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a_t_rainThis is not quite the end. I suspect the epilogue will be long-ish.
Parts 1-4 are here
Act Five: Affairs from England
Ophelia stared, wide-eyed, as Severus burst into the cabin, swept bunches of drying herbs down from the ceiling and stuffed them into his suitcase. He thrust the largest of their makeshift cauldrons at her and said, curtly, “You carry that. I’ll take the books and the potions ingredients. Did your grandfather happen to leave you a bezoar, by any chance?”
“A what?”
“A stone. From the stomach of a goat. Counteracts most poisons.”
Ophelia looked blank.
“Never mind. Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?”
“To the palace. There’s a fencing-match on.”
“But I thought I was to stay out of sight.”
“Don’t be a little fool. Hurry up!”
Ophelia tossed her head. “I wish you would not call me a fool when you’ve told me nothing at all.”
“I don’t know anything at all. I only know the prince was idiot enough to agree to a sword-fight with a man who tried to strangle him two days ago. Frankly, I’m not sure why I bother trying to save you lot from yourselves.”
Ophelia gasped. “You suspect treason?”
“I don’t even know what I suspect. Yes, call it treason if you like. But hurry. No, leave the Veritaserum, it’s got to sit for another three weeks. Take the mortar and pestle, though. Let’s go.”
* * *
“One.”
“No.”
“Judgment.”
“You did not tell me he was playing with Laertes,” whispered Ophelia. “Why, my brother would never commit treason!”
“Are you so sure of that?” Severus answered. “Most people will do anything if they are paid the right price.”
“No. Not my brother.”
“A hit,” said the foppish courtier who seemed to be judging the match, “a palpable hit.” He glared at the new arrivals; Ophelia was flushed and bedraggled, and Severus was sure that he looked even less respectable than she did.
The king raised a glass, threw something that looked like a pearl into it, and drank to Hamlet.
Ophelia glanced at Severus. “Was that an Ugsome Union?”
“I’m sure of it. Cool customer. He has seven seconds to drink before it begins to dissolve. Look, he’s offering the cup to Hamlet.”
Ophelia gave a little squeak and stiffened, but Hamlet waved the cup away. “I’ll play this bout first; set it by awhile.”
“Don’t make noises like a mouse, you silly girl. Antidote.”
“Mandragora, balsamum, and rue.”
“Correct.”
Ophelia began to compound the antidote. Her little fingers were quick, but she was not more than half-finished when the king’s voice cut across the hall. “Gertrude, do not drink!”
“I will, my lord; I pray you pardon me.”
Severus groaned. “Has the woman no more brains than a sheep? No, don’t rush, you’ve got time, but we can’t afford to make a mistake. I’ll help.”
He was bending over the mortar and pestle, so he didn’t see the third hit. There was a sudden clatter; and then the courtiers abruptly fell silent. Severus glanced up.
Hamlet had dropped the dagger he held in his left hand on the floor and seized the hilt of Laertes’ rapier, twisting so that Laertes had no choice but to break his grip or break his fingers. A flash of red caught Severus’s eye. The prince’s shirt was torn and stained with blood.
“I thought the swords were supposed to be blunted.”
“They are,” said Ophelia.
“It seems your brother has his price, after all.”
Laertes had acquired Hamlet’s rapier using an almost identical maneuver, and the match began again in deadly earnest.
Claudius stood up. “Part them!” he roared. “They are incensed.”
“Nay, come again!” shouted Hamlet.
The queen tried to stand, swayed on her feet for a moment, and collapsed. “The drink – the drink – O my dear Hamlet –”
Severus gave the antidote a final stir and thrust it at Ophelia. “Quick.”
Laertes was now trying to stanch the blood from a wound of his own. “Hamlet,” he said desperately. “Thou art slain. No medicine in the world can do thee good; in thee there is not half an hour of life –”
Severus vaulted over several rows of seats. “I’ll be the judge of that,” he said. “What sort of poison did you put on the sword? Tell me, for God’s sake! I’ll treat you both if you tell me the truth.”
“An unction – bought of a mountebank...”
“What KIND of unction, idiot? What was it called?”
“I think –” Laertes fell to his knees. “It began with a D. The foul practice – hath turned itself on me – but the king, the king’s to blame.”
“We know that!” snapped Severus. “Doxycide? Draught of Doom? Dragonweed?”
“Venom, to thy work!” gasped Hamlet, stabbing the king.
