Chapter Fourteen: May a flower no more

Chapter Fourteen: May a flower no more

9 April 1998

Severus hurried up the drive, glancing toward the Headmistress's Tower and pleased to see that there were still lights in its windows. He had been speaking casually with a few of the older Death Eaters, talking with them about their early days with the Dark Lord, feigning admiration and appreciation for their stories, and he had obtained useful information from them. He would write it all down for Minerva later, but he wanted to tell her immediately. He hoped that Crouch wasn't with her. As much as he had grudgingly come to accept the wizard's presence in the castle and by Minerva's side, he still wanted to share this with her alone.

He was glad to have learned what he had just for its own sake and what it might accomplish, but Severus also hoped that it would win him more of Minerva's approval. She seemed to have eased in her attitude toward him, beginning...peculiarly enough...after that night when he had seen her with Crouch in the library, but he wanted to do what he could for her and continue to earn her forgiveness. For all those years, she had known what he had done to one of her friends, her own brother's wife, and yet she had taught beside him, forgiven him, befriended him . . . the more he contemplated it, the more Severus stood in awe of Minerva. He knew that she was no soft, weak, naive woman, and she most surely had a temper, but she had somehow given him a chance to become someone other than the Death Eater he had been. He had never completely shed that identity in his own mind, though he had certainly disavowed the Dark Lord and all his aims, but he had never been able to see himself as an entity apart from his evil deeds as a Death Eater. Minerva did.

He might not have much longer on this earth, but in what time he had, Severus decided, he was going to finally take the opportunity to be something more than a Death Eater or reformed Death Eater. He would try. And not only for Minerva, but for Hermione, as well, whose acceptance of him and of his despicable actions still baffled Severus. He didn't want Gareth McGonagall's words to be true; perhaps he deserved misery, but perhaps he could earn something more. He might be able to earn some small measure of redemption.

He rode the stairs up to the Headmistress's Office. The door did not open to him, so he knocked. When there was no response, he opened the door and entered. There was only one lamp lit in the office, but he had seen that there were lights on in her suite. She would know he was there waiting...and if he waited too long, he would ask Phineas Nigellus to announce him. He had barely entered the office, though, when Crouch appeared on the stairs down from the Headmistress's suite.

"Ah, Professor Snape! You are here to see Minerva, I imagine. She is preparing for bed, but I will send her down to you," Crouch said.

Severus simply nodded and stood, waiting.

"Have a good night, Professor," Crouch said with a nod before heading back up the stairs.

Less than five minutes later, Minerva, wrapped in her cosy tartan dressing gown, was sitting with him, a pot of peppermint tea on the coffee table between them.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like any, Severus?"

"No, thank you." He swallowed. He had been so excited about his news, but now that he came to give it, he realised how very paltry it might seem. Still, he would tell her and let her be the judge of the information's value.

"Well, I will pour you a cup anyway. You needn't drink it if you don't want it," Minerva said. "Did you have a meeting with the toe-rag tonight?"

"No, no, but I have been spending time with some of the older Death Eaters, ones who joined him early. I have pretended over the last several days to be fascinated by their stories and to admire them. I have found out some information that might be useful." Severus reached for his cup for something to do with his hands. "A few weeks ago, Poppy told me about a friend of yours, Alroy MacAirt's father."

Minerva nodded and set down her own teacup. "Yes, Quin. He was a fine, fine man. He still is."

"I thought . . . there is so much that I can do nothing about, but this . . . it may not be useful, you understand, Minerva, and I do not want you to become overly optimistic, but it is possible that he could be cured."

Minerva sat up straighter. "What? Cured? How?"

"There was a curse that the Dark Lord himself created. He thought it was quite amusing. It was only used a few times, though, as almost no one but he could ever master the spell. Something about forming the intent was difficult for most of the Death Eaters. I have a theory about why that was, but I'll write it all down for you."

"What curse?" Minerva asked impatiently.

