Chapter 11 – Ginny's Darkest Hour
As soon as Ron's Patronus appeared, Ginny knew that Harry would leave. The case was too important for him not to; it was a matter of national, if not international, security. He'd been vaccinated and was therefore deemed safe, so there was nothing physically stopping him from going, apart from his own conscience. Ginny pictured Harry's desperate face in her mind's eye; the anguish he felt at having to choose between Al's bedside and his responsibility as Head Auror was clear to see. In the end, it was Ginny who told him he could leave, if he felt it was right. But the moment Harry chose his work over his son was the moment Ginny's heart tore in two. Harry's decision shifted everything, in Ginny's mind. To her, it was the climax of all the unrest and discord she had been feeling about their relationship for months. It also proved that her instincts were right; they had been floundering for some time, papering over the cracks and pretending everything was fine. In reality, the distance had grown between them day by day. But neither of them wanted to believe it was true.
Thinking back, Ginny realised that one of the things she had always loved about Harry was his fearless Gryffindor bravery; he'd always had a knight-in-shining-armour complex and genuinely wanted to help save the world, even after the fall of Voldemort. But Ginny had never thought that his saviour issues would one day end up destroying their marriage. And for all their combined Gryffindor valour, neither of them had been brave enough to confront the other about their relationship, which had been unravelling in front of their very eyes. But Ginny now knew one thing for sure: to her, their marriage was over, and nothing could ever be the same again.
The hours after Harry left the hospital were some of the loneliest Ginny had ever experienced. Isolation seemed to tear at her insides with sharp claws. She came to realise that she was not accustomed to her own company, and furthermore, she hated it. As the youngest of seven children, there had always been someone around when she was growing up. Later, at Hogwarts, sharing a dormitory meant she had never been truly alone. Then, after the war, she and Harry had married and moved in together, with the children following shortly after. Therefore, Ginny had always had people around her when she needed them. Except for today. Except for now.
With Harry gone, Ginny's heart ached for her mother and father. But her parents were caring for Lily and James, staying at home just as Shacklebolt's pandemic measures instructed. Even if Molly and Arthur arrived at St. Mungo's, they would not be allowed in the Quarantine Holding Area anyway. With mounting despair, Ginny realised that Hermione and the kids would have also been told to remain indoors, as would her brothers and their families. The overwhelming feeling of loneliness crushed her chest like a Boa constrictor, and she could not stop hot tears from falling. When Fred died, she'd had the rest of the family around for support. But right now, with her youngest son on his potential deathbed and after being abandoned by her husband and with no-one else in the world to share her troubles, Ginny felt like the most wretched witch in the world. Her anguished sobs echoed around the shabby Quarantine Holding Area for a long time until just before dawn, when she eventually fell into a fitful sleep on one of the Transfigured sofas, tears still damp on her cheeks.
oOo
Meanwhile, hundreds of miles away, in a small fishing village on the coast of Cornwall, Severus Snape was already awake and starting his day. He'd always been an early riser and did not require much sleep, finding the morning to be his most productive time of day. Ideas and moments of clarity seemed to strike in the early morning, and the stillness of the dawn soothed him somehow. During those brief, fleeting minutes he could find absolute peace as he went on his usual sunrise stroll around the harbour before returning to a simple, warming breakfast. His daily routine was timed perfectly. The Prophet owl would always turn up after he'd finished breakfast and he'd enjoy savouring it cover-to-cover before starting work in his laboratory or engaging in his latest tome. Severus Snape was a man of habit, and ten years alone had let him hone his routine with the same precision as he could slice asphodel.
And sure enough, no sooner had he washed up his breakfast bowl than the sound of a beak tapped against the living room window, heralding the arrival of the delivery owl with the morning's Daily Prophet.
POTTERS' YOUNGEST SON CRITICALLY ILL WITH AUGUREY FLU, the headline screamed. And underneath: Healers working round the clock as Albus Severus fails to respond to treatment.
Snape hurriedly paid the owl and sent the bird away without the usual treat and sip of water. The owl hooted reproachfully at this; it was used to receiving sustenance after a long trip from London to Cornwall, so to be sent away empty-beaked was an unwelcome surprise. Snape, however, did not notice the bird's discomfort. He was too busy devouring the article, a deep frown etched on his stern face.
The Potter boy not responding to treatment? That was indeed unusual. Snape supposed the Healers at St. Mungo's were using the same potions as they had for the Nogtail Flu outbreak, which had, up until this point, been a successful strategy. But then again, Snape reasoned, all of the afflicted so far had been adults. Snape recalled that the Nogtail Flu medication had been successful in both children and adults, so why should the potions not work for the Potter boy's Augurey Flu?