“Treason! Treason!” shouted several courtiers.
Hamlet grabbed the cup of wine before they could reach him. “Thou incestuous, murderous, damned Dane! Drink off this potion!”
“I have ’t,” said Laertes, almost in a whisper. “Danesbane. Exchange – forgiveness with me – noble Hamlet –”
“Ophelia!” Severus shouted. “Newtswort, and some extract of dittany! Now!”
Ophelia, who had been ministering to the queen, straightened up.
“My sister,” said Laertes incredulously. “Am I – in heaven – my treachery – forgiv’n?”
“You’re here on earth, and if she’s quick about it, you’ll stay here.”
Ophelia was already at her brother’s side. “Newtswort on the wound, three drops of dittany by mouth, no more,” said Severus. “Let me have some of that for Hamlet.”
By the time Severus reached the prince, Horatio was cradling his head, distraught.
“Thou livest,” Hamlet murmured. “Report me ... and my cause aright –”
“Never believe it!” Horatio grasped the cup of wine. “I am more an antique Roman than a Dane; here’s yet some liquor left.”
“JESUS CHRIST!” Severus knocked the cup out of Horatio’s hand. “ARE YOU ALL MAD? WILL YOU STOP POISONING YOURSELVES FASTER THAN I CAN SAVE YOU?”
He tore what was left of Hamlet’s sleeve into strips, bound the newtswort to the wound, and forced a little of the dittany between the prince’s pale lips. The shallow breathing slowed, then stopped altogether. Severus cast a Resuscitation Charm, almost sure it was hopeless. A moment, an age later, Hamlet gave a little choking sound and drew breath once more.
Shaking with relief, Horatio knelt down beside the prince.
The king?
The prince?
“Ophelia, what the hell are you doing?”
Ophelia gave a guilty start and took a step away from Claudius’s inert body. “I had some dittany left. I thought I should try to save him.”
“He’s a murderer.”
“But he is the king. I think it must be treason not to save him.”
Severus sighed. “Let’s be traitors, then. We’re all traitors. I think we had just established that everyone has their price.”
Ophelia shook her head and bent over the king again. “‘Tis God’s place to decide and not ours.”
Fortunately, God seemed to share Severus’s opinion of Claudius. “The king is dead,” Ophelia announced to the silent hall after a minute or two.
Severus’s mind and hands had been occupied with the other patients; only then did he realize the true danger of their position. Here they were, in a Muggle court in the violent, superstitious age just before the passage of the Statute of Secrecy. And they had been practicing magic openly: brewing potions, muttering incantations that the courtiers could not have understood. And the king lay dead at Ophelia’s feet, and the queen and the prince might die yet, and Severus had bent over them both as they fought for life.
He swore between his teeth. They’d probably be burned at the stake for this. How was it that none of the courtiers had laid hands on them already?
He stood and turned, ready to fight for his life and Ophelia’s if he needed to.
A strange sight met his eyes. Nearly all of the spectators lay on the floor or sprawled in their chairs, snoring gently. Other than himself, Horatio, and Ophelia, only two people in the room seemed to be awake: two men in oversized hats, who stood near the door at the far end of the hall.
Severus caught Horatio’s arm. “Who are those?”
“The English ambassadors, I think,” said Horatio. “They came in with Fortinbras.”
“Who’s Fortinbras?”
“Prince of Norway.” Horatio indicated a young man slumped by the door. “He seems to have fallen asleep. I suppose invading Poland is a tiring business. Would you have me call the ambassadors hither?”
“Tell them to take off their hats,” said Severus, remembering something Hamlet had said in the tavern.
Horatio approached the ambassadors. “Good sirs, will you uncover? You see that you are in the presence of the king ... er, the dead ... Well. The dead king.”
The ambassadors glanced at one another and removed their hats.
“Lupin,” said Severus, trying to hide how relieved he was to see two faces from his own time and place. “And Black. What are you doing here?”
“You might say thank you,” said Black. “We saved your neck, you know. That poncey bloke with the feather wanted to have you arrested for treason.”
Horatio seemed somewhat puzzled by this speech. “Osric?” he hazarded at last, indicating the judge for the fencing match, who had an oversized ostrich feather in his cap. Black nodded.
Severus shrugged. “A Muggle and a fool. Do you really think I couldn’t have dealt with him myself?”
“You were busy saving Lord Hamlet’s life,” said Horatio. “You do owe them thanks, Severus.”