"It was to create an extreme phobia of all things magic. He named the curse Timor magicus and the incantation was Timere magia, and I know for a fact that it was cast on your friend Quin. They were quite . . . descriptive in their retelling of the attack on him. He was very brave, Minerva. That much was clear to me despite the way they boasted. The Dark Lord came himself and cast that final curse."

All the colour drained from Minerva's face and Severus thought she was on the verge of tears.

"I am sorry to bring these painful memories back to you, Minerva. I am probably not telling you this the way that I should, but . . . I haven't much practice at it."

"It was a curse . . . we thought it might be, but he . . . how can we even discover a countercurse if he has such a fear of magic that we can't use any in his presence?" Minerva asked.

"I don't know . . . perhaps I shouldn't have said anything. But I thought . . . I thought there was a chance that if you knew that it most definitely was a curse and not the result of psychological trauma, although after all this time . . ." Severus trailed off uncertainly.

"No, no, it is very good you did." Minerva blinked and gathered herself together. "What else did you learn about it? You said it was difficult to cast."

"Yes. The wizards I spoke to didn't realise the commonality among those few who did master it, but I did: none were purebloods and all of them had had extensive contact with Muggles as they were growing up. If it had been a curse that the Dark Lord was still interested in at the time I was branded, I probably could have learned it. By then, however, he was interested in more obviously destructive curses. In those earlier years, though, he found it quite amusing to use the curse on those whom he considered Muggle-lovers. Let them live like Muggles and have an aversion to all things wizarding if they were such Muggle-lovers and blood-traitors, he thought." Severus took a sip of his aromatic tea. "Your friend is actually quite lucky. Two of the victims of the curse are long-term residents in the Janus Thickey ward and are in a permanent state of catatonia after being forced to live in the hospital constantly surrounded by magic. It is unlikely that at this point, either of them could be cured. Two others whom I learned of killed themselves within days of being released from the hospital. As far as I could determine, MacAirt is the only one still alive, although the wizards I spoke with actually guessed that he must have died, too, since they hadn't heard anything of him."

"There is hope, then," Minerva said softly. "Do you know that Quin can barely even speak of his late wife, whom he adored, because memories of her are so entangled with memories of magic? Only a few wizarding friends are able to visit him. For years, my visits had to be very brief because he always had thought of me as . . ." Minerva swallowed her tears as she remembered a smiling, lively Quin calling her ma grande dame de la Metamorphosis. "He always thought of me as a Transfiguration mistress and an Animagus. It took a long time for him to be able to sit with me comfortably. Gertrude used to visit him frequently before she was injured, even after Malcolm was killed. It was a comfort to them both, even though they could not speak of how Malcolm was murdered. Gertrude always just had to tell him that he was killed during a street mugging. I think Quin knows better, but he has to avoid thinking about such things."

"What was he told about Professor Gamp?" Severus asked.

"That she had had a terrible accident and that she had to go away for a while. He eventually stopped asking about her. She still writes him letters. She can't use magic to write them, because he can detect that; it took her a while to learn how to write with her left hand, so for a long time, she would have to dictate them to one of us. Gareth or Robert or I post them at a Muggle post office so that they arrive in the Muggle post for him. Alroy or Aine, his sister, pretend to post Gertrude's letters, but they actually deliver them to one of us, and we give them to her when someone goes for a visit. I don't see her as often as I used to, of course. It is hard enough for me to even leave the Hogwarts grounds." Minerva rubbed her forehead wearily. "If you would write down everything that you know about the curse, every small detail, including the identities of the two patients still at St. Mungo's, I will pass it on to Melina. She might be able to begin working on it without needing to see Quin and upsetting him."

"Of course. I hope that it is useful." Severus made a move to stand, but then hesitated.

"Yes?"

