Disclaimer: The fine tapestry of plot and characters belongs to J.K. Rowling. I am merely pulling threads at will and weaving my own design in counterpoint to hers.
Chapter 58
Unlocking the Locket
Needless to say, they were a bleary-eyed bunch the next morning. Having Peeves as their unwitting ally had just made Filch take longer to complete his rounds. After observing his motionless dot for close to twenty mintues, they concluded that the man was asleep in his office and were finally able to double back.
Nevertheless, the prospect of testing the various silver objects they had liberated from Filch’s horde soon had them energized. Even though this week’s dueling session with Neville and Luna was set for seven, chances were that no one would want to linger since it was Friday evening.
Harry was surprised, however, when Lupin presented him with an alternate plan at their three o’clock appointment.
“It’s time all of us started practicing together,” Lupin announced. “We need to be able to work as a seamless unit. When’s your next study group meeting with the others?”
Without a second thought, Harry answered honestly, “Seven this evening.” His heart sank when he remembered that he had made other plans for later. Perhaps Lupin would have an engagement of his own on a Friday night, he thought as he mentally crossed his fingers.
“Perfect,” Lupin replied. “Tonks and I will join you in the Room of Requirement. I trust you’ll be able to get the message to Ginny as well. She hasn’t scheduled a Quidditch practice for tonight, has she?”
If only, Harry thought with an inner groan. “Now that the Apparition lessons are over, Quidditch practice is back to Saturday mornings,” he assured Lupin. Ginny had already roped him and Ron to assist with a practice scrimmage. “Though she may be stepping that up as the Slytherin match draws near.”
Lupin nodded in understanding. “I expect it will be a vigorous session this evening, so I recommend that everyone fortify themselves at tea time. We can order a late supper if we get the munchies later. I’m sure Tonks will want a late dessert “ that’s pretty standard for a Friday night,” he added with a wink. “You think we might get a few more converts to chocolate soufflé mania?”
Granted, it was difficult to resent the obvious enjoyment that Lupin gained from his teaching duties so Ron and Hermione took it in stride. The three of them penciled in “Horcrux duty” for Saturday evening instead.
The next morning, Harry discovered that he, Ron and a few other volunteers from their House were expected to don green armbands and assume the role of the Slytherin team. True to form, they played the most devious, underhanded and scandalous game of Quidditch ever. No rule was too sacred for the makeshift Slytherins to shatter! Although there was a lot of good-natured laughter that accompanied their antics, it served as a template for the Gryffindor team to identify their weak points.
The entire team thanked them profusely as Ginny challenged the volunteers to another match after she had time to polish up her team a bit. She indicated that she was not adverse to setting stakes although she had no idea what to suggest at the moment. Shaking hands with Ron on behalf of the volunteers, they agreed to work out the details in the interim.
To Harry’s surpsise, Hermione clamored down from the viewing stands with Lupin in tow.
“I commend you on the spirit of cooperation among members of your House,” Lupin offered in greeting. “Hermione and I were just critiquing some of the elements from last night’s practice and I hoped we could squeeze in another session this afternoon.”
Harry and Ron both indicated that they were free while Hermione volunteered to alert Ginny before she hit the showers.
“Two o’clock then.” Lupin nodded. “I’ve already checked with Luna and Neville.”
Harry took Lupin aside for a few words, promising Ron that he would meet up with him shortly in the Great Hall. He double-checked that only Professor Hooch was watching them idly from outside the changing rooms on the far side of the pitch.
“Remus, is there something brewing that has you stirred up all of a sudden?”
“No more than usual.” Lupin shrugged in return.
“Why the sudden push to have us all working together?”
“What I observed during the Grudge March showed me that all of you were ready. As to the timing issue, well, frankly I was trying to take advantage of the days where my stamina was at its normal level. I expect Madam Pomfrey will have my potion re-brewed within the next week or so.”
Harry nodded solemnly to indicate that he understood. “If anyone asks, I’ll just tell them that you wanted to strike while the iron was hot.”
“That’s a good way to put it, thanks,” Lupin agreed with a smile.
