Disclaimer: This is all for fun, I do not claim ownership of the characters or anything recognized from the work of JK Rowling. I am only borrowing them.
Warning: Mature themes, subject to change: mild violence, scenes of a sexual nature as well as general innuendo smattered throughout, adult themes including but not limited to death and disease both mental and physical.
[A/N] A special thank you goes out to bubblecloudz who has been a steady presence since I first posted this fic and has asked some great leading questions that help me as a beta-less author. Also, I should have mentioned this earlier but Capitis Nausea Fugalrix is a loosely formed Latin phrase that means Headache Nausea Banisher. It is often used as a targeted hangover cure.
References: Assam smoked oolong is a tea grown in India that is smoke treated and is described to have a bolder flavor. When I was researching teas this one jumped out at me as one Severus would enjoy.
Wednesday July 20th, 2005 | 12:26 pm | St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
Severus snapped open the Daily Prophet he had nicked from a sleeping wizard while walking through the lobby of St. Mungo's. Leaning against the west wall of the hospital, he sipped from the thermos of tea he nearly always kept on his person. His brews were always better than purchased swill and that certainly extended to a mug of Assam smoked oolong.
He wished he could allow his gaze to skim over the drivel in this rag but years eking out every clue he could for the defeat of the Dark Lord had made that a near impossible task. Subjected to another article about the newest book being released in the ridiculous series of memoirs written by Rita Skeeter, Severus folded the Prophet up neatly with a sneer on his face. After shoving it into his coat pocket he drained his mug of oolong to free up his hand to light a cigarette. Just as he was raising his hand to light it with an incendio, he heard the tread of hard-soled dress shoes sauntering down the alleyway towards him. He smoothly held out his left hand where the cigarette dangled from his delicately shaped middle and pointer fingers to offer it to Draco as he joined him in leaning against the brick wall of the hospital.
"The patent is finally filed," Draco said, taking the proffered smoke and lighting it swiftly. He took a deep drag then blew the smoke out through his nose a few times, a habit that made him appear like his namesake, before continuing. "They didn't like the addendum, but we expected that. We were right to not manipulate the compensation figures. That buttered them up enough to allow the cost of this new batch."
"There's no point in increasing the royalty percentage if the overall payout will increase from the base income."
"Exactly. We're closer to releasing this internationally as well, now that that nonsense is completed. Did you come across anything that needs our immediate attention in those equations?"
Severus shook his head and tucked his hair behind his ears. Looking above him he squinted into the summer sky, a frustrated frown on his face. "Nothing we did not anticipate, Draco."
Standing in silence, they finished their first cigarette and wordlessly decided on a second. Both men had barely left the laboratory in the last two days. The most recent success with DMB 5.0, which spurred the need to patent that strain, had shown significant holes in their research. The issues in working through a question you've been chasing are the other questions that are borne of the answers. There was still so much work to be done, so many factors to work into the potion. Severus forcefully Vanished the butt left behind by his cigarette and reached for the pack in his breast pocket. Draco's hand on his arm stilled him and he forced himself not to pull away from his touch immediately, fixing him with a withering look.
"Let's get something to eat, yeah? We can't cure anyone if we expire from hunger."
He was really starting to wonder when his poisonous glares had stopped working on his godson.
"I know you won't like my suggesting this," Draco began after they had placed their order. The tea shop on the west end of the hospital was Muggle but it had the best croissants and vegetable soup and was open all day and night. "We can't expect the equations to turn out more than expected answers if we don't input any new information, and it's not that we have a lack of that at our fingertips."
Severus's frustrated frown, if possible, turned down even further. "Your observations are astute as ever," he said sourly. "I'd rather not open that bag of pixies; those hacks in Theory have done enough damage as it is to the work. How they ever let Finnegan into that division is beyond me."
With an expression of distaste which had nothing to do with his green tea Draco countered, "I value our work, Severus, I'd rather not see it all torched in an afternoon. My ulcer just healed, for Merlin's sake! I was suggesting hiring a freelancer."
"And allow someone to sweep in and steal our credibility? No."
Draco huffed indignantly and made to retort but at that moment their lunch arrived. With a smile that was deceptively cheerful he thanked the waitress and requested another pot of green tea for the table. Draco made no move to tuck in as Severus began to rip his baguette into pieces to dip into his soup, forming a steeple with his fingers above his own bowl and fixing his dark haired companion with a sharp glare.
