Blast this stupid assignment anyway. The Dark Lord had returned to power only a few weeks ago, and instead of doing useful spying for the Order, here he was in Romania, sent by Albus Dumbledore, owing to his prized personage as Potions Master. The simultaneous outbreak of illness amongst both the Keepers and the creatures was wreaking havoc in the preserve, and the Keepers were desperate for help. Snape was somewhat uniquely suited to brewing healing and immunisation potions for both human and animal.
All had not been lost - he'd been able to contact Charlie Weasley about helping with the Order, but Mr. Weasley was currently projectile vomiting from the promising perch of his cot. Snape had given the second-eldest Weasley the immunisation potion, but he'd already been exposed, and while he certainly dispensed the effective potions for treatment, the illness had to run its course. As a result, Snape had been paired with some Beauxbatons graduate named Matilda who had more vanity than sense, and Snape had told her to stay put while he'd Apparated back to the barracks to give the four times a day treatment potions to those afflicted, and she'd obviously violated this simple command.
Snape ran through his options quickly - they were slim. Nobody back at camp was in any condition to help her - neither did he have any desire to face off an enraged, and probably nesting, dragon, whom he hadn't bothered to aggravate to start with. Who wouldn't BE aggravated if the silly swot had followed policy, sense, and directive. Merlin's beard, just what he'd always needed and wanted, a replay of a Tri-Wizard Tournament task, with him as an unwilling champion.
Bugger.
Snape crept from tree to tree, mindful of the roars and screeches of anger from the dragon, and the startled cries for help from his erstwhile partner. Well, if she were screaming, she had to be alive, in any case.
At the edge of the treeline, he peeked around the trunk of a linden tree, which he noted absently was in dire need of harvesting. The dragon currently had her back to him, but was rearing to strike the terrified witch, who was backed up against a boulder. He'd have to act quickly.
He crouched into a small ball, and Apparated himself behind the boulder, and immediately Levicorpus'd her out of the reach of the dragon, hidden from sight by the large rock. The witch screeched in panic, but he levitated her behind the tree he'd just left, much to the confusion of the dragon, who roared in protest.
With the dragon temporarily distracted, he aimed his wand at the camp and let his Patronus fly with a message to Charlie Weasley. Although the boy wouldn't be able to do much himself, Snape knew he'd at least rise from the bed to alert any others who may be returning to camp.
This had a backlash effect, however, as the dragon saw from whence the silvery cobra had shot and launched herself into the air to see over the boulder. Snape never thought he'd be grateful for his years of torment at the hands of the self-styled Marauders, but at that moment, he was, primarily because of the rapid reaction time that had been beaten into him. He transfigured a sheep from a pebble on the ground, and Apparated twenty feet to the side of the dragon. True to form, the hungry animal was distracted by its primary food source, and lunged for the sheep, which convincingly bleated in protest. Snape took advantage of the distraction and cast a Conjunctivitis curse dead center of the dragon's eye, and followed it immediately by a powerful sleeping charm. The beast fell to the ground with a resounding thud.
"Accio immunity potion!" Snape snapped, and the bottle flew to his hand. He stalked over to the sleeping giant lizard and with the help of a swallowing potion, administered it to the slumbering animal. His task completed, he glowered up at the tree behind which he'd hidden his companion. Eyes glittering dangerously, he hissed "and what, precisely, was the point behind that imbroglio?" Snape hissed at his erstwhile partner.
Matilda stumbled out from behind the tree. "I . . . it . . . " she stuttered, and then swooned to the ground in a dead faint.
Snape blinked at her in confusion, then studied her appearance more carefully than the immediate rescue of her had allowed.
Her flushed and sweaty skin and rapid but shallow breathing alarmed him more than the seeping gash along her left thigh – that is, until he realised the seeping gash was probably the source of her apparent sudden illness. He crouched next to her and felt her forehead, neck, cheeks and wrist and found the unholy triumvirate of symptoms he dreaded but strongly suspected: weak but thready pulse, spiking fever and clammy skin.
]Bollocks to this, anyway!
"Accio Charles Weasley's Nimbus!" he barked with a careless wave of his wand in the general direction of the camp. While waiting on the broom, he rummaged through the potions he always had stashed in his robes, and withdrew an Invigoration Draught which he forced down the woman's throat with an exasperated sigh of frustration.
This day just kept getting better and better, didn't it? Now he'd have to double up on his own dosages of prophylactic potions, since Dragon Pox was a disease spread by contact. And he didn't know where this ridiculous woman had contracted it, but by its short incubation period, which was shortened even further by stress, it could easily have been the Horntail slumbering behind him.
A swishing through the air alerted him to the arrival of the broom, and he straddled it, grateful for his natural dexterity, then hovered the witch in front of him, steadying her with his wand hand as he slowly flew back to camp. He would have preferred to Side-Along Apparate her, but he knew in her condition, she couldn't tolerate the compression inherent to the process.
He landed the broom and let it fall to the ground, primarily concerned with the condition of his former partner, now patient. Scowling disgustedly – she was supposed to make things easier, not more difficult, and certainly not more difficult for everyone around them – he cast a modified version of the Bubble-Head charm that encased her whole body lest she contaminate anyone else, and a Bubble-Head charm over himself since he wasn't sure how contagious he was yet, then stomped over to the dorm with her unconscious body in tow.
