The Summer of the Phoenix

Chapter 26

"We didn't have enough last time," Mrs Weasley said, carrying a chair out to the hall and setting it down with as little noise as possible. "Would you be so kind - while I just go upstairs for a second - "

"Yeah, sure,"Sirius said curtly. Mrs Weasley made for the stairs, taking off her apron, and Sirius grabbed a back of a chair with each hand and made to follow Snape down to the kitchen.

When he arrived there, a very strange sight met his eyes. Sirius stopped dead in the shadows outside the open door.

Severus Snape was standing at the far end of the room, with his back to the door. He had pushed back the left sleeve of his robes and was holding his arm over the sink. With his right hand, he seemed to be pulling at something on his left forearm.

In a chair by the fireplace, looking at him with an expression of pity and deep concern on her face, was Hestia Jones. She watched him struggle awkwardly for a moment, and then got up from her seat.

"Do you need a third hand?" she asked quietly, taking a few steps towards him.

Snape turned sharply to face her. Sirius could see his profile clearly, paler than usual beneath his black hair. His face was tense, but to Sirius's surprise it was not quite the same mask of annoyance and contempt that Snape usually showed to the world.

"What? No, no need," he said indifferently, tugging again at his left forearm. Sirius realised there was a piece of cloth tied around it, just below the elbow. It looked like a very makeshift bandage, rather frayed and greyish, as if it hadn't been changed for a while. Snape was trying to untie it with one hand, but the knot wouldn't come undone. He let go and reached impatiently into his robes for his wand when Hestia Jones held out her hand.

"Let me help," she offered, in the same quiet voice as before.

Snape made no move to accept her offer, but he didn't object either when Hestia came to his side, reached up to his left arm and carefully untied the knot that held the bandage in place. Snape took off the dirty cloth and dropped it into the sink. Underneath it, there was another, smaller piece of cloth that covered the inside of his forearm. It was hardly more than a rag, with brownish and yellowish spots as if it was drenched in some unhealthy substance. Snape made to peel it off, but it stuck to his arm. He pulled a face, tugged at it a little harder, and let out a sharp hiss of pain.

"Is it that bad?" Hestia Jones asked, the worried frown deepening on her face.

Snape shook his head, not looking up. He gave the rag another tug, but to no avail.

"Can you - " Hestia began.

"Look away," he said.

"Why?"

He stared at her with narrowed eyes, but she returned his gaze very steadily.

"I would if I were you."

"No."

Snape shrugged, balled his left hand into a fist, and in one quick and determined move ripped the dirty piece of cloth off his forearm. Hestia gasped and took a step backwards, covering her mouth with both hands.

Even from a distance, it was a sickening sight. The inside of Snape's left forearm was one raw and red wound. In the centre of it was a small, dark spot. The skin had broken open around it, and festering cracks were beginning to spread in all directions. The skin around the gaping flesh was an angry, inflamed red, interspersed with little rivulets of a sickly yellow liquid that ran down to his wrist.

"Oh my God," Hestia whispered.

Snape looked at her darkly. The corners of his mouth were twitching, but Sirius was quite sure that this time, it was not out of contempt. Snape's left hand was clenched into a fist so tightly that it was shaking.

"How - how did it get so - " Hestia swallowed hard, staring at the gaping wound.

"It burns."

"All the time?"

"Until you turn up."

"And what - what if you don't?"

"It keeps burning."

"Do they meet often?"

"Daily." Snape drew his wand out of his robes. "And now do me the favour and look away." And without waiting for her to do so, he turned back towards the sink and muttered "Scourgify."

Sirius was quite thankful that he didn't see what exactly was going on. With a soft clatter, the wand fell down on the table next to the sink, and Snape seized his arm with his right hand. The sound of some thick liquid dripping into the sink, and Hestia Jones's pale face when she finally closed her eyes and turned her head away were enough to make it clear that it wasn't a pretty sight.

When Snape turned back towards the room, he looked a shade paler than before, and Sirius wondered if it was just a trick of the flickering firelight, or something else, that made his dark eyes glisten. He was breathing rather heavily, still clutching his arm, pressing the dirty rag back onto the wound.

"No, don't," Hestia said quickly, searching the pockets of her robes and producing a small, neatly folded handkerchief from one of them. "Take this, it's clean."

Snape took it hesitantly.

"Can't you put anything on it to - " Hestia suggested timidly.

"Such as?"

"Essence of Murtlap?"

"Doesn't help."

Snape picked up his wand from the table, muttered "Ferula", and a strip of cloth issued from the tip of his wand. He directed it around his left forearm, covering the wound and holding Hestia's handkerchief in place.

"So there is no way to ease it?" she asked in a small voice.

"Only one."

"Which one?"

"Go."

Hestia's eyes grew wide in alarm. "You're not - "

"Not yet. But soon." He had said it in the same level tone, his eyes still fixed on his arm, but Sirius could see the hand with the wand shake.

"Do you know," Hestia said quietly, seeing the same, "you're very brave to do this for us."

Snape paused and looked up at her with raised eyebrows. "I'm not doing it for you," he said coolly.

"No, for our cause, I mean," she corrected herself quickly.

"Our cause." Snape almost spat out the word. "Only fools believe in causes, Hestia, dreamers and hopeless romantics. Don't take me for one of them."

"But then why - " Hestia's voice was trembling now. "Why the effort, why the risk? And the pain," she ended in a whisper. Snape frowned at her as if she'd said something to offend him, but she stood her ground. "Why?" she asked again.

"Why?" he repeated. "Very simple. Survival. We might as well question why we breathe." He flicked his wand, and the bandage detached itself from its tip and tied itself around his arm in a neat knot.

"But there must be more than that," Hestia insisted. "Other things. Higher things. Things that matter even beyond our own lives."

Snape flexed his bandaged arm gingerly. "Like what?" he asked indifferently.

"You don't believe in love?" Hestia asked very quietly.

"I'm long past believing in anything, Hestia."

"So you don't believe in justice, either?"

"Justice." Snape gave a short and very bitter laugh. "Justice least of all."

Hestia Jones looked at him with a deep sadness in her eyes. "But there must be something that you still ask of the world, Severus."

"Yes, there is," he said harshly. "To leave me alone."

He turned away from her, back towards the door, and Sirius was quick witted enough to pick up his chairs and come blundering noisily into the room as if he'd just arrived.

Snape hastily pulled his sleeve down to his wrist. Their eyes met, and for a fleeting moment, Sirius felt as if he was looking into the depths of his own pain reflected in the other's dark eyes. But then, the dark eyes narrowed suspiciously, Snape's upper lip curled into the familiar sneer, and the moment had passed. Sirius dropped his chairs and left the room again as quickly as he could.

His mind was still on what he'd just seen and heard when he came back to the hall. He could hardly believe it. Since when had Snape ever been friendly with Hestia Jones? Since when had he ever been friendly with anyone in the Order? And even if 'friendly' wasn't exactly the right word to describe Snape's tone, how was it possible that he would ever allow anyone to see what Hestia Jones had just seen? And she of all people, little Hestia Jones who was afraid of her own shadow, of loud noises and of big dogs, even in their human form, but who had not seemed at all afraid of the Dark Mark, nor of the one who bore it.

Why?