* * * Blood is thicker * * *
An hour later, Snape was thumbing through Durbar again for the mention that had teased him before. A poisonous salve brewed using ground amethyst as a base caught his attention. The poison was fairly mild, as it went, but the use of amethyst was unusual. Medieval Muggles had believed that amethysts protected them from becoming drunk; medieval wizards knew that amethyst made one more susceptible to magic. Gifts of amethyst jewelry were often given as ways to track the wearer -- or attack him. Amethyst wasn't listed on the neatly copied list of partially revealed ingredients, though.
He tapped one finger against his forehead as he mulled over the possibilities of amethyst dust in potion form. But why would the resulting poison resist all magical attempts to counter it? Somehow, whoever had brewed it had managed to invert the effect of the amethyst...or used it to somehow strengthen the poison whenever it was touched by magic... He really needed to know the rest of the ingredients before he could untangle the knot.
Potter was still sitting at the other end of his work table, quill scratching away at a different piece of parchment. The silence had been surprisingly companionable.
"What are you doing?" Snape said suddenly.
"Writing to Hermione and Ron."
"Well, stop that and come over here. I need you." The words echoed strangely and Snape nearly winced at the look on Potter's face. But his former student rose, a little unsteadily, and made his way to Snape's side.
"Give me your hand."
Potter extended it readily; the thin callused fingers trembled minutely in Snape's grasp. "This will be unpleasant," Snape said, then turned his hand over and nicked the large vein on the inside of the wrist with a small penknife. Potter jerked when the blade bit into his flesh, but he neither cried out nor pulled away as the blood began welling out. Snape guided his hand over to the test parchment and let the blood begin dripping directly onto the column with the snarl of ingredients in it.
At the first drop, a tendril of ink flowed out of the blot and Snape's thin lips pulled back in a grin of triumph. He gripped Potter's forearm steadily and began to pass it back and forth over the parchment. As the blood drew crimson switchbacks on the creamy parchment, words in black ink flowed out from the blot, arranging themselves in ranks within the lines drawn with Harry Potter's blood. When the fast-flowing drops brought out no more words, Snape shifted his grip to stop the bleeding. He fumbled in his pocket, then found a handkerchief which he wrapped tightly around the wound, tying it off when he was certain the bleeding had stopped.
"You could have warned me," Potter said.
"And ruin the surprise?" Snape nearly smiled at him. Potter must have seen the possibility of it in his face, because he grinned back. Then his face went slack and he slumped against the table. He was horribly pale and his body was wracked by shivers when Snape got a grip on him. "S-ss-sorry about this," Potter gasped out between clenched teeth.
"Shut up," Snape said gently. Unable to levitate Potter, he made do with half-carrying the man over to the cot he kept against the wall. He rarely made use of it himself, but it was occasionally useful for naps when he had to brew potions that took the whole night. Potter was heavier than he looked; Snape assumed it was the muscle he had somehow managed to put onto his somewhat short frame. He let Potter slip down to the cot with a relieved sigh.
"I'll call Madam Pomfrey."
"No, please don't." Potter looked up suddenly. "She'll just try to give me a hot bath again." For a moment, the boy he had been was strong in Potter's face as he grimaced at the thought of being bathed by the mediwitch. Snape hid a smile behind the hand rubbing at his mouth - students had complained for years about Poppy's predilection for bathing them like toddlers. But Potter was shivering as if it were the depths of winter, cradling his bandaged wrist to his shaking chest. The professor made his decision and picked up the rough wool blanket he kept folded on the foot of the cot. "Lie down." Brows knit, Potter obeyed. A first,, Snape thought to himself as he spread the blanket over the shivering form. Of course he would have to be at Death's door before he'd obey the simplest command... Snape choked off that line of thought and drew his wand.
"No magic," Potter gasped, just as Snape said, "Lodix calidum ." The simple warming spell made the blanket nearly glow with warmth. As it penetrated his shivering, Potter slowly relaxed, then sighed with relief. Snape took off his robe, balled it up and shoved it under Potter's legs. After a time, a little color came back into his face. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to work."
Potter nodded faintly and his eyes drifted closed. Snape shook his head at the bizarre twists his life seemed to always take and went back to his worktable.
