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fannishlisstitle: Winter in Spain
author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
fannishliss
fandom: Harry Potter
pairing: Harry Potter/Severus Snape; past Harry Potter/Ginevra Weasley
rating: G
warnings: none
words: 4000
summary: On vacation in Spain, Harry is badly stung by jellyfish and seeks help from an apothecary.
gift forverdande_mi for the April Swap. Sorry it took so long! Thanks for the lovely youtube playlist about Snape; I am really enjoying it!
more author's notes at end.
X===X
Harry staggered into the apothecary, trying to keep his dignity against the pain and probably failing utterly.
“May I help you.” The man behind the counter, dressed head to toe in black, looked quite disgruntled at having to put down his book. He nonetheless stood, narrowing ice blue eyes at Harry to assess his situation.
“I’ve been stung,” Harry said, through gritted teeth. “In the sea. Jellyfish.”
“Quite,” the man said acidly. “And you did not think to use Protego?
“Of course I used Protego,” Harry grimaced. “My wetsuit was charmed with Protego Maxima.”
The apothecary frowned. “You must not have cast it correctly.”
“I’ve been casting Protego since I was fourteen,” Harry said, temper flaring with the pain. “And I backed it up with Repello Inimicum, and Fianto Duri. Can you just give me something for the stings, instead of quizzing me on charms?”
The apothecary frowned, then turned with a flourish of his robes, selected a large earthenware jar from the shelf, and placed it on the counter, next to a small glass bottle. He retrieved a pair of long metal tongs from a rack to his left and briskly counted five pills into it. He then added five drops of something, and a filament of something else. He stoppered the bottle in his hand and shook it vigorously while counting under his breath. When he finished he produced his wand from up his sleeve and tapped the bottle three times. The wand was instantly hidden away again as the apothecary extended the remedy to Harry.
“Take one now, and the next in four hours. The pain should soon subside.”
Harry took the bottle and shook a pill into his palm. It was brown with cream colored spots. “Looks like a Bertie Botts mochaccino,” he laughed, and swallowed it dry.
The apothecary stretched his lips mirthlessly. “Coffee sweets to cure all ills? No. Analgesic and anti-inflammatory, plus specific ingredients against the hex. These jellyfish have been reported off numerous coasts around the world. You are lucky I am prepared.”
“Thank you,” Harry said. He could already feel the anti-hex begin to spread through his system. The analgesic charm quickly began to lower the level of pain. Though they hurt much less, the red whipmarks on his left hand remained livid.
Harry saw the apothecary studying his hand and neck where the marks could be seen.
“The stings somehow penetrated the wetsuit,” Harry volunteered. “But the exposed skin was the worst. It already feels much better.”
“I have an infirmary bed,” the apothecary said. “If you would prefer to be observed.” His manner indicated that if Harry refused, he would prove himself completely lacking in respect for wizarding research.
“I really would,” Harry said. “But I should floo back to my hotel for my things.”
“The hotel elves would be overjoyed to bring your things,” the man said drily.
“Oh, yes, of course.” Despite (or perhaps because of) the loyal service of elves like Dobby, he could not approve of their servitude. He often forgot that elves worked for tourist hotels in large numbers.
“You may use my floo,” the apothecary said. The floo was near the door where Harry had come in. By the time Harry had finished his call to the hotel, the apothecary had settled back in his chair and gone back to his book; it was The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.
“You mentioned an infirmary?” Harry said.
The apothecary turned his head the least amount and stared pointedly at a sign on the wall that read “INFIRMARY.” Near the sign was a red bell pull, decorated on the end with a small Aesclepius’s wand. The carved snake writhed eagerly around the model wand as he gingerly pulled. Not knowing what to expect, he almost fell as the whole section of floor and wall smoothly rose up through the ceiling into a bright little room with tall windows, three narrow beds, charms cabinets, and a small ensuite bath.
Harry suddenly realized how exhausted he was after the stings and fighting his way back to shore and finding the apothecary while staggering through Zarautz in blinding pain. He fell to the nearest bed and kicked off his shoes. “Divestirus,” he murmured, and fell asleep before the wetsuit had shucked itself off his body and hung itself neatly over a nearby chair.
Harry stirred as he felt someone enter the room, which had darkened while he slept. At this time of year, days were growing shorter.
“Time for your second dose,” a soft voice said.
“Thank you,” Harry said. He felt feverish and a little out of it.
A cool hand felt his forehead. “This should be the worst of it. You were wise to stay here for the night.”
Harry swallowed the mochaccino pellet and fell back into slumber.
“Sleep well, Potter,” he thought he heard.
But Harry did not sleep well. The fever returned before the third dose, and by the time the apothecary arrived to administer it, Harry was hallucinating.
As always he was back in the war, wrestling with Nagini, trying the keep the vicious creature’s horrible fangs away from Ginny and the children. In this dream, Ginny was in her Harpies uniform, and she was whacking at Nagini with her fancy pro broom while Jim and Albie tried and failed to cast protective charms around their little sister. Harry tried to yell at them to run, to get away, but only the horrible hissing of Parseltongue emerged from his throat.
Then Ginny hissed back, “With Lily off to school now, there’s no reason for us to go on keeping up appearances,” and just as she moved to kick off on her racing broom, Nagini bit her on the throat.
“No!” Harry roared, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t stop the blood.
“You did this,” Jim accused, rounding on Harry with a look of fury.
“You hurt Mum,” spat Albie, twin hatred in his eyes.
“You never loved us,” Lily cried, heartbroken.
“No,” Harry wept, and woke up, wracked with sobs.
