A/N 1: Many thanks to Guests, Fan, Michalmil and Hamlet. BTW I have to disagree with you, Hamlet, on human error - history's littered with it. I loosely based the notes business on Watergate; I mean, why leave all those files for the FBI to find when they were long since of any use? Anyway, to each their own! And your point has merit, provided people are always on top of their game. Thanks, as ever, for the feedback.
A/N 2: Sorry! It's been ages! We've had bushfires getting extremely close, temperatures of 45C+ and now it's cyclone season (I'm expecting a plague of locusts and famine any day) - TBH just didn't have the energy to write; summer is exhausting!
Chapter 5: Of Wiggenbushes
McGonagall's rooms, 10:20 pm
"No Scotch?"
Disappointment radiated through the square frames of her spectacles. It was custom for one of them to filch the Highland malt Albus kept in his cabinet, especially when feeling aggrieved with their headmaster. Severus had felt more than aggrieved when he'd learned Dumbledore had long suspected the cause of Potter's headaches. A connection to The Dark Lord, and he'd said nothing. Incredible. Severus couldn't fathom it. What he did fathom was that he and Minerva needed to redouble their efforts with Lucius Malfoy; that would make the situation safer for everyone. As such, he'd left the bottle of pure, triple distilled nectar hidden amongst his tea towels. The drinking binges would need to stop - unpalatable, but such was the life of sacrifice …
"Didn't bring it. You drink too much. The entire staffroom is talking about you."
She refused to react to that. It was what he wanted. Snape continued into her rooms, and flopped down untidily onto her sofa. Frustrated, exhausted and mean.
"Devastating news from Pomona; two of her Badgers have ceased being insipid and had an actual argument. She wanted advice on how to deal with it. I told her to thrash them senseless. Oh, Poppy bleeding Pomfrey! Is she really that cretinous? Surely it's a ruse? Flitwick! Is it wrong to kick a man four feet smaller than yourself to the ground? He has the weight of the world on his shoulders … no one will proofread his fucking manuscript. Good God! Do these people have any idea?!"
Obviously Snape had called in at the staffroom before coming to see her. Minerva thought of all their cheery faces welcoming him - and his likely reaction. Well, they didn't have any idea. So much of Snape and Minerva's plans were secret; how could they understand? She knew that and Snape knew that. Still, a vociferously complaining Snape was a good thing. It was when he went quiet that Minerva became alarmed. He suddenly sat upright.
"We'll never pull this off."
"You're right, Severus; let's not bother."
"We'll die at the first hurdle."
"Die hideously, I'd say." McGonagall replied.
His tack wasn't working. He screwed up his crooked nose and had another thought.
"What say we forget all this and give Muggledom a go? Hogwarts' Express to King's Cross Station, and a mad dash across to Paddington. We could catch a train to the Cotswolds, take a cottage in Minchinhampton and pass ourselves off as amateur botanist and demented old aunt."
"I'm still not taking the bait." She informed him.
"Oh, go on. Just have a nibble at it. I need a bit of fun after the day I've had."
"Stop trying to goad me. Tell me what happened and how you're feeling."
"How I'm feeling?! You sound like Pomona. Hold on … you're not counselling me, are you?" He asked suspiciously.
"Absolutely not!"
Minerva was every bit Snape's equal in her loathing for touchy feely claptrap.
"We have a plan, remember? I want to know what you've accomplished and how ready you are to move onto the next stage."
Snape laughed, then saluted his friend.
"Here's to you, Minerva! As soft and cossetting as a claw hammer!"
And what had he accomplished? He cast his mind back to the evening prior and the Malfoys.
"The Potter boy? He's … he's friends with Draco?"
What had Snape heard in Lucius' voice? Shock that Draco would side with the enemy? No. Pride that his son had hoodwinked the enemy? Not that, either. Perhaps a yearning for something else for his son. A life unhindered by the need for strategic choices. But Lucius must have known the day would come when his dealings with The Dark Lord would impact Draco. Snape had always questioned Lucius' love for his son; concern for himself being so great it seemed to preclude care for another. He'd wanted Narcissa along to guide her husband - she was the silent power in that relationship. One look at Lucius' face, however, had told Snape he'd underestimated his one time friend. Lucius had been broken by Draco's attack.
