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UnBroken	By : OddDoll Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Het - Male/Female Views: 6227 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 19
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Unbroken
By Odd Doll
Chapter 20
Sunday passed in a flurry of errands, packing, and short visits to the hospital. By Sunday night Severus and Phoebe both felt a prickle of unease at their situation, believing that Malfoy would soon arrive. Phoebe drove her fully packed SUV to San Francisco, and took a small room in Chinatown, near the hospital.
In the morning, Severus found that Phoebe had left black wool pants and a plain white shirt. Simple Muggle clothing.
"It will be a long drive," she had told him, the unspoken message being they would make at least one stop and the Muggles would find him odd in robes. She also mentioned cold weather at their destination, explaining the heavy down jacket.
A small label attached to each garment read: Don this garment and say 'Fit me.' Severus did and found himself in the best-fitting clothing he had ever owned. Even the shoes fit.
"I swear that damn witch thinks of everything," he muttered to himself.
While he combed his hair before the bathroom mirror, he took stock. A few gray hairs now, but not too bad. They made a stark contrast to the black of his hair, which he noted was now past his shoulder blades. His nose, when he turned to eye it in profile, appeared exactly as he remembered it: spectacular. The hollow cheeks, added to his usual sallow complexion, his nose and ingrained sneer, made him quite possibly the ugliest man in the world. Phoebe and he would make quite a pair walking down the streets of the wizarding district as if they belonged together.
When he left the bathroom, they settled in the guest chairs, and glanced about the room. It dawned on Severus that he would be spending a lot of time with this woman whom he barely knew. He liked her, he decided. She did not whine, and she wasn't stupid. She conversed well, expressed no annoying emotions or opinions, and seemed to have a sense of humor. He looked her over. Phoebe managed to look classy in a plaid shirt, jeans, and hiking boots. Hygiene and personal habits would not be a problem. He supposed he should pay attention to his own.
"You said we are going to Lake Tahoe?"
"Yes."
"And you've been there before?"
"Yes."
"Often?"
"No. We usually go elsewhere. Why? What are you thinking?"
Severus was about to tell her it was preferable to go someplace she had never been, but was interrupted by the arrival of Dr. Quon.
"Good morning, Mr. And Mrs. Shepherd. Why don't you sit on the bed, so I can give you a little exam?"
Severus moved to the bed and surrendered himself to the itchy, buzzy wand scan. Dr. Quon battered him with questions in the rapid, clipped diction that Chinese-Americans sometimes have.
"How's the pain?"
"It aches, mostly."
The healer nodded. "In your bones and joints where I repaired, the edges of the suture, and your teeth?"
"Yes."
"You will probably experience aches and pains for several weeks."
The wand hovered over Severus's chest longer than any other part of his body. Dr. Quon finished the exam with a frown. He crossed his arms over his chest, his wand tucked under one elbow.
"I've seen emaciation much worse than yours, There is a condition seen among Muggles, called anorexia nervosa. Sometimes, rarely, it's seen in witches or wizards."
"That's not the issue in his case," Phoebe said. Severus, who had roughly translated it as nervous starvation, had to agree.
The healer gave Severus a serious look, his smooth brow knit into three horizontal creases.
"Can you tell me how long you went without proper nourishment?"
"Over four months, although my diet was meager before that for a period of ten months."
Phoebe, who had been listening with interest, abruptly stood and went to stare out the window. Severus imagined he could read her thoughts and he bristled at what he perceived as her pity.
"You sound like a prisoner of war, or something."
Severus declined to comment. Dr. Quon jumped into the conversational gap.
"The problem is that prolonged malnutrition weakens every organ in the body. Much longer, and you would have lost your remaining teeth, but my biggest concern is your heart."
Phoebe turned from the window to exchange a worried glance with Severus.
"Your body has been devouring itself to stay alive. In wizarding medicine, we have ways to restore it, but it takes time. Until your recovery is complete, you will be at risk of heart failure. A severe shock, and it could stop."
"Is this the reason why I feel winded just walking to the bathroom?"
"Yes, for the most part. Your whole circulatory system is compromised."
"How long?" Phoebe asked.
Dr. Quon looked over at her. "About three months until he's out of danger." He gave Severus a stern look. "If you take the potions I prescribe, eat well, exercise, and get plenty of rest. And then a few more months until you are up to full health. Will you be able to return for me to keep tabs on your progress?"
"That is highly unlikely."
"Dr. Quon, it would be helpful if you could fill his prescriptions for several months ahead," Phoebe said.
