GIFT: Rosa Salutaris (R), for the snuna_exchange

[snuna_xchng_mod]

Title: Rosa Salutaris
Author: miss_morland
Beta Reader: redsnake05
Recipient: snuna_exchange
Rating: NC-17
(Highlight to View) Warning(s): Luna is 17, which might be problematic to Australian readers (although she's of age in the Wizarding World).
Summary: Survival is the first step toward living.



The first thing he noticed was a faint light where there had been none, a thin golden streak in the darkness. Then his eyes opened, and he could see.

Apparently, the afterlife was a room.

The walls were white, the curtains white, his bedclothes white. There was a bedside table with a large plant on it, and a few nondescript pictures on the opposite walls. Light was streaming in through the window; at least for the moment, it seemed as there would be no darkness and gnashing of teeth.

Interesting.

His body felt boneless, leaden. He tried to move his hands. Slowly, reluctantly, they curled into fists.

As he lay there, pondering, a door to his left opened. Two people entered, looking very much like St. Mungo Healers. When their eyes fell upon him, they both stopped dead in their tracks, their jaws dropping.

He raised an eyebrow.

Then various things started to happen. One of the Healer-persons dashed out of the room; a cry of "He's awake!" reached his ears through the open door. The other one started to check his pulse, tapping her wand at his forehead, his chest, and his wrists, an incredulous look on her face.

Suddenly there were lots of noises, of running feet, rustling papers, voices shouting orders. As Snape was lying there, being subjected to all sorts of examinations, prodding wands and questioning fingers, a cold sense of hopelessness seized his stomach as realisation dawned upon him.

He wasn't dead after all.

~

A day had passed, and he was already thoroughly tired of being alive again. Due to his having earned some sort of war hero status he'd been given his own room -- thank Merlin -- but privacy still seemed to be scarce. The Healers would interrupt him at all times, doing tests and checking his vitals; he suspected they were only sorry they couldn't dissect him while they were at it.

As if to prove his point, a Healer opened the door without knocking. "A visitor for you today!"

Snape opened his mouth to say that he was not interested in receiving any visitors, thank you very much, and wasn't he supposed to be resting, anyway? However, the words died in his throat as soon as he laid eyes on the visitor in question.

"Hello, Professor," Luna Lovegood said, beaming at him. "I'm so glad you're awake."

He gaped at her. She stood there, looking like an overgrown daffodil in her bright yellow dress, her straggly hair pouring down her back, and she seemed genuinely happy to see him. Whatever the bizarre reason, Snape couldn't fathom it.

Speech returned, albeit lamely. "What are you doing here?" he croaked.

"I wanted to see you," she said, as if this was obvious. Uninvited, she pulled out a chair and sat down on it, the smile still bright on her face. "And I wanted to know how you're getting on with Sal."

A faint headache was beginning to murmur somewhere behind Snape's left ear. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then opened them to fix her with whatever remaining glare he had left. "Are you playing some outlandish joke on me, Lovegood? Who is Sal?"

At his words, Lovegood looked truly regretful. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I forgot that you were comatose when I first introduced you."

She pointed to the plant on his bedside table. "This is a plant that only grows in the Caucasian mountains every fourth year during Midsummer. I bought it from a traveller in the Leaky Cauldron. He says it's known in Western Europe as Rosa Salutaris -- to the few people who know about it at all, that is -- but I only call it Sal." She paused, looking thoughtful. "Maybe it's impolite to call it 'it'. Maybe we should say 'she'?"

"Plants don't have gender identities," Snape snapped. "Did you fail Herbology?"

"Oh no," said Lovegood. "But I always liked Care of Magical Creatures better."

His headache was getting worse. "Well, thank you for buying me such an, hm, exotic plant -- it's an unexpected gesture, certainly -- but I'm afraid you've been tricked." He pointed at the plant. "This is clearly not a rose."

Lovegood's face brightened. "But you haven't heard the best of it!"

She leaned closer, her face assuming a conspiratorial look. "I think it's only called a rose to disguise its true nature. If it became known here, lots of Healers would lose their jobs." She paused for what he could only suppose was dramatic effect. "Sal has the power to heal people."

Snape tried not to roll his eyes. "Yes, Miss Lovegood, there are quite a few plants that have healing powers. I tried to teach you about some of them during our Potions classes, if you will remember."

"Oh, but this is different!" she whispered, her eyes shining. "Sal can heal you all on its own, you see. In fact, she's already started to!"

He stared at her. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You were comatose for several weeks," she explained, as if he didn't already know as much. "The Healers had pretty much given up on you. But then I brought Sal, and I followed the instructions from the traveller --"

His stomach sank. "You followed instructions from a complete stranger?"

