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a_t_rainPrior installments of the HP / Shakespeare crossover saga are here.
The dialogue between Helena and the innkeeper is abridged from All's Well that Ends Well, 3.5; Bertram's letter and the pseudo-foreign babble in the last scene are likewise taken word for word from the play. I take full blame for everything else, including doing unspeakable things to Greensleeves.
Act Three: At the St. Francis
“The king says I have to escort you on your way,” Severus informed Helena, with ill grace.
Helena didn’t look any happier about this prospect than Severus was. “Why?”
“How should I know? He ordered me to, that’s all. Are you really going to Florence?”
Helena nodded. “I had already started on my way when Laertes found me, but I had to stop in an inn for the night because everything was coming unraveled and I needed to weave it up again – I nearly fell to earth, and I lost my father’s only copy of The Prophecies of Merlin.”
“Unraveled?” Severus asked, baffled. “Fell to earth?” The light dawned. “You’re traveling by flying carpet?”
“Why, naturally,” said Helena. “How else could I have traveled here with Laertes? He’s a Squib, you know, poor fellow. He comes from an old wizarding family, but he was born without an ounce of magic himself, just like his father.”
“But magic carpets are –” Severus had been about to say “illegal,” when he remembered that they hadn’t been illegal in the sixteenth century. “Very dangerous – aren’t they?”
“Only if you are a fool, or know not how to manage one,” said Helena serenely.
“Will you show it to me?” Severus had never seen a flying carpet, although he had heard the rumors that Caractacus Burke had sold one to Abraxas Malfoy for a million Galleons.
“Of course,” said Helena. “How else are we to go to Florence?”
How else, indeed? Severus recalled that long-distance Apparation had not yet become commonplace; in fact, he might well be the only person in Europe who knew how to do it. He discovered that he was, after all, excited about the prospect of a journey to Florence, even if it had to be in Helena’s company.
Helena unfolded her carpet and spread it out on one of the terraces of the palace. “Have you all that you need for the journey?”
Severus nodded and gestured toward his suitcase. He had brought few possessions to Elsinore – just a change or two of clothes and some books, most of which he had left with Ophelia so that she could continue her studies in his absence. He did have enough gold to buy anything he needed in Florence, as Hamlet had given him an advance on his salary.
“Let us go, then. The clouds are low; it is a good day for a journey, and I have delayed long enough already.”
“Why are you in such a hurry?”
Helena ignored the question. “Put your cloak-bag i’ the middle of the carpet so that it does not fall; there may be high winds. Have you a warmer cloak? You’ll want it. Now?”
“All right.”
Helena settled herself in the middle of the magic carpet, stretched out, and remarked, with an air of excessive casualness, “O, I would that I were in Florence!”
“What are you complaining about?” said Severus. “You’re going there, aren’t you?”
“Hush!” said Helena.
Gently, the magic carpet lifted itself from the terrace and soared skyward.
“Always deal carefully with magic carpets.” Helena whispered in Severus’s ear. “They are too proud to take orders from any witch or wizard; it makes them fractious. You must let them think that going on a journey is their own idea.”
Severus thought the carpets must be remarkably stupid not to catch on.
* * *
Severus quickly discovered that he did indeed want a warmer cloak. Helena guided the carpet above the first layer of clouds, so that it would not be visible from the ground. The air was thin and chill, and the moisture from the clouds made him feel damp all over. He pulled all of his spare robes out of his suitcase and huddled under them, but it didn’t seem to help much. He hadn’t been this cold since the time he and Prince Hamlet had escaped from pirates. Flying carpets, he decided, were as overrated as brooms, which was saying a lot.
Helena didn’t seem to be in the mood for conversation, and neither was Severus, whose teeth were chattering almost too much to talk. They said little until Helena decided, at last, that it was time to stop for the night, and steered the carpet to a gentle landing in a field near a small village.
“Come, let’s find an inn. Night is falling.”
“Where the bloody hell are we?”
“Somewhere in Bavaria, I think. More than half-way to Florence.”
Severus wondered how they were going to go about finding rooms, as he didn’t speak a word of ... Bavarian? Was that even a language? Luckily, the innkeeper answered Helena’s questions in good, though archaic, English. (Severus found himself wondering, for the first time, why everybody at the Danish court also spoke perfect English, but he was too exhausted to speculate about this.)