It seemed like it took forever until Neville and Luna excused themselves from the common room in order to perform their Saturday night rounds. Even Ginny, who was the one most likely to get an extra dose of steam late into the evening, had already said her good nights. Before the sconce had closed completely, Hermione jumped up from the sofa and retrieved her cloth satchel. In turn, Harry held up the metal box that contained the last remaining Horcrux.
Hermione positioned the silver objects that had answered her summons like surgical instruments upon the low table before the fire. There was a small, mirrored compact with a broken clasp that might have held face powder at one time. Numerous mismatched cufflinks, none of which bore any type of identifying marks. The top half of a fountain pen engraved with the initials “F.G.D.” A broken stick pin in the shape of a kangaroo. A letter opener whose top was fashioned like two entwined serpents. A badly tarnished blob that was thoroughly scratched and covered in animal bites.
“Not much to choose from.” Ron sighed as he returned with dragon-hide gloves for everyone.
“Start with the objects that have a sharp point,” suggested Hermione. “They have a better chance of puncturing the locket.”
Harry opened the lid of the metal box so that the Horcrux was accessible, but undisturbed, in the bottom for now. Based on their past experiences, he was loath to handle the locket anymore than was absolutely necessary.
Ron peered at the letter opener and suggested that it might belong to a member of Slytherin House. As the most likely candidate, he tried it first. There was absolutely no reaction. Both the stickpin and the fountain pen were unresponsive as well. Although it would be much more difficult to damage the locket with a blunt object, Ron tried the mirrored compact and each of the cufflinks in turn. Absolutely nothing seem to strike a chord with the locket.
Meanwhile, Hermione was examining the last item more carefully, but was still uncertain what the original function of the cylindrical object could have been. “If only I could trace it with my fingertips, I might be able to feel if there were any sort of markings that might have faded,” she mused. “I can’t even feel the teeth marks through the gloves.”
“Don’t risk it, Hermione,” Ron cautioned. “Not unless it’s absolute necessary. Any ideas, Harry?”
Remembering how Flitwick had used a spell to polish the brass tie tack, Harry bade Hermione to place the object directly on the tabletop. Screwing up his face in concentration, Harry tried a number of different variations of the spell. All at once, the sooty tarnish seemed to evaporate right into the very air, leaving the dented object so shiny that it almost glowed.
Hermione pick it up once more as Ron obligingly illuminated it more closely with his wand.
“I think there may be some faint markings here,” she whispered to Harry as Ron drew closer for a better look.
“I have a small magnifying glass,” Ron volunteered. “Broke off one of the decoy detonators “ the one that started a fire if used in the sunlight.”
“The one that we determined was a menace,” Hermione amended.
With the use of the magnifying glass and the added glow from Harry’s wand, Hermione concluded that it definitely looked like some kind of emblem had been engraved lightly on the surface although much of it had been worn away.
“It’s too intricate to be initials,” she opined. “Could be a crest or just an animal of some sort. What did the Black family crest look like, Harry? All I can remember are the words, Toujours Pur, but there isn’t any writing that I can see.”
“You would ask that question.” Harry sighed as he attempted to think back on the Black tapestry that hung in Grimmauld Place. He had not really had a good look at it since the summer Mrs. Weasley had taken it upon herself to do a thorough cleaning; that had been nearly three years ago. Sirius was still alive then, he thought with an unexpected pang. “There was a shield, flanked on each side by some sort of animal, each standing on its hind legs. I can’t remember anything else, sorry.”
“Could the animals be dogs by any chance?” Hermione urged. “Some lean type of hound like a weimaraner?”
“A whippet or a greyhound?” Ron offered.
“Could be.” Hermione nodded. “What do you think, Harry? Take a look.”
It was so faint, it was hard to tell, Harry opined, but it was possible. “Perhaps if we could see it in the daylight,” he suggested. “The faint outline in the middle definitely could be a shield.”
“I’ll double-check the Black family crest in the library tomorrow morning,” Hermione declared. “I’m certain I’ve seen books on wizard heraldry.”
“Assuming that it just might be the Black crest,” Ron mused, “what type of object is it?”
Harry turned the warped cylinder in his hands and tried to imagine what it must have looked like before it was chewed and dented. His gloved finger caught on the narrowest end and he peered at it more closely through the magnifying glass.