"-- exactly as he'd told me to: seven drops of your spittle, a spell, three clockwise circles with the wand, and there!" She beamed again. "You and Sal are now bonded."

"Say WHAT?!"

"Don't you see?" said Lovegood excitedly. "Sal's the one who saved you! The bond between you grounded you to life, and the healing powers brought you back."

"You are mad," Snape groaned. "Even if these... powers... do work -- what on Earth gives you the right to bond me to a plant?"

"Well, it saved your life," said Lovegood. "Isn't that great? But you can test the bond yourself, if you like." She prodded his shoulder, like an excited parent handing her first-born a new broomstick. "Go on! Try!"

Interested against his will, Snape reached out to touch one of the broad, green leaves. It curled immediately around his finger, gently, like a caress. He looked down at his fingers, then studied the plant. It definitely did not look like anything he'd seen before, which fitted Lovegood's story well enough -- not that he wouldn't believe her incapable of buying a random stranger's plant and story out of the blue. Still, if she was right...

Carefully, he untangled his finger and proceeded to have a closer look at the stem. "It's an interesting specimen, no doubt, but I'm afraid you've been taken in. I cannot feel a single hint of anything like a bond."

Lovegood studied the plant with interest. "Try pinching one of the leaves."

Having no reason not to, Snape did so.

"Ow!"

The sting was sudden and sharp, almost bringing tears to his eyes. He let go of the plant and nursed his hurting forearm, fixing Lovegood with an accusatory look. "What on Earth have you brought upon me, Lovegood? This has to be Dark Magic. Tell me the spell, and I may find a way to reverse it."

She frowned, thinking for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't remember."

Snape pinched his nose in exasperation, his head pounding.

"Anyway," she said, "if you let go of the bond now, you'll die."

"That's entirely my own business," said Snape curtly.

"Really?"

Her voice was soft now, and thoughtful. She studied him with large, misty eyes. He met her gaze quickly, then looked down.

"If someone saves your life, it means they want you to live," said Lovegood. "Isn't that a good reason why you should?" She paused, studying him. "It means you are something to someone."

He turned his face away, staring pointedly at the door.

"Oh well." She sighed. "It's your choice, I suppose. If you don't want to get better, I can't force you."

"Damn right," Snape muttered. Some small part of him, however, couldn't help feeling somewhat disappointed that she'd give up that easily.

"But anyway," said Lovegood, "you'll stay alive as long as the bond lasts. And I think you need to take good care of Sal if you want to find a way to undo the spell. But it's really easy. All you need to do is to give her some water now and then. And also, a little of your spittle twice a week." She giggled. "I used a little vial to collect some of it while you were comatose."

This was going far too far. "Get out," Snape said with all of his remaining dignity. "I need to think."

She got to his feet, nodding. "Oh, I can understand that. But I'll come back tomorrow, and we'll talk more about it then."

"Oh no, you won't," Snape muttered, but she was already out of earshot. With a sigh, he slumped back on the pillow.

If Lovegood kept her word and came back -- again, for whatever reason -- then it would be an opportunity to pump her for information about what was going on in the world. And if she was correct, and the plant was the only thing that could help him grow stronger -- well, he'd have to wait until he was fit to leave the hospital before he could do any research about the bond. In the meantime, he'd keep on interrogating her to see if she could remember anything about the spell. At least it was something for him to do...

And it wasn't as if he could go anywhere, was it?

~

That night, he had problems sleeping.

Lovegood's visit seemed to have brought back all the memories -- obviously, they'd been hiding at the back of his mind, ready to lunge at the slightest provocation. Scenes from that last, horrible year at Hogwarts kept replaying themselves over and over again before his eyes, occasionally interrupted by other, earlier atrocities.

The plant was a large, dark shape on his bedside table. He glanced at it now and then, wondering if it counted as a sentient being and if he could ever again bear to kill one of those.

Far too much death in his life, for far too long.

Damn his parents, for letting him become what he'd become. Damn Albus, for leaving him the way he had. Damn the Dark Lord, for not having used a simple Avada Kedavra.

Damn Lily.

A treacherous thought, albeit not a new one. He turned over to his side, away from the window and the plant, and let the anger and guilt and regret weave their familiar web around his heart.

~

"I've brought something to read," Lovegood said, dumping a stack of magazines on the bedside table. She patted one of the plant's leaves, then turned to Snape, smiling. "How are you today?"

"I was feeling perfectly fine," Snape grumbled. "Aren't you supposed to be at school or something?"

She laughed, a tinkly, pearly sound. "Of course not! It's only August; besides, they aren't done with the rebuilding yet."

"Hm," Snape said, trying not to think of Hogwarts. "Don't you have other things to do, then?"

