Chapter Eighteen

Severus Snape hated hospitals.

He hated the smells associated with them, the dull chatter, the stuffiness.

St. Mungo's was not unlike the hospital his mother had died in, despite its place in the wizarding world.

Eileen Snape had died in a London hospital, with the odors of antiseptic in her nose, the incessant beeping of monitoring devices robbing her of sleep. He recalled the way she had thrashed in her slumber, whimpering as the illness took what remained of her vitality, and she had passed in pain and discomfort. Muggle drugs never had quite the same effect on witches or wizards, but Tobias Snape had been insistent. He hadn't wanted his wife dying in a place for those sorts.

Charlotte was sleeping, and Severus discerned no sign of distress on her face. Color had returned to her blued lips; her milky skin had grown rosy. It was the fever, Severus had to remind himself, not any sign of improvement or renewed strength.

When Albus had pulled him from his lesson that morning, Severus had assumed it was to renew their discussion on Charlotte's treatment plan. Two days had passed since his initial conversation. Albus, unsurprisingly, had been strongly opposed to Snape's suggestion that Charlotte attempt to complete another possession. Even his proposal to use a prisoner from Azkaban had been shot down.

Instead, the headmaster had brought him to his office wordlessly. They had seated themselves across from one another at his desk, and Severus had attempted to disguise his impatience.

Only then, had Albus told him.

That Remus had found Charlotte that morning in their house on Spinner's End, after breaking down the front door. It appeared she had been laying there for days.

As Albus continued, Severus found himself focusing on a shrill noise in his ears. It had begun as a quiet ring, unlike the monitor that had sounded as his mother finally succumbed to her illness – until it screamed in his ears.

It was likely best, he thought absently now, that Albus had accompanied him to the hospital.

The sight of her, in a potion-induced slumber, had been the only remedy to the tightness of his chest and the burning of his throat.

Severus had not moved from the chair since he fell into it.

She looked child-like in her sleep; her face relaxed in a way he had not seen in years. Her fingers had curled around her blankets in a way not unlike a child clutches a teddy. A healer – or, perhaps, Louisa, who had been with her when he arrived – had braided her hair in a heavy plait down her back, removing the coffee colored curtain from her pale face.

His arm ached as he stretched it from the crossed position against his chest. The elbow cracked as it straightened, his back protested as he leaned forward. Hours had passed since his arrival, but Severus could not bring himself to move. Flexing, his fingers gently caught the tendril of hair in danger of tickling her nose, and softly tucked it behind her ear.

"You should really try to get some sleep, Severus," Louisa's voice interrupted the quiet, and he turned his eyes. The witch leaned against the door frame, her own eyes perhaps as tired as his own, "It'll be hours before that potion wears off. I told them to give her a heavy dose."

"I'm fine," the wizard responded, his voice thick, "I don't need to sleep."

Louisa frowned, "You'll be little use to her tomorrow when she wakes up if you're half-dead from exhaustion."

Severus scowled.

"I'll take a turn. At least go and stretch your legs. I've got a half hour before I need to leave."

The prospect of a cup of tea made his stomach growl noticeably. Hours had passed since he arrived, he realized as he caught sight of the clock hanging above the door. He had missed all but breakfast, and his mornings were satisfied with little more than toast.

"Go on," Louisa was slipping into the chair opposite of him, "I have her."

If it had been anyone else, Severus thought absently as he flexed the muscles in his legs, he would have remained seated. He trusted the Rosier witch enough.

He had trusted her enough that night, as Charlotte was dying on the Malfoy Manor floor.

"Can you get me a cup if it isn't too much trouble?"

Severus made a noise of agreement as he stood, his bones protesting with the sudden movement. Age was catching up to him in a way that was altogether disagreeable.

Night had taken over the hospital, the corridors were relatively empty aside from bleary-eyed healers and house-elves toting trays. His footsteps were quiet as he reached a small cafeteria, and his eyes dragged over the tea selection before selecting two paper cups. He dumped three sugars into the second and scooped up a pair of wrapped sandwiches.

Albus had supplied answers to the healer's questions. Charlotte had been practicing alchemy, and something appeared to have gone wrong with her experiments. The idea was thoughtful and altogether plausible. It would make sense, the healers agreed, that her illness arose from side-effects of alchemic potions, her state likely an after-effect of the life sources required to perform such advanced magic. It was a well-executed excuse for the lack of magic present in her emaciated body.

Was it possible, he wondered, for someone to be wasting away so quickly?

