Mist and Vapors

Chapter 25

Flu

The week before Valentine's Day, Albus Dumbledore pondered the intricacies of reverse psychology.

Three months of no further incidents had prompted the reinstatement of Hogsmeade privileges, an occasion of great joy for the students. There were a few rules - stay in Hogsmeade proper, no wandering into the surrounding countryside, and stay in groups of at least three - but the students were thrilled to be able to leave the castle at last. Well-chaperoned, of course.

You are getting old, Albus, he thought with a sigh as he stirred his hot chocolate. You are losing your touch.

What he should have done was to order Severus Snape to go and supervise a bunch of lovey-dovey teenagers in cupid-infested tea shops, and then simply wait for him to hurriedly beg off and cite something of urgent concern brewing in the dungeons. But no, he instead had told him that he was to remain in the castle for safety reasons, which of course had done nothing but get his hackles up and make him bound and determined to go. His remarks on the subject had been quite pointed.

But as it turned out, the whole thing was a moot point anyways.

.-.-.-

At dinner Friday night, Severus had coughed more than once. When he later that evening sneezed violently into his teacup, Hannah looked up at him with concern.

"Are you catching cold?" she asked. "There's Pepperup in the bathroom cabinet if you need some."

"I don't get sick," Severus answered dismissively.

Hannah just eyed him dubiously, but, "If you say so," was all she said.

.-.-.

The next morning, McGonagall cornered Hannah as she entered the Great Hall for breakfast.

"Are you going into Hogsmeade this morning?"

"I wasn't planning on it. Do you need me to?"

"Not particularly. I think we have enough chaperones at the moment. I just wanted to make sure we don't leave the first and second years unsupervised while everyone goes off to town. I'll put you down for hall duty from eight until lunch, if that is satisfactory?"

"Of course."

Minerva scratched out a name on the duty roster she was carrying. "Rolanda was supposed to take that slot, but she is taking Severus' spot as a chaperone..."

"He was supposed to go? Is he all right? He seemed a bit off yesterday."

"Flu," McGonagall answered laconically. "And if you know what's good for you, you will stay away until he feels better."

.-.-.

At lunch, he still was a no-show. Ignoring the older witch's advice, Hannah rapped on the door of his quarters a couple of hours later. "Who the blazes is it now?" she heard his muffled voice from the other side.

"It's Hannah," she called out. "May I come in?"

She heard a soft click as the lock disengaged. She pushed the door open and stuck her head in. "Did I pick a bad time?"

He was leaning back in an armchair in front of the cold fireplace, a blanket over his legs. His rather red nose stuck out of the greasy hair falling over his face, and she could barely make out red-rimmed, blood-shot eyes peering out malevolently from behind the black curtain. An open book rested on his lap.

"The bloody house-elves have been making a bloody nuisance out of themselves. 'Master Snape need this, Master Snape need that'...I promised them the next one to come in would regret it for the rest of his miserable life," he muttered hoarsely.

Hannah raised one eyebrow and tried not to grin. Not feeling well certainly seemed to do nothing for his manners.

"I brought you something."

"Don't just stand there, then."

Hannah closed the door behind her. "I missed you at lunch. Minerva told me earlier you weren't feeling well." She placed a covered bowl on the low table next to him. "Chicken soup. Muggles swear by it when they get the flu. It's hot now, or you can heat it up later when you get hungry."

He blew his nose into a large handkerchief and muttered something under his breath. Hannah was fairly sure it was actually a good thing that other than "bloody Muggles" she couldn't understand a word of it.

"So how are you?" She crouched down next to his chair and put her hand over his.

He just glared in response.

"You look terrible. Shouldn't you be in bed?" When she raised her hand to feel his forehead, he batted it away in irritation.

"If you are going to start in on me like the blasted house-elves, you can just..." He was interrupted by a sneeze. After wiping his nose, he shot her a sour glance. "So if that was all you wanted...?"

"Well, tell me what you want. Personally, I like to be left alone when I'm sick, so if you want me to sod off, just say so, and I will completely understand, and no hard feelings. On the other hand, if you would like some company, I could stay for a while - maybe read you your book while you eat your soup? Your eyes look tired." She reached up and gently tucked some strands of hair back behind his ear.