“All right, thanks, then. Now will you tell me what you’re doing here?”
“Professor Dumbledore sent us,” Lupin explained. “He was worried because he hadn’t heard anything from you since you went away, so he sent us to Wittenberg after you, and when we got there Dr. Faustus was tearing his hair out with worry because he’d forgotten to give you a – what did he call it, Sirius?”
“A Portoclavis Temporalis.”
“Right.” Lupin drew a tiny stuffed bunny in a vivid shade of pink out of his pocket. “Meet Saxogrammatica. Basically, she’s the offspring of a regular Portkey and a Time-Turner. She activates at noon and midnight. Works pretty much like a normal Portkey, only you get taken back to your own time in history as well ... even your own universe, if you happen to have left it. Faustus was a bit hazy about how far you’d gone, exactly, but he was pretty sure the Portoclavis Temporalis would get you back from wherever-it-was. So we drank something called a Plothole-Plugging Potion, and off we went. Where are we, just as a matter of interest?”
“Denmark. Sometime in the sixteenth century. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got two patients here suffering from acute Danesbane poisoning, and one who’s swallowed the greater part of an Ugsome Union. I haven’t got time to stand around admiring a stuffed animal.” Severus turned away to examine the Queen, whose pulse was still very faint.
“We’ll help,” said Lupin. “Those were our instructions, to help you do whatever you had been sent to do, and then bring you back from wherever you were. Not terribly specific, but what can you do?”
“Fine. Go and get some more rue from the palace gardens, we’re nearly out of it. And you, Black, make yourself useful and see if they’ve got anything in the kitchens that will do for a cauldron. I want the rue distilled to its essence – mind you do it and not Lupin, I’ve seen him in the potions lab and it’s not pretty. Ask Ophelia if you need someone to help.”
Black snorted. “I think I can manage Essence of Rue! It is a fourth-year potion, you know, even for those of us who don’t have your unique and precious talent!”
“You’ll be working with sixteenth-century equipment – Muggle-made, at that. Good luck.”
* * *
Severus was loath to admit it, but during the next twelve hours he had many occasions to be grateful for the presence of two more trained wizards. Although two of his patients seemed to be doing as well as they could under the circumstances, dealing with three cases of poisoning at once was no picnic ... and then there was the rest of the Danish court to worry about. Fortunately, Lupin had a gift for diplomacy that more than made up for his incompetence at potions. When the courtiers awoke, he somehow contrived to explain the situation in a way that made everyone left alive look tolerably blameless, and Severus positively heroic. Severus tried not to think about this. He disliked having to be grateful to Lupin.
He was too busy with his third patient to think, anyway. Hamlet was looking very still and very, very pale. All of the blood in his body seemed to have drained into the wounded arm, which was badly swollen.
Severus ordered one of the servants to bring him the poisoned rapier, so that he could analyze the substance; perhaps the sixteenth-century formula for Danesbane was different from the one in Moste Potente Potions. But as far as he could tell, it wasn’t. By all logic, the prince shouldn’t be this ill. Laertes had been poisoned with the same stuff, and Laertes was doing well enough; Severus had left him to his sister’s care.
Phrases drifted into Severus’s head, unbidden. I have of late – but wherefore I know not – lost all my mirth ... this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory ... What is’t to leave betimes? ... You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more willingly part withal, except my life, except my life, except my life ...
Slughorn had said once that all the antidotes in the world could not save someone who had no desire to live. Severus had dismissed this as a platitude at the time, but he began to fear that there might be something in it.
He thought about drinking with Hamlet aboard the ship; Hamlet knee-deep in frigid seawater, dragging the little boat ashore; Hamlet in the tavern, starting to tell a story about his student days in Wittenberg, which he’d never finished. Feeling rather foolish, he began to talk to the unconscious prince, trying to convince him that life, after all, life was bright and hopeful and worth all the pain of living. He did not particularly believe any of it. His words seemed empty and useless, but he kept trying to fill the royal bedchamber with them, as if Death might turn aside at the sound.
A couple of courtiers passed by the door. One of them was saying, “Of course he’ll be for Fortinbras. He hates Hamlet like poison,” and the other replied “I would not be so sure.” Severus paid them little mind.
A little later, Lupin and Black stopped by to tell Severus that it was midnight and the Portoclavis Temporalis was about to activate. “Go away,” said Severus, “can’t you see I’ve still got work to do here?”
