Morning Has Broken
By Bambu
All disclaimers and author's notes may be found in Chapter One.
Chapter Three: Practicum
I crossed the hall and entered Snape's lab. After clearing space on the worktop and carefully storing his unused powdered bicorn horn and shredded Boomslang skin, I used the first and most efficient Summoning Charm I had ever learned. "Accio Seven Percent Solution! Accio Hermione's things!"
The glass I had filled earlier with a dose of the Seven Percent Solution shifted toward me across the worktable. In the excitement of Snape's collapse I had forgotten it so the potion spilled as I caught the glass. Setting it down quickly, I prepared for the onslaught of paraphernalia hurtling through the small house.
During the next five minutes, I organized the herbs and medicinal items I had brought, measured another dose of the Solution and scribbled a note to Meg on a piece of enchanted parchment. I advised her that I would be in the field for several days, and then I folded the missive into its own envelope before tapping my wand to it, saying firmly, "Portus!"
Within seconds, the letter-cum-Portkey had spun out of sight.
With that crossed off my mental checklist, I snatched one of the bananas from my bag and picked up the potential cure for my impatient patient before crossing the hall to his bedroom. Once there, I conjured a comfortable chair and a small bedside table. I folded my legs beneath me on the chair and I stared at the harsh contours of Snape's face while waiting for him to awaken.
My concern deepened as time passed.
Snape transitioned from peacefully sleeping to nightmare-haunted within a heartbeat. "No! I told you I don't want to do it anymore."
While I vacillated about whether to wake him, he seemed to wait for a response, as if his memory was playing out in his dream.
"You assumed I can cure anything, Albus. You take too much for granted. Your hand's incurable; it's leaching your magic."
Whether this was a nightmare of the conversation Hagrid had overheard in the Forbidden Forest, or a replay of another time Snape and Dumbledore had argued, its effects were equally disturbing. My former professor's breathing grew labored and fresh sweat dotted his forehead.
I made a face as the sour stench of his body odor reached me.
Suddenly he inhaled deeply, angling his head in my direction.
I recognized the mannerism from our encounter the other day and from several other moments in my Pensieved memories. I leaned forward in the chair, sliding my feet to the floor.
Snape opened his eyes, and it was unclear whether he was lucid or not.
I waited a moment, before rising from the chair. When he tracked my movements and didn't snap at me, I picked up the dose of antidote and carried to his side of the mottled black eyes watched my every move.
"Granger."
"Yes."
"What are you doing here?"
"Helping you."
He frowned. "Since when?"
"I've been here long enough to know an egg 'n onion scramble isn't your preferred breakfast."
He made a noise which might have been half a laugh, and then laboriously propped himself against the headboard. His bloodshot eyes never left mine. "You've been experimenting with disguises, haven't you?"
I stared at him, aghast. "How did you know?"
"I might be dying, but I'm not completely mental." He smirked, and then closed his eyes, his breathing quick and uneven; his entire body shuddered.
"Look—" I had been more than patient, "—we can discuss my disguises or anything else you'd like after you drink this." I held out the glass with the translucent blue solution.
"What is it?"
"I call it the Seven Percent Solution."
That time he really did laugh - for a second or two. "I'm not bloody Sherlock Holmes!"
"I don't know. You're brilliant, ruthless, anti-social, impatient with those of lesser intellect, and you dose yourself with cocaine frequently. I thought it was a rather apt name. Now quit stalling and drink. It should help."
His hand froze mid-reach. "Should?"
"I used red clover as a systemic detoxifying agent in addition to the peppermint which you use for its antispasmodic and antiseptic properties. There are seven drops of essence of rue as well as Mandrake rhizome extract."
"Are you using me as a lab Jarvey?"
"If you're asking whether I've tried this before, the answer is no. If you're asking whether I think it will work, the answer is I believe it will help you. The final ingredient in the solution is three trichobezoars."
At least he didn't knock the glass from my hand.
His tone of voice was scathing. "Christ, Granger! The only thing in that potion I haven't tried at least a dozen times, every year, is the damned Mandrake juice. I eat fucking bezoars like Dumbledore ate sherbet lemons."
"Yes, but do you eat Niu Huang Chinese bezoars or only standard European goat bezoars?"
I could see him grinding his teeth and I thought maybe, just maybe, I could save his life.
He didn't respond directly, but grabbed the glass of the potion and drank.
I didn't bounce. It was a near thing, but I held my elation in check.
"Now, you need to eat something."
"Can't you leave me alone? You've done your good deed. Go away!"
I walked around the foot of the bed and held out the banana. "Here. The potassium will help balance your electrolytes and the fruit won't negatively interact with the Solution."
"Are you always so bossy?" He snapped the question, but he ate the banana. Slowly.
I watched his every move; for all I knew he might use a Vanishing Spell to dispose of the fruit if I looked away.
When he swallowed the last bite, he glared at me. "Will you go, now?"
"No. I want to know how you knew about my experiments with disguises."
Snape smirked at me.
For a fleeting moment, he was the commanding professor I remembered from years in the classroom. The expression didn't quite have the same effect on me as a woman as it had when I was a little girl. "Well—" I huffed, "—are you going to tell me?"
"Don't get your knickers in a twist."
I crossed my arms and glared at him. If I wasn't so worried, I would have admitted to having fun. He was certainly stimulating to verbally spar with.
At that moment, I understood how he and Minerva McGonagall could have been friends. It had never made sense to me before. Now I understood. McGonagall had been highly intelligent and occasionally sardonic. Snape's biting wit would have appealed to her.
What I didn't understand was how he could have consistently ingested poison when he resumed spying for Dumbledore without anyone noticing? Then again, no one had noticed Voldemort living in the back of poor Quirinus Quirrell's head, or Barty Crouch, Jr. drinking Polyjuice Potion on an hourly basis for nearly a year. In light of those charades, I supposed no one would notice a Potions master brewing Strengthening Solutions with Re'em blood.
