GIFT: Riddled (PG), for duniazade
Title: Riddled
Author: opaljade
Beta Readers: lariopefic and lulabelle72
Recipient: duniazade
Rating: PG
(Highlight to View) Warning: mild language.
Recipient's Prompt: After he recovers from the snake bite, Snape is considered a hero, but the Ministry wants to debrief him and/or have him attend the official Ceremonies. Unfortunately, he only speaks in Sphinx-like enigmas/Ravenclaw type questions, or answers every question by a question. Luna volunteers to interpret.
Summary: Snape is suffering from "Riddletongue." Luna Lovegood becomes his interpreter.
Slowly and painfully, Severus Snape became aware of the raw stretching pain travelling from his jaw to the cleft of his left collarbone. Gritty eyes slowly opening, he found his worst suspicions were confirmed: He was indeed in a hospital bed, alive, able to see the sunlight streaming in through the grimy windows. He lacked the strength to move-at least nothing more than the opening and closing of his eyelids. His right hand was tingling; it prickled as if no blood ran through it.
He could hear voices in the proximity of his bed. Excited whispers, it seemed. Suddenly, a young, buttercup-blond Mediwizard with a ridiculous diagonal fringe was standing over him, holding a clipboard and a quill of invisible ink.
"Do you know who you are?" asked the young wizard with a trace of self-importance. After all, he was the first to interview the double-crossing Death Eater Hero.
Had he been able to, Snape would've rolled his eyes at the stupidity of the question; his name was plastered on almost every surface of the room. He flexed his fingers to point to the multiple identification signs posted across the room, but he only managed to wrap them around the metal bar of his bed. The circumference reminded him of his wand, and he twisted sideways to find that extension of his arm, of his very being, but saw only a small, aqua-coloured side table holding a jar of water and a rusty golden plaque bearing his name.
"My wand," he tried to inquire, but his voice was a pathetic, grating thing.
"You believe yourself to be Mike Won?" concluded the young Mediwizard with an almost gleeful smile, hastily scribbling the information down, already picturing himself in front of the media explaining his famous patient's delusions.
Snape tried to correct him once more, but pain shot through his throat, and the sound was unrecognisable. Then he slipped once more into blackness.
~~~ *** ~~~
Over the next few weeks, as Snape moved in and out of consciousness, two facts became concrete in his mind. Firstly and most importantly, wizarding Britain seemed to have classified him as a hero-victim rather than a villain. If he was to have the ill luck to still be alive on this godforsaken planet, it was infinitely better to be alive and not in Azkaban. Secondly, he was under the care of the most conceited, idiotic Mediwizard that St Mungo's had ever pulled through the ranks of residency to staff. That very dangerous mixture of conceit and stupidity had been noticeable when Marcus Medcat had been his student in his former life, that phase when he had been simply a teacher-a spy in remission.
Painfully alert now, he remained still as he assessed the Mediwizard who had just entered his room for his daily rounds.
"Professor Snape," Medcat said jovially, sitting on a small stool next to the bed. "I see that you are awake now. I am here to do a full mental assessment to determine the effect of the snakebite on your neurological functions. You seemed quite confused the last time I examined you."
So, this is what hell is: Idiots wearing Mediwizard robes.
"Here are a few facts to help you organise your thoughts. You have been in a coma for a little over eighteen months. We have kept you alive using a Profusiona Spell, which kept your heart beating during that time. You've had a tracheotomy and an autograft, not to be confused with autograph, to replace the skin on your neck."
The young wizard then took a minute to laugh at his own joke and resumed his assessment after making sure Snape was still conscious.
Unfortunately, he was. Idiot.
"Now, try to answer these questions as truthfully as you can."
"How will you know if I am telling the truth if I'm lying in bed?
Medcat frowned, slightly confused. "Can you tell me what you remember about the Civil War?"
Snape sighed and didn't even bother to do it inwardly.
"How can a war be civil?" he replied, mostly to aggravate Medcat, who now seemed to be taking a rather long time processing his answer.
And I'm the one who needs a neurological assessment.
"Are you getting smart with me?" asked the Mediwizard, unsure.
"How would you know?" said Snape, raising an eyebrow.
"Mr Snape, I confess, I'm speechless."
"If you were truly speechless, why would you bother telling me?"
I really need to get out of here.
"You keep replying with questions!" exclaimed the blond wizard, as if he were finally on the track of a major discovery. "I think there is a possibility that the venom from the snake might have created a chemical imbalance in the speech centre of your brain!"
Merlin, Medcat would rather make up a disease than contemplate the possibility that someone is ridiculing him.
The doctor sprang from his stool with a satisfied air, scribbling away on the chart in front of him. He took a final glance at Snape before exiting the room and said, "Well, Professor, you fought hard to stay alive. Your speech dysfunction will probably disappear with time, but you can rest assured that, with the expert care you received from my team, you have succeeded in staying alive!"
"If you try to fail and succeed, which one have you done?" Snape asked wearily, letting his head fall back onto the pillow.
Snape could see the thoughts spinning like a windmill in the doctor's brain as he tried to figure out the answer to that question.
~~~ *** ~~~
Propped up on two pillows, Snape decided to feign sleep when he saw the nurse coming in to check his vitals. He had no desire to discuss his good fortune with her, and this particular nurse, whether by nature or simply having been caught up in the newly minted Snape-as-Hero whirlwind, made non-stop assaults on his person with her constant attempts at small talk. But it was in this moment that Snape caught sight of the new Minister of Magic talking animatedly with his egocentric Mediwizard under the arched entryway of his room. They had not bothered with a Muffliato-no doubt thinking he was truly asleep-but their tones were still hushed.
