the usual disclaimers apply

Chapter Eleven

"Here we are."

Snape slipped the last bottle into the wooden rack and removed his protective gloves.

Lisa arched her back, stretched and got up from the hard kitchen chair she had been sitting on for three long hours, watching her neighbour work on the potions, taking notes. Severus had acknowledged her notebook and biro with a raised eyebrow, but had treated her to a running commentary on his work, explaining the properties of the ingredients and the different steps of processing them, from cleaning and cutting to the right order of mixing and the proper way of stirring. Lisa had watched and listened carefully, admiring the ease with which he controlled the contents of three different pots – cauldrons, he had corrected her – bubbling over magically lit fires, preparing three different varieties of pain potion simultaneously.

Once or twice he had muttered a curse when the tremor of his hands interfered with the cutting and halfway through the brewing Lisa could tell from the way his shoulders sagged and his limp became more pronounced that the work was tiring him out. But she also knew perfectly well that he wouldn't want her to notice it or say anything about it, least of all to offer him her help.

While Severus was cleaning his cauldrons and tidying up the worktop with swift wand movements, putting away the jars and tins of ingredients into the cupboards, Lisa went over to the worktop, examining the batteries of glass vials, touching them tentatively with a cautious forefinger. They were still hot; Severus had told her that it was important to bottle and stopper the potions as hot as possible to prevent them from going off.

"This was a very interesting afternoon, Severus, thank you very much for letting me watch you."

He grunted a reply, putting away a last jar half-filled with a yellowish substance before turning towards her.

"You'd make a very good teacher, Severus, you can explain things very well."

For a moment his face clouded over and her finger froze in mid-movement.

"Sorry, have I said anything wrong?"

He shook his head, his lips pressed together in a thin line. Lisa decided not to pursue the topic any further and turned to neutral ground instead.

"I could do with a cup of tea," she sighed theatrically.

His mouth relaxed into a hesitant smile.

"So could I. And we'll do it the Muggle way, the taste is much better. Can you put the kettle on while I fetch the teabags?"

Five minutes later they were sitting at the kitchen table, cradling steaming mugs. Lisa thought it safe to steer the conversation back to the subject of potions.

"Will Nat learn to make potions at Hogwarts?"

He nodded slowly.

"Yes, all students do, at least up to their fifth year."

He paused, a faraway look in his eyes.

"But only few are talented, most of them aren't even interested. Many hate the subject, there is no boisterous, silly wand-waving, no instant results; work in the classroom tends to be quite messy and smelly and requires constant attention and concentration because if you make the smallest of mistakes the consequences can be disastrous."

She regarded him curiously. He seemed to have a special relationship with the subject. Had he been one of the few talented students? Or had he hated the subject at school and had developed the skills later in his life? Should she ask him? Well, why not, she could at least risk a try.

"Did you like the subject?"

"Yes."

And she could feel the shutters going down. The monosyllabic reply was the only answer she was going to get. Good heavens, talking to the man about anything concerning his personal life was like walking on egg-shells! Sighing inwardly she went back to potions and the world of magic in general.

"Do all wizards have to make their own potions or can you buy them ready-made, too?"

He laughed.

"You can buy them, of course. Given the skills young wizards show in their classes at school, half of the wizarding population would probably have already fallen victim to botched up potions if they had to rely on self-made potions,. There is an apothecary's shop in Diagon Alley which sells a wide range of potion products. But they are quite expensive and often of inferior quality."

Lisa's eyes went over to the rows of bottles, there were at least three dozens of them.

"Do you sell potions?" she asked curiously. She had often wondered what he did for a living.

He didn't answer at once, but looked at her closely for a long moment, making her feel uncomfortably transparent, before getting up and going over to the worktop. He pulled one of the bottles from the rack and handed it to her.

"No, I don't sell them; I'm giving this to you as a present."

Lisa accepted the small glass container with an incredulous smile.

"That's… that's very generous, Severus, thank you very much. But I'm not a witch… is it safe… I mean… am I allowed…?"

He laughed. "Since you're asking: Technically I'm not allowed to give it to you. It's illegal to give potions to Muggles."

"Illegal?"

"Yes, but as long as you don't tell to the Ministry… who cares."

"But… is it safe for me to take the potion if I'm not a witch?"

"Would I give it to you if it wasn't?"

"Eh… no, probably not."

"There you are."

"Then why is it illegal?"

He shrugged, grinning wryly.

"Because you can cause a lot of harm with potions. Then there is, as you know, the Statute of Secrecy. And, most important probably, the Muggle pharmaceutical firms have made a deal with the Ministry. You see, if magical potions were available in the Muggle world, nobody would buy Muggle drugs."

"Yes, that makes sense. Although I must say it's outrageous. If there are potions that could help where Muggle medication fails it's not fair to deny patients these remedies."

