A/N: My thanks goes to Telophase, who has been very helpful in ironing out some inconsistancies in this fic. I also want to thank Apis and Poe for encouraging me to write so much in one sitting as well as helping me with Snape's characterization.
I am only barely familiar with Latin, so please forgive any inconsistancies there. In fact, if you are knowledgeable, please feel free to correct me when I need it. :D
Watching Me Fall
by dora
Seven o'clock found Severus Snape in the dungeons hovering over a small cauldron of simmering blood. In one hand, he held a cup of strong tea, and in the other he held the list of forty or so potions he'd decided could be the culprit. Already he'd marked fifteen off the list after he'd finished going through the catalogue of Hogwarts's plants. He was hoping that he might be able to distill some of the potion from Potter's blood; tracing even two or three components from it would be of great help at this point, though he dared not hope he would get a complete sample.
By seven thirty, Albus Dumbledore had picked his way through the confusing dungeon halls and quite cheerfully invited himself into Severus's work-space. He held a scrap of parchment. "Good morning, my boy," he greeted brightly.
Snape cringed. "You sound like you got sleep last night," he replied dourly.
"Not in the slightest," said Dumbledore.
"Ah. There's no rest for the wicked, I suppose." Severus sighed. "Tell me what's been happening."
"We only just put Harry back to bed an hour ago; Remus is staying with him, at least for the moment. Nothing terribly exciting happened, but we did gather a little more information about Harry's affliction." The headmaster smiled and handed Severus the slip of paper, which was covered in tight script (Lupin's, he guessed).
"This started last Tuesday?" Severus seemed absolutely appalled. "Good lord. Whatever this is has been in his system for that long? Who knows what damage it could have done." Dumbledore nodded gravely in agreement and urged the potions master to read on. "Yes, I knew about the dilated pupils, I saw that before I left. His breathing's become labored and his body temperature has started fluctuating?" Again, Dumbledore nodded. "And he complains of headache-- which doesn't really tell me much-- and a tingling in his extremities."
"I know; it's not that encouraging."
Severus shook his head. "Not at all. But it narrows down my list." He bent over the parchment on which he'd written the potions and carefully scratched through seven more. "Twenty-one left," he grumbled. Setting down the quill, he checked the cauldron, which he promptly took off the flame.
"What are you doing?" the headmaster inquired, seeming to be honestly curious.
Severus slipped on a single glove made of an exquisitely supple dragon's hide. "All the liquid in Potter's blood has boiled off," he said, assuming the tone he used for lectures. "It's my hope that some of what's left will be components of the potion. And, if I am extremely lucky, there might be residue of the potion as a whole. However, that is about as likely as Neville Longbottom taking over my job."
"But Mister Longbottom hasn't melted any cauldrons for at least a year," Dumbledore chimed in.
"He just did last week."
"Oh. How terrible." Albus didn't seem at all fazed by Longbottom's ineptitude. Instead, he watched Severus as he carefully pushed the powder out of the cauldron and onto a piece of what appeared to be bleached paper with his gloved fingers.
He pulled out his wand with the other hand and lightly tapped the paper with it. "Reverto."
Before their eyes, the small pile of powder separated itself into four distinct sections. One was composed almost entirely of iron and iron oxide; one was made of a fine, crystalline powder which refracted the light in odd directions; one was a thick substance which might be liquid under the right circumstances; and the final one was simply a thorn.
"Well," said Severus after a few moments of silence, "that was certainly educational."
"I know all twelve uses for dragon's blood," Dumbledore said, seeming to be more than slightly miffed.
"I should hope you do," Severus agreed, peeling the glove off his hand and replacing it on the shelf. Albus simply glared at him before continuing.
"I know all twelve uses for dragon's blood, and this is not one of them."
The potions master made a disgusted face as he peered at the other two ingredients. "It seems that someone has invented a thirteenth use for the substance. This looks to be crushed quartz, but I'll have to ask someone to identify the thorn for me."
