* * * Please Drink Responsibly * * *
Somewhere around 4 a.m., Snape put down his quill and rubbed at his stinging eyes. He was getting old. In years past, he would have been able to work the clock around and halfway through again before needing to stop. He had tested Potter's blood and hair and urine and begun a partial list of substances he had found that had to be components of the poison. He had detected basilisk venom, dragon scale, lead, something he very much suspected was grindylow feces, and more. Half of them alone would have done a creditable job of killing the boy - why such a carefully balanced palette of poisons? And what were the rest of the ingredients?
The test parchment had been able to break down only some of the elements and write them out in a list under each tested item. The spell was his own creation and it had never failed him before. The shortest list of detectable foreign substances was found under the column where he had poured out a drop of Potter's blood. At the bottom of the pitiful list was a snarl of words so tangled that it looked like nothing more than an idiot child's scribbling. Obviously the poison had been keyed to the blood and had been charmed. It would not reveal itself so easily. The column where Snape had tried to unravel the poison itself, using a tiny sample from the vial delivered by Albus, had been singularly unsuccessful. There was a charred hole through the test parchment that went straight through the work table and into the stone floor of his workroom. So now he was concentrating on the blood sample.
But before that, he stumbled through the door into his private quarters and over to the small, ornately carved cabinet in which he kept his private stock of potions. Fingers made clumsy with exhaustion fumbled over the unlabeled bottles until he found the one he was searching for. The potion inside was a bilious yellow and his lip curled in unconscious disgust -- all his vaunted mastery and he had never been able to make this particular potion taste one whit better than troll snot. He unstoppered the vial and tossed it back, throat closing as the noxious scent penetrated. Perpessio Potion wasn't to be used lightly; it would keep the user alert and energized for days at a time, if necessary, but there was a price to be paid. The potion always took a toll later in recovery time nearly double to the period of alertness it engendered. In the hands of the unwary, it could keep a man working at top speed until he dropped dead from heart failure or aneurysm.
Snape felt the effect almost immediately. A sense of warmth and well-being stole through him. The muzziness disappeared from his brain and he positively itched to get back to his workbench and the intriguing problem of a poison that defied a Potions Master. But when he swept back into the room, there was a figure leaning over his bench, studying his parchment.
"Potter. What are you doing out of the Infirmary?"
Harry Potter straightened up slowly and painfully, much as Snape had mere minutes before. Too young, his brain whispered, he's too young to move like that. "Sit down before you fall down," he snapped, shoving a tall stool toward the boy. Man, he corrected himself. Potter settled heavily onto it and leaned against the stone bench.
"I couldn't sleep."
"Are you in pain?" Snape moved back to study the parchment. "Madam Pomfrey must have more of that painkiller she's been pouring into you." Something about the color of the poison was teasing at the back of his mind; he made a note to check out Durbar's Medieval Poisons again.
"It makes me too hazy," Potter said. "If this is it, I'd rather be conscious for the last couple of days of my life."
Snape slapped down his quill. "You're not going to die, boy!"
"Really? How interesting. Everyone else seems to think I am." Potter's fingers toyed with the stoppered vial of the poison that was coursing through him. They were shaking.
"Everyone else is an idiot," Snape snarled.
Potter's lips turned up in a rather ghostly imitation of his usual expression of cheerful idiocy. "You once told us you could teach us to brew a potion to stopper Death, professor. Is that still true, or did you forget the recipe?"
"You're wallowing, Mr. Potter." Snape reached for his quill and a fresh piece of parchment, then began writing down all of the ingredients of which he was sure. "Where's that celebrated Gryffindor Courage? You've faced Dark Lords and rogue dragons and squadrons of Death Eaters! Why can you not scrape up a tenth of the courage it took to face all of that in order to meet this situation?"
"Because I could FIGHT those. I could use my wand or my training or my fists or even my damned dumb luck! But there is NOTHING I can do about this, do you understand?! Nothing! My life is in someone else's hands and there's not a damned thing I can do about it," he finished tiredly.
Snape stared at him for a moment. Then he nodded. And handed Potter the quill and fresh parchment and the testing parchment he had been working with. "Write down all the ingredients you can see clearly listed in each column. I'm trying to recreate the poison itself in order to determine the cure." The other stared at him for a moment before an odd light came up in his eyes. He bent to his work, quill scratching unevenly over the parchment.
"And, Potter?" His former student looked up, a lock of his dark hair falling over his scarred forehead. "Try to write legibly for a change."
Harry Potter smiled at him. It was very disturbing.
