Chapter 1: an unexpected invitation
The opulent office of Georgio Casablanca, M.D. looked like any other self-respecting doctor's office in Beverly Hills. The office was built into a three-floor Victorian mansion, which monstrosity had survived no less than a dozen major earthquakes sourced from the San Andreas fault. The interior boasted antique chairs reupholstered with velvet brocade, stern portraits of early-nineteen-hundreds oil barons and cattle ranchers, and a large humming air conditioner that successfully kept the dark wood-paneled first floor at a state of relative coolness.
Seated in one of the deep, wide armchairs of the waiting room, the man formerly known as Severus Snape dabbed his brow with a handkerchief. He'd never get used to the heat of California summers. By all the gods in the heavens, it was October... why was it still an acceptable temperature to float lazily about in his outdoor pool?
Just thinking about the long drive back to San Diego made Severus sink even deeper into the chair - both out of reluctance to *move* as well as his momentary imaginative feeling of his body sinking into the cool chlorinated water.
If only Muggle biopharmacology could get sufficiently advanced, he wouldn't need to trek up to L.A. for the healthcare. He'd be fine seeing the perfectly intelligent Muggle primary physician at the local university-affiliated clinic, in fact.
But unfortunately, Severus was alive solely because of magical means - and that meant he needed supervision from a proper healer.
To complicate the matter further: Severus didn't want to be remembered for his political involvement in two wars that very nearly led to the exposure of magical kind. Among wizards and witches internationally, his face was well-known as that of the man who assassinated Dumbledore, and the good news of his postmortem acquittal traveled a lot slower.
This made finding appropriate care nearly impossible until he found Casablanca - the healer who specialized in the treatment of other public characters who didn't want to be recognized, mostly movie stars and other Hollywood people. He'd had a stroke of luck when he ran across Casablanca's name in an elite healer's directory. By chance, he recollected that Narcissa Malfoy had once mentioned the man in relation to a very humiliating dermatological condition that she wanted to keep quiet. Casablanca had issued the critical referral, apparently, that led her down a very profitable garden path of other cosmetic improvements upon her person.
Profitable, too, for the healers involved, of course.
Heretofore, Dr. Casablanca had lived up to his reputation in terms of discretion, of that Severus was sure. A few dozen contracts - legal and magical alike - assured Severus that his identity was safe with the other man.
"Mr. Snopes."
The door of the office opened, and the healer walked into the waiting room, a broad smile on his face. Part of his schtick was that he had no gossipy staff, which the ever-paranoid Snape approved of, but it also increased the difficulty of getting an appointment. And also increased the size of the healer's bills.
But Snape could afford it, thank Circe. Especially since the men went into business together - Severus brewing boutique potions that were displayed proudly on Casablanca's private prescription shelf.
"Dr. Casablanca," greeted Severus with a curt nod.
"Let me help you," offered the doctor, proffering an arm to the former Death Eater.
Severus grunted, but didn't object - he no longer got profoundly humiliated at the difficulties he had with his body, at least not with Dr. Casablanca. So he accepted the supportive arm and heaved himself out of the chair. Dr. Casablanca smiled sympathetically, picked up Severus' cane from where it'd fallen on the floor, and offered it to his patient.
"Thank you," Severus stated, to cover the little involuntary gasp he made as he stood straight.
"A lot of pain, today?" asked the doctor warmly.
Severus nodded, closing his eyes as he fortified himself for the walk into the exam room.
"On a scale of one to ten, ten being most?" prompted the doctor.
Severus scowled. "A fuckton," he grumbled.
"And you're still averse to morphine?" the doctor asked neutrally, and Severus nodded in another brusque, wordless response. "Well we still have some other options," Dr. Casablanca said good-naturedly. "But get yourself settled, first, my friend. Would you like some tea?"
"Desperately," Severus growled, moving his stiff limbs in careful motions. Walking was difficult after such a long drive, even though he'd taken breaks to get out and walk around.