Albus nodded and plucked the thorn off the paper. "I shall give this to Professor Sprout post haste."
"Please, do," Severus agreed. "And tell her I would appreciate the identification as soon as possible." He didn't even bother to see the headmaster out; instead he bent over his list of possible potions. For a moment he considered scratching them all out, since none of them included dragon's blood. But the moment passed, and he simply crossed out those which did not contain quartz powder or any sort of plant matter.
That only left ten. He supposed that cutting the list in half was more than he'd hoped for, but it still left him in a very uncomfortable situation. None of the remaining ten potions were particularly pleasant, and at least three of them required immediate treatment lest the damage it did be permanent or even fatal.
"Damnation," he snarled, tossing the list aside. All this trouble (again) for someone he came very close to loathing, only because he felt he owed Albus Dumbledore an incredible debt. It was enough to give any man a headache. Fortunately, Severus did not consider himself to be 'any man,' so it only resulted in a slight twinge near the bridge of his wickedly hooked nose, which he pinched gingerly.
Before he realized what he was doing (beyond getting away from the stench of cooked blood which had only just now begun to bother him), he found himself making his way to the hospital wing. He heaved a long-suffering sigh. Perhaps the brat was awake and could give him more information.
When he looked about, there seemed to be no sign of anyone except for whomever was behind the curtain with Potter. Snape checked his pocket watch to find the time to be a quarter past eight. Poppy had probably gone to eat some breakfast while Potter seemed stable. He shrugged to himself; what Poppy did was none of his business. Right now he need only worry about keeping the brat alive, if only because Albus had asked it of him.
Without making any noise, Severus stalked to the lone curtained-off bed and slipped inside. As he'd suspected, Remus was still there, holding the boy's hand, but he seemed to have dozed off. Potter himself, however, seemed to be awake and, if not totally alert, then mostly lucid. His eyes were still horribly dilated and had a peculiar sheen to them, but his complexion was now that of someone in the throes of fever.
Severus sat in the chair he'd occupied only four hours ago. "I was told that you were asleep," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. The boy turned to him (he had been staring at Remus since Snape sat down) and squinted blearily at him.
"Can't sleep," Harry said tersely once he discerned to whom exactly he was speaking. His voice was awfully hoarse, as though he'd been screaming for some time. "Headache. Hard to breath sometimes." He let out a long shuddering breath, and the expression on his face led Snape to believe that he was giving something great consideration. "I don't want to die... without Sirius here," he finally whispered.
For a second time, Severus felt pity for the boy and his werewolf, and it was because of this that his next comments were not as biting as he'd meant them to be. "I don't know where you get off thinking you're going to die, Mister Potter. Despite how fervently Voldemort wishes you dead, I do not intend to simply hand him his fondest dream on a silver platter. You have the entire staff of Hogwarts running around like idiots trying to fix whatever's wrong with you. And that flea-bitten mutt is not going to come here."
Harry simply stared at him, a shocked look on his face. His mouth opened and closed as he tried to form some sort of reply, but before any sound would emerge, he was once again overcome by the chills. All the color drained from his face, leaving it looking ashen and terribly sallow.
When Lupin felt Harry's hand leave his, he sat bolt upright. "Harry, what's wrong?"
"C-c-c-cold," the boy managed through chattering teeth.
Remus wasted no time climbing into the bed and pulling Harry as close as he could. He pressed his hand to the boys forehead in an effort to brush away the hair that was plastered there with sweat and hissed at what he felt. "Severus, help me!" he pleaded.
The potions master did not say a word. Instead, he laid one hand on Harry's forehead and grimaced. "Ice and water. The boy should not be this hot, and if he stays this way he may die." When no one made any move to go anywhere, Snape growled, "Get your lycanthropic arse out of that bed and fetch ice right now if you want him to stay alive. The last thing he needs is someone else's body heat."
There was a flash of anger behind Lupin's eyes, but he reluctantly did as he was told. "And fetch Poppy while you're at it. My first aid knowledge only goes so far." Lupin nodded at this, then left, running as though for his life. Though, Snape supposed, Harry's life was as important to him as his own.