"Minister, despite the fact that Mr Snape has made a significant recovery, I doubt very much that he will be able to attend the ceremony in a few weeks. He is having difficulties with his speech-something I believe to be related to the venom in the snake's blood. He can only answer a question with a question of his own. Last time I evaluated him, he even started talking in riddles."
"What kind of a disease does that? It doesn't even make sense!" replied Shacklebolt, looking doubtfully at the chart presented to him.
"Yes, I know; it does seem rather strange, but I actually believe it may be more of a curse than a disease. After analysing all of the variables presented to me, I don't think it's a coincidence that Professor Snape should be talking in riddles after being bitten by Tom Riddle's snake!"
Does he really think Voldemort would have wasted precious time fitting in asinine curse-development between genocide and plans for world domination?
"Hmmm," pondered Kingsley briefly. "Perhaps this should be further investigated. Please keep me updated as to his progress."
"Yes, yes, of course! Worst case scenario, he continues to talk like this, and he doesn't attend the ceremony; best case, we find a counter-curse, and he will be able to address the community during his acceptance speech at the memorial service."
Worst case scenario... Indeed.
~~~ *** ~~~
Severus devised a plan. All he needed to do was to keep pretending he had been 'riddled' by Nagini for a few more weeks, then miraculously recover and disappear forever.
Unplottable was the goal for the next forty years. He yearned for a secluded place where he could freely grope his way into a new life.
His planning session was suddenly interrupted by a quick knock on his door. Before Snape could think of a riddle to ask his visitor, the door opened, and someone hidden behind a large funnel fern walked in.
"Headmaster Snape," came a soft voice from between the ornate leaves, "I've brought you a gift."
Snape couldn't tell what shocked him most: seeing a grown-up version of Miss Lovegood (just how long had he been in a coma?), being called Headmaster, or receiving a funnel fern during its sporing cycle.
Luna Lovegood walked around his bed and set the plant on an empty tray underneath the window. A few spores twirled upwards in a spiral, but she captured them in a clear blue phial that was already half full. She handed it to him as if it were a potion phial to be graded.
"I don't like to waste," she explained, when she saw the stunned expression on his face. She tilted her head to the side, and her long blonde hair cascaded down over one shoulder.
Snape met her kind, knowing eyes briefly, and in that short moment his riddles-as-an-escape plan was completely derailed. He had no idea what she was doing in his room, and bringing him gifts no less, but of one thing he was certain: he could not pull off his charade in the presence of Luna Lovegood.
She was openly staring at him, her large blue eyes scanning his face, finally stopping at the wound on his neck.
"Well, it's obvious they were more concerned with saving your life than worrying about your appearance. That skin graft almost looks like a quilt patch," she said matter-of-factly.
The young witch then turned towards his bedside table and wandlessly sent his jar of water floating into the air towards the window. Snape watched the entire contents being poured over the gift fern on the tray.
"Thank you," she said.
He wasn't sure if she was addressing the water pitcher or him.
Snape wanted to ask what she was doing there, but how could he do so while pretending to have a speech problem? Luna Lovegood's eyes might be odd, but she was an insightful witch. He found himself calculating the odds that she would see right through him. He decided he was better off testing Lovegood while they were still by themselves. If he blew his cover, perhaps she would keep it to herself as she had done in the past?
"People hate me, but when I come back they clap for me. Who am I?" he inquired in a neutral voice, hoping he sounded like he was under the effect of a curse.
"Oh, you're much better than a mosquito!"
Luna gave him a beatific smile as she sat down at the end of his bed, her lower back touching his bare feet.
"One would think you would be all done with having to pretend," she whispered wistfully.
And pretending is exactly what he would have to keep doing as he heard the familiar footsteps of his caretaker approaching the room from the hallway. He closed his eyes and forced his heartbeat to slow down.
"I promise to get you out of here soon," added his former student earnestly.
~~~ *** ~~~
Marcus Medcat was truly on top of the world that morning. His celebrity patient was finally bringing him the recognition he deserved, and he was contemplating documenting the chain of events that led him to the discovery of Riddletongue (as he liked to call it). He might finally be published in the Old England Journal of Mediwizardry. But he hadn't expected the shocking sight that greeted him when he struck his carefully groomed head around the doorframe. There was the recovering hero, all right, but he was not alone. Sitting at the foot of his bed was the friendly witch who did volunteer work at the hospital. How she had got through the security wards was puzzling. Medcat concluded that Nurse Wendy had probably forgotten to set the wards after checking Snape's vitals earlier.
Strange, he had been thinking of courting her, and there she was sitting in Snape's room. Surely this was an opportunity to impress her while his patient was still sleeping. He gave her his full smile, the one he had perfected that morning in front of the mirror, and he pulled out his new gold quill and chart. It seemed like things were lining up to present him with everything he'd ever wanted.
"Miss Lovegood! How gracious of you to take the time to visit my recovering patient," he started to say, before being momentarily distracted by the sight of the huge fern by the window. "I take it you were unable to converse with Mr Snape?"
"Oh, you're the one who diagnosed him with the speech impediment!" exclaimed Luna, when she recognised the young Mediwizard who had seemed so preoccupied with his looks in the cafeteria the other day. "Actually, I can understand him perfectly! You see, I had a bad case of Otitis Media when I was a young child, and ever since then, I've been very good at solving riddles. I guess you could say I have Riddle-ear," she said, giggling.
Marcus couldn't believe his luck, the universe was even sending him someone who could help him unlock the secrets of Riddletongue!
"That's most unusual. Perhaps you could interpret for me," he said.