Somewhere around 4 a.m., Snape put down his quill and rubbed at his stinging eyes. He was getting old. In years past, he would have been able to work the clock around and halfway through again before needing to stop. He had tested Potter's blood and hair and urine and begun a partial list of substances he had found that had to be components of the poison. He had detected basilisk venom, dragon scale, lead, something he very much suspected was grindylow feces, and more. Half of them alone would have done a creditable job of killing the boy - why such a carefully balanced palette of poisons? And what were the rest of the ingredients?
The test parchment had been able to break down only some of the elements and write them out in a list under each tested item. The spell was his own creation and it had never failed him before. The shortest list of detectable foreign substances was found under the column where he had poured out a drop of Potter's blood. At the bottom of the pitiful list was a snarl of words so tangled that it looked like nothing more than an idiot child's scribbling. Obviously the poison had been keyed to the blood and had been charmed. It would not reveal itself so easily. The column where Snape had tried to unravel the poison itself, using a tiny sample from the vial delivered by Albus, had been singularly unsuccessful. There was a charred hole through the test parchment that went straight through the work table and into the stone floor of his workroom. So now he was concentrating on the blood sample.
But before that, he stumbled through the door into his private quarters and over to the small, ornately carved cabinet in which he kept his private stock of potions. Fingers made clumsy with exhaustion fumbled over the unlabeled bottles until he found the one he was searching for. The potion inside was a bilious yellow and his lip curled in unconscious disgust -- all his vaunted mastery and he had never been able to make this particular potion taste one whit better than troll snot. He unstoppered the vial and tossed it back, throat closing as the noxious scent penetrated. Perpessio Potion wasn't to be used lightly; it would keep the user alert and energized for days at a time, if necessary, but there was a price to be paid. The potion always took a toll later in recovery time nearly double to the period of alertness it engendered. In the hands of the unwary, it could keep a man working at top speed until he dropped dead from heart failure or aneurysm.
Snape felt the effect almost immediately. A sense of warmth and well-being stole through him. The muzziness disappeared from his brain and he positively itched to get back to his workbench and the intriguing problem of a poison that defied a Potions Master. But when he swept back into the room, there was a figure leaning over his bench, studying his parchment.
"Potter. What are you doing out of the Infirmary?"
Harry Potter straightened up slowly and painfully, much as Snape had mere minutes before. Too young, his brain whispered, he's too young to move like that. "Sit down before you fall down," he snapped, shoving a tall stool toward the boy. Man, he corrected himself. Potter settled heavily onto it and leaned against the stone bench.
"I couldn't sleep."
"Are you in pain?" Snape moved back to study the parchment. "Madam Pomfrey must have more of that painkiller she's been pouring into you." Something about the color of the poison was teasing at the back of his mind; he made a note to check out Durbar's Medieval Poisons again.
"It makes me too hazy," Potter said. "If this is it, I'd rather be conscious for the last couple of days of my life."
Snape slapped down his quill. "You're not going to die, boy!"
"Really? How interesting. Everyone else seems to think I am." Potter's fingers toyed with the stoppered vial of the poison that was coursing through him. They were shaking.
"Everyone else is an idiot," Snape snarled.
Potter's lips turned up in a rather ghostly imitation of his usual expression of cheerful idiocy. "You once told us you could teach us to brew a potion to stopper Death, professor. Is that still true, or did you forget the recipe?"
"You're wallowing, Mr. Potter." Snape reached for his quill and a fresh piece of parchment, then began writing down all of the ingredients of which he was sure. "Where's that celebrated Gryffindor Courage? You've faced Dark Lords and rogue dragons and squadrons of Death Eaters! Why can you not scrape up a tenth of the courage it took to face all of that in order to meet this situation?"
"Because I could FIGHT those. I could use my wand or my training or my fists or even my damned dumb luck! But there is NOTHING I can do about this, do you understand?! Nothing! My life is in someone else's hands and there's not a damned thing I can do about it," he finished tiredly.
Snape stared at him for a moment. Then he nodded. And handed Potter the quill and fresh parchment and the testing parchment he had been working with. "Write down all the ingredients you can see clearly listed in each column. I'm trying to recreate the poison itself in order to determine the cure." The other stared at him for a moment before an odd light came up in his eyes. He bent to his work, quill scratching unevenly over the parchment.
"And, Potter?" His former student looked up, a lock of his dark hair falling over his scarred forehead. "Try to write legibly for a change."
Harry Potter smiled at him. It was very disturbing.