Snarry-A-Thon FIC: Inferior Potions
Title: Inferior Potions Author: liangzian Rating: PG Word count: 1,517 Warning(s): (highlight for spoilers) *Pre-slash, Non-DH compliant* Prompt: #121- Harry is sick. Severus takes care of him Summary: Even if Severus does have to rely on a bloody piece of parchment to brew a simple flu potion, he will never ever make an inferior potion. A/N: This is by far the longest I've written in these past few years. And my first HP piece to date. So be kind. I will get this straightened out one day. Beta read by whitecotton. (thanks a lot dear!).
Inferior Potions
"... and allow the cauldron to simmer over a low flame. Your potion should now exhibit a cobalt blue color."
Snape glanced up from the parchment and scowled. Muttering a stream of curses, he pulled out his wand and turned to peer into the cauldron. He flicked his wrist and the fire dimmed considerably. Then he watched the mixture for a few more moments before pocketing his wand. He knew he was going to regret his 'wand-waving' later when it came time for stirring, but as much as he yearned to start over from scratch, this would have to be enough.
He strolled out into his office, sank into his chair and closed his eyes.
Since when had he had to rely on a bloody book to make a flu potion? It would have to be ten, twenty- No, Snape thought grimly. Even longer. He felt tension forming in his temples and briefly wished for a headache potion before quashing the idea: it was still too dangerous to take one in his condition, he knew. And even if he could no longer rely on himself to know better, there were still the healers at St. Mungo’s to tell him so.
And Harry.
Snape loosened his grip on the arms of the chair and closed his eyes again. How strange, he thought, that he should have someone like Harry in his life. From what he understood from the healers, Harry Potter was neither kith nor kin. The expression on the boy's face, when they had first met, had contested to that. He could still remember the way Harry had awkwardly clasped his hand, staring at the floor as he did so. Snape had been tempted to release weeks of pent-up bedside vitriol on the boy until, suddenly, Harry had jerked his head up and looked at him straight in the eye.
Afterwards, Snape would note that Harry Potter indeed looked nothing remotely like him. And that there really was nothing unique about the boy's green eyes.
But at the moment, those things didn't matter.
Harry continued to visit him in the weeks following that first one. In the beginning, the boy would read selections from Potions Monthly. However, and much to Snape’s relief, Harry soon realized how terrible he was at Latin and decided to talk to him instead. The conversations were nothing spectacular, as Harry had apparently been ordered to refrain from talking about the past. But the boy proved to have an endless supply of blithe topics and could even be witty on a few occasions. More importantly, to him anyway, Snape just enjoyed having someone to speak to who didn’t act as though they were sitting in a cramped hospital ward all day.
How it happened that Harry was now the one to be confined to his bed, he wasn't sure. But he remembered the boy - no, the young man, deliberating aloud whether he should become an Auror, some months earlier. The training period was almost over now and though it had been grueling, he had found no reason to quit. He was ranked fairly high in class and his classmates all seem to respect and admire him for his skills. His best friend, Ron Weasley, was also in the Auror program and their friend, Hermione Granger, was set for a position in the Ministry. Overall, Harry was lucky to have his friends near him and in almost constant contact.
But there had still been that sliver of doubt. Harry had never spoken of the reasons why he had turned against becoming an Auror, but the strange gleam in his eyes had been reason enough to cause Snape to feel caution.
Unfortunately, Snape thought darkly, the boy hadn’t felt as if those reasons were sufficient enough. And now what had the boy done? A full-grown wizard in this day and age did not just fall ill from the common flu. He gritted his teeth. He knew he should have forced Harry to talk to him about it; perhaps stopped him from becoming an Auror. It was not exactly the sheer danger of going on missions, although Snape certainly was uncomfortable every time Harry left on one, it was that Harry sometimes needed saving from himself. He was constantly rushing here, there and everywhere, and Snape was not surprised that the boy’s immune system couldn’t keep up with him in such a poor state.
With that, Snape sat up, looked up at the clock and stalked back into his potions laboratory. He looked into the cauldron. The consistency of the mixture was thankfully not nearly as bad as he had expected. But still, he thought, he wouldn't want to use the excuse of his situation to permit incompetency. Snape took another quick glance at the parchment lying on his desk and picked up a long glass rod. He stirred the mixture counter-clockwise five times, sprinkling the crushed beetle shells gently over the viscous surface every time he did so. He continued like this until the potion, at least, ceased to bubble.
He murmured a non-verbal spell and, to his relief, an empty vial flew from its place on the shelves to land safely in the palm of his hand. Once he had ladled the potion into the container, corked and sealed it with wax, he headed over to the fireplace.
Throwing down a handful of floo powder, he called out, "Number 12, Grimmauld Place." He felt a dizzying sensation overtake him as he was whisked away in the flames.
* * * * *
"Master Harry, are you sure that you won't be needing anything else?"
Kreacher started twisting the edges of his tatty apron and Harry casually wondered if it was possible to offer the house-elf a new apron without causing him to take offense. He made a mental note to himself to ask Hermione later on about that.
Harry set the glass of water on the nightstand and shook his head. "No, Kreacher. That will be all," he said.
The house-elf nodded. "Very well, Master Harry." He bowed, taking the tray with him as he left.
Harry was about to close his eyes when he felt a violent tug on the wards. Instinctively, he reached over for his wand and flung off the covers. It couldn't be Ron and Hermione, as they had only been here an hour earlier and it was still too early in the morning for anyone else. Unless... No, he thought, judging by the sound of footsteps from below, it had to be an intruder.
But judging by how loud the footsteps were, Harry observed, it had to to be a stupid one. He hadn't forgotten about Banvard, the wizard whom he and Ron had encountered the week before. He had been as fervent as Bellatrix had been about Voldemort but thankfully, had possessed none of her prodigious talent in using a wand. Banvard had tried to use a Conjuctivitis Curse on them a few times but instead, ended up cursing him with what seemed to be a 'common cold' curse.
Still, Harry thought as he crept out his bed, he shouldn't be underestimating the wizard. After all, the curse had required him to order the strongest Pepper-up potion on the market. Ron may have joked how Banvard was like Lockhart but even Lockhart had been dangerous.
The door suddenly slammed open and Harry raised his wand.
He was about to cast a body bind spell when he recognised the figure marching through the doorway. Harry lowered his wand.
"Snape?" he asked aloud in wonder.
"Harry, what are you doing out of bed?"
Harry froze. Snape had never called him by his first name and if he was correct, there had been a touch of concern in the man's voice. He felt a stir of emotion rising within him but quickly pushed it aside when he took in Snape's frenzied appearance. Harry tucked his wand into his sleeve.
"Is there something wrong?" he asked. Snape didn't answer, too busy glaring at something in distaste. Harry looked over his shoulder to see what the man had seen and raised a brow. Surely there was nothing wrong with his Pepper-up potion.
"Mr. Potter." Harry turned back again to face Snape and felt the weight of the man's glare shift onto him. "Although I may need to refer to a potions text now and then, you can be assured that I have never, and will never, make an inferior potion."
Harry's eyes boggled. "What? What are you talking about--?"
"Get into bed, now."
Immediately, Harry scrambled into his bed.
Snape pulled out a wand from his cloak. Instinctively, Harry drew back and mentally berated himself for doing so. But Snape didn't seem to notice, in favor of focusing on the nightstand. With a flick of his wrist, the Pepper-up potion vanished.
Harry was about to protest until he saw a blue vial held out in front of him. He looked back up at Snape and felt his face flush in the intensity of the man's stare.
Gingerly, he accepted the vial.
-end-
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