My breath caught and another few pieces of the puzzle fell into place. Snape must have drunk the potion initially as a preventative against the Cruciatus Curse, and the coca leaves would have helped with his Occlumency.
How could Dumbledore, who had used Snape as a duelist wields his wand, not have paid attention to the changes in his spy? But then Snape and Harry had been Dumbledore's men through and through. Dumbledore never questioned their loyalty, even if he had argued with Snape about the man's willingness to continue his role.
I swallowed hard. It had been that unwavering, blind loyalty which cost Harry his life. I would be damned if it would cost Snape his.
My expression must have changed, because his eyes narrowed and his lips thinned. I took note of the fact that he had stopped sweating, and hoped the potion was having a positive effect.
He shifted on the bed, and a wary expression crossed his very pale and gaunt face.
"I would appreciate your information, Professor, as I have been working on the disguises for many months. If there's a flaw, I would like to correct it."
"Don't. Call. Me. Professor." He seemed to grind the words through his tightly clenched teeth.
I almost groaned at my stupidity. "Sorry. Honestly, I didn't mean… I don't know really what else to call you. You know I don't mean to offend you."
Fresh beads of sweat broke out across his forehead and I saw his fists clench.
It dawned on me that his reaction wasn't anger, but physical distress. Hastily, I stepped close enough to put my hand against his forehead.
He flinched.
Snape was burning up, and then, abruptly, he lurched toward me gagging.
I didn't get out of the way quickly enough, and he vomited all over himself, me, and the bed. As in his lab I scooted closer, bracing his body against mine, and let him heave until the muscle spasms passed. Fortunately, all the magically activated charcoal had been eliminated in his earlier bout of vomiting. This time, I held his hair off his face, and cooed meaningless words to him as his body purged the last of the potion from his stomach.
I wanted to cry. If Snape couldn't keep anything in his system, then he really was beyond my help.
When he slumped back on the bed, I waved my wand and cleaned us both up.
"Your smell," he whispered in a raspy tone.
"My smell?"
"Yes. You always smelled the same. I could tell it was the same woman. I didn't know it was you, but I knew the blonde, the redhead, and the Amazon were all the same witch."
"Thank you. I hadn't thought about the smell. I altered my features and physical attributes at the cellular level, but I never took smell into account. I really appreciate it."
He nodded weakly, and then his body convulsed in another seizure.
I held onto him this time, and let the tears come. He wouldn't even know.
When his convulsions tapered off, he was once again unconscious. If he could just keep the Seven Percent Solution down, he might have a chance. I brushed the hair from his face, feeling fiercely protective of him.
I imagined he would welcome any relief from his present complaints.
Any relief. Where had I heard that recently? Any relief would be welcome.
Snape spasmed once, then lapsed into his insensate state.
I slipped my hand beneath his head, raising it enough to slide another pillow beneath it. As I released my grip, his head angled back, revealing his prominent Adam's apple. The movement and position reminded me of Gabrielle in my office, of her head resting against the high back of the cushy chair I had transifgured for her.
It was then I remembered when and where I had heard the words any relief would be welcome. Gabrielle. It was Gabrielle speaking to me after she had worn the H.I.P.S. They had eased her pain and discomfort post-transformation.
Gooseflesh broke out on my arms, and the back of my neck prickled.
Thoughts crowded in chaotic patterns in my mind, but my conclusion was unmistakable.
I looked down at Snape again. At the cold sweat beading on his brow, at his hollow cheeks and skeletal physique.
The experiment was worth a try.
If he could keep the potion down while in disguised form, it might save his life. With renewed hope, I slid off the bed and dashed across the hall to get my H.I.P.S.
It was a good thing Severus Snape was so thin, because getting the bracelets over his hands wasn't easy. However, I was nothing if not determined. Once they were in place, I began to twist the gold and platinum bands, dialing the bracelets to a more vital version of the man.
Retrieving my wand from the small bedside table, I touched both bracelets and said, "Severus Superior!"
Just as it had with Gabrielle, Snape's features fleshed out, softening his gaunt cheeks. The lines around his eyes plumped, and while I couldn't see the rest of his body, he seemed bigger. He certainly looked younger. Oddly, his body odor was less pronounced, although the underlying masculine fragrance was still his. He looked like my memory of him from school. The deep furrow between his eyebrows remained, but he no longer looked quite so much like an Inferi.
Once he awoke it would be time for another dose of the Seven Percent Solution.
It had been a long four days. I rubbed my tired eyes and dragged my fingers through my hair. Then I refreshed the spell on the conjured armchair and settled in it to wait.
I stared at the rhythmic rise and fall of Snape's chest. It was soothing, almost mesmerizing.
I fell asleep.
"Where the fuck is my wand?"
His voice startled me and I almost tumbled out of the chair, stiff neck and screaming muscles notwithstanding. Muttering something incoherent at Snape, I rose and stumbled in the direction of his lab, where his ebony wand rested neatly on the worktable. My sleep-befuddled brain didn't consider using a Summoning Charm, and I had left my wand on the bedside table.
I picked up his wand, and when I turned around I found myself face-to-chest with Severus Snape.
Backing up a step, I saw him cock a sardonic eyebrow at me. I had forgotten how stealthily he had once been able to move, and hadn't heard him get out of bed. He had been awkward and stumbling since I entered his home.
"You forgot this," he said.
We traded wands, and I felt a little jolt when our fingers grazed each others' during the exchange. Touching him now was an altogether different experience than caring for the dying wizard he had been mere hours before.
"How do you feel?" I asked.
He frowned. "Surprisingly well for a man who should be dead at any moment." He held out one hand. It no longer resembled a claw, but a man's fully-articulated and surprisingly graceful hand. "What have you done?"
"It's not me, it's my H.I.P.S." When his mottled brown-black eyes instantly flew to the corresponding part of my anatomy, I blushed. "Not my hips, my H.I.P.S." I touched the bracelet on his wrist.