Unceremoniously dropping her onto a cot, he cast protective spells over his hands while he went to the potions stores to see if there were anything else available to treat her. When he didn't find anything, he stalked up to Charlie Weasley's broom, summoning it to him so he could return it.
He found the second-eldest Weasley curled into the fetal position on his cot, breathing evenly. He shook his head at having to wake him, but it couldn't be avoided. "Weasley. WEASLEY!" he snapped. The young man blinked, then fought to focus his eyes.
"Whassamattau?"
"That imbecile Matilda got herself scratched by a Horntail, which was apparently afflicted with Dragon Pox. She is very ill and needs to be transported to hospital – do you have a PortKey to St Mungo's?"
Charlie winced, but forced himself to a sitting position. "Youl'righ'? he mumbled.
Snape paused for a moment, trying to decipher what was clearly a question. "Am I all right?" he asked then continued when the red-head nodded weakly. "I am unsure, but once I get her to the hospital I will get checked."
Charlie nodded again, and, taking a deep breath, steeled himself and forced himself to an unstable standing position, leaning heavily against the wall. He panted for a few moments then started stumbling toward the stairs, leaning on the wall the entire time.
"Weasley, you dunderhead, what do you think you are doing?"
" . . . Portkey . . . " Charlie wheezed, having to stop stumbling to gather enough strength to do so.
"Oh for Merlin's sake, Weasley, just tell me where it is and I will get it! For that matter, Accio Portkey!."
Charlie shook his head, leaning heavily on the wall. "Can' talk…won' sum'n…" he said, gasping with the effort.
"Oh, that is just brilliant!" Snape hissed angrily. "So nobody can Summon the Portkey when they are too ill to move to get it. There is certainly a GREAT deal of logic behind THAT plan!" Charlie could veritably hear his old professor's eyes rolling, but he did have to smirk in appreciation.
"Would you like me to levitate you down the stairs?" Snape offered, quite certain that if his former student tried to walk down the stairs he'd fall and break his neck. With the lack of sense that went into this entire arrangement, that would just be the perfect ending.
Charlie nodded, with the absent note that that was rather becoming his main way of communicating. While being Mobilicorpus'd wasn't his general idea of ideal transport, he was exhausted and very ill, and the less effort he had to put into anything, the better.
At the bottom of the steps, Snape asked him "which way", and Charlie pointed weakly to the left. They navigated the dorms like this until they reached the room Charlie indicated held the PortKey. He waved vaguely in the direction of a cabinet on the wall, mumbling "statue".
Snape looked about and found a rather gruesome statue of a warrior, and called Charlie's attention to it. When the hovering man nodded, he asked "and this will take me to St Mungo's?" completely unconvinced.
His intuition was correct as the red-head shook his head and whispered "Mihai Daneshti".
"What is that?" Snape asked, confused.
" . . . local wizard hospital . . . "
Snape strongly considered demanding the PortKey to St Mungo's that he'd originally asked for, but realised that Weasley had always been attentive in class. If he didn’t give him a PortKey to St Mungo's when one was specifically requested, he either didn't have one or intra-hospital transport could be arranged. He hovered the other man back to his bed and grabbed some additional potions from the stores before returning to Matilda.
He wasn't happy about going to an unfamiliar hospital, but even had Matilda been able to tolerate an Apparation, he wouldn't chance trying a trans-continental Apparation, much less a side-along. He MIGHT have tried to Apparate to the south English coast from the northern French coast, but that was several hundred miles away and would take too long in any case.
The Invigoration Draught appeared to have assuaged the onslaught of Matilda's symptoms, but he knew this was only tempory – he had to hurry. He grabbed her and activated the PortKey, and managed to land them in a semi-upright position in what appeared to be the emergency room of a small rural hospital.
A witch was gesturing to him and, from the tone of her voice, asking him a question. "My name is Severus Snape, I am a Potions Master from England temporarily assigned to Dragomirna Preserve; this is my parter Matilda and she appears to have been afflicted with that strain of Dragon Pox" he said slowly, hoping she'd understand English.
"Ve cannot treat that here," she replied in heavily accented English.
"It can be treated in England – do you have or can you make a PortKey to St Mungo's?"
"No, you vill haff to Floo," she said, gesturing to a large fireplace behind her.
Snape sighed. He really did not want to Side-Along Floo with anyone – he didn't like Floo'ing at all, much less with another body smashing up against him, but he saw no choice under the circumstances, and reluctantly manouvered his companion to the fireplace, wrapped her body around his, grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the bucket on the mantle, and stepped into the fireplace. Taking a deep breath and steeling himself for the upcoming and very long trip, he threw the powder to the floor, clenched his eyes shut and snapped "St Mungo's!"
After spinning dizzily for what seemed like an eternity through green whirling flames, and after inhaling far more Floo powder than he thought good for his health, Snape slammed unceremoniously into the ground, hard enough to make his crooked and yellowing teeth rattle. He shook his head briefly to clear it then glanced about, trying to get his bearings.
