Ah, the chapter of detailed tranquillity at last…with a cameo of Peeves and the Bloody Baron - Enjoy! ;-)
My wonderful betas, who I will cover with roses if I ever meet them: Persephone Lupin and lucidity
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Autumn 2
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Citrus bergamia, Snape thought absentmindedly, while Madam Pomfrey helped him with handling his physical needs using professional detachment. These intrusions on his most private sphere still bothered him greatly, and he tried to distract his mind with studying various possibilities to improve the taste of his concoctions without tampering with their magical efficiency. He undoubtedly was well aware of the fact that he was hardly able to make a single movement without the help of Madam Pomfrey – however with certain necessary tasks he had the nagging sensation of being at the mercy of the nurse and this as a consequence caused him great uneasiness. The oil of the bergamot fruit could be a possibly rewarding approach to start with... Not only would this fruit essence improve the taste of his potions, it could mean a potential increase in tolerability as well. While Madam Pomfrey tucked him tightly in a fresh blanket, he made a mental note to ask Professor Sprout about the school's stock of bergamot.
"What time do you plan to carry out this …farce?" Snape asked, slightly suspicious. After having endured the preceding emotional torture, and since the painkilling potions finally developed their full effect, he registered a feeling in his stomach that almost had become unfamiliar to him. With a hint of relief he realised that he was actually hungry. Yet, if these two hyperactive hens wanted to drag him out in the garden – however they imagined doing so… At that very moment his stomach echoed his concern with a low growl.
The nurse was obviously keen-eared, since she chuckled low in her throat. "In the afternoon, Severus," she smiled at her patient, while she tenderly placed his injured arm onto a freshly clothed pillow. "What do you want for lunch? Soup?"
"Poppy," the Potions Master grimaced. "Why in Merlin's name is there hardly ever anything else to eat other than soup in medical establishments?"
"Now, you're exaggerating, Severus. Firstly, soup is easy to digest and so suitable for bed-ridden patients, and secondly… Well, you haven't objected to soup before."
"I have barely been conscious lately," Snape growled. "However, I would not be averse to an alternative."
"Hm," the nurse smiled. "What do you have in mind?"
A nice tenderloin steak passed by Snape's inner eye and sense of taste. But as fast as his mouth started watering, he also dispelled the idea from his mind. One-armed, as he currently was, there was little hope that he would be able to eat his lunch without help. As if it would not have been humiliating enough to get spoon-fed like an infant – but to watch Madam Pomfrey cutting his steak? Most definitely not. Which left him with some food for the toothless, after all.
"At least some kind of stew," he said, resigning. "Anything but soup."
"I believe I was informed that the kitchen elves received a batch of lentils this morning. Do you like lentil stew?"
"My physical well-being is in your hands, Poppy," the Slytherin sighed slightly frustrated, while erasing all images of non-fluid edibles from his memory for the time being.
"I will order the kitchen to not scrimp on the bacon," Madam Pomfrey winked at the ill wizard and went over to the fireplace.
It didn't take long for the lunch to arrive and soon a spicy smell from the entrance promised that the kitchen elves were able to surpass themselves even with such a simple dish like lentil stew. The nurse helped Snape to sit up, tucked a pillow behind his back and then put a small table before him, on which she placed the meal. Sitting down beside the bed, she took the spoon and dipped it into the viscous contents of the plate.
"Poppy," Snape said reluctantly. "I… I would like to eat by myself."
Madam Pomfrey cast him a serious glance. "Alright then…" She put the spoon down again and rose. "But please tell me if you need any help, Severus. You are still very weak and this surely is not the time for stubborn pride. In the meantime I will get some neglected work done." With an encouraging smile on her lips she departed, leaving the Potions Master alone.