"I haven't been read to since I was a child," he said contemptuously.

"Well, I rather like being read to," she said with a shrug. "But suit yourself. Do you want the soup?"

"I believe I could eat," he allowed.

She moved the book off his lap and handed him the bowl and a spoon. "Here you go."

While he slowly started spooning the soup into his mouth, she moved the other chair closer to him and perused the cover of the book - 'Patenting Potions: A Primer'. She grinned wryly - exciting stuff, that.

"So, do you want me to read or not?"

"Might as well. Nothing better to do," he grumbled.

Turning the book over, she started reading at the top of the page. "Initial testing should be done on magical beasts with complementary ..."

"I am quite past that, all the way to the second-to-last paragraph," he interrupted her irritably.

"Okay, then..." Her finger ran down the page until she had located the indicated passage. "...As not all magical beasts may legally be used for research, please contact the Beast Division for the latest revised version of Appendix XII b of the Beasts and Beings Act of 1811.

"Only if the results of those early tests demonstrate reasonable safety can the potion then be tested on human subjects or the magical beings that are the intended end users. The approval process for new medical or experimental potions will typically run the course of four phases. The first phase involves low doses of the experimental potion given to at least a dozen volunteers in small, diluted amounts. That is to exclude broad safety issues that do not necessarily show up in beast trials due to the different physiology..."

As she read, he finished the bowl of soup and placed it on the table next to him. He leaned his head against the wing back of the chair and closed his eyes. "Keep reading," he commanded.

Mouth twitching, Hannah obliged. "...Phase two involves testing with numerous volunteers who actually have the condition or illness to a) determine the most appropriate dosage and dosing regimen, and b) compare effectiveness against other potions available to combat the same condition. Ideally, there should be a double-blind study against a group that receives a placebo, but due to ethical considerations...."

By the time she got to phase four - "...post-marketing study to track effects not necessarily observable in smaller groups..." - his head had sagged back, his mouth was half open, and gentle snoring sounds accompanied each exhalation.

The Potions master was sound asleep.

Not that she could blame him, Hannah thought with a smirk. Another five minutes, and the book would have put her to sleep.

She put the tome down carefully, trying to be as quiet as possible. For a while she sat there, just looking at him. He must be exhausted. The dark rings under his eyes gave evidence that he had not slept very well the night before. Out of nowhere, a wave of tenderness washed over her that just about took her breath away. His face slack with sleep, he just looked so tired, so defenseless, so - dear. Her mouth twitched again. Good thing he couldn't hear her thoughts. She would not have liked to deal with the repercussions.

After a few minutes she got up and tiptoed over to the desk. Casting a quick look back at him, she picked up his quill and a spare piece of parchment.

I thought I would just let you sleep, and so I let myself out. I'll be back later to check on you. Get well soon,

Hannah.

She left the note on the table next to him and snuck over to the door, thankful that the wards only prevented someone from coming in, not from going out - or she would have been good and stuck.

After closing the door as noiselessly as possible behind her, she made her way up to her own rooms. She kicked off her shoes, dropped down on the bed, and closed her eyes for a few minutes. Then, with a sigh, she rolled over on her side and picked up her diary from the nightstand. Leafing through the book, she read through her past entries.

His name was on just about every page. Severus on the beach, Severus walking away. Severus furious at her as they met again. Amazement at his skill, anger at his refusal to listen. Attempt after attempt to get him to trust her. Finally arriving at something like friendship. And then...

The last entry detailed the evening he had shown her his hideaway. Strange things happened to her heart every time she thought about that night. Since neither she nor he had known the answer to the question he had asked - What now? - they had left soon thereafter; she back to her marking, he back to his dungeon. The next few days, they had been careful with each other, trying to regain a comfortable distance. Until felled by the flu bug, Severus had been entirely too polite, and she had tried her darnedest to act like nothing had happened. Yet a line had been crossed. The question mark was hanging between them, refusing to be ignored. She closed her eyes, and allowed herself to remember the feeling of holding him, of looking up into his eyes, so dark, so familiar. I don't want to let go, she thought. I want to hold on a bit longer. But it wouldn't be fair.

