* * * Eaten in Haste, Repented At Leisure * * *
Having wrung Potter dry and seen Pomfrey dose him into an opiate haze, Snape went back to the library and began pawing through the Restricted Section. After answering the librarian's protesting squawk with a venomous glare, he was left in peace amidst ever-growing stacks of parchment and moldering leather.
It simply made no sense. All the deadliest poisons, the ones with no cure at all, were a great deal more fast-acting than this. The slow-moving poisons all had antidotes. The list of symptoms Potter had evinced in the three days since his poisoning was impressive... and unmatched anywhere in the literature. The sensitivity of the poison to magic was familiar, but nothing quite matched. The few cases where it was mentioned, the poison had been administered and allowed to lay dormant before being activated magically. Most medicines were poisons in the wrong dosage, but none seemed to combine all the elements of Potter's case. It was very frustrating.
He was holding his head in his hands, tapping an index finger against his skull when he began to hear an irritating drone. Eventually, the drone resolved itself into Dumbledore's voice. When Snape raised his head, ready to snarl, Dumbledore shoved a bowl of beef stew in front of him. The scent suddenly captured all of Snape's attention and he began to eat ravenously. Half a loaf of hot, fresh bread also appeared and then disappeared, washed down with a mug of beer that winked into existence at Snape's elbow. He finished the last of it with a satisfied sigh, then looked up to find the Headmaster watching him with a faint smile. "Some things never change, Severus."
"I'm too old to change, Albus."
"Hardly, my boy. But you never could resist a mystery. Everything falls before your curiosity."
"A man's life is at stake, Albus. That seems more important than whether or not I've eaten lunch." Snape looked down at his ink-stained fingers.
"Harry Potter's life, " Dumbledore corrected gently. "And you missed breakfast, lunch and dinner."
"Thank you for the food, Headmaster," Snape said stiffly. "Now, may I be allowed to go back to work in peace?"
"As soon as I've given you this," Dumbledore said. He held out a small glass tube, tightly corked and empty except for a greasy purple residue in the very bottom. Snape took it and raised an eyebrow as he considered it.
"Recognize it?"
"No." His inability to identify a potion irritated him, although he struggled not to show it. Turning the vial, it seemed that the liquid in the bottom glimmered like diamond dust for just a moment.
"It's the one that poisoned young Harry. The Ministry just sent it over."
"Took them long enough," he grumbled. He turned his hand so that the few remaining drops began to slip down the glass toward the corked end. The viscosity reminded him of another potion...Dumbledore was speaking again.
"Thank you, Severus."
He shrugged one shoulder in irritated acknowledgment. "I'd do the same for anyone, Albus. You know that."
"Would you?"
The gentle tone set off warning bells in Snape's head. "Everyone knows how I feel about Potter. I've made no secret of it ever since the brat's first days here."
"Actually, Severus, I would say that few people know how you really feel about anything. Including Harry Potter." That same gentle tone and Snape knew he was in deep trouble now. Damn Albus Dumbledore and damn his clear-eyed gaze.
"Not now, Albus." Snape rose and began to gather the pile of scrolls and books he thought might be most useful. When Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak again, Snape slammed a fist onto the table. Then he carefully put both hands flat on the wood and stared at his long, stained fingers for a moment. Then he looked up. "Not now, Albus. Please."
Dumbledore merely met his tense gaze with a calm glance of his own, then nodded and turned away. "Goodnight, dear boy."
Snape didn't answer him.
Having wrung Potter dry and seen Pomfrey dose him into an opiate haze, Snape went back to the library and began pawing through the Restricted Section. After answering the librarian's protesting squawk with a venomous glare, he was left in peace amidst ever-growing stacks of parchment and moldering leather.
It simply made no sense. All the deadliest poisons, the ones with no cure at all, were a great deal more fast-acting than this. The slow-moving poisons all had antidotes. The list of symptoms Potter had evinced in the three days since his poisoning was impressive... and unmatched anywhere in the literature. The sensitivity of the poison to magic was familiar, but nothing quite matched. The few cases where it was mentioned, the poison had been administered and allowed to lay dormant before being activated magically. Most medicines were poisons in the wrong dosage, but none seemed to combine all the elements of Potter's case. It was very frustrating.
He was holding his head in his hands, tapping an index finger against his skull when he began to hear an irritating drone. Eventually, the drone resolved itself into Dumbledore's voice. When Snape raised his head, ready to snarl, Dumbledore shoved a bowl of beef stew in front of him. The scent suddenly captured all of Snape's attention and he began to eat ravenously. Half a loaf of hot, fresh bread also appeared and then disappeared, washed down with a mug of beer that winked into existence at Snape's elbow. He finished the last of it with a satisfied sigh, then looked up to find the Headmaster watching him with a faint smile. "Some things never change, Severus."
"I'm too old to change, Albus."
"Hardly, my boy. But you never could resist a mystery. Everything falls before your curiosity."
"A man's life is at stake, Albus. That seems more important than whether or not I've eaten lunch." Snape looked down at his ink-stained fingers.
"Harry Potter's life, " Dumbledore corrected gently. "And you missed breakfast, lunch and dinner."
"Thank you for the food, Headmaster," Snape said stiffly. "Now, may I be allowed to go back to work in peace?"
"As soon as I've given you this," Dumbledore said. He held out a small glass tube, tightly corked and empty except for a greasy purple residue in the very bottom. Snape took it and raised an eyebrow as he considered it.
"Recognize it?"
"No." His inability to identify a potion irritated him, although he struggled not to show it. Turning the vial, it seemed that the liquid in the bottom glimmered like diamond dust for just a moment.
"It's the one that poisoned young Harry. The Ministry just sent it over."
"Took them long enough," he grumbled. He turned his hand so that the few remaining drops began to slip down the glass toward the corked end. The viscosity reminded him of another potion...Dumbledore was speaking again.
"Thank you, Severus."
He shrugged one shoulder in irritated acknowledgment. "I'd do the same for anyone, Albus. You know that."
"Would you?"
The gentle tone set off warning bells in Snape's head. "Everyone knows how I feel about Potter. I've made no secret of it ever since the brat's first days here."
"Actually, Severus, I would say that few people know how you really feel about anything. Including Harry Potter." That same gentle tone and Snape knew he was in deep trouble now. Damn Albus Dumbledore and damn his clear-eyed gaze.
"Not now, Albus." Snape rose and began to gather the pile of scrolls and books he thought might be most useful. When Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak again, Snape slammed a fist onto the table. Then he carefully put both hands flat on the wood and stared at his long, stained fingers for a moment. Then he looked up. "Not now, Albus. Please."
Dumbledore merely met his tense gaze with a calm glance of his own, then nodded and turned away. "Goodnight, dear boy."
Snape didn't answer him.