A Likely Story

A Summons and Poisonous Mushrooms

He arrived back at Hogwarts in a headlong rush, almost smashing through the wards to his private rooms in his haste to get inside without being seen. At least Hagrid didn't have to carry him this time.

Throwing off his cloak, he gestured wandlessly at a wooden cabinet with badly-shaking hands. It took a couple of tries before the cabinet door opened, revealing an array of bottles. He considered them for a moment before selecting a very old single malt scotch Minerva had given him for Christmas and carefully poured himself a generous shot, managing not to spill any.

Over the past couple of years, he had discovered that two or three shots of very good scotch quelled the shaking and cramping that constituted the aftereffects of the Cruciatus curse almost as well as the potions specifically brewed for that purpose, and tasted a hell of a lot better.

Soon enough, there was a knock at the door. "Come in," he said almost inaudibly, knowing his visitors would enter whether invited or not.

Albus Dumbledore and Poppy Pomfrey swept in, worried looks on their faces. They saw him sitting more or less upright in his chair and smiled. Dumbledore gestured at the fireplace and a cheery blaze sprang forth.

Madame Pomfrey waved her wand over him from head to toe. "No fractures this time. But if you turn around, I may be able to help your back."

Sitting stiffly, he protested, "There's nothing wrong with my back."

Dumbledore said, "Severus."

Snape heaved a sigh. Shifting slowly and awkwardly in his chair, he turned slightly and leaned forwards to rest his hands on his knees. Madame Pomfrey examined him quickly, frowned, muttered a spell, and exchanged a look with Dumbledore.

"All done," she said. "But it's only temporary."

Dumbledore regarded him piercingly. "Severus, you really must reconsider..."

"Have a drink." interrupted Snape coldly. He leaned back into the chair and gestured with a trembling hand. Though the trembling was much less marked. "It's not like I could stop you."

"There's no discussing it with you, is there?" said Madame Pomfrey, shaking her head and pocketing her wand. "If nothing else, I must insist you have breakfast tomorrow. Something with..."

He made an expression of distaste. "I know, lots of protein."

She smiled at him sadly. "Good night, then."

"I'll have that drink," said Dumbledore, re-warding the door after Madame Pomfrey and conjuring himself a glass and a plush chair.

The two men sipped their drinks in companionable silence for several minutes. Snape's trembling disappeared, even when he held his hands out at arm's length, his fingertips pointing up.

"I've been hit with it so many times," Snape said dryly, lowering his arms and picking up his drink again, "that I hardly feel it anymore."

"My friend at St. Mungo's..." ventured Dumbledore.

"Is one more person to get involved." Snape finished smoothly. "You sometimes seem to forget I'm a Slytherin. I'll get myself looked after. It just may not be until the war is over." He looked around for the bottle. Dumbledore brought it back over and refilled Snape's glass.

As Dumbledore was walking back to his chair, he asked, "What made Tom so upset tonight?"

Snape sighed. "I didn't do anything. And that was the problem. Remember me telling you how Macnair has a taste for hallucinogenic mushrooms?"

Dumbledore smiled. "That Muggles call, 'Magic Mushrooms?'"

Snape nodded. "Yes, well, Muggles think the name is just a metaphor. Anyway, Macnair stumbled across what he thought was a bumper crop of them beside a path in a forest on his way to an execution. He gathered and dried them, and invited a few of the others with similar proclivities to partake with him. To make a long story short, he mistook Amanita phalloides for Amanita muscaria. He and four other Death Eaters are laid up in St. Mungo's for at least another ten days, having their livers and kidneys re-grown."

Dumbledore frowned. "That's a rather drastic mistake. If I recall, those two species look rather different."

"Yes, well, most of the Death Eaters barely have one brain between the lot of them. Kind of works out to my advantage, most of the time. He's willing to overlook minor doubts he might have about me for the sake of having someone with actual professional qualifications working for him. There are more than enough of the bumbling murderous thugs as it is."

Dumbledore nodded in understanding. "But in this case your skills worked against you. And considering it relates to your field of expertise..."

