Chapter 12: For Hogwarts and England
A/N: Thanks and praise to OzRatBag2, beta extraordinary, who lent her medical expertise and keen eye to this chapter. Thanks also, as always, to excessivelyperky, who has consistently kept me from anachronisms, oddities and non sequiturs in this tale. Blessed be! Dame Niamh
Snape looked at the long, narrow case in Holmes' hands with distaste. "You intend to obtain blood samples – with that?" Madam Pomfrey looked even more discomfited. "I don't know if I want you to stick me with that thing, Mr Holmes," she said, shrinking visibly away from the detective. She sat on a straight-backed chair next to a table draped with clean linen cloths, an improvised medical procedures station.
Holmes made haste to reassure her: "Madam, I will tell you from personal experience, it hurts less to have blood drawn from your arm than from your finger. It is the only way to obtain clean blood samples, in the hopes that we can isolate the influenza infection from those who have already had it."
The mediwitch was recovering well. She still sniffled a bit, but the aches and pains were gone; the fever had receded. She had not returned to full duty, though; her magic had not come back. Ever concerned about her patients, she was using any means possible to make them more comfortable. Old folk remedies, herbal tisanes, hot and cold compresses, unguents and salves made from garden herbs, bark and leaves still worked, although they could not re-grow bones and close wounds.
Madam Pomfrey's aides, Agrippina and Brigit, were Druids, who were able to command the elements to some degree. Their prayers and incantations could not undo this virulent disease, or return the practise of magic to those affected, but they could help the patients get a good night's sleep, and calm fevers and upset stomachs. They worked diligently, carrying out Madam Pomfrey's orders, caring for the sick. Even so, as soon as she was able to stand without fainting, Poppy Pomfrey resumed her management of the Infirmary.
Holmes had boiled his hypodermic syringe in hot water for fifteen minutes, to ensure that it was fit for use. As he fitted the needle to the barrel, he reflected that the last time he had used this particular device, he had been sweating and shaky, desperate for morphine. That addiction had been vanquished, not least by the presence of Mary Russell in his life; she was a far subtler dependency.
Snape brought over a bottle of Old Ogden's Firewhiskey. Its high alcohol content made it a passable antiseptic. Madam Pomfrey looked at the Potions Master as if he had lost his mind. "If you think, Severus Snape, that you are going to get me drunk so you can experiment on me, I beg you to think again."
The woman was quaking with terror, Snape noticed. He took a square of gauze from a tray and wetted it with the whiskey. "Now, Poppy, you must be brave. This will take only a moment, and if it will help, you may have some whiskey to drink afterwards. Please hold out your arm."
"Look," said Holmes. "You can barely see the vein; that is the one we will use. We must bring it up a bit. Madam Pomfrey, this may be uncomfortable, but it is only for a moment." He fished in the pocket of his jacket and withdrew a length of slender rubber tubing. Poppy Pomfrey's eyes bulged and perspiration stood out on her forehead, but she braced her left arm with her right hand, took a breath and shut her eyes. "For Hogwarts and England," she said.
Snape wiped Poppy's arm with the whiskey. He looked at Holmes and nodded; the detective had explained the procedure to him, and although he did not think he could execute it, he was most curious.
Quickly and smoothly, Holmes tied the rubber tubing around the mediwitch's upper arm, pulling it tight. The vein bulged obligingly. Holmes patted it with his finger, then inserted the tip of the hypodermic's needle into the blood vessel and eased back the plunger. In a moment, the weight of the syringe rose almost imperceptibly, indicating that it was filling with blood. Taking the whiskeyed gauze from Snape, Holmes pressed it to Poppy's arm and withdrew the needle, then whisked off the tubing. "You may open your eyes now, Madam Pomfrey. We're finished."
Poppy opened one eye, then the other, and said, "I barely felt the tiniest prick." She waved away Snape's proffered glass of whiskey. "I don't need that," she said. Sister Agrippina bustled over with a sticking plaster, which she applied to the mediwitch's arm.