She closed the book with a tired sigh.

It was time, then.

.-.-.-.

On Tuesday, Old Man Winter decided to mount one last attack before spring would put an end to his reign. He threw everything he had at the castle - the kind of blizzard where the snow is driven with such fury that it whips along horizontally, obscuring everything more than five feet away behind a swirling grey curtain. Ice flowers grew on the windowpanes in fantasy patterns, and the wooden frames creaked and crackled with the onslaught of the wind as if inhabited by ghosts. In their towers, the students of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw awoke to the howling wind that continued unabated all day, and gratefully gathered in front of the fireplaces in the evening, cozy and warm.

Down in the dungeons, safely tucked away from the elements, life went on as always.

Snape dragged himself to class in the morning, after for once missing a day on Monday. Since that had been the actual date of Valentine's Day, he told himself that if he had to miss a day, it at least was one he had often wished to miss in the past. It's an ill wind that blows no good whatsoever, he thought with some small amount of satisfaction.

"How are you?" Hannah asked when she arrived at his office at six o'clock sharp that evening. "You still look a bit under the weather." It was his week for the essay marking session, and he had stubbornly refused to postpone. Too much time wasted already.

"Much improved," he said with a note of finality that told her he considered that topic closed. "So, with what did you torture your students this week?"

She dumped the scrolls on the desk with a resounding thud. Since he had still been ill the day before, the students had turned in their essays to her for a change. "Adjectives. Fascinating, hm?" she asked with a smirk.

He just harrumphed and started applying himself to the pile in front of him.

A few minutes later, Hannah lifted her head and grinned. "Can you handle another 'if one is good, ten must be better' quote from a student? Or should I just shut up?"

"Go ahead, if you must," he grumbled without looking up.

"All right, here we go then." She theatrically cleared her throat. "'The humble yellow dandelion is thought by ignorant, uneducated people to be nothing but a bothersome, obnoxious, useless weed, yet the long, brown, shapely root, the dark-green, jagged leaves, the buttery, many-petaled blossoms, and the downy, gossamer seed heads provide us with invaluable, important, irreplaceable potion ingredients.'-- I think my next topic should be 'Verbosity: Not a Good Thing'," she said with another giggle.

He just shook his head in exasperation while liberally applying red ink to Matthew Callaghan's essay. She was, as he had said before, much too easily amused.

As they worked through their essays, her remarks became fewer and longer between, and then they stopped altogether. He looked up at her once or twice, but she kept her head bent over the scrolls. This was unusual - he was not used to her being this quiet. She wasn't getting sick, was she? She had come to visit more than once over the last couple of days...

Well, if she caught flu, it would be entirely her own fault. He certainly had never asked her to come.

She finished before him - she must have gotten a head start before coming down - and when he looked up, he caught her watching him, a tightness to her features that he did not like. His brow furrowed when he saw the apprehensive look on her face. "What is it?" he demanded. She got up and walked a few steps back and forth before turning to face him.

"Severus, there is something I have been meaning to talk to you about..."

He put down his quill. "Yes?"

She kneaded one hand with the other. "This isn't easy."

He didn't say anything, but shifted his body in the chair so he was facing her.

Resuming her pacing, she smiled a tight smile. "My family is pureblood, too. Did you know that?"

He inclined his head. "I am aware of that, yes."

"Well, anyways, my father..." She paused again. "Well, I...damn." She closed her eyes and ran a hand over her face.

The light thump coming from the door fell like a pebble into the sudden silence.

"Shh." He turned his head to the side to listen.

In the quiet, they could hear a faint scratching against the office door. Severus got up, pulled out his wand and moved in front of Hannah. "Stay back," he ordered in a low hiss. Every muscle tense, he opened the door a crack. A few seconds later, he lowered his wand.

"It's an owl," he said with astonishment.

Hannah, letting out a breath, came over, and stood beside him as he opened the door. The poor bird was drenched, frozen and half dead. She bent over and picked the pitiful creature up.

"You didn't just fly in through that blizzard, did you, you poor little thing?" she asked in concern. "Severus, do you have some sort of towel around?"

He walked into the adjacent classroom and came back with some rough work towels. "Will these do?"