“Swallow this,” a voice urged. Harry swallowed the pill. “And drink this as well,” so he did. He recognized the draught of dreamless sleep, its peculiar thickness, the way it glided down his throat and soothed him even before he slipped fully under its effect.
“Thank you, Severus,” he whispered, and slid all the way under.
In the morning, the sun shone wan in a foggy sky. Harry opened his eyes. Hotel elves had delivered fresh clothes during the night. He went into the ensuite and sluiced off the reminder of the salt from the day before. The weals on his hands and neck had faded considerably, while the ones on his body, though more numerous, were almost gone.
Harry dressed and cast about for the charm to return himself to the room below.
He noticed the pill bottle on his nightstand and slipped it into his pocket before pulling the rope to descend back to the ground floor.
The Apothecary was still behind the counter, as though he had never left.
“Good morning,” Harry said.
“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”
“I wondered when the next pill is due.”
“Countdown,” the apothecary enunciated, “on the label.” Harry thought he heard the word “dunderhead” but he might’ve been imagining it.
“Is there a cafe nearby?” Harry asked. “I was thinking of some breakfast.” He was really quite hungry, since yesterday’s noon and evening meals had been lost to the ordeal with the jellyfish.
“Zarautz is choked with cafes,” was the retort. “Stick your head out the door and choose at random.”
“I’ll be back,” Harry said.
“Mm.” The apothecary’s silver head was already bent back over his book.
The sea air was brisk and the sun of early winter was rapidly burning off a lingering fog. The streets of Zarautz were pleasant with their colorful old buildings. The cafes were not as numerous as the apothecary had suggested but it was not long before Harry was seated with a cup of milky coffee and a couple of buns.
The pill bottle gave a soft chime as the fourth dose came due. Harry was amazed that he had never before been given a medicine that reminded him when to take it. Such a simple idea, yet no one had bothered to think of it. How lucky he had been to stumble into that particular establishment.
Harry felt a sudden swell of gratitude toward the Apothecary. Of course, every town had a few wizarding shops, hidden from Muggle view but marked in ways wizards could easily spot. But just because Zarautz had a wizard pharmacy didn’t mean the wizard or witch who ran it would have any talent. Harry had been in many such places where the person behind the counter was either semi-retired or brand new to the field. Either way, they were not eager to expend much effort in solving their customers’ problems, and tended to offer the old standby remedies that served the wizarding world the way over-the-counter drugs served Muggles.
This apothecary could very easily have given him a ready made remedy, essentially an aspirin and an antihistamine, and sent him on his way. Instead the man had briefly assessed his malady and treated him with a made-to-order solution. Further, he had offered Harry a place to spend the night under observation. Harry made a note to himself to make sure the man was well-compensated for his kindness and courtesy, not to mention his professionalism and assiduous care.
The bottle chimed again, a little louder, and a muggle nearby turned his head to glare at Harry, undoubtedly thinking that Harry was simply rude about the volume level on his phone. Harry gave an embarrassed nod and took the pill, washing it down with coffee. The counter on the bottle reset to four hours when he snapped the lid back on. Genius.
Harry rattled the bottle, containing its single remaining pill. Something rang a little funny to him, and Harry had spent a lifetime paying attention to his instincts.
Genius — a pill bottle that chimed when your dose was due. An apothecary who instantly made up the perfect remedy on demand, for a problem that was widespread and had no better solution elsewhere. The signature way the man’s long, deft fingers had precisely dealt out the ingredients to craft the potion. The wand, emerging from the tight black sleeve, only to immediately vanish again when he was done with it.
Snape.
It couldn’t be.
Harry felt the room around him spin a little, as the shock of his realization hit him hard.
But how?
Nagini had torn out his throat. Harry had seen it with his own eyes. Harry had gone to the funeral.
No burial though — no coffin. Snape’s wishes had been that he be cremated.
Could Snape still be alive — living in a small town in Spain, under an assumed identity?
Of course. Assuming such a life-long disguise would be child’s play for Snape.
Harry pulled out his mobile and gargoyled the apothecary. Some of the newer wizard shops did have listings on the Witch/Wizard Web. Sure enough, the shop came up. Zarautz, Printze Apothecary, proprietor Aizto Printze. Harry, on a hunch, translated the name from Basque to English: Knife Prince. Severus, it seemed, had retained his weakness for word play around his own name. Harry gargoyled “Aizto Printze potions publications” and found that the man had published almost two dozen seminal papers, starting a few years after the war. It was Snape, beyond any doubt.
In a daze, Harry looked at the pill bottle in his hand, ticking down toward his last dose. He could go back to his hotel, pack, and leave town, leaving Snape alone, to the privacy and obscurity he had crafted for himself. Or, Harry could go back, and feign ignorance, thank the apothecary, and make no mention of what he’d figured out.
Or, he could confront Snape, and finally let out everything he’d wanted to say to the man for so many years.
What was the worst that could happen? Snape might — would probably — shrivel Harry with scorn, detest his thanks, and turn him coldly from the shop with strict instructions never to return.
That last outcome was no different from Harry’s running away, was it? So he really had nothing to lose.
In a daze, Harry ordered a bag of chocolates to take away and paid his check, wandering slowly along the windy winter streets of Zarautz, like a man going to face his fate.
His fate: a newly divorced wizard, newly unemployed, out to redefine himself after leaving a failed marriage and an unfulfilling career. A bum, really, wandering aimlessly here and there, paying his way with the inheritance he’d got from his parents and Sirius. Ginny wouldn’t touch his money, wealthy enough in her own right after her wildly successful pro-Quidditch career. And their three kids were guaranteed free tuition at Hogwarts, like every child whose parents had helped bring down Voldemort.