He wasn't quite sure where he was, but one thing was for certain – he was out of doors. Flooing generally landed you in a fireplace indoors.
Nor was he in London, for that matter. What was wrong with the Romanian Floo? He contemplated that it may have been his accent.
He shook his head in frustration and glanced about for his patient. The whirling from Floo travel had caused him to lose his grip on her, and she was lying in a puddle. He winced, levitated her and cast a Scourgify spell over her, then sighed and looked more carefully at his surroundings.
After a few moments contemplation, he decided he thought he knew where he was – the buildings immediately surrounding him were not very tall and the ones that were taller, he recognised from a Death Eater raid. He shook his head wryly at the irony of the situation. He needed to head north to get to the hospital, so he glanced up at the sky, wand poised to cast a cloud-clearing spell, which he ended up not needing, as the English sky was, for once, mercifully clear, a fact for which he was grateful, given his still lingering disorientation. While he was gazing at the sky, he pondered that the light-headedness may not be entirely from the travel, and was angered at the thought of becoming ill.
In fairly short order, he located Ursa Major – he had a natural interest in Astronomy as a young child, an interest which had been encouraged by his father and which served him well in Potions, given that some ingredients had to be gathered during certain phases of the moon or during the reign of a zodiac house. Using the constellation to locate Polaris was a task he'd learnt as a toddler and was second-nature, and, resigned, he began walking rapidly north, the unconscious form of the woman who had started the whole fiasco bobbing silently behind him.
Snape scowled as he approached a large body of water. He was only vaguely familiar with the area – Death Eaters weren't known to go out on tours of an area they'd raided as if they were some kind of inane summer tourist. They Apparated in, took care of whatever business they needed to take care of, and Disapparated.
He eyed his companion carefully. Her condition was deteriorating rapidly, and he was just contemplating the likelihood of her surviving an Apparation across the water toward a bank he couldn't even see and had never stood upon, when he started sharply at a movement he saw out of the corner of his eye. Whirling around, wand at the ready, he froze and stared in astonishment at what he saw.
A kelpie was floating peacefully in the water.
Snape's reaction was instinctive – he flicked his wand and cast an immediate Muggle-repelling jinx on the surrounding area.
The animal peered back at him in that annoying, superior way that animals were wont to do on occasion and Snape pondered his odds. In the encroaching darkness, he couldn't see the other side of the body of water, in any direction. If he were able to convince the creature to help him, she could carry him and his passenger across the loch with a speed comparable to a Thestral flying. In the absence of Apparation, a PortKey or a broomstick, it was easily the fastest way to cross the water. But to tame her, he'd need to bridle her, and he didn't happen to have a bridle stuck in the back pocket of his robes.
A slight breeze ruffled the bulrushes and he sneered. He set his patient down so as to be able to focus entirely on what he was about to do. Summoning several of the long reeds to him, he Transfigured them into a secure bridle with a long lead, then with the aid of a well-aimed Placement Charm, fastened the bridle securely around her head.
The animal bucked for a minute, but he twitched the lead slightly. "I need you to take my passenger and me across the lake."
The animal hadn't a choice, and nodded slightly.
Snape turned his attention and his wand back on Matilda and hovered her to the creature's back, casting an Incarcerous around her to secure her, then Apparated himself lightly onto the Kelpie's back.
"We need to head north," he said, grateful that something seemed to be going in his favour for a change.
At the banks of the loch, the kelpie laid her head down, allowing her passengers to disembark. Almost absently, he removed the bridle and lead, and headed wearily towards the only building within sight.
As he prepared to open door, read the sign. "Stoker's Den". Oh bloody brilliant. This was a pub known for housing vampires. He sighed.
He honestly wasn't sure if he was going to be able to walk to the back of the building, much less to another location – he'd have to chance it.. Warily, he pushed the door open.
The clientele eyed him and Matilda suspiciously, some licked their lips hungrily - most of them seemed to have their eyes on Matilda. He held back a shudder. This was definitely not an ideal place to stay but he was tired and desperate. The fireplace in this pub is connected to the Floo network and he could Floo straight to St Mungo's from here.
But not tonight. He simply couldn't handle the travel alone, much less with an injured "passenger."
A pale woman with straight black hair approached him.
"What will it be?"
"A room please," he answered as politely as he could muster, no trace of his trademark sarcasm evident. He didn't want to chance irritating them and giving them further reason to attack.
"Would you like a drink first? It's on the house. Your friend looks like she needs one."
Snape eyed her suspiciously. He didn't trust her and there were rumours about this place. He slowly accepted the key and paid the woman. "No thanks, I need my rest, big day tomorrow."
"You know ... your friend reeks of death ... we can help her."
Snape felt all eyes from the room looked intently at Matilda. He shook his head politely, "No thanks."
Warily climbing the stairs, barely able to keep the Mobilicorpus cast, he reached the room. He had to secure himself and his partner from the vampires ... who knows - some unscrupulous vampire might decide to come over and have a drink . . .
