A Dish Served Cold

32 – Headaches

Hermione had her head resting on her fists as she stared at the bubbling retort. She was waiting patiently for it to turn a specific shade of lavender-blue. She had pasted a piece of parchment the exact color the potion should turn up on the retort so that she never had to take her eyes off of the potion. There was a very small window of opportunity between the proper color change and the whole concoction being ruined and she was determined to get it right. Nearby, Professor Dumbledore was carefully grinding up some pale yellow blossoms for the next stage.

It was odd, she thought to herself, how different he was in his alchemist’s lab. All the dotty eccentricity was absent and he was focused and calm. His predilection for garish colors and eye-watering patterns wasn’t diminished, however. The lab was painted in a burnt orange with yellow tiling on the floor and counters. The shelving was white wood and filled to bursting with glass tubing, alembics, powders, herbs and everything else a well-stocked lab ought to have. It was the antithesis of Severus’ tidy little space. The whirring gadgets that Dumbledore loved so much were absent but in their place there were birds. In one corner was a cage of sweetly singing canaries and in another were finches. Fawkes even had his own perch from where he could lord it over the lesser avians. Small mechanical birds were hanging from the ceiling on brightly colored strings, flapping away as they went nowhere.

It had been a little distracting at first, but she had rapidly grown used to the cacophony and the incredible things that she was learning made up for everything. The relief of not having to monitor Neville, or wait while the other children caught up with her, was enormous.

The potion shifted suddenly to the correct color and she banished the flame beneath it speedily.

“Well, done Mrs. Snape, well done,” Dumbledore congratulated her and watched as she carefully poured the still hot potion into a large round dish for faster cooling. A chilling charm lowered the temperature even more quickly, and Dumbledore began dribbling flower bits into the mixture. She watched as light seemed to pulse in the liquid’s depths. As each flower was added the light grew stronger until the whole room was illuminated by the golden radiance.

“It’s beautiful, Professor,” she breathed. They both stood still and enraptured as the potion congealed into a semi-solid. Dumbledore carefully scraped it out of the dish and into small jars. Hermione labeled each jar and dated it, because the burn ointment spoiled quickly, becoming a useless gelatin after only a few weeks. No one had ever discovered a preservation spell that worked on it either.

“I will send these down to Madam Pomfrey, she will be quite happy to have them,” the professor commented with a satisfied smile. Hermione was quite flattered. So far, very few of her potions and unguents had been deemed worthy enough to actually be sent to the Hospital Wing.
A delicate chiming noise sounded from the vicinity of Hermione’s pocket and with a sigh she pulled out a tiny filigree watch and a potion vial. The headmaster watched approvingly as she downed the potion and reset the watch for another five hours.

“Severus has managed to make it taste less like burnt tar and more like old socks, but he still can’t make it exactly palatable,” she grumbled, as the taste made her want to gag.

“Yes, well, considering how pale you have been lately, I am glad that he brewed it for you. This pregnancy has been very hard on you,” Dumbledore murmured with a touch of worry in his eyes.

Hermione frowned and nodded in acknowledgement. Madame Tamarind, newly married and looking rather less chipper than she had been, was monitoring Hermione with greater than normal attention. No one could figure out exactly why Hermione was reacting so poorly to pregnancy. Strength potions and extra vitamin supplements were all that kept her on her feet some days. It was worrisome to everyone.

“Yes, this pregnancy is very draining,” Hermione answered him finally. “I have been having trouble sleeping, and I keep having these weird dreams.” She shrugged at the Headmaster’s enquiring gaze. “I can’t remember much of them, just fragments.”

“Hm, I will do some research into this, myself,” Dumbledore muttered.

“Oh please, its nothing really! I’m no doubt just overworking myself,” Hermione rushed to reassure him, feeling abruptly self-conscious about the whole conversation. She was discussing her condition with the Headmaster for goodness sakes!

“Nonsense, Mrs. Snape, I happen to know that Severus has strictly forbidden you to get less than eight hours sleep and enforces a naptime with draconian ruthlessness,” Dumbledore teased. She grinned at him and rolled her eyes.

“He’s more strict than Madame Pomfrey!” she admitted. “At least Madame Tamarind lets me nap in her wing, so I don’t have to hear him pacing outside the bedroom door.”

Dumbledore chortled and, wand in hand, began clearing up the mess they had left from their brewing.

“He has always been rather sensitive to female distress,” he replied with what had to be the most tactful statement ever.

“Yes, well, I admit to a certain degree of gratitude.” She gathered up her things and piled them onto the floating pallet that Severus had insisted upon. She wasn’t allowed to carry anything heavier than a plate of food at the moment and schoolbooks were right out. “Ron is running around in panicked circles right now.”

“Yes, Professor McGonagall has had some rather pithy things to say about him lately.” His expressive face conveyed much to Hermione and she laughed aloud.

