Chapter 24 The Pot and the Kettle
The Potions Master made his silent way back to his dungeon from Albus Dumbledore's office. His peaceful, private dungeon was the only place where he felt truly safe. Safe? Had he ever, in his life, been safe? Certainly not now, and certainly not after his meeting with Dumbledore. He suspected the old man's motives, now more than ever. Was he building a case that would once again hold him up as the hero, the wise elder who once again saved the day?
Snape shook his head as if gnats buzzed in his ears. The Headmaster had begun, as always, with an irritating series of non sequiturs and ridiculous pleasantries, babbled on about irrelevancies, and finally got around to what was on his mind, assuming such was still present.
"My boy, how are you and Mr Holmes faring in your quest to cure the influenza? You can't go on slaving night and day, you know. You must take proper care of your health."
Snape swallowed what would have come out as an indignant bellow. "As you are well aware, Headmaster, I am in excellent health. Holmes and I are working to the best of our ability; that is, to the best of his ability. His intentions are good, but you have heard of the road to Hell…I must proceed at his pace, since he is unable to function at mine." He shifted in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb. "He is an additional burden in an already difficult time. I have had to prevent him from disclosing his presence to those who might know his true origins. Obviously, he is no Wizard; he is barely a scientist, although he is innovative. It was he who proposed the use of blood in attempting to brew a cure for the influenza."
Dumbledore reached into an overflowing cabinet at his elbow and withdrew his platypus-shaped sweets bowl. "Liquorice?" he queried, offering Snape the bowl. The dark man shook his head. "Severus, Madam Pomfrey tells me that Miss Granger's situation is quite grave. Erm, I should have used a better word; I'm so sorry, my boy." He popped a liquorice button into his mouth. "It seems that Muggleborn witches and wizards are more severely affected by this disease."
Snape put his face into his hands. When he raised his head, his black eyes were hollow, deep with pain. "She's dying," he husked. "We're racing against time to try to save her. "
Dumbledore considered a moment, idly tying the end of his long white beard around his belt. "You said that Mr Holmes suggested using blood as the basis for a cure," he observed. "Miss Granger is a Muggleborn; her blood isn't pure. Purebloods seem to fare better. Madam Pomfrey, Minerva and I, even the Weasley boy, all began to recover within several hours, although we haven't regained our magical abilities. It must be in the blood…you're a Pureblood, of course, but then, you've also taken the Dark Mark…." He untied his beard and combed idly through its white strands with his fingers.
Abruptly, Snape stood up. "Headmaster, I must be going," he said. "I shall think on what you have just said. If the blood holds the cure, then, I shall endeavour to find out how to use it."
Was that it? Was the blood the secret? If it would save her, he would willingly give Hermione Granger every drop of his blood, exchange his pure blood for her Muggleborn blood. Was it possible? Could it be done – would it work? He hastened along the corridor; he must speak to Holmes. Holmes, whose one worthwhile accomplishment seemed to be his advances in the field of haematology; Holmes, who understood blood. He swept around the corner that led to the second level of staircases and froze.
There, coming up the staircase, was Sherlock Holmes. He was carrying Madam Pomfrey's nurse aide, Brigit, in his arms, and from the look of things, not because she was ill or injured. The red-haired Druid's head was on Holmes' shoulder; he could hear her soft laugh.
Quickly, he ducked behind a convenient suit of armour, which swivelled its helmeted head to stare at him with curiosity. They never noticed him as they passed through a door, which swung open before them. Holmes set the woman down; her arms remained around his neck. As Snape watched, horrified and fascinated, Holmes put his hands into Brigit's red hair, bent his head and kissed her. The door to the chamber swung shut.
Snape's pulse thudded in his temples. Slowly, he made his way down the staircases, down to the dungeons.
Holmes turned around as the door to the laboratory creaked open. He had been quite surprised not to find Snape there ahead of him; it was seven in the morning. Snape looked dreadful – more dreadful than usual. Worked till dawn, and then took a quick respite, he thought.
"Ah, Snape! Please have a look over here---" He stopped, confused, as the Potions Master took hold of his sleeve and pulled him outside into the corridor. "What- what is it, man? What's happened?"
For a long moment, Snape said nothing. He looked more like a vulture than ever, his head thrust forward on his neck. He put his face directly in front of Holmes.' "How dare you!" he roared. "How dare you disport yourself in the pleasures of the flesh when those about you are in danger of dying! Have you no sense of responsibility? To think I had begun to trust you! And with a member of the staff, no less!"
Holmes backed up slightly. "Now, Snape, I took no time that should have been devoted to our research! As you know, we worked until midnight and agreed to meet at seven in the morning – I trust that the hours between were mine to use as I chose?" He looked at Snape quizzically, wondering how Snape knew what he had been doing, and with whom he had been doing it.
"You self-indulgent, indiscreet rake!" bellowed Snape. "You were seen carrying the woman up the stairs, in plain view of any—"
"Of any Potions Master who happened to be lurking in the corridors?" asked Holmes. "If you sneak about, my friend, you deserve anything you see."
