Chapter 48
After everyone had recovered their stomachs enough to behave normally again, Ron had taken Keah home (no doubt so his mother could take a turn with the baby and he could sneak off for a nap) whilst Harry and Draco had opted to stay at the cottage with Hermione. They had stomped down the shallow cliff path to the beach in the good summer weather, all walking at a snail's pace to match Teddy's toddler steps. Eating hot chips on the sandy beach followed by taking Teddy for his first paddle in the sea had put all of them in a good mood, and Hermione was amazed by Draco's good nature and general playfulness around the child. The four of them were actually having a great time.
She had cast a covert charm to stop the sand sticking to Teddy's hands so that he wasn't tempted to start licking grains of it from his fingers, and he toddled around happily with bare feet, not caring if he stumbled and fell on the soft, damp sand.
Hermione sat down on the grassy edge of the beach to watch them, both Harry and Draco cavorting loudly with the shrieking toddler, chasing him, swooping him up in the air, and running in and out of the shallows of the water, allowing themselves to get "caught" by the incoming waves for Teddy's amusement. It wasn't long before all three of them were soaking wet, Teddy's sodden nappy hanging down to his knees.
Harry had picked up the boy, carrying him gently back up the cliff path to the cottage, where Draco rummaged in the changing bag for a clean nappy and they made an interesting double-act changing Teddy between them, Harry abusing Draco's manly black leatherchanging bag, and Draco admitting he had transfigured the outside, it was actually festooned with a print of cheery dragons.
Harry kept Teddy occupied and still long enough for Draco to effect the nappy change, by kneeling next to him on the floor and making rude noises with his tongue. It was all rather sweet, and Hermione was again struck by how very different Draco Malfoy was acting. Was it just being the babysitter that was bringing out this relaxed, playful side, or could he be actually enjoying the company of Harry and herself?
Once Teddy was safely ensconced in a clean nappy, dry clothes, he was let free to roam the room again, while Harry and Draco shot cursory drying spells at their own clothes to remove the worst of the water. Harry sat back on his heels and regarded his former enemy as he packed the dirties away in the changing bag.
"So, Malfoy. Have you been as decent as this all along and just acting like an arsehole throughout school, or is this a new personality?"
Ah. So Harry was thinking along the same lines as she had been. Draco eyed him with a withering look.
"I should think, Potter, that given the abject mess I've made of my life so far, that a change of outlook was probably called for, don't you agree?"
"I totally agree. It's just surprising," Harry pushed his glasses further up his nose and ran an absent-minded hand through his unkempt hair, "I can't ever remember enjoying an afternoon in your company before."
Draco shot him a sarcastic smile.
"It can happen, you know."
"Clearly." Harry rolled his eyes, mockingly.
"So, Potter, what are you doing with the rest of your life now?"
"Me and Ron are starting the Ministry Auror training programme next month."
"Sounds good," Draco gave a non-committal shrug.
"You?"
"I'm working with Snape. He's left Hogwarts and set up on his own brewing potions. I've been hired as his apprentice."
"You're a braver man than me."
"I'm ok, he likes me. That's why Granger here suggested me to him."
Harry turned on Hermione in surprise.
"You did that?"
"I did. Severus needed an assistant, an exemplary brewer, and with an apprenticeship he will make Draco as skilled as he. I also thought that Draco might appreciate the hand of friendship."
She sneaked Draco a wink.
"You're a good sort, Granger. I know we've all been through a lot together ..."
"It's in the past," Harry cut him off mid-sentence, "I don't want to go back there. I fought bloody hard for the rest of my life and I intend to enjoy it, and not waste another second looking behind me."
"That's an admirable sentiment, Harry," Hermione replied.
"Sounds fucking brilliant to me," Draco muttered, loudly.