"I wish I could do more," Severus said. "If you think of any other things I can do, or if there is any other way that I can help him or anyone else who has . . . who has suffered the effects of the Dark Lord. I want to. What I have been doing, helping you and the Order, it doesn't feel enough anymore. That was . . . that was for Lily," he said softly. "For my regrets. But now, I don't know why, but I need to do more. I may not have an opportunity later."

Minerva nodded. "I understand. I will think about it and have . . . I will think about it, Severus."

Severus stood. "And I'd rather no one else knew unless necessary."

Minerva smiled at Severus as she rose from her chair. "That's fine, too. Good night, Severus. Albus would be very proud of you. I know it."

The corners of his mouth twitched a slight smile. "Good night, Headmistress. He would be very proud of you, too." Without thinking about it and not stopping himself, he bent his head and quickly kissed her cheek, then turned even more quickly and left.

"And he thinks there might still be a cure for Quin, even after all these years," Minerva finished.

"That's wonderful news, Minerva."

"I wish we had thought to ask Severus about this before," she said, pushing back a little further into his warm embrace as she tugged the covers up under her chin. If she closed her eyes, she could almost believe that nothing had changed, that if she turned and rolled over in bed, she would encounter Albus's smiling face and bright blue eyes. She knew she wouldn't, but this was nice.

"We should have. But it was before Severus became a Death Eater, and there were so many other things..."

"I know," Minerva said quickly, interrupting, "but we won't waste any more time. I will owl Melina in the morning and ask her to come. Severus said he would write down all of the details that he can. She can begin work on it immediately. She was always very fond of Quin. I'm sure she'll be happy to do it."

"Why did he decide to ask about the curse?"

"Poppy had told him about Quin, and I think he is looking for more ways to atone," Minerva said. "He said that his work for the Order didn't seem enough any longer, and he wants to find ways of helping those who were victims of the Dark Lord. I can hardly wait to find out what Melina thinks about Quin's chances."

"That is . . . promising, certainly. But morning will come more quickly if we sleep now," he replied, stifling a yawn and kissing the back of her head. "Good night, my love."

"I am glad you said I should soften my attitude toward him. I think it helped. It was time," Minerva said softly.

"Mm. You were unhappy. You are happier, as is he." He yawned again.

"Good night, sweet dreams."

"Always, with you in my arms. Always."

Severus watched as Hermione spilled her milk. She needed to see him. An unaccustomed nervousness rose in him, causing a tightness in his chest. He had seen her twice since she had overheard Gareth McGonagall's accusations, and she had made no mention of them again, but he had felt awkward. Of course, he had seen her every day in the Great Hall or in class, but that was quite different from having to sit across from her and wonder what she was thinking of him, whether she was remembering what a wretched excuse for a human being he was. It shamed him when he realised he had even considered...very briefly...using Legilimency to discover what she was thinking about.

Perhaps he should consider teaching her Occlumency, but that thought also made him uncomfortable. Someone should teach her Occlumency, but that person shouldn't be he. He would see what he couldn't bear to consider: what she might think of him now that she knew precisely what kind of evil he had committed. It could have been Hermione just as easily as it had been Gamp, and that thought made him even more ill. Unbidden, an image of him raising his wand and slicing off Hermione's wand arm rose in his mind.

Severus pushed away from the table and stalked out of the Great Hall. Regret and atonement were all very well when he could feel better about himself. But he was only fooling himself. He was evil. Nothing could change that. It was pointless to care what Hermione might think of him. It did not change the fact that he was a Death Eater. He wore the Dark Lord's brand. He had killed, maimed, injured, caused indescribable pain . . . he could not change that. Nothing he did could change that.

He swept down to the dungeons and into his quarters, slamming the door behind him. He threw himself into his chair. Hermione wanted to see him. Dinner would be over shortly. He had to go up to the Headmistress's Library and see her. He did not want to go. There was nothing more for them to do. Potter was wasting time, as far as he could tell, and the Dark Lord was readying for some large attack...on Hogwarts, Severus was certain.