"Precisely. Macnair gathered the mushrooms some time ago, and dried them, and was talking about them incessantly. And I never bothered to look at them." Snape frowned. "He was asking me if I did see the mushrooms."

"Did you?"

Snape snorted. "If I had, his questioning would have tested the limits of my Occlumentic skills." He sighed. "I avoided having a conversation about the mushrooms with Macnair. He would be telling me how great mushrooms are and how fantastic it is to kill things whilst under the influence of mushrooms. That one must pair the right psychoactive substance with the particular sort of animal one is executing in order to achieve the most euphoric experience, and so forth. So no, I never looked at the mushrooms. He had to make sure that I was not deliberately making myself scarce. Just as I was not around to make the potion that restored him to a physical form."

Dumbledore said, "Sounds like he suspects your absences are a little too convenient."

"Well, he would be right, wouldn't he?" said Snape bitterly. "He continues to be irritated with me about the circumstances around his 'rebirth.'"

Dumbledore smiled slightly. "Wormtail rather botched that potion, didn't he?"

Snape nodded. "Now there's a man with bitter regrets."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "Indeed?"

But Snape did not elaborate, instead drinking silently for a moment before continuing. "When I first met him, he was, well, a normal-looking middle-aged man, rather charming. He would offer around the fine cognac, and sit and talk with everybody in an almost casual sort of way. He was vastly well-read and could converse on any subject. And he really seemed to listen when people spoke." He sipped his drink "Early on, you could even disagree with him if your argument was intelligent enough."

Dumbledore said, "Only introducing you to the more extreme actions and ideologies of the organisation after you were branded."

Snape looked pensive for a moment before continuing. "It's still strange to me that such an intelligent man would hold these ridiculous, simple-minded beliefs."

Dumbledore nodded. "Stranger still to those of us who taught him."

Snape smirked. "It's a bit harder to recruit new followers to your cause when you look like the love child of a basilisk and Wendolin the Weird."

Dumbledore laughed. "Yes, well, now he looks like what's in his heart." There was a knock at the door and he rose to answer it. "Ah, she's back from the Potions lab already. She wanted you to know that she brought your supplies. I took the liberty of letting her into your office." He opened the door.

Earlier that day, he'd had to make a trip to Diagon Alley for fresh supplies. And it was only two weeks into the new term. Either the students were distracted by all the confusion around the increasingly draconian Educational Decrees, or they were just more dunderheaded than usual. He suspected a combination of both. In any event, they had been making an unusual number of destructive mistakes in his class, and he didn't have enough of many basic Potions ingredients to last until February.

He was accompanied on his errand by Tonks, disguised as a Ravenclaw student forced to accompany him as part of an elaborate detention. She cringed after him while he barked orders interspersed with remarks hinting at some especially dire Potions class catastrophe. Together with her usefulness at carrying items too magically volatile to be safely shrunk, it was not an altogether unpleasant outing.

And then he was Summoned, right in the middle of Diagon Alley. He was long practiced at hiding his reaction to the searing pain in his left arm, but a few passersby looked on in curiosity when he stopped in his tracks, his face losing whatever scarce colour it had.

He pulled Tonks into an alley, hastily put up a Concealing Charm, and handed her all of his packages. "Talk to the Headmaster, and whatever you do, don't try and get into my office. Since Barty Crouch broke in, I've been using goblin wards. I have no idea when I will return, should you need to be rescued." He handed her the communication mirror and regarded her for a moment, his expression unfathomable. "If I return." And he Disapparated.

Befuddled by alcohol and recent trauma, Snape was momentarily puzzled by the knock at his door.

"See for yourself, dear. He's fine." Tonks appeared from behind Dumbledore's tall form, her face returned to its natural state, assuming it had one, her cheeks still flushed from the cold, wearing jeans and a jumper.

She smiled gently at Snape. "How are you?" she asked.

Snape rose stiffly from his chair, trying not to wince. If there was anything he hated more than disrespect, it was sympathy. He never got any when he needed it, and now he saw it as no more than a ploy for people to satisfy their curiosity at the expense of other people's misfortunes.