They looked at each for a moment in silence, before Draco seemed to come back to himself and declared that it was time to get Teddy home. Hermione helped him check that he had all the baby's things, although it was inevitable something would get left behind, such a mess had been made. They packed everything into the transfigured changing back before Draco lifted Teddy astride his hip, allowing him to kiss both Harry and Hermione goodbye.
Hermione also placed a kiss on Draco's cheek and a gentle hand on his back, much to the blond wizard's surprise.
"Goodbye, Draco. I really appreciate you having the courage to meet Ron and Harry in the lion's den in order to find me. I will think about what you've told me, I promise."
He gave her a slightly sad smile in return, and then turned to Harry, as if unsure how to bid him farewell.
Harry held out his hand.
"See you, Malfoy."
Draco took it and held it, not really making any effort to shake it.
"See you, Potter."
He turned to the fireplace, throwing in the Floo powder and calling out Malfoy Manor, before the flames glowed green and both he and Teddy were gone, twisting and turning through the connection and out of sight.
- xxx –
Hermione and Harry were sitting in the cottage garden in the rather expensive but insanely comfortable wooden double swing-seat she had treated herself too, sinking into the soft cushions and rocking themselves gently with their feet on the grass as the sun dimmed to the burnt orange of a summer evening.
Both had cold bottles of butterbeer that Hermione had stocked up on in Diagon Alley in a burst of enthusiasm to make sure she had a well-supplied kitchen, and a pile of muggle crisps in a bowl between them.
"We know how to live," Harry joked, leaning his head back against the cushions as he shovelled a handful into his mouth, spraying crisp crumbs unattractively all over the front of his top.
"We do indeed," she smiled, taking a delicate sip of her butterbeer and wondering how to broach the question with her friend that she wanted to ask.
"Ginny's gone," he stated, simply, mouth still half-full of crisps.
Bingo. He'd brought the subject up himself.
"I thought she might have, since she wasn't with you today. Holyhead Harpies she's playing for, isn't it?"
He nodded.
"A year's unconditional contract. She really impressed them when she tried out."
"I don't doubt that. I don't know much about Quidditch but I know Ginny is an exceptional flyer."
"That she is," Harry said, vaguely nodding, "That she is."
"And ... how are the two of you?"
Harry turned to her, his clear green eyes surprisingly full of confusion and pain.
"We're not. At least, I don't think we are. It's just ... I'm not ... I mean, she's not ..." he waved his hands around randomly, as if searching for the right words to pluck out of the air.
"You're arguing?"
"Not even that. We're just ... not. I mean, it was always going to be hard with Gin back at Hogwarts and me away so much the last year, but ... even the occasional time we've had alone, we're just ... not."
"You're going to have to help me, Harry. You're not really making very much sense."
He took a deep breath, as if he was trying to release a very great secret that was buried so deep it needed effort to bring it to the surface.
"I don't fancy her. And she doesn't fancy me either. There's no ..."
"Spark? Chemistry? Attraction?"
"All of the above," he sighed with relief, "I like her, I even love her, but as a friend, not as anything more. And I'm pretty sure the feeling is mutual."
"Like I love Ronald," she murmured, "I love him deeply and would protect him with my life, like we all did for each other last year, but I don't love him romantically."
"No. You save that kind of love for Professor Snape," Harry teased, taking a large slurp of his butterbeer with a cheeky grin.
"If you tease me, I'll use a sticking charm to fasten you to the seat while I tell you every in-depth detail of our sex life," she retorted, calmly.
He held up his hands.
"Mercy, please no. Back to your original comment. Yes, I think I love Ginny how you love Ron. I just don't want to ... bump uglies with her."
Hermione laughed at his turn of phrase, thinking he must have picked it up in changing room banter whilst travelling with the Wasps all season.
"Bump uglies?" she grinned, "So tell me, Harry, is there anyone you do want to bump uglies with?"
To her surprise, he blushed scarlet, clearly visible even in the dying light of the evening.
"Harry?"
"I need to tell you something. Something I've not even told Ron."