Hm, seemed like the antiparalytic components of his potions needed some adjustment.
"You stubborn son-of-a," Dr. Casablanca said with admiration of Severus' challenging walk, "Let me fetch you a cuppa."
So saying, the soft-stepping doctor disappeared behind another door, leaving Severus to ease himself across the room with the pace and attitude of a catankerous old slug.
...
The other thing that made Severus so loathe to find another healer was this fact: among the number of wizarding healers who put a premium on discretion, there were even fewer who could bear to be polite about Severus' health conditions.
Specifically, his weight. The man who had left England at an underweight hundred and fifty pounds had become, ten years later, four hundred pounds and change.
Severus knew he'd blown up like a balloon. There wasn't any question of that - every day was a struggle with basic activities like getting his shoes on, keeping his blood sugar regular, and maintaining enough muscle-mass and core strength to keep his ever-expanding body from the impending doom of immobility. But he'd done enough tinkering with his anti-venom potions to prove that the weight-gain side-effects were an integral component of what made his potions *work* in the first place.
It had taken far too long to find a healer who understood, in a truly meaningful sense, the dichotomy Severus faced. He would either be fat, or he would be dead. This was due to one of the many ways Nagini's venom had ruined his system in '98.
At this point, they'd successfully replaced his liver and kidneys, but his pancreas relied on a heavy daily dose of enzymes. Other elements of his GI system also functioned poorly, and his blood circulation was miserable. He was, despite the sheer quantity of food he ate on a day-to-day basis, constantly struggling with undernourishment, because only about half of his intestines absorbed nutrients at all. He had twice-yearly vitamin infusions, but they only lasted so long. Neurologically he was a wreck, with spasms and sciatica and neuropathy that impacted his day-to-day functioning.
And his thyroid? Hah! It was a joke. Gone were the days he could eat heavy pub food with wild abandon and drink himself to sleep - now Severus gained weight when he ate a single avocado, so it seemed. And forget about lager - he hadn't had a drink since his liver transplant in 2000.
Most of his body's current complexities came from the damage that came from the initial envenomation from Nagini in 1998. There was only so much you could do to make a corpse dance, after all. But there was some impact that came from his life-sustaining potions, of course - not the least of which was a heavy dose of antidepressants.
But Dr. Casablanca was a blessing: he understood how delicate the balance of living was for Severus, unlike all the other idiots who had messed with various prescriptions of Muggle and wizarding varieties. Dr. Casablanca gave Severus the prescriptions for the Muggle substances that kept him out of utter misery, and only bothered to try and fix things when they were really broken. He didn't smile and insist on taking more of this or that - he took his role of being a curator of Severus' health condition seriously, without getting personally invested in Severus' meeting arbitrary metrics.
"Your being alive is a miracle," was what Casablanca had said after reviewing Severus' extensive notes, that first meeting. That's where they had started, and that's where they stuck - Severus' survival was a miracle, and Casablanca was there to serve as a steward and witness to the magic of Severus' ongoing stubborn will to live.
Severus hated his life - but he wanted to live it, simply because he knew every minute he stuck around on his earth was a minute he was taking back from every person who had kicked him when he was down - and that was a long list indeed.
He just wasn't expecting to ever see anyone from his old life again. Much less today, in this sacred inner sanctum of the doctor's office.
...
As he entered the exam room, focused on putting one foot in front of the other, Severus suddenly felt something brush against his wide buttocks. He was startled - for years, he hadn't felt anything there more interesting than the exquisite calfskin leather of his BMW.
Slowly, with the speed of a tortise with an oversized shell, he turned around to see what had made contact with him. All he saw, heading down the hall from him, was a chubby set of hips, a long braid of ethereal silver hair, and...
...a pair of dirigible plum earrings.
"Luna Lovegood?" he asked, mostly to himself.
But perhaps the dark wood panels of the hallway carried his voice too easily - for the figure turned around and met his eyes, confirming his suspicion.