Ginny was going back into sports journalism, now that their children were all at school, and she and Harry no longer had to pretend that their marriage had been made in heaven. They separated quietly and without rancor. Ginny would always be a good friend, but she had never been the love of his life. Ron and Hermione regarded the split with sadness but not surprise. The Weasleys had always been kind to Harry, and now was no exception. He’d always be welcome at the Burrow. But he couldn’t stay in England. He had to get out, to travel, to get away from the constant scrutiny of public interest, the well-meaning comments of friends and acquaintances.
All he wanted was to be by himself for a while. The massive swarm of jellyfish and their magically toxic stings had foiled his plan.
His feet had already carried him the short way back to the apothecary.
He had no idea what to say or do.
He stood staring stupidly at the door for the longest time, afraid to run away and afraid to go in. Finally he huffed in annoyance, pulled the door open, and went in.
“Potter,” the apothecary said.
“Snape!” Harry exclaimed.
“The spell is fresh, and I’ve no wish to put it to waste,” the silver haired Apothecary calmly stated. His bland, middle-aged face barely registered to Harry. His blue eyes twinkled strangely. Harry would never have seen through it if he had not seen Snape mix ingredients in that precise and graceful way that had been Harry’s bane in school for years.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to re-examine your stings. The dosage seems to have been reasonably well-calibrated, but more data is always useful.”
“Um, of course.” Harry watched in a haze as Snape came around the counter, his neat black clothes and tightly laced boots. He was exactly the same, if you did not look at the stranger’s face.
Snape edged Harry toward the lift with a gesture, and the two went up to the infirmary.
“May I?” Snape asked, after examining the fading weals on Harry’s hands and neck.
“Oh!” Harry said, and realized that he should take off his shirt and jumper, which he did.
Snape lightly traced the marks on his back, humming as he did so.
“I wonder whether it would have been more efficacious to apply an ointment directly to the stings.”
“The pills worked well.” Harry couldn’t imagine Snape brewing up anything that didn’t work perfectly.
“But I would prefer to see the weals completely gone by the end of the course of treatment. Please wait here, and I will return shortly.”
Snape vanished down the lift, presumably to whip up a salve. Sure enough, he was back not very much later (Harry thought, a little hysterically, of timing him by the pill bottle), with a cream in a pot.
“Your hands,” Snape said.
It was odd, giving his hands to Snape, while such a mild-mannered face looked on expectantly. That little notch of worry between Snape’s brows, the lines of stress pulling down the corners of his mouth, were missing from the countenance of Aizto Printze. His twinkling blue eyes reminded Harry of Dumbledore, who had always been able to laugh, or at least to smile, right up to the end.
Snape’s hands were cool and pleasant as he rubbed the ointment into the worst of the weals. The effect was instantaneous. Cool, soothing relief took away the last remaining twinges.
“I do not think the ointment would suffice on its own, since the fever and delirium you experienced last night indicated a systemic reaction to the toxin. But the ointment would help bring relief alongside the oral potion.”
“It feels great,” Harry said.
“Show me your back,” Snape said.
Harry turned and Snape began to lightly apply the ointment to the itchy, aching places that still remained.
“I’m surprised that the jellyfish were able to sting through a thoroughly charmed wetsuit,” Snape said.
“You said I cast it wrong,” Harry pointed out, without rancor.
“Unlikely,” Snape allowed.
Harry nearly choked as Snape mildly corrected his earlier assumption, but he refrained from comment. “I think the stingers might have penetrated over time. I was surfing, and got tossed into a large pocket of jellyfish, and their tentacles were wrapped all around me. If felt like they were melting through the defensive spells somehow.”
“That would make sense,” Snape said, still applying the lotion with his soothing fingers. “Jellyfish do not have much awareness, but their stings are automatic. It would benefit them for the sting to become worse and worse the longer the victim was in contact with the tentacle.”
“That’s how it felt.”
“How does it feel now?”
“So much better,” Harry said, with a sigh of relief. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“Try,” Snape said drily.
Harry laughed, surprised at Snape’s newfound playfulness. If it had been any other man, it would have been the equivalent of standing on a chair and waving his arms with a saucepot on his head.
“Thank you, so, so much, Severus,” Harry said with a smile. The name fell trippingly off his tongue, the middle name of his middle child. “I feel so fortunate that if I had to be badly stung by a swarm of magical jellyfish, it happened here, where you could work your miracles.”
“You are quite welcome,” Snape said. His cool hand felt delicious on Harry’s back.
Harry shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold. Snape had always had a peculiar effect on him. The man was so intense in everything he did, and one of the things Harry remembered most clearly about Snape was being the focal point of that incendiary attention. Harry had never enjoyed the spotlight, but holding the attention of a brilliant man like Severus stroked his ego, whether he wanted it to or not.
“How long are you planning to stay in Zarautz?” Snape asked.
“A while,” Harry said.
“And your family?” Snape asked.
“The kids are all at Hogwarts now, and Ginny and I have split up,” Harry said. It still gave him a pang of hurt to say it out loud.
Snape said nothing for a moment. His fingers traced the lines of the jellyfish stings and Harry suddenly wished his injuries had been much worse. This was by no means the first time Harry had reaped the benefits of Snape’s genius with potions, but it was the first time the man had touched him, and the strangely familiar touch was a thrill and a comfort all at once.
“I hope it will be for the best,” Snape said at last. He pulled away to recap the small pot of salve.
It took Harry a moment to trace what Snape meant. “It is. For the best.”