Snape was exhausted. He had spent an excruciatingly long day battling a dragon, travelling internationally, traipsing across the English and Romanian countrysides, taming a water demon and now he was in a vampire lair. He could hardly stay standing and was not at all certain if he was infected by either Dragon Pox or Doxy Flu, and now he had to secure his room against a potential invasion of vampires before he could collapse into a much-needed sleep.
With nary a second thought, he unceremoniously dropped his partner to the floor – the bed was too small for two people and damned if he was going to sleep on the floor after the day he'd had. She was comatose and wouldn't care in any case, whereas if he were stiff from sleeping on the floor, it could significantly detract from his ability to help them in the morning.
Yawning fiercely, he contemplated his next actions and in which order he should take them. He knew there was a Catholic church around here somewhere, so he concentrated intensely to Summon a jug of Holy Water to him. He wasn't a particularly religious man, but at this point, with his survival on the line, he couldn't afford to overlook any possibilities. He knew there had to be a market or farm fairly close, and Summoned some garlic, as well. Both arrived at about the same time, and he crushed the garlic and mixed the resulting oil with the holy water, and stalked outside to scrawl a message on the door, which opened outwards. "Do Not Enter, You Are Not Welcome". He wasn't sure if the lack of welcome would apply in their own lair, but it was little enough effort for him to consider it worthwhile.
He went back into his room and closed the door securely. After a moment's contemplation, he Transfigured Matilda's wand into a silver scythe and charmed it to hover at about five and a half feet above the ground in such a way that if the door were opened from the outside it would swing vigorously downwards. The idea was to decapitate anyone who tried to enter.
It was a testament to his exhaustion that he'd taken the lead he'd Transfigured from the bulrushes with him. However, it was a fortuitous oversight and he transfigured the lead into ash stakes of varying lengths which he sharpened to a vicious point, then planted them securely in the entrance, ironically enough using the same Placement Charm that he'd used to secure the bridle to the Kelpie's head.
He then liberally coated the points of the stakes and the blade of the scythe with the mixture of garlic oil and Holy Water.
He rubbed his face then took stock of the contents of his robes. A few potions phials were empty, so he filled them with the Holy Water, and he sprinkled a liberal amount on the unconscious woman on the floor and surrounded her with the crushed garlic. He had a couple of Galleons he could afford to spare, so he looked around the room for the shabbiest piece of wood furniture he could find, and shattered it to bits with a Blasting Charm, which he cast repeatedly over the splinters until a copious pile of dust remained. He then scattered the dust inside and outside his door, cast the most powerful enchantments he could spare the energy for to secure the room, and collapsed onto the bed fully clothed, fast asleep before his head hit the pillow.
Snape was nearly surprised to wake up the next morning after all that had befallen him the day before. Although his stomach was growling loudly, he was uncharacteristically delighted as bright sunlight streamed through the window. There would be no vampires in the parlour.
He spent a few moments dismantling the traps at the door, which looked undisturbed. He frowned at the pile of dust, but realised he'd have died from sheer exhaustion had the vampires not offered him a room, and Evanesco'd it away. He threw a handful of Galleons down on the bed, enough to pay for the room, replace the table he'd destroyed and leave a decent gratuity. He then sped to the bar as fast as he could to use the Floo.
Snape sighed with relief as he finally reached the bloody hospital. This whole sordid mess was thankfully about to be far behind him as Matilda was on the verge of being "someone else's problem" which, so far as Snape was concerned, was her rightful place.
He glanced around the lobby, barely registering the varying maladies of the room's occupants, other than to absently note that one had obviously had a potions accident that was easily prevented by the barest exercise of common sense. His academic sensibilities were momentarily offended, but he locked the impulse down.
Frustrated, he eyed the sign behind the Welcome Witch, quite convinced that he would lose his temper if she took that impertinent tone with him when he got to the desk.
Then again, he thought, gazing at her slightly more intently, perhaps not. She was an ex-student of his (not that THAT was saying anything anymore…), one of his NEWT level Ravenclaw students, and had always been attentive and respectful in class.
He winced, however, at the tone with which she directed the . . . unfortunate being in front of him. He wasn't entirely sure if it was male or female, and its limbs were all akimbo and in the wrong places. "Fourth Floor!" she snapped sarcastically, rolling her eyes, and muttered under her breath "Merlin! Don't people know how to read any more?!" as the man . . . or woman . . . whatever it was, tottered off on its hands towards the lift.
"I assure you, Miss Attner, I know how to read," said Snape silkily, as he approached the desk. "I am, however, not quite sure to which floor this woman should go, being as I suspect both Dragon Pox and a rare strain of Doxy Flu."
"I know you know how to read, Professor Snape, and how have you been, sir?" the woman said quite politely, as she absently analysed the floating woman.
"I would be better if I were finished with my unexpected and entirely unwelcome apprenticeship at being a nursemaid. Any assistance you could provide in this manner would be appreciated."
The plump blonde nodded (odd, she hadn't been overweight in school – perhaps she was expecting? Not that it was any of his business), then consulted a booklet next to her. "Dragon Pox by contact?"
"Correct."
"And Doxy Flu also by contact?"
"No. Doxy Flu by exposure to other humans with it, at least as far as I can tell, but, as I mentioned, it appears to be a more rare, and far more serious strain of Doxy Flu."