Instantly his attention shifted, but not before he flicked his eyes to my face, and I know he saw my heightened color. What might have been a smile tugged at one corner of his lips. Snape had always liked to be in a position of power, and it was a small enough thing to grant him.
"Explain, please." Snape crossed the lab, eyeing my encroachment into his domain with interest and a cocked eyebrow. He moved with his once-renowned, sinuous grace, and my heart did an odd little skip to see him so himself.
"One moment," I said while retrieving the drinking glass from his bedroom. When I returned to the lab, Snape's eyes lighted upon the empty glass, and then he opened his mouth to speak. I beat him to it. "I'll explain after you've had another dose of Seven Percent Solution."
He grunted. "Do you enjoy watching me retch so much? It's certainly one form of revenge."
Inexplicably, his taunt angered me. "Of course, I didn't enjoy it! You know I'm not here out of revenge!"
"Do I? Are you above revenge? I doubt Dolores Umbridge would see your insistence upon shoving liquids down my throat which, thus far, I've been unable to keep down, as benevolent interference."
"That toad deserved everything she got. She was sadistic and cruel, and enjoyed the petty power she held over children."
"The same could be said about me."
"You are entirely different." I spoke in the Bluestocking tone of voice I knew had driven my peers mad when I was a child, even as I measured another dose of the midnight blue solution for Snape.
"I'm sure Neville Longbottom would disagree with you."
"Neville's dead. Besides, even he believed you had ample reason for your actions. No one but Fudge and Percy Weasley believed Umbridge had sufficient reason to act as she did."
"Well, I'll remember to tell the next Gryffindor to spit in my face that I had good reasons… no… wait… I'll be dead. I'm sure they'll manage to defile my grave adequately."
"Stop talking like that! I'm not going to let you die!"
"How are you going to stop it?" His voice dropped, so low that I almost couldn't hear what he said.
I shoved the half-full glass into his hands. "Drink this." When he just looked at me, I said, "Look, I know you couldn't keep it down earlier, and that your physical state was on the verge of total collapse." When he attempted to set the glass on the worktable, I wrapped my hand around his and wouldn't let him relinquish it. "But I changed things. As I said before, the bracelets work at a cellular level, and I've managed to restore you to an earlier physical state. You should be able to digest the potion now."
"How have you done this? Have you tried this trick before or am I the first of your experiments?" Even as he questioned me, he pulled his hand from mine, but he didn't discard the glass.
"I've used them before. That's why I thought they'd work on you."
"If I drink this, you'll tell me everything?"
I almost smiled at his attempt to negotiate while at a disadvantage. It was good to see his Slytherin qualities emerge.
Still, the overall situation was desperate and I worried.
"Will you eat a little breakfast?" I held up a hand. "Not an onion scramble."
He downed the potion, then inclined his head in assent.
I grabbed my book bag and left the room. "Are you coming to eat?" I asked as I made for the stairs. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw him immediately behind me.
"Surprised?" There was a wry lilt to his voice.
I started down the stairs. "Well, yes."
"It will get you out of my house faster."
"Do you really want to die?" I stopped and turned to face him. The stairwell was dark, even in the late afternoon, but I could see his black eyes clearly. He might look better superficially, but his expression was that of a deeply haunted and wounded man.
I had never heard him sound so gentle as when he spoke then.
"It's inevitable, Miss Granger. The arsenic has become intrinsically bonded with my cellular structure. There's nothing you can do."
"I won't believe that."
He actually laughed. It was a rusty sort of laugh, but genuinely mirthful. "So Gryffindor. So idealistic."
"Not really. I just don't want to lose any more friends… er… people I know."
"We've never been friends." His eyes held mine for a long beat.
"No, we've never been friends, sir, but I would have liked it if we had been."
He broke our eye connection, his face a blank mask.
I had been too honest, and I sighed in frustration. "Let's eat something, and I will tell you why I believe you're not currently curled into a ball vomiting and having a seizure."
He nodded curtly, and I pushed my way into the small sitting room and on toward the kitchen.
I unpacked the rest of the foodstuffs I had brought from home before retrieving other items from his pantry with which to prepare a late tea. The sun was setting, casting an orange sort of light through the windows while I worked.
Shortly therafter, I realized Snape was still standing at the door of the butler's pantry. His expression was a familiar scowl.
"What?" I asked, pausing while I sliced tomatoes for a modified fry-up.
"You cleaned my kitchen."
"Well you didn't expect me to brew a potion in the mess that was here, did you?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he crossed to a sideboard and pulled out plates, tea cups and cutlery, and then proceeded to set the table. After that, he made the tea for our meal. It was an oddly domesticated and companionable few minutes, and I found it surprisingly pleasant.
When we sat down at the little nook to eat, I found Snape's eyes assessing me as if he could answer all his questions with a glance into my eyes. Remembering that he was an accomplished Legilimens, I supposed that he might be able to do that very thing.
He ate a last bite of tomato and chop, placing his silverware in the traditional balanced position which said he was finished with his meal. "Tell me," he demanded.
And so I did.
He was an excellent audience, quick and perceptive. He traced his lips with a finger while I explained the theory behind the bracelets and my speculation about the Seven Percent Solution. He asked few questions, but his attitude was no longer combative or a descent into verbal delirium.
With my whole heart, I wished I had met this man years ago.
"Tell me about the Chinese bezoar."
He didn't phrase it as a question, but I recognized it as one. "Niu Huang trichobezoars are composed entirely of hair from Chinese pasang antelopes. Because their home range is well within the Chinese Fireball's territory, they've developed a coping mechanism for the arsenical bite of the dragon. These bezoars are poison specific rather than the broad panacea goat bezoars tend to be. The Niu Huang absorbs and binds the arsenic before passing harmlessly out of the system."
He tapped his lips at each of my points.
"Why the Seven Percent Solution? Why not just shove the bezoar down my throat?"
"Two reasons, actually. First, I wanted to get the rhizome juice into your system, and secondly, coca leaves are horribly addictive. I wanted to counteract your body's reaction to them as well." I continued with my narrative, and he didn't ask another question until I finished.
