Wedded
When he slid into bed late that night, I woke just enough to catch the cold leaf-mould scent of the Forbidden Forest on his skin. Then he rolled over and turned his back.
The morning was too busy for any discussion. “I’ll be going to London this afternoon after classes,” he said as I poured Albia’s cereal. “I need some books from the medical library. I’ll miss dinner. I shall return by eight or nine.”
This time I didn’t ask to accompany him but brought the coffee pot to the table, softly dropping my hand on his neck as I did. He stiffened for a moment as I refilled his cup, staring at the newspaper in front of him.
“Thank you,” he said. “Jehane.”
Pierce was at the door, reporting for his usual Wednesday morning babysitting assignment. “Anyone home?”
“Come in, Pierce,” I called, then turned to Severus. “I’ll be here when you get back.”
“All right. I’ll see you then.”
I watched him down the front walk -- his long, impatient stride, grim expression, loose hair tugged by the winds of early March. The mysterious hitch in my feelings for him had gone in an instant, ignited like tissue paper in the white flame of danger. We had made each other’s lives and I would not let our work be undone.
That night waiting for his return I fell asleep by Albia’s bed, storybook in hand. I woke to the pain in my tailbone and the coldness of the floor. I stumbled downstairs to the living room. I must have heard the door close in my sleep, for Severus, in his winter cloak, was just setting a stack of books on the credenza.
“That’s a lot of books,” I said.
“It’s only the first round,” he said shortly.
“I’ll make some tea, then.”
“No, no, not necessary. Why don’t you go on to bed? It’s late.”
“I’m not asking your permission. Will you have some Earl Gray?” He glanced at me with a strange expression.
“Yes, please.”
I brought it to him with a square of dark chocolate. This time he took it and broke off a piece. I set my mug on the coffee table and carried the books over to join it -- Celldeath Potions in Oncology, by Asclepius Caduceus, M.H.; Medical Potions Brewing, by Flavia Hedgewitch and Harrison Hops; Characterological Adjustments in Potions Oncology, by Penelope Tincture, M.H. , et al. and Journal of the British Healers Association, Vol. 491.
“Which are you reading first? I’ll take another.”
“The Caduceus, for an overview,” he said evenly. He was trying to figure me out. I knew there was no hope of catching up my Potions adequately to provide any bright ideas, but I might recover enough to understand when he began thinking out loud. At the very least, I’d sit here tonight and companion him and that, of course, was the motivation he’d fail to recognize.
“I’ll read Tincture et al.” I settled myself on the couch and sipped my tea.
“They are twins, you know.”
“Who?”
“Penelope and Persephone Tincture. The first is a Healer and her sister is a Potions scholar. We interviewed her year before last for Potions Mistress.”
“I remember. I suppose I assumed it was the same person. Silly.”
“Brilliant woman,” he said, settling on the other end of the couch. “A shame we couldn’t get her.”
“And why not?”
“We’re too isolated. She’s a very fine scholar and wanted a livelier academic environment. She went on to Salem.”
I pondered. It was Severus, really, who should have gone on to Salem. One giant mistake, one mischosen alliance, had distorted the course of his life completely. He would never, at least in his attainments, be all that he could have.
“A shame for you, especially,” I said. She would have been a wonderful intellectual partner for him.
I kicked the footstool over between us and crossed my feet on it. He unlaced his boots in silence and sat back, his feet joining mine. He was quiet for so long, looking at the fire, that I opened my book. Some sparks flew up the chimney.
“I’ve had compensations,” he said evenly.
I waited a bit. I touched his toe with mine. This was as far as he would go unless I invited him further.
“Severus,” I said. “Before you found the lump -- that was a bad time we were having. I didn’t know what to do. But let’s not go on that way.”
“Don’t feel you need to stop just because I have cancer,” he said.
“That is unfair.”
“If you have something that’s working for you --”
“I’m asking you to come back,” I said sharply. “If there’s something else I can do, tell me.”
“I’m sorry,” he sighed. “That was unfair.”
“Can you talk about it?”
“No.”
“Is there someone else?”
“Gods, Jehane, no, of course not. How could you think that?”
“Then why won’t you come back?”