"What did you expect?" Snape had asked Lucius, "That they were just going to leave Draco?!"
But Lucius had expected just that. The Dark Lord's return, glory and status for his Death Eaters - all accomplished before Draco finished Hogwarts. He was still a child, Lucius had argued. So had they been, Snape had countered.
"He can't have believed that?" Minerva said.
"People will force themselves to believe a lie … if the lie is enticing enough."
It was Narcissa who had swept away the lie.
"It's not Draco they want. They want to destroy you."
Thank Merlin for Narcissa, thought Snape. She knew. Knew that the return of The Dark Lord wasn't the most dangerous time; that the most dangerous time was now. Only the wretched loons in Azkaban were pure enough for Voldemort. Those still at large had all put themselves before him, whether by fading into obscurity, asserting they'd acted out of fear, or - most cowardly of all - claiming to be victims of the Imperius.
"It'll be a relief for them when The Dark Lord comes back." Said Snape to Minerva, "Pucey, McNair and Goyle are far crueller than he'd ever be."
She looked disbelieving.
"Think about what you'd do to avoid his vengeance," Said Snape, "what lengths you'd go to."
Then she remembered Remus Lupin's revelation of the year before; that Peter Pettigrew had stayed hidden twelve years not for fear of Sirius Black, but the other Death Eaters. Severus was right; they were all terrified.
Snape continued his report. Each at-large Death Eater knew the others were compromised; the reason being they were alike; they'd all tried to save their own skin. Their only hope now was to feign servitude to The Dark Lord; scrabble like mad to be more zealous than Voldemort himself would ever demand. The weak and broken would be picked off first - insane, babbling blabbermouth Petronella Flint, mother to Marcus, would be finished. The boy would probably lose his father, too - unless Jasper Flint had the foresight to knock off his wife first. The weak, the mad and the loose-tongued would be gone. And then they'd come for everyone's least favourite parvenu, Lucius Malfoy.
Lucius Malfoy … social climber extraordinaire, the master of arse-licking upwards and kicking downwards. Yet not really a master at all. They all knew him for what he was. If Lucius Malfoy had done one thing right in his life, it had been to desperately love Narcissa Black. Anyone could join the Death Eater ranks; surviving in them was another matter. The quiet woman at his back had kept him safe. The Black line meant something. Of course, Lucius hadn't faced up to this immediately.
"Really, Severus …" He'd drawled, "I expected you to have more nerve. A few silly misunderstandings?! Pucey and McNair would never be so rash … not with me."
His words were hollow, and many more followed in their wake. But though the night was long and tortuous, Severus always knew that the admission would come; that the Malfoys wanted out of The Dark Lord's fold. Such fear he saw in their eyes, Snape could've held it in his hands. The moment had come when he could reveal his own truth; that he had turned from The Dark Lord thirteen years ago.
"How can you trust them?!" Gasped Minerva.
"You knew it had to come to this, Minerva. What other way was there? And think about it; how can they trust me? I was evil once. You know what I did, the lives I ended … But you're right; I couldn't simply trust them."
So they'd made an unbreakable vow. Whoever spoke of the matter to a Death Eater or The Dark Lord himself, died.
"The boy?" Asked Minerva.
"He hasn't joined their ranks yet; we can tell him when the time is right."
Such a momentous occasion, and yet it was curious how the mundane shuffled to the fore. No sooner had the vow been made than the talk became of property, money and possessions. Narcissa would open accounts overseas and begin transferring their wealth. The title deeds to Malfoy Manor would pass to Draco, only actionable upon his twenty-fifth birthday, and treasured objects would be taken to Loghalsh.
"Loghalsh?" Queried Minerva.
"You know, my safe house."
"Ah, yes."