Hermione nodded, turning to face him completely, her legs crossed on the swing seat, assuring him bodily of her full attention. He took a deep breath.
"I think I might be gay. In fact, strike that, I know I am gay."
She took a sip of her butterbeer, and then a longer swig, trying to formulate an answer.
"What makes you think that?"
"It's been more of a gradual realisation. At first I thought it was just because I was spending a lot of time with all the wizards on my team, not being around Ginny, and whilst most of them went out shagging, I made the excuse to myself that I wasn't because I was being faithful.
And then the few times I saw Gin, on the visits and stuff, things just weren't the same. There wasn't the ... desperation that we had for each other last year. And I started thinking that we might only have been feeling like that because of the likelihood of all our imminent deaths."
"I can understand that," she interjected, softly. "Leaping on Ron during the heat of the final battle and shoving my tongue down his throat wasn't my finest hour. I agree with you I think it was desperation and fear, we were all running for our lives."
"I've ... um ... had a brief relationship while I was away," he coughed, awkwardly, "and it kind of made my mind up, even though it didn't work out."
"You did? Tell me about him," she urged her friend, with what she hoped was an encouraging look upon her face.
"His name is Ivan. He came over on a month's transfer from a Moscow quidditch team. He asked me out for a drink, and he was really good to talk to, explaining how one gay man can often spot another, and listening to me pour out all my woes about what being gay might mean. Eventually I decided to stop stressing and just enjoy it. And I did. I'm not sure Ivan did – I think I drove him mad with my whining, but he's put me in a better place – a place where I know who I am and what I want from life."
"And what is it that you want from life, young Mr Potter?" she smiled.
"Well, that's the thing. If you'd asked me that earlier I'd have said I was getting comfortable with my sexuality, and looking, but not desperate for, a fun, hassle-free relationship with a steady wizard who knows his own mind and shares my outlook on life."
Hermione had a sudden feeling that she knew where this was headed, and tentatively asked her final question.
"So, that was earlier today. And if I asked you now, what would you tell me you wanted?"
He looked at her, his beautiful, expressive green eyes as familiar to her as her own.
"I want Draco Malfoy," he replied, sinking his head forward into his hands, where his elbows rested upon his knees, "Malfoy. For fucks sake."
- xxx –
Severus and Draco were working side by side in the barn, several cauldrons currently in different stages of brewing, and Draco's student books spread out across the teaching bench. They had obtained over a dozen new contracts in the last fortnight, and these were the initial orders from various apothecaries, mostly simple remedies that wizarding families kept in their stores to treat minor ailments, plus they had received a huge order from St Mungo's based on the quotation that Hermione had prepared for their potions department.
Severus wasn't naive enough to think St Mungo's had simply turned their whole ordering facility over to him, the amount of potions the hospital must get through was enormous, but an order of this size showed good faith, and he was eager to present them with a speedy delivery of their order, perfectly brewed, so that they would return and order from him again.
At the present time, he was attempting to teach Draco, brew a myriad potions, complete paperwork, pack and deliver the orders and send the invoice parchments all at the same time. Hermione had been right when she'd said he would need assistants almost straight away.
A loud and disgruntled squawk from the owlery made them both look up, and Severus lifted his chin in the direction of his apprentice to indicate that Draco should go and check the source of the discontent. Draco wiped his hands on his brewing apron and opened the door to the owlery, a flurry of brown feathers hitting him in the face as he stepped inside, much to Severus' amusement.
"Let it go! Let it go, you pain in the bloody arse bird, you! Get the fuck off!"
Another affronted screech was heard, much louder this time as the door was open, and Draco came back into the lab clutching a scroll that he handed to Severus, shaking his head.
"Apparently Hannibal is now taking exception to unfamiliar post owls delivering mail, rather than just shitting on the letters themselves," he said, by way of explanation. "That poor owl will probably never deliver here again after I released him from Hannibal's claws."