Snape turned his attention to the shivering boy on the bed. "Potter, I need you to answer some questions for me." When Harry looked at him, he assumed that meant the boy was willing to at least try. "Can you walk?" A shake of his head; no. "If..." Snape took a moment to swallow his pride and remind himself that he owed Albus, and that keeping this boy alive would go a long way to repaying that debt. "If you were to use me as a crutch, do you think you could hobble to the baths at the other end of this room?"
Harry merely stared at him blankly, which only served to infuriate the man. "Well I can't bloody well carry you!" A few moments later, a nod, and Harry clumsily swung his legs over the side of the bed.
It took several false starts, but Severus managed to guide Harry to a large bath tub with very little incident. Once there, he stripped the boy of the soft cotton pajamas the others must have put him in before putting him to bed, leaving Harry in naught but his underwear. That done, he glowered at Harry. "Get in."
Again, it took a few false starts, but between the both of them, Harry managed to climb into the tub without breaking his neck. Snape did not stop to let him get comfortable, though. As soon as the boy was in the tub, he reached over and turned on the taps. The boy yelped at the chill of the water (which was really only lukewarm at worst) and tried to scoot away from it.
This only caused Snape to glower even more. "Stay where you are and move as little as you can manage. I don't know how long your temperature has been this high, but considering that Lupin has probably been asleep the whole time he was left with you, I'd be willing to bet that it's a while. This water will help bring your temperature down before any permanent damage occurs." He narrowed his eyes. "Is that clear, Potter?"
Sullenly, Harry nodded. "Good. Now for God's sake, where is Poppy Pomfrey?"
There was no reply, though a house elf ventured near with a bucket full of ice charmed to keep from melting and a tall glass of water. At least Lupin had done that much, Severus mused. He turned off the taps, satisfied that there was enough water in the tub, then took the glass and held it in front of Harry. "I doubt you're capable enough to hold this on your own, so I will do that for you. However, I will need your cooperation, since I cannot make you swallow." Once again, Harry nodded. When he turned his head to face his potions professor, Severus noted grimly how pale he was, how his eyes had gone from being overly dilated to the pupils barely being visible, and how glassy his eyes seemed to be.
He pressed the glass to Harry's lips, and the boy drank from it easily enough, which meant that he was cogent enough to understand what Severus had said and that his throat had not closed up. Both reasonably good signs, by Snape's estimation.
After Harry had taken a few gulps, Snape set the glass aside. "Too much at one time could make you thoroughly ill."
"'m already th-th-th-thoroughly ill," Harry replied, his voice very small and very hoarse.
"I'm quite aware of that," Severus assured him. "Believe me, I'm quite aware. But we needn't make the situation even worse." Admittedly, the only way it could get worse in his mind was if Poppy did not show up, and soon.
The vacant look Harry gave him before nodding his assent was positively disturbing. When next he opened his mouth to speak, though, his voice was just a little more steady. "Where's Si-Sirius?"
"Grimmauld Place," Severus said, doing an admirable job of hiding his anger at the mention of that name.
"P-professor Lup-p-pin?"
"Gone to fetch Madame Pomfrey."
This answer only seemed to agitate Harry. "Wh-what? Why?" He looked around him, his eyes widening ever so slightly. "Where am I?"
Oh God. If Poppy didn't make an appearance soon, Snape was sure he'd... Well, he wasn't exactly sure what he'd do, as now Harry's condition disconcerted him more than it annoyed him, but he was quite sure he'd do it. It likely involved going insane and ripping his hair out.
He was very careful to let none of this show on his face or in his voice. The last thing he needed, right after Poppy not showing up, was a hysterical Boy-Who-Lived on his hands. "You're thoroughly ill, Harry. You're in the hospital wing soaking to bring down a fever. I'm almost certain you're hallucinating or delirious."