“Do you really want me, with all this?” he said bitterly. “I’m not much of a bargain now.”
“Come back. I really want you.”
“I can’t.”
“Do you even know why?” I asked.
“No.”
He glanced at me, troubled. I saw that the impediment was in his feelings, yet not a dullness or aversion, as I had suffered, but an implacable restraint.
There seemed nothing more to say. With a sigh he opened his book, and I opened mine.
Cancer, so common in Muggles, is rare in wizards and greatly feared for one reason -- the stronger the wizard, the stronger the cancer. The means necessary to rid the body of renegade cells in a very powerful wizard can kill him or destroy his magic. Somehow I had managed to avoid the implications of this for Severus; as I read the introductory chapter of Characterological Adjustments my hands shook and my mouth dried up.
No good. If I hoped to be of any use to him, I’d need to put my fear away. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. A sip of tea, holding the cup carefully. I closed my eyes and pictured us sitting on the rocks come spring. We’d take a long walk and bring a picnic. That was our destination. I focused on the book again.
It was difficult going, but I got the general idea. All Celldeath potions contain common elements, such as apricot stone and Luna Moth. They are additionally tailored to the character, temperament and physical type of the patient. The goal is to administer the maximum strength tolerable to the patient by targeting it to his nature. The book described forty elements of character to start, the adjustments to be made for each and how each adjustment might influence further ones. I was lost after the first tier.
I set the volume on the table, rubbed my eyes and took up Medical Potions Brewing. We’d been reading for about two hours. When I glanced up, Severus was regarding me over the tops of his glasses, a little smile on his lips.
“Enjoying yourself?”
“Don’t be snide. I understood quite a bit of that.”
“I don’t doubt. Tell me what you’ve learned.”
“You start with a base Celldeath potion. What you add, and how, depends on the nature and temperament of the patient. You want it to be as strong as the patient can stand. He can stand more if it’s precisely adjusted. A very strong wizard needs the most exacting adjustments.”
“Nicely put. You see why I wanted to brew my own.”
“Yes.”
“Not only mistrust of others’ incompetence and stupidity --”
No?”
“Not just that.” He looked away, as if ashamed. “I want to live.”
In the instant before I reached over, he stood up and took the teapot to the kitchen. I heard him heating the water, the efficient swish of his wand and the clink of the lid coming off.
Around one o’clock, when I found myself reading the same page for the third time, I marked it with a scrap of paper and yawned.
“I’m going up to bed,” I said. “Will you come?”
“I’ve got another hour in me, I think.” He looked at me apologetically. “I’ll be along later.”
I nodded, thinking, I’ll get you yet.
The next night he read Characterological Adjustments in Potions Oncology for the first hour while I kept on with Hedgewitch and Hops. I got up for a stretch and to make more tea.
“Are you hungry? I can make some toast, too.”
As usual, he considered the issue of food carefully. “Yes. With that sardine spread if you don’t mind. And do we have any fruit?”
“Let me scratch up a little sustenance for us. I’ll bring an assortment.”
When I was done in the kitchen, I had filled a tray with nibbles for a hungry headmaster -- toast with sardine spread, a cup of chicken noodle soup, an apple and a pear, a scone alongside a pot of grapefruit marmalade and a packet of animal crackers -- everything ready to hand and edible. It comforted me to watch Severus devour it all. We drank several cups of strong tea as well.
“So, you’ve read pretty far into the Tincture. What are you thinking about for the dominant elements?” I asked.
“Primarily bitter and strong. And for a salivary tumor I’d be thinking arsenic -- for the bitter -- because it causes a facial spasm.”
“Why is that important?”
“It produces an expression of disdain. Cancers of the head and neck are especially related to habitual emotional postures. The therapeutic principle here is, ‘Like cures like.’ But I think I will prefer to use herba Sardonia. It, too, distorts the face, into an expression I believe is considered even more unpleasant.” He made a sneering face by way of illustration. “It is very strong and effective, especially in scornful, cynical misanthropes.”
“I don’t think you’re so scornfully misanthropic.”
“It is my underlying temperament, make no mistake.”
“What else then?”
“Aconite.”
“But that’s also a poison.”