"Maybe I remind you," Severus drawled, "that it was you whom saw fit to purchase such a miserable bastard of an owl."
"I thought you might like him, he reminded me of you," Draco muttered.
"No one likes me, Draco. Why on earth should my owl counterpart be any more prepossessing?"
"Fair point."
"Nonetheless, I congratulate you on freeing the delivery owl, and retrieving at least one piece of post that isn't covered in owl shit."
He tapped the scroll lightly on his temple, indicating that he was going to retire to the new sofa to read the letter. They had installed it on the opposite side of the workroom, a black leather affair with a heavy wooden chest in front to serve as a coffee table. It was here that they ate, keeping Severus' home upstairs private.
He unrolled the parchment, which was directed in an unfamiliar hand.
Dear Professor Snape
You don't know me, my name is Vera Cruddington, and I am the partner of Poppy Pomfrey, the Hogwarts medi-witch? Poppy tells me the two of you are very good friends.
Now, she has asked me to write to you as she isn't feeling too well at the moment, she caught dragon pox just as the summer started, and whilst we don't think it's too serious, she's in quite a bit of discomfort from the itching.
Poppy tells me that you may have a remedy for pox itching that you are currently working on? She says she doesn't mind if it's not fully tested yet, but she wants to use it!
You know how determined she can be when she gets an idea in her head.
Anyway, I hope that you will be able to pop over and see her and bring whatever potion or cream it is she thinks you might have? Our Floo address in Surrey is at the top of this parchment. We live in a muggle neighbourhood so Floo is a better choice than apparating here.
Yours sincerely
Vera Cruddington
He smirked to himself as he read Vera Cruddington's letter. He could quite imagine Vera as a small, quiet woman of mediocre brain, constantly hen-pecked by the human tornado that was Poppy Pomfrey. No wonder their relationship survived Poppy living at Hogwarts, Vera was no doubt glad of the peace and quiet.
He went over to a cupboard and pulled out one of his research notebooks, she was correct, he had been working on a medicated anti-itching cream for dragon pox, and whilst it hadn't received full testing, (that honour went only to the Advanced Wolfsbane tested by St Mungo's) he knew it worked and would likely relieve Poppy's symptoms.
It would only take him an hour to mix up, as a cream there was no brewing involved, and he would visit Poppy and Vera that evening. If truth be told he'd like to see her, he always came away from her feeling better, even if he hadn't admitted it in the past. He was looking forward to tormenting her that the dragon had now caught dragon pox. She'd appreciate that.
- xxx –
Severus knew he had been wildly mistaken as soon as he crossed the grate into Poppy and Vera's neat living room. The house had a vile, infected smell to it, which since the house was otherwise clean and tidy, he could only presume was the stench of advanced dragon pox.
Vera was not the small hen-pecked witch he had imagined, but a sturdy, capable bear of a woman with a hand-span that could have rivalled Hagrid's. Her round face was etched with worry as she ushered Severus upstairs without a word, and when they reached the landing, lined with several plain white wood doors, stood before the first of them with her hand on the brass doorknob, and turned to him.
"I didn't want to say too much in the letter. Didn't want to worry you," she whispered, before opening the door.
As they entered the room, the fetid stench was almost overpowering. Severus steeled himself, remembering all the times that Poppy had attended to him when his internal organs had been practically wrenched from his body, his skin irreparably flayed. He was quite certain that the Hogwarts Medi-Witch hadn't vomited all over him in repulsion; he must afford her the same courtesy.
He walked over to the bed where his friend lay, covered in dragon pox lesions, and sat down. He raised his usual eyebrow at her.
"I think, Madam, that this is a little more than just a few itchy spots, don't you agree?"
Her sore mouth twitched with a smile.
"It has come on quickly, Severus. A couple of days ago I was fine."
"Fine?"
"Alright, not fine. But considerably better than this."
He turned to Vera, standing uncertainly by the open door.