Snape breathed heavily through his nose. There had to be a logical answer to this conundrum. The Nogtail Flu medication had been analysed at length in the Potioneer Magazine and the ingredients dissected and discussed in a way that only advanced potion-makers could. Snape felt confident, therefore, that he could re-create the potion without too much incident. But simply replicating the potion would not help to cure Albus Severus. Snape could feel his curiosity and naturally competitive instinct beginning to stir. The irony of potentially saving yet another Potter child was not lost on Snape, but the challenge had little to do with altruism and more to do with his own sense of pride in his field of expertise. In order to solve the puzzle, he knew he must discover why the potion was failing to work on the young boy.
Snape knew that there might be a myriad of reasons why the boy was not responding to treatment; indeed, it might not have anything to do with the medication at all. It could be that the boy had contracted a different strain of Augurey Flu which was resilient to the potion, or that he was somehow immune to the potion's effects. It could even have been a bad batch of potion which had been administered. But the first place to start, in Snape's mind, was to deconstruct the potion and examine the ingredients first.
Snape felt a flash of excitement at this fresh test of his skills, the likes of which he'd not experienced since embarking on his Wolfsbane project. If the bunch of incompetents at St. Mungo's could not figure out the answer, then he would. The challenge was afoot.
oOo
Snape worked tirelessly all morning, not even stopping to have his usual mid-morning tea or to go to the bathroom. He poured over his old copies of Potioneer Magazine, going through pages of analysis in order to construct his own method and conducting complex calculations to work out the amounts of ingredients needed for the potion. By the time he stopped for lunch, his stomach was growling like an angry Crup, but he'd successfully drafted a list of ingredients which he then needed to acquire.
Fortunately for him, his apothecary of choice for the last ten years was both discreet and well-stocked. Usually he conducted his business via post, preferring the anonymity it provided. However, there was no time to lose, so after lunch, Snape used a simple glamour charm to change his appearance, donned his Muggle clothing and Floo'd directly into the apothecary.
Snape found the visit to be straightforward. The owner, a short, rotund fellow with a wispy goat-tail of a beard, had no qualms about being handed a list, and he retrieved the items without engaging his customer in any kind of small-talk or asking any questions. These were things for which Snape was endlessly grateful. Twenty minutes later, Snape was back to normal in his cottage with bags full of ingredients and the whole afternoon ahead of him to get to work in his laboratory and begin analysing them.
For Snape, the preparation of ingredients was a relaxing and harmonious part of the ritual of potion-making. He enjoyed having everything just so, displayed in little bowls and arranged in order of usage. Roots were sliced, leaves were diced and bugs were ground up. There was no rush to complete this part, for each ingredient required special attention and needed to be precisely prepared in order to yield the best results.
It was whilst powdering dried Goosegrass that Snape suddenly had a flashback which made his blood run cold. In a Potions lesson at Hogwarts over thirty years ago, he and Lily had been diligently preparing ingredients in order to make a Pepperup Potion. Lily had been chopping Goosegrass when, seemingly out of nowhere, her eyes began streaming and she sneezed incessantly. The reaction was so bad that a blotchy rash had appeared on her milky-white skin and she became weak and couldn't see through the tears, and Professor Slughorn had ordered Snape to take her to the Hospital Wing straight away. Snape remembered how anxious he'd been as he'd held on to Lily's feeble form and gently guided her through the castle. Madam Pomfrey had said it looked as though Lily was allergic to Goosegrass and asked her if she'd ever taken Pepperup Potion before. Lily, being Muggleborn and therefore not brought up around magical remedies, said no, and Madam Pomfrey told Lily that if ever she was ill with a cold or flu, to avoid Pepperup Potion because it contained Goosegrass and in all likelihood would make her symptoms worse.
An idea flashed in Snape's head. Was it possible for allergies to be genetic? And if so, could allergies be passed on through a recessive gene? He had no idea if Harry was allergic to Goosegrass, but if this particular allergy was genetic it could explain why Albus' symptoms were not being cured by the potion. He knew he might be clutching at straws, but Snape's gut was telling him that the possibility was too strong to ignore.
Grabbing a fresh piece of parchment and quill, Snape began to scrawl a letter detailing Albus Severus' grandmother's allergy to Goosegrass and how he believed this might be preventing Albus from recovering. Once he had finished and had signed it with his pseudonym, he pocketed the letter and once more cast a glamour charm that rendered him unrecognisable before taking the Floo straight to St. Mungo's.
Author's note: Special thanks to hexgirl for her encouragement, Phoenix13 for the embellishment and, as always, my very patient and wonderful betas, Agnus Castus and Apple Blossom.