At last Ophelia peeped into the room, looking exhausted and anxious. “How doth my lord Hamlet?”
“About the same,” said Severus. “How doth thy brother ... I mean, how is your brother? And the queen?”
“They’re better, I think. Laertes is awake and asking for you. He wants to thank you for saving his life.”
“Tell him no thanks needed,” muttered Severus. He was not sure what he thought of Laertes.
“All the same, he would speak with you. May I stay with the prince?”
“Of course,” said Severus, “there’s no one else to stay with him. See if you can bring him round.”
Ophelia took Hamlet by the hand and started to talk to him in a low voice. Severus stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her as she bent over the prince. He felt a twinge of jealousy that he did not understand, and turned away to find Laertes.
* * *
Laertes looked pale and drained, and his arm was almost as swollen as Hamlet’s, but he was able to move the fingers. Severus thought there would be no permanent damage.
“Ophelia has told me everything. I know not how to thank you.”
“I didn’t do it for you,” said Severus.
“Sir, you have given me my life and restored to me a beloved sister I thought dead. ‘Tis far more than I deserve. I can say little to make amends for my treason; only that I was not myself... Is there no doubt that my sister is a witch?”
Severus felt something tense within him. “No doubt at all. She’s a very good one.”
“I had suspected as much. If only it had been I, or my father, we might have used such a gift to serve our king as my grandfather did ... Severus, I have no right to ask favors, but I must beg you not to make this public. It is different for a girl.”
Severus suppressed the instant dislike he felt. He reminded himself that Laertes’ reaction might have been far, far worse. Even in his own century, he had seen more than one family torn apart by such a revelation – which had convinced him that mixed marriages and families were a danger to the entire community.
“I don’t intend to make any of your sister’s private business public. She has the right to tell whom she wishes, when she wishes; neither I nor anyone else can make the decision for her.” He was fairly sure this was correct, from the point of view of sixteenth-century wizarding law – but even if it wasn’t, it ought to be, and Laertes wouldn’t know any better.
“She is very young,” said Laertes. “Only just turned eighteen, and she has seen so little of the world. She can have no idea of the dangers.”
“And you can have no idea what it is to be a witch or a wizard.”
Laertes opened his mouth to retort, but before he could say anything, Captain Marcellus burst into the room. “My lord, it gladdens my heart to see you awake and looking so well. King Claudius, I am sorry to say, is dead. There must be an election.”
“I had heard,” said Laertes. “What’s the news?”
“That rests with you, my lord. You are one of the electors.”
“Oh.” This was obviously news to Laertes. “I am?”
Marcellus looked amused. “Aye, for your father was one, and you are his only son and heir.”
Laertes tried to sit up, and winced as soon as he put weight on his wounded arm. He fell back against the pillows. “I fear I’m in no condition to join them. ‘Twere best they hold the election without me.”
“They did,” said Marcellus. “Half of them are for Hamlet, and half of them want Fortinbras. It falls to you to cast the deciding vote.”
“They want Fortinbras?” said Laertes. “Fortinbras, prince of Norway?”
“No,” said Marcellus. “Fortinbras, prince of the Anthropophagi. He just arrived yesterday on a winged camel.”
“Fortinbras,” said Laertes again. “Whatever for?”
Marcellus explained that Fortinbras was not widely rumored to be mad, did not go around leaping into freshly-dug graves, and had not murdered the king in front of the whole court, and that certain of the electors considered these necessary, if not sufficient, qualifications for kingship.
“Let them say what they will,” said Laertes. “Tell them I am for Hamlet.”
“Very well, my lord,” said Marcellus. He looked a little dubious, and Severus could see why. He was tempted to say a number of other things about the wisdom of choosing a king who had tried to kill you, and whom you had tried to kill, less than a day earlier, but he decided that it was not his business to look after Laertes.
“And if Lord Hamlet dies? Where does your election fall?”
Laertes tossed about, restlessly, and Severus made a mental note to give him more dittany. “It matters not,” he said at last.
Marcellus was still endeavoring to explain why it did matter when Ophelia came into the room. She was smiling. “He will live,” she said. “He woke for a moment, and knew me. You had better come and give him some of the potion you made for my brother – I was not sure how much to give.”
Severus tried to stand and found that his knees refused to obey.