Helena ordered dinner (pork with dumplings and dumplings with dumplings, and beer). Severus tried asking her about her plans once again. “So, er, are you going to Florence on holiday? Or on business?”
“Business, of a sort,” said Helena, and promptly changed the subject. “Laertes told me most of the king’s friends were students with him at Wittenberg. Have you studied with Dr. Faustus?”
“Briefly.”
“Oh, what is he like?”
“A bloody madman’s what he is. And very dangerous.”
“Oh, that I could study with him! But women cannot be scholars at Wittenberg.”
“Pity,” said Severus insincerely. Privately, he thought that a university education would make Helena even more insufferable than she already was.
* * *
The following day brought sunny skies and fair winds. Severus and Helena had to Disillusion themselves and the magic carpet, since there were no clouds to hide behind. Flying on a nearly-transparent carpet gave him an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach; he tried not to look down. Helena took it in stride.
About midday they landed in Florence, and then Severus forgot all the discomfort of the journey, rapt at the sight of the great, domed cathedral and the baptistry. He had never traveled much, nor had he ever seen anything like this. Then he remembered it was all Muggle work, and tried to sneer at it.
A number of Muggle soldiers were marching through the piazza, with plumes in their helmets and brightly-colored banners fluttering in the clear light. A great many Florentine citizens had turned out to watch them, so Helena was able to remove the Disillusionment charm while they were distracted. Among the Florentines watching the soldiers were a small crowd of women, including a pretty girl in her late teens with dark, curly hair and flashing brown eyes.
Helena approached an older woman who appeared to be the girl’s mother. “Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you?”
“At the ‘St. Francis,’ here beside the port,” the woman replied. “If you will tarry, holy pilgrim, but till the troops come by, I will conduct you where you should be lodged – the rather for I think I know your hostess.”
Helena smiled. “Is it yourself?”
“If you shall please so, pilgrim.”
Helena and became absorbed in small talk with the hostess of the St. Francis and her daughter, to which Severus only half-listened. They seemed to be discussing a Frenchman named the Count Roussillon, who was part of the army marching by.
“He stole from France,” said the girl, “as ‘tis reported, for the King had married him against his liking. Think you it is so?”
“Ay, surely, mere the truth,” said Helena. “I know his lady.”
“There is a gentleman that serves the count reports but coarsely of her.”
“Oh, I believe with him! In argument of praise, she is too mean to have her name repeated.”
“Alas, poor lady,” said the girl. “‘Tis a hard bondage to become the wife of a detesting lord.”
“I warrant, good creature, wheresoe’er she is, her heart weighs sadly,” added the mother. “This young maid might do her a shrewd turn if she pleased.”
This meant nothing to Severus, but Helena was instantly alert. “How do you mean? Maybe the amorous Count solicits her in the unlawful purpose?”
“He does indeed. But she is armed for him, and keeps her guard in honestest defense.”
“That is he,” said the daughter, “that with the plume. ‘Tis a most gallant fellow; I would he loved his wife. If he were honester, he is much goodlier. Is ‘t not a handsome gentleman?”
“I like him well,” said Helena. But curiously, she did not seem to be looking at the man the Florentine girl had pointed out at all. Severus had the distinct impression that she was trying to conceal herself from him.
* * *
Almost immediately upon their arrival at the St. Francis inn, Helena drew the innkeeper’s daughter Diana into one of the bedchambers and gently, but firmly, shut the door. Severus decided at once that King Hamlet would want him to eavesdrop on their conversation, and cast an Amplification Spell; nevertheless, he found it difficult to catch more than a few words. Helena had sealed all the cracks in the room, and she seemed careful not to speak above a whisper.
He did hear her say “consent” and “wife” and “lawful,” but could make almost nothing of this.
The mystery deepened when Severus and Helena sat down to dinner with the hostess, her daughter, the other guests at the inn, and a few neighbors. Midway through the first course (a dish of flat noodles layered with spinach in a nutmeg and cream sauce), they heard someone playing the lute outside the window.
Alas, my love, you do me wrong
To cast me off discourteously,
For I have loved you so long
Delighting in your company.
Diana rolled her eyes. “Shall I lose my virtue to one who cannot even write a new song?”