Hermione Granger stretched, with her hands at the small of her back. She was exhausted. She and Snape had worked without ceasing for two days, trying to isolate the antibodies in the blood samples they had taken. Hermione's magic had made it possible for them to see the blood corpuscles and actually see the influenza in them, but she had not been able to alter them. Severus Snape had compounded potion after potion keyed to the chemical properties of the influenza, but had only succeeded in eradicating it in the blood samples. If there were antibodies, they were too feeble to be operated upon by magic.
Holmes, too, was at the end of his endurance. After decanting each blood sample into a clean phial, he had had to disassemble his apparatus, sterilise it and then proceed to the next patient. Some students had already fallen ill; they had had contact either with Madam Pomfrey, the Headmaster, Professor McGonagall or even Filch, who, as a Squib, was certainly a carrier. Hermione herself spent every moment not in classes or in Snape's laboratory in her room, reading her Muggle books on haematology and infectious diseases.
Snape, looking pale and gaunt, was delicately dropping a reagent into a small phial filled with blood. As usual, he scorned to eat or sleep whilst engaged in his work, and he looked more like a scrawny bat than ever. His temper, never mild, was increasingly short and explosive. Their set-to earlier that day, during which Snape inadvertently revealed his jealousy of the Great Detective, had been as short-lived and as virulent as the Potions Master's temper.
"You must rest for a while," Hermione said to him. "I'm going to send a House-Elf for luncheon. Will you sit down and eat it?" He turned round and fixed her with a poisonous glare. "Do not presume to tell me what I must do, Miss Granger. If you do not have the endurance to continue, please tell me immediately. I can survive without your endless nagging."
Hermione seethed. She opened her mouth to fling a sharp retort in his face, but nothing came out. Her throat closed, and she choked. Trying not to panic, she drew in air through her nose, but her windpipe spasmed again, and she gagged. I'm strangling, she thought. Her face felt as if it were on fire; her vision dimmed, and she clutched at her throat. She caught a glimpse of Snape looming over her as she fought for air. Dimly she heard Snape roaring a spell, his long hands flailing over her head. She gasped and drew breath, and Snape caught her as she staggered against him.
Unable to speak, she pointed to her throat. Snape seized her face, pulling her jaw down, and squinted down her throat. Muttering, he turned round, holding on to her shoulder with one hand. With the other, he plucked a phial off a nearby shelf and twisted off the cap with his teeth. "Drink this!" he gritted, and poured the liquid into her mouth. It burned terribly, and her eyes watered, but she got it down. Snape watched her from narrowed eyes. He pushed her into a chair, knelt before her. His long hands searched for her pulse, felt her forehead and the back of her neck. Then he stood.
"Your eyes are glazed, Granger, and you have a fever. I fear that you are infected with the influenza." He seized her wrist and pulled her to her feet. Hermione stumbled against him, and he put his long arm around her. In a moment, they were through the Floo network and in the Infirmary.
Holmes, drawing blood from his last donor, saw them half-fall out of the hospital fireplace, and ran to them straightaway. "Not you! Merciful Heaven, Miss Granger, not you!" She could barely stand, and here was Snape towing her about by her arm! Holmes' lips were compressed automatically in a scowl. He strode to Miss Granger's side, swept her up in his arms and carried her over to a vacant bed. Sister Agrippina drew a curtain around the bed and began to remove the girl's school uniform, shooing the men away.
"Not the best bedside manner, eh, Snape?" Holmes put a sticking plaster on Seamus Finnegan's arm, the boy stood up shakily. "Thank you, Seamus. Have some pumpkin juice and chocolate," said Holmes, indicating a table that had been set up with refreshments for the blood donors.
Snape looked down, a muscle in his jaw twitching. He did not look up, not even to reply to Holmes' gibe. It was true; he had no bedside manner, nor much of any manners, for that matter. In truth, he was terrified. Miss Granger, sick…she had almost perished in the laboratory. If he had not had the presence of mind to find exactly the right potion at the first try, she would have choked to death. Fortunately, it was a Laxus potion, specific to whatever muscle or tissue was in spasm. Finally, he addressed himself to Holmes.
