A/N: You know how this goes...Dont own, not making money, just playing.
Again and again his fever has broken in he last few days. The venom is long gone, but it had been in his system long enough to do extensive damage. damage, which she has, for the most part, healed. The fact that Severus Snape is a hepatitis sufferer however, was Not in Pomfreys healers notes. Alcohol, she'd thought. Then she'd found the old track marks.
septicemia must have set in at some time during the Battle for Hogwarts.
His fever finally breaks for the last time just as she's reaching the limit of her own strength.
Draco, who'd managed, somehow, to force his father to take some rest a couple of hours ago, has, untill now, been a silent sentinel hovering somewhere on her periphery. At a word he's by her side, his nose crinkling at the sour smell emanating from the man on the cot. "We need to move him. Go outside and ask for Nervii, tell him I need a fresh pallet. Once you've done that come back, I'm going to need your help to clean him." He did what she said without question and was back within seconds, Narvii and Bahon following behind with a pallet and clean linens.
She's already stripped the fouled blankets from Snape, using them to wipe away as much of the sweat as she could from his body, when Draco approached. "What can I do?" He asked softly.
"Fill the hand basin there as quickly as you can, we need the water boiling. Next to it you'll find a bottle of vinegar and a small box; add a cap and a half of the vinegar, and from the box you'll need to add two of the long dark green leaves; the shiny ones shaped like spears."
He was moving before she'd finished speaking: A silent Augmenti, and a heating charm took care of the water; the vinegar went in next. At the leaves he paused. "Do these need to be crushed at all?" Valandi almost smiled. It was a good question, spoken by the godson of a true potions Master.
"No, Draco, they're fine as they are." She could read the fear behind his curiosity though. She continued as they began washing Snape down. "The Hathallon is related to the Athallas plant. Both plants have restorative properties, among others. But unlike Athallas, Hathallon grows in far hotter climbes, and mimics the structure of cacti,"
"So it's a succulent then? Which would explain why you don't need to crush it. of course."
"Exactly. Heat releases the oils. Crushing would do damage to it's strutcure." Unasked, (and uncaring for his own clothes, which were starting to look a little worse for ware) he clambered up on the pallet, lifting his godfather by the shoulders before sliding into a sitting position behind him, resting him against his own exhausted frame.
"You said 'other properties?"
Quickly and with as much dignity as she could provide her patient, she worked her way up his legs and around his groin. "Hmm?"
"The plant. You said it had other properties?"
"As I said, both plants are used as a restorative, although if that's your primary purpose I'd suggest Athallas- Hathallon is an incredibly effective emollient. Keeping a chill of his lungs untill he regains some of his strength will be important over the next few hours. This is the quickest and most risk free way of doing just that." She stepped away with a gesture that brought Behon and Narvii to her side.
Without a word, they cradled Snape between them, carrying him as gently as they would their own children, to the cot they'd fixed for him close to the fire. It was as she, with the unexpected help from the younger Malfoy, were bundling the soiled bedding for burning and the brothers were laying the heavy blankets across him, that his eyes opened.
"Estelior!" The word was whispered.
"Narvii?"
"He wakes." He said, with a gesture at the cot.
Draco jumped. A second ago, the woman he still wasn't completely convinced was Granger, looked fit to collapse, but no sooner had that man uttered those words than she was across the room; her long legs closing the distance with purpose; her back straight, and a gravity in her face that he still wasn't used to. He could see Severus struggling weakly against the hands of the two men attempting to hold him down, his week mews of fear almost broke Draco's resolve not to cry.
Granger, or whatever the hell she was called here, spoke a single command in a langauge he didn't understand. Both men left as quietly as they'd entered. He hadn't expected the consoling hand each man rested on his shoulder as they passed out of the tent, but it was appreciated.
"Draco, fetch your father. Severus will need him. He'll trust no one else."