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Four months later (Early days of January)
Severus lifted his tired eyes from the cauldron and wiped his hands on his apron. The tenacious knocking on his door made him freeze all the ongoing potions down at his basement and head for the main entrance.
'Good evening Nolan, dearest boy'
Severus smiled and looked above her shoulder at the snow that was falling thick. He beckoned the old woman inside 'What the hell are you doing here at this hour mother Ruth, come in' he made way for her to pass.
She limped heavily, holding her weight with an old but sturdy cane and passed him her wet umbrella without too much grace. He closed the door and placed the umbrella at the floor next to it. It was freezing outside and he rubbed his shoulders to warm himself up as he followed Ruth into his small living area, that consisted of his study and his dining room. Everything seemed cramped in there, but they were magnificently arranged to give the slightly clustered environment, comforting warmth. The fireplace was blazing hot and he led Ruth to one of the two easy chairs that were placed in front of it 'Come sit down,' he said and moved towards the equally small, but well kept muggle kitchen of his.
'Thank you' the elderly woman muttered as she shifted her body until she felt at ease. Then she closed her eyes 'It was difficult walking with that snowstorm outside. I swear this year the snow is going to bury us alive.' she harked, but her laughter ended up in a very dry and persistent cough.
He looked up from the stove and raised his brow 'Will it be tea or rosemary?' he asked and poured some water in a green kettle that looked almost ancient.
'Rosemary, please.' she replied and began coughing again.
'Be right there in a few minutes' he said out loud and then to himself he muttered 'You don't sound too good'
'Sure, you take your time son, I am not going anywhere.' she replied and coughed some more.
When he entered the living room several minutes later, holding a tray she was already asleep next to his fireplace. He observing her quietly for a couple of moments and remembered how he fell asleep in Lina's easy chair seven months ago. Feeling equally exhausted, but without having her years weighing him down. He placed the tray carefully on the coffee table and served her a steaming cup of her favourite brew. He meticulously added a small plate of biscuits and then placed them on a small side table that was next to her.
Making sure she was well taken care off, he walked out of the room silently and allowed her the time to rest as much as she needed. He headed back down to his basement, not omitting to throw a notifying spell on her so he would know when she woke up. Acting with such consideration towards a neighbour would have been impossible four months ago, but since he arrived at this village and decided to built his house, Ruth had supported him through every single step.
After several visits, her falling asleep on his easy chair became something of a ritual which they both agreed to accept as inevitable. Letting her rest and moving on with his business was something usual. He stepped off the stone ladder into a vast and well arranged underground room that was spotless clean. Shelves and bookcases occupied all the walls from floor to ceiling. They were filled with magical ingredients and muggle chemicals. There was virtually nothing a muggle chemist, or magical alchemist wouldn't find down here, and he wasn't the one to take credit for the perfection of that self made apothecary and laboratory.
It was primarily the Ministry of Magic, and secondarily the hospital of Mary Magdalene that helped him stock it up. Magdalene hospital was employing him as head Potioneer, but he couldn't consider the collaboration with the Ministry real employment. It was more like a thin balance, that would last as long as he fed them with information about the Dark Arts, and they made it their business to keep the Press off his back.
Those two sources supplied him with everything he needed. As to some of the rarest and in some cases illegal ingredients, he grew them himself on his back garden under heavy wards, impossible to detect. He had also discovered a nice half hidden magical apothecary in the nearest town that accommodated his every need with great discretion from the owner who never asked weird questions as long as he was paid in due time.
He picked up the scoop and began stirring one of the Potions. Down here, inside his domain he was free to work on anything he liked, as long as he finished on time the potions needed by the hospital or the medication that was required by the town's muggle chemist. Striking a deal with him hadn't been hard. He was making medication on prescription for a very moderate price. His pills sold like crazy, which was not a big surprise as he had vast knowledge of ingredients that the muggles weren't even aware off. One of the rules though was not to mix muggle and magical medications.
He was able to do the chemical work required off of him easily without using his magical resources. So he became very quickly known to the village as Nolan McGrath, retired Professor of chemistry that decided to leave the demanding city life, for a quiet life.