"Not while I'm here," said Lovegood, pulling out the chair just like she'd done yesterday. "Anyway, we're not going anywhere this summer, Daddy and I. He thinks my visiting you here is great, though."

Snape couldn't remember having met Lovegood's father, but obviously eccentricity ran in the family. "I can't imagine why."

"Why, you're a hero!" Her eyes were on his face, large and honest. "Don't you know that?"

"I am not a hero." He fixed his eyes on one of the paintings on the wall. "I am a broken old bastard. Surely even you must have realised this, Lovegood."

There was a silence. Snape had almost begun to believe she'd given up, when she gave a sigh that sounded almost frustrated. "I was right, then," she said.

These non sequiturs were almost more than he could stand. "What?" he snapped.

"I remember discussing you with Hermione Granger," said Lovegood, apparently not at all embarrassed to admit this. "She thinks you're a misogynist -- that you hate women, because you made fun of her teeth. But I said that you just hate people in general."

Snape scowled. "An astute assessment, but what has that to do with anything?"

"You hate yourself, don't you?" Her voice was clear and grave; it did not sound as if she was mocking him. "That's why it's so hard for you to be nice to others."

He kept staring pointedly in front of him.

"Anyway." Lovegood sighed again. There was a rustle of fabric, indicating that she was getting to her feet. "I'm glad you're feeling better. I think Sal would like some spittle soon, if you're feeling up to it."

After she'd left, he closed his eyes, feeling more desolated than he cared to admit.

~

He woke up in the middle of the night, feeling inexplicably thirsty and dry-mouthed. His head was throbbing with a dull ache, and his body felt strangely frail, almost withering...

Withering.

His wand was gone, and so far he'd had no inclinations to use magic -- the usual rush and simmer of it had been almost too weak to notice. Scrambling around on the bedside table, he found the lamp and lit it.

Although the plant had looked fine earlier -- at least from what he could tell -- it was clear that something was amiss. The leaves were hanging pitifully, their colour a sickly green. With a twinge in his chest that felt remarkably like guilt, Snape found a half-empty glass of water from earlier and poured some of the content into the flowerpot.

Then, feeling somewhat ridiculous but comforted by the fact that no one would know, he leaned over and spit at the soil.

The rest of the water he downed in a gulp. Already the headache was fading. He lay back, glancing at the plant, which had picked itself up a little and (from what he could see) no longer looked as pale.

Well. It seemed that they were in this together.

~

Lovegood didn't visit him the next day.

When he realised this, Snape's first feeling was one of disappointment, then one of regret -- then one of anger with himself, for caring at all.

The Healers still came by several times a day to do their tests. He didn't mention the plant to them. If Lovegood was right, and it seemed as though she might be -- loath as he was to admit it -- there was still no reason for them to know.

It would be an interesting topic for research, provided he ever got out from here...

So far, he'd mostly pushed away any thoughts of a future. It was too unclear, too hopeless, too pointless to think about. But now -- his curiosity was piqued, he couldn't help it. And all thanks to Luna Lovegood.

Who was she to him, anyway? Just another student, one of Potter's circle, no matter how peripheral. He couldn't remember having punished her, apart from that time with the sword business, when he'd sent her to the Forest with Hagrid and Longbottom and the Weasley girl. It had been a mild punishment, milder than the Death Eaters had wished for. He'd almost given himself away with that one.

Was that why she'd come to see him? Was that why -- if her story and the evidence so far could be trusted -- she had saved his life?

She was just another student, just a girl. She had no business visiting him. He had no business missing her.

The stack of magazines were still on his bedside table. Snape perused it with a sceptical eye. A copy of The Quibbler lay on top; he threw it aside with a derisive snort. Underneath, the shiny cover of The Potions' Review offered itself up.

Well, look at that.

Slowly, he started to sort through the magazines. Apart from the occasional Quibbler, most of them looked quite promising: there were periodicals on Potion-making, on Transfiguration, on Charms; there were cultural publications and the latest editions of the Daily Prophet. Clearly, Lovegood had gone to great lengths to give him as varied a reading material as possible.

Was his clemency really worth this much?

~

That night, he slept like a log. The next morning, he felt more healthy and at ease than he had done in a long time -- which did not mean much, but still. There was only one little problem, a rather embarrassing one: he'd woken up with a wet spot on the linen, just like a bloody thirteen-year-old. The worst part was not that he could still remember the dream, or at least hazy bits of it. No, the worst part was that Luna Lovegood had been quite a substantial ingredient.

What a conundrum.

Later, after he'd been fed and cleaned by overbearing but thankfully non-talkative nurses, and lay pondering the significance of this debacle (and whether or not he ought to just neuter himself already), the door opened, and Luna Lovegood entered, the usual smile on her face.