“I am fairly sure that I am hard to kill,” he said dismissively. “Aconite, or monkshood, is both poison and pain reliever. herba Sardonia causes painful cramping. Aconite will be effective against the disease and the pain caused by other ingredients.”
“These ingredients are practical-magical. What about purely magical?”
“Wasp stings.”
“Why?”
“Sympathetic magic. Wasp stings -- the swellings -- are like tumors. Pulling off the stings prevents them. Dismembered stings in potion activate a principle of undoing. Of unmaking tumors, if you like.”
“Why not bees?”
“Because it is myself. Wasps may sting repeatedly, bees only once and they die of it. They sacrifice their lives for the hive.”
“Ah. So if this potion was for Minerva --”
“Just so. It would be honeybee stingers.”
“What else?”
“Mummy dust, phoenix feather.”
“What’s the principle?”
“The feather, of course, for its regenerative quality, but I chose that particular regenerative ingredient for its aspect of singularity.”
“But why not unicorn horn? That is also regenerative, purifying as well, and strong in singularity.”
He looked at me aslant, and somewhat admiringly. I’d got back more of my school Potions than I’d expected.
“Unicorn works best on the pure of heart.”
“Ah,” I said with regret. “Mummy dust?”
“Now that is interesting. There are two opposing principles at work -- preservation and deterioration. Under the homing influence of the Luna Moth, the necrotizing aspect of death inherent in the corpse attacks cancerous cells, while the preservative elements of the Egyptian burial rites protect healthy cells. Being so suited to cancer treatment, it ought to be in the base potion, but mummy dust is too strong for many people.”
“I hate mummy dust,” I said. “But if it’s good for you, I’m in favor of it. Is there more?”
“That’s the list.”
“Is any of it difficult to get?”
“Just time consuming. Luna Moth is hard. I will have to go to London.”
“Send me.”
“No, I need to hand pick them.”
“Teach me how to pick, and send me to Potions World tomorrow.”
“It’s a subtle thing --”
“Oh for Merlin’s sake, Severus,” I said, raising my voice. “You are a Potions scholar. You should be reading the books and making a plan. With two of us we have twice as much energy and twice as much time, but not if you refuse to delegate. Stop being such a git and use me.”
I expected him to argue. But he held my eyes again with that strange expression and a ghost of a smile quirked his lips.
“All right.” He took a deep, professorial breath. “The body of a properly dried Luna Moth is completely rounded, not caved in anywhere. The entire thorax is heavily furred, no bald spots. I needn’t mention that the wings must be whole. Both antennae intact, down to the last branch. The celery colored ones have been dyed; you don’t want those. The correct color is a pale greenish silver. And for gods’ sake,” he said waspishly. “Don’t go to Potions World; go to Galenical Herbs on Diagon Alley.”
It took half an hour for him to explain everything I needed to know about picking dried Luna Moths, and another twenty minutes for me to convince him that he had.
“Not even the slightest bit flattened,” he insisted.
“Yes, I know.”
“You absolutely must pick it up and view it from all angles.”
“You told me that.”
“If you see a dark marking on the body, hold it up to the light; it might be a crushed area.”
“Sweetheart, I will view them from all angles. I promise to pick each one up. I will only bring you complete moths without bald spots or crushed areas, and I promise you that they will be pale greenish silver. I will consult the picture in the book before choosing each one.”
We were standing before the fireplace, looking at the Illustrated Guide to Potions Ingredients, a tome so large that, even with a shrinking spell, I’d need a shoulder bag to carry it to Diagon Alley. I stepped around in front to look him in the eye.
“I understand that the quality of the ingredients is crucial,” I said. “I will do everything in my power to see to it. You must try me by letting go.”
“Yes.”
“Let go.”
“All right.”
“I’ll do it tomorrow. Now I’m going up to bed.”
“I’ll be up in a while,” he said, stifling a yawn.
A little wave of sadness washed over me. “Good night.”
“Good night.”
I Apparated just outside the candy store on Diagon Alley first thing the next morning. As we got our footing, Albia was already squirming to get out of my arms; she had been told about Sugarsnaps and instantly spotted the enticing window.
“A mouse! A mouse! Pwese, Mummy?” A rainbow row of sugar mice lashed their string tails at her. I was partial myself to the licorice pipes with puffs of cherry-seeming smoke rising from them.