The Welcome Witch frowned, and leaned over to assess the levitating but unconscious woman again. "Hm. Better take her to two – they have better intercessory facilities there than on one. If she's on the wrong floor better to be safe than sorry, and they can always transport her if she's in the wrong place."
"Thank you very much."
"Yes sir, and you have a good day. Next!"
Snape manoeuvred the floating witch into a lift which he thankfully didn't have to share with anyone and was thus able to go expressly to the second floor.
The lift gate opened directly to the ward's admitting desk, and as there was no one else in the ward, the wizard behind the desk looked up at him expectantly.
"Wot's 'is, 'en?" he drawled.
Snape ground his teeth before replying. How people managed to get through school sounding like uneducated misfits was beyond him. If a student at Hogwarts tried to speak to him in that manner, he'd give them cauldron scrubbing detentions for a month.
"She appears to have contracted Dragon Pox by contact, and is also exhibiting symptoms of a rare strain of Doxy Flu."
"Hm," the Healer said nonchalantly, moving around the desk and waving his wand in Matilda's general direction. "She's anemic. When'd da petechiae start?"
"The what!?" Snape snapped, his blood running cold as he whirled to face her.
"Look 'ere, 'ese 'ittle bruises on 'er neck? 'At's petechiae."
"I know what petechiae are, you imbecile!" he hissed viciously, triply alarmed now. First anemia, then subcutaneous bleeding, and now the marks were on her neck?
He rubbed his pinched brow rather harshly. "You may need to check further that she's not been bitten by a vampire," he said softly.
"Oi. She's jes' a 'ole barl o' fun, aintchee?"
Snape took a deep breath before replying, fully expecting to have petechiae on his own ear canals if this inane conversation continued much longer. "Indeed she is."
"So, eh, wot 'appened?"
"She is a Dragon Keeper assigned to Dragomirna Preserve in Romania. A number of the Keepers have taken ill with a bout of what appears to be severe Doxy Flu." Snape took the Healer's nod as an indication that he was familiar with the situation. "There has, unfortunately, also been a bout of Dragon Pox circulating amongst the beasts. She . . . had an . . . unauthorized confrontation with a Dragon that hadn't yet been immunised, and appears to have contracted the Pox as well. The symptoms manifested, as near as I can tell, nearly simulatenously and almost immediately after she sustained this gash to her thigh," he said, pointing at the wound.
"An wot were da symptoms?"
Snape began ticking them off on his fingers. "Loss of consciousness - rapid, thready pulse – weak and shallow breathing – clammy skin – fever – sustained coma - and this morning she had a rather vicious bout of projectile vomiting accompanied by a violent bowel elimination."
The Healer winced, then asked "d'jou save enny ov it?
"No I did not as I hadn't the means or the time, but both the vomitus and the feces did have some blood in it."
The Healer shook his head. "'ell, wit'out da Pox an' Vampire bite, I've only seen someone afflicted wit' 'is strain ov Flu survive mebbe a month wit-out treatment. Iffn she's got Dragon Pox, too, 'at brings 'er down to two weeks, tops. An' none of 'at takes da bite inta consideration."
"I did bring her to a HOSPITAL for TREATMENT, after all . . . " Snape sneered.
"Yea', pr'fesser, but we ain' GOT da cure. 'm sorry, dere's nuthin' more yoo c'n do here. We'll take care 'o 'er s'bes' we can."
Snape blinked in shock. Surely the man weren't serious. He had not just wasted the last two days of his life battling a dragon, gallivanting all about Europe with a 10 stone woman, taming a sea demon, spent the night in a vampire lair and nearly gotten himself killed for the effort to be told that he may as well have left her to be eaten by the dragon to begin with. He refused to believe that outright. Merlin's beard, all he needed now was to be Summoned and have to drag the swot with him. That would just make his day complete.
Gah. Perish the thought. Snape spun on his heel and swept from the ward. In his mad rush to leave the vampire lair this morning he hadn't bothered to stop for anything to eat or drink, and hadn't eaten or drank anything since mid afternoon yesterday. He was in no condition to contemplate the futility of the mission Albus had sent him on under such conditions, and stalked off for the fifth floor.
As Snape strode down the hall, he stopped short at a hissed "psst!". Frozen in place, he attuned his ears in all directions, finally slowly turning in a circle, eyes darting around the corridor, trying to find the source of the sound.
"Excuse me, sir," spoke a portrait on the wall, of an elderly woman in a ridiculous get-up. "I couldn't help overhearing your friend's dilemma."
"She is not my friend," Snape protested, scowling, but was cut off by a dismissive wave of the woman's hand.
"Whatever. You might find some help for her if you ask Hippocrates."
"Hippocrates has been dead for nearly two thousand years," Snape jeered, crossing his arms and glowering at the portrait. "In all my years of academic immersion, I have not yet encountered a way to commune with the dead, which is saying a great deal as I am a professor at Hogwarts."
"I know who you are, you sarcastic git. There is a portrait of him here in the hospital. As the portrait."
