoken overcame the last of Snape’s resistance. Without acknowledging her words, he began to speak in his classroom voice and she began to copy down his instructions with fervid attention.
Sirius glanced over the parchment his Sophie had handed to him, noting the items and the quantities.
“Is this all?” he asked her.
Sophronia replied, “He has everything else he needs. Shadow said he emphasised that the sixteen-inch cauldron must be made of pure silver and not an alloy. Oh, and you're to tell the shopkeeper that these things are for Professor Snape.”
Sirius nodded. "That will put the fear of God in them," he muttered, folding the list and slipping it into his inner pocket.
He began to leave and she spoke again. “Thank you, Siri.”
Turning back to her, Sirius pulled his beloved into the enveloping, comforting embrace of his arms and rested his cheek on her golden hair. “I would give everything I have and do anything in my power to prevent you from feeling one moment of unhappiness, Sophie. Never hesitate to ask for what you need from me.”
Sophronia allowed herself to relax, for just a moment, into the man’s strong body, her small hands clutching at the back of his robes. What a temptation it was to allow him to take over this terrible ordeal for her, to consume the potions pressed upon her by Healer Fairywinkle and retire to her bedroom for the house-elves to pamper and spoil her while crisis reigned in her home. But who would care for Stormy? Who would love and encourage Stormy as much as her mama would “ who else could demand with as much insistence that Stormy wake up and be well?
Swallowing her weakness, she stepped back from Sirius. “Go now, please.”
With one final caress of her soft cheek, Sirius made his way to the entrance hall, where he came upon Lucius Malfoy, who was in the act of handing his walking stick and cloak into the eager hands of a house-elf. Sirius stopped, and grey eyes met grey eyes as the two men each took the measure of the other.
Sirius broke the silence. “We have cause to be grateful to you, Malfoy, for finding Snape and bringing him home to his family.”
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed as his mind searched for the barb in Black’s words, but he could find none. Though he resented Black’s use of “we,” he inclined his head minutely to indicate acknowledgement.
Sirius continued past Lucius, speaking over his shoulder as the ubiquitous house-elf opened the great oaken door so that he might exit. “Sophie is in the blue salon, just through the hallway and to the left.”
Malfoy felt his ire rise at Black’s casual proprietary attitude, but he restrained himself, simply sweeping through the hallway and to the left, seeking the solace of a moment with Sophronia.
Snape took the parchment from Miss Granger’s hands, reading through the notes she had taken as he iterated the steps they would need to take to assemble the antidote. Reaching to her again, he removed the quill from her hand and began to check off certain items on the page, scrawling “HG” by some of them in his spiky script, while he put “SS” by the others. When he had completed that operation, he tapped the page with his wand and murmured a spell, causing the two sets of instructions to realign themselves according to the assigned initials. That done, he drew the wand down the center of the parchment, neatly dividing it into two lists.
“Begin these two bases,” he said, indicating the first two steps on her list. “I must go to Hogwarts to retrieve some things. I have some texts which list possible accelerants, but I do not know which will be appropriate for this potion. I will have to study them.”
Hermione watched as the deep furrow between his brows creased further and he absent-mindedly rubbed his eyes. “Are you well enough to Disapparate, sir?”
Stepping away from her, Snape unlocked his cupboard and took down the wards, bringing out two stoppered phials. “When did you last sleep, Miss Granger?”
“More recently than you have, sir,” she replied.
“Answer the question,” he snapped.
“I slept yesterday, from dawn until noon. When did you sleep last, sir?” She was tired enough to be irritable and cranky; she was amazed when he actually answered her question.
“I slept from midnight Friday night until dawn Saturday morning; I have been up for a bit longer than forty-eight hours.” He uncorked a phial and poured the contents down his throat, then placed the other within her reach. “It is an Invigoration Draught; I will leave it to your discretion when you will ingest it.”