He scowled down at her. "Were you able to bring all my purchases safely to the castle without dropping any of them?"

Dumbledore said evenly, "I'm sure no Shrivelfigs will spoil or go astray if you wait until tomorrow to check them."

Snape settled back into his chair and picked up his drink. "Then she has no reason to be here, far as I can see."

"I need to go shopping in London before the meeting this Saturday," she said brightly. "I thought, I'll tell you where we're going, and you can walk ahead of me while I'll 'tail' you in my Auror robes."

Snape sneered. "You understand that it is not the slightest bit plausible that I should ever walk into a woman's clothing store, or go anyplace else that is even remotely related to cosmetics or appearances?"

Tonks chuckled. "What a narrow view you have of women. First of all, you understand I don't need cosmetics, right?" She crinkled her nose, and one eye turned bright blue, the other dark brown. "Second of all, plenty of men are vain. Look at Gilderoy Lockhart."

Snape snorted. "A rather extreme example."

"Oh, I don't know about that. The most preening person I know is a man. My mum says that uncle Lucius spends more time on his hair than any witch we know. Apparently, cousin Draco is following in his footsteps as evil blonde sex god, junior."

He gestured impatiently. "Your propensity for pointless chatter continues unabated. Apparently, all those detentions were wasted on you. Where are we going?" He glanced over at Dumbledore, who had been sitting in uncharacteristic silence for the past several minutes and was now rising to his feet. He was practically beaming at him, the damn twinkly-eyed old man.

Dumbledore said, "It's late, and I am very old. I'll tell the house-elves to have poached eggs ready for you in the morning. With some of that Canadian smoked salmon." He walked to the door and gave a little wave. "Good night."

There was a moment of awkward silence in the wake of Dumbledore's departure. Snape refilled his glass. "Erm...would you like a drink, Miss Tonks?"

"It's just Tonks. 'Miss Tonks' makes me feel like I'm back in the dungeons for Potions class." She grinned. "And I thought I could afford my own drinks."

He regarded her and smirked. "But you are back in the dungeons, aren't you?"

"Yes, but I've never been...that is to say..." she looked around and blushed. He continued to look at her, smirking.

She took out her wand and conjured a glass. "Yes, I will take that drink, Severus. Thank you. No, don't get up." She crossed the room and quickly poured, her face feeling hot under his scrutiny. In clumsy haste, she filled the glass almost to the brim.

"Really, Tonks. This isn't pumpkin juice," he hissed. "No, don't even think about pouring some back--you'll probably spill it all over."

She whirled on him, but a sharp retort died on her lips. Up close, the dark circles under his eyes seemed almost continuous with his sunken cheeks, which appeared cavernous. Though it was cool in the room, there was a sheen of sweat on his upper lip. The hand holding his glass was criss-crossed with tiny marks that looked like healed cuts and burns.

He continued, "I'm not in the habit of offering drinks to Aurors. And I don't offer such generous drinks to anybody." But with the disappearance of the after-effects of the Cruciatus curse, he found that he was too tired to be more than mildly snide, and she could tell. Damn her intrusive sympathy. "So where are we going tomorrow that justifies such a waste of what little free time I have?"

She retreated back to the other chair. "We're going to Knockturn Alley, to Ivy's Poison Plants, Seeds and Spores to buy venomous tentacula seeds. But what we're really doing is taking tiny samples of their Devil's Snare. All magical florists and plant nurseries in UK are being investigated. We're trying to find the one that supplied the Devil's Snare that killed Broderick Bode."

Despite his fatigue, Snape lifted his head and nodded slightly. "Maybe my order is ready," he mumbled.

"I'm sorry, what was that, Severus?"

He roused himself. "I said, we won't find it there. It's likely to have come from someone's private nursery. Narcissa Malfoy is an accomplished magical botanist and the Malfoys have extensive greenhouses, for instance."

"Yes, but try getting a warrant to search the Malfoys. So we're reduced to ruling out commercial suppliers."

"And as long as Fudge is in Malfoy's pocket..." He was very tired now. His eyes were starting to close.