“Why?” Snape asked.
“What?” Harry said.
“I shouldn’t pry,” Snape said. He quickly stood and made to leave.
“No,” said Harry. “Don’t go. I don’t mind.”
Snape sat back down in the chair where Harry’s wetsuit had hung to dry. Hotel elves had folded it and brought more of Harry’s things while he was out to breakfast.
“We weren’t as well-matched in the long run, as it seemed when we were young,” Harry said. “Ginny is a wonderful woman, very bright, a talented witch, a great athlete. But married to me, she always came second. And I really couldn’t give her a reason to want to stay with me. The love drained out of our marriage until we both realized it was better to cut ties before we ruined our friendship as well.”
“Three children,” Snape commented.
Harry noticed that it was not a question.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “I guess you know then, that Albie’s middle name is Severus.”
“I am honored,” Snape said simply.
Of all the conversations Harry had ever expected to have in his life, this was not one. And it was going so smoothly. Well, on Snape’s part it was smooth; on Harry’s there were a number of stunned silences.
“I was cruel to you, and your friends, many times,” Snape said. “Partly due to my hidden agenda as a spy against the Dark Lord, but partly due to my own resentments. I regret it, and I apologize.”
Harry was truly shocked. “Thank you,” he said. He cleared his throat. “After your … death, everything you had done for us became clear. The sacrifices you made. I don’t know how you bore it. We… all of us… I… owe you so much.”
“My crimes were grave,” Snape said. “There was an opportunity for me to begin to make amends, and I took it.”
Harry reached forward, without knowing what he was about to do, and took Snape’s hand, and kissed it.
A ringing silence transfixed the room.
Snape said nothing. His hand twitched once in Harry’s but he did not pull away.
“You loved my mother,” Harry whispered. “I know she loved you — as a friend. The Marauders …. they were wrong. You have become a great man, and I’ve respected you, admired you, for a long time.”
Slowly, Harry reached for Snape’s other hand, and Snape gave it. Harry lifted the long, pale, potion-stained fingers to his lips, and kissed them again.
“You tried to teach me, and I was so stubborn,” Harry whispered. “But some of it — some of it took. You saved me, so many times. I owe you everything.”
“You owe me nothing,” Snape rasped.
Harry lifted the tips of Snape’s fingers to the scar on his forehead. It no longer twinged, ever.
“This mark means nothing, not anymore — because of you. My mother helped protect me, but you made sure.”
Snape’s eyes welled up with tears. “I didn’t protect you looking for thanks,” he said hoarsely.
“I know, but you have them anyway. I can’t believe you’re alive — but then, I could never really believe you were dead.”
“I wasn’t,” Snape said, lifting one shoulder in a shrug.
“Somehow I knew,” Harry said.
“Two of the greatest wizards of the age, you and I,” Snape intoned.
Harry laughed out loud, delighted. He hadn’t let go of Snape’s hands.
“There’s always been … something… hasn’t there?” Harry asked. He didn’t want to mention the scar again, or any of the evil marks Voldemort had bound them by, unwittingly binding them together.
“You have your mother’s eyes,” Snape said, very quietly.
“No, these are my own eyes, I’m pretty sure,” Harry said. “Yours are blue right now, though, which doesn’t really work for me.”
“Sorry to inconvenience you.”
Harry stared at Snape. The disguise, of course, was impervious. He closed his eyes, then, and felt the long, cool, bony hands. They felt strong. Harry could feel the skill, the brilliance.
He wanted them to touch him again.
“I’ve always been alone, my long life,” Snape said. “Why should I change my habits for you, Potter?”
“Don’t,” Harry laughed. His moods were all over the place. “Don’t change. Be exactly who you are. I’m the one who is changing. I’ll let you be. But maybe, if you don’t mind, I’ll come back?”
“Do as you like,” Snape said, but he didn’t let go of Harry’s hands.
x===x
Notes: I have had this headcanon since the book of Deathly Hallows came out in 2007. Without Snape, I could not go on in Potter fandom. So I decided that Snape was alive and well and running an apothecary in Spain. This is my firm headcanon and I am sticking to it. I am very grateful toverdande_mi for the opportunity to express my headcanon in this story after carrying it around for so many years without acting on it!
I have nothing against the character of Ginny Weasley at all, I just think that she is not the right person for Harry. I think circumstances threw them together, and that they were a romance not built to last. I think they will be happier apart. Harry is pretty torn up about his failed marriage; it's one of those things that is nobody's fault, but it is a wound and will take a while to heal. I am glad the Weasleys are all such good people.
I hope that Snape will not seem OOC in this story. In my opinion, he was cruel in the books partly because he had to be convincing to be a secret double agent; and also, as he admits, because of his own issues; but I also think that a, people hated him without cause and always expected the worst of him, which is never a way to make someone nicer; and b, he was under hideous amounts of stress trying to remain active with the Death Eaters and convincing to Voldemort, while keeping the children safe. (My heart shattered for him when he was forced to kill Albus...) In my headcanon, he is in a much better place mentally and emotionally fifteen years down the road. No one knows or cares that he belonged to Slytherin in school. No one knows that he was a Death Eater, and in fact, the name of Severus Snape has now been cleared and honored as a hero. Running his own apothecary and publishing papers in his new identity must give him a great new source of self-respect.
Wizards live longer than muggles, so the age difference of 20 years between Harry (b 1980) and Severus (b 1960) is no longer that big of a deal when they are in their early 30s /50s.