“Oh Professor, someday you will have to tell me what she said.” She raised a hand to forestall him as he started to speak. “Later, though, when I can look him in the face and not bust up,” she continued and his chuckle followed her as she exited the room and headed downstairs.
The watch chimed a double peal and she headed for the Hospital Wing. She had to get there quickly, it was time for her nap and she didn’t want to be scolded by her husband if she was late. She trotted along with a small smile and didn’t notice that Draco Malfoy was lurking in the shadows watching her.

Yoshua ran along the cobblestone street with feet flying. He was free, if only for a few hours, from his grandmother’s oppressive gaze and he meant to enjoy it. He had golden shekels in his pocket to spend at the Apothecary on errands for the family, but he had a few small coppers to spend on himself.

The Souk was bright and bustling with Magi from all over the Middle East. Parseltongue-speaking snake charmers, fortunetellers, amulet hawkers, fire-eaters and hex breakers all mingled and rubbed shoulders. The whole place was filled with riotous colors, cacophonous sounds, sand and heat. The sun baked the earth, the sky was cloudless and steely blue, and nearby the Mediterranean Sea added a salt tang and the sound of waves crashing along the rocky shore. It was the place that Yoshua was happiest and he was so very glad to be home.

His soft sandals slapped the gold-toned stone walkway and he raced up a set of stairs so old that they bowed deeply in the middle, worn down by the treads of millions of feet, despite all the magic that had gone into building them.

He burst into the small dim interior of the Apothecary and wrinkled his nose at the smell. Goat foot charms and swallow’s eyes, cedar and frankincense, myrrh and camel’s hearts, they all blended into a noxious wave of scent that washed over him and made him gag.

“Shalom alechem, Yoshua,” Shem, the apothecary, greeted him. Yoshua handed the list to him, covered in Grandmother’s bold strokes. Shem nodded and, muttering to himself, he went to collect the things that the old woman wanted. Yoshua stared up at the strange twisted shapes of bundled herbs and animal parts that hung from the rafters and sighed. It would take Shem many long precious moments to compile the things on the list. Shem was as wary of the Yidoni matriarch as Yoshua himself and would take extra care to make no errors.

Bouncing from one foot to the other, Yoshua waited impatiently and when finally a net bag full of herbs, resins and dried lizards was handed to him, he paid and thanked Shem hurriedly then rushed off on his way.

He dodged between slower shoppers with an eel’s agility until he bumped into something that he hadn’t seen coming. Flopped backward onto the ground Yoshua looked up and met a pair of startled blue eyes. Sun darkened skin, a kaffiyeh that failed utterly to hide the bleached red of his hair and a long simple robe of striped red and blue gave a confused impression to the boy. The man before him dressed like a native yet was quite obviously not.

“S’lechah, so terribly sorry, didn’t see you there!” The young man blurted out, his Hebrew terribly accented.

“Its all right, I ran into you,” Yoshua replied, mentally tallying the amount of time this encounter was costing of his free time. A strong hand reached down and hoisted Yoshua to his feet with dismaying ease.

“Bill Weasley,” he introduced himself and Yoshua cursed inwardly, but forced himself to remain polite.

“Yoshua Yidoni,” he returned and the other fellow raised an eyebrow in recognition.

“Weren’t you just in England at my friend’s wedding?” Weasley asked and Yoshua blinked.

“My cousin was married, yes.”

“Hermione Granger goes to school with my little brother,” the redhead drawled with a speculative look in his eye. Yoshua gave up on having any free time this afternoon with a pang of regret.

“She is now my cousin,” he acknowledged. “Are you in Nazareth for business?”

“I’m a curse breaker for Gringott’s, I came to help with the Casket.” His words made Yoshua’s heart leap and he leaned in close.

“I hope to be a curse breaker someday myself!” he blurted and then closed his mouth with a snap of horror. That secret dream was one he had never revealed to anyone before. It was a job far below the status of a Yidoni; his grandmother would never permit it. The young man seemed to sense his thoughts for he merely nodded.

“I was on my way to Aladdin’s for tea, would you care to join me?” Yoshua weighed the temptation of a conversation with a curse breaker against the likelihood of punishment and succumbed.

“That would be pleasant.” He followed after the red-haired man with a skipping step. He would make it quick and grandmother would never know.

Hermione woke from her nap and groaning pulled herself out from under the mound of blankets that Madame Tamarind had piled on her. The Mid-witch looked up from a book and studied Hermione with bright eyes.

“You are looking a little better, Professor Snape’s potions seem to be doing the trick.”

Hermione nodded groggily, she was feeling better, but it was still a relative thing.

“Is it normal for me to be this tired all the time?” she asked with a touch of irritation. Madame Tamarind smiled sympathetically.

“There is no such thing as normal, Mrs. Snape,” she replied. “Every pregnancy is different. You are young and strong, so there is no real danger, it’s just something to be endured, I’m afraid.” The older woman’s eyes were shadowed and Hermione had the urge to comfort her, but didn’t know quite why.

