"You do realize that this costs 54 galleons per ounce for a reason?" Snape asks him as he watches Harry scoop the fine powder into the vial he brought with him. Harry ignores the bait, but Snape continues anyway.
"And that reason is that no legal potion requires more than an ounce."
"It's perfectly legal," Harry answers. "Just not very healthy."
"What is it for?" Snape persists.
"Muscle relaxant." Snape merely laughs, the only man Harry knows, living, that can fill his laughs with such derision.
"You can't be serious," Snape scowls. "First of all, ingesting that much wormwood will kill you, unless you're brewing a batch that will last a decade. Secondly, no mediwizard in his right mind would approve of taking any variant of muscle relaxant that contains wormwood. Lastly, there are several potions that would be up to task without such potentially lethal side effects."
"Thank you for the wormwood, Professor, but I have to leave now," Harry answers. He's put this off too long this time, a subconscious gamble with his life that will be lost if he doesn't begin brewing his potion within the next five minutes. He needs a dose in an hour.
"Don't be-" Snape begins, but Harry's already pushed past him on his way out.
The potion without a name, for no one bothered to waste their imagination on a brew which did little good and not enough harm, is simmering, as is Harry as he tries to compose a letter to Hermione, while ignoring the knowledge that Snape is minutes away from his door. Harry wonders if he should be concerned that he knows Snape well enough to be certain that the professor will not stand for any mystery and intrigue, while he knows Hermione so little that writing a simple missive is next to impossible. "Come in," he calls, and sure enough, Snape barges into the room, though Harry doubts his permission was heard or required.
"What are you up to, Potter?" Snape asks, eyes narrowing at the gently rolling goo in the cauldron.
"Trying to write a letter to Hermione," Harry mutters, scribbling down a few words, knowing his time is limited before…
"Potter! I demand to know what you are brewing!" Snape bellows.
"Always so melodramatic," Harry sighs, moving away from the writing desk to stir the potion. "I've already told you, this is a muscle relaxant."
"Potter-"
"Look, I know you're not ignorant of my condition. I'm sorry if I was abrupt with you earlier, but I needed to start this. I let myself run out and I need another dose in…7 minutes."
"You expect me to believe that you ingest this much wormwood, twice a day?" Snape asks, holding up one of the capsules that Harry will fill in moments.
"No, twelve doses a day. I simply take six doses at nine, so I don't have to wake up every two hours."
"And how much wormwood is that, a day?"
"Three-quarters of an ounce. Believe me, it eats up my paycheck," Harry smiles ruefully. He doesn't mention the great reserve that is the Potter fortune. Though, at this rate, he will have to visit Gringotts soon to prepare for the summer holidays.
"This is absurd. Your heart cannot take it," Snape growls, and Harry notices that his eyes keep swinging to the clock on the wall. Four minutes.
"It is my heart that requires it," Harry snaps, angry in the knowledge that Snape is about to ask for proof, and that he is more than willing to give it. Harry had thought he was not suicidal. "If I don't take this, every muscle in my body will contract, including my heart, and will not relax until I am dead. Now please, hand me that capsule."
Harry is shocked when Snape complies, but he's not surprised that the older man continues to argue.
"There are less drastic measures that can be taken. A milder relaxant, with HeartEaze, surely, would-"
"No, it wouldn't," Harry answers. Two minutes.
"How do you know?" Snape snarls.
"Five heart attacks, that's how. Now, would you please leave, I'm tired and I'd like to finish this letter," Harry concludes lamely, trying to save himself. He knows. He knows that if Snape so much as hints at it, he'll do it. He won't care, he'll just do it.
"That's not on your medical reports," Snape sneers, obviously not caring that he should never have seen such confidential files. "Nor is there any mention of substance abuse, but I'm beginning to suspect that the savior of the world has a dirty little secret."
Harry is not offended. He can't be, when he saw it coming. Also, isn't there some truth to that accusation? He does, or rather did, have a secret. If everyone knew that he was a potion away from death's door every two hours, he'd be mourned for the rest of his life. So no, Harry's pride is not wounded, but that doesn't keep him from shrugging, looking at the clock, silently pointing out to Snape that there are 20 seconds left, gesturing towards the sofa, and sitting down at his desk, crossing his arms as if to say, "So there."
And then, there it is. Rigor mortis, but without the death. At least for the first minute. Strained silence, blinding pain as his body is encased in one endless cramp, and for a moment, he can see Snape's face, the intense scrutiny of a split second as the professor decides whether Harry is faking it or not. And then, more pain. Snape is trying to pry open Harry's jaw, but of course, that won't work. Neither will any charms to immobilize him, stupefy him into slackness. There's nothing Snape can do, so he gives in to a long ago fantasy. He punches Harry with all the pent-up rage a former spy can possess, dislocating his jaw. Heedless of the muscles he knows he's ripping into, Snape claws his way into Harry's mouth and pours a dose of the potion down his mouth, rubbing at his throat to aid swallowing. But it's been too long and Harry's heart won't start again on it's own. So Snape uses his wand to electrocute the wretch, twice, three times, before tossing wand aside and pounding on Harry's chest. Once is enough, and Harry comes back in a near-silent sigh.