They should have been jumping for joy, whooping it up over the great accomplishment that had been made. But as ever with moments of great import, they merely felt a little deflated - too caught up in what-ifs. What if Lucius hadn't crumbled at the sight of Draco in the hospital bed? What if he'd stood firm and decided to use Draco's friendship with Potter to advance his standing? He could easily offer up The Boy Who Lived upon The Dark Lord's return. What if Narcissa hadn't been wise to the desperate futility of social status? What if the Malfoy's had rejected Snape's offer? Death, that's what.
So much more to discuss. The Malfoys were on board, but what of the next stage? McGonagall and Snape eyed each other and silently asked that very question. Then they drooped. Too much for one night.
"We'll talk tomorrow. You need to sleep now, Severus. Use the floo …"
Tiredness slipped from his face at the mention of 'floo'. His eyes narrowed and his head tilted to the side.
"Your lions. Blue patches on any of them?"
Of course, thought Minerva; Snape had booby-trapped his floo. Weasley had been headed towards a dousing in blue ink when Polly Pinkerton stepped in and saved him … and Polly had left the castle straight after her fake Death Eater turn with no chance to tell Snape what she'd done. Come to think of it, Minerva now reckoned Polly had no intention of telling Snape. What was it she'd said to Weasley? "Don't tell his nibs I helped you. I'll never hear the end of it if you do." Well, far be it from Minerva to gainsay fine, young Polly Pinkerton.
"Blue?! What in Merlin's name are you talking about? Sleep!" She ordered, chivvying him into the fireplace, "And lots of it. You're beginning to babble."
She was pleased to note that the green flames didn't entirely mask his annoyance at being out-manoeuvred by students, and vowed then and there to keep silent on the matter. No one called Minerva McGonagall old and demented and got away with it.
oOo
The west staircase, 8:25 am
Snape had slept well and awoken hopeful. The greatest risk had been taken. He'd told Lucius and Narcissa that he'd renounced The Dark Lord, persuaded them to do the same, and emerged victorious. True, he and Minerva had plenty more to accomplish, but the worst was done. He bounded across the entrance hall, even ignoring the ridiculous heels Daphne Greengrass was tottering about on, and began taking the stairs to the staffroom two at a time. At his retreating back, Pansy raised her eyebrows at Daphne, and both girls decided to head for the dorm, plaster themselves in make-up and spend the day flirting with Pucey and Bletchley.
Snape was feeling so chipper, he'd resolved to go and say something amiable to his colleagues - even by his standards, he'd been curt the evening before. Mulling over whether or not to proofread more of Flitwick's tripe, he turned the corner and saw something that only increased his happiness.
"Well, well … a curious sight indeed. What's going on here?"
He spread his arms to either bannister, thus blocking the descent of Harry, Hermione, Ron, Millicent and … Neville Longbottom! He stooped to closely peruse each of their faces, pausing extra long at Longbottom's. The boy squeaked and started shuffling, stumbling onto the stair below and almost imperceptibly mumbling 'just wait'. Why was the overgrown dormouse telling him to wait? About to have fun interrogating him, Severus stopped himself. Too easy. Where was the challenge? Instead, he clasped Millicent's chin and gave a firm shake.
"Are you bullying the Gryffindors again, Miss Bulstrode?"
"You betcha, sir!" Grinned Millicent.
Snape stepped fluidly to the side.
"Then carry on - and five points to Slytherin!"
Hermione smiled at the jokey exchange, until she heard the tinkling of five emeralds dropping into the Slytherin hourglass below.
"So irresponsible. I can't believe he just did that!" She huffed, and even Ron dropped his scowl to smile behind her back.
When they reached the ground floor, Harry told them to wait a few minutes while he ducked into the dungeons, quickly followed by Millicent. Next it seemed the idea of charging out into the grounds to be willingly stung by wiggenbushes was beginning to pall even on Hermione.
"Maybe there's something else we can do to get into the hospital and see Draco?"
"You're daft!" Said Neville, "This is the best plan ever. It's genius, Hermione."
"Thanks, Neville."
He'd changed his tune since yesterday evening. She didn't actually believe him, but it was sweet of him to be so positive.