"Hm," Snape growled to himself. In moments like these he especially appreciated the discreet manner of the practised healer. He didn't even know why he wanted to prove this to himself now, but a vague feeling told him that a big part of his self-esteem depended solely on the fact that he would be able to at least feed himself half-decently on his own – even if it were just a few bites. With great effort he lifted his arm to take the spoon. His gaze fell on his trembling forearm, over which the sleeve of the nightshirt was drawn back a bit, giving him the sight of an emaciated wrist. Pensively he surveyed the sickly pale skin under which capillary, blue veins and the protruding bones of the joint were clearly visible. The Slytherin considered asking Madam Pomfrey for a mirror afterwards. His outer appearance had never been very high on his personal list of priorities, yet – if even his wrist was such a pitiable sight… The goose bumps, which began to sneak up over his back, were thankfully fought down by the spicy fragrance that played around his nose. Inhaling a deep breath, Snape slowly dipped the spoon in the steaming food. Lentils, oh well, seems like one has to rejoice in the simple things of life, he thought, balancing the first spoonful in the direction of his mouth with an unstable hand.
Stubbornly ignoring the aching in his stiff joints, he achieved the goal of eating half of the portion at least. As his movements became increasingly slower and more laboured, Madam Pomfrey finally came to help. The nurse had discreetly kept track of his activities and eventually fed the exhausted wizard the rest of the portion without making a fuss.
Snape sat back, sighing, and closed his eyes, while Madam Pomfrey cleaned away the remains of the lunch.
"It's alright, Severus," she said, as she vanished the small table. "You've got to take it easy now."
Furrowing his brow, the Potions Master growled. Once again he was uncomfortably aware of every single bone in his body. Bones… "Poppy…" he began reluctantly. "Do you have a mirror?"
"Why do you…" Noticing the frown on Snape's face, the healer cut off. "Just a moment," she said curtly and hurried off to return some moments later, a small mirror in her hand which she handed to the Slytherin.
Slowly, Snape reached for the mirror and held it up to his face. The reflection looking back to at him made him freeze. His eyes lay sunken deeply in their sockets and were framed with circles, the colour of which appeared as dark as his iris. His frame had always been rather lean and he had been graced with distinctive facial features, but never before had his face resembled a skull to such an extent. Greenish-sallow skin drawn taut over prominent chin and cheekbones, and across his brow was a crimson-coloured …scar.
He felt the urge to reach for his forehead – to touch the scar, to fondle the chiselled features, the ashen skin. Breathing heavily, he laid down the mirror and lowered his gaze to his lap.
"Time, Severus…" he heard the low voice of Madam Pomfrey beside him. "Grant yourself some time."
Snape sighed quietly. As if time could really heal all wounds…
The healer took the mirror and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Tonight we'll start to strengthen your body again," she said. "Due to the long time you lay quiet your muscles weakened and your joints became stiff. And we have to do something about that, right?"
"A promenade does not qualify for that?"
"No," Madam Pomfrey answered, ignoring the acerbic undertone in his remark. "Until now the high concentration of healing potions in your organism prevented me from using wand magic, but now you are getting better and we can slowly reduce the dosage at last. Tonight we'll start with that."
A rumbling noise made them both startle. The door to the ward was pushed open from the outside and a strange looking contraption was pushed over the threshold, followed by a slightly panting Kingsley.
"Good afternoon to you," the Ravenclaw grinned, while pushing the wheelchair with one hand and balancing a thick, leather-bound book in the other.
"Severus," he said. "I brought you something – a bit of night-time reading you'd probably appreciate." He stored the wheelchair in a corner and handed the book over to the still frowning Potions Master. Snape slowly reached out and took the book, and after a look at the cover his expression lightened up in elated surprise.
"Suci Insoliti! The out of print original edition! Where did you get this, Kingsley?" He placed the book in his lap, opened it and began to carefully flip through the pages. The illustrations of the plants and herbs were of sophisticated artistic design and emitted authentic scents. Some of the little plants even swayed in an imaginary breeze. "All later editions were of inferior quality – the flavour-charm wore off after some time," the Potions Master explained, while his long, scrawny fingers caressed the already yellowed pages almost fondly.
Kingsley smiled. "I know. You have told me about this compendium more than once. I'm glad you like it. However, you have to keep your curiosity in check for a while."
Snape emitted a growling sound, as he realised that he obviously could not get past his fate. He could not escape these two. Kingsley produced a black bundle from the bag of the wheelchair, which he gave to Madam Pomfrey.
"Ah – thanks, Kingsley… What, Severus…" she reacted to a quizzical look from the Potions Master. "Do you think I will let you out into the cold in a nightshirt?"