The Ministry of Magic in collaboration with the Muggle Ministry of Internal affairs, provided him with the appropriate muggle identification. So he was officially named Nolan which ironically meant famous, and McGrath which meant son of grace.
Famous son of grace…his lips twisted bothered for the person who deemed it wise to offer him such a name.
Owning new muggle identity allowed him to travel incognito all over England before entering a boat and reaching Ireland. He drove through the calm countryside and after a month of wandering the wilderness he still hadn't found a place where he wanted to settle down. In mid October he turned his bike over a small rolling hill and stopped at its peak. Liscannor Parochial Village was covered by dark clouds, but the white houses with the blue rooftops and the sea opening up in front of it made him smile. His black city motorcycle didn't go unnoticed even though he drove carefully through the streets. He stopped for a quick drink that evening in a small pub not even remotely interested in staying here, but nevertheless admiring it's serene atmosphere. Soon enough he was driving up the main road and was getting ready to travel North. As he was leaving the last houses behind, he saw a dirt road leading up a small hill. He didn't know what devil possessed him to take that road. He drove slowly past a couple of large cottages, with bright lights and happy voices behind the heavy curtains. Seemingly oblivious of the darkness outside their window panes.
At the end of that dirt road he saw the last house standing out, separated from all the rest, looking abandoned. It was a medium sized sturdy cottage that was build with stone. Part of the roof had collapsed inwards and all the windows were broken in. The wooden parts of the structure were either infected with mould and hanging off their hinges, or completely destroyed. He removed his helmet to see it more clearly. The exterior wall that surrounded it had tumbled down in several places and it's adequate sized garden was infested with weed and vines that had covered every available surface. His heart caught as he observed the silent, dark and destroyed building, that once must have housed a family, behind equally bright windows and heavy curtains. Before putting on his helmet again his eyes caught a small decrepit sell sign in the large garden. It's letters half smudged and the telephone number on it barely legible.
He shook his head dismissively and rolled his motorcycle past the bright cottages with the engine off so he wouldn't bother them. Only when he reached the main road did he fire it up with regret and drove off.
He mustn't have been on the road long, maybe five kilometres, when at the distance a large circular turret caught his attention. It looked ancient, imposing and totally out of place. This time he parked his motorcycle, took off his helmet and decided to take the time to check that tower from up close. At first sight it didn't seem interesting, but the moment he stepped around it all the air got squeezed out of his lungs.
He stepped close to the edge of the hill and his eyes watered at the majestic view in front of him. Right there behind the large tower, a long range of sharp cliffs carved the sea vertically, towering several hundred feet above the water. As his eyes feasted in that awe inspiring creation of nature, his hands leaned on his top thighs and he suddenly felt the need to sit down stronger than ever.
He did so and slowly his mind emptied as his eyes alternated between sky, land and frothing sea below. He remained there all night long, listening to the sea splashing at the sharp rocks and looking at the Milky Way up in the dark sky. Morning found him still admiring the view of those magical cliffs. He was still gazing lost at the sea slowly licking into them, carving their imposing shape year after year. His mind was trying to imagine how it would feel to approached these cliffs from the sea. He wanted to use his magic and fly over them and down into the water, but this beauty didn't need an intervention from magic. It held a magic of it's own.
After a long time and feeling thoroughly chilled, he searched and found the O'Brien's tower caretaker. There he learned a bit of history for the cliffs of Moher and climbed on his motorcycle. Instead of going North on Ballard Rd, he made a U-turn towards Liscannor. He passed St. Bridget's Well, then Beahy and when he found the first houses of the village he turned North towards Cahilly. He searched the small dirt road at the edge of the village with great difficulty and soon reached the destroyed cottage. The desolation of the building didn't mean that much to him when his black leather boots stepped over vines and tall grass to pick up the 'Up for Sale' sign. Three hours later he was paying cash for it and soon enough he had the keys of the broken door in the palm of his leather gloved hand.
The emptiness and the serenity he felt at the magical cliffs of Moher, couldn't be priced. He knew instantly that he wanted to live close to them. This was the first time in his life, that he truly wanted to settle down somewhere.
