Standing on the front step of the Tonks house, Snape found himself grateful for his hooded cloak and veil.

An angry and defiant Andromeda Tonks was as frightening as an angry and defiant Bellatrix.  Perhaps even more so; Andromeda was sane.

“I have no inkling of what the Department of Mysteries wants from me.  Need I remind you?  I have lost a husband, a daughter and a son-in-law, and am left with an orphaned grandchild to deal with.  I lack the time and patience to deal with you.  Good day, sir.”

Snape impeded the trajectory of the closing door by expediently placing his foot in its path.

“The Department and the Ministry have the time and patience to deal with you, Madam Tonks.  It is precisely the loss of your daughter which interests us.”

Her eyes flashing dangerously, Andromeda drew herself up to her full, considerable height.  “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Then I shall tell you.  Your daughter, Nymphadora Tonks Lupin, was reported killed in action during the Battle of Hogwarts.  A day after the battle, you took custody of the bodies of your daughter and her husband.  Two days after that, you duly turned over the body of Remus Lupin for burial in the communal grave.  You neglected to turn over the body of your daughter.  It is not interred on your property, nor have you placed it in the Black Family burial vault.  It has not been buried at any of the Magical graveyards in Britain or Ireland.  What have you done with the body, Madam Tonks?”

“This is a private family matter,” she spat.  “It is simply none of the Ministry’s bloody business.”

“Indeed?” Snape sneered.  “Surely you are aware, Madam Tonks, that possession of a corpse is highly suspect.  With your, shall we say, interesting family history, it is very much our business to make inquiries.  Possession of a corpse for sale or for use in dark magic will gain you immediate access to Azkaban.  I suggest you consider the future of your grandchild and then tell me again, what have you done with the body?”

With a look both desperate and angry, Andromeda grabbed Snape’s arm and propelled him into the house.  She had a grip like iron, and she pushed him up the stairway leading from the entryway into the upper level of the house.  Dragging him along the hallway on the first floor, she opened a door and shoved him through.

As he entered, Snape noted with distaste a framed photo of Nymphadora and the werewolf, smiling and kissing.  It must be their wedding photo.  The werewolf looked faintly ill.

Andromeda walked past him to a double bed and pulled the sheets off the body lying there.

“Very well,” she spat at him.  “Here is my daughter’s body.  You tell me what you think of this…this corpse.”

Snape approached the bed.   The skin of the body was pale, the face peaceful and composed.  Strange, the death had occurred almost three weeks previously, and yet… and yet.  Something was definitely wrong here.   He lifted an arm: it was loose and flexible.  The skin was cool but still pliant and soft.  He put his thumb to the wrist, then to the neck.  He put his thumb over an eyelid and lifted it.  The eyeball was intact and moist.  Yet there was no pulse and no trace of respiration.

As if from a long distance behind him, he heard Andromeda’s voice.  “She’s been like that since I brought her home.  It’s some sort of stasis spell, undoubtedly.  I did every spell-check charm I could, but it was too late.  If those fools at Hogwarts had done their jobs, we’d know what happened to her.”  Her voice had lost its anger; she now sounded only frightened and bereft.  “I couldn’t hand her over to the burial committee, could I?  She isn’t dead.”

Snape bent over the body, scrutinizing it closely.  “Have you noticed any obvious damage, Madam Tonks?  Any broken skin, small cuts, evens the tiniest wound?”

Andromeda’s face gained animation for the first time.  “There is one thing.  I thought it was an insect bite at first, but there’s something odd about it.”  She rolled the body onto its side and lifted the limp hair covering the neck.  Snape saw it immediately; a small knot of angry red skin.  He fingered it gingerly: despite the coolness of the rest of the skin, this felt hot to the touch.

“Hold her up like this, and keep her hair out of my way,” he said.  He drew out his wand and held it against the welt.  “Scalpelissus,” he intoned, and a small, sharp blade sprung from the tip.  He pressed it against the skin, opening a small lesion.  “Accio dart,” he uttered, and a tiny black metal object emerged from the incision.  Removing a small slip of parchment from his pocket and placing it on the bedside table, Snape directed the dart onto its surface.  He took another slip of parchment and placed it against the wound, now oozing a pale green fluid.  Smearing some on the parchment, he placed the second beside the first.  “Revellio venenonis,” he murmured.  A faint, prismatic vapor issued from the dart and the smeared parchment.  He captured it in a small vial.  “Excellent,” he whispered.  “Now I can attempt an analysis.”