"Hello," she said, placing a basket on the floor beside the bed. "I'm sorry I couldn't come yesterday, but I had to help Daddy get rid of a Wrackspurt." She gave the plant a friendly pat, then sat down on her usual chair. "Have you missed me?"

This was not the time to be honest, so Snape just grunted.

"I brought you some snacks," she continued, pointing at the basket. "If you're up to eating much at all, that is!" She glanced at the bedside. "Did you enjoy the magazines?"

"Some of them were quite adequate," Snape conceded, and Lovegood's smile grew even brighter: "I'm glad to hear it."

She pointed her wand at the basket. A banana soared out and into her waiting hand. "I thought a whole banana might be too much for you, but we could share one, if you like?"

Peeling the fruit and breaking it in two, she handed him one of the halves. Hesitantly, he took it, the image of Lovegood with a large banana in her mouth suddenly overpowering his brain. "I, um... Thank you."

"You like bananas, right?" she asked, popping a bit of fruit into her mouth. It was a bit too large for her to swallow, and her cheeks hollowed around it. Snape tore his gaze away, flushing. "Quite."

Trying to force his thoughts onto another track, Snape took a large mouthful of banana. It didn't help.

His body was starting to react in ways that ought to be impossible, given that it belonged to a weak and convalescent man. Snape scowled at the plant on the bedside table. It looked suspiciously perky.

Lovegood had finished her fruit and was licking her fingers in a slow, careful way. Snape swallowed.

Damn.

The sheets now sported a bulge in the area of his groin. Although not of impressive size, it would be noticeable to anyone. Snape gritted his teeth in mortification, praying to the god he did not believe in that Lovegood would not notice.

Unfortunately, Lovegood did notice.

"Oh!" Her face lit up, as if he'd given her a gift. "Is that because of me?"

Deciding that the situation couldn't possibly get any worse, Snape glared at her. "Are there any other people in the room?"

"I don't think so, but you never know," said Lovegood gravely. "May I touch it?"

"You -- what -- "

Snape drew a deep breath and started anew. "Miss Lovegood, I am not a toy. If you came here to make fun of me, congratulations. You have succeeded. Now, why don't you just leave and we'll pretend this conversation never happened?"

"I'm not here to make fun of you!" Her face fell. "I thought you liked me."

He was about to ask her how such notions possibly could have entered her head, but thought better of it. The evidence was right in front of them both, as well as straining quite insistently under his nightshirt.

"You are a child," he merely pointed out.

She shook her head. "I'm of age."

"I am your professor."

Another shake of her head. "Not anymore."

This was true, he realised -- even if he'd be recovered by the beginning of term, there was no way he'd go back to Hogwarts now.

"I'm a broken old bastard!" he said, desperately.

She nodded, smiling. "But I still like you."

Snape slumped back, defeated. "You are clearly not one to take no for an answer."

"But you didn't say no." Her hand, which had begun to move over the sheets, stopped. "I won't do it if you really don't want me to."

It was true, he could tell as much. "The Healers will come," he muttered feebly as her hand snuck under the sheets.

"They won't," said Lovegood. Her hand brushed over his thigh. "I asked them not to disturb us during my visits. They think it's fine. They think I'm good for you."

"Ah." Snape closed his eyes as her hand, cool and smooth, curled around him. "I... suppose they know what they are doing."

She nodded again. "Do you like this?"

Her hand was moving up and down, and oh, it felt good. He groaned, arching into her grip. "Merlin, yes."

"Harder?" she asked, clenching her hand a little tighter.

A most inarticulate sound escaped him.

Her other hand moved down to stroke his thigh. Dizzy with pulsating pleasure, Snape opened his eyes just enough to peer at her under his lids. She looked enthralled, completely absorbed by what she was doing, her cheeks glowing --

She looked happy; she looked happy touching him.

The thought undid him, and he spilled himself in her hand, groaning, his body jerking as she held him. And she kept holding him, stroking him with gentle, soft motions as he calmed down, finding his breath, relaxing.

"I am sorry," he said weakly, nodding to the mess on her hands.

"Don't worry about it," said Lovegood, the beautiful glow still on her cheeks. She reached for her wand and cleaned them both with a swift spell.

Snape pressed a hand against his eyes. When he redrew it, she was watching him with a concerned look on her face. "You are crying."

His heart had never felt this large. "I am not crying."

"Yes, you are."

She moved to stand by the bedside table. They looked into each other's eyes for a moment. Then she said, "May I kiss you?"

He nodded, not knowing what to say.

She bent down and put her lips to his. They were soft and warm, not intruding, but welcoming, like a promise. After a moment, he sighed and opened his mouth.

Behind them, a single red rose was blossoming amidst the green leaves.