He did not dawdle, but left the cellar. Hermione pushed up her sleeves and picked up her silver knife to begin chopping her ingredients.
On the ground floor of the Estuary, at the end of the corridor leading from the Entrance Hall, was a small, sunny room which was known as the young ladies’ sitting room. In this room sat Ron Weasley, across a chessboard from his eldest brother, Bill, who moved his bishop diagonally across the board and smashed Ron’s knight to the floor.
“Ron, if you’re not going to pay attention, I would prefer not to play,” he said patiently.
Ron and Bill had been spending hours a day sitting in the small parlour, keeping out of the way of the house-elves and of Madam Snape, while being available to spend time with Shadow and Skye when they had the leisure to come sit down for a few minutes. Both young men held themselves ready at any time to run any errand that offered, but thus far the young ladies had not given them much scope for their desire to be of service.
“It is such a comfort just to be with you for a few moments,” Skye had told Bill as he pulled her into a comforting hug, when he had lamented over his lack of usefulness to her. Having been disciplined for a period of time which had seemed to stretch for an eternity, he had recused himself from the role of protector once Skye had removed from Grimmauld Place to the Estuary and now permitted himself to woo and pursue her with the full force of his substantial charm. Their stolen minutes were sweet, if darkened by the spectre of Stormy’s illness, and neither of them was in doubt of their desire to pledge themselves to one another.
Ron brought his gaze back to the chessboard and moved his castle.
“Checkmate,” he said.
Bill stared at the board, mentally reviewing each possible move of his king and saw that each move would put him in check.
“Bugger,” he muttered, beginning to replace the chess pieces in their cushioned box.
“Mum owled me,” Ron said. “She wants to know how I’m getting on with meeting the girls on that list she gave me.”
Bill continued nestling the chess pieces in their proper places. “When are you going to tell her that you want to marry Shadow?”
Ron shrugged disconsolately. “It hardly seems worth the screaming when the Snapes aren’t willing to agree yet.”
Bill closed the lid on the box of chess pieces and leaned towards his brother, placing both elbows squarely on the table. “Ron, if you have any chance at all to make this happen “ and I’m not saying that you do, if the Snapes can’t be brought around to your way of thinking “ you’re going to have to stand up and be a man. Nothing else is going to get Madam Snape to take you seriously, and certainly nothing less will earn the professor’s respect.”
“Are you saying I’m not a man?” Ron demanded, incensed.
“Don’t be thick. I saw you duelling men with three times your battle experience; I know you’re a man. It’s time to tell Mum that you’re a man, Ron. We all have to do it, eventually. She always cries, but she’s used to it by now; it’s happened to her five times before, already.”
Ron looked speculatively into Bill’s face as he pondered what had been said; after a moment, his lips began to twitch. Bill responded with a smile.
“What is it?”
Ron’s grin infused his voice with hilarity. “D’you think Percy has told Mum he’s a man?”
Bill’s chuckles blended with Ron’s as he slapped his youngest brother on the shoulder. “Good point, mate,” Bill said.
Percy Weasley considered himself to be a man of good sense. Though he felt sincerely sorry for the little Snape girl, and concerned by his Hermione’s decision to assist with the nursing of the child, he had no intention of subjecting his person to the dangers of infection. He was horrified, when upon a visit to Grimmauld Place for tidings of the invalid, he discovered that his brothers were regular visitors to the sick house.
“It’s foolish of them!” he exclaimed to Ginny, who delivered the information.
Ginny gave him a look of vague distaste. “They care about her, Percy. And they‘re courting Stormy’s sisters “ of course they want to be there for them.”
Percy’s brows rose. “I thought Bill was rather particular in his attentions to the eldest, but I never dreamed that Ron was serious about the middle girl “ she isn’t even seventeen yet, is she?”
Ginny looked at her wristwatch and stood. “Harry and I are going to play Quidditch in the park, Percy. Was there anything else in particular you wanted?”
Handily dislodged from Grimmauld Place, Percy decided to go share this latest information with his surest source of attentive conversation.