"Severus Snape you will listen to me. This is not a matter of pride that you can peacock over. We are stuck on how to cure these last few patients that have not responded fully to any strain we have been able to concoct. It's preposterous to refuse help, though I know you've had enough practice with that, especially when you have not even allowed me to suggest who I had in mind for this."
The only indication that Severus had indeed been listening to every word was that he continued to rip the baguette piece in his hand until it was nothing more than crumbs on the plate next to his bowl. He looked up to match Draco's unflinching glare and let his godson feel the chill of Occlumency within his eyes and vacant expression. Hitting a nerve in public was a tactic that he had taught Draco during his formative Slytherin years and later perfected within the Death Eater ranks and Severus was exceedingly annoyed that it was being used against him. At least, he would be annoyed if he weren't forcing every negative emotion down with the weight of granite Occlumency walls. If Draco felt it was the appropriate approach to verbally accost him in a Muggle setting, then he would make Draco squirm and not give him the satisfaction of asking him who he had deigned suitable to assist them. It had been many years since he was under the thumb of Dumbledore and the Dark Lord and he would be damned to go back to that posturing way of life. If someone wanted something of him, they would need to employ more direct tactics.
"There aren't many independent research firms anymore," Draco continued. He let his hands fall to the table on either side of his bowl and Severus saw his wand hand twitch on the edge of his peripheral vision but Draco did not arm himself. So, his glares still held some weight with his godson after all. "Most of them are on the continent or in the Americas, and neither of those would fit our needs. I began looking for someone after the disaster 3.2 left us, and I will insist that she be allowed to begin working with us immediately."
"It's Granger, isn't it?" Severus let the weight of his stare leave Draco's, even if he had to miss the blustering expression on his face at stealing his thunder.
Not quite recovered from having the wind taken out of his sails, Draco nodded and only then began to tuck into his food. "She works for Orphus & Gamble, one of the select firms whose research goes to Derwent Designs."
"I've heard of Orphus, but who was Gamble?"
"Gamble was the last heir of his family of purebloods in Ireland but they left the country for the shame of having a squib for a son. Brilliant man, it's a shame, really. If he had been a full wizard there's no telling what he would have accomplished."
Severus shot him a sharp look. Draco was treading dangerous waters despite the fact that they were in Muggle London. Anyone could overhear their conversation. "You forget yourself, Draco."
With a distracted wave of his hand and a huff of laughter, Draco said, "You misunderstand me, Severus. Gamble's work was unprecedented; he nearly singlehandedly reshaped both the Muggle and wizarding world's knowledge on chemicals and was the cause for many of the laws you and I need to jump through every day when it comes to treating the Muggles that come through St. Mungo's. Orphus was as much a wizard as anyone could be but the only reason his name is first was to gain the trust of our world."
"His heritage should not be…referenced…in open conversation." Severus's tone was one of boredom but Draco caught the warning easily.
"So you'll agree to her then?"
Wiping his mouth with the paper napkin that had wrapped his silverware when they had first sat down, Severus merely nodded. "I have no reason to object."
Draco narrowed his eyes. "You're making this too easy for me. What aren't you telling me?"
After muttering something that Draco thought sounded astoundingly like 'some Slytherin you are' Severus reached into one of his never-ending jacket pockets to pull out a sheaf of parchment bound in a plastic Muggle binder. The blue binding and embossed silver emblem were very familiar to Draco: it was the caduceus manipulated so the snakes formed an intricate 'O' and 'G' near the staff.
"I've already hired her."
Wednesday July 20th, 2005 | 4:37 am | Surrey, 19 Aster Way House
The minutes that passed between the night and the dawn were peaceful. It wasn't late enough where the insects began to hum like so much white noise in the background and early risers were still inside sipping their coffee before beginning their day. No cars were running, no doors were slamming, no dogs were barking, no children were playing outside, and the light of the waxing moon gave a faint ethereal glow to the gardens in Surrey. Just a few birds sang in the distance where the neighborhood park was, about three blocks from 19 Aster Way.
It was absolutely unnerving.
Hermione stood in her back yard in her pajamas and bare feet with her eyes glued shut and her whole body trembling. She rhythmically clenched and unclenched her toes, eventually digging down beneath the dewy grass into fresh topsoil. Her hands moved in time with her toes. Though the night was comfortably warm, it promised that once the sun came up to burn away the last of the fog that another day of stifling humidity would begin. Despite this she had beads of a cold sweat rolling down her temples and her lower back. Hermione sucked in air through her nose, like she had just broken the surface of a lake after holding her breath too long, and let the breath out through her mouth with shaking lips.