"Without her help, I shall be hard pressed," he said. "There is no-one remotely near her capability upon whom I can call."
Holmes finished decanting Seamus' blood sample into a phial, which he corked carefully. His brow rose; Snape, admitting weakness? "I shall help you," he pronounced, "with whatever skills I possess. Granted, I am not Miss Granger, and I have no magic, but Snape, I shall work with you. If," he added, "you will allow it."
Snape breathed loudly through his nose. "There is nothing for it, I must allow it," he stated. "In the meantime, it is important that Miss Granger's Muggle friend be located immediately." He broke off, hearing a commotion at the door, and turned to see Draco Malfoy and his two flunkies, Crabbe and Goyle, supporting one another, staggering into the hospital. The Malfoy boy was green about the gills and gasping like a flounder; his thickheaded bodyguards were both sneezing uncontrollably.
Poppy Pomfrey motioned over Sister Agrippina. Her eyes sparkled. "I've been waiting for this lot to pay us a visit! Right this way, boys," she called. Agrippina smirked, and said under her breath, "I'll bet ye're keen to give these lads a good workin' over."
Holmes tapped his saucer, and his cup re-filled with steaming tea. The excellent cuisine, he considered, certainly helped him to keep up his strength. He glanced over at Snape, who was actually eating, although with mechanical efficiency and a lamentable lack of enjoyment. Holmes helped himself to a piece of Dundee fruitcake. Albus Dumbledore, recovered enough to come to dinner, leaned over to him: "I've received an owl from Durmstrang. Two mysterious corpses have appeared, and wizards are beginning to show signs of influenza," he said. "I've told them that we'll share whatever information we can."
Snape put down his fork and knife. "The state of our medical arts has not progressed sufficiently to develop a vaccine. Miss Granger was about to contact a Muggle friend who had agreed to get the influenza vaccine so that the vaccine may be prepared from her altered antibodies, but she has fallen ill. Granger, I mean." He wiped his face with his napkin; Holmes had never seen a more woeful countenance.
Dumbledore smiled at the younger Wizard. "Yes, she's told me about her friend. I believe I can help." He turned to Holmes: "I'm glad you and Severus are working well together. Were it not for your combined knowledge, we would not be even this far."
Snape grimaced. In his heart – well, he now knew he had a heart. It was trembling with worry for his Granger. His Granger…
"You can purchase a plane ticket to Edinburgh. We'll get you back to Hogwarts right from the airport," stated the Headmaster.
"Yes," answered Maura. She still couldn't believe it: instead of Hermione Granger, she was conversing with Headmaster Dumbledore! He had assured her that Hermione was being cared for, and would soon be well, but there was no time to waste.
"There are direct Toronto-London flights, but nothing direct to Edinburgh," Maura said. "I'll have to change planes in London."
"Our Runes Mistress is a Druid, and they operate outside the laws of Wizarding World magic. They're also completely trustworthy. "You'll be safest if we have a car for you at Edinburgh, with some of her people," stated Dumbledore.
"Druids? Don't they parade around in long robes and hang out near stoneworks and pyramids, and hold Solstice ceremonies?" Maura asked dubiously.
The old Wizard chuckled. "Well, they do all that, but most of them hold regular jobs and wear ordinary Muggle clothing most of the time. Dame Angharad wears long robes, but she's the High Priestess. Her Earth magic allows her to transcend the laws that separate our universe from your real time. The Druids she'll send with the car will be the most powerful priests she knows, who will get the car and its precious passenger – you- through the wards and safely into Hogwarts. It's going to be an ordinary car, nothing to draw attention to it."
Maura rolled up her sleeve and looked at her left arm, near the shoulder: there was a nasty red lump where she had gotten her inoculation. It felt hot to her touch, but so far, so good; she didn't feel sick. "The flu shot wasn't as bad as I thought," she said. "I just hope I don't get sick with it."