So he bought the destroyed cottage at the end of Landern Str., to the ultimate surprise of the suspicious muggle villagers that didn't know who this tall dark stranger was. Soon enough he started shedding his city self. He bought the motorcycle he had been travelling on, and parked it at the half destroyed shed of his new cottage. He cloaked it magically and then forgot about it's existence. Then he bought a used, but very well kept bicycle. With that he moved around the village, and to the cliffs of Moher up to this day.
The image of him riding his bicycle from the Cliffs of Moher during a rainy and grey day, with a black raincoat covering his body and head, had become somewhat of a standard around the village after a few weeks.
Slowly when his hunger for the breathtaking view of the Cliffs began satiating, he began working on the cottage without any outside assistance or without the use of magic. He wanted...no wrong, he needed to use physical labour in order to fix it. He never felt that he belonged in a place or that he owned a home. The opportunity to fix one from scratch was too important for him. He wanted to use his hands in order to build a small hiding place for himself that held no ties to his dark past.
With that solitary thought he worked on it every day. Cleaning, scraping, cutting fresh wood from the forest, slowly replacing the roof, the doors and the windows, painting the walls and replacing the broken floorboards. Fixing the plumbing, cleaning the basement and making selves from scratch in order to fix his apothecary. At first he slept on a mattress upon the floor with heavy blankets and several spells to stop the piercing cold, as most windows and doors were broken. Slowly the smell of mould and decay went away. Windows got replaced, by new polished wood that he scrubbed and sanded crookedly in some places, but which gave an authentic look to his home. He bought a water heater and soon enough he had hot clean water and a functioning toilet. He bought muggle electronics to fix his kitchen in order to cook for himself. The mattress got upgraded into a comfortable double bed and got assorted with two nightstands with matching lamps to help him read at night. His bookshelves got filled with books that arrived through orders from all over the world. Equally large packages were sent over by Magdalene hospital and the Ministry of Magic when he informed them of his new abode.
As he worked alone on his home the villagers watched him with mild interest. He let them approach as much as his lonely nature allowed. He was kind and open towards them and never tried to hide what he was doing. His quiet and diligent manners quickly won them over. When they inquired about those large packages brought to him from England, he explained that he was a chemistry Professor with a clear love for books.
The villagers accepted him according to their open and easygoing countryside personality, and not long after the local chemist approached him for a collaboration. Four months later he ended up toying three jobs at once, a house of his own and neighbours that considered him part of the village. They knew nothing about his past and didn't ask or expect much from the hero. He felt at peace with his anonymity and very comfortable inside the muggle world where he had the chance to lead a normal life.
Amongst the villagers that accepted him the easiest and approached him from ground zero, was mother Ruth. She was an old woman that never spoke about her life or her profession, but told him that she was born in Liscannor and lived all her life there. She had a large cottage at the beginning of Lantern Street and resided with her granddaughter Marian. Her children had moved to England many years ago, but her granddaughter decided to come back and live with her. From the moment he bought the house and started working on it she was there. Every day, bringing him food and talking him to insanity about stories from the village and Ireland. His need to keep his distance didn't last long with her insistent mumbling. Her persistence cracked him open on so many levels during these four months that he didn't even realise how quickly she entered his house and became a steady part of it.
So there he was, many sea miles away from his previous life. Adopting the image of a quiet Professor that kept to himself, owned a moderate cottage in the middle of nowhere, read a lot and worked even more without causing trouble to anyone. The Ministry kept their word and never leaked his new location to the Press. So he kept his end of the deal and documented methodically all his knowledge of the Dark Arts, Voldemort and the Death Eaters. Keeping nothing hidden from the Minister and his acolytes. Slowly his story began fading away from the newspapers that had nothing new to feed on and everything would have been perfect, if it wasn't for a minor detail…
Minor?…
That detail was anything but minor and it was breaking him in half every single day. It was the reason that he had been unable to feel any real happiness by achieving the basics in life. It sucked the pleasure out of working so hard and so productively for many good causes.
