TITLE:    A Gryffindor Tried and True

AUTHOR:   Meercat

LONGER SUMMARY: Harry Potter dislikes Severus Snape. Severus Snape loathes Harry Potter. No one is more shocked than the Hogwarts Potion Master when Harry takes a potentially fatal spell to save the Death Eater turned Phoenix spy. Harry's sole hope of survival lies with Severus Snape, Hermione Granger, and, of all people, Neville Longbottom.

Chapter 5

     A soft moan broke the stunned silence.

     Dumbledore looked down in time to catch the first glimpse of emerald green eyes, befuddled by weariness and sleep. Harry blinked and squinted, unable to make sense of the blurry shapes around him.

     Albus picked up Harry's shattered glasses from the bedside table. He pulled out his wand, muttered oculus reparo over the ovals, and set the repaired frames on their owner's nose.

     "There. Better?"

     Vision restored, Harry offered a soft smile of gratitude. "Yes, thanks."

     Potter blinked sleepily and greeted at each familiar face as it swam into view. In hospital, again? He tried to move his left hand only to find it firmly caught. He murmured a sleepy greeting to Hagrid, dimly aware of the tears that trekked down the half-giant's face. The moisture glistened in his curly beard and dripped onto the blanket next to their joined hands.

     Why was Hagrid crying? Had he gotten something in his eyes?

     Memory returned in a violent rush.

     "Professor Snape!"

     Potter shot up in bed and looked around. Pain exploded in every corner of his body. Spasms caught the muscles in his calves and drew his feet into unnatural positions. Harry grabbed his burning ribs, grimaced, and moaned but never stopped his frantic search.

     "Calm yourself, Potter." Snape stepped to the foot of the cot and into the boy's view. "I'm fine."

     Harry relaxed, but only marginally. "Malfoy?"

     "If you're referring to Malfoy the senior, he's long vanished, along with his faithful little band of Death Eaters. Malfoy the junior, however, is perfectly fine."

     Snape held out a hand in silent summons. Draco moved forward, his steps reluctant and dragging, until Potter could separate his Slytherin green robes from the shadows. Harry slumped to the mattress with a relieved rush of breath. Even Malfoy's characteristic curled lip and scornful, crinkled nose, as though he'd smelled something repulsive, did not diminish Harry's relief at seeing them both well.

     With his worries eased, he turned his attention to the pains in his body. Madame Pomfrey stepped up and gave him three drops of a dark blue liquid. The cramps diminished enough for him to settle more comfortably on the bed.

     "That was a very foolish thing you did, throwing yourself in the path of an unknown curse. One would have thought a Hogwarts fifth-year would be better trained than that."

     "Severus," Albus scolded.

     "It's true. As usual, he acted without a single thought as to the consequences."

     "And saved your life in the process. Enough, Severus. What's done is done. All we can do now is deal with the situation as it now stands."

     Robes billowing around him, Severus Snape paced the open floor near the foot of Potter's bed, muttering beneath his breath. Exhausted by injuries, untreated hexes, and heavy emotion, he slowed and stopped after only two laps.

     "By your expressions," Harry looked from one teacher to another, ending with Hagrid's miserable countenance, "the consequences in question can't be good."

     "No, Harry. Not good at all." The Headmaster straightened his spine, breathed deep, and said, "The curse is called--"

     "Albus."

     Dumbledore fell silent. He looked at Professor Snape in mild surprise. Something in the Potions Master's expression made him wave permission for Snape to take up the story.

     Severus Snape thrust his hands into the wide cuffs of his sleeves. He studied a point in the stone wall somewhere over Harry's head. His voice took on the singsong rhythms of someone reciting a classroom lecture with examples as points of reference.

     "Some five weeks ago, Voldemort set a trap that exposed my role as a spy in his ranks." He glanced at Harry, expecting to see surprise. He saw, instead, only polite interest. So the boy had known all along, had he? "I managed to escape tho Death Eaters dispatched to capture me, though not without a few new scars to remember them by. Tonight was their first serious attempt to complete their mission.