Gingerly, he brushed Harry's forehead and was very unhappy to feel that his temperature was remaining steady. For good measure, he dropped a few ice cubes into the water to keep it only lukewarm. "If this keeps up, I might have to go track her down myself."
Given their years of enmity toward each other, it was quite a shock to Severus when Harry very nearly leapt out of the tub to grab ahold of him. "N-no!" After a moment, he said much more quietly, "No. Dun... Don't wanna d-die alone."
Very, very carefully, Snape extricated himself from Potter's grasp, though he couldn't for the life of him get the boy to release his sleeve. He sighed and let it go for the moment. "We've been over this before, Potter. You are not going to die. You're sick, I'll give you that, but every effort is being made to ensure that you keep drawing breath."
It seemed that, despite the edge of annoyance that crept into Severus's voice, that answer satisfied Potter, at least enough for him to stop staring vacantly at his professor. It wasn't enough to make him loosen his grip on the sleeve, but Severus was willing to deal with that as long as Potter had no more fits of hysterics.
This was how Madame Pomfrey and Professor Lupin found them a few minutes later, and one look at Harry kept them from asking questions. Once the boy caught sight of Remus, he let Snape go; and Snape went quite gladly.
Once he was back in the dungeons, he noticed that there was a note waiting for him next to the list of potions. To it was affixed the thorn, and it bore Professor Sprout's somewhat spastic script. Feeling a surge of elation, Snape eagerly read the letter (twice), before smiling happily and crossing all but one potion off the list. The remaining name was "arescoi," a bastardization of one of the many Latin words for "wither."
Feeling positively pleased with himself, Snape sat in one of the chairs and basked in the glow of having unravelled the mystery. All that was left was to determine what in Merlin's name the dragon's blood was for, and then they could ensure that Harry Potter was the Boy-Who-Lived... Again.
It suddenly occurred to him that he must inform Dumbledore of his new revelation, so he jumped up, grabbed a pinch of floo powder, and quite smugly told the headmaster that he had a fair idea of what potion it was, and that if he was needed, he'd be sleeping in his chambers for the next fourty-eight hours.
TBC
I am only barely familiar with Latin, so please forgive any inconsistancies there. In fact, if you are knowledgeable, please feel free to correct me when I need it. :D
Watching Me Fall
by dora
Seven o'clock found Severus Snape in the dungeons hovering over a small cauldron of simmering blood. In one hand, he held a cup of strong tea, and in the other he held the list of forty or so potions he'd decided could be the culprit. Already he'd marked fifteen off the list after he'd finished going through the catalogue of Hogwarts's plants. He was hoping that he might be able to distill some of the potion from Potter's blood; tracing even two or three components from it would be of great help at this point, though he dared not hope he would get a complete sample.
By seven thirty, Albus Dumbledore had picked his way through the confusing dungeon halls and quite cheerfully invited himself into Severus's work-space. He held a scrap of parchment. "Good morning, my boy," he greeted brightly.
Snape cringed. "You sound like you got sleep last night," he replied dourly.
"Not in the slightest," said Dumbledore.
"Ah. There's no rest for the wicked, I suppose." Severus sighed. "Tell me what's been happening."
"We only just put Harry back to bed an hour ago; Remus is staying with him, at least for the moment. Nothing terribly exciting happened, but we did gather a little more information about Harry's affliction." The headmaster smiled and handed Severus the slip of paper, which was covered in tight script (Lupin's, he guessed).
"This started last Tuesday?" Severus seemed absolutely appalled. "Good lord. Whatever this is has been in his system for that long? Who knows what damage it could have done." Dumbledore nodded gravely in agreement and urged the potions master to read on. "Yes, I knew about the dilated pupils, I saw that before I left. His breathing's become labored and his body temperature has started fluctuating?" Again, Dumbledore nodded. "And he complains of headache-- which doesn't really tell me much-- and a tingling in his extremities."
"I know; it's not that encouraging."