“Guys, look at the end here; it looks like it may have had some sort of sharp point. It’s broken off almost to the hilt,” Harry remarked as he handed the silver cylinder and the magnifying glass to Hermione.
She frowned as she looked it over and then zoned in on some striations on the opposite end. “If that’s so,” she added, “then these groves could have been where the fletches were originally attached. Those would have been the first thing a cat chewed off; ask Crookshanks if you don’t believe me.”
“You mean to say this shapeless lump could be one of Regulus’ darts?” Ron was incredulous.
“It’s possible,” Hermione allowed.
With scarcely a second thought, Harry balanced the object in the palm of his hand and brought it ever closer to the locket. He nearly dropped it when it started spinning like a propeller as his hand drew level with the open lid.
He started to say, “I believe we have a winner,” but the sound of the sconce opening alerted them that a quick retreat was necessary. Hermione snatched the silver cylinder and dumped it back in the satchel with all the other items that Ron hastily assembled. Once behind the closed door of his room, Harry locked the lid to the metal box before returning it to the topmost shelf of his closet.
The last whispered words between the three of them had been, “Tomorrow.”
Determined that nothing was going to keep them from completing their task the next day, Hermione announced early on that she was planning to take a long bubble bath around tea time and that everyone else “ she’d looked pointedly at the three boys in turn “ had best plan to make alternate arrangements between the hours of five and six. No emergency, she extolled, could be serious enough to interrupt her when she had her face slathered in cucumber beauty masque. Harry had a hard time hiding his smirk at the stricken reaction that her last statement elicited from Neville and Ron alike.
Harry returned from a practice session with Tonks that afternoon to find that Ron and Hermione were excitedly awaiting his return.
At his quick look around, Hermione volunteered, “Neville’s not here right now, but there’s no guarantee he won’t be back before tea time. In the meanwhile, I found this.” She whipped out a copy she had made of the Black family crest. “Go look at it by the open window and tell me what you think.”
It was still very faint, but Harry nodded that it might just match the faded engraving on the broken dart.
“We think so, too, mate,” Ron admitted. “In the meanwhile, I found Hagrid chopping firewood this afternoon and convinced him that I needed a short plank for my books. It’s an ideal surface on which to do a bit of hammering, don’t you think?”
“That’s brilliant, Ron!” Harry smiled.
“Not just yet,” Ron remarked with a grin as he also retrieved a small wooden mallet from behind the sofa cushion. “This might come in handy if the point proves to be too dull for your needs. Hagrid uses it to crack his hard-boiled eggs sometimes.”
“But what kind of--” began Harry, then noticed Hermione shaking her head in warning.
“You really don’t want to know,” she whispered.
“Right… So when do we get started?” Harry returned eagerly.
Hermione retrieved her bathrobe and a small basket of bath products for her alibi while Harry folded his Invisibility Cloak and hid in under a stack of clean towels in the bathroom. Ron offered to keep a lookout in the common room with assistance from the Marauder’s Map.
“I’ll make up some scatter-brained reason to tease you through the door if you need to come out incognito,” Ron reminded them. Then he flashed a quick hand-made sign that read: Warning! Creature from the Black Lagoon. “I’ll just hang this on the door as a reminder.” He chuckled as Hermione rolled her eyes indulgently.
Confident that they could handle this between just the two of them, Harry placed the rustic plank on an open area of the tile floor. He carefully extricated the locket from its box and placed it in the center of the wood. Kneeling beside him, Hermione handed Harry the broken dart and placed the wooden mallet within easy reach.
“Ron and I both checked for all manner of jinxes and hexes this afternoon,” she assured him. “Even used the hand sensors from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.” At Harry’s sharp laugh, she added, “A bit of overkill is never unwarranted. Do I sound just like Mad-Eye, or what?”
Trying to still the nervousness that had inexplicably come over him, Harry allowed himself to hum one of the practice tunes that Tonks preferred. He felt some of the tension flowing out of his body as he began to feel empowered once more. With all his might, he brought the broken dart down on the closed locket but it slid right off the surface without making the slightest scratch. As it tumbled from Harry’s gloved hand onto the tile floor, it started to spin like a demented compass needle.