She nodded, took the towels, and handed him the rolled-up scroll that had been attached to the owl's leg. "It's for you. Must have a water-repelling charm on it or something."

"You are very brave," she told the bird as she toweled it off in front of the fire. "Not every owl would have made it through that." When the owl peered up at the Potions master, obviously disappointed to be completely ignored by the recipient of its message, Hannah passed the bird a piece of biscuit from her bag and caressed its head. "He's a bit distracted right now. Don't hold it against him," she whispered.

She looked up at Severus apprehensively as he broke the seal and unrolled the scroll. His jaws clenched as he read, and his face grew a shade paler.

"What is it?" She got up and walked over next to him.

He hesitated for a moment, then shrugged and handed her the message. It was short and written in a rounded, feminine hand.

Dear Severus,

Your father has been taken quite ill. I don't know what to do. Please come as soon as you can. I need you here.

Hurry, please.

Mother

While she was reading, Severus had picked up his cloak and was fastening it around his throat.

"I'm so sorry to hear that." She walked over to him, the owl now forgotten, and laid a hand on his arm. "It must be serious?"

"Yes. She would not have owled me if it wasn't."

"Wouldn't a firecall have been easier?"

"My father disconnected our house from the Floo network many years ago," he answered shortly. "But you will have to excuse me now."

"Severus, there is a blizzard out there. You can't go out in that; you're not even quite well again."

"I don't see any other option."

She thought for a minute. "Do you know how to make a Portkey? To take you there and back?"

"I do. But I am sure you know all about Portkey regulations."

"No one would know," she said. "Hogwarts is so charged with magic that I am sure they couldn't detect anything."

Severus looked at her calculatingly. She had a point. After all, no one had detected the Portkey that had whisked the Potter boy away in his fourth year. He could do all the configuring here, and no one would notice. And he didn't relish the thought of going out into the howling storm.

Hannah stuffed the note in her bag as she dug down deep among the clutter in the bottom of her purse for a suitable item. "Here, use this." She held out a tin of mints.

As Severus reached out to take it, she grasped his hand, caution forgotten.

"Take me with you," she said impulsively, as she locked eyes with him.

Severus considered for a moment. The idea of being alone with his parents didn't have much appeal. Yet neither did the thought of showing her his ancestral home. Even so, the presence of a stranger might be just what was needed to defuse the situation - he was quite sure that even though his mother wanted him there, his father would be less than pleased. As concerned as Augustus Snape had been with making the right impression all his life, he would be much more likely to stay in control if someone other than the son he hated was present, especially once he figured out that that someone was the daughter of the head of Magical Law Enforcement. After just a moment's deliberation, he made up his mind.

"You may come, if you wish."

The tin briefly glowed blue as he muttered first one incantation, then another. Hannah grasped her bag and put on her cloak.

"Ready?" he said. "On the count of three..."

On three, both of them touched the Portkey. One moment, there was the dizzying, navel-twisting sensation of transport; the next, they were standing in front of the dilapidated mansion.

Hannah stuck the tin back into her bag. "This is your home?" she asked, looking incredulously at the forbidding building looming up before her in the darkness. She didn't get an answer as Severus walked up to the house and knocked. The door opened almost immediately.

"Oh Severus, I'm so glad you are here." The small, grey woman at the door was crying.

"Come with me. He is in the upstairs bedroom."

"Mother, I brought a friend..."

The woman looked confused, but then motioned Hannah in. "Come in, come in. We'll do introductions later...he is in a bad way..."

Severus mounted the stairs two steps at a time, and opened the door to a spacious bedroom. A still figure lay motionless on the large four-poster in the middle of the room.

"Father?" Severus said tentatively, and stepped up to the bed.

He never saw the curse coming. A white beam of light hit him from the back, and he froze in place, arrested in mid-motion. Before Hannah even had a chance to react, she could feel his mother's wand tip pressing against her neck. "If you move, I can promise you will never move again," the witch said almost pleasantly.

From behind the bedroom door, a short, balding figure stepped out, rubbing one flesh and one silver hand together in delight. There was a pleased, beaming smile on his face.

"Well, hello, Severus, old friend. Long time no see."