Severus shook his head. "Not at all. But it narrows down my list." He bent over the parchment on which he'd written the potions and carefully scratched through seven more. "Twenty-one left," he grumbled. Setting down the quill, he checked the cauldron, which he promptly took off the flame.
"What are you doing?" the headmaster inquired, seeming to be honestly curious.
Severus slipped on a single glove made of an exquisitely supple dragon's hide. "All the liquid in Potter's blood has boiled off," he said, assuming the tone he used for lectures. "It's my hope that some of what's left will be components of the potion. And, if I am extremely lucky, there might be residue of the potion as a whole. However, that is about as likely as Neville Longbottom taking over my job."
"But Mister Longbottom hasn't melted any cauldrons for at least a year," Dumbledore chimed in.
"He just did last week."
"Oh. How terrible." Albus didn't seem at all fazed by Longbottom's ineptitude. Instead, he watched Severus as he carefully pushed the powder out of the cauldron and onto a piece of what appeared to be bleached paper with his gloved fingers.
He pulled out his wand with the other hand and lightly tapped the paper with it. "Reverto."
Before their eyes, the small pile of powder separated itself into four distinct sections. One was composed almost entirely of iron and iron oxide; one was made of a fine, crystalline powder which refracted the light in odd directions; one was a thick substance which might be liquid under the right circumstances; and the final one was simply a thorn.
"Well," said Severus after a few moments of silence, "that was certainly educational."
"I know all twelve uses for dragon's blood," Dumbledore said, seeming to be more than slightly miffed.
"I should hope you do," Severus agreed, peeling the glove off his hand and replacing it on the shelf. Albus simply glared at him before continuing.
"I know all twelve uses for dragon's blood, and this is not one of them."
The potions master made a disgusted face as he peered at the other two ingredients. "It seems that someone has invented a thirteenth use for the substance. This looks to be crushed quartz, but I'll have to ask someone to identify the thorn for me."
Albus nodded and plucked the thorn off the paper. "I shall give this to Professor Sprout post haste."
"Please, do," Severus agreed. "And tell her I would appreciate the identification as soon as possible." He didn't even bother to see the headmaster out; instead he bent over his list of possible potions. For a moment he considered scratching them all out, since none of them included dragon's blood. But the moment passed, and he simply crossed out those which did not contain quartz powder or any sort of plant matter.
That only left ten. He supposed that cutting the list in half was more than he'd hoped for, but it still left him in a very uncomfortable situation. None of the remaining ten potions were particularly pleasant, and at least three of them required immediate treatment lest the damage it did be permanent or even fatal.
"Damnation," he snarled, tossing the list aside. All this trouble (again) for someone he came very close to loathing, only because he felt he owed Albus Dumbledore an incredible debt. It was enough to give any man a headache. Fortunately, Severus did not consider himself to be 'any man,' so it only resulted in a slight twinge near the bridge of his wickedly hooked nose, which he pinched gingerly.
Before he realized what he was doing (beyond getting away from the stench of cooked blood which had only just now begun to bother him), he found himself making his way to the hospital wing. He heaved a long-suffering sigh. Perhaps the brat was awake and could give him more information.
When he looked about, there seemed to be no sign of anyone except for whomever was behind the curtain with Potter. Snape checked his pocket watch to find the time to be a quarter past eight. Poppy had probably gone to eat some breakfast while Potter seemed stable. He shrugged to himself; what Poppy did was none of his business. Right now he need only worry about keeping the brat alive, if only because Albus had asked it of him.
Without making any noise, Severus stalked to the lone curtained-off bed and slipped inside. As he'd suspected, Remus was still there, holding the boy's hand, but he seemed to have dozed off. Potter himself, however, seemed to be awake and, if not totally alert, then mostly lucid. His eyes were still horribly dilated and had a peculiar sheen to them, but his complexion was now that of someone in the throes of fever.
Severus sat in the chair he'd occupied only four hours ago. "I was told that you were asleep," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. The boy turned to him (he had been staring at Remus since Snape sat down) and squinted blearily at him.