"Are there any other plants we could 'accidentally' brush up against that would get us in?"
"Yeah!" Joined in Ron, "There must be loads. Come on Neville, you're always telling us how much safety clobber you have to wear when you're helping Professor Sprout."
"No! There's not! There isn't!" Stammered Neville, "The others only cause problems in the summer!"
Hermione wasn't sure that sounded right, but Harry and Millicent were back,
"Just a few tweaks to the plan, Brainbox. Should make our time in the hospital more enjoyable."
And after hearing that, Hermione supposed they'd better get on with it. Soon enough they were on their way to the greenhouses and beyond.
oOo
Hogwarts grounds, 9:45 am
Hermione had dreamt it up, so it was only right she went first.
"You're sure it's a wiggenbush?" She asked.
"Pretty sure." Answered Neville, peering at the speckled leaf with a pocket magnifying glass.
She looked a fright. Frizzy hair almost standing vertically, and so covered in leaves, she resembled a wiggenbush herself. Her eyes and nose were scarlet from all her sneezing. She'd been pushed into nine bushes thus far; none of which did much more than send plumes of springtime pollen up her nose.
"Longbottom, you clown! You're supposed to be the expert here!" Called Millicent, though it wasn't said with the usual Slytherin venom.
All those present - with the exception of Neville - were experiencing a bit of glee at Hermione's plight. They might as well enjoy it now; they knew as soon as a wiggenbush was located, Hermione's mad scheme would see them in itch-induced agony.
"They all look the same!" Wailed Neville, "It's all these vicinus mutatio shrubs. They change their form to copy any plants nearby. But I've got a good feeling about this one; just remember to jump right up before it grabs at your feet, okay?"
One. Two. Three. Shove! Hermione face-planted into the shrub, and immediately leapt up ouch-ing and scratching like mad. The others looked on in alarm and wished they'd gone first - so much worse when you knew what was coming. Harry beat Millicent to it, and got his ordeal over with. She was the next, and Ron was left eyeing his friends and trying to gauge just what bloody torture he was about to inflict on himself.
"Great sodding plan, Hermione." He grumbled.
But he did it - and rose to complain possibly more than he ever had.
"We're all in the same boat, Ronald." Reproved Hermione.
"Yeah - thanks to you!"
Not the time or place for a full-blown spat, thought Harry. He turned to Neville to thank him for helping them out, and saw him - arms outstretched and eyes squeezed shut.
"Three, two …"
"No, Neville!"
"I can do this, Harry!"
"Do what?" Scoffed Millicent, "Fall over into a bush?! Well, bully for you!"
But neither Harry's pleas, nor Millicent's sarcasm dissuaded him. Before they knew it, Neville was face down in the shrub, but rather than stand up, he appeared to be squirming.
"So he can, in fact, fall into a bush; he just can't stand up again." Surmised Millicent wryly.
"Shut it, Millicent!" Snapped Hermione, "We get it; you're good with clever retorts. How about helping first and being a bloody smart mouth later?!"
All eyes, bar Neville's, turned to her. Hermione Granger swearing!
"Sorry! It's the itching; I didn't mean to say that! But just shut it anyway!"
"It does that." Called a muffled voice from deep in a shrub, "Makes you grumpy and say what you mean. Didn't I tell you? Now don't stand there like gormless idiots. Help me up!"
"You're the gormless idiot, and I'm trying!" Huffed Harry, "Move your bloody foot, Neville!"
They heaved and bickered - and bickered some more. Neville's pullover rode up and his trousers began to slide down. They managed to flip him onto his back, but he was far from free of the shrub. The plant's roots had twined around his legs - unsurprising given all the odd wriggling he'd been doing. Millicent and Hermione grabbed their wands and began casting diffindos to sever the tendrils.
"You'll damage the plants, you morons!" Shrieked Neville.
Ron looked at Harry in amazement; Neville had just called Hermione and Bulstrode morons!
"What're you looking at?!" Snarled Harry grumpily to Ron.
"Don't know. The sodding label's fallen off, hasn't it?" Snapped Ron.