He had been telling the Dark Lord for weeks that he would have the castle's wards down. There would come a day when he would expect Severus to actually lower them. Students could be injured, killed. Staff certainly would be. And the Dark Lord was not the only one who expected him to do it. Minerva did, as well. She said that they would be prepared. He wanted to refuse to do it, but he remembered how his previous refusal had resulted in a long, painful death for the only man who cared for him. It had still killed Albus, and it had devastated Minerva, and it had brought Robert Crouch to the castle. No, he could not refuse to drop the wards. Better to do it when they were prepared for the Dark Lord's attack.

Perhaps, though, he could avoid meeting with Hermione. He could simply not go tonight, then tell Minerva . . . what? That it was pointless to meet with the girl? The truth was that he did not want to see Hermione because it reminded him of his own nature. Beyond that, when he looked into her eyes, he remembered her shock when he had told her what he had done to Gamp. She had forgiven him immediately, but she must have thought of it again and again. How could she not? He did not like what he was; how could she?

It didn't matter, Severus told himself. It was Order business. Everyone in the Order knew what he was and despised him. It was just as well that way. At least Lupin wasn't hanging about trying to become friends. That had ended with the Headmaster's death. No reason to be nice to the pet Death Eater after its master was dead, he thought, avoiding the memory of himself shouting at Lupin, telling him to take his firewhisky and his furry hide and go find someone else to blubber to. He had just learned of Dumbledore's decision to let the curse take him, and he was angry, and Lupin was so very easy to be angry with. That was the last time that the werewolf had darkened his doorway. And he certainly didn't miss him.

He should do the same with Granger, Severus decided. He didn't want or need her pity. He certainly didn't need her company. She would realise soon enough that she was wasting her forgiveness on him. Her pity. He would meet with her. He would meet with her and remind her of just what sort of man he was.

Severus slammed out of his rooms, his mood seeming to crackle around him, students scurrying from his path as he stormed up to the Headmistress's gargoyle. He was no one's pet Death Eater. He was just a nasty, irredeemable, miserable bastard, just as young McGonagall had told him.

He reached the gargoyle to see another already there, and the door opening to her. Melina turned to him and smiled.

"Professor Snape! It is good to see you!"

Severus grunted at her and stepped onto the moving stair behind her.

"Minerva told me that you gave her the details about the curse. Thank you. I have just been from St. Mungo's, looking at the records of the other patients whose names you gave us. That was most helpful. I do think it is too late to help them, but I am very hopeful about Quin," Melina said, smiling brightly back at him. "You have no idea how much good you have done. Thank you! I believe that with time, we can find a countercurse or other cure, and he will recover."

Severus shrugged, but then his curiosity won out. "How will you treat him if you cannot use magic around him?"

They arrived at the top of the stairs, and Melina opened the door.

"My son is a chemist and a researcher for a pharmaceuticals manufacturer...a wizard, but he preferred to study the Muggle sciences, much to the dismay of my father," Melina said with a laugh, "but he is still a qualified wizard, and he helped me to develop some methods of delivering potions to Quin that make him believe that he is taking Muggle medicine. I think he suspects they are not, but they are sufficiently disguised that he can ignore whatever doubts he may have. I can sedate him first, if necessary."

"That is interesting," Snape said, his professional curiosity piqued. "I have wondered whether there might not be some developments in Muggle medicine that might be useful in Potions, but I have had little time to explore the notion."

"My father and I have recently worked to greatly improve the delivery of certain potions that normally have to be taken several times a day so that one dose releases slowly over time. We simply modified a Muggle method...improved on it, of course, using magic...and although each potion reacts somewhat differently and we have had to make various adjustments, we have had success with a few different ones."

Severus furrowed his brow. "I haven't much reading time, but I have not seen anything in the Potions journals about this."