~~~ *** ~~~
Medcat's words sent a wave of panic through Snape. Lovegood be his translator? Merlin, he would end up in the psychiatric ward alongside Lockhart! He opened his eyes to glare at her, but she was smiling broadly at Medcat, a huge dimple denting her left cheek.
"Mr Snape, you're awake!" said his idiot of a Mediwizard. "The lovely Miss Lovegood claims to be able to interpret your faulty language pattern. If you would care to give her a riddle to solve, I would be most interested to know what you are thinking."
I'm thinking what a shame it is that stupidity is not painful.
Finally, he pretended to clear his throat, hoping that Lovegood would remember her promise to get him out of the infirmary as soon as possible.
"What can be broken without being touched?" he asked.
"A promise! But don't worry, I will not break mine," replied Luna swiftly. She then wheeled around and took Medcat's hand in her own. "He wants to leave."
Snape winced inwardly. Subtlety had never been Miss Lovegood's strong suit.
"He believes that he should be released into my care," she continued, as if she had gleaned all that information from their brief exchange.
"Miss Lovegood, I'm not sure you have the proper qualifications to handle a delicate case such as this," said Marcus Medcat hesitantly.
"Of course not! But there is no reason why you couldn't manage his care from my home. I live in the country."
Medcat was pleasantly surprised. The young, beautiful witch was using the grouchy professor as a sort of bait to get him into her home on a regular basis. What would be the harm in that? His patient was physically stable, and it would be a pleasant distraction to his day to be able to go have tea at her house while checking in on his patient. The headlines would sell millions of copies: Dedicated Health Care Professional Cures War Hero While Stealing the Heart of his Interpreter! Why, he would probably get his own chocolate frog card!
"Country air, yes," said Medcat knowingly. "I'll see if I can make the arrangements to discharge Mr Snape, but first, can we determine if this particular arrangement is agreeable to the patient?"
Snape was stunned. How had Lovegood managed that? His mind reeled with the dizzying potential of "recuperation" at Luna Lovegood's home. Escaping her country home would be much easier than waiting for his release from St Mungo's.
"Does a Hippogriff shit in the woods?" he asked Medcat, who seemed unsure of that particular animal's defecatory habits.
"He says yes," interpreted Luna helpfully.
~~~ *** ~~~
It had been four months since Snape had moved in with his former student under the guise of "rehabilitation" with his "interpreter." He was getting used to his new life, which consisted mostly of reading, drinking tea, collecting potions ingredients from the forest around Lovegood's home, and experimenting with funnel fern spores as catalysts. Merlin knew there were enough of the damned things around the place.
During his almost daily hikes in the surrounding forest, Snape would pause at the outskirts of the Lovegood property and deliberate putting one foot over the line. One boot, then the next-what was stopping him from continuing on and Apparating away? He told himself it was because he had not yet established an escape plan. But in fact, to his surprise, living there was not unpleasant. After all, he was clean, dry, and fed, with an adequate potions laboratory and a distinct lack of megalomaniacal bastard about the place. He had to endure Miss Lovegood's endless chatter, it was true, but she was still an improvement over the nurses at the hospital. Really, his only complaint was the liberties she took when interpreting his thoughts to Medcat during his house calls. And that he often had to remind her that he was not in need of an interpreter when they were alone.
"Are you ready for your haircut?" asked the young witch, snapping him out of his musing.
She was holding a pair of Muggle scissors and looking at him with an expectant expression, as if he, himself, had made an appointment with her.
"And how did you arrive at the idea that I wanted my hair cut, Miss Lovegood?" Snape asked, annoyed. "That was not what I was implying when I said that Medcat was as greasy as my hair."
Luna giggled. "No, that wasn't what led me to believe you needed your hair trimmed." She walked over to the sink and grabbed the rainbow-coloured dishcloth hanging next to it. "But if I tell you the real reason, you will think me odd."
"I assure you, my opinion of you will not change," muttered Snape.
Luna dragged a wooden chair to the middle of the kitchen and pointed for him to sit.
"Well, regardless of my reasons, I still need to cut your hair because that's what I told Marcus your last riddle meant."
Snape sighed. Why not let her cut his hair? Hadn't he been furious when his own stringy hair had ruined an experiment that morning by dragging into the cauldron just as he was carefully counting spores into it? Perhaps the girl was right.
He sat in the chair grudgingly and said, "From now on, I will tell you exactly what my riddles mean ahead of time so that you do not feel the need to add your own… superfluous interpretations."
"I'm certain that is an excellent course of action, Severus," she agreed, while tying the dishtowel around his neck.
Snape let the familiar address go. What difference did it make what she called him if he were going to put up with that sort of impertinence anyway?
The first touch of her fingers over his scalp sent shivers down his calves. He concentrated on listening to the scissors snip briskly while her fingers continued to comb through his hair, massaging his skull.
"Just relax," she whispered serenely in his ear.
Trying unsuccessfully to suppress a shudder as her fingertips ghosted over the nape of his neck, he hid his hands under the dishtowel and dug his own fingers into his thighs.
Snape had not been the recipient of many haircuts in his life, but he was fairly certain that they did not involve this much touching. And yet, he was powerless to stop her.
It was the first gentle, intimate touch he had received in years, and he found himself almost drifting to sleep in the chair as Luna Lovegood gave the longest haircut in the history of the world (and how was it that neither of them, he wondered abstractedly, had mentioned the fact that a simple Coupecourt spell would have done the trick in mere seconds?).
When she was finished cutting his hair, she had to nudge him. "All done," she said, whisking the dishtowel away and handing him an odd, diamond-shaped mirror.