This is my first Harry Potter fic ever, so I hope if you read it, it worked for you. :)
author:
fannishlissfandom: Harry Potter
pairing: Harry Potter/Severus Snape; past Harry Potter/Ginevra Weasley
rating: G
warnings: none
words: 4000
summary: On vacation in Spain, Harry is badly stung by jellyfish and seeks help from an apothecary.
gift for
verdande_mi for the April Swap. Sorry it took so long! Thanks for the lovely youtube playlist about Snape; I am really enjoying it!more author's notes at end.
X===X
Harry staggered into the apothecary, trying to keep his dignity against the pain and probably failing utterly.
“May I help you.” The man behind the counter, dressed head to toe in black, looked quite disgruntled at having to put down his book. He nonetheless stood, narrowing ice blue eyes at Harry to assess his situation.
“I’ve been stung,” Harry said, through gritted teeth. “In the sea. Jellyfish.”
“Quite,” the man said acidly. “And you did not think to use Protego?
“Of course I used Protego,” Harry grimaced. “My wetsuit was charmed with Protego Maxima.”
The apothecary frowned. “You must not have cast it correctly.”
“I’ve been casting Protego since I was fourteen,” Harry said, temper flaring with the pain. “And I backed it up with Repello Inimicum, and Fianto Duri. Can you just give me something for the stings, instead of quizzing me on charms?”
The apothecary frowned, then turned with a flourish of his robes, selected a large earthenware jar from the shelf, and placed it on the counter, next to a small glass bottle. He retrieved a pair of long metal tongs from a rack to his left and briskly counted five pills into it. He then added five drops of something, and a filament of something else. He stoppered the bottle in his hand and shook it vigorously while counting under his breath. When he finished he produced his wand from up his sleeve and tapped the bottle three times. The wand was instantly hidden away again as the apothecary extended the remedy to Harry.
“Take one now, and the next in four hours. The pain should soon subside.”
Harry took the bottle and shook a pill into his palm. It was brown with cream colored spots. “Looks like a Bertie Botts mochaccino,” he laughed, and swallowed it dry.
The apothecary stretched his lips mirthlessly. “Coffee sweets to cure all ills? No. Analgesic and anti-inflammatory, plus specific ingredients against the hex. These jellyfish have been reported off numerous coasts around the world. You are lucky I am prepared.”
“Thank you,” Harry said. He could already feel the anti-hex begin to spread through his system. The analgesic charm quickly began to lower the level of pain. Though they hurt much less, the red whipmarks on his left hand remained livid.
Harry saw the apothecary studying his hand and neck where the marks could be seen.
“The stings somehow penetrated the wetsuit,” Harry volunteered. “But the exposed skin was the worst. It already feels much better.”
“I have an infirmary bed,” the apothecary said. “If you would prefer to be observed.” His manner indicated that if Harry refused, he would prove himself completely lacking in respect for wizarding research.
“I really would,” Harry said. “But I should floo back to my hotel for my things.”
“The hotel elves would be overjoyed to bring your things,” the man said drily.
“Oh, yes, of course.” Despite (or perhaps because of) the loyal service of elves like Dobby, he could not approve of their servitude. He often forgot that elves worked for tourist hotels in large numbers.
“You may use my floo,” the apothecary said. The floo was near the door where Harry had come in. By the time Harry had finished his call to the hotel, the apothecary had settled back in his chair and gone back to his book; it was The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.
“You mentioned an infirmary?” Harry said.
The apothecary turned his head the least amount and stared pointedly at a sign on the wall that read “INFIRMARY.” Near the sign was a red bell pull, decorated on the end with a small Aesclepius’s wand. The carved snake writhed eagerly around the model wand as he gingerly pulled. Not knowing what to expect, he almost fell as the whole section of floor and wall smoothly rose up through the ceiling into a bright little room with tall windows, three narrow beds, charms cabinets, and a small ensuite bath.
Harry suddenly realized how exhausted he was after the stings and fighting his way back to shore and finding the apothecary while staggering through Zarautz in blinding pain. He fell to the nearest bed and kicked off his shoes. “Divestirus,” he murmured, and fell asleep before the wetsuit had shucked itself off his body and hung itself neatly over a nearby chair.
Harry stirred as he felt someone enter the room, which had darkened while he slept. At this time of year, days were growing shorter.
“Time for your second dose,” a soft voice said.
“Thank you,” Harry said. He felt feverish and a little out of it.
A cool hand felt his forehead. “This should be the worst of it. You were wise to stay here for the night.”
Harry swallowed the mochaccino pellet and fell back into slumber.
“Sleep well, Potter,” he thought he heard.
But Harry did not sleep well. The fever returned before the third dose, and by the time the apothecary arrived to administer it, Harry was hallucinating.
As always he was back in the war, wrestling with Nagini, trying the keep the vicious creature’s horrible fangs away from Ginny and the children. In this dream, Ginny was in her Harpies uniform, and she was whacking at Nagini with her fancy pro broom while Jim and Albie tried and failed to cast protective charms around their little sister. Harry tried to yell at them to run, to get away, but only the horrible hissing of Parseltongue emerged from his throat.
Then Ginny hissed back, “With Lily off to school now, there’s no reason for us to go on keeping up appearances,” and just as she moved to kick off on her racing broom, Nagini bit her on the throat.
“No!” Harry roared, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t stop the blood.
“You did this,” Jim accused, rounding on Harry with a look of fury.
“You hurt Mum,” spat Albie, twin hatred in his eyes.
“You never loved us,” Lily cried, heartbroken.
“No,” Harry wept, and woke up, wracked with sobs.