"Don't move," Snape whispers. "I'll get Poppy."
"No," Harry groans, the effect of it all crashing in on him with every hard-won heartbeat. "Potions, in the medicine cabinet," he continues, though his attempt to gesture towards the bathroom fails, as does truly coherent speech, his jaw ripped to shreds.
Snape rushes to get them, coming back with two bottles of potions and a glass of water, and a soft-spoken but no less vehement tirade. "Fool. You knew what would happen and you let it come anyway," he hisses, helping Harry back into the chair that he had slid out of. The potions that Harry drinks restore his jaw, knowledge gained through experience. But he can take nothing for the pain. It would only react poorly with the wormwood.
"I did tell you, Professor," Harry sighs. "Will you help me to my bed?"
Snape shoulders Harry into the bedroom, one more spartan than he had expected from the young man. "Do you need help getting undressed?" he asks, trying to keep his voice at its most clinical.
"Yes, please," Harry answers. "How many doses?"
"Just the one. I'll bring back the others in a moment."
Harry nods motionlessly, covers his face motionlessly after Snape strips him of his robes and sees the lines, no longer so red as to be beautiful. Only red enough to be pathetically weak. Snape says nothing though, only removes Harry's shoes and moves out into the living room to collect more potion.
"Will you be alright?" Snape asks, once Harry has consumed the last dose.
"Mmm," is all Harry can say.
"I'll stay?" Snape offers. No guilt of course. Of Course.
"You don't-"
"I'll stay," he repeats, firmly, settled, and he transfigures a chair in the bedroom into a cot. He stays.
Harry wakes up to find Snape looming over him, staring at the fast-fading marks on his arms.
"Why?" Snape asks. Harry can't help but laugh. No how are you, good morning, sleep well, just right to the big questions.
"I find it aesthetically pleasing," Harry answers around a yawn and groan as he tests his muscles.
"And I suppose the weight loss is to do with the potion?" Snape continues.
"Yes. I'm not starving myself."
"Who was it that devised the potion for you?"
"Gustave, at St. Mungo's," Harry answers, sitting up and slowly stretching his limbs. Unfortunately, he can't stretch his heart. And there is more pain in his chest than the last few times. "What did you do to revive me? I feel…caved in."
"Shocks at first. Then manual resuscitation," Snape answers.
"No mouth to mouth I hope."
Snape simply sneers. Then scowls.
"I would have been concerned about the wormwood residue on my lips," Harry clarifies, not quite sure why he has to make it clear that the image of having Snape's lips on his own is not an unpleasant one.
"There would have been no worry, it never touched your lips. How is your jaw, by the way?"
"Fine. Tender, maybe, but those potions work well. You probably made them."
"So Poppy knows?"
"No. Minerva does, though not all of the gruesome details and certainly not the long-term effects of the potion. But yes, she understands that my life hinges on medication," Harry answers.
"You might have told me," Snape says suddenly, a hint of petulance in his voice that does not correspond with the coldness in his eyes.
"How readily would you admit your weaknesses to me?" Harry counters.
"I wouldn't consider this a weakness. I may be able to help."
"Perhaps. Though it would be a risk, testing out new potions, wouldn't it?"
"And that stunt you pulled last night wasn't risky?" Snape barks. "You do realize you were willing to die, just to prove me wrong?"
"I was confident that you'd save me," Harry shrugs. He understands that those closely guarded weaknesses are making themselves known in abundance during this short conversation. "And what would you consider a weakness?"
"I don't know," Snape answers with a smirk. "The propensity for putting yourself in danger?"
"Ah, that's nothing. Ask me about my sex life sometime," Harry laughs.
"You have a sex life?"
"Well, not at the moment. But I have practiced for it."
"I suppose you want me to ask how?"
"Well I'm certainly in no mood to show you," Harry answers, enjoying the game.
"So disappointing," Snape replies, his eyes smiling.
"I know," Harry sighs. "Do you know how a prepared myself for oral sex?"
"Please don't say you used your wand."
"No, I'm not that bad."
"Banana?"
"Safety razor," Harry grins. He's satisfied to see that Snape is horrified.
"Potter, what happened to you?" Snape asks, and suddenly this is a real conversation. One that Harry is in no condition to participate in.
"I appreciate all the help, Professor, but I need to take another dose soon and I'm sure we both have classes this morning."
"Of course," Snape answers, nodding goodbye and sweeping out of the room.