"Oh, we're still working out the kinks," Melina said quickly. "We will probably publish something in a year or so. And there is the potential for misuse of the methods, so we would prefer to wait until at least one Dark Wizard in particular is no longer a factor to consider."

"Any magic can be turned to Dark purposes," Severus said.

"Precisely. But I do want to thank you, Severus. There are many who will benefit indirectly if we are able to cure Quin. I will make sure that he knows who to thank when he is well."

"No, no, don't do that. I have done nothing," Severus said, and yet as he looked down into the dark-eyed witch's cheerful face, he felt an easing in his chest and a peculiar desire to return her smile. "But I am glad that it will help him."

"Were you meeting with...?"

"Not with the Headmistress, no," Severus replied, shaking his head slightly. "Give my regards to your father."

Melina smiled brightly again. "I will. And I will let you know if we make progress."

"I would be interested," Severus said softly.

He nodded to the Healer, then turned and went toward the library. He was quite late. His fit of anger, or whatever it had been, had delayed him. Hermione might have already left. He would have, if he were the one waiting.

But she hadn't left, and when he stepped into the library and closed the door behind him, she smiled warmly.

"You needed to see me," Severus said shortly. "Has the intrepid trio done something as idiotic as breaking into Gringotts again?"

"No. In fact, I've been sitting here wondering whether my excuse to see you was good enough. I decided it wasn't."

Severus raised an eyebrow as he sat down.

"I actually just wanted to see you because I'm getting nervous," Hermione admitted. "I am worried about Harry. I am worried about what is going to happen. Last time we met, it sounded as though you believe the Dark Lord is going to attack Hogwarts. It makes me sick to think of that. All the children . . ."

"It makes me uncomfortable, as well, Hermione," Severus said softly. "And my role, my necessary role . . . that is even worse."

"You are a spy . . ."

"I am more than a spy, Hermione. I don't simply hide behind bushes and eavesdrop on conversations, you know."

Hermione nodded and looked down.

"Somehow, he has to gain entry to Hogwarts," Severus continued. "With or without me. With me, with my assistance, the Headmistress will have some warning. But I will still be responsible and unable to do anything to stop him."

"You have slowed him, though. You have saved Harry over and over again. And Harry will be able to defeat him."

"That is the hope."

"Yes, it is. And I think he will, if we are right about the two of them, and the Horcrux being contained in a shell of magic. As long as Harry doesn't resist, if he lets Vol– lets him attack him without resisting, I think that he has a chance. Harry will have to kill him, of course," Hermione said with a sigh.

"Yes, he will. At least, that is what the Headmaster always believed," Severus said quietly.

"Or Harry will be killed."

"We have to hope that his skill and his luck are sufficient to prevent that. Has he been practising at all?"

Hermione shrugged. "They say they are, and I don't know why they would lie about that. But duelling with friends is quite different from having to kill someone who is ruthless."

"It is . . . but there may still be some kind of an effect remaining even after the Horcrux is released. The Dark Lord will still have some of Potter's substance in him even if Potter no longer contains any of his soul or his magic."

"I would think that would only make him less vulnerable to Harry," Hemione said with a sigh. "I suppose I should do more work on this. I will need to tell Harry."

"You should wait to tell him. Wait until he needs to know. Don't give him time to think about it or to get any batty notions from Lovegood."

"That doesn't sound very fair."

"Potter's great strength is that he will act, and that he reacts. Give him something to act upon, let him react, don't let him lose that impulse to act on what you tell him by allowing him too much time to think about it."

"He is more than a bundle of impulses," Hermione said defensively.

Severus suppressed his own impulse to sneer. "Of course, but it is nonetheless true of him. When he knows what he must do, he will do it. Surely you can see the sense in not giving him too much information too soon, Hermione. He can only brood about it in that case...or fly off on impulse and do something precipitously that could lead to disaster."

"I think he's becoming steadier," Hermione said.

"That may be, but I ask that you not tell him until the time is right."

Hermione nodded. "If you think it's best."

