Jehane Desrosiers

Albia grizzled as we walked down the corridor to the Infirmary, her stubby trainers tapping rapidly on the flagstones.

“My tummy hurts, my tummy hurts,” she whined.

“Are you sure you didn’t eat Salazar’s ferrets yesterday?” I said, trying to tease her into a better mood.

“NO, Mummy, I DIDN’T,” she yelled angrily.

“Poppy, I need a stomach remedy,” I said, coming around the door. “Oh. Hello, Severus. What are you doing here?”

He was sitting on Pomfrey’s desk. I seemed to be interrupting a moment of some intensity, as they took a few seconds to look away from each other.

Poppy glanced at me for a moment, reading my face.

“Well, Professor Snape, why don’t I get on the Floo and see what I can find for you?” she said. “Come on, Precious, I have a special drink for you.” She took Albia’s hand and bustled out of the room. It was an invitation for us to talk.

“What is it?” I asked. His hand lingered on the side of his neck.

“It’s -- a lump of some kind.”

“Oh gods! Let me see.” It was large, just below the curve of his jaw. As I brought my fingertips to it I was uncomfortably aware of how much time had passed since I had touched Severus’ skin.

“How long have you had this?’

He looked out the window. “I’m afraid I don’t know. I noticed it yesterday.”

“What does Poppy say?”

“I need to go to St. Mungo’s for tests.”

“Tests! She doesn’t know what it is?”

Severus’ mouth was set in a grim line. “She thinks it’s a tumor, probably located in the salivary gland. An infection would be inflamed, naturally, and a cyst would have well defined boundaries. She’s making a tentative diagnosis, of course. Hardly the sort of thing that comes up from a Quidditch foul or too many late nights in the common room.”

He still avoided my eyes. I put my arms around him. He sat stiffly on the edge of the desk, unyielding in my embrace.

“Sweetheart, we’ll get through this. We don’t even know that it’s bad news.”

“Well,” he said dryly. “One of us will, in any case.”

Hurt, I remained quiet on the walk back to the house. Severus carried Albia, who prattled on and didn’t seem to notice that we were not listening. It was late afternoon and the excited voices in the yard seemed far off.

“I want to go with you to St. Mungo’s,” I said. “For the tests.”

“It’s not necessary. I’m sure you’ll want to keep up with your classes, and Poppy wishes me to go as soon as possible.”

“But I want to go,” I said.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and this time there was a tinge of regret. “It’s better if I go alone. I’ll come straight back and tell you.” He was holding me off and I had no reply.

He went next day, while Minerva assumed his duties. I was glad to to keep my mind occupied with teaching, and after classes I involved Albia in making a zoo for her stuffed animals in the sitting room. I felt restrained from talking about Severus, but it was difficult to wait without confiding in anyone.

He didn’t appear by dinnertime. I went to the Great Hall and pushed some food around my plate. Hagrid caught up with us in the corridor, swooping Albia up with a growl that made her squeal delightedly.

“Ooo, I’d like teh eat yeh righ’ up.” He rubbed his whiskers against her belly.

“No! No!” she shrieked, turning in his arms. “Hagrid, I will eat YOU! I hab a big ‘tomach.”

“Aw, now yeh’ve scairt me. I’m beggin yeh, Ma’m, please don’ eat me up.” Albia grinned triumphantly. Hagrid turned to me. “Where’s the Perfessor tehnight?” he asked.

“Gone to London,” I said in a low voice. He looked at me curiously, but something in my voice told him not to pursue it.

“Yeh look dead beat, Jehane. How ‘bout if I come tuck ‘er in?”

“Yes! I want Hagrid to tuck me in. Pwease! You can see my animals, Hagrid. But you can’t see Moopy ‘cause she hab a hole and Mummy is waiting to sew her.” Albia piped on, riding happily on Hagrid’s forearm like a falcon, both hands clenched in his beard. I rarely had Hagrid visit us because he looked so uncomfortable with his head bent against the ceiling, but I spent a good deal of time with him at his hut. I was glad of his offer tonight.

“Okay, Albia,” I said, careful not to sound as if I were glad to pass the privilege on. “Just for tonight, Hagrid can tuck you in.”

I was standing in the doorway when Severus came up the walk, striding briskly, head down, as he did when alone. I came out to meet him, shivering a bit in the cold. A brief kiss -- he smelt of whiskey and his face was icy.

“Hagrid’s putting Snow White to bed,” I said, warning him that we were not alone. “Did you stop at The Broomsticks?”

“No, at a Muggle pub near the hospital.”

“Oh.” I read this as a bad sign, but refrained from asking more questions. Instead I took his hands from underneath his cloak and held them in mine. “Your hands are cold. Come in and I’ll make you some tea.” He gave me a curt nod.

He sat at the kitchen table, still in his cloak, hugging himself. I watched him sideways, as I conjured hot water and made the tea. When he relaxed his jaw, his teeth chattered.

“Severus, did you walk from Hogsmeade?”

“I took a walk on the moors.”

“Without a Warming Spell?”

“I wanted to feel it.”

“The cold?

“Yes.” He gazed bitterly at the table. My stomach did a slow turn.

The stairs creaked as Hagrid came down. He stood for a moment in the doorway, looking from one to the other, then crossed the kitchen in one stride and held out his hand to Severus, who tried to ignore him. Hagrid held his ground until Severus reluctantly untucked and offered his own.

It was more of a warm squeeze than a handshake, Severus’ long, chilly fingers dwarfed in the large paw as Hagrid studied him solemnly. Finally Severus looked up, a flash of distress and consolation passing between them. Hagrid placed his other hand on Severus’ and held it a moment more.

“Well, yeh know where teh find me if yeh need me, Perfessor,” he said. “I’ll just be goin’ along now.”

“Thank you. And good night,” he said stiffly.

Hagrid pulled the front door closed behind him. The house seemed very quiet.

“The news,” I said. He stared at the table top again. There was a pause.

“As I suspected, it was a cancer.” He turned his head and stretched his neck to reveal a strange, smooth expanse of skin, slightly pink, where the lump had been. “They removed it with Abscido. Healer Caduceus will follow the case. He’s the top man; I couldn’t ask for a better. It has metastasized . He wants to treat me with Celldeath potions.” The bland, factual way he spoke took my breath away and I had to jump up to pour the tea, which I served with shaking hands.

I took a bar of dark chocolate from the cupboard, breaking off four squares and placing them on a little plate in front of him. He touched it lightly with his fingertips and made a small noise in the back of his throat. Then silence.

“When do you start the treatment?”

“Not.”

“Not? What do you mean?”

“I’ll not drink any commercial healing potions. I’ll brew my own.”

“But you’re not a Healer. You need to be able to track the progress.”

“I’ll see Caduceus. But I’ll brew my own potions.”

So. I saw how it would go, and I wouldn’t argue. Despite the risk I was glad that he could do it for himself; it would be so much worse, for him, to be in others’ hands.

“All right. But will you see him as much as he asks?”

“I will.”

“Side effects?”

“I haven’t done the research but I believe,” he glanced at me grimly. “I will be as sick as a very sick dog by the time it’s halfway through.”

“And then you will be better.”

“Yes.”

“Because you are a brilliant Potions scholar and a powerful wizard.”

“Of course.”

“And because your wife and daughter love you and hold you here on Earth.”

He gasped and dropped his face into his hands.

“Don’t, Jehane,” he said brokenly. “I can’t. Don’t.” He rose and turned with a swirl of his cloak, leaving so quickly I hadn’t time to speak. I sat at the table with the cooling cups of tea and uneaten chocolate.