"You're a first-class, grade A cretin, Longbottom." Pronounced Millicent as they finally set Neville on his feet.
"You're a slimy Snake that can't even walk in a straight line you're so twisted." Shot back Neville.
"Don't call her that!" Shouted Harry, "Millicent's brilliant!"
"Thanks, Potter. But shut your trap; I fight my own battles."
"Don't speak to Harry like that!" Called Hermione.
And on and on it went until Professor Sprout heard the arguing and came running from the small greenhouse.
"What in Merlin's … Oh, my!"
She took in their bedraggled state and the angry splotches of Wiggenbush rash blooming on their faces.
"Off with you to Madam Pomfrey! Off you go now, straight to the hospital wing! No dawdling!"
"You're the one making us dawdle!" Snarled Neville, "Move out of the way!"
"Hospital wing? What an ingenious idea …" Snarked Millicent to Hermione.
"Yes …" Huffed Hermione, "Sick people and hospitals. It's so crazy, it might just work!"
Pomona looked appalled. Imagine Neville Longbottom, her loveliest student, speaking to her like that. She did contemplate scolding them for their rudeness, but decided to let them pass - and have a soothing cup of dandelion tea instead.
Their route to the hospital wing was unimpeded; at every stage, the tides parted to make way for the snarling, bickering lot that was Hermione, Millicent, Harry, Ron and Neville.
oOo
The hospital wing, 10:35 am
He bet they were all having a great time. Last few days of the holidays, they'd be racing round getting up to all sorts. And where was he? Stuck on his own with that mad old bint Pomfrey for company. Where were his so-called friends? They were bloody useless! He sat up in bed and fumed. As soon as he got out of here, he was going to take every rook from every chess set - and toss them on the fire. That was Crabbe sorted. Goyle? Hmm … tough one. He could nick that bloody 'safe stone' Snape had given him to ward off bad dreams - but he knew Snape would slipper his arse off if he found out. No, he had a better idea. He'd volunteer Goyle to alphabetize the entire Slytherin library next time it was their chore day. Millicent? Too easy. He'd spell permanent mascara and lipstick on her face; she'd bloody hate it. Just about to dream up revenge on Potter, Madam Pomfrey called out,
"Mister Malfoy? You've had it far too good for far too long. You have company …"
and Malfoy went from feeling like the only child Father Christmas had neglected to feeling like all his Christmases had come at once. Looking towards the hospital doors, Malfoy's face widened into a grin so broad it was almost painful. His gang was here - and what a miserable, grouchy lot they were!
"Ouch!" Squealed Granger, "Watch what you're doing, Neville!"
Neville?! Great Merlin! Longbottom was here, too. The Gryffindor softy looked anything but as he elbowed and mowed down the others in his haste to get the bed with the extra pillows.
"Shove off, Harry. I got here first." Boomed Neville.
"Dickhead." Spat Harry.
"Bloody excellent!" Whispered a rapt Malfoy.
He watched delightedly as Madam Pomfrey directed them to the boys' and girls' lavatories along with regulation issue hospital PJ's.
"What's wrong with them?" He asked.
"Don't worry, dear …" Soothed Madam Pomfrey.
Malfoy wasn't worrying; he was loving it.
"Wiggenbush rash - maddeningly itchy and turns people into fearful grumps, unable to not say what's on their minds. But you mustn't fret; it's not serious in the least. Only trouble is no one's ever caught the rash in Hogwarts before … sort of thing that only occurs with landscape gardeners. I mean to say … you practically have to dive head first into a bush. I don't carry the antidote. What on earth am I to do with them?"
Draco Malfoy was currently holed up in the hospital due to being scared out of his wits by a Death Eater. That he and the others now suspected the Death Eater was a phony didn't alter that fact. Added to that, he'd been subject to the Cruciatus Curse - of only a few seconds duration, but it had still hurt like buggery. The idea that popped into his mind, however, made that ordeal seem well worth this payoff. Listening to the swearing, scuffling and arguments coming from the lavatories, Malfoy had to pinch his thigh hard under the covers to keep from sniggering as he shared his idea with Madam Pomfrey.