"Are you suggesting that I should get dressed?" Snape asked innocently, while his heart skipped a secret beat. It seemed like he could finally get rid of this disgustingly white hospital-gown, even if it was just temporarily. One arguably finally grows humble, he thought, realising his musings. Some black robes to rectify the world – how pathetic.
"I suggest just that," Madam Pomfrey answered curtly. "Kingsley, we'll need some more time here…"
"Alright," answered the Ravenclaw, who obviously got the hint and turned back to the entrance. "I wanted to look for Filch anyway, since there's a draught in my flat and that's particularly uncomfortable this time of the year."
Left alone again, the nurse turned to the Potions Master, whose face didn't exactly reflect joyful anticipation.
"Don't put on such a face, Severus," she said. "You'll see it will do you good."
She cautiously slipped her arm under his torso and cast a simple levitating charm to help him into a sitting position. Some skilled moves later, Snape found himself sitting on the edge of the bed, breathing heavily while he desperately tried to ignore the aching in his limbs and the rising dizziness.
"The vertigo will pass," the healer comforted him, while supporting him with one hand and flicking her wand with the other to summon the simple black robe. As she carefully removed the hospital-gown, Snape stared perseveringly at the opposite wall, his face a tense frown. He noticed that Madam Pomfrey consciously tried to avoid touching the bare skin of his chest – a fact he gave her credit for. The nurse dressed him with a warm undershirt, gingerly helping him to push his good right arm through the sleeve. A hint of comforting satisfaction rushed through the Slytherin as the familiar black of the robe passed before his eyes. He looked down at his body – aside from the fact that the left sleeve of the robe was hanging down limply, he seemed to have approximately regained his normal and accustomed unobtrusive appearance. Almost satisfied with this discovery, a corner of his mouth unconsciously curled upwards.
"Are you able to sit on your own for a moment, Severus?" Madam Pomfrey asked. "I'll get the wheelchair."
Wheelchair… so much for unobtrusive, he thought and a deep frown spread anew over his face.
"I am," the Potions Master growled and narrowed his eyes as the nurse summoned that blasted device. At least there where no students here yet, he thought. He pressed his lips together in disapproval, as Madam Pomfrey again unceremoniously embraced his upper body and lifted him off the edge of the bed with a levitation charm. With a mumbled "alley-oop" she let his body slide in the wheelchair, just before his consciousness could realise that he had actually been airborne for a brief moment. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes while Madam Pomfrey straightened his robe.
Just then the door opened and Kingsley stepped over the threshold, shaking his head in disbelief. "I wouldn't have thought this possible, but it seems like Filch is getting worse every year. I was under the impression that you feed him enough students already – don't you, Severus? One could assume that he might have enough opportunities to let off his steam during the semester…"
The tall Auror wore a warm, hooded cloak, the scarab blue of which accentuated his golden earring even more than usual. "Hello Poppy… Severus…" he greeted them cheerfully. "Are you ready?"
"If this witch will let off me in the near future – yes," Snape answered, casting a venomous glance at Madam Pomfrey who was busily tucking him in a thick, fluffy blanket.
"If you get cold, then Kingsley can warm up the blanket easily," the nurse said, ignoring his scowl. "And I'd advise you, do tell him when you freeze, Severus. A cold is the last thing you'd need now, of all things." She tucked in the last lappet of the blanket. "And now, off you go. Enjoy the good weather as long as possible."
Kingsley reached for the handles of the wheelchair. "We'll do just that, Poppy. See you later!" Snape just emitted a sceptical grunt while they left the ward.