“Swallow this,” a voice urged. Harry swallowed the pill. “And drink this as well,” so he did. He recognized the draught of dreamless sleep, its peculiar thickness, the way it glided down his throat and soothed him even before he slipped fully under its effect.
“Thank you, Severus,” he whispered, and slid all the way under.
In the morning, the sun shone wan in a foggy sky. Harry opened his eyes. Hotel elves had delivered fresh clothes during the night. He went into the ensuite and sluiced off the reminder of the salt from the day before. The weals on his hands and neck had faded considerably, while the ones on his body, though more numerous, were almost gone.
Harry dressed and cast about for the charm to return himself to the room below.
He noticed the pill bottle on his nightstand and slipped it into his pocket before pulling the rope to descend back to the ground floor.
The Apothecary was still behind the counter, as though he had never left.
“Good morning,” Harry said.
“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”
“I wondered when the next pill is due.”
“Countdown,” the apothecary enunciated, “on the label.” Harry thought he heard the word “dunderhead” but he might’ve been imagining it.
“Is there a cafe nearby?” Harry asked. “I was thinking of some breakfast.” He was really quite hungry, since yesterday’s noon and evening meals had been lost to the ordeal with the jellyfish.
“Zarautz is choked with cafes,” was the retort. “Stick your head out the door and choose at random.”
“I’ll be back,” Harry said.
“Mm.” The apothecary’s silver head was already bent back over his book.
The sea air was brisk and the sun of early winter was rapidly burning off a lingering fog. The streets of Zarautz were pleasant with their colorful old buildings. The cafes were not as numerous as the apothecary had suggested but it was not long before Harry was seated with a cup of milky coffee and a couple of buns.
The pill bottle gave a soft chime as the fourth dose came due. Harry was amazed that he had never before been given a medicine that reminded him when to take it. Such a simple idea, yet no one had bothered to think of it. How lucky he had been to stumble into that particular establishment.
Harry felt a sudden swell of gratitude toward the Apothecary. Of course, every town had a few wizarding shops, hidden from Muggle view but marked in ways wizards could easily spot. But just because Zarautz had a wizard pharmacy didn’t mean the wizard or witch who ran it would have any talent. Harry had been in many such places where the person behind the counter was either semi-retired or brand new to the field. Either way, they were not eager to expend much effort in solving their customers’ problems, and tended to offer the old standby remedies that served the wizarding world the way over-the-counter drugs served Muggles.
This apothecary could very easily have given him a ready made remedy, essentially an aspirin and an antihistamine, and sent him on his way. Instead the man had briefly assessed his malady and treated him with a made-to-order solution. Further, he had offered Harry a place to spend the night under observation. Harry made a note to himself to make sure the man was well-compensated for his kindness and courtesy, not to mention his professionalism and assiduous care.
The bottle chimed again, a little louder, and a muggle nearby turned his head to glare at Harry, undoubtedly thinking that Harry was simply rude about the volume level on his phone. Harry gave an embarrassed nod and took the pill, washing it down with coffee. The counter on the bottle reset to four hours when he snapped the lid back on. Genius.
Harry rattled the bottle, containing its single remaining pill. Something rang a little funny to him, and Harry had spent a lifetime paying attention to his instincts.
Genius — a pill bottle that chimed when your dose was due. An apothecary who instantly made up the perfect remedy on demand, for a problem that was widespread and had no better solution elsewhere. The signature way the man’s long, deft fingers had precisely dealt out the ingredients to craft the potion. The wand, emerging from the tight black sleeve, only to immediately vanish again when he was done with it.
Snape.
It couldn’t be.
Harry felt the room around him spin a little, as the shock of his realization hit him hard.
But how?
Nagini had torn out his throat. Harry had seen it with his own eyes. Harry had gone to the funeral.
No burial though — no coffin. Snape’s wishes had been that he be cremated.
Could Snape still be alive — living in a small town in Spain, under an assumed identity?
Of course. Assuming such a life-long disguise would be child’s play for Snape.
Harry pulled out his mobile and gargoyled the apothecary. Some of the newer wizard shops did have listings on the Witch/Wizard Web. Sure enough, the shop came up. Zarautz, Printze Apothecary, proprietor Aizto Printze. Harry, on a hunch, translated the name from Basque to English: Knife Prince. Severus, it seemed, had retained his weakness for word play around his own name. Harry gargoyled “Aizto Printze potions publications” and found that the man had published almost two dozen seminal papers, starting a few years after the war. It was Snape, beyond any doubt.
In a daze, Harry looked at the pill bottle in his hand, ticking down toward his last dose. He could go back to his hotel, pack, and leave town, leaving Snape alone, to the privacy and obscurity he had crafted for himself. Or, Harry could go back, and feign ignorance, thank the apothecary, and make no mention of what he’d figured out.
Or, he could confront Snape, and finally let out everything he’d wanted to say to the man for so many years.
What was the worst that could happen? Snape might — would probably — shrivel Harry with scorn, detest his thanks, and turn him coldly from the shop with strict instructions never to return.
That last outcome was no different from Harry’s running away, was it? So he really had nothing to lose.
In a daze, Harry ordered a bag of chocolates to take away and paid his check, wandering slowly along the windy winter streets of Zarautz, like a man going to face his fate.
His fate: a newly divorced wizard, newly unemployed, out to redefine himself after leaving a failed marriage and an unfulfilling career. A bum, really, wandering aimlessly here and there, paying his way with the inheritance he’d got from his parents and Sirius. Ginny wouldn’t touch his money, wealthy enough in her own right after her wildly successful pro-Quidditch career. And their three kids were guaranteed free tuition at Hogwarts, like every child whose parents had helped bring down Voldemort.