It made him aloof towards the small pleasures of the everyday village routines, he had so deeply wished for all his life. It created the air of mystery and vagueness around him that made him so interesting. Most of his neighbours assumed it was because he was always preoccupied with some project, but that was far from the truth. Reality was that he was torn in half. The only moments he felt relative peace was when he was sitting at the Cliffs of Moher. His long legs dangling dangerously over the edge. His eyes red from the unshed tears of his heart, and just one step from taking an infernal dive in the Atlantic Ocean, turning into a grey mist and flying to the call of his heart.
'Not again,' he cursed and threw a freezing spell on his Potion. He took off his apron and walked up to the living room again unable to concentrate in order to finish his projects down there. When he got into this kind of mood he couldn't work. Only hard manual labor was able to make her memories drift away, but when that stopped Hermione's face, returned full force with a vengeance, reminding him of what could have been, if he hadn't been such a coward.
He stood in front of a small drinking cabinet near his desk and filled a glass of firewhiskey to the brim. He tasted it and winced, then he gulped it down quickly. Using alcohol in order to remedy his broken heart was a folly, but stranded here, all alone, he had no other choice to numb down these intense waves of despair that kept returning relentlessly. This solitude, a condition he had been seeking most of his life, now felt empty without her. The harder he tried to get away from her, the closer she hang onto his heart. He carried around with him every single memory of her dutifully. From the first moment he first heard her beautiful voice, to the last moment where he felt her cold hand striking his face. He didn't want to suffer this way, but it was difficult to stop thinking of her. Her face tore him, mended him, weakened him, but also sustained him.
You've spent your whole life, suffering for women,
His eyes opened and gazed at the frost that was forming slowly on his window pane. He spend several silent moments musing at the thick snowy curtain before giving up and taking a seat on his couch. Without too much thought he opened up the article he was currently writing about the effects of several advanced Dark spells and their strategic manipulation from Riddle during the second wizarding war. He picked up the pen and looked over at Ruth fleetingly. She was breathing heavily in deep sleep. He quirked his lips and rubbed his forehead trying to concentrate long enough to gather his thoughts. His throat was on fire and his heart was bleeding once again after many months of thinking about the same things over and over.
Many times the thought of inquiring after Hermione crossed his mind. Even more times he cursed himself for not reading Mrs. Potter's mind that fateful day he returned Lily's bracelet to her son. The questions about Hermione were eating him up and he couldn't stop beating himself for acting gallantly and not intruding the mind of that stubborn red haired woman when she told him that she couldn't reveal Hermione's secret. He knew that she was probably married already or even bearing children from that man. Leading a happy life under the supervision of Minerva. Those thoughts always ended up with his skin crawling and the hair on his nape standing up angrily, despite the fact that Hermione was worth every single thread of happiness in life. He was jealous of Mark and he was hateful towards his inability to offer her this kind of life. He was angry that she was with another man even though he was the one that pushed her away.
The nose of the pen touched the paper and his eyes opened up with difficulty and glared menacingly at the blazing fire. He tried hard to push back the ugly fiends of jealousy that had risen from the dark corners of his mind. Slowly the silence of the room and the crackling of the burning wood calmed him down. He felt consolation from the certainty that Hermione was now a happy woman free of the rusty bonds of their disturbing relationship. After a few minutes his tight knuckles begun to loosen up and he was able to take deep breaths. The monsters of his mind drew back into the shadows and soon enough his pen began documenting his vast knowledge for the benefit of the Ministry.
He sat there quietly for a long time, numb from deep concentration, when the sleepy voice of Ruth made him look up.
'Did I fall asleep again?' she asked slightly disoriented.
He finished his sentence and put a full stop 'Sure did' he replied with a faded smile.
'Why didn't you wake me up?' she looked at the tea still steaming next to her.
'Who am I to destroy such a peaceful drift from reality?' he asked wearily.
'The owner of the house?' she rejoined playfully.
'Not the owner of your rest though. Now drink your tea' he pointed out.
'Did you just make it? How did you know I was about to wake up?' she smiled and picked it up.
'I have a good eye for observation' he replied offhandedly.
'Do you think Marian is worried? I've been missing for two hours' she tasted his brew and her eyes sparkled 'Perfection, as always' she smacked her lips.