Her dress was a little snug on her, particularly at the waistline, but not egregiously so. Her face had ripened into a very pretty plumpness, with a hint of a double-chin suggested but not quite complete. She was wearing spectacles, which had taken up permanent residence on her sweet little nose, and her cheeks held a very suggestive color as she registered her former potions master.
"Professor," she murmured, and without thinking, she gave him a little curtsey. This proceeded to cause one of the books in her arms to slip, and as she reached to get it, she lost hold of all the rest. They tumbled upon the floor with a clatter, and immediately Dr. Casablanca took the moment to arrive with Severus' tea.
"Oh, erm, Miss Lovegood, I thought you'd left," said the healer sternly.
"My apologies, I forgot my field journal so I had to return," the witch responded, but her eyes seemed incapable of leaving Severus' face. Her books remained splayed across the floor.
The good doctor bent to retrieve them, his attitude very disapproving.
"I thought I made it clear that you were to be gone during my office hours," the healer said, gathering up the materials and irreverently shoving them back into her arms.
"I'm sorry," Luna said softly, in her typical absent-minded way. She accepted the books, but her eyes still had only room for Severus.
"What the devil are you staring at?" Snape asked, but there was a heat in his voice that betrayed his embarrassment. "Go on, then."
He gestured down the hallway, where he could see the exit door.
"I'm so glad to see you made it out of that mess, alive," Luna said, not even pretending to turn her attention away. "I was so sad, when Harry told me you were dead."
"Miss Lovegood!" exclaimed Dr. Casablanca, his face growing more steely. "Please, leave my patient alone."
"It's all right," Severus said, trying to snarl but it diffused before it left his mouth. "She should gape all she likes. It isn't her fault I've become a nightmare image of my former self. I only would have hoped," he added, a trifle more bitter, "that she'd have had the decency to pretend not to recognize me."
"Verbose as ever," Luna said, sounding a little bit... fond?
That was clearly impossible, of course, so Severus assumed he must be hearing things.
"I'm so very sorry, sir," the doctor began to say, starting a course of damage control, but Severus raised a hand to shush him.
"No matter," said Severus gloomily, "let her go on her way and tell all her little friends about me. The damage is already done."
"You mean, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and them?" asked Luna curiously. "I haven't spoken to anyone from Hogwarts in ages, Professor."
"Oh, really, now," Severus said, but he was resignedly moving into the exam room. "I'm sure this juicy tidbit will put you back in their good graces right enough."
"It's really not like that," Luna observed. Though technically it was a protestation, there was no sense of indignity in her voice.
Severus took a deep, stabilizing breath, and eased himself and his unwieldy body onto the exam table.
"Just be on your way, Miss Lovegood," said Dr. Casablanca.
"Yes," agreed Severus, "and let this old man have just one last vestige of dignity."
"I don't think you really want me to go," Luna said, entering the exam room and sitting on the doctor's stool. Her legs splayed apart on either side of the stool, almost as prettily as her books had spread their pages across the floor.
It almost made Severus blush, though his lower apparatus hadn't worked properly in so long that he couldn't really feel aroused. But even the thought of being aroused made him feel immediately more timid and bashful.
Was he really so suggestible? Dammit, he'd gotten soft in more ways than one. It irritated the hell out of him, except that Luna had such a pretty and beguiling smile. And the way she focused her eyes upon him so intently, he could almost pretend that she was attracted to him.
He hated himself for this imagined flirtation, but what harm could it do? There was so little positive attention paid to him from the fairer sex these days. He should allow himself to just enjoy the sensation of having a woman be interested in him.
Doctor Casablanca, bless him - he was at the end of his patience, and Severus couldn't help but smirk at the way the healer's fingers were pulling at his own hair.
"Miss Lovegood, this is quite irregular," blustered the doctor, "will you *please* leave my office immediately?"
"What time should I be back, again?" asked Luna, getting up from the stool. Her eyes were still wide and bright, and focused on Severus' own.