"Sneak! It is you, sir, sneaking about for an after-hours liaison with that – that Druid doxy – "
"I'll thank you to keep a civil tongue in your head about Miss McDiarmaidh, if you please. She and I are both adults, are unattached, and thus are at liberty to do what we please with whom we please, which is none of your damned business!" The ice fastnesses of Antarctica glittered in Holmes' grey eyes, and he stepped closer to Snape, his fists clenching at his sides.
Snape moved back, then forward until his nose was a bare centimetre from Holmes' eagle beak. His voice dropped to an ominous croon: "You lecherous reprobate! All you can think of is your own 'business,' is it? A woman is dying, Holmes, my intern is dying and you can find time to indulge your base desires?" His hand reached unaware into his sleeve and his fingers closed about his wand.
Holmes sighed. "Snape. If I offended your puritan sensibilities by associating with Miss McDiarmaidh, well, it was not intended for your benefit or detriment. I am a man, with a man's needs and desires. The woman is of legal age and sound mind and, in fact, we were of like mind, consenting adults as it were. There is no felony here, and (here he smirked) it is not the custom of our courts to prosecute fornication."
Snape blew air explosively out of his cheeks. "You are not a teenager with raging hormones. One would think you could control yourself!"
If ever Holmes had wanted to give Snape a good talking-to, this was his golden opportunity. "Snape, it is clear that you are in a state of hysteria over Miss Granger's condition, and to that hysteria I attribute your present confusion and indignation."
"How dare–"
"Don't interrupt, Snape. I listened to your rantings and ravings about my supposed licentiousness. Now you will listen to me." He began to walk back into the laboratory, and Snape followed him. He sat on a stool.
"I am fully aware of Miss Granger's dire situation, and have been following your lead to find a way to save her. But, unlike you, Snape, I don't have magic, and I never said I could work miracles. We are doing our best. I believe you tried your own magic on her to no avail; I saw no sense in asking you to repeat a fruitless endeavour.
I've noticed something else. No, no – " he held up his hand as Snape strode away, then turned back, his mouth open, ready to roar. "I am not the only one to notice because you have made no secret of it: you are besotted with your own student."
Snape turned his back. His shoulders were hunched up about his ears, and Holmes could see his right hand clenching about his wand. I'm on dangerous territory, but I must set him to rights. "Snape, one can see it clearly – when you speak to her, when you speak about her – you are obsessed with the girl."
Snape turned back. His gaunt visage was greenish with fury. "You dare to talk to me about feelings? About emotions? What would you know? Have you ever given your time and patience, your experience and support to bring someone up to your standards? Have you ever been a mentor to a brilliant student, and put up with her quirks and idiosyncrasies, her prejudices and blockheaded stubbornness for the glorious triumph of seeing her intellect flower? Have you molded the raw clay into porcelain of unimaginable fineness, refined the gross ore into gold?"
He subsided and sat on a stool, his head down. Granger, his Granger, his harpy, his devil, his Muse, his –
Holmes sat still, looking at him. "Yes," he said quietly. "I have done all those things, and more. I have patiently teased out the tangled strings of guilt and chagrin, unravelled the Gordian knot of anxiety and worked to restore a self to its healthy strength. I've seen my own talents trumped by my student's ability to use them better than I could myself. I've taught by example as well as by lecture, and I've surprised myself by my own patience."
Snape stood. "You have no right to tell me what I should think! I am not besotted by Miss Granger."
Holmes stood in front of him. "You are correct. You are not besotted. You are deeply and impossibly in love with her, and you cannot let it continue. You must find a way to regain your perspective, man. She's a student! You are twice her age! You do her no kindness to keep her image in thrall to your lust. You do yourself no favours by remaining isolated from women whose company is appropriate to a mature man's healthy needs."
Snape had had enough. He seized Holmes' jacket in his hands and pushed the man back against the wall, his feet dangling. "I have had quite enough of you, you hypocrite!" he shouted. "I have had all I can stand of your criticism of me, what I do, how I think, your pious suppositions about what I feel! I deplore your raving on about your precious Russell! 'Russell says this,' and 'Russell discovered that, ' 'Russell gave me Hell's own argument on that,' and 'Russell and I went three rounds on those concepts,' and so forth!" He let go of Holmes' jacket, and the detective dropped to the floor, wincing.
"Do you not think you give yourself away with every word? I am not surprised that you found a convenient outlet for your raging desires whilst you are away from the infamous Russell!" Snape put his nose up to Holmes' and sneered. He lowered his voice to a whisper: "You think that you can conceal your dread secret? I know what you are, Holmes. You are eager to tell me how inappropriate is my supposed infatuation with Miss Granger, but-" and here he slyly smirked, "how appropriate is your passion for your young Mister Russell?"
Holmes' jaw dropped. He stared at Snape. First, he chuckled, then he chortled, then the Great Detective threw back his head and roared with laughter. Tears ran down his cheeks. He sank to his heels, then sat on the floor and finally lay down at length, pounding the wall with his fist, as gale after gale of laughter rang out.
Incensed, Snape drew himself up and strode to the door. "You idiot!" he shouted. He swirled out of the door, which banged shut after him.