"And where might I find this fabled artefact? Hippocrates is, after all, a fairly prominent name in the wizarding world – one would think his portrait would be accorded a place of prominence, yet I seem to have missed seeing it," he sneered
The woman sighed, then recited a poem in a sing-song voice:
I sing of a tale worthy of myth and legend,Snape blinked at her. Surely she was joking. He sighed. "I have not eaten in over 24 hours. I have not had coffee yet despite going to bed ridiculously late and having gotten up even more ridiculously early. It is too early for this nonsense," he lamented, and swooped off, robes billowing in his wake.
Few who doubted were later enlightened.
I tell the story of how St. Mungo came to be,
An apparition that Bonham had come to see.
Grecian wizard of the past was this great man,
Through him Mungo Bonham's vision hath began.
When the hospital was built, Hippocrates' ghost was at peace.
Bondage upon his soul, this world hath finally release.
A portrait of this ghost is all we have now,
One summer night is all that nature would allow.
A night he'll come to share his boundless knowledge,
The only time when this ghostly portrait gain earthly passage.
Alas, we know the time but ne'er the place ...
Place whence the Healer's presence be grace.
Many-a-claim from those who saw and were helped,
Many-a-patients his healing presence hath been felt.
He finally arrived at the tearoom and glowered at the clerk who was quailing at his approach. "Give me two boiled eggs, sausage, toast, and a large coffee, black" he barked.
"Y-y-y-y-essir!" stuttered the boy, who promptly tripped over his own feet and landed on the floor face first with a yelp.
Snape closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. "DO try to bring me my eggs still in the unbroken shell, Connor." That way I can imagine peeling your thick skull from around your useless or missing brain. "And try not to spill my coffee."
"YessirProfessorSnapeSir!" the boy yelped, leaping up from where he'd fallen on the floor to flee into the kitchen, a task which easily took three times as long as it should have taken, since the imbecile kept crashing into the walls.
Snape closed his eyes again and took yet another deep breath, then set off for the table in the far back corner to peruse the Daily Prophet while he waited for his food to arrive.
He had just polished off the last bit of his toast and was nearly done with both his coffee and his paper when he heard a familiar voice say "Ah, there you are, Professor Snape.
He looked up. Brandon Bode, son of his mother's first cousin Broderick, stood in front of him clad in lime green robes. "I was unaware that I was considered missing, Brandon."
The younger man smiled. "Well, not missing, but we have been looking for you."
"Whatever for?
"That witch you brought in is anemic. She needs some Blood-Replenishing Potion."
Snape waited patiently for the boy to continue. When it became apparent he was done speaking, he said "So . . . give her some. Why does this concern me? I haven't the right to provide consent for treatment for her. I simply transported her here."
Bode sighed. "Because – we're out of it, and being as it's Sunday, we cannot contact our supplier. Our head brewer is out of town and we really haven't anyone on staff that is close to your calibre."
Snape groaned. How could this ridiculous woman cause him so much trouble when she was comatose?
"I'm sorry to ask you, Severus, but you are the best available. Truth be told, you're probably better than our own brewer, and as well you know, fresh product is always better than one from a distributor. We do, fortunately, have all the materials on-hand. Do you know where the laboratory is?"
"I do not," he said, resigned, swallowing the dregs of his coffee as he stood up resignedly. He tossed a few coins on the table as the dunderheaded tearoom staff had neglected to charge him for his food, but in the face of a medical emergency, he really hadn't the time to banter about that now.
"All right, I can show you where it is. I take no responsibility for the conditions of the lab, though," he shot at him with a wink.
"Why? Is it disorganised?" Snape asked, aghast.
"I don't know, actually – I haven't been in it for several months. Although, it wasn't in bad shape when I was there last."
"Lovely," Snape said sarcastically, following the boy down the hall.
"Is there anything I can do to help you?" Bode asked once they'd arrived in the lab.
"Hm. You could strain this giant tubeworm juice," Snape said contemplatively, as he moved to a cauldron to extrude the liquid from boiled Re'em bones. He boiled it down slowly to a paste-like consistency, then stirred in some salt water. He was about to reach for cold iron shavings when his cousin handed three knife tips of them to him. "Thank you," he said simply. Not for nothing had the boy been assigned to Ravenclaw and achieved the coveted title of Head Boy.
Once the shavings had been added and the mixture stirred counter-clockwise thirteen times, Snape added seven drops of the tubeworm juice, then immediately removed it from heat and covered it.
"While we are waiting for this to cool," Snape asked, "let me ask you if you know anything about a portrait of Hippocrates in the hospital?"
Brandon's face was overtaken by a look of intense concentration for a few moments as he considered the question. "Hm. Are you quite certain there is a painting?" Brandon asked after several moments.
Snape blinked. "Hm. Well, I was told to look for an elusive portrait of Hippocrates, so that I could ask him for healing advice, by a painting – I had assumed so. Why do you ask?"
Bode looked up towards the ceiling, his eyes unfocused but darting back and forth as if he were reading a text only he could see. "The Greeks weren't known to paint on canvas, and in any case, a canvas isn't likely to have survived two thousand years simply because the composition of the components would cause it to deteriorate over that long a time." He paused to lick his lips. "More likely," he said, his head tilted down and gazing blankly toward the floor to the left, "you'd see a painted urn, or even perhaps a fresco or mosaic. However," he said, looking intently upon his cousin, "what is widely referred to as the 'portrait of Hippocrates' is a bust, only the statues don't speak the way the portraits do. Even the Muggle hospitals typically have a bust of Hippocrates in their entryways, but I haven't seen one here, so my next best guess would be to try to look in the reflecting pool in the basement."