Parts 1-4 are here
Act Five: Affairs from England
Ophelia stared, wide-eyed, as Severus burst into the cabin, swept bunches of drying herbs down from the ceiling and stuffed them into his suitcase. He thrust the largest of their makeshift cauldrons at her and said, curtly, “You carry that. I’ll take the books and the potions ingredients. Did your grandfather happen to leave you a bezoar, by any chance?”
“A what?”
“A stone. From the stomach of a goat. Counteracts most poisons.”
Ophelia looked blank.
“Never mind. Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?”
“To the palace. There’s a fencing-match on.”
“But I thought I was to stay out of sight.”
“Don’t be a little fool. Hurry up!”
Ophelia tossed her head. “I wish you would not call me a fool when you’ve told me nothing at all.”
“I don’t know anything at all. I only know the prince was idiot enough to agree to a sword-fight with a man who tried to strangle him two days ago. Frankly, I’m not sure why I bother trying to save you lot from yourselves.”
Ophelia gasped. “You suspect treason?”
“I don’t even know what I suspect. Yes, call it treason if you like. But hurry. No, leave the Veritaserum, it’s got to sit for another three weeks. Take the mortar and pestle, though. Let’s go.”
* * *
“One.”
“No.”
“Judgment.”
“You did not tell me he was playing with Laertes,” whispered Ophelia. “Why, my brother would never commit treason!”
“Are you so sure of that?” Severus answered. “Most people will do anything if they are paid the right price.”
“No. Not my brother.”
“A hit,” said the foppish courtier who seemed to be judging the match, “a palpable hit.” He glared at the new arrivals; Ophelia was flushed and bedraggled, and Severus was sure that he looked even less respectable than she did.
The king raised a glass, threw something that looked like a pearl into it, and drank to Hamlet.
Ophelia glanced at Severus. “Was that an Ugsome Union?”
“I’m sure of it. Cool customer. He has seven seconds to drink before it begins to dissolve. Look, he’s offering the cup to Hamlet.”
Ophelia gave a little squeak and stiffened, but Hamlet waved the cup away. “I’ll play this bout first; set it by awhile.”
“Don’t make noises like a mouse, you silly girl. Antidote.”
“Mandragora, balsamum, and rue.”
“Correct.”
Ophelia began to compound the antidote. Her little fingers were quick, but she was not more than half-finished when the king’s voice cut across the hall. “Gertrude, do not drink!”
“I will, my lord; I pray you pardon me.”
Severus groaned. “Has the woman no more brains than a sheep? No, don’t rush, you’ve got time, but we can’t afford to make a mistake. I’ll help.”
He was bending over the mortar and pestle, so he didn’t see the third hit. There was a sudden clatter; and then the courtiers abruptly fell silent. Severus glanced up.
Hamlet had dropped the dagger he held in his left hand on the floor and seized the hilt of Laertes’ rapier, twisting so that Laertes had no choice but to break his grip or break his fingers. A flash of red caught Severus’s eye. The prince’s shirt was torn and stained with blood.
“I thought the swords were supposed to be blunted.”
“They are,” said Ophelia.
“It seems your brother has his price, after all.”
Laertes had acquired Hamlet’s rapier using an almost identical maneuver, and the match began again in deadly earnest.
Claudius stood up. “Part them!” he roared. “They are incensed.”
“Nay, come again!” shouted Hamlet.
The queen tried to stand, swayed on her feet for a moment, and collapsed. “The drink – the drink – O my dear Hamlet –”
Severus gave the antidote a final stir and thrust it at Ophelia. “Quick.”
Laertes was now trying to stanch the blood from a wound of his own. “Hamlet,” he said desperately. “Thou art slain. No medicine in the world can do thee good; in thee there is not half an hour of life –”
Severus vaulted over several rows of seats. “I’ll be the judge of that,” he said. “What sort of poison did you put on the sword? Tell me, for God’s sake! I’ll treat you both if you tell me the truth.”
“An unction – bought of a mountebank...”
“What KIND of unction, idiot? What was it called?”
“I think –” Laertes fell to his knees. “It began with a D. The foul practice – hath turned itself on me – but the king, the king’s to blame.”
“We know that!” snapped Severus. “Doxycide? Draught of Doom? Dragonweed?”
“Venom, to thy work!” gasped Hamlet, stabbing the king.
“Treason! Treason!” shouted several courtiers.
Hamlet grabbed the cup of wine before they could reach him. “Thou incestuous, murderous, damned Dane! Drink off this potion!”