The hair was slightly longer above his right ear than his left, but the overall shorter style somehow made him look much younger. He gave her back the mirror without a single word and leaned against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. Luna Lovegood's face glowed before him with an expression that hid nothing.
He had to leave. His rehabilitation was officially over. He was no expert in the intricacies of the female persuasion, but it was obvious that the girl, who was half his age, expected something more than just his company while he shared her residence.
"My appearance may have changed, Miss Lovegood, but I can assure you that I am the same wizard who killed your beloved Headmaster Dumbledore," he said, warning her with one of the multiple atrocities he had committed in his life.
"Oh, I'm so sorry that particular episode is still troubling you," said Luna, with a sigh. It was clear that arguing with Snape would be of no use, so she did the only thing she could think of.
Without a hint of warning, she pulled him by the collar towards her and pressed her lips to his in a brief, chaste kiss. When she released him, he could only stare at her, stunned despite his having, only moments before, been pondering that exact intent on her part.
"Don't worry," she said with a radiant smile. "Reticulated lizards keep their eyes open when they kiss too."
"Imagine my relief," he said, still wide eyed, as if he were indeed a reticulated lizard and awaiting another kiss. Straightening himself with a jerk and a baffled snort, he spun on his heel, and left the kitchen.
~~~ *** ~~~
Severus spent the rest of the afternoon hidden in his laboratory, chopping and grinding ingredients in a determined effort to keep thoughts of Luna Lovegood at bay. He brewed three batches of Dreamless Sleep to get rid of the extra valerian roots before they rotted, and made some tea from the "magic" mushrooms he had found on the forest floor that morning. He had a feeling he might need one or the other before the night was over.
Wasn't it just that morning that he had been contemplating how at ease he felt there? He had always enjoyed solitude, preferred his own company to that of any other, but somehow, the Lovegood girl had effortlessly become a habitual presence in his life. Just as he thought he had always preferred a strong orange pekoe, he found himself in front of a fireplace at night in a chair across from hers, sipping cranberry tea from a shared pot-and enjoying this new habit, which seemed, yet, to have always simply been.
But what had happened that afternoon was completely inappropriate. She was half his age.
He supposed a man at his level of sexual deprivation would naturally be more susceptible to the advances of pretty young witches. If they were indeed advances. Was a single, closed-mouth kiss an advance? What of her other actions, her general friendliness, her… her… her gentleness with him?
No, they couldn't possibly be.
Then what was the significance of her shenanigans? What did she want from him? She claimed to be his "friend." She had always been remarkably unobtrusive-somehow letting him be-and he had come to think of her as some kind of a friend as well. But it felt as if her undemanding presence suddenly had strings attached.
What he needed was a plan that did not involve the girl. He had enough money saved to buy a small cottage, similar to this one, deep in the forest. He would build a small greenhouse at the back of his house with a side entry to his laboratory. No one would find him-he would be, as he originally had desired, Unplottable. Even to her.
Satisfied with his new plan, he waited until he heard the sounds of Luna Lovegood completing her usual bedtime routine on the floor above him. When he was sure he would not see her, he crept up the stairs to his bedroom.
"You're avoiding me, " said Luna matter-of-factly. She was sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed.
Snape suppressed his surprise and gave her his best sneer. "How acutely perceptive of you," he replied.
"I don't require high levels of perceptiveness to interpret for you," she said. "It's plain that you are afraid of me."
Snape sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. "I assure you, there are many things in this world of which I am truly afraid, but none of those things is you. What do you want from me, Miss Lovegood?"
"I suppose I want you to realise that you like it here," she said thoughtfully, "and that you enjoy my company. That's all."
His eyes narrowed suspiciously, he had not expected her to answer so frankly. "That is all?"
"Well, maybe there is something else I want from you."
Isn't there always?
"And what would that be?"
"A wetter kiss," she replied.
A wetter kiss? Merlin, is that what teenagers are calling it these days?
"Since you are so perceptive, Miss Lovegood, why don't you figure out this riddle for me? What goes up and never comes down?"
"Age, but I don't see how it has anything to do with this."
"Let me make this riddle very simple for you then. What is the difference between forty-one and nineteen years?"
"Twenty-one years," answered Luna, with a sigh. "But years are not really the units I like to use to measure attraction. I prefer goosebumps."
Luna leaned over and touched Snape's forearm. She felt his muscles tense under the sleeve of his shirt. "There are quite a bit more than twenty-one here," she added, as she trailed a finger inside the sleeve.
"Miss Lovegood, leave," he said, with throaty urgency.
"If you wish," said Luna, as she rose from the bed. "But just out of curiosity, why are you fighting this?"
He struggled with the answer to that question as if it were the most difficult riddle he had ever been presented with.
Why was he fighting this? An attractive young witch was keeping his secrets, providing him with a way to avoid his Ministry obligations, giving him a comfortable place to stay... and if she were to be believed, all she wanted in return was a kiss with a higher level of humidity.
It would turn out poorly, no doubt, he thought. If past experience was any indication, before long she would be pestering him for household potions and expecting him to tend the ferns. He took a firm step backwards as she passed him to exit the room.
And yet... funnel ferns required surprisingly little care, and he would miss the tuneless song she hummed to herself while doing the washing up, the cranberry tea, and her sing-song voice... And her kiss had been... satisfactory. No doubt a "wetter" kiss would be even more satisfactory.
He smirked slightly, imagining Medcat's next visit to the Lovegood home. Maybe he should start trying to think up a riddle to let the fool know he'd stolen Luna Lovegood right out from under his nose.
Snape stepped out into the hallway in time to catch her retreating form. "Wait!" he called. "I believe I may require your assistance to compose my next riddle."