He removed another slip of paper from his pocket, placed it across the mouth of the vial, and tapped it with his wand.  The released vapor flowed onto the paper, staining it in separate colors: dark red, blue-black, and pale yellow.  He vanished the vial, but spread the paper flat on the table.  Andromeda leaned in over his shoulder.  “This is opium poppy,” she said softly, pointing at the red smear.  “And this dark blue is nightshade.  But what’s the yellow?”

“Tetrodotoxin,” Snape said flatly.  “Venom from a fish found in the eastern Pacific.  Very rare, very deadly.  I’ve seen it only rarely.”

In the potions cabinet of your sister Narcissa, he thought to himself.  Did she brew it for Bellatrix, or did the bitch make it herself?  Unlikely.  She never had the patience for potions.

He caught sight of Andromeda’s face.  The dawning light of comprehension flashed across her visage; she opened her mouth, and then closed it tightly.  Her look of understanding was quite quickly replaced with blank immutability.  “Do you know what the potion is?”

“I am certain it is a very old variety of stasis potion, used chiefly by European witches during the Middle Ages, chiefly against romantic rivals or daughters of enemies.  It could be administered orally, chiefly on fruit, or through the skin when placed on sharp objects.  It induces a deep, deathlike trance, wherein the body is preserved almost eternally.  It is an extremely dangerous, subtle potion, unknown in the Wizarding World for almost five hundred years.”

“Why would anyone use it against my daughter?  Could it have been Bellatrix Lestrange?  Why would she poison Nymphadora and not simply kill her?”

“I have no idea of what was in the mind of Bellatrix Lestrange.  No one could.”

Not true, of course.  Voldemort had been obsessed with the young Metamorphmagus.  Sexual fantasy, undoubtedly.  Bellatrix had promised she’d get young Tonks for him.  But was it likely she would attempt it even in the final battle?  It was likely.  She had been convinced they would triumph.  She could easily have fired the dart in the heat of the battle, intending to claim the body after they had prevailed.  Happily, that fantasy never took place.

“Is there an antidote?” Andromeda whispered.  “Do you know it?  Can you find it?”

“Traditionally, the witch who prepared the potion could counteract it easily, with a simple word or gesture.  But the answer to that perished with Bellatrix.”

There is another antidote, he thought to himself.  And it lies in the grave with the werewolf.

He was ready to leave.  It was clearly hopeless; he could do nothing.  Better to tell Madam Tonks now, and leave this place.  And yet, his failure galled him.  He was the most skilled potions master in Magical Britain.  Surely he could prevail against the bumblings of an insane Death Eater or of her insipid sister who had never been more than adequate in her potions preparation.

‘I can attempt a cure.  It will be extremely difficult, and there is no guarantee of success.  Do you wish me to attempt it?”

“Anything,” the widow whispered, her face drained and desperate.  “Do whatever you can.”

“Traditionally, it was possible to counteract the effects of the potion by the application of a battery of certain pleasant sensations and emotions.  Doubtless, it stimulated the endorphins in the victim’s cortex, waking them from their coma.  If we can replicate those circumstances, we may be able to prevail.”

Clearly, Andromeda had no idea what he was saying.  “Whatever you think will work.”

“Madam Tonks, I need you to collect several hairs belonging to Remus Lupin.  On a hairbrush, perhaps, or an article of clothing.  Get them for me immediately  In the meanwhile, I will need to use your fireplace and some of your Floo powder..” 

Andromeda indicated a jar on the mantelpiece and disappeared into another room.  Taking a handful of powder, Snape threw it into the fire and directed his fire call to Shacklebolt’s office.  Shortly, the man’s surprised face appeared in the flames.

“Kingsley, contact Slughorn immediately.  I need a vial of unassigned Amortentia and another of Felix Felices.  Have him send it to Madam Tonks’ house by one of the infirmary owls.”  He saw the large man nod his head, and then terminated the fire call.

Andromeda returned to the room, holding a drab jumper.  “There are several of his hairs on the shoulders,” she said.  “But what…?”

Snape interrupted the rest of her question.  “An owl from Hogwarts will arrive shortly, bearing two vials of potion.  Bring them to me as soon as they arrive.”  And he turned back to the quiet form on the bed.

She was nothing more than an annoying little chit, he thought to himself.  And a fool for throwing herself away on the werewolf and bearing his whelp.  She didn’t deserve rescuing. 