Ginny was going back into sports journalism, now that their children were all at school, and she and Harry no longer had to pretend that their marriage had been made in heaven. They separated quietly and without rancor. Ginny would always be a good friend, but she had never been the love of his life. Ron and Hermione regarded the split with sadness but not surprise. The Weasleys had always been kind to Harry, and now was no exception. He’d always be welcome at the Burrow. But he couldn’t stay in England. He had to get out, to travel, to get away from the constant scrutiny of public interest, the well-meaning comments of friends and acquaintances.
All he wanted was to be by himself for a while. The massive swarm of jellyfish and their magically toxic stings had foiled his plan.
His feet had already carried him the short way back to the apothecary.
He had no idea what to say or do.
He stood staring stupidly at the door for the longest time, afraid to run away and afraid to go in. Finally he huffed in annoyance, pulled the door open, and went in.
“Potter,” the apothecary said.
“Snape!” Harry exclaimed.
“The spell is fresh, and I’ve no wish to put it to waste,” the silver haired Apothecary calmly stated. His bland, middle-aged face barely registered to Harry. His blue eyes twinkled strangely. Harry would never have seen through it if he had not seen Snape mix ingredients in that precise and graceful way that had been Harry’s bane in school for years.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to re-examine your stings. The dosage seems to have been reasonably well-calibrated, but more data is always useful.”
“Um, of course.” Harry watched in a haze as Snape came around the counter, his neat black clothes and tightly laced boots. He was exactly the same, if you did not look at the stranger’s face.
Snape edged Harry toward the lift with a gesture, and the two went up to the infirmary.
“May I?” Snape asked, after examining the fading weals on Harry’s hands and neck.
“Oh!” Harry said, and realized that he should take off his shirt and jumper, which he did.
Snape lightly traced the marks on his back, humming as he did so.
“I wonder whether it would have been more efficacious to apply an ointment directly to the stings.”
“The pills worked well.” Harry couldn’t imagine Snape brewing up anything that didn’t work perfectly.
“But I would prefer to see the weals completely gone by the end of the course of treatment. Please wait here, and I will return shortly.”
Snape vanished down the lift, presumably to whip up a salve. Sure enough, he was back not very much later (Harry thought, a little hysterically, of timing him by the pill bottle), with a cream in a pot.
“Your hands,” Snape said.
It was odd, giving his hands to Snape, while such a mild-mannered face looked on expectantly. That little notch of worry between Snape’s brows, the lines of stress pulling down the corners of his mouth, were missing from the countenance of Aizto Printze. His twinkling blue eyes reminded Harry of Dumbledore, who had always been able to laugh, or at least to smile, right up to the end.
Snape’s hands were cool and pleasant as he rubbed the ointment into the worst of the weals. The effect was instantaneous. Cool, soothing relief took away the last remaining twinges.
“I do not think the ointment would suffice on its own, since the fever and delirium you experienced last night indicated a systemic reaction to the toxin. But the ointment would help bring relief alongside the oral potion.”
“It feels great,” Harry said.
“Show me your back,” Snape said.
Harry turned and Snape began to lightly apply the ointment to the itchy, aching places that still remained.
“I’m surprised that the jellyfish were able to sting through a thoroughly charmed wetsuit,” Snape said.
“You said I cast it wrong,” Harry pointed out, without rancor.
“Unlikely,” Snape allowed.
Harry nearly choked as Snape mildly corrected his earlier assumption, but he refrained from comment. “I think the stingers might have penetrated over time. I was surfing, and got tossed into a large pocket of jellyfish, and their tentacles were wrapped all around me. If felt like they were melting through the defensive spells somehow.”
“That would make sense,” Snape said, still applying the lotion with his soothing fingers. “Jellyfish do not have much awareness, but their stings are automatic. It would benefit them for the sting to become worse and worse the longer the victim was in contact with the tentacle.”
“That’s how it felt.”
“How does it feel now?”
“So much better,” Harry said, with a sigh of relief. “I can’t thank you enough.”
“Try,” Snape said drily.
Harry laughed, surprised at Snape’s newfound playfulness. If it had been any other man, it would have been the equivalent of standing on a chair and waving his arms with a saucepot on his head.
“Thank you, so, so much, Severus,” Harry said with a smile. The name fell trippingly off his tongue, the middle name of his middle child. “I feel so fortunate that if I had to be badly stung by a swarm of magical jellyfish, it happened here, where you could work your miracles.”
“You are quite welcome,” Snape said. His cool hand felt delicious on Harry’s back.
Harry shivered, and it wasn’t from the cold. Snape had always had a peculiar effect on him. The man was so intense in everything he did, and one of the things Harry remembered most clearly about Snape was being the focal point of that incendiary attention. Harry had never enjoyed the spotlight, but holding the attention of a brilliant man like Severus stroked his ego, whether he wanted it to or not.
“How long are you planning to stay in Zarautz?” Snape asked.
“A while,” Harry said.
“And your family?” Snape asked.
“The kids are all at Hogwarts now, and Ginny and I have split up,” Harry said. It still gave him a pang of hurt to say it out loud.
Snape said nothing for a moment. His fingers traced the lines of the jellyfish stings and Harry suddenly wished his injuries had been much worse. This was by no means the first time Harry had reaped the benefits of Snape’s genius with potions, but it was the first time the man had touched him, and the strangely familiar touch was a thrill and a comfort all at once.
“I hope it will be for the best,” Snape said at last. He pulled away to recap the small pot of salve.
It took Harry a moment to trace what Snape meant. “It is. For the best.”