Author: opaljade
Beta Readers: lariopefic and lulabelle72
Recipient: duniazade
Rating: PG
(Highlight to View) Warning: mild language.
Recipient's Prompt: After he recovers from the snake bite, Snape is considered a hero, but the Ministry wants to debrief him and/or have him attend the official Ceremonies. Unfortunately, he only speaks in Sphinx-like enigmas/Ravenclaw type questions, or answers every question by a question. Luna volunteers to interpret.
Summary: Snape is suffering from "Riddletongue." Luna Lovegood becomes his interpreter.
Slowly and painfully, Severus Snape became aware of the raw stretching pain travelling from his jaw to the cleft of his left collarbone. Gritty eyes slowly opening, he found his worst suspicions were confirmed: He was indeed in a hospital bed, alive, able to see the sunlight streaming in through the grimy windows. He lacked the strength to move-at least nothing more than the opening and closing of his eyelids. His right hand was tingling; it prickled as if no blood ran through it.
He could hear voices in the proximity of his bed. Excited whispers, it seemed. Suddenly, a young, buttercup-blond Mediwizard with a ridiculous diagonal fringe was standing over him, holding a clipboard and a quill of invisible ink.
"Do you know who you are?" asked the young wizard with a trace of self-importance. After all, he was the first to interview the double-crossing Death Eater Hero.
Had he been able to, Snape would've rolled his eyes at the stupidity of the question; his name was plastered on almost every surface of the room. He flexed his fingers to point to the multiple identification signs posted across the room, but he only managed to wrap them around the metal bar of his bed. The circumference reminded him of his wand, and he twisted sideways to find that extension of his arm, of his very being, but saw only a small, aqua-coloured side table holding a jar of water and a rusty golden plaque bearing his name.
"My wand," he tried to inquire, but his voice was a pathetic, grating thing.
"You believe yourself to be Mike Won?" concluded the young Mediwizard with an almost gleeful smile, hastily scribbling the information down, already picturing himself in front of the media explaining his famous patient's delusions.
Snape tried to correct him once more, but pain shot through his throat, and the sound was unrecognisable. Then he slipped once more into blackness.
~~~ *** ~~~
Over the next few weeks, as Snape moved in and out of consciousness, two facts became concrete in his mind. Firstly and most importantly, wizarding Britain seemed to have classified him as a hero-victim rather than a villain. If he was to have the ill luck to still be alive on this godforsaken planet, it was infinitely better to be alive and not in Azkaban. Secondly, he was under the care of the most conceited, idiotic Mediwizard that St Mungo's had ever pulled through the ranks of residency to staff. That very dangerous mixture of conceit and stupidity had been noticeable when Marcus Medcat had been his student in his former life, that phase when he had been simply a teacher-a spy in remission.
Painfully alert now, he remained still as he assessed the Mediwizard who had just entered his room for his daily rounds.
"Professor Snape," Medcat said jovially, sitting on a small stool next to the bed. "I see that you are awake now. I am here to do a full mental assessment to determine the effect of the snakebite on your neurological functions. You seemed quite confused the last time I examined you."
So, this is what hell is: Idiots wearing Mediwizard robes.
"Here are a few facts to help you organise your thoughts. You have been in a coma for a little over eighteen months. We have kept you alive using a Profusiona Spell, which kept your heart beating during that time. You've had a tracheotomy and an autograft, not to be confused with autograph, to replace the skin on your neck."
The young wizard then took a minute to laugh at his own joke and resumed his assessment after making sure Snape was still conscious.
Unfortunately, he was. Idiot.
"Now, try to answer these questions as truthfully as you can."
"How will you know if I am telling the truth if I'm lying in bed?
Medcat frowned, slightly confused. "Can you tell me what you remember about the Civil War?"
Snape sighed and didn't even bother to do it inwardly.
"How can a war be civil?" he replied, mostly to aggravate Medcat, who now seemed to be taking a rather long time processing his answer.
And I'm the one who needs a neurological assessment.
"Are you getting smart with me?" asked the Mediwizard, unsure.
"How would you know?" said Snape, raising an eyebrow.
"Mr Snape, I confess, I'm speechless."
"If you were truly speechless, why would you bother telling me?"
I really need to get out of here.
"You keep replying with questions!" exclaimed the blond wizard, as if he were finally on the track of a major discovery. "I think there is a possibility that the venom from the snake might have created a chemical imbalance in the speech centre of your brain!"
Merlin, Medcat would rather make up a disease than contemplate the possibility that someone is ridiculing him.
The doctor sprang from his stool with a satisfied air, scribbling away on the chart in front of him. He took a final glance at Snape before exiting the room and said, "Well, Professor, you fought hard to stay alive. Your speech dysfunction will probably disappear with time, but you can rest assured that, with the expert care you received from my team, you have succeeded in staying alive!"
"If you try to fail and succeed, which one have you done?" Snape asked wearily, letting his head fall back onto the pillow.
Snape could see the thoughts spinning like a windmill in the doctor's brain as he tried to figure out the answer to that question.
~~~ *** ~~~
Propped up on two pillows, Snape decided to feign sleep when he saw the nurse coming in to check his vitals. He had no desire to discuss his good fortune with her, and this particular nurse, whether by nature or simply having been caught up in the newly minted Snape-as-Hero whirlwind, made non-stop assaults on his person with her constant attempts at small talk. But it was in this moment that Snape caught sight of the new Minister of Magic talking animatedly with his egocentric Mediwizard under the arched entryway of his room. They had not bothered with a Muffliato-no doubt thinking he was truly asleep-but their tones were still hushed.