"Crikey Madam Pomfrey, they must be in an awful lot of pain. And you have no antidote, you say? Poor things. I wonder …"
He tailed off to rub his chin ponderously.
"Wonder what, Mister Malfoy?"
"Well …"
"Yes?"
"We've been studying antidotes all year in Potions. I wonder if Professor Snape has one?"
"Oh, you're simply marvellous! Why didn't that occur to me? You're 'Poppy's Poppet of the Week' again, young Malfoy!"
Madam Pomfrey raced off to assess the extent of the rashes, and then to fire-call Snape. Malfoy hid all the pillows from Neville's bed, plumped his own and lay back to consider a job well done. Would Snape have the antidote? He neither knew nor cared. The goal was to get Snape face to face with this lot. Them telling Snape exactly what was on their minds - ha! His housemaster's head was shortly about spin in circles and blast off his shoulders - and it was going to be a hoot to watch!
oOo
North wing of the castle, 11:00 am
Unfortunately there were no fireplaces on the ramparts where Snape smoked his morning gasper. Thus it was that Sybill Trelawney, the staffroom's sole occupant, took the fire-call from Poppy and relayed it to him as he was re-entering the castle and she was heading to her tower.
"Severus! Disease! Illness! A plague is upon the students … they lie in a far off place where poisons wield the power to heal …"
"The hospital wing?"
Trelawney gave a slight huff at Snape's too-easy interpretation of her mystical words.
"You must aid them. I saw it all in the dances of the flames …"
"Poppy fire-called you?"
Trelawney was ready for him this time,
"As you say, so shall it have been …"
"What else did Poppy say?" Asked Snape.
"Ah! But the flames flicker ever lower … their dance has reached its end …"
"You've forgotten."
He raced off to the hospital before she could answer.
oOo
"Oh, here he comes! Whispering Death! Think you feel bad now?" Neville asked the others, "Wait until he gets stuck into you!"
Snape froze mid-stride. What was happening? He'd made his usual silent approach into the hospital wing and remained unseen by all but … Longbottom. Dense Longbottom, more alert than his Snakes and Granger? Transcendentally lily-livered Longbottom having the nerve to speak of him in that manner?! Curious indeed … But far from feeling outraged at the insolent display, Snape sensed an opportunity. He sidled a few steps closer and peered. Angry red rashes, furious scratching and even more furious tempers, Snape was filled with hope that the fools before him had all been in contact with a certain plant.
"Altercation with a wiggenbush?" He asked Poppy.
"And how!" Replied the flustered matron, "Mister Longbottom appears to have wrestled semi-naked with one. The others' symptoms are a little milder, thankfully. Trouble is, Severus, I don't carry any antidote for it. I don't suppose …?"
Snape had no doubt the wiggenbush misadventure had been a Granger-inspired scam to get into the hospital with Malfoy. He was suddenly tempted to award fifty points to Gryffindor. He did, however, manfully swallow down the urge. The girl was keen, he had to give her that. Wiggenbush stings were pure torture. They were also a key ingredient in Veritaserum, the truth potion. Without the other ingredients, he couldn't get Longbottom and the others to spill everything - but the stings were enough for them to blurt out exactly what they were thinking. His mind pinged with possibilities.
"Not sure." He fibbed in reply to Poppy's question, "Although … perhaps some of the generic sting antidotes would work."
He took a pause.
"Come to think of it, I'm certain I have a vial in my classroom drawer … that Longbottom made …"
"Noooo!" Yelled Hermione, "Not his! Anyone's but Neville's! Don't be a moron, Snape!"
Perfect, thought Severus. An honest reply. No leap to Longbottom's defence. No 'Neville's really a genius; you just scare the pants off him'. Snape looked at Potter, Weasley and Bulstrode. They were agog at Granger, now yanking his sleeve and ranting at him.
"Ha! Ha!" Crowed Harry, "You got us into this mess Hermione, and now Snape's gonna bloody wallop you!"
"He'd better not! I'll kick his arse if he does!" Shouted Neville.