"I trust not," replied Dumbledore. "You'd better make your flight reservations right now."
Maura pressed the Speaker button on her phone and dialled Air Canada. A pleasant-voiced woman answered her call. In a few moments she had given the woman her credit-card number and received confirmation for a round trip flight to London for the following day, departing Toronto at 7 o'clock in the morning. She would land at Heathrow six and a half hours later and change immediately for a flight to Edinburgh. Surprisingly, the price was quite reasonable.
"Excellent!" exclaimed the Headmaster. "When you get off the plane, go to the luggage claim, where the car drivers congregate, and look for the driver with your name on a sign. We will all be waiting to welcome you."
"What can I bring you from home?" asked Maura, thinking of maple sugar candy.
Albus Dumbledore thought. "How about a Maple Leafs T-shirt, extra large?" he asked.
The road was smooth and wound gently through the rolling Scottish hills, alongside a loch here, through a little forest there, past small cities and villages. Flocks of sheep drifted across the road now and then; they crawled along past the shepherds with their black and white dogs. Nothing to see in Scotland, indeed. It was gorgeous country. The two quiet, taciturn men in the front seat had barely said anything to her since she had spied them holding a sign with her name on it when she came through the airport. The journey had continued with no problems, no incidents, and after a time, Maura dozed off, dreaming of sheep, hospitals and Sherlock Holmes.
She woke when the two men began to converse between themselves. She couldn't understand a word they said; probably Gaelic, and regrettably she had none of it. They drove between closely trimmed hedgerows. They came round a corner, and there, in front of them, was Hogwarts Lake, and atop a cliff on the other side, beautiful Hogwarts. The car stopped, and Maura got out. For some time she stood and gazed at the incredible sight. It was getting towards evening, and lights glimmered in the castle's towers and shone through tall pointed windows. Banners snapped from the tower tops; two black swans swam slowly across the lake.
The driver approached her. "T'boat'll be comin' for you, so I'll say goodbye fer now. "Blessed be, Miss Maura," he said."
The other man took Maura's hand and kissed it. "Welcome, Miss Maura," he said. "We'll meet again. Blessed be." He led her towards the lake's edge, where a small boat waited, and helped her to clamber in and sit down. They put her Rollaboard into the boat.
Slowly, the boat began to move across the glass-smooth lake. Maura looked over her shoulder; men and car were gone. The black swans swam alongside the boat as it made its way towards the castle. The half-moon had risen, with a star hanging from its tip, like an earring. How beautiful it is…I couldn't have imagined it half as lovely. The boat moved into a leafy channel that opened up in the side of the great cliff on which the castle stood, and after a few moments, it landed on a small shingle beach. A torch flared.
"Welcome!" The huge voice set Maura's ears ringing. She looked around, and then up, up, into a pair of bright beetle-black eyes in a round bearded face.
"Hagrid?"
The half giant put out a hand the size of a ham and practically lifted her out of the boat. Then he took out her Rollaboard. "Foller me, Miss Maura," he bellowed. "Yer just in time fer dinner! I hope ye're hungry."
Maura sat on her four-poster bed, swinging her feet. She still couldn't believe it! Crookshanks jumped into her lap, kneaded her thighs briefly, and curled himself into a ginger ball, purring loudly. Dinner had been, well, a feast; her stomach was full, and she was sleepy. She had visited Hermione in the Infirmary; her friend was drowsy and feverish. Maura was still trembling: looming over Hermione's bed, she had seen the tall, thin, black-clad figure of Severus Snape. He had straightened up and looked at her with an expression that would stop a clock.
Crookshanks jumped off Maura's lap and padded over to curl up on a pillow. Maura tucked her legs under the thick red comforter. Somewhere, an owl hooted softly. Tomorrow she would meet Sherlock Holmes… Someone outside her door whispered "Nox," and her candles went out.