“I agree with you completely,” Fleur said, pouring tea from the steaming pot into a teacup, which she passed to Percy with perfect grace. “It is entirely unnecessary for them to be so careless! Are there not Healers and house-elves for such duties?”
Percy had begun to make a habit of calling upon the Delacours on a regular basis, so that he could learn what news they might have from the Estuary and share with them his own gleanings from persistent visits to Grimmauld Place. Fleur and he were in complete accord regarding the wisdom of staying away from Stormy’s vicinity until she was well. After all, of what possible use could it be for them to become ill simply for the sake of visiting the sick child?
It never occurred to them that neither would have been wanted by those who were so faithfully keeping watch over Stormy.
Hermione scarcely noticed when the cellar door opened and Sirius descended, his arms wrapped about a silver cauldron. He approached her workplace and set the cauldron down, beginning to unload the cauldron’s contents and to line the ingredients up in alphabetical order.
Arriving at a stopping place in her work of stirring anti-clockwise precisely twenty-seven times, Hermione set down her stirring rod, coming to investigate his actions.
“Do you need help with chopping things up, Hermione? It’s been a long time, but I was good at Potions.”
“Thanks, Sirius, but I have it under control. Good heavens! Why on earth did you buy so many strands of unicorn hair? They are preposterously expensive!”
Sirius pulled the list from his pocket. “It just said ‘unicorn hair,’ without specifying an amount,” he pointed out defensively. “For Stormy’s sake, I wanted to be sure Snape has everything he needs.”
“Excellent,” a silky voice purred from the top of the steps. “Snape needs for you to vacate his personal laboratory and to never enter it again.”
The irritated Potions master descended the steps, his own arms full of books, and swept past the enemy of his schooldays.
“I only want to help,” Sirius said evenly.
“Then help yourself out the door!” Snape snarled.
“You’re doing an excellent job of supporting Sophronia’s spirits,” Hermione said in a placating way to Sirius. “Thank you for going to the shops for these things.”
Sirius gave Hermione half a smile and reached over to wipe a smudge of ash from her cheek with his thumb. “Hang in there,” he murmured to her.
Snape looked up from placing his books on the counter just in time to witness Black’s hand upon Hermione’s face. “And do not fail to take Miss Granger with you,” he added spitefully. “I don’t know why she insisted upon staying here.”
Hermione turned her own fulminating gaze upon her former professor. “The bases are resting; I have timed it so that they will be ready for the next components at the same time, when the timer sounds. You will find the ingredients on the tray between the cauldrons, prepared and waiting in the order in which they must be added.” She pushed carelessly past him, bumping his arm with her shoulder, and snatched a book from the top of his pile. “I will attempt to nap for one hour, because it is the wise thing to do,” she tossed over her shoulder as she preceded Sirius up the cellar steps, though her manner clearly added the words, and not because you told me to leave. “I will be back in one hour.”
Snape uttered a string of filthy swear words as the cellar door banged shut behind the unaccountable Miss Granger.
Nymphadora Tonks looked up from the magazine in her lap when she heard the bell chime. She was expecting Viktor; they were to attend a Ministry function that evening, and he was a bit late. She put the periodical down upon the coffee table and stood to check her appearance in the mirror over the mantelpiece.
“Don’t bother “ you look lovely,” a husky voice commented from the doorway.
Tonks felt the colour flood her face as she whirled to see Remus Lupin standing in the room, his sober topaz eyes fastened on her unblinkingly. The knowledge that they were only hours away from the next full moon insinuated itself in her mind as she found herself unable to look away from him. She felt as if he were scenting her, as a predator will sense weakness or fear in its prey; the sensation pervaded her, until all the skin of her body was pebbled with gooseflesh, whilst the palms of her hands were damp with nervous perspiration.
“H-Hermione isn’t here,” she blurted nervously.