"I will do that. Thank you for your help."
"I hope it works. Let me know if I can help any more. This potion seems cool, so I should take it upstairs directly – you'll be able to find me or send someone after me if you need me.
Snape nodded, and removed all traces of his having made use of the laboratory before setting off for the lowest levels of the hospital.
Halfway down a straight corridor on the lowest level, with an eerie blue glow beckoning him to the serene reflecting pool ahead of him, a jet of light shot out from the wall. His normally lightning-fast reflexes failed him as he tried to dodge it, but the jet of light slammed, rather painlessly into a rather sensitive area just below his bladder. When no immediate pain was apparent, he continued on his path, until he realised it was becoming increasingly difficult to walk, and after closing his eyes in a moment of disbelief, spared a glance downward.
"Oh for Merlin's SAKE!" he spat, furious. By this point, the utter ridiculousness of the entire unwelcome situation, which was brought upon him wholly because one stupid witch couldn't follow simple instructions, had taken its toll on his patience.
Angry enough that he was panting with rage, he pointed his wand at his groin and snarled "Abatre!", to at least keep the offence from growing any worse, then, aware that his emotions were getting the best of him, sat down to catch his breath and calm his mind before attempting to cast the counter-jinx.
Not that sitting was any more comfortable, but at least this way he wasn't parading about the hospital corridors like a randy schoolboy with no control over himself.
As he sat there, the cold and the damp of the corridor familiar to him and working to calm him, he glanced about for a lavatory. He had three choices – leave it, which was obviously inappropriate and uncomfortable besides, cast the counter and hope for the best to deal with it later, or find a private area and conduct the bare minimum of what was known in the scientific world as a "bench test". Obviously, a field trial would have to wait for another time.
However, unable to locate a secluded area of significant size, he decided against the latter. Although he was an expert of lurking in shadows, he had absolutely zero desire to be caught doing so in flagrante delicto.
Having finally grounded himself sufficiently that he was willing to cast the counter-jinx without fear of gelding himself, he heaved himself up off the floor and, pointing his wand carefully at his midsection, whispered "Reducio" very clearly.
In the isolated silence of the lowest level of the hospital, he allowed himself the luxury of a visual inspection, and pulled his robes back to check his handiwork.
Snape's head snapped up as a voice shouted from next to him.
"Oi! You there!" it said, and Snape swung around, shaking with fury at being caught in such a compromising position.
"Yes?" he hissed dangerously, white with rage.
"Make a paste of powdered snakestone and concentrated garlic oil, mix with juice of mint root and apply vigorously three times a day. Cure your 'little problem' there right up," the bushy brown-haired man said in an annoying know-it-all voice.
"WHAT?!" Snape shrieked, his wand-hand twitching.
"Don't worry about it, happens to the best of us," the man continued with a knowing and utterly infuriating glance towards Snape's lower abdomen.
"I BEG your pardon!" Snape spat, truly affronted.
"Or maybe you need to take a frog and boil it alive, pour the boiling liquid into diced belladonna, add powdered stem of leopard mushroom and strain in through cloth woven from banshee hair? That'll add ya some!" he said with a wink.
"I AM NOT INTERESTED IN YOUR FOOLISH AND ANCIENT REMEDIES FOR A PROBLEM I DO NOT SUFFER FROM!" Snape bellowed, beyond livid.
"Oi. Well fine, suffer then! I was sent down here by Livinia Labrusco to help you find that fellow Hippocrates, but seeing as you're 'not interested in ancient remedies' for either you OR your friend, I'll just get back to my reading," the man said, and stuffed his nose back in a tome that looked as if it weighed more than he did. "I feel sorry for your partner, though . . . but with a temper like that, you mighn't have one. Not to mention the nose," the man muttered.
Snape clenched his fists, took a deep breath (he seemed to be doing more of that lately than he would in a month of daily classes full of Longbottoms), and counted, slowly to ten. And then again. And then twice more. When he had regained control over his temper, he spoke softly. "Contrary to how it obviously appeared to you, sir, I am not suffering from erectile dysfunction, nor have I ever had a complaint about the inadequacy of the size of my 'equipment'. I was hit with a curse and was checking to ensure I had suffered no lasting damage."
"Yeah, sure, whatever. That's what they all say," the man mumbled dismissively, turning a page.
Snape ground his teeth.
"I happen to be a Potions Master of great renown, and I assure you, if I were suffering from such an affliction, I do know how to treat it."
"Mmmhm." Another page turned. Snape stashed his wand in his waistband lest he be tempted to use it. That Reducto he didn't wish to cast earlier in this very hallway was beginning to sound mighty tempting.
Snape rubbed his face. He had been past all patience since sometime yesterday, and things were decidedly not getting any better. One of the last places he wanted to be was arguing with a portrait over his supposedly inabilities behind closed doors. He needed the information this crude man apparently possessed, but he wasn't sure how much degradation he was willing to endure.