He shrugged, making it clear that he didn't consider it worthwhile to discuss the topic any further, and sat down again, taking a sip from his mug.

She let out a frustrated breath, turning the small bottle in her fingers.

"It's a painkiller, isn't it."

"Yes, a mild one, it should work nicely if you have a headache."

"Like aspirin or paracetamol?"

"Better."

"Oh."

"But mind you, it doesn't help against flu symptoms. There are no antiphlogistic properties."

"More like morphine then?"

"Basically, but less potent and you don't risk getting addicted or having hallucinations."

"These other bottles", she pointed at the racks on the left hand side of the worktop, "are they stronger?"

"Yes."

He opened a drawer in the table, taking out a notebook and a pencil and writing something down. Lisa watched him, wondering if she should speak out what was on her mind. She was biting her lips, unable to decide, listening to the soft scratching noise of the pencil.

Suddenly he dropped the pencil, looking up.

"What?" he spat.

"Severus…" she hesitated, her eyes wandering from his scowling face to the rows of bottles, "if you don't sell these potions… you said they should be used within a month… does that mean that you take them all yourself?"

The silence stretched between them, making Lisa finally turn her eyes away from the bottles and look at him. His face was unreadable when their eyes met. He gave a curt nod.

"But then… oh my God, you… you practically live on potions."

He shrugged, opened the drawer again and put the notebook away, closing the drawer with unnecessary vehemence. Then he got up and went over to the worktop, straightening the bottles.

She stared at his back helplessly, calling to her mind everything she knew about chronic pain. It wasn't very much. Working in the emergency department acute pain was what she usually had to deal with. She knew, however, that there were teams of doctors, nurses and physiotherapists specializing in treating patients with chronic pain, trying to give them some relief. Didn't they have something like this in the magical world? From Nathan's lessons she knew that there was a magical hospital and that their doctors were called healers, surely they would know about a way to deal with pain other than ingesting self-made potions by the litre. They were wizards, for God's sake, they could use magic, it should not be a problem. She swallowed and addressed his stiff back.

"If you are in pain all the time, isn't there anything else you can do? These potions must have side-effects, all drugs do. It can't be good for your stomach lining and your digestion if you take them on a daily basis, not to mention the risk of dependency. Don't tell me there isn't one. How often did you have to increase the dose in the past seven years?"

She snorted with disapproving satisfaction when he didn't answer.

"Isn't there some other kind of magic you can use… some, eh, spell?"

He turned to face her with an impatient groan.

"No, there isn't."

"But… with magic…?"

His fist came down on the worktop, making the bottles rattle.

"Stop it! Stop being an interfering nuisance, for Merlin's sake!"

He exhaled noisily.

"Listen. You can heal with magic, and in most cases it is much easier, quicker and more effective than Muggle methods. But you can also harm with magic and the wounds thus inflicted are often extremely severe and may also be cursed so that they don't respond to any kind of treatment, be it Muggle or magical."

She swallowed hard, her eyes locked with his intense black ones.

"Your… condition was caused by magic then?"

"Yes."

"Bad magic?"

"Dark magic. Extremely malevolent dark magic."

"And the healers…"

"Worked wonders just to keep me alive. I wasn't meant to survive."

"Who hated you so much?"

Her eyes searched his face, looking for some clue that could help her understand the situation. But he wasn't willing to give her one. Her questioning gaze was met by a solid, blank wall of black.

Finally he turned his head away and shrugged.

"Someone who was driven by immense hatred and by contempt for mankind in general."

"A psychopath? Who was it? A wizard?"

He shook his head.

"Muggle, wizard, monster – it doesn't matter. He's dead."

"But you… you're alive and if you are in constant pain… how do you cope? Have you really tried everything? Has it ever occurred to you that our, I mean… Muggle methods could help you?"

He gave a short, mirthless laugh, shaking his head. Lisa didn't give up.

"Physiotherapy for example?"

Meeting her eager face with a tired frown he said softly, "Just give it a rest, will you?"

"But…"

"No buts. I've managed quite well for the past seven years. I don't want anybody meddle with my life and I don't want some interfering know-it-all tell me what to do with my body."

She stared at him, speechless. There were so many things she wanted to say, so many arguments she wanted to use to make him see sense – but his words and his expression left no doubt that he wouldn't want to listen, that he probably wouldn't think twice about throwing her out of his house if she tried to reason with him, that he would stop Nathan's lessons if she didn't leave him alone. So she only sighed in frustration.

"Right. OK. I'm sorry, being an interfering know-it-all concerning other people's health is an occupational hazard, I'm afraid."

He gave a shrug, his eyes still angry, his posture stiff and forbidding, arms crossed in front of his chest.

