* * * No Pain, No Gain * * *
An hour later, armed with a long list of questions from his preliminary researches, he tracked Potter down in the Infirmary. The man was stretched out on a bed in the Staff section, his face seeming paler than before against the starched white sheets. There were deep lines cut into both sides of his mouth and a furrow between his brows. A spasm passed over his face and then Potter was rolling onto his side and curling up like a small boy, drawing his knees to his chest and hunching his shoulders. No sound passed the clenched teeth, although some tears trickled out from beneath the closed eyelids.
Where the hell was Pomfrey? It wasn't like her to leave a patient in such obvious agony. Snape's eye noted the empty potion bottle beside the bed. Ah - she must have gone for another pain-killing potion. It fell to him then, to comfort the patient in her absence. He sat beside Harry Potter's bed, watching as the spasm seemed to ease some. When the man opened his red-rimmed eyes, Snape said calmly, "Well, you look like you're in agony."
"That keen observation ability must be what made you such a good spy," Potter rasped out and wiped the wetness from his stubbled cheeks. Snape nearly smiled at the ghost of their war-time bickering. "Tell me about the pain."
"Here to get your kicks, Snape?"
"No, you idiot," he said quietly. "I need to know everything about the poison's effects if I am to determine what it is and how to counter it."
"Oh." Then Potter began to list his symptoms and Snape began to grow chill with unease. Creeping numbness, chills, throwing up blood, muscle spasms, eyes sensitive to light, every joint aching...
Snape had been half-hoping it was merely some kind of zombifying poison; something to seize Potter's will and bend it toward Voldemort. After all, he had far more experience resisting an Imperius Curse now. But this was much more serious than that. Someone had definitely planned for Harry Potter to die slowly and in agony.
Snape groped his way to Pomfrey's desk, seized parchment, a quill and ink, and came back to Potter's bedside. "Tell me again about the joint pains," he snapped and began writing.
An hour later, armed with a long list of questions from his preliminary researches, he tracked Potter down in the Infirmary. The man was stretched out on a bed in the Staff section, his face seeming paler than before against the starched white sheets. There were deep lines cut into both sides of his mouth and a furrow between his brows. A spasm passed over his face and then Potter was rolling onto his side and curling up like a small boy, drawing his knees to his chest and hunching his shoulders. No sound passed the clenched teeth, although some tears trickled out from beneath the closed eyelids.
Where the hell was Pomfrey? It wasn't like her to leave a patient in such obvious agony. Snape's eye noted the empty potion bottle beside the bed. Ah - she must have gone for another pain-killing potion. It fell to him then, to comfort the patient in her absence. He sat beside Harry Potter's bed, watching as the spasm seemed to ease some. When the man opened his red-rimmed eyes, Snape said calmly, "Well, you look like you're in agony."
"That keen observation ability must be what made you such a good spy," Potter rasped out and wiped the wetness from his stubbled cheeks. Snape nearly smiled at the ghost of their war-time bickering. "Tell me about the pain."
"Here to get your kicks, Snape?"
"No, you idiot," he said quietly. "I need to know everything about the poison's effects if I am to determine what it is and how to counter it."
"Oh." Then Potter began to list his symptoms and Snape began to grow chill with unease. Creeping numbness, chills, throwing up blood, muscle spasms, eyes sensitive to light, every joint aching...
Snape had been half-hoping it was merely some kind of zombifying poison; something to seize Potter's will and bend it toward Voldemort. After all, he had far more experience resisting an Imperius Curse now. But this was much more serious than that. Someone had definitely planned for Harry Potter to die slowly and in agony.
Snape groped his way to Pomfrey's desk, seized parchment, a quill and ink, and came back to Potter's bedside. "Tell me again about the joint pains," he snapped and began writing.