“I have ’t,” said Laertes, almost in a whisper. “Danesbane. Exchange – forgiveness with me – noble Hamlet –”
“Ophelia!” Severus shouted. “Newtswort, and some extract of dittany! Now!”
Ophelia, who had been ministering to the queen, straightened up.
“My sister,” said Laertes incredulously. “Am I – in heaven – my treachery – forgiv’n?”
“You’re here on earth, and if she’s quick about it, you’ll stay here.”
Ophelia was already at her brother’s side. “Newtswort on the wound, three drops of dittany by mouth, no more,” said Severus. “Let me have some of that for Hamlet.”
By the time Severus reached the prince, Horatio was cradling his head, distraught.
“Thou livest,” Hamlet murmured. “Report me ... and my cause aright –”
“Never believe it!” Horatio grasped the cup of wine. “I am more an antique Roman than a Dane; here’s yet some liquor left.”
“JESUS CHRIST!” Severus knocked the cup out of Horatio’s hand. “ARE YOU ALL MAD? WILL YOU STOP POISONING YOURSELVES FASTER THAN I CAN SAVE YOU?”
He tore what was left of Hamlet’s sleeve into strips, bound the newtswort to the wound, and forced a little of the dittany between the prince’s pale lips. The shallow breathing slowed, then stopped altogether. Severus cast a Resuscitation Charm, almost sure it was hopeless. A moment, an age later, Hamlet gave a little choking sound and drew breath once more.
Shaking with relief, Horatio knelt down beside the prince.
The king?
The prince?
“Ophelia, what the hell are you doing?”
Ophelia gave a guilty start and took a step away from Claudius’s inert body. “I had some dittany left. I thought I should try to save him.”
“He’s a murderer.”
“But he is the king. I think it must be treason not to save him.”
Severus sighed. “Let’s be traitors, then. We’re all traitors. I think we had just established that everyone has their price.”
Ophelia shook her head and bent over the king again. “‘Tis God’s place to decide and not ours.”
Fortunately, God seemed to share Severus’s opinion of Claudius. “The king is dead,” Ophelia announced to the silent hall after a minute or two.
Severus’s mind and hands had been occupied with the other patients; only then did he realize the true danger of their position. Here they were, in a Muggle court in the violent, superstitious age just before the passage of the Statute of Secrecy. And they had been practicing magic openly: brewing potions, muttering incantations that the courtiers could not have understood. And the king lay dead at Ophelia’s feet, and the queen and the prince might die yet, and Severus had bent over them both as they fought for life.
He swore between his teeth. They’d probably be burned at the stake for this. How was it that none of the courtiers had laid hands on them already?
He stood and turned, ready to fight for his life and Ophelia’s if he needed to.
A strange sight met his eyes. Nearly all of the spectators lay on the floor or sprawled in their chairs, snoring gently. Other than himself, Horatio, and Ophelia, only two people in the room seemed to be awake: two men in oversized hats, who stood near the door at the far end of the hall.
Severus caught Horatio’s arm. “Who are those?”
“The English ambassadors, I think,” said Horatio. “They came in with Fortinbras.”
“Who’s Fortinbras?”
“Prince of Norway.” Horatio indicated a young man slumped by the door. “He seems to have fallen asleep. I suppose invading Poland is a tiring business. Would you have me call the ambassadors hither?”
“Tell them to take off their hats,” said Severus, remembering something Hamlet had said in the tavern.
Horatio approached the ambassadors. “Good sirs, will you uncover? You see that you are in the presence of the king ... er, the dead ... Well. The dead king.”
The ambassadors glanced at one another and removed their hats.
“Lupin,” said Severus, trying to hide how relieved he was to see two faces from his own time and place. “And Black. What are you doing here?”
“You might say thank you,” said Black. “We saved your neck, you know. That poncey bloke with the feather wanted to have you arrested for treason.”
Horatio seemed somewhat puzzled by this speech. “Osric?” he hazarded at last, indicating the judge for the fencing match, who had an oversized ostrich feather in his cap. Black nodded.
Severus shrugged. “A Muggle and a fool. Do you really think I couldn’t have dealt with him myself?”
“You were busy saving Lord Hamlet’s life,” said Horatio. “You do owe them thanks, Severus.”
“All right, thanks, then. Now will you tell me what you’re doing here?”