“Let’s go inside and you may pick three things. But you must wait to eat them until we are in the next store.”
“Otay, otay,” she said, pulling on my arm.
Despite my anxiety to choose the best available Luna Moths and discuss my concerns with the owner of Galenical Herbs, I took time to enjoy Albia’s first exposure to Sugarsnaps. Cases, bins and baskets of sweets were everywhere; candy ropes and necklaces hung from pegs on the walls next to posters advertising Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Bott’s Beans. Something like a hummingbird zipped past my face. I jerked back in alarm.
“Sorry about that, Ma’am,” said the stout shopkeeper, lumbering past me with a butterfly net.
“What is it?”
“Here.” He swooped the net above my head, neatly grabbing the thing from the air. “Buttersnitch. A new product. I’m afraid we haven’t got the hang of displaying them yet.”
What struggled in the net was like a small Snitch -- not so finely detailed as the real thing, but made of translucent golden candy with frantically beating wings. Holding it tightly between finger and thumb the man offered it to me. I managed to trap it in my cupped hands long enough to pop it in my mouth. It made a tickling, feathery sensation against my palate and I worked to keep my mouth closed, snorting with laughter through my nose, until it suddenly deliquesced in a rush of butterscotch.
“Oh my,” I said. “That’s delicious, but not very relaxing.”
“It’s really for the kids, you know.” He gestured to the tall birdcage behind him which I now saw was full of flitting Buttersnitches.
“No use trying to sneak those in class, I expect.”
“No, Ma’am. But you might be interested in some fine chocolate.” Ah, that would be a treat for Severus.
“Yes, please.”
“Mummy. Mummy! I want dose.” Albia pointed to a bin of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans.
“Oh, honey, those aren’t so good for little girls.”
“But dose are my choosement. I want dem.”
The shopkeeper solved my dilemma by offering her a sample. Her eyes widened with surprise, and I got my hand under her mouth just in time to catch the green, half-chewed thing coming out.
“Kale,” said the man.
“No good,” said Albia.
“Did you see these?” he asked her, taking down a candy necklace. Each bead was shaped like a little bird. “Listen, love.” He held it to her ear and I heard the faint twittering cacophony. “They taste like fruits and when you eat one, you can sound like a bird.” Albia’s eyes glittered with desire.
“Yes, pwease.”
“Would you put that in a bag for us please, and a sugar mouse.”
“A green! A green mouse,” interjected Albia.
“And I’ll have a half-pound of the extra-dark chocolate. You may choose one more thing, Albia.”
“Oh oh, I tan’t choose. May I have two more?” Albia did a little dance of indecision. I squatted down to see the store from her perspective. Indeed, it resembled Tutankhamen’s tomb, a storehouse of wonderful things.
“Show me what you are thinking of, sweetie.” She pointed out rotating lollipops for lazy children, invisible sweets in brightly colored wrappers (very likely to be stepped on with bare feet, I expected), marzipan apples with little worms waving from them, and acid drops. “Honey, those will burn a hole in your tongue,” I told her, remembering a regrettable incident involving Thalia and me and her younger brother. “We will come back next time and you may have three more choosements. But today you have one more.”
She sighed sadly. “Pwease, two?” But I could tell she was giving up the fight.
“We will come back in the spring with Daddy, and we will each get something.”
“Each get fwee fings,” she said.
“Yes, we’ll each get three. Now what is your last choice today?” She pointed resignedly at the rotating lollipop, and the shopkeeper added it to the bag.
Galenical Herbs was a small shop on a side street. A bell jingled as we entered. Inside smelled marvelous -- herbs and hot dust, animal fur, the ozone that comes before rain, fresh earth, human skin, lilacs and more. I had been here several times with Severus and it struck me each time that just breathing the atmosphere must have a beneficial effect.
Perhaps it was so, for the kind-eyed lady who came from the back to greet us looked both very old and very young. Her round, shiny cheeks blushed like summer fruits, but each small black eye nestled in a bed of wrinkles. She wore two white braids down her back. I’d always suspected that she had some non-human blood, but couldn’t guess what -- fairy? Certainly not Veela. Someone with her knotted, spotted hands should have moved slowly, but she danced to the counter as if to a jig.