     "The curse Lucius Malfoy cast at me, the one which you intercepted in true Gryffindor fashion, is called the Devourer's Curse. It requires an anchor in its target, in this case the taint of dark magic. This dark magic can either be the target's own or a mark placed there by a dark wizard. A mark such as this one." Snape bared his forearm only long enough to display the area in question. "Successfully cast, the curse eats away at the victim's inner store of magical energy, along with whatever internal organ it happens to reside in. Depending upon the level of dark magic, death can come within days, hours, or even minutes. And the end is never, ever, pleasant."

     Snape slid his gaze down the wall until it met Harry's. Bleak darkness glittered in their depths.

     "That is the end you saved me from. And, in the process, sentenced yourself to."

     Harry struggled to comprehend everything he'd been told. "But, Professor. I don't have any dark magic, my own or acquired."

     Dumbledore sighed. "You have far less than Severus, true enough, which may buy us enough time to find an antidote. And, of course, Poppy will do all that she can. We'll summon others skilled in the arts of healing. Whatever we can do, we will do. But you have been touched by dark magic, Harry, enough to give this curse a foothold."

     "I don't understand. I'm not a dark wizard, and I don't have the Dark Mark. How could I-"

     Harry followed the Headmaster's somber gaze. His hand rose to the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. A single nod from Dumbledore confirmed his fears. Barely had Harry absorbed that bit of information than Dumbledore's exact words rushed back like a flood of ice water in his veins.

     "Wait a minute--'find an antidote.' You mean there isn't one already?"

     "Not one we can use, I'm afraid."

     "But . . . that means . . ."

     "Harry." Albus wasn't sure he had the boy's attention but proceeded anyway. "Harry, your friends are outside. Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley, and Mr. Longbottom. They are most anxious to see you. Would you like for us to let them in?"

     Though Harry's head moved up and down like a bobble-head toy, his eyes never lost their stunned glaze. A glance from Dumbledore to McGonagall saw her move to the door and swing it open.

     Hermione and Ron fell forward, as though they'd been leaning against the portal. They recovered their balance and hurried in before anyone could object. Hermione ran straight to Harry's side. She looked neither left nor right, sliding into the spot vacated by Hagrid. Ron caught sight of Malfoy standing in his corner. Weasley paused a moment to glare suspiciously at the blond boy before concern for his friend drove him forward. He sat in the space left for him by the Headmaster. Neville settled on an empty bed across the aisle.

     "Harry?" When he didn't respond to her call, Hermione cupped his limp hand and stroked his wrist. "Harry, can you hear me?"

     Potter stared into empty space, unresponsive.

     Weasley rounded on Malfoy. "You slimy, white-haired snake, what did you do to him?"

     "As if I had to do anything," Draco answered. "Others besides me want him dead."

     Snape cut Ron off before he could say another word. "Malfoy didn't cast this curse, Mr. Weasley. At least, not this particular Malfoy."

     "Curse?" Hermione asked.

     "Iatis septra raz."

     Hermione paled. "The Devourer's Curse? No. Oh, Harry!"

     Every teacher winced and looked away. It made sense. Someone as studious as Hermione Granger would have found references to the curse in question.

     "You can cure him, right?" Ron looked first to Dumbledore (who looked down) then to McGonagall (who looked away) and finally, in desperation, to Snape (who stared stonily back). "Right?"

     "A recipe exists," Snape admitted, "but the activating ingredient comes from a plant called Dawn's Glory. No human has laid eyes on a living specimen in one hundred years."

     "Then use something else! This is Harry's life we're talking about!"

     "Another ingredient will not work." Snape held onto his temper, reminding himself that Weasleys in general, and this one in particular, became highly emotional in stressful situations. "It's been tried. Only pollen from Dawn's Glory contains the properties necessary to counteract this curse."
     "I'll scour the forest," Hagrid swore. Fresh tears poured down his face. "You just let me know what it looks like an' I'll find it. I'll tear the place down tree by tree if I have to, but I'll find what ye need."

     "It would do you no good," Snape said. "Dawn's Glory required intense and prolonged sunlight to flourish. You won't find that anywhere in the depths of an overgrown forest."

     "There has to be some, somewhere!"

     Albus sighed. "There hasn't been a known specimen in a hundred years."

     "If that's true--and a substitute antidote can't be found in time--" Hermione choked, unable to finish the sentence.

     Harry finished it for her. What once had been a blind stare now held grim recognition of his own mortality. "--I'm going to die."

TBC