For Fontibel was all my joy,
Fontibel was my delight –
“Fontibel!” Diana and her friend, Violenta, exploded in giggles. Violenta nudged Helena, but she did not join in the merriment. The sound of the man’s voice appeared to cause her some distress.
Fontibel was my heart of gold –
The innkeeper rose from the table and closed the shutters. “For shame, girls, ‘tis no laughing matter. Be a lady never so virtuous in her own life, any rumor of unchastity may stain her good name.”
Diana laughed. “Why, Mother, I do not think my good name can be in much danger from a man who does not even know it! Now, this Fontibel, whoever she is, she may have need to be on her guard!”
“Well,” said her mother sententiously, “thou shouldst not encourage him by laughing at him.”
“I discourage him by laughing at him. That is a very different thing.”
“I would that thou hadst some talk with the good pilgrim, our lodger. She is not so much older than thee, yet she seems of a far graver and wiser turn of mind.”
“Oh, I have talked with her,” said Diana, with a final giggle, “and learned much from her conversation, indeed.”
* * *
Severus went straight to his chamber after dinner, relieved to be alone for the first time all day. He discovered, however, that he regretted leaving his books in Elsinore. He was brooding by the fire, his thoughts turning vaguely to Lily and to the world he’d left behind, when a sudden knock at the door startled him.
Helena stood there with a book under her arm. “Know you whether this Polyjuice Potion I have read of is real, or a fable?”
“It is real,” said Severus.
“Have you ever seen it brewed?” Helena asked eagerly. “I do not properly understand the account of it in Paracelsus. Do you add the lacewings before or after the oil of myrrh?”
“Neither. You must wait a month and add it at the very end of the brewing process.”
“A month?” Helena was taken aback. “Paracelsus says nothing of that.”
“Paracelsus was – er, is a theoretician. He has never brewed it. I have, and I can assure you that his formula is toxic if you do not age it properly. I can give you a safer recipe.” Severus was about to start writing down detailed instructions for brewing the potion, when a sudden thought struck him. “What do you plan to do with it?”
“That is a private matter.”
Severus crumpled the paper up and threw it into the fire. “Look here, Helena, I’ve had enough of your secrecy! I’ll tell you how to brew the potion if you’ll tell me why you want it, what you are doing in Florence, and why you insist on being so bloody mysterious about the whole affair. If you can’t be bothered to tell me the truth, well – you’re welcome to poison yourself for all I care!”
“Very well. The Count Roussillon, who so admires Diana that he sings every night outside her window, is my husband. And not my husband, yet.” She sighed.
“What do you mean, your husband and not your husband? I thought we had an agreement that you were going to stop being mysterious!”
Helena told her story slowly, as if it caused her pain. “We are wedded, but not bedded. The rites have been solemnized in the presence of the King of France, but he fled the court rather than live with me. I am of far lower birth than he, and he married me under protest. He left a letter.” She took a paper from the bodice of her gown, and read it aloud. “‘When thou canst get the ring upon my finger, which never shall come off, and show me a child begotten of thy body that I am father to, then call me husband.’ He thinks he has set an impossible task; but he knows not what I am, nor that Diana, whom he would gladly lie with, has taken me into her confidence.”
“You’re planning to impersonate her and get yourself pregnant?” Severus asked, appalled. “You’ll do it without Polyjuice potion, then. I want no part in this.”
“Very well,” said Helena coolly. “There are other ways. I have heard all cats are grey in the dark.”
“You’ll still have to get his ring. What do you mean to do, steal it?”
“I mean to offer him another, of no less value, in exchange.” Helena removed a ring from her finger and held it out to Severus.
Severus reached out his hand to examine the ring, when it dawned on him what sort of charm Helena must have cast on it. Abruptly, he jerked his hand back. The ring clattered on the floor.
“You had no need to do that,” Helena said, picking the ring up. “It is not Dark magic.”
“That,” said Severus, “depends on how you define Dark, doesn’t it?”
“Know you what it does?”
“Yes. And I don’t want any brats, thank you very much.”
“You would be in no danger from it,” said Helena. “You would need to find a woman willing to lie with you first, and I doubt there is one in all of Europe!”
“You remind me,” said Severus slowly and deliberately, “of someone I used to know. A Muggle-born girl, and a fair-weather friend. She, too, insisted on throwing herself away on a fool.”