An hour later, Snape was thumbing through Durbar again for the mention that had teased him before. A poisonous salve brewed using ground amethyst as a base caught his attention. The poison was fairly mild, as it went, but the use of amethyst was unusual. Medieval Muggles had believed that amethysts protected them from becoming drunk; medieval wizards knew that amethyst made one more susceptible to magic. Gifts of amethyst jewelry were often given as ways to track the wearer -- or attack him. Amethyst wasn't listed on the neatly copied list of partially revealed ingredients, though.
He tapped one finger against his forehead as he mulled over the possibilities of amethyst dust in potion form. But why would the resulting poison resist all magical attempts to counter it? Somehow, whoever had brewed it had managed to invert the effect of the amethyst...or used it to somehow strengthen the poison whenever it was touched by magic... He really needed to know the rest of the ingredients before he could untangle the knot.
Potter was still sitting at the other end of his work table, quill scratching away at a different piece of parchment. The silence had been surprisingly companionable.
"What are you doing?" Snape said suddenly.
"Writing to Hermione and Ron."
"Well, stop that and come over here. I need you." The words echoed strangely and Snape nearly winced at the look on Potter's face. But his former student rose, a little unsteadily, and made his way to Snape's side.
"Give me your hand."
Potter extended it readily; the thin callused fingers trembled minutely in Snape's grasp. "This will be unpleasant," Snape said, then turned his hand over and nicked the large vein on the inside of the wrist with a small penknife. Potter jerked when the blade bit into his flesh, but he neither cried out nor pulled away as the blood began welling out. Snape guided his hand over to the test parchment and let the blood begin dripping directly onto the column with the snarl of ingredients in it.
At the first drop, a tendril of ink flowed out of the blot and Snape's thin lips pulled back in a grin of triumph. He gripped Potter's forearm steadily and began to pass it back and forth over the parchment. As the blood drew crimson switchbacks on the creamy parchment, words in black ink flowed out from the blot, arranging themselves in ranks within the lines drawn with Harry Potter's blood. When the fast-flowing drops brought out no more words, Snape shifted his grip to stop the bleeding. He fumbled in his pocket, then found a handkerchief which he wrapped tightly around the wound, tying it off when he was certain the bleeding had stopped.
"You could have warned me," Potter said.
"And ruin the surprise?" Snape nearly smiled at him. Potter must have seen the possibility of it in his face, because he grinned back. Then his face went slack and he slumped against the table. He was horribly pale and his body was wracked by shivers when Snape got a grip on him. "S-ss-sorry about this," Potter gasped out between clenched teeth.
"Shut up," Snape said gently. Unable to levitate Potter, he made do with half-carrying the man over to the cot he kept against the wall. He rarely made use of it himself, but it was occasionally useful for naps when he had to brew potions that took the whole night. Potter was heavier than he looked; Snape assumed it was the muscle he had somehow managed to put onto his somewhat short frame. He let Potter slip down to the cot with a relieved sigh.
"I'll call Madam Pomfrey."
"No, please don't." Potter looked up suddenly. "She'll just try to give me a hot bath again." For a moment, the boy he had been was strong in Potter's face as he grimaced at the thought of being bathed by the mediwitch. Snape hid a smile behind the hand rubbing at his mouth - students had complained for years about Poppy's predilection for bathing them like toddlers. But Potter was shivering as if it were the depths of winter, cradling his bandaged wrist to his shaking chest. The professor made his decision and picked up the rough wool blanket he kept folded on the foot of the cot. "Lie down." Brows knit, Potter obeyed. A first,, Snape thought to himself as he spread the blanket over the shivering form. Of course he would have to be at Death's door before he'd obey the simplest command... Snape choked off that line of thought and drew his wand.
"No magic," Potter gasped, just as Snape said, "Lodix calidum ." The simple warming spell made the blanket nearly glow with warmth. As it penetrated his shivering, Potter slowly relaxed, then sighed with relief. Snape took off his robe, balled it up and shoved it under Potter's legs. After a time, a little color came back into his face. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to work."
Potter nodded faintly and his eyes drifted closed. Snape shook his head at the bizarre twists his life seemed to always take and went back to his worktable.