"Minister, despite the fact that Mr Snape has made a significant recovery, I doubt very much that he will be able to attend the ceremony in a few weeks. He is having difficulties with his speech-something I believe to be related to the venom in the snake's blood. He can only answer a question with a question of his own. Last time I evaluated him, he even started talking in riddles."
"What kind of a disease does that? It doesn't even make sense!" replied Shacklebolt, looking doubtfully at the chart presented to him.
"Yes, I know; it does seem rather strange, but I actually believe it may be more of a curse than a disease. After analysing all of the variables presented to me, I don't think it's a coincidence that Professor Snape should be talking in riddles after being bitten by Tom Riddle's snake!"
Does he really think Voldemort would have wasted precious time fitting in asinine curse-development between genocide and plans for world domination?
"Hmmm," pondered Kingsley briefly. "Perhaps this should be further investigated. Please keep me updated as to his progress."
"Yes, yes, of course! Worst case scenario, he continues to talk like this, and he doesn't attend the ceremony; best case, we find a counter-curse, and he will be able to address the community during his acceptance speech at the memorial service."
Worst case scenario... Indeed.
~~~ *** ~~~
Severus devised a plan. All he needed to do was to keep pretending he had been 'riddled' by Nagini for a few more weeks, then miraculously recover and disappear forever.
Unplottable was the goal for the next forty years. He yearned for a secluded place where he could freely grope his way into a new life.
His planning session was suddenly interrupted by a quick knock on his door. Before Snape could think of a riddle to ask his visitor, the door opened, and someone hidden behind a large funnel fern walked in.
"Headmaster Snape," came a soft voice from between the ornate leaves, "I've brought you a gift."
Snape couldn't tell what shocked him most: seeing a grown-up version of Miss Lovegood (just how long had he been in a coma?), being called Headmaster, or receiving a funnel fern during its sporing cycle.
Luna Lovegood walked around his bed and set the plant on an empty tray underneath the window. A few spores twirled upwards in a spiral, but she captured them in a clear blue phial that was already half full. She handed it to him as if it were a potion phial to be graded.
"I don't like to waste," she explained, when she saw the stunned expression on his face. She tilted her head to the side, and her long blonde hair cascaded down over one shoulder.
Snape met her kind, knowing eyes briefly, and in that short moment his riddles-as-an-escape plan was completely derailed. He had no idea what she was doing in his room, and bringing him gifts no less, but of one thing he was certain: he could not pull off his charade in the presence of Luna Lovegood.
She was openly staring at him, her large blue eyes scanning his face, finally stopping at the wound on his neck.
"Well, it's obvious they were more concerned with saving your life than worrying about your appearance. That skin graft almost looks like a quilt patch," she said matter-of-factly.
The young witch then turned towards his bedside table and wandlessly sent his jar of water floating into the air towards the window. Snape watched the entire contents being poured over the gift fern on the tray.
"Thank you," she said.
He wasn't sure if she was addressing the water pitcher or him.
Snape wanted to ask what she was doing there, but how could he do so while pretending to have a speech problem? Luna Lovegood's eyes might be odd, but she was an insightful witch. He found himself calculating the odds that she would see right through him. He decided he was better off testing Lovegood while they were still by themselves. If he blew his cover, perhaps she would keep it to herself as she had done in the past?
"People hate me, but when I come back they clap for me. Who am I?" he inquired in a neutral voice, hoping he sounded like he was under the effect of a curse.
"Oh, you're much better than a mosquito!"
Luna gave him a beatific smile as she sat down at the end of his bed, her lower back touching his bare feet.
"One would think you would be all done with having to pretend," she whispered wistfully.
And pretending is exactly what he would have to keep doing as he heard the familiar footsteps of his caretaker approaching the room from the hallway. He closed his eyes and forced his heartbeat to slow down.
"I promise to get you out of here soon," added his former student earnestly.
~~~ *** ~~~
Marcus Medcat was truly on top of the world that morning. His celebrity patient was finally bringing him the recognition he deserved, and he was contemplating documenting the chain of events that led him to the discovery of Riddletongue (as he liked to call it). He might finally be published in the Old England Journal of Mediwizardry. But he hadn't expected the shocking sight that greeted him when he struck his carefully groomed head around the doorframe. There was the recovering hero, all right, but he was not alone. Sitting at the foot of his bed was the friendly witch who did volunteer work at the hospital. How she had got through the security wards was puzzling. Medcat concluded that Nurse Wendy had probably forgotten to set the wards after checking Snape's vitals earlier.
Strange, he had been thinking of courting her, and there she was sitting in Snape's room. Surely this was an opportunity to impress her while his patient was still sleeping. He gave her his full smile, the one he had perfected that morning in front of the mirror, and he pulled out his new gold quill and chart. It seemed like things were lining up to present him with everything he'd ever wanted.
"Miss Lovegood! How gracious of you to take the time to visit my recovering patient," he started to say, before being momentarily distracted by the sight of the huge fern by the window. "I take it you were unable to converse with Mr Snape?"
"Oh, you're the one who diagnosed him with the speech impediment!" exclaimed Luna, when she recognised the young Mediwizard who had seemed so preoccupied with his looks in the cafeteria the other day. "Actually, I can understand him perfectly! You see, I had a bad case of Otitis Media when I was a young child, and ever since then, I've been very good at solving riddles. I guess you could say I have Riddle-ear," she said, giggling.
Marcus couldn't believe his luck, the universe was even sending him someone who could help him unlock the secrets of Riddletongue!
"That's most unusual. Perhaps you could interpret for me," he said.