Hermione retrieved it and handed it back to Harry followed by the wooden mallet. As Harry lowered the dart slowly to the surface of the locket, he found that he had to fight to keep it steady. It was difficult to determine whether the dart was attempting to lunge at the locket or flinching as if it wished to run away. Harry felt the butterflies nest in his stomach once again.
“I’m going to need both hands to keep the dart steady,” he implored. “Could you hit it with the mallet, Hermione?”
“Of course.”
With both hands, it was definitely steadier. As Hermione took a few practice swings with the mallet, though, Harry felt the dart becoming agitated once more.
“I’m not sure how much longer I can hold this,” he hissed with the increasing effort.
Taking the cue, Hermione swung the mallet in a sure arc that drove the broken point partially through the top layer of the locket. With another swing, Harry felt it punch through to the thin, hollow center. Immediately, the silver dart in his hands became so icy cold that it was painful to hold despite the dragon-hide gloves. An eerie hissing noise poured from the punctured locket, rather like the sound of steam escaping from a teakettle. With the next strike, the noise increased in intensity until it was as if they were in a room full of snakes. Or just one big snake, like the basilisk he’d defeated when he destroyed Riddle’s diary, the very first Horcrux, so many years before. With a final blow, Hermione succeeded in driving the dart through the backside of the locket and into the hard surface of the plank.
Gingerly, Harry pried hands that were numb with cold from around the narrow body of the dart. It swayed momentarily in a vertical position before it seemed to collapse within itself and be sucked into the hollow center of the locket. For the briefest moment, it was as if the molten silver had closed the puncture wound in the locket. Then suddenly, a stream of thick purple ooze trailed from the wound until it reached the wood surface where it briefly burst into flame. Luckily, the fire burned itself off within seconds, leaving behind nothing but an irregular charred oval on the plank. All evidence of the locket, chain and silver dart were gone.
As Harry felt his heartbeat returning to normal, he glanced at Hermione for her reaction. He could tell by the questioning look in her eyes that she, too, felt that it had been just too easy. Considering how many magical obstacles he’d encountered with Dumbledore in that damned cave, it seemed almost anticlimactic. Perhaps he shouldn’t question his good fortune for once, Harry decided as he rose shakily to his feet.
“What do we do with the wooden plank?” Hermione asked.
“Burn it in the fireplace.” Harry’s tone was decisive. “The evenings are still cool enough that no one would question us lighting a fire, particularly if we had forgotten to close all the windows before darkness fell.”
With a sigh of relief that it was all over, Ron and Hermione announced that they were going down to the Great Hall for an early dinner. Harry indicated that he would probably join them shortly, but he was not yet hungry. He lit the fire in the hearth and added the discolored plank once the flames took hold properly. The cool evening air wafting through the windows felt refreshing in contrast to the heat from the fire.
Slowly, Harry closed the lid to the metal box that now contained nothing but the broken jewelry bits and frayed handkerchief in which the locket had been bundled. As he slid the box into its customary spot on the closet shelf, he felt a slight wave of dizziness, but quickly attributed it to fatigue.
Perhaps he did need some dinner to bolster his strength, after all; but at the image of actually sitting down at the Gryffindor table and filling his plate with food, he suddenly felt nauseous. He opened one of the mullioned windows near his bed so that the cool breeze would soothe him. He gulped in huge lungfuls of air as if he were a drowning man, then sat down gingerly on the edge of the window seat to steady himself.
The long purple shadows of early evening formed a patchwork design on the back lawn, the sun like a bright orange melon on the crest of the ridgeline. Small knots of students were slowly winding their way back towards the castle after a lazy Sunday in the spring sunshine. Idly, Harry wondered if Tonks and Lupin were taking their customary stroll around the lake, although his window did not afford him such a view.
A sudden gust of wind sent the sweet aroma of freshly baked pies in Harry’s direction. He responded by clamping his hand over his mouth instinctively as he felt the bile rise in his throat. Stumbling to the bathroom, he leaned his forehead against the cool tile next to the wash basin as his empty stomach spasmed uncontrollably. Finally convinced that he had nothing to disgorge, he was able to right himself and splash his face with some refreshing water. Still feeling a bit dizzy back in his room, he laid down on the bedcovers and closed his eyes.