“Why?” Snape asked.
“What?” Harry said.
“I shouldn’t pry,” Snape said. He quickly stood and made to leave.
“No,” said Harry. “Don’t go. I don’t mind.”
Snape sat back down in the chair where Harry’s wetsuit had hung to dry. Hotel elves had folded it and brought more of Harry’s things while he was out to breakfast.
“We weren’t as well-matched in the long run, as it seemed when we were young,” Harry said. “Ginny is a wonderful woman, very bright, a talented witch, a great athlete. But married to me, she always came second. And I really couldn’t give her a reason to want to stay with me. The love drained out of our marriage until we both realized it was better to cut ties before we ruined our friendship as well.”
“Three children,” Snape commented.
Harry noticed that it was not a question.
“Yes,” he confirmed. “I guess you know then, that Albie’s middle name is Severus.”
“I am honored,” Snape said simply.
Of all the conversations Harry had ever expected to have in his life, this was not one. And it was going so smoothly. Well, on Snape’s part it was smooth; on Harry’s there were a number of stunned silences.
“I was cruel to you, and your friends, many times,” Snape said. “Partly due to my hidden agenda as a spy against the Dark Lord, but partly due to my own resentments. I regret it, and I apologize.”
Harry was truly shocked. “Thank you,” he said. He cleared his throat. “After your … death, everything you had done for us became clear. The sacrifices you made. I don’t know how you bore it. We… all of us… I… owe you so much.”
“My crimes were grave,” Snape said. “There was an opportunity for me to begin to make amends, and I took it.”
Harry reached forward, without knowing what he was about to do, and took Snape’s hand, and kissed it.
A ringing silence transfixed the room.
Snape said nothing. His hand twitched once in Harry’s but he did not pull away.
“You loved my mother,” Harry whispered. “I know she loved you — as a friend. The Marauders …. they were wrong. You have become a great man, and I’ve respected you, admired you, for a long time.”
Slowly, Harry reached for Snape’s other hand, and Snape gave it. Harry lifted the long, pale, potion-stained fingers to his lips, and kissed them again.
“You tried to teach me, and I was so stubborn,” Harry whispered. “But some of it — some of it took. You saved me, so many times. I owe you everything.”
“You owe me nothing,” Snape rasped.
Harry lifted the tips of Snape’s fingers to the scar on his forehead. It no longer twinged, ever.
“This mark means nothing, not anymore — because of you. My mother helped protect me, but you made sure.”
Snape’s eyes welled up with tears. “I didn’t protect you looking for thanks,” he said hoarsely.
“I know, but you have them anyway. I can’t believe you’re alive — but then, I could never really believe you were dead.”
“I wasn’t,” Snape said, lifting one shoulder in a shrug.
“Somehow I knew,” Harry said.
“Two of the greatest wizards of the age, you and I,” Snape intoned.
Harry laughed out loud, delighted. He hadn’t let go of Snape’s hands.
“There’s always been … something… hasn’t there?” Harry asked. He didn’t want to mention the scar again, or any of the evil marks Voldemort had bound them by, unwittingly binding them together.
“You have your mother’s eyes,” Snape said, very quietly.
“No, these are my own eyes, I’m pretty sure,” Harry said. “Yours are blue right now, though, which doesn’t really work for me.”
“Sorry to inconvenience you.”
Harry stared at Snape. The disguise, of course, was impervious. He closed his eyes, then, and felt the long, cool, bony hands. They felt strong. Harry could feel the skill, the brilliance.
He wanted them to touch him again.
“I’ve always been alone, my long life,” Snape said. “Why should I change my habits for you, Potter?”
“Don’t,” Harry laughed. His moods were all over the place. “Don’t change. Be exactly who you are. I’m the one who is changing. I’ll let you be. But maybe, if you don’t mind, I’ll come back?”
“Do as you like,” Snape said, but he didn’t let go of Harry’s hands.
x===x
Notes: I have had this headcanon since the book of Deathly Hallows came out in 2007. Without Snape, I could not go on in Potter fandom. So I decided that Snape was alive and well and running an apothecary in Spain. This is my firm headcanon and I am sticking to it. I am very grateful to
verdande_mi for the opportunity to express my headcanon in this story after carrying it around for so many years without acting on it! I have nothing against the character of Ginny Weasley at all, I just think that she is not the right person for Harry. I think circumstances threw them together, and that they were a romance not built to last. I think they will be happier apart. Harry is pretty torn up about his failed marriage; it's one of those things that is nobody's fault, but it is a wound and will take a while to heal. I am glad the Weasleys are all such good people.
I hope that Snape will not seem OOC in this story. In my opinion, he was cruel in the books partly because he had to be convincing to be a secret double agent; and also, as he admits, because of his own issues; but I also think that a, people hated him without cause and always expected the worst of him, which is never a way to make someone nicer; and b, he was under hideous amounts of stress trying to remain active with the Death Eaters and convincing to Voldemort, while keeping the children safe. (My heart shattered for him when he was forced to kill Albus...) In my headcanon, he is in a much better place mentally and emotionally fifteen years down the road. No one knows or cares that he belonged to Slytherin in school. No one knows that he was a Death Eater, and in fact, the name of Severus Snape has now been cleared and honored as a hero. Running his own apothecary and publishing papers in his new identity must give him a great new source of self-respect.
Wizards live longer than muggles, so the age difference of 20 years between Harry (b 1980) and Severus (b 1960) is no longer that big of a deal when they are in their early 30s /50s.
This is my first Harry Potter fic ever, so I hope if you read it, it worked for you. :)