The sound of her voice broke his concentration, and Remus blinked, as if clearing his mind.
“I know where Hermione is,” he assured her, advancing another step into the room. “I also know where Severus, Sirius, and Bill are. I came to see if Minerva needs my assistance with anything, before I become “ indisposed, for a bit.”
“Remus,” Minerva said, spotting him from the landing.
Remus turned to look up at Minerva, whilst downstairs, the bell chimed again.
“Come speak with me in the study,” Minerva invited him.
There were voices below, and Viktor Krum began to walk up from the ground floor. Remus turned back to Tonks, who was still standing in the same spot, as if unable to take a step. “Have a nice time, tonight,” he said to her, before going up to Minerva.
Tonks turned back to the mirror again, putting her back to the doorway, for she did not wish for Viktor to see her until the deep blush receded. That look on Remus’ face “ had it been longing?
Hermione burst into the cellar one hour later, thundering down the stairs with no regard for the noise. Snape looked up from the texts open before him; his eyes now appeared to have sunk into his skull, so dark were the circles surrounding them. His long fingers were spotted with ink and several quill corpses littered the work surface. The intensity of his gaze would have been daunting to a more sensible person.
“I think I’ve found it!” Hermione said, placing a paper sack before him and hefting the book she had nicked from him earlier onto the counter.
Snape flicked a finger at the paper sack. “What is this?”
“Two sandwiches and an apple. You will be of no use to anyone if you faint from lack of nourishment.” She opened the book to a section which she had marked by placing a Honeyduke’s chocolate bar wrapper between the pages. “The purpose of the long maturation time is for the potion to thicken to the necessary consistency, correct?” she said.
Snape took a napkin from the sack and unwrapped it to reveal a thick sandwich, into which he promptly bit; after a moment of cogitation, he nodded in agreement.
Had she been paying attention, Hermione might have been startled by the lack of formality in Snape’s attitude towards her, which had begun the moment he relented and allowed her to assist him with the brewing of the antidote. A combination of exhaustion and unaccustomed susceptibility, engendered by Sophronia’s earlier attack, had somehow sent him outside of the walls he used to keep others away from him. He had ordered Hermione from the room earlier in a fit of pique because jealousy had flared when he saw Black touch her. His emotions were totally out of his control; all of his will was focussed on completing the antidote, and there was no energy left for any other concern.
Neither of them commented on his earlier petulant dismissal of her from the laboratory, nor on her defiant return.
Hermione was rereading the section she had marked, one finger following down the column. Almost idly, having finished the second sandwich and now eating the apple, Snape’s finger flipped out again, this time to give the sweets wrapper a nudge.
“What is this?” he inquired.
“It’s a bookmark,” she snapped, thrusting the item in question into her pocket, mortified that she had not considered that he would recognize the Honeyduke’s wrapper. Hermione blushed; he would know perfectly well where it had come from and why she had kept it.
“It looks like a sweets wrapper.”
“Oh, well spotted,” she sniped. “It is a sweets wrapper.”
“Since when do you eat dark chocolate?”
“Since when do you notice what I eat?”
Snape finished the apple and tossed the core into the waste bin with the detritus of the rest of his meal, standing to cross to the sink and to wash his hands. The knowledge that she had kept the sweets wrapper “ or one identical to it “ from their adventure in the cabin filled him with satisfaction; quite conveniently, he forgot the handkerchief drenched with her scent which resided in his office, in the furthest corner of his upper desk drawer.
Now he came to stand behind her, staring down at the page over her shoulder.
“I was amazed to find it listed amongst the possible accelerants,” Hermione told him, struggling to keep her mind on her discovery, in spite of his looming presence. “It is such a simple substance, and will have no negative interactions with the active ingredients in the potion. Muggles use it quite often in cooking, you know.”
“What is it?” he inquired, bending his head as if to draw closer to the words printed on the page, stealing another breath of her hair in the process.
“It’s corn flour.”