'Your granddaughter knows where to find you,' he replied calmly and shuffled through the written pages. At least he got a good amount of work out of the way.
'That's true' she laughed lightly 'You keep brewing perfect tea each and every time. That is why I keep coming, so you'd know'
He raised his brow 'Everything is just about the correct balance of ingredients.'
'Hide the Professor in you boy. Are you working again?' she leaned over the arm of her chair to see better.
He nodded 'Meticulously'
'What are all those scribbles about?'
'They speak about the correct balance of ingredients' he smiled slyly.
She shook her head 'Your work defines you.'
That pushed him back to darker times, long ago, were his work truly defined him. But that work was not balancing ingredients, brewing and casting complicated spells or creating new ones. That work dealt life and death. During those times he fell asleep at night and didn't know if he was going to be alive the next day. He frowned towards his papers thoughtfully and nodded 'Yes, it does.' His heart though was not in his answer. In a delayed afterthought he looked up and smiled.
She was watching him carefully 'That momentary time lapse speaks volumes, so you'd know,'
'Yours too' he retorted cleverly.
'You are more than meets the eyes Nolan McGrath,' she said playfully and drunk some tea.
'Why don't you have a cookie?' he pointed out, needing to get her off his back.
'Don't tell me you baked these too in your spare time?' she laughed.
'No brought them down at O'Connell's. I am not famous for my cooking' he smiled.
'That guy can definitely bake!' she rejoined tasting a cookie. Then in a afterthought she spoke 'So what are you famous for?'
He looked up from his papers surprised 'Nothing. I am just a mere chemist.'
'Leave off!' she said giving him an off hand gesture 'Mere chemist? You? No, bloody-way!'
He inhaled deeply 'Ruth? We have done this so many times, why do you persist?'
'You haven't convinced me yet, that's why' she smiled at him.
He shook his head 'What more proof do you need? I am working for a hospital and for your own chemist' he said.
'I don't doubt that you are a chemist. I just doubt the word mere,' her blue eyes pierced him cleverly.
'You are right. I give off an air of grandeur' he said dryly.
'No you are a very quiet and private man' she noted.
He raised his brow 'Thank God that passed through'
'Yet everything about you speaks otherwise' she added.
'Of course it wouldn't have been that simple' he shook his head with a lopsided smile.
'It isn't. I'm going to take a wild guess that nothing on you is simple' she replied and took another cookie.
'Old age makes you very confused' he brushed her off again.
'Or makes me wise' she retorted.
'I sometimes truly wonder if you come here for the talk, for the tea, or just to feed your immense curiosity' he stood up. He walked to the hearth, picked up a long fork and tried to revive the fire. At moments like this he was thankful he chose a stone house with very thick walls.
'Tea and curiosity in that order. The talk comes as a natural consequence of the other two' she winked at him.
He shook his head 'I can feed you the tea and the talk. Will not feed your curiosity. It will die down sooner or later'
'Sooner rather than later, don't forget my age' she gave his words a morbid turn.
He quirked his lips 'Death won't be able to deal with your sense of curiosity either and he'll send you back to me'
She laughed hard then, but her mirth ended up in a dreadful coughing bout. He rested on his heels and looked at her closely. When she finished and took a deep ragged breath he spoke 'You sound like hell, have you been taking your meds?'
'They are not doing much for my condition' she shook her grey head sadly.
'Even the last batch? I altered most of the original medication' he said thoughtfully.
She shook her head 'It was better than the rest, but still inadequate. See? You might get rid of me sooner than you may think' she said with a sad smile.
He rose to his feet with a dark frown on his brow 'Have you gone to the hospital?'
'Nope! Not going' she dismissed him with an angry glance.
'Ruth,' he tried.
'Forget it! I am not going to be laid in some cold hospital bed to have tubes sticking out of my hands! I am old, I will wait for God to take me at his own leisure' she shook her head at him.
'You are so stubborn,' he accused her
'And you are young and impatient. Let me be, why don't you?' she waved him off with a disturbed grimace.