"Ignore them! Listen to me; go and get a potion that you've made, or one that Malfoy's made. Do it now!"
The rashes quite clearly lived up to their hype, yet still Snape kept talking in calm and measured tones. It was something that initially startled Malfoy, then disappointed him - no exploding housemaster, and no dire threats of gruesome detentions and interminable slipperings. But Malfoy was a schemer, and quick to spot a fellow schemer. Snape was up to something.
"Malfoy? Why would I choose one of Malfoy's potions, Miss Granger?"
"I get better marks than him, but that's only because he spends too much time teasing Gryffindors. He feels potions; he's a natural. I just read and remember a lot of books."
"Oh puke, Hermione!" Roared Neville, "Stop being nice about Malfoy! He's a berk!"
"Don't start bagging Malfoy!" Cried Ron, "He's alright. Just can't help being a tit sometimes."
"No, Ron." Disagreed Harry, "He's a tit a bit more often than 'sometimes', but he is alright … deep down … in a well-hidden sort of way, I mean."
Snape looked to Malfoy and quirked his eyebrows. Malfoy returned the favour.
"I think 'Tit' has got to be better than 'Whispering Death', hasn't it sir?"
"You're enjoying this far too much, Malfoy."
Poppy abandoned any hope of quelling the various fracas that sprang up as soon as someone spoke. She stuck them to their beds, retreated to her office and closed the door firmly. Snape, meanwhile, had headed down to his office to retrieve two bottles of wiggenbush antidote.
oOo
So Frank and Alice's son did have a backbone somewhere, mused Snape rifling through his shelves. And Weasley didn't loathe Malfoy. What's more, Malfoy had heard it straight from the horse's mouth. This was a good day indeed. The bottles pocketed, Snape returned at once to Madam Pomfrey's domain, mindful that the useful side effect of the wiggenbush stings might soon wear off.
Poppy administered to the girls behind screens whilst Snape took the boys one by one into her office to dab rashes with potion.
"Wiggenbush stings? How?" He asked Ron.
"Sodding Hermione, wasn't it?" Snarled Ron, "Wants to find out what really went on with Malfoy last night."
Horror-stricken, Ron clamped his hands over his mouth too late. Snape feigned disinterest and continued dabbing at Ron's ankles before swapping to his neck.
"Shirt off, Weasley."
It was as tender as Snape's bedside manner got. Ron fumbled with his buttons, and Snape figured out what was puzzling him: how did Weasley know anything had happened to Malfoy last night? He took a punt.
"Got help removing the blue ink, did you?"
Ron's hands clamped tighter around his mouth. Snape prised them away.
"Ink bombs didn't touch me. She got rid of them. How did you get a girlfriend like her anyway? I mean, you?!"
Ah … Polly, thought Snape. He schooled his features lest he betray his joy at the prospect of next meeting with her. Always a treat to be with P. Pinkerton, but the deliciousness was doubled when Snape had something to reproach her for … Inappropriate thoughts for children, Snape reminded himself. He scowled fiercely at Ron,
"Are you delirious, Weasley? What in Merlin's name are you blathering about?"
Ron despatched to the ward, Snape ushered in Harry.
"Touching words about Malfoy. I daresay you meant not a single one of them."
"I did!"
Snape's hand paused, unwilling to ease the boy's itching until he'd wrung the last bit of advantage. Something had been niggling at him for a while now.
"Careful, Potter. I'm hardly likely to be forgiving of a second bout of cheek, am I?"
"No." Huffed Harry, "You're bloody not! Thought you would've caned me the way I spoke to you last night. Hurts like hell, the cane … wouldn't have blamed you, though. Shit! What am I saying?!"
Snape was puzzled also. Not about the uncontrollable urge to speak one's mind. Nor the reason they wanted to get into the hospital; that he understood - and admired. But why in Merlin's name choose a wiggenbush to fall into? The spores from a leaping toadstool would be enough to cause an extended sneezing fit and a day with Poppy. Any number of plants would produce far less acute symptoms. And why Longbottom of all people …?