Sophronia sat quietly in the chair by the window, watching as the full moon rose in the sky. She had sent the girls to bed earlier, pointing out that they would need to be fresh to sit with Stormy in the morning, for Sophronia would have to sleep sometime. She knew very well that they would go down to the room where their swains waited for them, but she did not care. Comfort was scarce upon the ground at the Estuary these days, and she did not begrudge her daughters finding it where they might.
Sirius had left her against his will before moonrise; he knew that Lupin would be confined to his special room in the basement of Phoenix House, and Sirius had to be there on the off chance that one of the boys might need him. It had pained her heart to have him leave her, for now it seemed that she only felt complete when he was by her side; his very presence was like a balm to her spirit.
Comfort was an odd thing, really. Had not Lucius Malfoy sought her out that day to find comfort in her presence, though she had precious little to impart? She must be forever grateful to him for the effort he expended in finding Severus and sending him home “ she had to believe, for Stormy’s sake, that Severus had not arrived too late “ but even rendering such a signal service to her did not cause Sophronia to regard Lucius as other than a very kind friend who had come to her assistance in her hour of need. Sirius Black had been the love of her life since she was fifteen years old; Lucius could not hope to compete against that.
She was roused from her meditations when the door opened and Hermione entered, with Severus behind her. Hope brought Sophronia to her feet as well; she murmured the spell to light the candles, then seated herself on the side of the bed, her expectant eyes fixed on the phial in Severus’ hand.
“Is it “?” she breathed, afraid to speak the words aloud.
Severus nodded to her. “I need for you to sit at the head of the bed and to raise Stormy to rest against you. We must induce her to swallow the potion.”
Sophronia seated herself against the headboard, and pulled Stormy into a half-sitting position, causing the child’s head to come to rest in the crook of her elbow; deftly, she used her fingers to pry Stormy’s mouth open. Severus moved in then and used a large-bore dropper to deposit a small amount of the viscous liquid at the back of Stormy’s tongue. Sophronia then massaged her throat, until the potion moved down into her oesophagus. Over and again their movements were repeated, until the last of the potion had been coaxed into Stormy’s digestive system. Severus moved back and Hermione stepped forward to help lower Stormy to her pillow again.
Sophronia stood and fetched the chair from the window, pulling it to the bedside. “What do we do now?” she asked.
Severus wordlessly conjured two wooden chairs across from Sophronia, and he and Hermione sat down.
“Now, we wait.”
First there was heat, miserable, inescapable heat, causing thirst, parching, and there was aching, all over. She moved her head, searching for a cooler spot, but there was none to be found.
“She moved her head! Did you see?”
Snape took Stormy’s hand and murmured, “Legilimens!” before dropping his wand and placing his other hand on her forehead. Within seconds, he was immersed in emotion, discomfort, distress “ and cognizance. Opening his eyes, he spoke to his stepmother.
“Call her out of it, Sophronia. Tell her to wake up.”
With tiny sobs in each breath, Sophronia reached out to pull the fever-ridden body of her baby into her arms and began to speak to her in a voice roughened by tears.
“Stormy, wake up now. Wake up! You’ve slept long enough and it’s time for you to wake up. If you “ if you don’t wake up right now, Mummy will be cross!”
The little head tossed again, this time against her mother’s shoulder.
“She’s trying!” Sophronia sobbed, now rocking back and forth as she held the child to her bosom.
“She’s going to have to try harder,” Snape said harshly, reaching across the mattress to place a large hand on Stormy’s back. “Stormy! Wake up this instant! Do not keep your mother waiting.”
The small body suddenly snapped into rigidity and Snape lunged to take her from her mother, fearing a seizure; Sophronia, by instinct, refused to release her child.
“Mummy?”
The tiny voice, which had not been heard for five long days, froze them all in their tracks, uncertain, at first, that they could believe the evidence of their ears.
“Mummy, I’m thirsty,” Stormy croaked.