His brows knitted and he walked behind the couch. He leaned his hands on it's back. He didn't answer. A lot of thoughts were passing through his mind at that moment and none of them was wise. Altering her muggle medication with magic could be the best solution for her stubbornness. She wasn't going to seek help from a hospital and the medication sold by the local chemist was not strong enough. He didn't want to let Ruth deteriorate into nothingness while her granddaughter Marian cried secretly behind her back. He had seen the young woman's thoughts and they were heartbreaking. As much as he respected the medical arts of the Muggles, there were some things they weren't able to do. Through his magic Ruth had a chance to a long life, without any hospital treatment.
What made it so difficult for him to give her a potion then? Anyone would immediately understand that this was no ordinary medication and a lot of questions would arise. He could transfigure it to a pill, but that was not advisable in medical potions since transfiguration altered some of the more unbalanced ingredients. Her potion was filled with those. If he was going to help her through magic, then he had to reveal himself and he was not sure he wanted to take such a big step. In fact he was quite certain that he didn't.
'What the hell are you thinking about? You've turned pale' she gave him a small thoughtful smile.
He swallowed heavily 'You look awful.'
'Did the seriousness of my condition, just dawn for you? You have been my chemist since you arrived!' she laughed tiredly and some exhausted coughs punctuated her giggles in the end.
'I just,' he trailed off and rubbed his rough chin.
'Nolan darling, your medication is doing it's job to perfection. Forget about it' she said offhandedly.
He frowned towards his hand, lost in deep thoughts.
'Get off this mood! You are scaring me!' she chastised and then entered another coughing bout.
He looked up worried and waited for it to stop, but it didn't. She drew in a choked breath and the hard coughing resumed. She sounded close to vomiting. He came over quickly and offered her a napkin. She covered her mouth and struggled to stop it for a long time.
'Maybe I should take you to the hospital myself' he muttered feeling at a loss.
She shook her head angrily 'No…no, just bring me my pills if you have any left.' she managed to spit out between her barking coughs.
'Let me look at this!' he growled and tried to pull her hand away from her mouth.
She resisted with surprising strength 'No!'
'I said give it!' he commanded feeling his heart dropping in icy water as he pulled the napkin away and saw it filled with blood.
He looked at her gravely and felt his eyes watering unexpectedly. She gazed back at him with those kind blue eyes that seemed so haunted at that moment. At the side of her mouth a small trickle of blood still remained 'Showing off the sensitive streak in you my boy. The main reason I had my eyes on you for my granddaughter Marian. Unfortunately both of you overturned my plans' she carefully wiped the end of her lips like nothing serious was going on.
He smiled despite the terrible knot that abounded in his throat 'I am not available, for the hundredth time,'
'I know, but you never told me who owns that golden heart of yours' she leaned her head back. Her eyes looked tired and the dark circles under them spoke openly of the poor condition of her body.
'And neither will I. Does Marian know how much your condition has deteriorated?' he frowned.
'No, don't tell her' she became serious also 'There is no use to worry her since I am not going to any hospital.'
He straightened his body decisively 'Wait here' he said and moved towards the basement with purposeful agility.
'Are you bringing me my pills? Thank you Nolan,' she muttered breathlessly behind him.
His eyes fell on the muggle section and he looked pointedly at the small glass vial with the pink antibiotics he had been making for her. His fingers curled into tight fists and his jawline tensed, but he didn't hesitate to reach the magical part of the laboratory. There he started a feverish search of already made Potions. When he finished the first rows and didn't find the one he wanted he rolled up his sleeves and tried the ones in the back. The more rare creations he kept for special occasions like this one.
I've spent the first part of my life destroying lives, but I've dedicated the second in saving lives…
That wasn't going to change now because the life that needed saving was Muggle. He was going to assist Ruth through his real profession and if that meant exposing himself then so be it. His hand searched the back shelves and it didn't take him long to dig out an intricate Potion bottle that had a crimson essence twisting and twirling inside. He nodded in satisfaction and brought it up to Ruth.
She looked up to him 'Nolan?'
He offered her the magical bottle 'Drink this in one go if you can' he said carefully.
Her eyes looked at it for a moment and then returned to him 'What is this?' she seemed apprehensive.
