Chapter 5: Poison
Severus eased himself on the bed in the room across the hall from Granger. Aside from his cloak, which was draped over a chair, and his boots, which were next to the bed, he was fully clothed and had no intention of changing that state anytime soon. Regardless of whether or not the mutt was here, this was Black's home and he wouldn't be caught dead in a state of undress in this building. There was too much bad blood between them for him to feel at all comfortable here.
Lying on his back, he folded his hands over his stomach and considered his current circumstances. Dumbledore had been furious to hear that Black had abandoned his charge, especially upon learning that said charge had nearly died in his absence. A slow smile spread across his face as he recalled the quiet fury of the Headmaster and Head of the Order of the Phoenix. Severus only hoped he would get to bear witness to the dressing down that was sure to come whenever Black resurfaced.
He had, of course, received well-deserved praise for his efforts in saving Granger's life and creating a new potion while doing so. However, when he asked after the Weasley's he had been annoyed to learn the family had been delayed by a week for reasons he frankly didn't care about. Instead, he expressed his considerable displeasure at the lack of communication and learned that Arthur had told Kingsley who passed the word to Alastor, who conveyed the message to Nymphadora, who made the error of passing the word along to Mundungus. Dung was supposed to stop by the house to check in with Black on some matter that Severus wasn't to know about. However, the little shit had gotten a lead on some 'merchandise' and never showed at Headquarters. Which is how the message was not conveyed to Black, who erroneously assumed the Weasley's would be arriving the same day that he left.
Granger nearly paid for that mistake in blood, and Severus made sure to hammer that message into Dumbledore's forgiving skull. Dung and Black were going to be in serious trouble soon, he had no doubt. This, however, left himself stuck at Headquarters with the girl until the Weasley's could arrive.
A contingency plan had been made for Albus, himself, to step in if the Dark Lord called him away. Minerva was to be the backup. Severus wasn't overly concerned. Unless something significant were to occur between now and the weekend, when the Weasley's were sure to arrive, he had no reason to believe the Dark Lord would summon him before then. Thankfully, the Dark Lord merely required information at this juncture, and not his expertise as a potions master. Otherwise he would have had to see about creating a lab space here and he was quite glad not to have to manage that.
All in all, he had a pretty easy job at the moment, for which he was grateful. Though he loathed the locale, all he really needed to do was ensure Granger remained among the living. He had already done the hard part, pulling her back from Death's icy grasp. It was all downhill from here. He smiled to himself, pleased with how things were turning out.
Of course, that's the moment he felt a twinge of one of his wards. Something was going on with Granger's health. He sat up quickly with a grunt and padded over to her room in his stocking feet. He dismantled the wards on her door and unlocked it with a simple Alohomora. She was curled on her side, shivering and sweating profusely. As he entered the room, she made a gagging sound. Years of experience intervening before disastrous potions explosions worked in Severus' favor and Granger's cauldron was under her nose in the nick of time. As she heaved, a lock of hair that had escaped the knot on top of her head swung forward, dangerously close to her mouth. Holding the cauldron with one hand, Severus caught the hair with his other hand and tucked it behind her ear. When she finished, he vanished the vomit and held her water glass to her lips.
"Th-th-th-th-tha-hank y-ou-ou-ou," she chattered, shivering uncontrollably.
Carefully, he levitated her over the bed and pulled the covers back. He guided her gently down and tucked a sheet, blanket, and duvet around her, pulling them up to her shoulders. Placing a hand on her forehead, he found she was burning up, which he confirmed with a light touch to her cheek.
As he debated his next move, Granger curled up in the fetal position again, her teeth chattering. He aimed his wand at the open window, causing it to snap closed, then located another blanket in a cupboard and draped it over her form. A stomach soother or a fever reducing potion would be most welcome at this point, he thought. Unfortunately, very little remained of Granger's potions kit and he didn't think even he could invent a variation of either potion with what was left. She was going to have to ride this one out. He conjured a cool cloth and alternated holding it to her forehead, cheeks, and the back of her neck, periodically renewing the cooling charm on it.