But he would not permit himself to fail.  If he could not counteract this potion, he might as well disappear into the degradation of Muggle existence.  He spat into the fireplace.

He turned as Andromeda came back into the room, the vials clutched in her hand.  “May I stay, please?” she asked. 

“Indeed,” he muttered.  “I shall need your assistance.  Stand away from me, and come here when I call you.”

He plucked three hairs from the jumper and placed them into the vial of Amortentia.  The potion bubbled slightly and turned a pale blue color as it took on the imprint of Remus Lupin.    Parting the lips of the body in front of him, he poured several drops of the potion into the open mouth.  Then dipping his wand into the vial, he anointed the lips, nose, eyes and ears.  He followed with the contents of the vial of Felix and repeated the operation.  He then raised his head and summoned Andromeda to the bed.

“I want you to take the picture from the top of the bureau and hold it in front of your daughter’s face.  I then want you to concentrate on images of your daughter and Lupin; their marriage, their moments together, the birth of their child. Hold these images in your mind and for Merlin’s sake, concentrate.”

Andromeda sat at the side of the bed and propped the photograph on the body’s chest.  Then she closed her eyes.

Snape placed one hand on Andromeda’s head and one on the head of Nymphadora Lupin.  Emptying his own mind, he forced himself to become a conduit for Andromeda’s thoughts.  As if on a screen, he saw images of a Muggle wedding at a tacky Muggle registry office; Lupin and Nymphadora and their only witnesses, Ted and Andromeda Tonks.  He saw Nymphadora’s hopeful smile, and a look of grim resignation on the face of the werewolf.  Other images:  the pair kissing in the hallway of the Tonks house, then the two of them leaning against one another while doing the washing-up.  Another image, quickly withdrawn: a pregnant Nymphadora collapsing on the staircase in tears as Lupin walked out the front door.  It was replaced by an image of Nymphadora lying in bed, smiling, while Lupin held a newborn infant…The stream of images faltered and faded.  “Concentrate,” Snape hissed.  “”Send her positive images.”

“I can’t,” Andromeda whimpered.  There aren’t any more.”

It was futile.  Snape looked down at the still form of Nymphadora Tonks Lupin.  It was a shame, really.  He would never have admitted it, but he always considered her one of his star pupils.  He never understood why she had been sorted into his House, and she had been nothing but a plague and an annoyance for all of her seven years.  But he had to admire her tenacious intelligence, her insistence on getting what she wanted. He remembered when she conceived the ridiculous idea to take the Auror exam.  He never thought she could qualify, but after Albus had asked him to give her special tutoring, she proved an apt pupil. It would be a credit to the House if a Slytherin qualified, and it might be useful to have a protégée in the Auror ranks.  He remembered his pride when she qualified, and recalled a faint flicker of affection when he received the invitation to her graduation.  She was the first Slytherin in memory to qualify as an Auror.  Later, she joined the Order, and it was his secret recommendation that got her in.  She was as annoying and insubordinate as ever for much of the time, but there were times, during meetings or on the rare occasions they had missions together, that he had to struggle to not respond to her jokes and outrageous attempts at flirtation.  She was nothing but a cheeky piece of baggage, really, but there had been times when his feelings for her verged on…

He snapped to his senses as the body in front of him began to convulse wildly.  The skin of her face turned blue and her eyes bulged under their lids.  He heard Andromeda’s cry, as from a distance.  “Do something, please do something.”

He had nothing.  He had no idea how to proceed.  The body needed oxygen, that was clear.  But how?  He suddenly remembered a Muggle procedure which couldn’t possibly work.  But there was no alternative.  He tilted Nymphadora’s head back, and with one hand pinched her nostrils closed.  With his other hand, he pulled her jaw open. Placing his mouth over hers, he attempted to puff air into her lungs.  The face veil hindered him, and he paused to pull it away.  He bent again to her mouth and fastened his over it.  He breathed into her lungs once, twice, several times.  He moved his hand to her throat and found a pulse.  Three more breaths, and her chest began to rise on its own.  She drew several short ragged breaths, then began breathing deeply.  Her eyelids fluttered.

Snape rose, pulled the veil, back across his face.  “Call her,” he said to Andromeda.  He turned, his cloak swirling about him, and vanished from the room and from the house, faintly aware of the taste of potions and the taste of Nymphadora on his own mouth.