'Drink it, it will help,' he nodded.
She looked at it for several moments mesmerised 'It looks beautiful'
He didn't reply. He rested his forearms on his knees and observed her closely.
As if an internal debate came to a rest she nodded and took off the stopper. Immediately crimson vapour escaped 'Don't let it go to waste, drink it!' he commanded wanting her to inhale the vapours too.
Taken aback she brought the bottle to her mouth and drank it in one go. He nodded satisfied as the vapours entered her nostrils and a soft smile appeared on his lips. When she finished she licked her wrinkled lips and gave the bottle back to him 'What in the name of God was that my boy?'
'Medication' he sniffed its remains even though he already knew it was more than adequate for her condition. His eyes returned to sick greyness of her skin. It began to withdraw slowly, allowing a bright pink colour to return to her cheeks. She must have felt the revival, because she smiled and raised her hands. She looked amazed at the healthy hue returning 'What's happening' she whispered.
'How do you feel?' he asked with a small frown.
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Her breath felt free of all trouble 'I am not coughing anymore!' she seemed exhilarated.
'Good' he whispered and stood up. He walked slowly to his desk and placed the bottle thoughtfully among the scattered articles.
Now come the questions...
'What are you?' she asked sure enough.
He signed and his eyes looked at the frosty window 'A chemist Ruth' he replied quietly.
'Don't jest with me!' she exclaimed and stood up. Without the help of the cane she came over to him 'I have been using this cane for the last ten years and right now I don't need it. I feel twenty years younger and what I drunk moved on it's own inside the bottle and also into my nose' she said but her tone was not accusing.
'I am not jesting Ruth. That is what I do' he replied seriously.
'A mere chemist?' she raised both brows unable to believe him.
He looked outside the window again 'Eons ago, Chemists had another name. More mystical, which consisted of techniques that modern society has long forgotten' he replied thoughtfully.
'What name?' she looked up at him eagerly.
'Alchemists' he replied calmly and turned to her.
She smiled widely and her eyes brightened 'You are a wizard!' she exclaimed.
He shuddered, but his silent eyes had already answered to her.
'And a very strong one, if I judge at how easily you cured me' she nodded.
'Ruth,' he tried modestly, but couldn't find the words.
She raised her finger to stop him 'And you are probably famous also, right? That's what Nolan means anyway. Nice touch there son!' she winked.
'Not my idea' he pressed his lips regretfully.
'And from what I see you have must have an impressive past' she pointed towards his revealed Dark Mark.
He bit his upper lip uneasily 'That is something I don't want to talk about, if you don't mind' he lowered his sleeve.
'That tattoo doesn't look positively tuned,' she flicked her shoulder with a small smile.
'It's not' he replied clinically and fastened the button of his sleeve securely.
'I would have never expected to see you with tattoos, especially this dark' she smiled.
He smirked.
'Are you even a Professor, dearest Nolan?' she nudged him playfully.
'I am indeed' he replied quietly.
She laughed and rejoiced on her clear breath 'I didn't cough! Did you see that?'
'Potion worked well, but it is temporary. You might feel the effects of the disease returning full force in a couple of days. I will brew some more for you later today. If you take it regularly the illness with subside completely' he offered her a reassuring smile.
'Thank you Nolan' she muttered and tears edged her eyes.
'Don't mention it' he brushed her off and began aligning his articles, just in order to have something to do with his nervous hands. Ruth's emotional gratefulness made him feel very uneasy.
'You have a heart of gold' she touched his shoulder and rubbed it softly.
A strong shudder run through his spine 'I wouldn't bet on that' he whispered and a his brow creased darkly.
'Does she know that your heart is made of gold?' she asked softly.
He felt his chest constricting and his eyes welling 'Who?' the question left his mouth unexpectedly.
'The girl you left behind' she said cleverly 'The one that still owns your heart and forbids you to give it to my granddaughter.'
He inhaled deeply and pushed down the tears that threatened to overbalance him. His eyes found refuge at the snow curtain outside 'No' he whispered.