He guessed that Helena, a pureblood, would take this as a deadly insult. He was right, although slightly mistaken about the reason.
“Bertram is not a fool,” she said. “As the world sees it, I am far beneath him. It is as if I should set my love on a star, or on the sun in its splendor. Should I blame the sun for not thinking on me?”
“No, you should blame yourself for being stupid enough to fall in love with an astronomical object! Who does that?”
“What do you know of love? You seem to be completely heartless!”
“More than you might think! I have been in your place, if you must know, and I did not force myself on the girl against her will!”
No, said a mocking voice in the back of Severus’s head, you only joined a terror group bent on exterminating her and everyone like her. Makes Helena’s little plan look positively innocent, doesn’t it?
He uttered an inarticulate cry and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. A moment later, he realized he had just stormed out of his own room. Well, that was stupid. He was damned if he was going back in while Helena was still there, though. He decided to salvage what was left of his dignity by going for a walk. Mentally, he added “agony aunt” to his ever-lengthening list of professions he wasn’t any good at, alongside “suicide counselor” and “royal bodyguard.”
He was only about a quarter of a mile from the inn when he was suddenly seized from behind. He was surrounded by a babble of voices, casting what seemed to be curses in a foreign tongue.
“Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo!”
“Cargo, cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo, cargo!”
Severus wrenched one hand free and dived for his wand. He threw up a Shield Charm instantly, and then let loose with a few choice hexes.
“Boskos thromuldo bosk–” One of his attackers hit the ground heavily; another cried out; and someone shouted in English, “This is not Parolles, you fool!” The rest scattered.
There was a sudden flash of light, and a magic carpet descended into their midst. Severus whirled around and Stunned a figure who was approaching him with a raised wand. But his eyes were dazzled, and he did not see that there had been more than one person on the carpet until someone Disarmed him and hit him with a Full-Body Bind.
“I arrest thee of maleficium in the name of Hugo Vesey, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards.”
Maleficium: the practice of magic with malevolent intent. He remembered that much from History of Magic. He associated the word with show trials, with torture, with death by fire.
The dialogue between Helena and the innkeeper is abridged from All's Well that Ends Well, 3.5; Bertram's letter and the pseudo-foreign babble in the last scene are likewise taken word for word from the play. I take full blame for everything else, including doing unspeakable things to Greensleeves.
Act Three: At the St. Francis
“The king says I have to escort you on your way,” Severus informed Helena, with ill grace.
Helena didn’t look any happier about this prospect than Severus was. “Why?”
“How should I know? He ordered me to, that’s all. Are you really going to Florence?”
Helena nodded. “I had already started on my way when Laertes found me, but I had to stop in an inn for the night because everything was coming unraveled and I needed to weave it up again – I nearly fell to earth, and I lost my father’s only copy of The Prophecies of Merlin.”
“Unraveled?” Severus asked, baffled. “Fell to earth?” The light dawned. “You’re traveling by flying carpet?”
“Why, naturally,” said Helena. “How else could I have traveled here with Laertes? He’s a Squib, you know, poor fellow. He comes from an old wizarding family, but he was born without an ounce of magic himself, just like his father.”
“But magic carpets are –” Severus had been about to say “illegal,” when he remembered that they hadn’t been illegal in the sixteenth century. “Very dangerous – aren’t they?”
“Only if you are a fool, or know not how to manage one,” said Helena serenely.
“Will you show it to me?” Severus had never seen a flying carpet, although he had heard the rumors that Caractacus Burke had sold one to Abraxas Malfoy for a million Galleons.
“Of course,” said Helena. “How else are we to go to Florence?”
How else, indeed? Severus recalled that long-distance Apparation had not yet become commonplace; in fact, he might well be the only person in Europe who knew how to do it. He discovered that he was, after all, excited about the prospect of a journey to Florence, even if it had to be in Helena’s company.
Helena unfolded her carpet and spread it out on one of the terraces of the palace. “Have you all that you need for the journey?”
Severus nodded and gestured toward his suitcase. He had brought few possessions to Elsinore – just a change or two of clothes and some books, most of which he had left with Ophelia so that she could continue her studies in his absence. He did have enough gold to buy anything he needed in Florence, as Hamlet had given him an advance on his salary.
“Let us go, then. The clouds are low; it is a good day for a journey, and I have delayed long enough already.”