"Not only I, but the Headmistress does, as well."

"I know it's none of my business, but you seem to be getting along well with her lately, and spending more time with her."

"You noticed. Good. Perhaps others have, as well."

They had made an effort to enter and leave the Great Hall together for more meals, and for him to be seen with her without the constant presence of her shadow. He had also presented memories to the Dark Lord that indicated that the Headmistress was relying more heavily on him and his advice...though he had not made use of any of the memories from the time he was afflicted by the Adfectus. The Dark Lord's expectations of him would shift if he saw any of those memories, and he did not want that, no more did he wish to exploit any of the memories of Minerva's great generosity. To share them with the Dark Lord would be to sully them.

"Oh, is it only an act, then?" Hermione asked.

"No, not only an act."

"Good." Hermione thought a moment. "You're friends, then."

"Mmm." Severus did not wish to discuss his friendships or lack thereof with Hermione.

"I see." Hermione fidgeted in her seat. "Was that Healer O'Donald you were speaking to before?"

"Yes."

"She was thanking you for something."

"Yes," Severus said tersely.

"I'm sorry, I have wasted your time. I'm sorry." Hermione began to stand, blushing.

"No, you haven't. I . . . I simply don't wish to speak of those things," Severus said. "Why did you really want to see me?"

"I told you. I am nervous about what's to come."

Severus shook his head slowly. "But why would you want to see me?"

"I usually feel better, more confident, after we meet," Hermione explained.

"That is a most atypical reaction to my company," Severus said drily.

Hermione shrugged and smiled. "I'm just lucky, then."

Severus bit back his sarcastic retort, although later, he wondered why, since he had left his rooms so very determined to show Hermione precisely what kind of a man he was. Instead, he said, "No, it is my good fortune." As he uttered those words, he felt a tightness in his chest again, and when Hermione's eyes met his, his breath caught in his throat. He suddenly felt a greater sense of danger than he did even in the midst of the baldest lie to the Dark Lord.

Hermione blushed and lowered her eyes. "I do feel better now."

Severus swallowed. "Good."

"I should have asked how you are," Hermione said. "You looked unhappy at dinner. I thought you might be angry with me, actually, then I decided that was silly of me, since we hadn't even spoken recently. But it did occur to me that I might be wasting your time."

"No, Hermione, you are not wasting my time. I have student essays to read, but your company is far preferable."

"How are you, then?"

Severus thought a moment. "I do not know how to answer that, unless I merely say that I am fine."

"Are you fine?"

"I do not know. I do not wish to discuss it."

"All right. I just thought . . . it's been a few years since the Dark Lord returned. It must be difficult for you. And all of the people around you . . . the ones here and in the Order, ones that the Death Eaters have hurt, and then the Death Eaters, who you have to associate with but who you're betraying." Hermione shrugged. "I can't imagine it, but it must be difficult."

Severus looked vacantly at a space above her left shoulder, then he blinked and looked back at her. "Whatever you may imagine, I doubt that you will understand that it was almost a relief when he returned. I had waited more than a decade for that moment. It had been my purpose, waiting, and my only one, it seemed. Waiting." He paused. "I have the existence that was given me, and I have the opportunity . . . an opportunity." One corner of his mouth twitched up slightly. "I am fine, Hermione."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, then Hermione raised her eyes and said softly, "I wish you something beyond that. When it's over."

"And that, I cannot imagine," Severus said.

"If you live, and I do, I could help you imagine it," she said, almost whispering.

"I think it is time for you to leave, Hermione. And I do have second-year essays to read tonight."

She nodded and stood.

"Thank you. I am glad we met tonight," he said quietly.

"Good night." She placed her hand on the door handle, then turned. "I do feel better, sir."

"So do I," he replied, but without looking at her.

Hermione hesitated a moment, then she opened the door and left, closing it gently behind her.

"So do I, Hermione," he whispered again. "So do I."