Lisa got up and raised her hand as if reaching out for him, but on second thoughts let it fall back at her side. She didn't want to go now, with so many unspoken words between them; however, she had no idea how to get out of this situation without making things worse. Better to leave him alone. There was always the tiny bit of hope that her advice had set something in motion, that he would see reason.

"So… I'll better be on my way now, I have to be at the hospital at seven. Thanks for letting me come and watch you and thanks for the potion."

"You're welcome", he replied stiffly and walked her the few steps to the garden gate in silence.

Then he returned to the kitchen and closed his back door slowly, his thoughts elsewhere. Walking over to the table he flopped down on his chair, pushing his half-finished mug of lukewarm tea towards the centre of the table. Interfering, irritating woman. When would she understand that his life and his health weren't her business? He could only hope that he had made himself clear today, that she would accept the fact that he didn't want her to meddle. Physiotherapy! Ridiculous. 'Potions must be bad for your stomach lining'. Ha! Who did she think she was? His mother? Except his mother had never cared about his stomach. She had been wallowing too deeply in her own misery to bother about what her unwanted son did or what he ate, or if he ate at all. Had she ever, with or without magic, cooked a meal from scratch? He couldn't remember. The memories he had of his childhood meals were about tinned peas a lurid shade of green, soggy chips and limp fish fingers. There had rarely been fresh food in the house… Food...

He suddenly realized that he felt hungry. Food. Yes, of course. He remembered something and in spite of his irritation he couldn't help smiling to himself as he rose from his chair and went to the fridge. There was a plastic container with parsnip soup waiting for him. A gift Lisa had brought with her and had put in the fridge directly on her arrival, without even asking him. He sighed, shaking his head. Insufferable woman though she was, he couldn't but admire her persistence. Whatever he said, however vehemently he protested, she just continued caring for him in her quiet, stubborn way, claiming that she was doing it in return for Nathan's lessons. How very extraordinary and almost unbelievable.

He poured some of the soup into a bowl and heated it with his wand, savouring the smell that started to rise from it and made his mouth water. He found some bread in a bag. It had become moldy at one end, but he decided it would be good enough if he cut away the green bits. Lisa wouldn't agree, of course. He snorted, deliberately turning his mind away from the woman. Taking a spoon from the drawer he sat down to eat. The soup was good, hot, creamy. Comfort food – he had read the term once and wondered what it was supposed to be. Now he knew. A subtle warmth was spreading inside him and made him relax; but in spite of what he wanted himself to believe he knew he couldn't be sure that it was only due to the soup…

On Sunday evening he saw Nathan's father. Snape had been in his living-room, looking up some obscure formulas for tinctures to use on ingrown toenails, when he heard the noise of a car pulling up at the kerb outside. He was familiar with the sound of Lisa's Astra, with the wheezing, stumbling motor of the ancient Golf of the couple living in the house next to her and with the soft purr of the brand new Saab owned by the family on the opposite side of the street. This was an unfamiliar vehicle. A more sonorous, more expensive sound, one that was rarely heard in Spinner's End.

Curiously he got up from the sofa and went to the window. A sleek silver sports car. He congratulated himself on his auditory discriminiation skills and waited, curious about whom the car belonged to. The door on the passenger side opened and out climbed Nathan. Ah. Nathan's Dad then, Lisa's ex-husband.

Snape leaned closer towards the curtain and squinted to get a better look at the driver, who now followed Nathan. A Roman patrician, was the first simile that came to Snape's mind. Dark, curly hair going gray at the temples, a chiseled face and a perfect tan. Snowy white shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, and artfully faded designer jeans. A man radiating self-confidence in spades. It was not hard to see why women fell for him. Snape knew at once that he disliked the man. Nathan, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy his company, chatting to his father happily, pointing at the other houses in the street. Snape stiffened. Had the boy told his father anything about him or about magic? But the man gave Snape's house only the briefest of disgusted glimpses before fetching Nathan's rucksack from the boot and knocking on Lisa's door.

The door opened and Lisa appeared, wearing cut-off jeans and a blue t-shirt. She greeted her ex-husband with a cool nod and took Nathan's rucksack. Nathan and his father parted with an exaggerated high-five, which made Snape cringe. He could sense, even from the distance, that Lisa shared his feelings. Nathan vanished into the house. Lisa and the man exchanged a few words; at one time both of them looked over at Snape's house. The man said something, shaking his head and laughing loudly. Lisa shrugged non-committally. Then they said good-bye, the car door slammed shut, the motor was started, the car glided away from the kerb and then it was gone. Lisa looked over at Snape's house again. Did she guess that he had witnessed the scene? Was there a knowing smile on her face? He stood perfectly still as he watched her go into the house and close the door.

In two weeks' time he would see Nathan again. And his mother. Two weeks, fourteen days, 326 hours. A long time.