~~~ *** ~~~
Medcat's words sent a wave of panic through Snape. Lovegood be his translator? Merlin, he would end up in the psychiatric ward alongside Lockhart! He opened his eyes to glare at her, but she was smiling broadly at Medcat, a huge dimple denting her left cheek.
"Mr Snape, you're awake!" said his idiot of a Mediwizard. "The lovely Miss Lovegood claims to be able to interpret your faulty language pattern. If you would care to give her a riddle to solve, I would be most interested to know what you are thinking."
I'm thinking what a shame it is that stupidity is not painful.
Finally, he pretended to clear his throat, hoping that Lovegood would remember her promise to get him out of the infirmary as soon as possible.
"What can be broken without being touched?" he asked.
"A promise! But don't worry, I will not break mine," replied Luna swiftly. She then wheeled around and took Medcat's hand in her own. "He wants to leave."
Snape winced inwardly. Subtlety had never been Miss Lovegood's strong suit.
"He believes that he should be released into my care," she continued, as if she had gleaned all that information from their brief exchange.
"Miss Lovegood, I'm not sure you have the proper qualifications to handle a delicate case such as this," said Marcus Medcat hesitantly.
"Of course not! But there is no reason why you couldn't manage his care from my home. I live in the country."
Medcat was pleasantly surprised. The young, beautiful witch was using the grouchy professor as a sort of bait to get him into her home on a regular basis. What would be the harm in that? His patient was physically stable, and it would be a pleasant distraction to his day to be able to go have tea at her house while checking in on his patient. The headlines would sell millions of copies: Dedicated Health Care Professional Cures War Hero While Stealing the Heart of his Interpreter! Why, he would probably get his own chocolate frog card!
"Country air, yes," said Medcat knowingly. "I'll see if I can make the arrangements to discharge Mr Snape, but first, can we determine if this particular arrangement is agreeable to the patient?"
Snape was stunned. How had Lovegood managed that? His mind reeled with the dizzying potential of "recuperation" at Luna Lovegood's home. Escaping her country home would be much easier than waiting for his release from St Mungo's.
"Does a Hippogriff shit in the woods?" he asked Medcat, who seemed unsure of that particular animal's defecatory habits.
"He says yes," interpreted Luna helpfully.
~~~ *** ~~~
It had been four months since Snape had moved in with his former student under the guise of "rehabilitation" with his "interpreter." He was getting used to his new life, which consisted mostly of reading, drinking tea, collecting potions ingredients from the forest around Lovegood's home, and experimenting with funnel fern spores as catalysts. Merlin knew there were enough of the damned things around the place.
During his almost daily hikes in the surrounding forest, Snape would pause at the outskirts of the Lovegood property and deliberate putting one foot over the line. One boot, then the next-what was stopping him from continuing on and Apparating away? He told himself it was because he had not yet established an escape plan. But in fact, to his surprise, living there was not unpleasant. After all, he was clean, dry, and fed, with an adequate potions laboratory and a distinct lack of megalomaniacal bastard about the place. He had to endure Miss Lovegood's endless chatter, it was true, but she was still an improvement over the nurses at the hospital. Really, his only complaint was the liberties she took when interpreting his thoughts to Medcat during his house calls. And that he often had to remind her that he was not in need of an interpreter when they were alone.
"Are you ready for your haircut?" asked the young witch, snapping him out of his musing.
She was holding a pair of Muggle scissors and looking at him with an expectant expression, as if he, himself, had made an appointment with her.
"And how did you arrive at the idea that I wanted my hair cut, Miss Lovegood?" Snape asked, annoyed. "That was not what I was implying when I said that Medcat was as greasy as my hair."
Luna giggled. "No, that wasn't what led me to believe you needed your hair trimmed." She walked over to the sink and grabbed the rainbow-coloured dishcloth hanging next to it. "But if I tell you the real reason, you will think me odd."
"I assure you, my opinion of you will not change," muttered Snape.
Luna dragged a wooden chair to the middle of the kitchen and pointed for him to sit.
"Well, regardless of my reasons, I still need to cut your hair because that's what I told Marcus your last riddle meant."
Snape sighed. Why not let her cut his hair? Hadn't he been furious when his own stringy hair had ruined an experiment that morning by dragging into the cauldron just as he was carefully counting spores into it? Perhaps the girl was right.
He sat in the chair grudgingly and said, "From now on, I will tell you exactly what my riddles mean ahead of time so that you do not feel the need to add your own… superfluous interpretations."
"I'm certain that is an excellent course of action, Severus," she agreed, while tying the dishtowel around his neck.
Snape let the familiar address go. What difference did it make what she called him if he were going to put up with that sort of impertinence anyway?
The first touch of her fingers over his scalp sent shivers down his calves. He concentrated on listening to the scissors snip briskly while her fingers continued to comb through his hair, massaging his skull.
"Just relax," she whispered serenely in his ear.
Trying unsuccessfully to suppress a shudder as her fingertips ghosted over the nape of his neck, he hid his hands under the dishtowel and dug his own fingers into his thighs.
Snape had not been the recipient of many haircuts in his life, but he was fairly certain that they did not involve this much touching. And yet, he was powerless to stop her.
It was the first gentle, intimate touch he had received in years, and he found himself almost drifting to sleep in the chair as Luna Lovegood gave the longest haircut in the history of the world (and how was it that neither of them, he wondered abstractedly, had mentioned the fact that a simple Coupecourt spell would have done the trick in mere seconds?).
When she was finished cutting his hair, she had to nudge him. "All done," she said, whisking the dishtowel away and handing him an odd, diamond-shaped mirror.