Two – perhaps it was three, now – days ago, they had sat across from each other in Hogsmeade sharing a pitcher of beer and a basket of chips. Her weight loss had been less noticeable then, offset by the broad smile which stretched her cheeks and made her eyes bright despite their yellow tinge. In truth, he would not have minded if they had shared a pitcher in the Three Broomsticks. As he had descended from the castle, it had been his first choice. Upon seeing her, the blueness of her lips, he had steered her towards the less-popular pub.

Severus had been unsure what he would have done if someone had remarked on her appearance.

He took his time returning to the critical care ward, pausing at the corners to stretch his legs and twist his back for a relief-filled crack or pop. Louisa was still seated alongside his slumbering wife when he returned, her legs slung over the side of the armchair, a magazine spread across her lap. He deposited a sandwich in her lap and passed her a cup of tea, before resuming his post.

"Thanks, Severus," Louisa began peeling the paper from her sandwich, "I haven't eaten a thing."

Above Charlotte's cheeks, the skin stretched across her temple bones.

Louisa watched his silent assessment as his eyes swept down to the tendons, sticking out like wires, against his wife's throat.

"We've given her some draughts to bring her weight up," Her voice was soft.

Severus snorted, "I've been giving them to her for months."

"I saw her just a week ago," Louisa was staring at Charlotte's bony hand, "She didn't look like this."

"It's killing her."

The words left his mouth unbidden.

A tightness stretched across his chest, pulling at his ribs.

Months ago, he would have argued that Charlotte was capable of overcoming an obscurus. He had been confident in his research. Paired with Dumbledore's agreement, they had both felt that determining the cause of Charlotte's obscurus would solve the issue entirely. It had been a simple matter of determining what instance had caused her to stop performing magic. Albus had suggested that the cure lay in performing the very magic Charlotte had been afraid to perform.

At first, Severus had assumed it would be something frivolous. An Unforgiveable, perhaps, or perhaps a spell she had cast during the raid against the Ministry. It had never occurred to him that the possessions had been the root of it all. Especially not the first one she had whispered in the library.

Ignorance, perhaps, or denial had clouded his judgement.

Charlotte had never liked performing possessions.

Each time she would be sick for hours, her body shaking with the effort. For days afterward, she was utterly useless, whispering to herself in the corridors, staring at mirrors.

It had taken exhaustive efforts to encourage her to continue, though Severus realized now that it had never taken much. The threat to her life had been enough to light the fire which drew her to the room in Malfoy Manor where she conducted her work.

His face darkened at the thought, and he busied himself with unwrapping his own sandwich. The bread had grown soggy against the tomato, but he didn't mind. It was tasteless in his mouth, a mere substance to ensure that he could continue his post at her bedside.

Dumbledore had brought in a substitute to take over his lesson plans. He was on an undetermined amount of leave from Hogwarts, which was disconcerting enough. He doubted there was now a soul within the staff that was not aware that his wife was in hospital – or that he was married, at all, as this was information he did share – and likely a good portion of the student body would follow.

Remus and other members of the Order had volunteered to clear what remained of his house on Spinner's End. From what he had been told, only the exterior remained intact, protected by charms to ensure that despite the chaos that dwelled within its walls, that it would maintain a normal appearance unsuspicious to his muggle neighbors.

For the better part of two days, his wife had lain on the charred floor of his house. She had been alone. Her body had been burned; she had broken seventeen bones.

Lupin had told Albus that when he arrived for her lesson, he thought Charlotte had been cooking a roast.

The healers had done talented work on her. Only her legs appeared to be scarred, marred with thick blisters and split skin. Every few hours, a healer arrived to remove the bloodied dressings and reapply the burn pastes.

From the Order's inspection of the house, it appeared that Charlotte had, at some point, dragged herself onto the rug she had purchased shortly before his departure. Severus had charmed it to resist fire, as it was in close proximity to the fireplace, and Charlotte was particularly talented at setting things ablaze during her fits. She had dragged herself, they concluded after the healer's report, because her legs had been broken. Three fractures were present in her left leg, her right had a compound fracture of the femur, which had broken through the thick muscle of her thigh and protruded through her leg like a stake.

It was trying to kill her.

The wolf's angry voice filled his mind, and Severus found that for once, he could not disagree with him.

Obscurus were known for murdering their hosts in a variety of fashions. Often, they drove their hosts to end their own lives. They wasted them away and caused accidents to happen.