Already at the time they reached the first staircase, the magical modification of the wheelchair became obvious, since the device glided smoothly down the stairs as if sliding on an invisible ramp. While Kingsley chattered on about his lunch with the headmaster, the Potions Master tried to fight down anew the rising demons of personal self-doubt. He felt helpless, at the mercy of his environment, and every appraising glance from the portraits pierced his self-esteem right down to its innermost. He knew that after their… after Kingsley's paces had died away, the portraits would certainly start whispering and gossiping, and his pathetic appearance would spread the school like a wildfire. Thank Merlin that he was spared the students at least, he thought while he desperately tried to save face. Looking up, his gaze fell upon a bright orange bow tie…
"Peeves…" growled Snape and Kingsley nearly in unison. Right in front of them, the small poltergeist floated in mid-air, his beady mischievous eyes widening and staring from one to the other. As he opened his mouth, Snape flinched slightly and braced himself for the expected ribaldries. Nevertheless, he forced himself to glare at Peeves in his habitual manner, as the poltergeist suddenly shut his mouth again and absconded without another sound. Utterly astonished Snape turned back to Kingsley and realised at once the reason for Peeves' helter skelter leaving. The Bloody Baron was hovering behind them in all his eerie beauty, nodding his translucent head in greeting.
"Professor Snape, Professor Shacklebolt," the ghost said politely and glided a bit further to come to a stop before them.
"Baron…" Snape greeted back, slightly bowing his head in respect. Being Head of Slytherin, he cultivated a good and mutually respectful relationship with his house's ghost.
"It pleases me to see you up, Professor," the Bloody Baron said. "May I inquire about your condition? The most peculiar rumours about your bodily well-being have been afloat in the castle lately. You certainly know…" He waved a translucent hand in a derogative manner. "…the ghosts and these gossiping portraits."
"I am… well, Baron," Snape answered. "I appreciate your concern, thank you." And thank you for having a constant eye on Peeves, he added in thought.
"We're on our way to the garden, Baron," Kingsley said. "Why don't you come along?"
"Thank you for the invitation, Professor Shacklebolt. I would be glad to accompany you down to the castle entrance."
The unusual companionship got in motion, and Kingsley made a face as if he would have hoped that the ghost had rather declined his polite proposal. Being a Ravenclaw, he had no particular relationship to the ghost of Slytherin house, and it was common knowledge that students and alumni of the other houses alike preferred to evade the Bloody Baron. Apparently they were uncomfortable with his scary appearance.
The Potions Master engaged himself in light conversation with the Baron, who floated beside them, to get to know the latest news from around the school. However – everything the ghost narrated seemed so peripheral to him, so unimportant. He made a few annotations, nodded or shook his head appropriate to the ghost's tales, yet most of what he heard just bounced off him. At least the Baron had the proper tact to not ask any further about his condition – and his company guaranteed the absence of Peeves. At last they reached the main entrance and the ghost bid them farewell.
"Professor Snape, Professor Shacklebolt – it has been a pleasure," the Baron said, head held high. "I assume I speak for all Hogwarts ghosts when I wish you to get well soon, Professor Snape."
"Thank you, Baron," Snape said, and the ghost glided away.
"I have yet to get used to this 'Professor', I guess," Kingsley said, grinning, while he pushed the wheelchair over the threshold.
"You would arguably be in good company with this, Kingsley," the Potions Master answered acidly. "Many a student doesn't get used to this title over his whole schooldays. Or the respect that should go along with it."
Kingsley chuckled. "Ah yes, you wanted to prepare me for the expected adversities of the teaching profession."
"Hm… Just always keep in mind that you are the ill-fated authority that is obliged to prepare a bunch of dunderheads for their survival in the real world. Thus, everything should turn out well."
"And my reputation would then resemble that of a certain, well-known Potions Master as well, yes?" Kingsley joked.
"My reputation is excellent," Snape answered with a slight sneer. "In circles the opinion of which I consider relevant, certainly."
"Well, have it your way, then," his friend smiled. "However, I consider myself more of an integrative type of person."
The pebbles of the gravel walk crunched under the Ravenclaw's feet, and the sun of the clear October afternoon shone just strong enough to prevent their breath from turning into little clouds of condensate. However, the temperature was chilly and Snape estimated from the height of the sun that they would have about an hour left until the sunset. It scented of autumn leaves, and the conifers of the nearby Forbidden Forest were shrouded in mist. Blinking in the sun, the Potions Master took a deep breath. The clear, cool air did good, he felt even-tempered and strangely freed. After arriving at an old maple tree they stopped and Kingsley conjured a chair to sit down beside Snape. The autumn ambience was breathtaking – the heath land grass and the trees gleamed in various colours, and the lake was covered with threads of silvery haze. Kingsley searched his robes and produced a small pipe, which he began stuffing fondly. Snape surveyed him in slight amusement, as his friend lit up his little art-piece of wood and tobacco, and then started to pleasurably blow rings of smoke in the air. As if sensing Snape's gaze resting on him, Kingsley turned to the Slytherin, winking.