"Has she been seen by a Healer?"
"She has. Every day St Mungo's sends a visiting Healer to check her progress and dress her wounds. She refuses to be admitted, though."
"Well, that doesn't surprise me. You always did make the most terrible patient, didn't you, Poppy?"
"Look who's talking," she shot back, "You are the most miserable, ungrateful bastard that ever set foot in my infirmary."
"It is good to see the pox has not yet affected your brain, or your filthy tongue."
They both smiled at each other, and it occurred to Severus that he had been brought here under false pretences. His useless little itching cream would do no good for Poppy; her skin was almost completely covered. No doubt she was in the advanced stages of dragon pox, and the gravelly tone to her voice suggested that her throat was already partially covered in infected lesions. This is not a sickbed visit, he thought, as his heart dropped from his chest into the pit of his stomach, this is a deathbed attendance. As a highly experienced medi-witch and Healing practitioner, Poppy would tragically already know this.
He looked up and met her eyes, her kind face covered so wickedly with the red, scaled lesions of the disease. She gave a slow nod, as if she understood what he had just been thinking.
"Is your throat affected?"
"It is."
"I am so sorry, Poppy."
"Don't be. I am a very old woman, that's why I haven't been able to fight this off. Now, make sure you don't touch me; I don't want you infected too. I haven't allowed Vera to touch me either, skin to skin contact passes the pox, we all know that."
"What can I do for you?" he asked her, feeling worse than useless.
"Have you made things right with your young lady?"
"I beg your pardon, Poppy, but you cannot possibly wish to discuss my love life in your current position."
"On the contrary, Severus, that is exactly what I wish to discuss. My own life is all in order. Vera and I have made plans for whoever went first; we have been blessed to have spent the last half a century with each other. I can die happy knowing that you, my dear boy, have finally found the happiness you so deserve."
Severus was so humbled by her words, by her actions, that he didn't even bother to play his old I don't deserve it refrain. It just seemed old and tedious now. Poppy felt he was worth something, she always had done. He just never appreciated it until now. He really was an arsehole of the highest order.
Poppy began to cough, and he cringed as it wracked her body, curling her over with the effort. She cleared her throat with some difficulty, and began.
"Severus. I have told you many a time what I want for you. A life, a real life where you can love, and receive love in return. A family to call your own. A chance to right not only those wrongs you have done, but also the wrongs that were done to you. I am telling you now, for the last time, that if you continue to push Hermione away through your own hurt pride, you will destroy not only your own chance of happiness, but hers also."
She took a deep breath, struggling with the effort, but Severus knew she would not let go until she had said her piece. No doubt Vera knew that too, standing there quietly, her eyes bloated with unshed tears.
"If I had conjured her myself, I could not have wished for a more perfect companion for you. Now stop fucking it up, you stupid boy. My precious boy. You wonderful, irritating, handsome, rude, misunderstood man. Go to the one who has the power to understand you, yet still love you, and never let her go again."
Severus felt his heart break, oddly not with sadness, but instead with love and admiration for this remarkable woman.
"You have been more of a mother to me, than my own ever was," he admitted, wishing he could embrace her.
"Not a mother," she shot back, weakly, "More like a favourite aunt with a stupendously annoying nephew."
He bequeathed her a genuine smile, broad and strong, that spread across his face, and nodded.
Poppy smiled in return before closing her eyes, and she seemed to sink back a little into the pillow. Vera approached the bed and rested her hand on Severus' shoulder. Despite his hatred of touch, and having never met this huge woman before, he did not feel the need to shrug her off. They both instinctively knew the other needed the touch – the comforter and the comforted.
They both watched Poppy's chest rise and fall under the thin sheet, the spaces between breaths growing longer, until the next one simply did not come.
He rose to his feet and embraced Vera, before stepping across the room and throwing open the window, to allow the beautiful soul of his dearest friend to fly free.