Another page turned, and Snape barely resisted the urge to hex the book out of the man's hands.
"My . . . afflictions . . . aside," Snape began, trying very hard to maintain a calm tone, "there is a patient in this hospital who purportedly can benefit from information that apparently only Hippocrates has to offer."
"You're such a great Potions Master, you figure it out. After all, you know all the remedies."
Snape bit his tongue, nearly hard enough to draw blood, to hold back the biting retort. "If you are incapable of helping me, I shall be quite happy to explain to your friend Missus Labrusco that you are quite willing to take the death of the patient in which he's taken such a special interest upon your hands."
"I am perfectly capable of telling you where to find Hippocrates!" the man shot back, alarmed.
"Mmm, indeed," Snape said silkily. "Then you are obviously willing to sacrifice an innocent for a personal grudge. Pity, that," he said, turning to walk back up the stairs.
"WAIT!" the annoying man yelped, and Snape froze on the stairs, pausing for effect then turning slowly.
"Yes?" he whispered.
"Oh hang on," the man said. "I am Mungo Bonham," the man spat out, obviously quite put out about something. "And I know where Hippocrates will be when he comes – we meet every year."
"YOU are Mungo Bonham?" Snape asked in a voice dripping with cynical disbelief. "Then why are you confined to the dungeons of the hospital?"
"I'm not confined here you obnoxious swot, and do you want my help or not?"
"If you are not confined here, why would you choose to be in this dank and dark environment?"
"I'm not confined anywhere. I have portraits all over this hospital. It's just that Livinius told me you were in pursuit of Hippocrates, and I've been pursuing YOU all over the hospital!"
"Mmm," Snape breathed, eyebrows quirked.
"I have to keep with an oath made with him that I would never directly reveal his position. Yet I see your great need and understand... a Healer's task is to help find cures and you're in need of him. If you can answer my question, I'll point you to the right direction... Would you prefer a 'mind-game' or a 'game of chance'?"
Snape didn't hesitate. "I do not leave my life or my interests to something as foolish as 'chance'. I choose a mind game," he said with a self-satisfied smirk.
"Very well," Bonham's portrait said, then took a deep breath and recited:
"Goddess, sorceress, seductress,Snape blinked. Surely a healer as renowned as Bonham would have paid attention when Snape had mentioned earlier that he himself was a Potions Master of great repute. Surely he wouldn't give a Potions Master with talent such as Snape's such a ridiculously simple question after such a ridiculous pursuit and the indignities he'd had to suffer in this expedition.
a curse is my simple caress.
Short men, Tall men came to me,
Pigs are all that I could see."
Snape eyed the man carefully. He was waiting expectantly, and by the growing look of impatience on his face, not altogether happily. "Well, I haven't got all day, do you know or should we try something else?"
Snape sneered. "You speak of Circe, of course."
"Are you sure?" the man said, looking alarmed.
"I am absolutely certain."
"Is that your final answer?"
Snape glowered at him threateningly, and made a show of withdrawing his wand and inspecting it. "Yes, that is my 'final answer'," he hissed.
"Very well – you are correct. Well done. If you wait a few moments, Hippocrates will be here."
"Define 'here'?"
"In this frame with me, of course – we meet annually for a chat, and the location for the next one is determined at the last one. We will meet somewhere else next year."
"I see. And you are anticipating his arrival momentarily?"
"Well, it will probably be ten or fifteen minutes. Why?"
"Could you tell me where the nearest lavatory is?" Snape asked with as much respect as he could muster. He absolutely had to check on the results of that counter-curse.
"Certainly, it's down the hall, third door on the left."
Snape paused, thinking to glare at the man, then thought better of it, and swept down the hall, his robes billowing in his wake.
(1) "Abatre" is the Anglo-French ancestor of "abate", which seems like a good counter to Engorgio. All he wanted to do at that moment was stop it from getting worse.
(2) I don't know of a canon counter to Engorgio. "Reducto" is a *blasting* curse, which I can't see Snape doing to himself . . . or any arguably sane male for that matter. So it sounded like a good trade, to have him have to sit down to make sure he didn't spit the wrong spell, since I'm quite sure he knows the counter.
(3) Snakestone is a fossilised cephalopod (http://www.tonmo.com/science/fossils/mythdoc/mythdoc.php), supposedly used in ancient times as a cure for impotence, and sounded like a good thing for a Slytherin to be told to use. Garlic and mint oil sounds painful to rub on the nether regions but would probably, erm, have a "stimulating" effect, and the "rub vigorously" bit was just me being a sadistic swot. Snape's going to kill me.
(4) This second remedy is for an "on the fly" treatment for congenital hypoplasia – a panther mushroom is poisonous, as is belladonna, so don't try this at home, folks. (Of course, so is mandrake . . . )
(5) I wanted a name that sounded vaguely like "Gilbert Grape" or translated roughly to it. I didn't like the Greek word for grape, so I went with a variation of the Latin one, and that left me with needing to come up with a forename beginning with "L".
Hope you enjoyed my Gauntlet - I certainly did!