* * * Reports of My Death Have Been Greatly Exaggerated * * *
It was the scent of fresh-baked scones that roused him from his reading this time. Dumbledore stood before him, a loaded breakfast tray floating gently down to rest on the worktable beside him. As the Headmaster opened his mouth to speak, Snape tapped one finger against his own lips, then tipped his head toward the sleeping figure on the cot.
"Ah, splendid. Poppy was rather upset when she found Harry's bed empty a few minutes ago," Dumbledore said softly. He held out a mug of strong black tea to Snape, a hot oatmeal scone balanced on top of it. He watched silently as Snape gulped the tea and wolfed down the scone. As Snape reached for another, the Headmaster asked, "What have you taken, Severus?"
Snape didn't even bother to evade Dumbledore's question, as much as he would have liked to. "Perpessio," he mumbled, then bit into the next scone. The second drawback to the potion, besides the wretched flavor, was the fact that it made one ravenous. He ate a banana and an apple before Dumbledore spoke again. "I know that you always know what you're doing with a potion, Severus, but do be careful, my boy. We can't afford to lose you..." The 'too' was unspoken and intensely irritating.
Snape shrugged Dumbledore's concern for him away. "I know what they gave Potter now." He reached for the last scone and crammed it in his mouth as he pushed the test parchment over between them. "I don't know the exact poison, but I know what's in it. That puts me a lot closer to finding the antidote."
"Let me copy your list and send it over to the Ministry and to a few others who might have some experience in this area."
Snape scowled, but nodded. He was convinced that the idiots at the Ministry and St. Mungo's had dosed Potter with a couple of bezoars, poured a cup of Phoenix tears down him, then decided that he was doomed. It was just as well that Potter had come angsting home to Hogwarts and Snape's research ability.
Dumbledore had crossed the room to the cot and stood looking down at his former student. His fingers brushed across Potter's chilled, stubbled cheek, then slipped down to take the pulse at his throat. The old wizard's lips were pursed when he turned back to Snape. "Poppy thinks he has no more than two days, perhaps less. She has asked me to call his friends and his godfather here."
Anger hissed white-hot through Snape. "Why can't anyone get it through their heads?! He. Is. Not. Going. To. Die. I won't let him!"
"Well, that's reassuring," Potter's voice rasped weakly. He was sitting up, a little rockily, but looking better than he had hours before.
"Harry, my boy..." Dumbledore went back over to him, after shooting a thoughtful look at Snape.
"Owl Ron and Sirius and Hermione, please, Professor Dumbledore." Harry's voice was quiet, but firm. His solemn gaze met Snape's stricken one over the Headmaster's shoulder. "I'll want them all here to celebrate my recovery."
Gryffindor optimism met Slytherin determination and, once more, they found a common purpose. Snape nodded once, then turned back to his notes. He moved smoothly around the Headmaster as Dumbledore coaxed Potter to eat some rice gruel and weak tea.
Snape sent off owls with copies of the lists and short notes to St. Mungo's, the Ministry and the Potions Mistress at Durmstrang. He knew the feeble-minded git they had hired at Beauxbatons and doubted the man's ability to read, let alone brew anything of greater complexity than a cup of oatstraw tea. Dumbledore left soon after, promising to return with lunch for them both. If he thought it odd that Snape did not demand the immediate removal of Harry Potter, he was mercifully silent on the subject.
* * * Boil, Boil, Toil and Trouble * * *
Brewing the poison was rather more labor intensive than Snape had bargained on. His first attempt turned black before the third stage and solidified instantly, fusing the ladle to the side of the cauldron. His second effort was somewhat closer to the mark, at least until it exploded. Potter's startled glance was almost comical, even as oily black smuts rained down upon them both. The noble Gryffindor tried to control the twitching of his lips as he remarked, "I thought that only happened to First Years and Neville."
Snape raised an eyebrow and glared. "This is research, Mr. Potter. When it happens in class, it is mere carelessness." Potter hastily bent over the letter he was writing, but Snape saw the curve of his grin. He sighed and went to get another cauldron.
It was not long afterward, as he was grinding another batch of amethyst to a finer powder than last time, that he felt the first flickers of exhaustion tickling behind his eyes. His hands trembled for a moment and he had to put the pestle down quickly. Had it already been eight hours? He could feel Potter's eyes upon him as he went back for another dose of Perpessio Potion.
When he returned to the workroom, nearly crackling with newfound energy, he found it considerably more crowded than before. Dumbledore, Ron Weasley, Madam Pomfrey and Sirius Black were all clustered around Potter and all talking at the same time. He raised his voice to be heard above the babble. "Perhaps the Potter Fan Club could have its meeting somewhere beside my workroom?"
Black and Weasley turned twin glares on him; Pomfrey and Dumbledore looked tolerant and Potter... his face was buried in his godfather's shoulder. A wizard powerful enough to rival Dumbledore, survivor of a decade of attempts on his life, a hardened battle veteran, and at the moment, Potter looked like nothing more than a sick child craving comfort. This time, no potion would cure the tremble in Snape's hands.
The headmaster herded the crowd out the door, promising them lunch and tea in his study. The last to go was Black, who was still cradling his godson against his side. His eyes met Snape's over the dark head. "Snape...," he began, then stopped. Enmity, hatred, jealousy and grief stretched thick between them, decades strong, fattened with suspicions and lies. The Potions Master could see the struggle in Black's gaze as he fought against years of habit and history. Then he ground out only one word. "Please?"