“Why are you in such a hurry?”
Helena ignored the question. “Put your cloak-bag i’ the middle of the carpet so that it does not fall; there may be high winds. Have you a warmer cloak? You’ll want it. Now?”
“All right.”
Helena settled herself in the middle of the magic carpet, stretched out, and remarked, with an air of excessive casualness, “O, I would that I were in Florence!”
“What are you complaining about?” said Severus. “You’re going there, aren’t you?”
“Hush!” said Helena.
Gently, the magic carpet lifted itself from the terrace and soared skyward.
“Always deal carefully with magic carpets.” Helena whispered in Severus’s ear. “They are too proud to take orders from any witch or wizard; it makes them fractious. You must let them think that going on a journey is their own idea.”
Severus thought the carpets must be remarkably stupid not to catch on.
* * *
Severus quickly discovered that he did indeed want a warmer cloak. Helena guided the carpet above the first layer of clouds, so that it would not be visible from the ground. The air was thin and chill, and the moisture from the clouds made him feel damp all over. He pulled all of his spare robes out of his suitcase and huddled under them, but it didn’t seem to help much. He hadn’t been this cold since the time he and Prince Hamlet had escaped from pirates. Flying carpets, he decided, were as overrated as brooms, which was saying a lot.
Helena didn’t seem to be in the mood for conversation, and neither was Severus, whose teeth were chattering almost too much to talk. They said little until Helena decided, at last, that it was time to stop for the night, and steered the carpet to a gentle landing in a field near a small village.
“Come, let’s find an inn. Night is falling.”
“Where the bloody hell are we?”
“Somewhere in Bavaria, I think. More than half-way to Florence.”
Severus wondered how they were going to go about finding rooms, as he didn’t speak a word of ... Bavarian? Was that even a language? Luckily, the innkeeper answered Helena’s questions in good, though archaic, English. (Severus found himself wondering, for the first time, why everybody at the Danish court also spoke perfect English, but he was too exhausted to speculate about this.)
Helena ordered dinner (pork with dumplings and dumplings with dumplings, and beer). Severus tried asking her about her plans once again. “So, er, are you going to Florence on holiday? Or on business?”
“Business, of a sort,” said Helena, and promptly changed the subject. “Laertes told me most of the king’s friends were students with him at Wittenberg. Have you studied with Dr. Faustus?”
“Briefly.”
“Oh, what is he like?”
“A bloody madman’s what he is. And very dangerous.”
“Oh, that I could study with him! But women cannot be scholars at Wittenberg.”
“Pity,” said Severus insincerely. Privately, he thought that a university education would make Helena even more insufferable than she already was.
* * *
The following day brought sunny skies and fair winds. Severus and Helena had to Disillusion themselves and the magic carpet, since there were no clouds to hide behind. Flying on a nearly-transparent carpet gave him an unpleasant feeling in the pit of his stomach; he tried not to look down. Helena took it in stride.
About midday they landed in Florence, and then Severus forgot all the discomfort of the journey, rapt at the sight of the great, domed cathedral and the baptistry. He had never traveled much, nor had he ever seen anything like this. Then he remembered it was all Muggle work, and tried to sneer at it.
A number of Muggle soldiers were marching through the piazza, with plumes in their helmets and brightly-colored banners fluttering in the clear light. A great many Florentine citizens had turned out to watch them, so Helena was able to remove the Disillusionment charm while they were distracted. Among the Florentines watching the soldiers were a small crowd of women, including a pretty girl in her late teens with dark, curly hair and flashing brown eyes.
Helena approached an older woman who appeared to be the girl’s mother. “Where do the palmers lodge, I do beseech you?”
“At the ‘St. Francis,’ here beside the port,” the woman replied. “If you will tarry, holy pilgrim, but till the troops come by, I will conduct you where you should be lodged – the rather for I think I know your hostess.”
Helena smiled. “Is it yourself?”
“If you shall please so, pilgrim.”
Helena and became absorbed in small talk with the hostess of the St. Francis and her daughter, to which Severus only half-listened. They seemed to be discussing a Frenchman named the Count Roussillon, who was part of the army marching by.
“He stole from France,” said the girl, “as ‘tis reported, for the King had married him against his liking. Think you it is so?”
“Ay, surely, mere the truth,” said Helena. “I know his lady.”