“Did I ever tell you about my wedding?” Hermione asked suddenly and the mid-witch shook her head, rather baffled by the non-sequitur.
“Professor Tamarind led me down as the Summer King. I was so scared that I was nearly sick to my stomach,” she continued and finally knew why she was telling this. At the mention of her new husband’s name, Madame Tamarind’s face froze over. “The professor was so kind to me that day, he held me up when I stumbled, he supported me all the way there. I have never thanked him properly for the way he took care of me.” As she spoke, the brunette witch seemed to thaw a bit, her blue eyes, so sad a moment ago warmed a little.

“I will pass that on for you, shall I?” that warm contralto asked Hermione and she nodded.

“Please do, Madame,” Hermione said as she left the room, leaving behind a very thoughtful woman who didn’t get another page read all afternoon.

Helena stood in the greenhouse and looked up through the glass ceiling at the gray skies above her. The warmth and dampness created a mist that hung low over the plants and trees and gave the world beyond the ironwork walls an ill-defined, dreamy quality. Beside her Neville was repotting a tuber bulb, working the soil with his fingers and gently patting it down around the stalks.

He had a smear of dirt on his nose and his pants were muddy from the day’s efforts, yet somehow he looked both handsome and perfect to her. It was funny how every day she thought that she could never love anyone more than she loved him, yet every day she loved him more than the day before. It was as if her heart just kept getting bigger every day to accommodate her feelings for him.

He looked up and smiled at her and there was a long moment where neither of them was aware of anything in the universe but each other.

“Lena!” the voice broke her from her reverie and she bolted upright, nearly dropping her own pot in the process.

“Jan!” she shrieked and ran headlong at the tall lanky figure who was striding towards her, arms out. She flung herself into his embrace, nearly crying from joy and relief. Brown hair tickled her cheek and warm brown eyes laughed down at her. He swung her around and around full of exuberance and energy as always.

“Helena?” Neville’s voice had a somewhat sharp edge to it and she wanted to laugh aloud.

“Neville Longbottom, may I introduce, my brother Trajan Snape.” Neville’s face at the word brother was priceless and then he pumped Trajan’s hand with cheerful good will.

“So glad to finally meet you, Helena has told me all about you,” Neville gushed, instantly warm and friendly. Trajan grinned at him and returned the handshake.

“Ditto, Lena has done nothing but prate on about you endlessly in all her letters. It’s been a dead bore.” Trajan rolled his eyes with the grin still in place and Helena punched him lightly on the shoulder.

“Fine thing to say when you haven’t even written me one letter, Jan,” she scolded. “I’ve been worried sick about you!”

Trajan sobered instantly. He patted her on the shoulder and sighed.

“I had a lot of things to think about, Lena,” he finally admitted. “For a while there I wasn’t sure that I wanted anyone to know where I was.”

“Trying to duck out of the marriage law?” Neville asked with a sympathetic look in his eyes.

“Well, not all of us can be as lucky as Lena.” His face was smiling, but his tone was grave and Helena felt a shiver of fear go through her.

“I suppose not,” Neville said with a fatuous smile at his young wife. Helena though, was really frightened for her brother and laid a hand on his arm in concerned enquiry.

Trajan had the Snape nose, a sharp arching feature that he used to great effect. He had been the butt of jokes since early childhood for that nose, and he had learned how to keep everyone laughing to hide the hurt he felt. His grin now was just such an act she knew, but she went along with it, pretending that she believed him as he waved off her apprehension.

“I doesn’t matter, I haven’t received even a single bid, so I am not too worried,” Trajan tossed off and turned the subject away from the dangers that he was in. “So, finally found someone to muck about in the gardens with?” he teased and pointed out Neville’s dirt-stained face. Neville grinned back at him, completely unselfconscious about his state.

“Yes, I have finally found someone with civilized interests,” she retorted with a repressive tone.

“Good for you, Lena,” he answered and his voice had gone soft with affection for his baby sister. Helena leaned against him and felt peaceful and happy. Her two favorite people in all the world were here with her, now her joy was truly complete.

Severus Snape leaned over the small statuette and frowned. Now that several days’ hard work had told them what the entwined lion and snake’s purpose was, he had a decision before him. He could destroy the spying device and hope his grandmother got the headache of her life, or he could keep it somewhere where nothing ever happened and hope he could bore the old battleaxe to death.

Albus had worked most of the charms, while Severus had brewed potions to test it and he was pretty sure that he knew how it worked now. He wondered if his newly released Seer gifts would allow him to se through the statuette as well. It was tempting to experiment, but he didn’t know if anything he did with it would alert Sarit to the emergence of his powers.

Regretfully, he decided that the risk was too great. With a sigh he pointed his wand at it and blasted it to slag.

He was the one doing the spying in this family and one spy was more than enough.