“Professor Dumbledore sent us,” Lupin explained. “He was worried because he hadn’t heard anything from you since you went away, so he sent us to Wittenberg after you, and when we got there Dr. Faustus was tearing his hair out with worry because he’d forgotten to give you a – what did he call it, Sirius?”
“A Portoclavis Temporalis.”
“Right.” Lupin drew a tiny stuffed bunny in a vivid shade of pink out of his pocket. “Meet Saxogrammatica. Basically, she’s the offspring of a regular Portkey and a Time-Turner. She activates at noon and midnight. Works pretty much like a normal Portkey, only you get taken back to your own time in history as well ... even your own universe, if you happen to have left it. Faustus was a bit hazy about how far you’d gone, exactly, but he was pretty sure the Portoclavis Temporalis would get you back from wherever-it-was. So we drank something called a Plothole-Plugging Potion, and off we went. Where are we, just as a matter of interest?”
“Denmark. Sometime in the sixteenth century. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got two patients here suffering from acute Danesbane poisoning, and one who’s swallowed the greater part of an Ugsome Union. I haven’t got time to stand around admiring a stuffed animal.” Severus turned away to examine the Queen, whose pulse was still very faint.
“We’ll help,” said Lupin. “Those were our instructions, to help you do whatever you had been sent to do, and then bring you back from wherever you were. Not terribly specific, but what can you do?”
“Fine. Go and get some more rue from the palace gardens, we’re nearly out of it. And you, Black, make yourself useful and see if they’ve got anything in the kitchens that will do for a cauldron. I want the rue distilled to its essence – mind you do it and not Lupin, I’ve seen him in the potions lab and it’s not pretty. Ask Ophelia if you need someone to help.”
Black snorted. “I think I can manage Essence of Rue! It is a fourth-year potion, you know, even for those of us who don’t have your unique and precious talent!”
“You’ll be working with sixteenth-century equipment – Muggle-made, at that. Good luck.”
* * *
Severus was loath to admit it, but during the next twelve hours he had many occasions to be grateful for the presence of two more trained wizards. Although two of his patients seemed to be doing as well as they could under the circumstances, dealing with three cases of poisoning at once was no picnic ... and then there was the rest of the Danish court to worry about. Fortunately, Lupin had a gift for diplomacy that more than made up for his incompetence at potions. When the courtiers awoke, he somehow contrived to explain the situation in a way that made everyone left alive look tolerably blameless, and Severus positively heroic. Severus tried not to think about this. He disliked having to be grateful to Lupin.
He was too busy with his third patient to think, anyway. Hamlet was looking very still and very, very pale. All of the blood in his body seemed to have drained into the wounded arm, which was badly swollen.
Severus ordered one of the servants to bring him the poisoned rapier, so that he could analyze the substance; perhaps the sixteenth-century formula for Danesbane was different from the one in Moste Potente Potions. But as far as he could tell, it wasn’t. By all logic, the prince shouldn’t be this ill. Laertes had been poisoned with the same stuff, and Laertes was doing well enough; Severus had left him to his sister’s care.
Phrases drifted into Severus’s head, unbidden. I have of late – but wherefore I know not – lost all my mirth ... this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory ... What is’t to leave betimes? ... You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more willingly part withal, except my life, except my life, except my life ...
Slughorn had said once that all the antidotes in the world could not save someone who had no desire to live. Severus had dismissed this as a platitude at the time, but he began to fear that there might be something in it.
He thought about drinking with Hamlet aboard the ship; Hamlet knee-deep in frigid seawater, dragging the little boat ashore; Hamlet in the tavern, starting to tell a story about his student days in Wittenberg, which he’d never finished. Feeling rather foolish, he began to talk to the unconscious prince, trying to convince him that life, after all, life was bright and hopeful and worth all the pain of living. He did not particularly believe any of it. His words seemed empty and useless, but he kept trying to fill the royal bedchamber with them, as if Death might turn aside at the sound.
A couple of courtiers passed by the door. One of them was saying, “Of course he’ll be for Fortinbras. He hates Hamlet like poison,” and the other replied “I would not be so sure.” Severus paid them little mind.
A little later, Lupin and Black stopped by to tell Severus that it was midnight and the Portoclavis Temporalis was about to activate. “Go away,” said Severus, “can’t you see I’ve still got work to do here?”
At last Ophelia peeped into the room, looking exhausted and anxious. “How doth my lord Hamlet?”
