0o0o0o0
Aid and comfort
Ron had activated his charm the moment the Muggle Healers left Harry's cubicle. The charm acted like a homing device for the portkey that Hermione carried with her. It was an invention of his own, and one that was unique to the partners. If word got out that Aurors regularly carried such things, any captor searching them would remove their secret weapon. He'd also put Muggle repelling wards on the curtains, which would allow them to practice magic undisturbed.
Hermione had gone to the best Potions Master in the British Isles, even if he was the head of Slytherin's house and hated Harry with a passion. Since Voldemort had been destroyed ten years ago the man had been able to devote more time to his research, and old Dumbledore had hired him an assistant to teach the first through fourth years. This actually improved the average potion grade in the younger years, as the assistant was able to teach without withering scorn or complete bias. Those scores didn't drop much under Snape's tutelage as the assistant apparently managed to instil a good skills base that even Snape's venom couldn't erode.
Harry was mostly unconscious. The Muggles had tied him down with soft foam restraints while they did awful things to him, which Harry had struggled against feebly. Ron had to grit his teeth and stay back, trusting them to help Harry until Snape could arrive.
The Aurors had a small potions and analysis centre in their own facility, and although they were good, they were not fast. Even emergency work could take a little while, and Ron wasn't willing to wait a single second longer than necessary to get Harry the help he needed. If it had been possible, Ron would have preferred to take his friend to a proper Healer, at St Mungo's, but they didn't accept Muggles, and Harry's past status as a Wizard might not have been enough to get him through the doors. The hospital wing at Hogwarts would have been closer to Snape, but also closer to Dumbledore. Ron didn't want his friend near the manipulative old coot ever again, especially not when he was ill.
Harry moaned weakly and pulled on the cuffs. He'd been propped up with a lot of pillows at his head and knees, in a posture designed to keep the tension off his abused stomach muscles. There were ice packs on his body, and he'd been given several nasty looking injections that had immediately robbed him of the ability to move about properly. Being tied down and so helpless must have been terrifying, and Ron waved his wand, making the restraints disappear as he stepped to Harry's side and took his hand carefully.
"Hush, I'm here," he whispered softly, "Take it easy."
"Ron," Harry whimpered, his hand clutching spastically at the redheads fingers. Ron leaned down and kissed Harry's temple tenderly, rubbing their fingers together and murmuring soft nonsense to the ill man. Harry's half open eyes found his and the green gaze locked on, begging for reassurance and comfort. Ron was only too glad to give it, carding fingers through Harry's hair so gently that there were no snags or tugs, and whispering how it would be all right and his friend would feel better soon.
He heard the peculiar whoosh of a portkey arrival and turned to see Snape and Hermione standing in a corner of the cubicle. Hermione had one hand in the sleeve of Snape's robes, and she used that grip to haul the potions master forward now. Snape was glaring suspiciously at his surroundings, and opened his mouth to demand an explanation when he realised whom the Muggle on the bed was.
Harry's hair was revealing the pale scar, and the glare on Snape's face was instantly replaced with a look of shock. Once more the potions master opened his mouth to speak, but Ron cut him off, not willing to listen to Snape's usual vitriol when it came to the only child of James Potter.
"Did you discover the poison?" the Muggles were also doing their own analysis, but Snape was the best, after all.
"Muggle cleaning agents," Snape replied dryly, scooping up the chart at the foot of Harry's bed and reading it over quickly. He pulled three vials out of his pocket and mixed the contents together, shaking the resulting concoction to mix it and moving to stand opposite Ron. The greasy haired man removed the stopper and slid a hand under Harry's head, tilting his head back and causing his mouth to open. In a trice the contents of the vial had been tipped into the sick man's mouth and Harry choked and swallowed, making a soft noise of protest at the arbitrary treatment.
"Shush Harry," Hermione put her hand on Harry's leg in concern, "It will make you better."
"It's all right, mate, we're here," Ron added, slipping his fingers back into Harry's and squeezing reassurance. He ignored Snape's wordless sneer until Harry was once more settled, breathing slowly and lying listless on the bed.
"He'll need to take another dose in one hour," Snape's voice was implacable, "And there is a follow up potion that I will need to brew for him."
Pale hands were mixing another set of vials together, and the resulting mustard yellow potion was thrust at Ron. He took it numbly, watching Snape step back, an unreadable look on his face as he stared down at the man on the bed.
"I will be back in seventy five minutes, Weasley," Snape looked up at him, "Do not allow the Muggles to administer any further poisons to him."
"You mustn't tell anyone…" Hermione began and Snape made an impatient movement of his hand, cutting her off.
"You made that perfectly clear when you dragged me away from my luncheon," the dry voice hung in the air as its owner apparated away, and Hermione sighed, coming up to the spot where the potion master had stood to take Harry's other hand. Together the partners went about ensuring Harry's comfort and peace, touching him tenderly and reassuring him as best they could. Ron was grateful that Rose had been sent to his mothers, knowing that it was one less thing for Harry to fret over while they waited for the potion to take effect.
Harry opened his mouth willingly at Ron's request an hour later, his only reaction to the potion a grimace of distaste. There was a little more colour in his cheeks now, and he seemed more alert. He was following their movements with his eyes and able to whisper soft responses to their questions. Ten minutes later Snape reappeared with a fizzing goblet of something or other that Harry closed his mouth to like a little child until Ron climbed into bed behind him and whispered in his ear as he propped him up. Harry took the potion from the red head that he refused from Snape, and shuddered at the taste.
"He'll want to sleep for a while, but when he wakes he will be able to return to whatever he calls home," Snape's tone was at odds with his words, the expected edge of hatred missing, "The Muggles can examine him in three hours time. Anything they administer to him will have no further effect - I have prevented that with the last potion. I assume you will be seeking his attacker?"
"Yes," Hermione said softly, not looking away from the sight of Harry cuddled into Ron, seeking the comfort of the redhead's arms in his pain. Snape was staring at them too, and that was the image that stuck with Ron when the man apparated away without the least courtesy of leave-taking.
0o0o0o0