"Can't sleep," Harry said tersely once he discerned to whom exactly he was speaking. His voice was awfully hoarse, as though he'd been screaming for some time. "Headache. Hard to breath sometimes." He let out a long shuddering breath, and the expression on his face led Snape to believe that he was giving something great consideration. "I don't want to die... without Sirius here," he finally whispered.
For a second time, Severus felt pity for the boy and his werewolf, and it was because of this that his next comments were not as biting as he'd meant them to be. "I don't know where you get off thinking you're going to die, Mister Potter. Despite how fervently Voldemort wishes you dead, I do not intend to simply hand him his fondest dream on a silver platter. You have the entire staff of Hogwarts running around like idiots trying to fix whatever's wrong with you. And that flea-bitten mutt is not going to come here."
Harry simply stared at him, a shocked look on his face. His mouth opened and closed as he tried to form some sort of reply, but before any sound would emerge, he was once again overcome by the chills. All the color drained from his face, leaving it looking ashen and terribly sallow.
When Lupin felt Harry's hand leave his, he sat bolt upright. "Harry, what's wrong?"
"C-c-c-cold," the boy managed through chattering teeth.
Remus wasted no time climbing into the bed and pulling Harry as close as he could. He pressed his hand to the boys forehead in an effort to brush away the hair that was plastered there with sweat and hissed at what he felt. "Severus, help me!" he pleaded.
The potions master did not say a word. Instead, he laid one hand on Harry's forehead and grimaced. "Ice and water. The boy should not be this hot, and if he stays this way he may die." When no one made any move to go anywhere, Snape growled, "Get your lycanthropic arse out of that bed and fetch ice right now if you want him to stay alive. The last thing he needs is someone else's body heat."
There was a flash of anger behind Lupin's eyes, but he reluctantly did as he was told. "And fetch Poppy while you're at it. My first aid knowledge only goes so far." Lupin nodded at this, then left, running as though for his life. Though, Snape supposed, Harry's life was as important to him as his own.
Snape turned his attention to the shivering boy on the bed. "Potter, I need you to answer some questions for me." When Harry looked at him, he assumed that meant the boy was willing to at least try. "Can you walk?" A shake of his head; no. "If..." Snape took a moment to swallow his pride and remind himself that he owed Albus, and that keeping this boy alive would go a long way to repaying that debt. "If you were to use me as a crutch, do you think you could hobble to the baths at the other end of this room?"
Harry merely stared at him blankly, which only served to infuriate the man. "Well I can't bloody well carry you!" A few moments later, a nod, and Harry clumsily swung his legs over the side of the bed.
It took several false starts, but Severus managed to guide Harry to a large bath tub with very little incident. Once there, he stripped the boy of the soft cotton pajamas the others must have put him in before putting him to bed, leaving Harry in naught but his underwear. That done, he glowered at Harry. "Get in."
Again, it took a few false starts, but between the both of them, Harry managed to climb into the tub without breaking his neck. Snape did not stop to let him get comfortable, though. As soon as the boy was in the tub, he reached over and turned on the taps. The boy yelped at the chill of the water (which was really only lukewarm at worst) and tried to scoot away from it.
This only caused Snape to glower even more. "Stay where you are and move as little as you can manage. I don't know how long your temperature has been this high, but considering that Lupin has probably been asleep the whole time he was left with you, I'd be willing to bet that it's a while. This water will help bring your temperature down before any permanent damage occurs." He narrowed his eyes. "Is that clear, Potter?"
Sullenly, Harry nodded. "Good. Now for God's sake, where is Poppy Pomfrey?"
There was no reply, though a house elf ventured near with a bucket full of ice charmed to keep from melting and a tall glass of water. At least Lupin had done that much, Severus mused. He turned off the taps, satisfied that there was enough water in the tub, then took the glass and held it in front of Harry. "I doubt you're capable enough to hold this on your own, so I will do that for you. However, I will need your cooperation, since I cannot make you swallow." Once again, Harry nodded. When he turned his head to face his potions professor, Severus noted grimly how pale he was, how his eyes had gone from being overly dilated to the pupils barely being visible, and how glassy his eyes seemed to be.