“About the same,” said Severus. “How doth thy brother ... I mean, how is your brother? And the queen?”
“They’re better, I think. Laertes is awake and asking for you. He wants to thank you for saving his life.”
“Tell him no thanks needed,” muttered Severus. He was not sure what he thought of Laertes.
“All the same, he would speak with you. May I stay with the prince?”
“Of course,” said Severus, “there’s no one else to stay with him. See if you can bring him round.”
Ophelia took Hamlet by the hand and started to talk to him in a low voice. Severus stood in the doorway for a moment, watching her as she bent over the prince. He felt a twinge of jealousy that he did not understand, and turned away to find Laertes.
* * *
Laertes looked pale and drained, and his arm was almost as swollen as Hamlet’s, but he was able to move the fingers. Severus thought there would be no permanent damage.
“Ophelia has told me everything. I know not how to thank you.”
“I didn’t do it for you,” said Severus.
“Sir, you have given me my life and restored to me a beloved sister I thought dead. ‘Tis far more than I deserve. I can say little to make amends for my treason; only that I was not myself... Is there no doubt that my sister is a witch?”
Severus felt something tense within him. “No doubt at all. She’s a very good one.”
“I had suspected as much. If only it had been I, or my father, we might have used such a gift to serve our king as my grandfather did ... Severus, I have no right to ask favors, but I must beg you not to make this public. It is different for a girl.”
Severus suppressed the instant dislike he felt. He reminded himself that Laertes’ reaction might have been far, far worse. Even in his own century, he had seen more than one family torn apart by such a revelation – which had convinced him that mixed marriages and families were a danger to the entire community.
“I don’t intend to make any of your sister’s private business public. She has the right to tell whom she wishes, when she wishes; neither I nor anyone else can make the decision for her.” He was fairly sure this was correct, from the point of view of sixteenth-century wizarding law – but even if it wasn’t, it ought to be, and Laertes wouldn’t know any better.
“She is very young,” said Laertes. “Only just turned eighteen, and she has seen so little of the world. She can have no idea of the dangers.”
“And you can have no idea what it is to be a witch or a wizard.”
Laertes opened his mouth to retort, but before he could say anything, Captain Marcellus burst into the room. “My lord, it gladdens my heart to see you awake and looking so well. King Claudius, I am sorry to say, is dead. There must be an election.”
“I had heard,” said Laertes. “What’s the news?”
“That rests with you, my lord. You are one of the electors.”
“Oh.” This was obviously news to Laertes. “I am?”
Marcellus looked amused. “Aye, for your father was one, and you are his only son and heir.”
Laertes tried to sit up, and winced as soon as he put weight on his wounded arm. He fell back against the pillows. “I fear I’m in no condition to join them. ‘Twere best they hold the election without me.”
“They did,” said Marcellus. “Half of them are for Hamlet, and half of them want Fortinbras. It falls to you to cast the deciding vote.”
“They want Fortinbras?” said Laertes. “Fortinbras, prince of Norway?”
“No,” said Marcellus. “Fortinbras, prince of the Anthropophagi. He just arrived yesterday on a winged camel.”
“Fortinbras,” said Laertes again. “Whatever for?”
Marcellus explained that Fortinbras was not widely rumored to be mad, did not go around leaping into freshly-dug graves, and had not murdered the king in front of the whole court, and that certain of the electors considered these necessary, if not sufficient, qualifications for kingship.
“Let them say what they will,” said Laertes. “Tell them I am for Hamlet.”
“Very well, my lord,” said Marcellus. He looked a little dubious, and Severus could see why. He was tempted to say a number of other things about the wisdom of choosing a king who had tried to kill you, and whom you had tried to kill, less than a day earlier, but he decided that it was not his business to look after Laertes.
“And if Lord Hamlet dies? Where does your election fall?”
Laertes tossed about, restlessly, and Severus made a mental note to give him more dittany. “It matters not,” he said at last.
Marcellus was still endeavoring to explain why it did matter when Ophelia came into the room. She was smiling. “He will live,” she said. “He woke for a moment, and knew me. You had better come and give him some of the potion you made for my brother – I was not sure how much to give.”
Severus tried to stand and found that his knees refused to obey.
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no subject
Date: 2009-03-29 01:15 pm (UTC)Pleeaase tell me Hamlet and Ophelia get a happy ending, pleeaase *bats eyelashes*.
MM
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Date: 2009-03-29 02:06 pm (UTC)