As Severus sat next to her bed, holding vigil, he contemplated the Ledaeum Tutum potion. It should have healed her more effectively. She should not be this sick, still. He pulled the scroll from his pocket containing all the information he had written up on the potion and reviewed it, trying to determine a reason for her continued illness. He could find none.
A particularly violent shiver wracked through the girl's body and he set aside his notes to tuck the blankets more securely around her curled form. Not only should his potion have cured her of the doxy bite, but it should have cured any poison in her system, which meant, logically, that she had come into contact with another poison since then. Severus furrowed his brow in confusion. He could account for her movements for the entire day. The vast majority of it, she was confined to her bed. The only time she left it was to use the restroom, which he escorted her to and from. He had been the one to make and provide her dinner. So how did she get poisoned again? And with what?
Severus stood and surveyed the room. Nothing appeared out of place. He cast a detection charm and spotted a glow coming from her trunk. Granger's day robes were draped over the open lid and the glow was coming either from her robes or from the trunk underneath them. He levitated the robes away from the lid and found that the trunk's clasp was illuminated. Discarding the robes on the floor, he examined the trunk clasp carefully, giving it an experimental sniff. Aconite. He'd bet galleons aconite leaves had been rubbed on there. And the only possible culprit was the horrible old house elf taking orders from a mad painting.
This. This is why Black should never have left. Only he had the power to keep Kreacher in line. Rage simmering under the surface, Snape strode quickly across the hall to his room and collected the bottle of remaining Ledaeum Tutum, conjuring a spoon along the way. When he returned, he pulled Granger up into a seated position and slid on the bed, sitting next to her. Curling an arm around her back, he pulled her tight to his side and clamped her chattering jaw with his fingers, forcing it open long enough for him to spoon a dose of potion between her teeth. Once again, he held his hand over her mouth, pinning her head to his shoulder, until she swallowed. Within seconds, the shaking lessened and Severus stood, guiding her gently down to the pillows. He pulled her blankets back up over her shoulders and observed her for a few more minutes, ensuring the potion was working as it should.
Satisfied she was once again on the mend, Severus focused on the poisoned trunk clasp. Angrily, he hauled Granger's cauldron to the bathroom and filled it with soap and water. Upon returning to her room, he summoned her dragonhide gloves from inside her trunk and squeezed his hand into one. It was too small but would have to suffice. He conjured a rag, dipped it into the soapy water and paused. What if the oil from the aconite leaves was still on her hands? He flicked a glance toward her, huddled and shivering under her covers. She had eaten dinner and used the restroom since changing her clothing. He'd heard her washing her hands, brushing her teeth, washing her hands again…She should be fine. He squeezed the excess water from the cloth within his tightly gloved hand and raised it to the clasp then paused again. But what if she touched the clasp again, after all that?
Severus sighed and closed his eyes in irritation. The what ifs would plague him if he didn't just address the issue at hand. Fine. He picked up the cauldron and approached Granger at her bedside. He wrestled her other dragonhide glove on, the gray leather straining at the seams, and pulled one of her hands out from under the covers, uttering some nonsense reassurance when her eyelids fluttered and she mumbled incoherently. Nestling her trembling hand palm-up in his own open palm, he was momentarily struck by how small and fragile it seemed. He felt almost brutish in comparison, and the protesting seams of her gloves only added to that sentiment. At first, his touch was extraordinarily gentle as he lowered the cloth to her hand and began stroking her palm, afraid of harming those delicate bones within. Her hand twitched at the undoubtedly ticklish sensation. Recognizing his hesitance, he realized that he was being silly, calling to mind her hand grasping her pestle and grinding tough roots into fine powder in his class or how at least once a week she would hold a jar between her thighs and twist the cap with all her might to open it, forgetting for a moment that she was a witch, much to his continued amusement. Her hands were not nearly as breakable as they seemed. With that thought, he rubbed the cloth against her palm more firmly and was startled when she sighed. Her eyes remained shut but her lips had curved into a small smile as he inadvertently massaged her hand.