Her arm was burning like a hot brand was pressed to her skin. It was as bad as the night she had gotten it. This was the third day since it had started hurting but what was previously a dull and distracting ache was now an inferno. The only thing keeping her from performing a swift Diffindo on her own forearm was the fact that that action would not dull the pain, only spread it to the rest of her body. She had read the report of what Marcus Flint had done after cutting off his own left arm once he was not able to stand it any longer; his mother had wept over a closed casket.
Anyone standing close enough to her could hear between great gulping breaths of night air a chant of, "Don't fight it, breathe in, don't fight it, breathe out, don't fight it, breathe in…"
Wednesday July 20th, 2005 | 6:57 am | Surrey, 19 Aster Way House
The comfort of her bed beneath her and the weight of her blanket wrapped snugly around her were incredibly disorienting. She had to force her eyes that were crusty from sleep to open as she took in her surroundings. In the back of her mind she cataloged that she was still dressed in the pajamas she had gone to bed in, though her cold sweat had been dried from them, and the familiar weight of heavy gauze wrappings was around her left forearm.
A quiet tinkle of china from her kitchen put her on instant high alert. After a second or two struggling out of her sheets she grabbed her wand out from the holster she wore constantly on her right arm and landed soundlessly onto her carpeted bedroom floor. Scanning her room quickly she saw nothing was out of place except her bed was neatly made, apart from where she had crawled out of it. She never made her bed and it was done too perfectly to have been done without magic.
The sound of the refrigerator door opening and closing pulled her further out of the room and down the hallway. She silently held out her palm and waited for the hair elastic she had summoned to land there. Deftly piling her sleep-mussed curls in a top knot, Hermione held her breath and took the last few steps where hard wood met linoleum.
"Expelliarmus!"
"Protego!"
The force of the magic and the energy it took for her to perform it knocked Hermione to her knees. She had tried to catch herself with her right hand and bit her lip to stifle a cry of pain when one of the small bones of her pinkie took the brunt of her weight and cracked. With her eyes blurred by tears that were forced from the pain and the effort she was making to subdue it, she didn't immediately recognize the tall figure standing over her in her own kitchen with a wand trained on her. After he stepped closer to her and lowered his wand, she finally placed the voice to the face and a name.
"Snape? What is the meaning of this?" she hissed, cradling her injured hand.
Without a word, Snape slowly reached his hand out to her and took her right wrist into his palm. His fingers very gently probed at the blossoming bruise around her palm and the back of her hand where she had smashed it into the counter and then caught her weight with it.
"What have you taken in the last twelve hours?" he asked. His voice did not lack the cynical bite she was used to and hadn't heard in several years but he seemed on autopilot as he helped her stand up, still gingerly holding her right hand.
"Tea, CNF, Pain Reliever, and Jacob Hastings' terrible excuse for cucumber sandwiches," Hermione responded.
She hissed in pain again as his touch became firmer around her injured finger but his wand was in his other hand and he was chanting a low level healing spell over it, so she didn't pull away. The bruising appeared to be siphoned away by the tip of his wand and slowly the pain faded. Snape's hand dropped to his side and she tested his work, offering him a very small smile once it was apparent her hand held no traces of their brief duel.
"The Pain Reliever would explain the excessive bruising then," mumbled Snape. He turned and went back to what had woken her in the first place; he was putting together a light tea tray and had been about to select the leaves for Earl Grey when she had cast at him.
"I don't know about you but I don't take milk or sugar in my Earl Grey," said Hermione as she slowly made her way to one of the stools at her island counter.
Snape shook his head. "Neither do I. Toast?" Hermione paled and shook her head in the negative which made him narrow his eyes slightly. It appeared as though he was holding his counsel against his better judgment but simply said, "Then just tea."
Hermione watched him turn away and place the kettle on her gas stove. After fiddling with the dial to make the pilot light start the fire beneath it, he waited for it to warm with his back turned to her. She watched in fascination since she had never seen another wizard make tea the way she did, the way her Muggle parents had taught her, except for Harry. Harry had also been raised by Muggles so it stood to reason that he would still perform some tasks the way he did for the first decade of his life.
Only once a warm mug of Earl Grey was pressed between her interlocked fingertips did either speak again.
"It's getting worse, isn't it?"