“There is a gentleman that serves the count reports but coarsely of her.”
“Oh, I believe with him! In argument of praise, she is too mean to have her name repeated.”
“Alas, poor lady,” said the girl. “‘Tis a hard bondage to become the wife of a detesting lord.”
“I warrant, good creature, wheresoe’er she is, her heart weighs sadly,” added the mother. “This young maid might do her a shrewd turn if she pleased.”
This meant nothing to Severus, but Helena was instantly alert. “How do you mean? Maybe the amorous Count solicits her in the unlawful purpose?”
“He does indeed. But she is armed for him, and keeps her guard in honestest defense.”
“That is he,” said the daughter, “that with the plume. ‘Tis a most gallant fellow; I would he loved his wife. If he were honester, he is much goodlier. Is ‘t not a handsome gentleman?”
“I like him well,” said Helena. But curiously, she did not seem to be looking at the man the Florentine girl had pointed out at all. Severus had the distinct impression that she was trying to conceal herself from him.
* * *
Almost immediately upon their arrival at the St. Francis inn, Helena drew the innkeeper’s daughter Diana into one of the bedchambers and gently, but firmly, shut the door. Severus decided at once that King Hamlet would want him to eavesdrop on their conversation, and cast an Amplification Spell; nevertheless, he found it difficult to catch more than a few words. Helena had sealed all the cracks in the room, and she seemed careful not to speak above a whisper.
He did hear her say “consent” and “wife” and “lawful,” but could make almost nothing of this.
The mystery deepened when Severus and Helena sat down to dinner with the hostess, her daughter, the other guests at the inn, and a few neighbors. Midway through the first course (a dish of flat noodles layered with spinach in a nutmeg and cream sauce), they heard someone playing the lute outside the window.
Alas, my love, you do me wrong
To cast me off discourteously,
For I have loved you so long
Delighting in your company.
Diana rolled her eyes. “Shall I lose my virtue to one who cannot even write a new song?”
For Fontibel was all my joy,
Fontibel was my delight –
“Fontibel!” Diana and her friend, Violenta, exploded in giggles. Violenta nudged Helena, but she did not join in the merriment. The sound of the man’s voice appeared to cause her some distress.
Fontibel was my heart of gold –
The innkeeper rose from the table and closed the shutters. “For shame, girls, ‘tis no laughing matter. Be a lady never so virtuous in her own life, any rumor of unchastity may stain her good name.”
Diana laughed. “Why, Mother, I do not think my good name can be in much danger from a man who does not even know it! Now, this Fontibel, whoever she is, she may have need to be on her guard!”
“Well,” said her mother sententiously, “thou shouldst not encourage him by laughing at him.”
“I discourage him by laughing at him. That is a very different thing.”
“I would that thou hadst some talk with the good pilgrim, our lodger. She is not so much older than thee, yet she seems of a far graver and wiser turn of mind.”
“Oh, I have talked with her,” said Diana, with a final giggle, “and learned much from her conversation, indeed.”
* * *
Severus went straight to his chamber after dinner, relieved to be alone for the first time all day. He discovered, however, that he regretted leaving his books in Elsinore. He was brooding by the fire, his thoughts turning vaguely to Lily and to the world he’d left behind, when a sudden knock at the door startled him.
Helena stood there with a book under her arm. “Know you whether this Polyjuice Potion I have read of is real, or a fable?”
“It is real,” said Severus.
“Have you ever seen it brewed?” Helena asked eagerly. “I do not properly understand the account of it in Paracelsus. Do you add the lacewings before or after the oil of myrrh?”
“Neither. You must wait a month and add it at the very end of the brewing process.”
“A month?” Helena was taken aback. “Paracelsus says nothing of that.”
“Paracelsus was – er, is a theoretician. He has never brewed it. I have, and I can assure you that his formula is toxic if you do not age it properly. I can give you a safer recipe.” Severus was about to start writing down detailed instructions for brewing the potion, when a sudden thought struck him. “What do you plan to do with it?”
“That is a private matter.”
Severus crumpled the paper up and threw it into the fire. “Look here, Helena, I’ve had enough of your secrecy! I’ll tell you how to brew the potion if you’ll tell me why you want it, what you are doing in Florence, and why you insist on being so bloody mysterious about the whole affair. If you can’t be bothered to tell me the truth, well – you’re welcome to poison yourself for all I care!”