Rolling his own eyes in annoyance, he moved to her fingers. Wrapping the cloth around her pinky and hooking his finger around the base of it, he firmly stroked his thumb up and down her littlest finger, circling around it until it was completely scrubbed before moving on to the next one. When all five fingers were accounted for, he flipped her hand over and carefully wiped the back of it for good measure, unlikely though it was that she had had any contact with the poison there. But what if she bumped her hand against the clasp as she reached in, his conscience had whispered and wouldn't be ignored. That intrusive thought had him scrubbing all the way up to her elbow.
Severus set her hand down gently on the duvet and pulled her other hand out. This was the palm that had been branded by her doorknob. He examined it carefully and was pleased to see the snake was finally gone. He repeated his methodical and meticulous process of cleaning her hand and forearm until it was scrubbed pink, just like the other. He tucked them carefully back under the covers and moved the cauldron to the floor by the foot of her bed, where he knelt and set to scouring the clasp until it no longer bore traces of the poison. When he was done, he carried the cauldron to the bathroom where he dumped it out and then diligently sanitized both the cauldron and the tub.
Exhausted, Severus slouched in the chair by her bed and propped his feet up on the end of her mattress, near her own feet. Duplicating one of her blankets, he draped it over himself and allowed himself to doze, confident in his paranoia of being in enemy territory that he would wake at the slightest disturbance. This proved true when hours later, Kreacher slunk by the room and peered in from the doorway only for Severus to wake immediately and shoot a vicious hex at the elf before he even fully opened his eyes. Kreacher squealed and ran away, disappearing down the stairs. Granger barely stirred at the commotion, so Severus checked on her, ensuring she was still breathing (she was) and checking her forehead and cheeks again (still warm, though noticeably less so).
Since it was unlikely he would be able to get back to sleep anytime soon, and Kreacher was off licking his wounds, Severus determined this would be the best time for him to quickly go through his morning ablutions without fear of Granger being harmed. Within minutes, he was back in her room, hair dripping uncomfortably, soaking the robes at his back and shoulders. He checked her over, assuring himself Kreacher had not snuck in with further murderous intent while he was out of the room. Granger mumbled unintelligibly, briefly stirring from a deep, healing sleep when he pulled her eyelid back to check her pupils (sufficiently reactive). He shushed her then, once again, settled in the chair at her bedside. Propping his feet up on the mattress as he had earlier that night, he pulled the Latin dictionary from her nightstand and set it on his lap. He unfurled his notes detailing the Ledaeum Tutum potion and added the details of the most recent dose administered.
He must have dozed over his notes at some point because he was startled awake by the feeling of something slithering under his calf. Half a second of blind terror coursed through his body, nearly giving him a stroke, before he remembered where he was, and registered Granger had slid her feet under his legs. He frowned at the scorched doorjamb across the room and hastily tucked his wand back up his sleeve. Granger slept through the commotion, merely rolling on her side and facing away from him. Her toes, while still under the covers, were nestled firmly under his legs. He nearly put his feet down but for some reason, inexplicable to himself even, he merely flexed his feet, stretching his calves, and left them where they were.
If he pondered it deeply, perhaps he found the physical contact from another, even separated by layers of blankets, to be…not entirely dreadful. And it may have been that the contact was initiated innocently by someone other than himself that kept him there coupled with the astonishing display of subconscious trust that she had turned her back to him in her sleep. Whatever the case may be, he chose not to think on it too closely, afraid of what he would unearth in his dark and twisted mind. Instead, he returned to his notes, vanishing the trail of ink from where his quill slipped when he had dozed off, and resuming writing, losing himself to the scholarly activity as dawn broke, sending shafts of rosy light through the dusty window.