"Like to try?" He held out the pipe.
Snape shuddered. "No, thanks."
"You don't know what you're missing."
"I prefer the spicy aroma of an infusion of wormwood in a potion over this pocket-sized smouldering fire."
Kingsley nearly dropped his pipe laughing, and even Snape's expression displayed the hint of a smile. The two of them have been playing this game for so long already, he thought. Not even in his wildest dreams would he have imagined that there was indeed someone in this world who was amused to such an extent by his sardonic remarks – until he got to know Kingsley. And he even smiled when Kingsley broke into his genial, deep-voiced laughter. Kingsley had changed him – more than he would have ever admitted to himself. However, regarding his most peculiar ideas on "quality of life" Kingsley will not be successful in changing his thinking – definitely. Furrowing his brow, Snape watched as a squirrel ran over the grass and then hopped up on a tree. Some time ago Kingsley honestly wanted to convince him to move his quarters up to the first floor! Because of the light… and the view!
Through a cloud of pipe smoke the Slytherin looked down to the abandoned hut of the caretaker at the edge of the forest, the chimney of which did not emit smoke anymore and the windows of which appeared empty and dark. Even though he had never been particularly close to Hagrid, he still missed something. He almost waited for the door of the hut to open and the half-giant to trundle over the threshold, followed by that monster of a dog. He sighed quietly. Too many losses…
"Albus is planning on a little memorial service in the next weeks," Snape heard Kingsley say, as if the Ravenclaw had read his thoughts. "To commemorate the sacrifices Hogwarts had to make."
The Potions Master remained silent. Well, it would certainly take its time until life would return back to normal in the school, he thought. Lowering his head, a chilly shiver passed over him. The sun was about to set and thus the temperature had become cold as well. Mumbling a spell, Kingsley flicked his wand to heat up Snape's blanket.
"Let's go back inside, shall we, Severus?" he asked. "Poppy is going to strangle me if I cause you to catch a cold."
Snape nodded and tried with his right hand to manoeuvre the warm blanket a bit up to his chin, while his friend cleaned his pipe. After vanishing his chair, Kingsley took the handles of the wheelchair again and the both of them made their way back up to the castle.
Their way back was made in relative silence and without any further incident. Obviously, Peeves had received his effective pounding from the Bloody Baron, since he quickly zoomed out of sight when he saw them approaching. As they entered the hospital wing, not only was Madam Pomfrey awaiting them but also the Headmaster.
"Good evening, you two," Dumbledore greeted them with a smile. "Severus, your cheeks are red!" His smile broadened to a wide grin.
"That's due to the chill, Albus," Snape answered.
The Headmaster chuckled and Kingsley laughed. "He would never admit that he enjoyed it – would you, Severus?"
The Potions Master frowned and was just about to retort, as Madam Pomfrey interrupted the scene.
"Enough now," she said in a tone that accepted no contradiction, and then took away the blanket. "Severus," she turned to the Slytherin, her voice now gentle. "We have good news."
Snape arched a sceptical eyebrow. "Yes…?"
"Poppy got news from St. Mungo's," said Dumbledore, "concerning the curse."
The healer smiled. "A counter-curse has been found. We'll finally be able to heal your shoulder."
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Notes:
sucus, -i: (medicinal) essence or juice (of a plant); insolitus: strange, uncommon.
lentil stew is actually an Austrian dish. I made the Hogwarts kitchen elves a bit international as well, I guess, hehe. It's like lentil soup, but a bit more viscous and it's usually served with dumplings and bacon or smoked ham. And it tastes great, hehe.
I have produced a little illustration for this chapter, a portrait of Severus and Kingsley under the maple tree. It can be found in my gallery under the title "Severus and Kingsley" (the link to the gallery is the "homepage"-link on my profile-page), or at www(dot)xiaogui(dot)tk. And I would certainly be happy about comments on it :)