“Of course you are, precious,” Sophronia sobbed, stroking the fevered little face.
Snape and Hermione turned to one another, and without thought, fell into each other’s arms, Hermione’s relieved tears drenching his stained shirtfront. If, by chance, tears fell also into Hermione’s hair, Snape would never be brought to admit it.
They stayed that way until Nanny Apparated into the room with cool water for her charge, and shooed them away. “Shower and sleep, Master Severus, and Nanny is not wanting to see you again until you have slept for twelve hours!” the little creature nagged at him with fierce concern.
The next few days were halcyon ones, completely removed from any reality which might be awaiting them all outside the doors of the Estuary. Healer Fairywinkle determined, and his findings were confirmed by Healer Howser, who agreed to pop in for a second opinion, that though her heart seemed to be somewhat weakened by the assault of the poison, Stormy’s constitution was strong enough that she would make a full recovery, now that the toxin in her body had been counteracted. Within the first twenty-four hours, the assiduous application of fever-reduction charms broke the fever which had ravaged Stormy since the onset of her illness, leaving her weak and emaciated, but on the mend.
Snape had fallen into his bed and slept for sixteen hours after leaving Stormy’s bedside. For the first two days, he visited the sickroom frequently, casting his own diagnostic spells, watching for the least sign of relapse. Though there had been nothing built into the poison to cause it to reactivate after a period of dormancy, Snape was determined to be vigilant; too well he knew that one ought not to make assumptions regarding the efficacy of potions when faced with the mystery of the human body.
When he was not sleeping or haunting the sick room, Snape took refuge in the room which had once been his father’s library, sitting in one of the deep armchairs with his booted feet up on an ottoman, indulging himself in whatever reading material took his fancy. One day he came into the room after breakfast to find Miss Granger there before him, curled up with a volume of Jane Austen; he did not eject her, but inquired as to what she was reading, then went to the shelf and took down a second copy of the same novel, beginning to read with calm enjoyment.
It became their custom to discuss the novel, Pride and Prejudice, at every opportunity, frequently amusing Snape’s sisters by their barbed exchanges over meals, or carrying on their debates during long, winding walks along the pathways through the grounds of the Estuary.
The Snape women often watched them with curious expressions, then would shake their heads over the puzzling behaviour and get on with their daily lives. Only Nanny watched with a sharp, knowing eye, and muttered to herself that there was trouble a-coming.
By Snape’s instructions, it was not made public knowledge that Stormy’s coma had been due to poisoning, rather than illness. In fact, Snape forbade Sophronia and the girls to pass on any information regarding Stormy’s recovery to Fleur, stating simply that if she had not seen fit to be by their sides when Stormy was unconscious, he saw no need of her assistance now that Stormy was on the mend.
The patient herself, however, was becoming fractious as she began to regain some strength. Nanny, who had long been overly-lenient with Stormy, and who had become positively indulgent now that she was recovering, had no control over the child when it came time to make her take her medicine. Snape was ruthless enough to tip the foul brews down her throat when called upon to assist, but this upset Stormy so much that Sophronia and Skye put him from the room and determined new ways to cope with the easily-upset eight year old.
It was after midnight on the evening one week after he had arrived at the Estuary from France; it was time for Stormy’s next dose of the potion to strengthen her heart. He slipped into her room and found Hermione, reading by the fire with a screen guarding the occupant of the bed from the extra light.
“You should not be up so late,” he said to her, bending over to see the title on the page she was reading. “On to Sense and Sensibility now, hmm?”
Hermione looked up at him over her shoulder, her eyes crinkling as she smiled. “Oh, do you have a second copy of this one, too?”
Snape leaned one shoulder against the mantelpiece, his hands negligently disposed in his trouser pockets. “I can’t have you getting ahead of me, can I?”
Hermione simply shook her head, moving to retrieve a cup of milk from the table by the window. “When I wake her to take her medicine, you can coax her to drink her milk,” she told him.