“Very well. The Count Roussillon, who so admires Diana that he sings every night outside her window, is my husband. And not my husband, yet.” She sighed.
“What do you mean, your husband and not your husband? I thought we had an agreement that you were going to stop being mysterious!”
Helena told her story slowly, as if it caused her pain. “We are wedded, but not bedded. The rites have been solemnized in the presence of the King of France, but he fled the court rather than live with me. I am of far lower birth than he, and he married me under protest. He left a letter.” She took a paper from the bodice of her gown, and read it aloud. “‘When thou canst get the ring upon my finger, which never shall come off, and show me a child begotten of thy body that I am father to, then call me husband.’ He thinks he has set an impossible task; but he knows not what I am, nor that Diana, whom he would gladly lie with, has taken me into her confidence.”
“You’re planning to impersonate her and get yourself pregnant?” Severus asked, appalled. “You’ll do it without Polyjuice potion, then. I want no part in this.”
“Very well,” said Helena coolly. “There are other ways. I have heard all cats are grey in the dark.”
“You’ll still have to get his ring. What do you mean to do, steal it?”
“I mean to offer him another, of no less value, in exchange.” Helena removed a ring from her finger and held it out to Severus.
Severus reached out his hand to examine the ring, when it dawned on him what sort of charm Helena must have cast on it. Abruptly, he jerked his hand back. The ring clattered on the floor.
“You had no need to do that,” Helena said, picking the ring up. “It is not Dark magic.”
“That,” said Severus, “depends on how you define Dark, doesn’t it?”
“Know you what it does?”
“Yes. And I don’t want any brats, thank you very much.”
“You would be in no danger from it,” said Helena. “You would need to find a woman willing to lie with you first, and I doubt there is one in all of Europe!”
“You remind me,” said Severus slowly and deliberately, “of someone I used to know. A Muggle-born girl, and a fair-weather friend. She, too, insisted on throwing herself away on a fool.”
He guessed that Helena, a pureblood, would take this as a deadly insult. He was right, although slightly mistaken about the reason.
“Bertram is not a fool,” she said. “As the world sees it, I am far beneath him. It is as if I should set my love on a star, or on the sun in its splendor. Should I blame the sun for not thinking on me?”
“No, you should blame yourself for being stupid enough to fall in love with an astronomical object! Who does that?”
“What do you know of love? You seem to be completely heartless!”
“More than you might think! I have been in your place, if you must know, and I did not force myself on the girl against her will!”
No, said a mocking voice in the back of Severus’s head, you only joined a terror group bent on exterminating her and everyone like her. Makes Helena’s little plan look positively innocent, doesn’t it?
He uttered an inarticulate cry and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. A moment later, he realized he had just stormed out of his own room. Well, that was stupid. He was damned if he was going back in while Helena was still there, though. He decided to salvage what was left of his dignity by going for a walk. Mentally, he added “agony aunt” to his ever-lengthening list of professions he wasn’t any good at, alongside “suicide counselor” and “royal bodyguard.”
He was only about a quarter of a mile from the inn when he was suddenly seized from behind. He was surrounded by a babble of voices, casting what seemed to be curses in a foreign tongue.
“Throca movousus, cargo, cargo, cargo!”
“Cargo, cargo, cargo, villianda par corbo, cargo!”
Severus wrenched one hand free and dived for his wand. He threw up a Shield Charm instantly, and then let loose with a few choice hexes.
“Boskos thromuldo bosk–” One of his attackers hit the ground heavily; another cried out; and someone shouted in English, “This is not Parolles, you fool!” The rest scattered.
There was a sudden flash of light, and a magic carpet descended into their midst. Severus whirled around and Stunned a figure who was approaching him with a raised wand. But his eyes were dazzled, and he did not see that there had been more than one person on the carpet until someone Disarmed him and hit him with a Full-Body Bind.
“I arrest thee of maleficium in the name of Hugo Vesey, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards.”
Maleficium: the practice of magic with malevolent intent. He remembered that much from History of Magic. He associated the word with show trials, with torture, with death by fire.
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Date: 2010-10-15 03:18 am (UTC)I absolutely adore how cantankerous Snape is; you write him perfectly.
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Date: 2011-02-19 06:09 am (UTC)*helpless laughter*