"When you said you had tried this—" he tapped the bracelet around his right wrist, "—before, you had only done it once, and it was an impulse. Is that right?"
I nodded my head.
"It seems you were correct, at least in this instance. It's rather gratifying to know you've begun to think beyond the pages of a book."
It was entirely involuntary, but I felt the blush stain my cheeks.
"However, do you not see the flaw in your thinking?" When I didn't answer, he continued, "Even in this 'perfect' state—" his hands indicated himself, "—you're still using a cellular structure contaminated by arsenic."
"Yes, but—"
"But nothing. If you had given your Seven Percent Solution to me ten years - even seven years ago, it should have been able to restore my genetic structure over a period of time." His dark eyes speared into mine. "However, this isn't seven years ago. Even if I wore the bracelets indefinitely, when they come off, I will return to my dying state. You offered me a glimmer of hope, before taking that as well."
I looked at him in horror.
"It was an incredibly cruel thing to do, Miss Granger." He rose from the chair and left the house.
I stared at his empty chair.
He was right.
With all my good intentions, all I had managed to do was to prolong his death. I had thought using the bracelets would allow Snape to remain in 'idealized form' until the Seven Percent Solution purged his body of the arsenic. I had calculated that over time, his natural bodily processes would slough off the tainted cells and replace them with 'idealized' cells.
What I didn't take into account was the length of time he had been using the dragon's egg powder. My H.I.P.S. couldn't revert to an idealized form older than five years, and it would take me more time than Snape had left to attempt to extend the bracelet's modification range. Even if we replaced every cell in his body with 'idealized' Snape cells, they, too, were lethal.
It had been unbelievably unkind of me to offer him something I couldn't possibly deliver.
I shoved the plate away from me and laid my head upon my wrists, giving into the tears which had been my annoyingly frequent companion over the past several days. I don't know how long I cried, but when my sobs became hiccups, I sat up.
Snape hadn't returned.
He could be seen through the window, in his garden, tending to his plants. There was something rather tragic about him watering and weeding and pruning, and I decided to take care of the plants after he was gone.
Waving my wand in a few half-hearted Cleaning Charms, I tidied up. I had a new appreciation for the reason his house had been kept in such lackluster condition. When death was inevitable and looming, clean dishes seemed rather insignificant.
Briefly, I considered and discarded the idea of joining Snape in the garden. Instead, I wandered into his sitting room, and looked at his books. I fingered Arsenius Jigger's Magical Draughts and Potions and Magical Heiroglyphs and Logograms before noticing that Snape had retained a beautifully preserved copy of Moste Potente Potions. Touching the spines of bound knowledge was a soothing ritual, one I had indulged many times in my life. From forays into the local Muggle library when I was a child to the Hogwarts library, and later the Ministry's infinite resources, I had found books a respite to the cares and fears of my real life existence.
My fingers halted on the spine of an oddly sized book in blue. On its cover was the name Severus Tobias Snape. I pulled it out only to find my former teacher's baby book. My throat closed as I thought about his mother filling in the entries with loving care.
The book was irresistible.
I turned to the first page.
Eileen Prince Snape had loved her son with a lonely woman's need. His babyish firsts were all memorialized: footprints, hand prints, the dates he cut his teeth, and the date he rolled over. I learned that he had been a year old before he said his first word, mama. On one page there was a lock of silken black hair from his first haircut at age six. It was no wonder the book was oddly lumpy.
The book looked as if it had magically enlarged over the years. I had never seen anything like it before. Molly Weasley was the only witch who might have shown me these things had she still been alive.
What felt like a band constricted around my heart. There had been too many losses during my years in the wizarding world.
I was not resigned to this one.
I turned to a later entry in Snape's book. There was a picture of a skinny boy with long black hair and a solemn face standing on platform nine-and-three-quarters, a battered trunk on a trolley next to him. He didn't have a familiar. It didn't look like his family could afford one. On the facing page was one perfect lock of his silken black hair.
Another page revealed Severus Snape as a Chaser on the Slytherin House Quidditch team in his fourth year at school. He looked smug as he posed with his teammates and the 1974 Quidditch Cup. For his fifth year, Eileen Snape had affixed her son's impressive O.W.L. results onto a page. A slender lock of his hair was neatly sealed onto the facing page.
I then flipped to a family picture obviously taken in the back yard here at Spinner's End. Snape and his mother, a thin, grey-haired witch dressed entirely in Muggle clothing, stood between several terra cotta pots with flourishing herbs trailing down the sides. Mrs. Snape appeared ill, but when she looked at her son, her plain face was filled with pride and love. Snape looked as if he had just come down from Hogwarts. He was probably eighteen, tall and slender, and there was no scowl to mar his strong features. His hair was long and black, and he held himself with a hint of his later commanding presence. When he helped his mother to sit in a garden chair, he was as gentle as Ginny had been with her pygmy puff.
Brushing my finger tenderly over the picture, I almost choked on my regrets.
The image of Snape looked at me and smirked, flipping his long hair over his shoulder. It was the smirk that did it. I had seen that supercilious look on his face a hundred times. It was the look that said, Missing the point aren't you, dunderhead.
I turned to the back of the book. It had stopped filling at the time Snape was in his early thirties, or so I surmised. He had always appeared older than his chronological age. I wondered if his mother had died, or they had become estranged in some way.
But it didn't really matter. What mattered was what I discovered on the next two pages.
One side held a picture of Severus Snape wearing his teaching robes. He was younger than I had ever known him, before the return of Voldemort and the need for Snape to resume his espionage. But the truly miraculous thing was on the facing page. It was a perfect specimen of the oily, black locks which curtained his hook-nosed face.
I could have kissed the book. In fact, I did kiss Severus Snape's startled image.
My answer was staring me in the face, if only I had the wit to see it sooner.
I spun, the book clasped to my breast. I had to find Snape.
He was seated in his armchair watching me.