The question hung in the air like the shroud covering the Veil Sirius Black had passed through a decade ago. Hermione finished half of her tea before meeting her former Potions professor's eyes. A chill that was not her home's Cooling charm passed through the air as the two Occlumens met each others' blank faces.
"Do you remember what happened to Marcus Flint?" she asked him, her voice the epitome of neutrality behind the sand dunes she used to create her Occlumency walls.
Snape nodded solemnly, finishing his cup of tea. Once their gaze was no longer on each other the cold of Occlumency was lifted from the room. "Vividly. Lucius nearly met the same fate."
The rays of the sun had slowly moved from behind her garden wall to peeking over the hedge. The warm glow was the exact opposite of the pale moonlight she had been bathed in only hours before. Had it really only been hours? She unconsciously tensed her left hand where she gripped the edge of her marble counter top.
"How often is this happening, Hermione?"
The softness and genuine concern in his tone startled her out of her reverie. The rays of the morning sun shone through the window fully now and blinded her as she tried to look at her guest.
"You're not my healer," she snapped back automatically. Even she was taken aback at how sharp her tone was but she felt no remorse over it. The rage from that botched intervention was like a muted ember in the pit of her stomach.
Unlike Draco a week ago, Snape did not hold back from scanning her face and what he could see of her body with a clinician's eye, an ominous frown pulling down the edges of his mouth in disapproval. "I helped to invent and brew the potion you're treated with, insolent girl. Now answer the question."
Hermione felt her temper fraying. The pain of the last few days mixed with the strain of work and recovering from DMB 4.6 left little room for patience. "Or what, you'll take away house points?"
"Damn it, Granger!" Snape smashed his empty teacup down to the shiny linoleum floor where it shattered beyond Reparo. His breathing was steady but she could hear the deep breaths as he sucked them in through his large nose. She had not outwardly reacted to his outburst other than her white knuckled grip on her countertop getting stronger.
"I came here this morning to proposition you for a work opportunity at half past six. Draco told me that you normally reported into the Ministry with reports before seven in the morning on Mondays and Wednesdays so I wanted to catch you before you left. However, when I arrived, I found you face down in your back garden wearing sweat soaked pajamas and nail marks down your left forearm over your mark. You were completely unresponsive despite my Ennervate but diagnostic spells only displayed extreme magical and physical fatigue, apart from the runes we routinely ignore. It is getting worse, Granger, but if you won't let me help you then I will take my leave."
His dragon hide boots pulverized a few pieces of the teacup beneath them as he stood to loom over her. A flash of memory transposed itself over this image of the same man peering ominously down at her potion in class. The hair was too short and the clothes weren't right and there was definitely a distinct difference to the state of his neck but it was still the same man that had instilled fear into most of the students he taught that demanded order and compliance. It was the first time she had noticed he was not wearing robes but a dark grey sweater over a button up top and dark trousers; it was all definitely Muggle-made.
"What do you want from me?" she asked in a small voice. The deep purple smudges below her eyes betrayed her exhaustion but her spine was still straight and stiff as she faced Snape.
"I want you to work with me to cure you."
She raised an eyebrow, not mockingly but with genuine curiosity. "I'm not allowed to freelance without prior permission from my supervisor."
A dismissive wave. "Taken care of already. I have the binder here if you wish to begin today. You have been granted three months leave during your term with me, given that I compensate the company fifteen percent of what you earn while doing so."
"They conceded for fifteen percent? Freelancers never give up less than forty for potential disbursement of intellectual property."
Snape almost smiled; it was a wicked grin that teased the corners of his mouth. Hermione poured herself another cup of tea after summoning another one from the cupboard for Snape. "They will receive fifteen percent and appreciate it so much they would be happy to allow you another month's leave without compensation back to the company if it meant they could get you back at all."
"Tall promises," said Hermione over her mug. "And what would you have me do?"
"Alchemy. Arithmancy. Brewing. And your name on our academic proposal once this goes international." Snape paused to take another drink of his tea. He glanced at her apologetically as he vanished the mess he made on her floor. "But the real goal is to heal the subjects who have not responded to any strain of the Dark Magic Banisher yet, but we can't let this go internationally until we find out why. Are you in?"
Hermione considered it for a moment, holding her hand up to her eyes so she could look at his face without the sun shining into them. Cocking her head to the side she met his intense gaze ounce for ounce. Slowly, she began nodding her head. The first real smile she had had in days turned up the corners of her mouth.
"I'm in."