Snape did not argue, but took the cup and seated himself in the chair behind the screen as Hermione went to wake Stormy.
“I don’t want to take the potion! Severus makes it taste bad on purpose!”
Hermione lifted Stormy’s shoulders and held her cradled against her heart as she shook out the wrinkles in the pillowcase and plumped the pillow before settling Stormy back against it again.
“It hurts when you lift me up!”
Hermione smiled at the child and poured the potion out into a glass. “Come on and take your medicine, and then I will tidy you up so that you can receive your visitor,” she promised.
Stormy’s tempestuous expression brightened. “Severus?”
“Yes, Severus is come to see you, but you must let me tidy you up before you see him; gentlemen are not accustomed to seeing young ladies with snarls in their hair!”
Snape sat quietly behind the screen, marvelling at the way the young witch handled his irritable little sister; Nanny would indulge the child, Snape himself would shout and threaten, but Hermione kept up a flow of small talk and persuaded Stormy to do what was needed without ruffling the child’s sensibilities too much.
At last she had bathed the still-skeletal little body and attired her in a fresh nightgown, then settled her back into her bed, countering her complaining with promises of treats to come, the first of which was a visit with her brother.
Snape cast a warming charm on the milk and went to sit beside Stormy. “See, I have brought you the cup with the pink flowers,” he told her as he gave it to her.
Stormy accepted the cup but a cranky frown obscured her face. “I don’t want milk,” she fussed.
Hermione seated herself across the bed from Snape and spoke to Stormy again. “Remember that I promised to tell you a story while you drink all your milk?”
Stormy took an obedient sip and turned her face to Hermione. “I want the story about the fountain and the bubbles again,” she demanded.
“All right, but take another drink of milk first,” Hermione bargained, answering Snape’s humorously quirked eyebrow with an incandescent smile which fairly took his breath away.
Stormy drank her milk without further complaint as Hermione told the story, with frequent interruptions from Stormy, who obviously had the tale by heart and prompted Hermione with favourite details. Hermione had answered affirmatively that Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco, and Luna had been there, and Stormy’s energy was flagging.
“Was Severus there?” Stormy asked sleepily, as Snape took the cup from her hand and placed it safely on the table beside the bed.
“Oh, yes, he was there,” Hermione assured her, “but he is a teacher, and he could not splash in the fountain with the students.”
Stormy’s eyes closed and Hermione stopped speaking, watching the child carefully, searching for signs that she had slipped into sleep. When the little chest began to rhythmically rise and fall, Hermione looked up to smile at Snape, only to find him gazing at her with an expression of unmitigated wonder.
Unafraid, Hermione returned his gaze, a soft, knowing smile curving her lips. In that moment, she felt that she was wholly open to the stuff of dreams, to the possibilities of reality, and to the very fabric of life itself. She waited, in complete acceptance, for his next move.
Snape saw her as if for the first time, entire and absolute before him. The knowledge of what she represented and of what he had done dropped upon him and collided with the fantasy life he had been living these last happy days. Involuntarily, he reached his hand to her, across the body of the sleeping child, then pulled back and wrenched himself from the chair, walking from the room.
A/N: “Corn flour” in the U.K. is called “corn starch” in the U.S.
I just wanted you to know that my adored Slytherin was all in favour of ending the chapter when Severus says, “Now we wait.” I explained to him that you lot are not above marching on our castle with flame-lit torches, so he revised his thinking.
The fabulous Avery, whose story She Married Her Choice is currently on my update-or-I’ll-die list, is a gifted artist, in addition to being a mesmerizing writer. She has drawn this picture for the dance scene in Chapter 12 of this story:
http://averygoodun.livejournal.com/58311.html#cutid1
This story has been nominated in Round Six of the Multifaceted Awards; the categories are "Endurance" and "Rapture." Voting closes on July 22. If you would like to vote for this story or others, you may do so here:
http://multifaceted.creative-musings.com/main.htm
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