I had no idea how long he'd been there, but my cheeks flamed. I expected him to say something rude, but he remained silent. Suddenly overcome by the enormity of my discovery, I needed to sit. I flopped onto the battered sofa and sank into its lumpy cushions, still clutching the baby book as if it was the answer to life itself.
In this case it was.
"I wasn't that adorable," he said dryly.
I began to giggle and then to laugh. "That's not it. You weren't adorable, but you were very sweet."
He suddenly loomed over me, reaching for the book. "Sweet? I have never been sweet."
Clasping the book to my chest, I refused to let him take it. He would have to hex me to remove it from my arms.
"To your mother you were."
He stopped attempting to pry the book from me. "My mother was obviously deluded."
"No, she wasn't. You haven't always been a nice man, but you are an ethical one."
He snorted.
"But that's immaterial," I said as I bounced to my feet, my excitement restored. He backed up a step. "What is material is that you have your mother to thank for saving your life."
"We've already discussed this. I'm a walking dead man. I don't want to play any more of your little save-the-world games. You've had your fun, now it's time to put the book down and for you to leave."
"Wait! You don't understand." I touched his arm as he turned away from me. He stopped, but didn't face me. "We can save your life. Your mother's love has given us a way. Look!" I flipped the book so he could see the picture and the hair.
Snape finally turned around and stared at the open pages uncomprehendingly. "I fail to see what my mother's obsessive need to chronicle my life has to do with my imminent death by self-induced arsenical poisoning."
"Your hair, Prof… oh, ruddy hell… Severus. Your hair!" I raised my eyes expectantly; he just glared at me. I knew the man was brilliant, but come on! I changed tactics. "How old were you when this picture was taken?"
He blinked and considered the question. "I was thirty. It was the summer I was named Head of House for Slytherin. My mother was very proud of my achievement. I was the youngest Head of House in two centuries."
"Excellent!" I almost cheered. My nipples tightened and a shudder of academic anticipation raced up my spine.
"What have you been drinking? Why the hell do you care what I looked like at thirty?" His eyes blinked as he fit the puzzle pieces together. "Oh, fuck!"
"Yes! Exactly!" I spun and practically sprinted up the narrow stairs of his house, his baby book nestled against my breasts.
Bursting into his lab, I quickly looked for the remaining vials of the potion Snape had destroyed after my arrival. "He doesn't have thirty days to brew this. Please, please be what I think you are."
"It is exactly what you thought it was," he said as he entered the room. "It would serve me right to have destroyed it in a fit of pique, and I will once again be the instrument of my own demise."
"Don't be so bloody melodramatic!" I snapped at him. "I'll find some if I have to steal it from the Ministry."
"I don't think you'll have to go to such lengths on my account." He reached past me, plucking two decanted bottles of Polyjuice Potion from among the array of failed antidotes. They were exactly where I had shelved them during my cleaning frenzy just after dawn. "There's no guarantee this will work, Miss Granger."
"If we follow your earlier line of logic, then there's no reason it shouldn't."
"It's hypothetical at best." He put the bottles on the worktable and turned toward the door, so I couldn't see his face.
I put the opened book next to the bottles of lumpy dark sludge that held perfectly brewed Polyjuice. Snape's pictured face stared up at me. Actually, he ogled my breasts, where they had been pressed against the picture for the past several minutes. I glared at the wizarding photograph before turning my attention to his real life counterpart. There wasn't anything to say in response to Snape's comments. He was absolutely correct. What I was proposing was hypothetical. But it was a chance.
"Aren't you going to rail at me? Refuse to leave my home? Bully me into drinking an experimental potion?" There was no malice to his words, indeed his tone was one I had heard him use when speaking with Minerva McGonagall on very rare occasions.
I maneuvered to look him in the face, meeting his eyes unflinchingly. "No. You were quite right. It was arrogant of me to assume you would want to live. It's your choice, and I won't take it from you."
Our eyes held for a very long time. I memorized the harsh planes of his face and almost counted the age lines around his eyes, before dropping my gaze to his surprisingly lush mouth which he kept pinched in a tight line most of the time.
"I—" he began to say, then stuttered to a halt.
I didn't attempt to fill the awkward moment. I simply waited for him to speak, to rip my good intentions to shreds and ask me to leave as he had wanted in the first place. This time I would go if he asked.
"I told you I never expected to survive the final conflict. When I did, I was already hopelessly addicted. I've spent the past five years looking for a cure. The last two have been a living nightmare, and I was very close to choosing a Draught of Peaceful Death before you so impetuously foisted yourself upon me."
My heart recognized his answer before my brain did, and I smiled at him.
To his credit, he attempted to smile back. It was a bit lopsided and a little sickly, but like him, it was rather endearing.
I shook off my bemusement. We still had a lot of work before us, and some of what was facing us would be very unpleasant for Snape. Before we began, however, I stuck my hand out toward him. "I'm Hermione Granger. I'm looking forward to working with you."
He pursed his lips. "You're such a Gryffindor." Nonetheless, he encased my hand in his. "Severus Snape. Now, get to work, Hermione."
With a grin on my face, I Summoned my bag. I would need to work out the calculations on the length of time he could safely wear the bracelets while we used the potion to recalibrate his genetic structure.
Four hours later, I was drawn from a complicated Arithmantic equation by the sound of sharp tapping. In unison, Snape's and my heads turned toward the window set between two cabinets.
Through the darkened glass, I could see an owl back-winging and waiting for entry. Snape waved his wand in a complicated arc, and the glass opened to allow ingress to a snowy white owl.
"Hedwig!"
Snape chuckled at my surprise, and resumed isolating active chemical ingredients in the juiced Mandrake rhizomes.
Hedwig landed on my raised forearm, her wings bating wildly to minimize the impact of her landing, but her claws broke through my skin. I bit my lip to keep from crying out in pain. She dropped the parchment she carried on the worktable and nipped gently at my hair in apology for hurting me.
I recognized Ron's writing on the scroll, and snuck a look at Snape. He was ostensibly establishing the age of the Mandrakes and paying me no attention. It had been exhilarating working with him for the past few hours, and I didn't want to jeopardize the tentative beginnings we seemed to have forged.