“Ah!” she said delightedly. “It’s Professor Snape’s good wife. How lovely to see you. And here is Albia. If she is as good as she is fair then she will bring you joy.”
The fair Albia had bitten the head off her sugar mouse and had some green drool on her chin, but I had to agree. Sitting on the floor with her bag clutched in her fist and the mouse’s little tail still lashing in her other hand, Albia resembled a sleek, self-satisfied cat.
“I’m glad to see you, Mrs. Pink. Professor Snape has sent me for Luna Moths -- first quality, not student grade -- and I have a few other things I hope to discuss with you.”
“He’ll want you to pick them by hand, no doubt,” she smiled. “Let me bring them over to the window, for the light.” She bustled into the back of the shop and out again, bearing a velvet-lined tray of moths lined up in rows. She handed me a small, flat box, a large magnifying glass and a pair of long tweezers, then set the tray on a windowside table. “Take your time, dear,” she said.
When I had carefully chosen six -- and I was unable to find a single one that varied in quality from the others, which made me nervous -- I approached Mrs. Pink at the counter. It was difficult to know how to air my concerns, but I needed help.
“I have some questions. I’m hoping you could help me? You must know a great deal about healing potions.” She nodded, listening. “Someone I know is making a Celldeath potion. He’s using the standard base, plus herba Sardonia, aconite, wasp stings, mummy dust and phoenix feather. I think it’s too -- it’s too --”
Mrs. Pink’s eyes, previously so twinkling and merry, were suddenly penetrating.
“It’s one-sided, isn’t it?” she said. “Must be someone who sees the patient incompletely. No one is that bitter and harsh without balancing elements of character. Do you know the patient?”
“Yes, I do.”
“How is the -- Healer -- incorrect in his understanding?”
Mrs. Pink and I had a long talk. She asked me subtle questions and built on the answers, trying out ideas to see if they seemed right to me. When we had come to our conclusions, I had two more items alongside the box of moths.
“I’ll need a collecting box as well, please -- perhaps that very nice one with the silver chasing?” I asked.
“Ah, Professor Snape will do well with that one,” she said. “It’s expensive but you could keep a snowflake in there till August.”
“Perfect,” I said. “That’s my splurge for the day, then.”
I collected my purchases and Albia, who had been working her way through the candy necklace, trilling and tweeting and hooting like an aviary. As we turned to go, Mrs. Pink called out to me.
“Madame Desrosiers -- you do remember that love is very important in healing, don’t you? We don’t sell it here, but then, you seem to have an abundance.”
It took the wind out of me a bit, to have her speak so.
“Yes. Thank you. I do remember. Good bye, Mrs. Pink.” And we made our way into the street.
+++++
That night, when Albia was in bed, we sat down with our books again by the fire.
I fetched the collecting box I’d bought in Diagon Alley. “I have something for you. Put out your hand. Now close your eyes.” I removed three of the creamy orange apricots I’d saved there and placed them in his hand.
“Now look,” I said. “With regards from Pomona Sprout. I put her on it last week and she’s been pushing them in the greenhouse with a Bloomfast spell.”
“Did you tell her why?”
“I didn’t need to tell her; she knows. She knows her medicinal plants.”
He brought them slowly to his face, first smelling them then gently rubbing his lips against them, eyes closed.
“Velvet,” he said.
“There’s your apricot stone.” He inclined his head in thanks. “And this, also. From Galenical Herbs. It’s a collecting box.”
“I’ve always wanted one. Thank you,” he said.
“Mrs. Pink sends her regards.”
“And how is that excellent lady?”
“Ageless, I think. Part fairy?”
“No. I believe she is part elf. The dark eyes.”
“And now I need to speak to you about something,” I said, feeling somewhat like a student brought up before the headmaster for a scolding. “And I believe Mrs. Pink would support me on this. Your Celldeath potion.”
He was immediately wary. “My potion.”
“It is unbalanced.” He was already bridling, nostrils flaring. “Just listen. Bitter and strong are correct. You’ve got the cynical side of your nature, but you act as if that is the totality. You’ve not made a single adjustment for other aspects.”