He pressed the glass to Harry's lips, and the boy drank from it easily enough, which meant that he was cogent enough to understand what Severus had said and that his throat had not closed up. Both reasonably good signs, by Snape's estimation.
After Harry had taken a few gulps, Snape set the glass aside. "Too much at one time could make you thoroughly ill."
"'m already th-th-th-thoroughly ill," Harry replied, his voice very small and very hoarse.
"I'm quite aware of that," Severus assured him. "Believe me, I'm quite aware. But we needn't make the situation even worse." Admittedly, the only way it could get worse in his mind was if Poppy did not show up, and soon.
The vacant look Harry gave him before nodding his assent was positively disturbing. When next he opened his mouth to speak, though, his voice was just a little more steady. "Where's Si-Sirius?"
"Grimmauld Place," Severus said, doing an admirable job of hiding his anger at the mention of that name.
"P-professor Lup-p-pin?"
"Gone to fetch Madame Pomfrey."
This answer only seemed to agitate Harry. "Wh-what? Why?" He looked around him, his eyes widening ever so slightly. "Where am I?"
Oh God. If Poppy didn't make an appearance soon, Snape was sure he'd... Well, he wasn't exactly sure what he'd do, as now Harry's condition disconcerted him more than it annoyed him, but he was quite sure he'd do it. It likely involved going insane and ripping his hair out.
He was very careful to let none of this show on his face or in his voice. The last thing he needed, right after Poppy not showing up, was a hysterical Boy-Who-Lived on his hands. "You're thoroughly ill, Harry. You're in the hospital wing soaking to bring down a fever. I'm almost certain you're hallucinating or delirious."
Gingerly, he brushed Harry's forehead and was very unhappy to feel that his temperature was remaining steady. For good measure, he dropped a few ice cubes into the water to keep it only lukewarm. "If this keeps up, I might have to go track her down myself."
Given their years of enmity toward each other, it was quite a shock to Severus when Harry very nearly leapt out of the tub to grab ahold of him. "N-no!" After a moment, he said much more quietly, "No. Dun... Don't wanna d-die alone."
Very, very carefully, Snape extricated himself from Potter's grasp, though he couldn't for the life of him get the boy to release his sleeve. He sighed and let it go for the moment. "We've been over this before, Potter. You are not going to die. You're sick, I'll give you that, but every effort is being made to ensure that you keep drawing breath."
It seemed that, despite the edge of annoyance that crept into Severus's voice, that answer satisfied Potter, at least enough for him to stop staring vacantly at his professor. It wasn't enough to make him loosen his grip on the sleeve, but Severus was willing to deal with that as long as Potter had no more fits of hysterics.
This was how Madame Pomfrey and Professor Lupin found them a few minutes later, and one look at Harry kept them from asking questions. Once the boy caught sight of Remus, he let Snape go; and Snape went quite gladly.
Once he was back in the dungeons, he noticed that there was a note waiting for him next to the list of potions. To it was affixed the thorn, and it bore Professor Sprout's somewhat spastic script. Feeling a surge of elation, Snape eagerly read the letter (twice), before smiling happily and crossing all but one potion off the list. The remaining name was "arescoi," a bastardization of one of the many Latin words for "wither."
Feeling positively pleased with himself, Snape sat in one of the chairs and basked in the glow of having unravelled the mystery. All that was left was to determine what in Merlin's name the dragon's blood was for, and then they could ensure that Harry Potter was the Boy-Who-Lived... Again.
It suddenly occurred to him that he must inform Dumbledore of his new revelation, so he jumped up, grabbed a pinch of floo powder, and quite smugly told the headmaster that he had a fair idea of what potion it was, and that if he was needed, he'd be sleeping in his chambers for the next fourty-eight hours.
TBC