Hedwig hopped onto the worktable, careful not to disturb our work. She was the most considerate owl I had ever seen in the wizarding world, and I smoothed her pinfeathers in thanks.
Then, knowing I needed to see what Ron wanted, I unrolled the parchment. His note was brief:
Hermione:
I hope the information was helpful. How is Snape? If he needs anything… if you need anything, just let me know. I'm only an Apparition away.
Ron
Snape's wand touched my skin and I jumped.
"Those will fester if you don't take care of them. Not that I care."
"I'd hate to inconvenience you."
"Know-it-alls are such a bother."
We spoke as if he hadn't just healed each of the small puncture wounds in my forearm.
"Has Weasley discovered your whereabouts and is threatening my life?"
"You might be surprised," I said quietly, and handed him the letter.
He gave me an assessing look and then read what Ron had written. His expression didn't change, but I noticed his shoulders relax.
We didn't speak of it again.
Within an hour, the sun had set and our calculations were as precise as we could make them. The plan was as simple as destroying a Horcrux: Snape would remove the bracelets and drink the Polyjuice Potion. I would calibrate the H.I.P.S. to his genetically idealized state. Then we would wait for the Polyjuice Potion to wear off before replacing the bracelets. At that point, Snape would begin a course of treatment with the restorative Seven Percent Solution.
I was as nervous as when Ron, Harry and I had faced Voldemort that last time. I chewed my bottom lip until I tasted blood.
Organizing my lists chronologically, I spoke to the parchment. "You realize, Severus, that the maximum length of time I've worn the H.I.P.S. in disguise is a twelve hour period. I think I've managed to extend it by fifty percent."
After a minute, he replied, "I never thought I would be saying this to you, but I have a reasonable degree of confidence in your work."
I jerked my head up and my mouth dropped open. I'm sure it was most unbecoming. "You do?"
His eyes were alight with humor. "You'll catch flies with that mouth, Hermione."
I started to shove him with my shoulder, and froze in mid-action. It was something I would have done with Ron, but I'd never before considered Severus Snape as someone I could touch casually.
The look on his face told me he knew what I had almost done. The humor he so recently displayed was suddenly carefully hidden, and he faced me with that bland mask once more in place.
I felt like I had been hexed.
Gryffindor brashness was sometimes helpful in overcoming inadvertent blunders, so I leaned into him again. Only this time, I finished the motion, brushing my shoulder against his. It had the same effect on him that his compliment had had on me. He froze, his mouth almost gaping.
"You'll catch flies with that mouth, Severus."
He gave a short bark of laughter and I giggled.
It was nerves.
We stared at each other for a long, quiet moment, and then I scribbled a note to Ron telling him everything was fine and thanks for his offer.
Hedwig flew out the open window, and Snape cast the spell to replace the glass. Then he turned to me and his prematurely aged face was entirely serious.
It was time.
He grabbed the cup filled with lumpy Polyjuice Potion, and I followed him to his bedroom, carrying several items to ease his comfort when the H.I.P.S. were removed.
Neither of us spoke while we prepared.
When we were ready, Snape sat in one of the two armchairs we had transfigured after banishing the one I had conjured. It made for a crowded room, but he insisted.
Four minutes later, I cursed myself roundly while levitating his convulsing body to the bed. The change had been so rapid and so drastic I was unable to act quickly enough to prevent his falling to the floor.
How could I have forgotten the state I'd found him in? How could I have been so thoughtless?
I knew that the sooner he was stabilized the sooner I could get him to drink the Polyjuice. I fervently hoped he could keep it in his system long enough for it to take effect.
Snape curled into a fetal position atop the duvet.
I knelt on the floor next to his side of the bed, tenderly brushing stringy hair from his face. His body odor was stale and strong, and his harsh features seemed more gaunt than before.
His eyes were closed, and I assumed he was either sleeping or unconscious. I stood, but his claw-like hand grasped my wrist faster than a striking serpent. "Don't go."
"All right." I knelt on the floor at his bedside. It was hard and I wasn't terribly comfortable, but if Snape wanted me close by, then I wasn't going anywhere. I shifted until I was sitting cross-legged. He still hadn't let go of my wrist.
"All right? You'll stay? Do you promise?" he whispered, his voice raspy and hoarse.
"Of course I'll stay with you."
"Oh, Dryad!"
He pulled my hand to his mouth and kissed the palm. It was something he had done once before, only that time I had been bewildered. This time my heart clenched painfully. It wasn't me he was asking, it was his fantasy.
I closed my eyes, too, and couldn't prevent myself from cupping his cheek when he loosened his grip. He leaned into my caress, and I thought that if he died, I might never be the same again.
We remained in that position until his breathing evened out. I slid my hand from his face, but his fingers tightened around mine, and I opened my eyes to see him staring at me out of bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes. However, he appeared entirely lucid.
"Did you mean it?" he asked.
At my blank look, he rolled over on his back, turning his head away from me.
I rose from the floor and perched on the edge of his bed, my bum pressed against his hips.
He refused to look at me.
It took me a long, awkward silence to understand. "I thought you were talking to a hallucination. But I meant what I said. I won't leave."
"Even if I call you Dryad?" He still wouldn't look at me.
"Even if you call me Dunderhead. I'm not leaving you, Severus." I rose from the bed, and he grabbed my hand again. I looked into his white, pinched face, and forestalled whatever he was about to say. "I have to give you the Polyjuice now. I don't want to wait too long."
I plucked the small green bottle from the other things we had arranged, and when I handed it to him, neither of us said a word.
Without closing his eyes, he watched me as he swallowed the half-gill of the foul-tasting potion. He gagged, and dropped the empty bottle.
I caught it before it hit the floor, and grabbed the small basin I had prepared. Fortunately, he didn't need it.