Tonks gulped the rest of her drink and stood, wobbling slightly. "I'll just...go now. Good night, Severus." She stopped short of the door. "Erm...Severus? I need to un-ward the door. What's your password?"

Snape opened his eyes halfway and whispered with surprising forcefulness, "No way in hell."

She turned to face him, and folded her arms. "I'm guessing that's not your password. So...am I spending the night, then?" she said lightly. "That Canadian smoked salmon sounds good."

His eyes opened fully, and she could see the beginnings of a blush creep up from under his collar.

He didn't meet her eyes. "It's more than just a password. You have to make contact with...never mind. I'll take care of it." He stood, but after one step, he hissed in pain and dropped to his knees.

"Severus!" Tonks cried. "I'll get Poppy." Rushing to the fireplace, she extinguished the fire and grabbed a handful of Floo powder.

"NO!" he shouted, his voice somewhat muffled by his position on his hands and knees, greasy black hair hanging about his face.

Tonks paused, Floo powder trickling out from between her fingers. "Dumbledore, then?"

"Nobody. The Cruciatus curse is damaging my back. Poppy can do no more for me. Wake her up, and she'll just use that as an excuse to send me to that specialist at St. Mungo's." He struggled, and failed, to get to his feet. She helped him, and he painfully stood, clutching at her arms.

"Well, why don't you? See the specialist, I mean." He was awkward to hold upright, but surprisingly light for his height. "Should I set you back in that chair?"

"Not the chair, I won't be able to get up again. If I go to St. Mungo's, how do we explain why a teacher is getting hit repeatedly with an Unforgivable? Dumbledore thinks he can cover it up, but he's not as omnipotent as he likes to pretend." He looked into her eyes, and she noticed that his eyes were not really black, but a very dark brown, the pupil almost blending with the iris.

"Of course they're brown," he snapped weakly. "Can I count on your discretion?" He gestured at the nearest wall. "I require...some assistance." The last part he spoke almost inaudibly.

"Where...?" She looked over her shoulder at the wall towards which he had gestured. A door had appeared in the previously smooth, unseamed stone.

She helped him through the door. As they entered, a torch lit up in its sconce, revealing a sparsely-furnished bedroom. Besides the four-poster bed with a dark green coverlet there was a single bedside table heavily-laden with books. Many hundreds more books sat on the bookshelves lining the walls.

She half-carried him to the bed and set him down gently, and he turned his head away as he winced. He looked back at her, eyes half-closed, and smirked. "You were expecting skeletons manacled to the walls, no doubt. Instruments of torture dangling from the ceiling?"

She stifled a snicker. Torture him and ply him with liquor, and his capacity for snark remained unchanged. "No, Severus. I was just looking for the beam from which you hang by your feet when you sleep." She looked around bewilderment. "Where do you keep your nightshirts?" Where did he keep any of his clothes? There was no wardrobe, dresser, or so much as a hook on the back of the door.

He was gingerly lowering himself to the bed. "Only if you want to be hexed half-way to Belgium." His voice lacked any rancour, and his eyes were closing. He opened them halfway. "Your detention is over. You may leave."

Lying on his side on the bed, his robes draped over him, she could see how thin he was. Part of his arms and legs were exposed, the pale skin marked by dark bruises.

"I'm taking your shoes off," she announced. "What hex do you have for that?" And began to untie the laces. His muffled reply didn't sound like a very serious threat, and by the time she pulled the covers over him, he was fast asleep.

She tiptoed out of the bedroom and closed the door. It instantly became flush with the wall, its edges disappearing and merging with the surrounding grey stone. And then she remembered that she still didn't have the password to his wards. What with the Ministry watching the fireplaces, Dumbledore had asked that Order members not travel by Floo except in emergencies.

She re-ignited the fire before transfiguring the chair into a cot, and her robe into a blanket. Before drifting off to sleep, she wondered what would be worse: explaining to Dolores Umbridge why she was Flooing out of the Potions master's private quarters after midnight, or facing Snape in the morning when he came out of his bedroom to find her there.