"Still," He continued to Harry, "if I am forced to punish you, you can always complain to your Godfather, I suppose. I'm sure he's heard all about your time in Slytherin. I'm only surprised he hasn't challenged me to a ..."
"I've never said anything to Sirius about being in Slytherin!" Interrupted Harry.
That explained the absence of threats from Black. A pity. Snape would've welcomed a wizard's duel with the arrogant ponce. Just the mention of the man's name was enough to have Severus back to his old vicious ways with Harry.
"Tut tut, Mister Potter. You kept it secret from daddy's best friend, your own darling Godfather? Why ever do that?"
"He wouldn't understand."
"Why not?" Snape asked again.
"He'd expect me to hate it …"
"And you don't?"
"You know I don't."
He wasn't fishing for compliments; another question had occurred to him.
"But what would you change?" He asked.
"Nothing … wait! I would! Mix it up. Put Millicent in Gryffindor for a bit; she'd love McGonagall. Yeah! Mix it up and stop being so bleeding predictable."
Snape looked askance at Harry.
"I mean, what an obvious bloody choice to put in Slytherin … me! Use your brain! What about all the others?! You want the houses to get on better? Then do something clever about it!"
Would Poppy object terribly much to a brisk thrashing for one of her patients? Unfortunately so. Snape settled for getting Harry in a headlock and roughly daubing his face with antidote. Whoops! Some of the foul-tasting potion found its way into Harry's mouth … what a shame.
oOo
Longbottom's strident complaining was wearying Snape. He growled out his name, and Neville crashed through the door. Snape stared at him, barely crediting this was the same boy who each potions lesson wilted under his stare into a puddle of dropped vials and mangled flobberworms.
"Well?" Demanded Neville, "You gonna give me the antidote, or what?!"
Snape took his time answering, then dangled the bottle tantalisingly.
"This antidote isn't yours … yours was, unsurprisingly, about as useful as a chocolate teapot. I made this. It's soothing, it's relaxing, it's calming …"
Neville made to snatch the bottle. Snape shook his head.
"Quid pro quo, Mister Longbottom … something for something. This stunt has Miss Granger written all over it, but whose idea was the wiggenbushes?"
"Mine!" Snarled Neville.
"You knew about the side effect?"
"Yes, I knew! I'm rubbish in your class because you're a rubbish teacher. I know plants, though!"
Snape only needed to raise an eyebrow for Neville to continue.
"I'm not clever like Hermione, but I'm not the dope everyone thinks I am! I'm not stupid like you're always saying! If you weren't so horrible to me, I wouldn't make half the mistakes I do in class. I'm sick of being laughed at and left out of stuff. I knew if I got stung by that plant, I'd say what I really felt and I'm saying it. Harry's not the only one who lost his parents; I did too. My dad might not have been a famous quidditch chaser, but he was a good man. I can be like him!"
Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Alicia Mayhew, himself … the group of outcast children. Snape had always known Longbottom belonged in their ranks, too; why had he tortured him? Of course, it played well with certain Slytherin parents, but there was more. Longbottom's wide-eyed fear reminded him too much of his younger self, stumbling and stuttering as he was mocked by The Marauders, or Minerva. Reliving past torments on vulnerable children … Dear God, I'm such an arsehole; I've really got to grow up, Snape berated himself.
He looked at Neville and nodded in response to the boy's tirade. There was nothing more for Neville to say. He'd achieved his goal; he'd spoken his mind to the one person that scared him most. He nodded back at Snape, then stayed quiet as his clothing was eased aside and the potion gently administered. It worked its magic and Neville, exhausted by his rage of honesty, began to droop. Snape raised him by his shoulders to shepherd him back to bed. Just before opening the door, he pulled Neville into his chest, holding him fast and stooping to whisper into his ear,
"Your father was a good man, Longbottom. But don't forget your mother; Alice was one of the bravest I've met."
Over the course of the next few years, Snape gave Neville cause to believe he'd imagined that moment of kindness. But it was true; Snape had hugged Neville Longbottom. Sort of. Very briefly. Just a tiny bit.