Snape just nodded. Then he turned back to his work and Black led Potter away.
It was the scent of fresh-baked scones that roused him from his reading this time. Dumbledore stood before him, a loaded breakfast tray floating gently down to rest on the worktable beside him. As the Headmaster opened his mouth to speak, Snape tapped one finger against his own lips, then tipped his head toward the sleeping figure on the cot.
"Ah, splendid. Poppy was rather upset when she found Harry's bed empty a few minutes ago," Dumbledore said softly. He held out a mug of strong black tea to Snape, a hot oatmeal scone balanced on top of it. He watched silently as Snape gulped the tea and wolfed down the scone. As Snape reached for another, the Headmaster asked, "What have you taken, Severus?"
Snape didn't even bother to evade Dumbledore's question, as much as he would have liked to. "Perpessio," he mumbled, then bit into the next scone. The second drawback to the potion, besides the wretched flavor, was the fact that it made one ravenous. He ate a banana and an apple before Dumbledore spoke again. "I know that you always know what you're doing with a potion, Severus, but do be careful, my boy. We can't afford to lose you..." The 'too' was unspoken and intensely irritating.
Snape shrugged Dumbledore's concern for him away. "I know what they gave Potter now." He reached for the last scone and crammed it in his mouth as he pushed the test parchment over between them. "I don't know the exact poison, but I know what's in it. That puts me a lot closer to finding the antidote."
"Let me copy your list and send it over to the Ministry and to a few others who might have some experience in this area."
Snape scowled, but nodded. He was convinced that the idiots at the Ministry and St. Mungo's had dosed Potter with a couple of bezoars, poured a cup of Phoenix tears down him, then decided that he was doomed. It was just as well that Potter had come angsting home to Hogwarts and Snape's research ability.
Dumbledore had crossed the room to the cot and stood looking down at his former student. His fingers brushed across Potter's chilled, stubbled cheek, then slipped down to take the pulse at his throat. The old wizard's lips were pursed when he turned back to Snape. "Poppy thinks he has no more than two days, perhaps less. She has asked me to call his friends and his godfather here."
Anger hissed white-hot through Snape. "Why can't anyone get it through their heads?! He. Is. Not. Going. To. Die. I won't let him!"
"Well, that's reassuring," Potter's voice rasped weakly. He was sitting up, a little rockily, but looking better than he had hours before.
"Harry, my boy..." Dumbledore went back over to him, after shooting a thoughtful look at Snape.
"Owl Ron and Sirius and Hermione, please, Professor Dumbledore." Harry's voice was quiet, but firm. His solemn gaze met Snape's stricken one over the Headmaster's shoulder. "I'll want them all here to celebrate my recovery."
Gryffindor optimism met Slytherin determination and, once more, they found a common purpose. Snape nodded once, then turned back to his notes. He moved smoothly around the Headmaster as Dumbledore coaxed Potter to eat some rice gruel and weak tea.
Snape sent off owls with copies of the lists and short notes to St. Mungo's, the Ministry and the Potions Mistress at Durmstrang. He knew the feeble-minded git they had hired at Beauxbatons and doubted the man's ability to read, let alone brew anything of greater complexity than a cup of oatstraw tea. Dumbledore left soon after, promising to return with lunch for them both. If he thought it odd that Snape did not demand the immediate removal of Harry Potter, he was mercifully silent on the subject.
* * * Boil, Boil, Toil and Trouble * * *
Brewing the poison was rather more labor intensive than Snape had bargained on. His first attempt turned black before the third stage and solidified instantly, fusing the ladle to the side of the cauldron. His second effort was somewhat closer to the mark, at least until it exploded. Potter's startled glance was almost comical, even as oily black smuts rained down upon them both. The noble Gryffindor tried to control the twitching of his lips as he remarked, "I thought that only happened to First Years and Neville."
Snape raised an eyebrow and glared. "This is research, Mr. Potter. When it happens in class, it is mere carelessness." Potter hastily bent over the letter he was writing, but Snape saw the curve of his grin. He sighed and went to get another cauldron.
It was not long afterward, as he was grinding another batch of amethyst to a finer powder than last time, that he felt the first flickers of exhaustion tickling behind his eyes. His hands trembled for a moment and he had to put the pestle down quickly. Had it already been eight hours? He could feel Potter's eyes upon him as he went back for another dose of Perpessio Potion.
When he returned to the workroom, nearly crackling with newfound energy, he found it considerably more crowded than before. Dumbledore, Ron Weasley, Madam Pomfrey and Sirius Black were all clustered around Potter and all talking at the same time. He raised his voice to be heard above the babble. "Perhaps the Potter Fan Club could have its meeting somewhere beside my workroom?"
Black and Weasley turned twin glares on him; Pomfrey and Dumbledore looked tolerant and Potter... his face was buried in his godfather's shoulder. A wizard powerful enough to rival Dumbledore, survivor of a decade of attempts on his life, a hardened battle veteran, and at the moment, Potter looked like nothing more than a sick child craving comfort. This time, no potion would cure the tremble in Snape's hands.
The headmaster herded the crowd out the door, promising them lunch and tea in his study. The last to go was Black, who was still cradling his godson against his side. His eyes met Snape's over the dark head. "Snape...," he began, then stopped. Enmity, hatred, jealousy and grief stretched thick between them, decades strong, fattened with suspicions and lies. The Potions Master could see the struggle in Black's gaze as he fought against years of habit and history. Then he ground out only one word. "Please?"
Snape just nodded. Then he turned back to his work and Black led Potter away.