His muscles began to ripple and his face crumpled in a rictus of discomfort, but within seconds, his hair shortened and thickened. The lines on his face filled in, and his body filled out; his hands had fewer scars on them. The changes were similar to when he had first donned the disguising bracelets, but this time the differences were more pronounced.
He gasped, and I sank onto the bed within arm's reach. His body continued to transform for an achingly long minute, but when it was complete, he blinked his thick-lashed, solid black eyes and looked at me. My breath caught in my throat, and his healthy masculine scent overrode the faint sickly undertones.
He looked exactly as he had in the wizarding photograph, but in the flesh, I found his form distinctly disturbing in an entirely feminine way.
Most people thought I had dated Viktor Krum because he was famous, but they were wrong. I dated Viktor because he was intelligent, competitive, and there was something about the way he looked that caused me to react viscerally. When the war was over, we had dated for a short time. He had spent the war years in America playing in their national Quidditch league with dozens of fawning groupies dancing to his every whim. I had spent those same years living hand-to-mouth, fighting a guerilla war on the front lines. I had killed people and held dying friends in my arms. He had broken a leg in a collision with a stadium pillar. We had grown too different to bridge the gap between us, but I hadn't stopped seeing him because he was no longer attractive to me.
The reason my thoughts had veered wildly off into this tangent was because Severus Snape, in his Polyjuiced thirty-year-old body, looked a great deal like Viktor Krum at twenty-eight. I felt as if I had been hit by a rogue Bludger.
"I'm still not as adorable as my mother believed."
"Perhaps not, but I'd argue that you're still a good man."
He rolled off the other side of the bed. His fluid movement was a far cry from the convulsing state he had been in not five minutes before, and I marveled at the changes. Shaking my head, I looked at the small clock on the bedside table. It was three in the morning. It would take me awhile to recalibrate the bracelets, and time was too precious to waste.
I moved to his side at the window.
He was looking out at the back garden and the mews beyond. Then he looked down at his arm… his left arm. The Dark Mark was quiescent, but still there. Snape brushed his right hand over it, and I touched his bicep cautiously. His eyes flew to mine and his hand covered the mark, as if to hide it from my sight.
"We don't have a lot of time, Severus. Please put the bracelets on."
He moved like someone lost in thought, and I supposed he was. Putting the bracelets on was far more difficult this time than the last. It seemed his hands had shrunk as his health deteriorated. Irritated by the impediment, he forced the second bracelet over his knuckles so roughly he removed skin.
Having my wand in hand, I healed the small abrasions.
His eyes flicked to mine, but I only said, "After the first time Hedwig landed on my bare skin, I learned to wear a long-sleeved shirt."
After his small cuts were healed, I levitated the companion armchair to face his, and taking his left forearm in hand, I set to work calibrating the bracelets to his thirty-year old body. The parchment with my calculations lay open on the small table holding our paraphernalia, but I didn't need to refer to it.
I knew what I was doing.
I flicked, swished, jabbed and looped over the precious metal bands which would help save Snape's life. We would know if I was successful in another – I checked the clock - twelve minutes.
If it didn't work, we could try again, but I didn't want to put Snape through the ordeal too many times.
The taste of copper in my mouth was unexpected, and I realized I had been biting my lip for some time. Finally, with two minutes to spare, I sat back in the armchair and closed my eyes.
"I knew it was you," he said again.
I opened one eye. "Sorry?"
"When I called you Dryad. When I asked if you'd stay. I couldn't get the right name out, but I knew it was you, Hermione."
My throat was tight. "My answer is still the same, Severus. I'm not going to leave."
He smiled then, and it was the smile a man gives a woman he finds appealing. I felt like I had swallowed a Flutterby bush whole.
We stared at one another, and his hair began to grow.
The Polyjuice had begun to wear off.
I sat up straight. "Do you want to get on the bed?"
"No." The smile was gone, and his expression was as grim as it had been in the final battle between Harry and Voldemort.
"Please." I was almost begging.
"No."
"Do you know how much I dislike having to Mobilicorpus you when you have a seizure? While I'm moving you, I can't help you. I hate that!"
His expression was unreadable, but he rose from the chair and lay upon the bed. His face was growing thinner and his eyes were becoming red-rimmed again. I stepped to his side and took one of his hands in mine. I could feel the muscles rippling beneath my fingers, but his grip was like Devil's Snare.
His scent altered from healthy male to the sickly sour odor I now recognized.
The first convulsion caught me by surprise.
He hadn't changed fully back into his present-day self yet. His eyes snapped to mine, and for the first time I saw that he was afraid.
The idea he might be dying now, before I could save him, terrified me. I climbed on the bed to hold his flailing body. This was the worst seizure yet, and he clouted me in the eye. The pain was insignificant to the fact he might really be dying.
His body heaved one last time and he lay still - perfectly still.
I couldn't hear his breath and I couldn't see his chest rising. "No!" I cried, and clutched him tightly.
How he had come to mean so much to me, so quickly, I wasn't sure, but his life mattered. So much it was almost overpowering.
At that moment of realization, I felt his chest rise.
He was alive.
He was unconscious.
It didn't matter to the H.I.P.S. I pulled his hands toward me, one after the other, and dialed the copper and platinum rings to the correct positions. Then I retrieved my wand and climbed back onto the bed, pulling him across my lap and tenderly raking his greasy hair off his face. If he lived to be a hundred, I knew what he would look like on his death bed.
I swished and jabbed, and said, "Severus Superior."
I waited. When his body began to revert to his younger physique I almost sobbed.
Within moments, his body had fully morphed.
I knew he would have to go through this transformation again, but as the Seven Percent Solution took effect, I hoped this would be the worst.
His slightly ragged breathing grew regular and deep. Snape needed every bit of healthy rest he could get, and I knew I should get off the bed, but I couldn't bring myself to release him.
An hour had passed, and it was four in the morning. I leaned my head against the aged, brass headboard, and breathed in Snape's healthy masculine scent.
When I was just on the edge of sleep, he moved, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me closer to him. I assumed he was asleep, and I rubbed soothing circles on his back while shifting to a more comfortable position.