'So here you are heartbroken, always heartbroken since the first day I saw you,' she tried gently, seeing that he was curling in on himself 'Nolan, I don't even know if this is your real name. I don't care to know your history or how you ended up here in the middle of nowhere, because you stole my heart also. In a maternal way. You allowed me to see a few things in you, and they are very special. Thank you for everything that you have done for me and Marian, but I would like to see you do something for yourself' her bony and fragile fingers pressed his strong forearm exactly above the Dark Mark.
'Severus...' he said quietly.
'Is that your real name?' she smiled.
He nodded.
'Fix your heart Severus' she said quietly.
He felt a single tear escaping from his eye and swallowed heavily. He didn't make a move to wipe it off and it trailed down his cheek slowly 'How?' he exhaled.
'Only you know how,' she tilted her head and winced regretfully. Then she walked back to her easy chair, giving him space to settle down. She remained there in silence as more tears run down his cheek and he didn't make a move to stop them. He stood still, trying hard to calm down his drumming heart and the tight knot in his throat. When after a while he finally managed it, he turned to her more composed than ever. 'You know a lot about the magical world,' he stopped mid sentence.
She smiled 'And you don't seem surprised, which means you already know what I am'
He raised his brow 'An Oracle and I should have known sooner.'
She pointed her finger at him 'Indeed. And you should have known sooner, how?'
'Legilimency' he tilted his head nonchalantly.
Her eyes grew wide 'Oh, you are that powerful. Legilimency and Occlumency are rare and difficult traits master'
'Nevertheless I am not using them anymore, especially on Muggles' his lips pursed.
She smiled 'You should have used that rare ability and I should have seen your aura. I was equally gallant towards you Severus' and frowned 'Can I still call you Nolan? I prefer it'
He smirked 'Be my guest'
So Mother Ruth was an Oracle. Those were the muggles that had direct contact with the wizarding community and possessed low level psychic abilities. The ones the muggles called Mediums. They were the best link between the wizarding and the muggle world.
'Now that I see your aura, it is almost blinding!' She muttered and looked all around him.
'Listen Ruth, I would appreciate if you kept all this between us. I have serious reasons to keep my current abode private and living in the muggle world makes that easier.' he said gravely.
'You don't have to worry, my lips are sealed. I like you a lot and I don't want you to leave. If you need privacy, then I will make it my business. But,' she raised her finger at him again 'You just confirmed that you are famous in your world' then she gave him another playful wink.
'Does it matter?' he winced dismissively.
She waved him off 'If you can still fix me that wonderful tea nothing else matters'
'You want another one?' he asked feeling a ton of weight lifting from his shoulders.
'Yes, if you don't mind my boy. Marian must be worried for me, but your brew is one heck of a temptation. Just don't tell me that you are making it by magic. It will loose all it's grace' she warned him.
'No magic in my tea, Ruth' he smirked.
'Take your time,' she said happily.
The rest of the evening passed quietly with Ruth returning to her favourite pastime. Speaking about the village and their neighbours, seemingly overlooking what took place between them, or possibly respecting his wishes. No matter what, he didn't regret revealing himself to this wonderful old lady. So she mostly spoke without any coughing bouts and he mostly listened, when his thoughts weren't drifting off back to England, until Marian knocked on his door. The grave young lady escorted her grandmother away, with a dozen apologies and a shocked countenance when she realised how peachy Ruth looked this evening.
Night found Severus sitting alone in the dark. His heavy eyes were red and an empty glass was cradled in his numb fingers. An equally empty bottle of firewhiskey was next to his forearm. He had been obsessing about Ruth's words since she left with Marian.
Fix your heart...
How?
Only you know...
After the longest time of standing absolutely still, he pushed his glass away and pulled a blank piece of paper. His pen hovered above it for several seconds, but the need to reach out to Hermione was too strong in his inebriated state. When he began writing there was only one thought occupying his mind.
Learning some news of Hermione, even if they were about her marriage and children. He needed to find out that she was healthy and happy and then he would retreat back into the shadows once more.
When he finished the letter he send it off quickly before his logic took over his emotions and he ended tearing it up like he had done many times before. Two hours later he was passed out on his desk as the weather outside turned from a mild storm into a blizzard.
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