"I could for one of them, but the others have a limited period of potency."
"Give me the formulas. I'll make them myself, if need be," Severus said haughtily.
"These are highly complex potions. You can't just brew them up in your kitchen."
Severus sneered at the doctor. "I am not some housewife who makes cleaning solutions."
Dr. Quon stood silent for several moments. He pursed his lips and stared at the floor as if deciding. At last, he shifted from foot to foot, and sighed.
"Okay, here's the thing. One of the potions is proprietary. I have the formula, but they would take action against me if it got out that I gave it to a patient. Not to mention what would happen if you poisoned yourself." He smiled, looking a bit embarrassed. "The other potion is my own creation. The patent isn't quite ready yet."
"Does it work?" Severus asked with a skeptical rise of one brow and a tone that bordered on rudeness. Phoebe rolled her eyes to the ceiling.
"It works very well," Dr. Quon said evenly. "Otherwise, the hospital apothecary would not dispense it."
Phoebe had been watching and listening, and decided to step in before Severus committed further conversational suicide. "Dr. Quon, we mean you no harm. We never have. Mr. Shepherd is a man who has suffered for a long time. I think you can see that. He needs a chance to recover in peace and safety. Coming here to get his potions would put him at risk." She looked at Severus, wondering what to say, what to reveal. His blank, dark eyes told her nothing. Ambiguity seemed the safest choice. "There is no doubt in my mind that he could recreate any potion you gave him, and also that he would be wise enough to consult you should he run into trouble."
The corners of Severus's lips turned up. Phoebe recognized his smile for what it was: an acknowledgment of both of her subtle manipulations. In the same sentence she had warned Severus not to be too proud to ask for help, while placating Dr. Quon by suggesting his help would be valuable. Severus's expression, normally so blank and distant, softened around the eyes and mouth. Phoebe nodded, the barest tip of her head, and his eyes softened even more.
What occurred in mere seconds went unnoticed by the healer as he considered Phoebe's words.
"Okay, I'll do it. I don't suppose you have much reason to come out into the open enough to sell my potion." Phoebe and Severus exchanged a glance, both wondering how much Dr. Quon had guessed.
Dr. Quon went to his office and soon returned with both copies of the formulas and prescriptions for a potion to protect Severus's heart from shocks, another to speed up the recovery of all his tissues, a nutritional supplement, and a cream to remove scars. He handed these over with stern instructions.
"You must have regular exercise. Walk as much as you can. You are building bone and muscle, so you will need healthy meals. Avoid stress and shocks. If you find yourself in a stressful situation, just walk away. Your suture and bones will be knitting for several weeks still, so no heavy exercise, like lifting or jumping." He turned to Phoebe. "Will you be caring for him?"
"Yes."
"Good. Make sure he takes his potions, exercises, and gets plenty of rest. And eats well. He needs protein. The nutritional supplement is not enough. Mr. Shepherd, don't be surprised if you need a lot of sleep. Dozing off in the middle of the day is normal. I've just patched you up in half a dozen places, and your body is working very hard now."
"I intend to take good care of him," Phoebe said. "Thank you for everything."
*****
It took another half hour to get the prescriptions from the apothecary within the hospital. It was already nearly eight a.m., and Phoebe was anxious about the lateness of the hour.
"We have just one more thing to do before we leave," she told him as she held the door to the street.
Severus stepped into the street. He paused there, looked into the sky, and took a deep breath.
"It smells...exotic, like the Orient. Or, at least, how I imagine it would smell."
He didn't move. Phoebe tried to be patient, but she felt exposed in the public street.
"You're free, Severus."
He glanced around them, taking in Qing's Chinese Apothecary and Potions, the source of most of the smells. Witches and wizards in bright robes stood around a dusty newspaper kiosk, purchasing or reading copies of "The Oracle" and magazines such as the American edition of "Witch's Weekly." A man brushed against Phoebe as he passed, his long white hair flowing over the shoulders of his plain black robe. She heard Severus take a sharp breath. When she looked over at him, he was frowning.
"Neither of us will be completely free until this matter is settled," he said.
"Come on." She took his upper arm to guide him. "We should get going."
As she walked by his side, matching her pace to his somewhat slower one, she asked, "What did you see, Severus? Is it something I should be concerned about?
"No. Just a case of mistaken identity."
"Oh...are you positive it was a mistake? We can't be too careful."
"Positive. The man I saw was much too old." He glanced at her. "And the other one is dead by my own hand."
"Oh." She shivered at that. "You're a bit scary, sometimes, you know?"