Severus thought he had done an adequate enough job to ensure that most of these accidents were impossible in Spinner's End. He had spelled the staircase to soften falls. The knives in his kitchen drawers were charmed to grow dull if they hit human flesh. He set reminders on the living room clock to call Charlotte to mealtimes.

In all of his research, he had not found an instance in which the obscurus plotted such an elaborate plan to murder its host in cold blood. It had broken her legs, dislocated her shoulder and broken the other. The fire had spread from the fireplace – that was common, enough, he recalled – but all the rest of it.

His chest felt unnaturally tight.

The level of pain must have been excruciating, at a level equal to a Cruciatus Curse. To feel your bones breaking of their own accord, watching your body catch fire. As the thoughts entered his mind, unbidden, Severus felt ill.

She was resisting.

Dumbledore's explanation for the extent of her injuries did nothing to soothe him.

"She's a tough old girl," Louisa was saying, "She'll make it through."

Severus was no longer certain if that were plausible.

He could not simply take the remainder of the school year under leave and watch over her. There was no promise that this would be remedied with his solution, or how long she could withstand the constant effort it took to keep the smoke at bay. Too often he had caught her pinching her nose as the inked fog seeped through her nostrils, whispering to herself.

At some point, she would have nothing left to fight it with.

"Send someone for me when she wakes up," Louisa was crumpling her sandwich's paper, "I have to go back for my shift. I'll be close by – I'm just across the corridor in maternity."

Severus nodded.

He sat quietly for several moments, his eyes watching the rise and fall of Charlotte's back as she took soft, even breaths. Her shoulder blades pressed against the thin, lavender hospital gown like tiny fragile wings.

The ringing resumed in his ears, soft and quiet against the gentle sounds of her breaths.

"I will kill you," he found himself whispering in the silence, "If you touch my wife again, I will fucking kill you."

The illegality bothered him very little, if at all.

Severus had never held much regard for wizarding law.

It hadn't protected his mother from his drunken, heavy-fisted father.

It hadn't protected Lily.

If Dumbledore didn't want to drag someone from Azkaban for it, Severus had other options. He had not gone to the headmaster's office that evening without contingency plans. Albus had never cared much for his directness, his questionable morals.

Charlotte could only be processed for criminal magic if she was reported for it.

Severus had no intention of reporting her.

There would need to be a level of preparation. He was prepared to address the potential concerns he had recognized. Occlumency was questionably successful against possession, but there were thoughts, memories, and ideas that he preferred to remain privately his own. A few days, he thought absently, would give him enough time to prepare.

Charlotte had seen nearly everything, he reminded himself, if she hadn't been present for it herself.

Nearly everything.

Albus needn't know.

His eyes were growing tired, and he bid them to stay open longer. He watched the rise and fall of her shoulder, his breath ready to shout if it stilled. A large swallow of his tea scalded his tongue, but he reveled in the soft ache that filled his mouth.

"Sev, will you bloody wait for me?"

His long legs had carried him halfway down the corridor, as he turned to watch the brown-haired witch scramble through the common room door. She looked particularly awkward in a pair of red sweatpants that appeared to belong to Sirius, and an over-sized t-shirt that could have belonged to any Slytherin quidditch player. Her short legs carried her down to meet him at the stairwell bottom, her eyes narrowed and disapproving.

"Afraid Slughorn might miss you?"

"No," but her words were too quick, "I just think you could use supervision."

"Are you a qualified chaperone, Fraser?"

Charlotte snorted as they quietly climbed stairs, "For you I am."

Severus recalled her face then, unlined by the worries of dark magic. Her nose had scrunched in her smile, showing pin-point dimples. Now, her the products of her good breeding, high cheekbones and a slender button nose, pressed against her paper skin.

It was easy to see the cost of war in Charlotte's face.

You're a half-blood Severus, you'll need to give him something of value to join.

Of value.

Something that will help us win the war.

As he watched the rise and fall of his wife's shoulder, he felt his skin prick with goosebumps. Even now, he could hear Malfoy's voice as though the conversation had taken place moments ago, not at the cusp of his Hogwarts graduation.

A weapon.

There would be preparation time needed before he unleashed Charlotte upon his mind. He knew the stories of her tenacity within another's mind, and there were visions that once seen, would disrupt the life he had built with the Fraser girl on Spinner's End permanently.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It took me quite a bit to write Snape's perspective and I hope I did it some justice after overdosing on caffeine and watching every available clip on Youtube of our lovely Potion Master. I have made it extra long to make up for the lack of post last week, but we will resume weekly postings moving forward!

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