The hair was slightly longer above his right ear than his left, but the overall shorter style somehow made him look much younger. He gave her back the mirror without a single word and leaned against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed tightly across his chest. Luna Lovegood's face glowed before him with an expression that hid nothing.
He had to leave. His rehabilitation was officially over. He was no expert in the intricacies of the female persuasion, but it was obvious that the girl, who was half his age, expected something more than just his company while he shared her residence.
"My appearance may have changed, Miss Lovegood, but I can assure you that I am the same wizard who killed your beloved Headmaster Dumbledore," he said, warning her with one of the multiple atrocities he had committed in his life.
"Oh, I'm so sorry that particular episode is still troubling you," said Luna, with a sigh. It was clear that arguing with Snape would be of no use, so she did the only thing she could think of.
Without a hint of warning, she pulled him by the collar towards her and pressed her lips to his in a brief, chaste kiss. When she released him, he could only stare at her, stunned despite his having, only moments before, been pondering that exact intent on her part.
"Don't worry," she said with a radiant smile. "Reticulated lizards keep their eyes open when they kiss too."
"Imagine my relief," he said, still wide eyed, as if he were indeed a reticulated lizard and awaiting another kiss. Straightening himself with a jerk and a baffled snort, he spun on his heel, and left the kitchen.
~~~ *** ~~~
Severus spent the rest of the afternoon hidden in his laboratory, chopping and grinding ingredients in a determined effort to keep thoughts of Luna Lovegood at bay. He brewed three batches of Dreamless Sleep to get rid of the extra valerian roots before they rotted, and made some tea from the "magic" mushrooms he had found on the forest floor that morning. He had a feeling he might need one or the other before the night was over.
Wasn't it just that morning that he had been contemplating how at ease he felt there? He had always enjoyed solitude, preferred his own company to that of any other, but somehow, the Lovegood girl had effortlessly become a habitual presence in his life. Just as he thought he had always preferred a strong orange pekoe, he found himself in front of a fireplace at night in a chair across from hers, sipping cranberry tea from a shared pot-and enjoying this new habit, which seemed, yet, to have always simply been.
But what had happened that afternoon was completely inappropriate. She was half his age.
He supposed a man at his level of sexual deprivation would naturally be more susceptible to the advances of pretty young witches. If they were indeed advances. Was a single, closed-mouth kiss an advance? What of her other actions, her general friendliness, her… her… her gentleness with him?
No, they couldn't possibly be.
Then what was the significance of her shenanigans? What did she want from him? She claimed to be his "friend." She had always been remarkably unobtrusive-somehow letting him be-and he had come to think of her as some kind of a friend as well. But it felt as if her undemanding presence suddenly had strings attached.
What he needed was a plan that did not involve the girl. He had enough money saved to buy a small cottage, similar to this one, deep in the forest. He would build a small greenhouse at the back of his house with a side entry to his laboratory. No one would find him-he would be, as he originally had desired, Unplottable. Even to her.
Satisfied with his new plan, he waited until he heard the sounds of Luna Lovegood completing her usual bedtime routine on the floor above him. When he was sure he would not see her, he crept up the stairs to his bedroom.
"You're avoiding me, " said Luna matter-of-factly. She was sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed.
Snape suppressed his surprise and gave her his best sneer. "How acutely perceptive of you," he replied.
"I don't require high levels of perceptiveness to interpret for you," she said. "It's plain that you are afraid of me."
Snape sighed and rubbed a hand across his face. "I assure you, there are many things in this world of which I am truly afraid, but none of those things is you. What do you want from me, Miss Lovegood?"
"I suppose I want you to realise that you like it here," she said thoughtfully, "and that you enjoy my company. That's all."
His eyes narrowed suspiciously, he had not expected her to answer so frankly. "That is all?"
"Well, maybe there is something else I want from you."
Isn't there always?
"And what would that be?"
"A wetter kiss," she replied.
A wetter kiss? Merlin, is that what teenagers are calling it these days?
"Since you are so perceptive, Miss Lovegood, why don't you figure out this riddle for me? What goes up and never comes down?"
"Age, but I don't see how it has anything to do with this."
"Let me make this riddle very simple for you then. What is the difference between forty-one and nineteen years?"
"Twenty-one years," answered Luna, with a sigh. "But years are not really the units I like to use to measure attraction. I prefer goosebumps."
Luna leaned over and touched Snape's forearm. She felt his muscles tense under the sleeve of his shirt. "There are quite a bit more than twenty-one here," she added, as she trailed a finger inside the sleeve.
"Miss Lovegood, leave," he said, with throaty urgency.
"If you wish," said Luna, as she rose from the bed. "But just out of curiosity, why are you fighting this?"
He struggled with the answer to that question as if it were the most difficult riddle he had ever been presented with.
Why was he fighting this? An attractive young witch was keeping his secrets, providing him with a way to avoid his Ministry obligations, giving him a comfortable place to stay... and if she were to be believed, all she wanted in return was a kiss with a higher level of humidity.
It would turn out poorly, no doubt, he thought. If past experience was any indication, before long she would be pestering him for household potions and expecting him to tend the ferns. He took a firm step backwards as she passed him to exit the room.
And yet... funnel ferns required surprisingly little care, and he would miss the tuneless song she hummed to herself while doing the washing up, the cranberry tea, and her sing-song voice... And her kiss had been... satisfactory. No doubt a "wetter" kiss would be even more satisfactory.
He smirked slightly, imagining Medcat's next visit to the Lovegood home. Maybe he should start trying to think up a riddle to let the fool know he'd stolen Luna Lovegood right out from under his nose.
Snape stepped out into the hallway in time to catch her retreating form. "Wait!" he called. "I believe I may require your assistance to compose my next riddle."