He snorted derisively. “Cynicism and misanthropy are the totality of my nature. You are being sentimental.”
“No, they are the part you are comfortable with. But there is more.”
“Correct me if I am wrong,” he said. “But is my formulation being amended by a shopkeeper and a hippogriff trainer?”
“Severus, even brilliant scholars are open to other opinions.”
“Indeed. Please go on.”
“And this isn’t just about the potion. It’s about you.”
“And you know more about me than I do.”
“The view is a little different from over here,” I said, crossing to his chair and sitting on the arm. I laid my hand on his neck. “The man who takes care of me and loves me so well is more than a misanthrope. The man who insisted that our daughter come into the world isn’t just a cynic. I agree with half the population that you can be a disagreeable son of a bitch.” I knelt in front of him. “But without a few other qualities you couldn’t have brought the school this far. And I wouldn’t love you like I do.”
“Well, you’re an idiot, everyone knows that,” he said gruffly, but his face, as he looked into the fire, was soft.
“Will you make a few adjustments?”
“What?”
I took out the silk drawstring bag I’d carried in my robe pocket from Galenical Herbs and tipped the pearl and the oak rod into my palm.
“Integrity. Wholeness. Endurance. If you are the wizard I think you are, you will admit them and make your potion right.”
He stared at me, blinking furiously, a sarcastic retort hovering on his lips. “’Wholeness?’” he asked incredulously.
“That is all you have ever been with me. Whole and complete. You have given me your whole self. You have never lied to me or hidden. You brought yourself to me whole and you accepted me whole.
“That is what I see,” I said. “With all your damage. Wholeness.”
I stared back, hopeful and afraid. He scowled, contemplating the pearl and the oak in my hand for several long moments, struggling. Then he reached out and cupped my hand in his.
“Dear girl. Trust you to have delusions of nobility on my behalf.”
“I know you very well.”
+++++
We began preparations that Friday. The base was, of course, ground apricot stone, coffee, decoction of batwing, hippogriff claw (I used one of Salazar’s, although I wasn’t sure that the temperament of the hippogriff had any bearing), and the olfactory organ of a male Luna moth. The coffee was to be brewed very strong, befitting application to a dark, dominating personality with aspects of bitterness. We had not discussed my assisting; I carried on as if I would and he did not oppose me.
Our plan was to make all preparations short of brewing on Friday afternoon, then brew all day Saturday and into Sunday, as the potion needed attention for a full twenty-four hours. Albia was spending Saturday with Hagrid; I would take an hour off to put her to bed, then Pierce was to take the overnight shift at our house. Of course I wore a monitoring charm whenever we left her sleeping, but I couldn’t afford to leave the potions laboratory if she woke.
As always when brewing, Severus laid out the ingredients in order of use, each in its container with the proper measuring device beside it on the table. Above the moth was a magnifying glass on a stand and a very fine scalpel for removing the moth’s nose or whatever you called it. Placed horizontally above the assemblage was the sorrel wood spoon used for medicinal potions. I sat quietly on a stool, aware that the ordering soothed and reassured him; I hoped my presence did as well. We kept a companionable silence.
The dungeon laboratory was chilly and had a strange quality of sound, each word, each breath, dropping away as soon as uttered. It made me draw close and lower my voice.
“Nearly done,” he said.
Out of his pocket he drew the bag from Galenical Herbs. The pearl he placed in a glass dish at the end of the line, the oak rod parallel with the sorrel spoon, for they would stir together. A friendly look passed between us, then he drew me to him and kissed me gently. His mouth was very warm in the cool of the dungeon.
“Thank you for helping me,” he said.
We closed up the laboratory, warded the doors, and walked through the quiet corridors of the school. It was late. When we got home we checked on Albia, limp with careless sleep in her little bed. Then, of one accord, we went on to our own.
Notes
The childish mislocution “choosement” I stole from the picture book “Big David, Little David” by S.E. Hinton.
The collecting box is borrowed from Rickfan and from Sinope. Highly recommended!
Rickfan is at Severus_Snape_Fics.com and AdultFanFiction.
Sinope can be found at www.livejournal.com/users/eponis/143844.html#cutid1 (warning: slash).