"I wouldn't normally say something like that, but you need to open your eyes to what you are dealing with."
"Thanks. I think."
"Where are we going?" he asked in a blatant change of subject.
"Right here." They stopped before a brick storefront with 'Botilletti's, Wandmakers' written in gilt script on the window glass. A bell tinkled as they entered into a small reception area with faded carpet in a pattern of large red roses on a field of gray. To either side were long sofas upholstered in chintz, walnut end tables, and tall floor lamps. Pristine white doilies covered the backs and arms of the furniture.
"My grandmother was Sicilian," she whispered to Severus. "Her living room looked a lot like this. And she looked a lot like that." She pointed behind the counter.
Behind one end of the counter, a tiny old woman sat on a tall stool. She wore a faded, flowered apron over a plain black dress that had large shiny black buttons down the front. Her wispy white hair was tied at the nape of her neck in a loose bun, and her feet, which dangled above the floor, were clad in black orthopedic shoes. Knee-high nylons completed the ensemble.
In the old woman's gnarled hands, a steel crochet hook moved with amazing speed, turning out what appeared to be another doily. She looked down at it with a patient air, as if she knew she was watched.
At the opposite end of the counter a young woman sat with an open book, parchment, and a quill spread before her. The book and parchment were covered with equations and symbols.
"Mama Botilletti, Cristina, good morning."
"How can I help you?" Cristina Botilletti asked. Her eyes slid up Severus and down again, in that sensuous but disdainful way Italian girls did so well. She seemed not to find anything promising, as she pouted her lips and turned her attention to Phoebe.
"This gentleman needs a replacement wand."
The half-grown femme fatale disappeared as she shouted over her shoulder, "Papa! Customer!"
They waited a minute.
"Papa!"
Mama Botilletti said something in Italian, Cristina choked, and after a second Phoebe chuckled.
"She said he's probably on the toilet, reading a book," she translated for Severus.
"You speak Italian?"
"A bit. I had to take a foreign language for my Hotel Management degree, and I decided on Italian because of my heritage."
"I would have thought it would be German."
"My German grandparents were not nearly as interesting as Grandma."
"Cristina!" the old woman said sharply.
Cristina Botilletti threw down her quill, cast a frown at Phoebe and Severus, and stomped off between the shelves that held the Botilletti's stock of wands.
"Teenagers," Severus muttered.
"She's not so bad, just really intense about her studies. The resort gave her a scholarship to study Advanced Arithmancy. Well, I gave her a scholarship but didn't know what she would be studying. She's absolutely brilliant."
"Even worse."
"Don't you like kids?"
"Not much."
"Severus, you're a teacher."
"Not by choice."
"But..."
She was interrupted by the arrival of Tony Botilletti.
"Mrs. Baher. It's so good to see you again. Christie, why didn't you tell me it was her?"
Cristina Botilletti blushed crimson and mumbled, "I didn't recognize her."
Tony Botilletti lifted a flap of the counter and came out to shake hands and be introduced to 'Mr. Shepherd.'
"Christie told me you needed a replacement." He went back to his side of the counter. "What was your old wand made of?"
"Ironwood, with a sliver of dragon scale from a Chinese Fireball."
Mama Botilletti snorted. "You must be an evil bastard."
Cristina Botilletti made a strangling sound.
"Mama," her son said with pleading in his voice.
The old woman just smiled, never taking her eyes off her crochet hook.
"I take it you're English?" Tony asked. He turned toward the shelves.
"Yes."
Tony picked up a footstool and carried it to the back of the room. One at a time, he took down four boxes from a shelf so high up, it was almost at the ceiling.
"It's best to start with your native woods," he said when he laid them out on the counter. "Not essential, though, and sometimes it has more to do with ancestry or temperament."
Each box was made of wood and closed with a small hook. They had stock numbers attached with small paper labels, but nothing else to indicate which type of wand they held.
Tony flipped up the hook of a box with a fingernail and gently unfolded the top. "This one has dragon scale. The others are from creatures with similar tempers or habitats. Salamander, troll and ashwinder."
Phoebe cleared her throat to cover a laugh.
"What's the matter?" Severus asked.
"Oh, I am going to have so much fun if it turns out to be the troll."
Severus scowled. "Please try to remember the conversation we just had in the street.
Severus lifted the wand and held it up. "No," he said almost immediately, putting it back in the box. Each of the three other wands received similar treatment. Tony left them on the counter as he went to the shelves for five more boxes.