Severus' eyelashes fluttered and he stared at the floor, trying to pretend that he didn't like her interest.
"My office closes at six, as I told you before," snapped the doctor. "Now please, don't you have some papers to write?"
"I do," Luna responded slowly. Severus couldn't help it - he glanced back up at her again, and she smiled broadly at him, as if he'd told her some secret. "I'll be back at six. Unless my old professor would be interested in joining me for dinner? Six o'clock at Veridad, on Wilshire Boulevard?"
Taken aback, Severus tried to defend himself. He was familiar with the restaurant; there had been a review in a recent gourmet magazine that landed on his desk. It was high-end, and exceptionally expensive. He rolled his eyes. "What, do you take me for an easy mark, Miss Lovegood?"
"Oh, no, not at all," said Luna, and there was such surprise in her voice that he was tempted to believe it was sincere. "I'll pay."
A free dinner with an enchanting young woman? Well, Severus couldn't look a gift horse like this in the mouth too closely. "It'd be a crime to refuse," he said, and added, "Even if it is only out of pity."
"Pity for what?" Luna Lovegood asked. The question, asked by anyone else, would have been clearly disingenous. But she seemed genuinely puzzled.
Either she was a good actor, or she really didn't understand why he might think he was pitiable.
And, well, Severus knew that in either case, he'd be an ungrateful wretch to throw away this opportunity.
"Six o'clock. Veridad," Severus reiterated, raising a curious eyebrow at her.
"Thank you," Luna Lovegood said, beaming from ear to ear - which astonished him more than the whole interaction. "See you then."
"A bientot," Severus said, with an uncharacteristic flourish.
As soon as the young lady was out the door, Dr. Casablanca shut it and practically begged, "Please, forgive this incident, Mr. Snopes. You know how seriously I take confidentiality. She's only recently arrived, and today is the frist day she's been here when I've been working. I had no idea she'd be so cavalier about this. You can rest assured that-"
"Oh, shut up," Severus said, waving his hand at the doctor's stool. "It seems I've got a date, which is unusual enough that I can't be bothered to give a shit how it came about."
Then, looking at Dr. Casablanca's crestfallen face, a sudden thought struck him.
"She - erm, she isn't attached, is she?" Severus asked, cursing himself for not having noticed whether or not she was wearing a ring.
"As it happens, no," the healer answered, frowning. He seemed disappointed, though. "Her marriage to Rolf Scamander recently ended. She's been hired as a researcher at Long Beach School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, and I've been hosting her until she found a place of her own to live. Though it isn't my place to tell you any of this." The doctor continued to seem glum.
"You appear disappointed," Severus observed, sitting back on the exam table, trying to get comfortable.
"Well, I am, I must confess," said the doctor, removing his spectacles and wiping them carefully. "I was hoping..."
Then, with a rush of realization, he put his glasses back on. "So sorry, it doesn't matter. Lean back, if you would, and let me feel if that tight spot at the spleen has loosened up with the new medication."
Severus obediently laid back and pulled his shirt up, letting the doctor run his hand clinically across his taut, bloated skin.
"You don't consider me serious competition, do you, Georgio?" Severus asked, wincing with pain as the doctor pressed at tender areas. "I mean, look at me." He chuckled lowly, all too aware of the distressed marks that lined his distended stomach. "I'm even more hideous than I was ten years ago, and I already was an aesthetic nightmare."
"Oh, well, whatever you say, Xander," answered the doctor. He frowned, but Severus wasn't sure if it was a reaction to what the healer felt or heard.
Either way, Severus wasn't keen to find out. It strangely made him feel hopeful, to see the doctor so jealous. Of course it wasn't wise to be hopeful, but Severus was trying not to second-guess his hopes anymore. He'd take them on the rare occassion he got them, even if they were usually disappointed.
Once he got his new prescriptions, he practically dashed out the door and catapulted towards Wilshire Boulevard, his mind afire with the curiosity that came with impossible dreams.
...
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