The clock on the bedside table read five-fifteen. I had been in his home for twenty-four hours. I almost laughed when an old Muggle television jingle ran through my head. What a difference a day makes.
I felt him speak before I heard him; the rumbling in his chest set off an answering vibration in mine.
"Why did you come?"
"I wanted to help you."
"I've needed help for a long time, Hermione. Why now?"
I was quiet for a few minutes, organizing my thoughts. "I don't think I can say this without offending you." He shifted, trying to pull away but I tightened my hold. "This is what I was afraid of. Please just hear me out, Severus."
He desisted, but his body was rigid, and he unwrapped his arms from around me.
I felt bereft without them, but I doggedly continued. "When I recognized you the other day at Pennyweight's, I was shocked by how ill you looked. It's not as if we've ever been friends before, but—"
"You say it like we're friends now."
I could hear the sneer in his voice, but I understood him better. "Aren't we?" I asked softly.
When he didn't respond, I continued. "I needed to find out what had happened to you. I'd heard nothing about you after the trials, and truthfully, I hadn't given it much thought. I was too busy recovering from my injuries and coping with my parents' and Harry's deaths. I found work I liked and have pretty much immersed myself in it since then. But when I saw you - I couldn't not find you. Do you understand?"
"It was guilt and pity."
His body was stiff and unyielding, and I knew that I had hurt him. Still, I wouldn't cheapen our nascent friendship with a lie. "Perhaps to begin with, but that didn't last very long at all. You're demanding and irascible, and I have thoroughly enjoyed working with you today. It's like you're another Unfathomable. Oh, fuck!"
"What the hell is an Unfathomable?"
"Er… I can't tell you or else I'll have to Obliviate you."
He snorted, and I felt some of the tension ease from his body. "You're already so far over the boundaries of acceptable behavior I don't think telling me what an Unfathomable is will matter very much."
I blushed. He was right… again. It was an annoying habit of his. "I'll tell you after you take the Seven Percent Solution and we get some sleep. I've been awake pretty much since I saw you the other day."
He stiffened again and I let him pull away.
He rose from the bed, walking with innate grace – so unlike Viktor's duck-like walk - to the small table where we had placed the things we would need. After measuring his first dose of the Solution, Snape drank it immediately.
I hadn't moved from the middle of his bed. The lines of our relationship were so blurred I decided to ignore them altogether. We would make our own boundaries.
He turned, eyed my position, and glowered at me, obviously expecting it to cause me to scramble off the bed.
In the almost dawn, I thought the play of light and dark on his face was captivating and illuminating at the same time. "I haven't lied to you, Severus. You know I no longer pity you, and if you don't believe that, I give you permission to use Legilimency." His breath whistled through his teeth at my offer, but I wasn't finished. "I'm not leaving, even if you call me Dryad."
I merely raised an eyebrow at him, as he came to the side of the bed. For the first time, he seemed to notice how different his bedding was.
"Slytherin green?"
"It didn't clash with the wallpaper, and I didn't really think you were a pink flower type of man."
"Bloody right."
He towered over me a bit longer, then I opened my arms. Wordlessly, he accepted the invitation, and we settled back into our former position. I was keenly aware of him; his fit, masculine form pressed against me. It was wonderful.
"You do realize," he said into my neck, blowing at an annoying curl that seemed to tickle his nose, "it will take some time before we know whether this course of treatment will be successful."
"True. But you're brilliant and I'm stubborn, so I have a good feeling about this." He chuckled and I thrilled at the sound. "As for the length of time it will take," I said, "I'll just have to take a holiday."
"From the Unfathomables?"
"Quit fishing. I'll tell you after you get some sleep. And, yes, from the Unfathomables."
"It'll be twenty-eight days at a minimum."
"It might even take fifty-six." I ran my hand between his shoulder blades. He had a strong back, and I could feel the muscle definition under my fingers. "Maybe a leave of absence would be better."
He was silent, but he relaxed even more, and his arms gathered me close.
I murmured, "You do realize what it means if this works, don't you?"
"You'll be a rich woman."
His breath puffed along my collarbone, and I dropped my head back against the headboard. My eyes were closed, and I felt lassitude stealing along my limbs. I was exhausted, but I felt more optimistic than at any point since the moment I had almost fallen into him at Pennyweight's Apothecary.
"We will be rich, Severus, but that's beside the point. We might have found a cure for lycanthropy and possibly even cancer… or the long-term effects of spell damage."
"Only if an adult witch or wizard has a devoted mother. But there are many practical and ethical considerations to mull over."
"To debate, you mean."
"As you wish, Dryad."
At his use of the name, I sat up, suddenly fearful he had a relapsed or I had miscalculated my adjustments on the H.I.P.S.
He grumbled at being dislodged and gave me an accusatory look.
The light from a rainy morning began to lighten the room, and I looked him right in the eyes.
Understanding crossed his face, and his mouth softened. "I know where I am, and who you are, Hermione." When I breathed a sigh of relief, he rolled onto his side, facing me. "Go to sleep."
"All right." I settled onto my side of the bed, but it didn't feel right. I turned toward him. "I'll need to brew more Seven Percent Solution tomorrow. May I use your lab instead of the kitchen?"
His eyes were inscrutable. "You may."
"Thank you."
Our awareness of one another shifted once more. I slid closer to him, but then sat up, propping pillows behind me before settling in a semi-recumbent position. I gave him an expectant look, and his cheeks flushed. They matched the color of mine.
Snape said not a single word as he maneuvered himself into my arms, but it seemed just right somehow.
"Thank you for letting me help save your life, Severus."
He snuggled closer, his face resting against my breasts. I was becoming used to the sound of his breathing patterns, and it sounded as if he was on the verge of sleep.
Still, he replied, "Thank you for saving my life, Hermione."
As daylight crept through the windows of the old house, bringing hope of another day, I bent and kissed the crown of his head.
"I would do it again in a heartbeat."
~o0o~
Fin