"We'll stay with the native wood for now. The wood is more telling in a choosing. These are what I have in ironwood imported from Europe."
Each of these wands, too, was not a match. Tony retrieved the American ironwoods, first those with dragon scale or similar elements, and when those were rejected, his entire American ironwood stock. After the nineteenth wand, Phoebe noticed that Severus was paler than usual and had a sheen of sweat on his face.
"Can we get him a stool? He's not been well. Do you need something to drink?" she asked Severus.
"Water would be helpful," he said quietly.
Cristina tended to his needs while Tony brought more wands down from the shelves. He returned with his arms loaded with boxes and piled them on the counter.
"This is everything I have in ironwood. The others from around the world."
One by one, Severus tested the stack of wands. While he worked, Mama Botilletti watched him, her black eyes lingering more on Severus and less on her crochet with each wand he tried. When he said no to the forty-third, and final, wand, she jumped down from her stool. She lifted the counter flap with difficultly, her son taking it from her hands, and came to stand before Severus. When she squinted up at his face and peered into his eyes, she managed to look domineering, inscrutable, and ridiculous all at the same time.
"You have been quite ill," she said, her husky voice traced with a bit of accent. "You still are. You've gone through an ordeal, haven't you?"
"You could say that."
"And loss, too."
"I suppose."
She turned to her son. "Come."
While Mama Botilletti led Tony to the shelves, Cristina whispered, "She's never made a wand in her life, but no one is better at matching a wand to its user."
In the back of the room, Mama Botilletti stood near the place where Tony had first sought wands for Severus. She pointed to a high shelf. "Twenty-five seventy-eight."
"That one?" Tony asked skeptically but drew up the stool and retrieved it. They returned, him bearing just the one box.
"It's funny about wands," he said. "They sometimes seem prescient. It's as if they know a certain person is coming. I never made this combination before or since, but at the time this wand just demanded to be made." He flipped open the box to reveal a long white wand. It was thicker and sturdier than the previous wands and smooth from end to end.
"That's impossible," Severus said.
"Try it," the old woman said.
"There is no possibility that this could be my wand."
"What is it?" Phoebe asked.
"English holly," Tony explained, "with a sliver of dragon scale from a Chinese Fireball."
"Try it," Mama Botilletti insisted.
"What can it hurt to try it?" Phoebe asked.
Severus scowled, but took up the wand. In an instant everyone in the room felt a surge of power prickle their skin as the wand channeled Severus's magic. His eyes widened, but he tossed the wand down on the counter.
"This is preposterous."
"Severus, that is your wand," Phoebe said, forgetting to call him by his alias.
"That cannot possibly be my wand. Holly is not strong enough to channel my power. It's not suitable to the type of person I am."
"It is certainly strong enough," Mama Botilletti said. "Holly is not an open channel like ironwood is, that is true, but it's a thinking wood, and its aim is truer. It will serve you better." She gave him a knowing look. "You still have the element of fire and anger in the dragon scale. You are at a balance, sir, but Holly is a holy wood. It will protect you from Dark Magic and keep you from sin. The Boy-Who-Lived carried holly."
Unknowingly, she had said the wrong thing. Severus's expression grew uglier. "Let's go, Phoebe."
"Not until I pay for your new wand."
"You are wasting your money if you do." He strode out the door and waited for her on the street.
"I'm sorry," Phoebe said, a tad embarrassed for his behavior. "He's been through so much."
"He is at a crossroads," Mama Botilletti said. "He has experienced many changes and no longer knows who he is. And with that dragon scale he'll always be a bit of a son of a bitch, but over all, it's hard to say which way he will go." She looked Phoebe up and down in a manner reminiscent of her granddaughter's appraisal of Severus. "Dragon scale, too, is very protective, both of the bearer and those he cares for."
Phoebe wondered if Mama Botilletti was talking in riddles on purpose. "Thank you, Mama Botilletti. Tony, I'm sorry it was so much work."
"It happens sometimes."
Phoebe paid for the wand and met Severus on the street. "Here." She held out the box. He sneered at it. "Take it. Remember what I said a few days ago about running roughshod over people?"
He took the box and tucked it under his arm. "Shall we get out of here?"
"Yes, by all means. That took a long time, and we need to get going."
*****
From behind the counter, Tony Botilletti watched his customers walk away from his shop.
"Do you know who that was?" he asked his mother.
"Yes. They make a fascinating pair." She glared up at her son, and then at her granddaughter. "If you breathe a word of this, I will paddle you both with my big soup spoon."
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UnBroken