He awoke from a doze to feel frigid air assaulting his body. The room spun uncontrollably when he tried to take the three steps between his bed and the open window. After a few shaky attempts, he managed to close the window latch and collapsed back on the bed from the effort. The darkness of the evening sky through the window surprised him; stars twinkled over the distant hills but there was not the slightest trace of sunset left.
The common room was deserted as his overwhelming thirst led him inexorably towards the bathroom faucet. Mesmerized, he watched the cool stream fill his glass to overflowing and then cascade gracefully over his hand into the basin. Such an ordinary sight to bring such a sudden sense of fulfillment into his heart, he thought as he swallowed the water in long, satisfying gulps. Catching his reflection in the mirror, he was startled by how lifeless and pale he looked, his eyes shining with a preternatural light from a bleached bone skull. His cheeks felt strangely hot to his overly cool hands.
A glance at the clock showed that it was just past curfew. The closed doors to the other three bed chambers confirmed that the others must have retired for the night. Strange that Hermione hadn’t knocked on his door when she returned from dinner, but then perhaps he’d slept through it.
Wide awake after his long nap, Harry kicked off his trainers and settled himself comfortably under the bedcovers to indulge himself with a Quidditch magazine. It wasn’t long before the words started to blur before his eyes and he felt like it was stifling hot in his room. He threw back the bed covers, but within moments he was feeling cold. Bundling himself back under the blankets, it took a long time for his shivering to finally subside. With that inner calmness came a moment of clarity. This was not just ordinary stomach upset that he was experiencing, it was entirely possible that he had been poisoned!
It had to be related to the Horcrux, but he could not fathom how. Clearly, it hadn’t been orally ingested as he had eaten nothing since lunch. If the poison had been airborne, Hermione would be experiencing the same symptoms and would have never made it through dinner. The only other manner of contamination was through the skin and he had been wearing gloves during the entire procedure.
With a sickening feeling, he forced himself to retrieve his dragon-hide gloves, clasping the edge of the desk with whitened knuckles to keep from losing his balance. Unsteadily, he lowered himself into his chair to examine the gloves by the direct light of the desk lamp. On the edge of the right thumb he found the tiniest nick in the soft hide. Holding it up before the light, he confirmed that there was indeed a minute hole. He must have snagged it when he discovered the broken dart point -- that was the only explanation that made any sense.
This was not good news, he thought, as a fresh wave of vertigo washed over him. Unsure how to proceed, he slid from the chair onto the floor at the foot of his bed and half crawled over to his bureau. He managed to pull out the bottom drawer and stared uncertainly at the two-way mirror until his dizziness dissipated.
There was no longer the slightest doubt in Harry’s mind that he needed to consult a poisons expert as soon as possible. He didn’t want to blow Snape’s cover but these were extraordinary circumstances. Deciding that waging an inner war was tantamount to wasting precious seconds, he licked his dry lips in preparation.
“Severus, please answer!” he whispered urgently. “This is truly an emergency!”
The mirror remained dark, but Snape’s voice hissed back angrily, “Five minutes.”
Harry sat motionless, concentrating on the hammering of his heart while he waited. The seconds seemed interminable.
Finally, he heard Snape’s voice sputter again, “Potter, I swear on Merlin’s beard, if this is any sort of a prank--”
“I think I’ve been poisoned!” Harry implored.
There was a momentary pause followed by the sound of much scrambling from the other side of the dark mirror.
“Are you there?” Harry whispered even more softly. “I can’t see anything on this end…”
“It’s dark out here in the storage shed,” Snape spat back. “You will have to make do with my voice alone.”
“Can you see me?”
“Only dimly, the mirror itself glows a bit from the inside. To light a wand tip is to risk discovery on my part. Accept it.”
Determined not to let Snape’s customary brusqueness put him off, Harry replied, “It seems I have no choice--”
“Unless you wish the last hours of your pathetic existence to trickle through your fingers, I suggest you give me more details about the poisoning.”
Recognizing the truth of Snape’s blunt words, Harry made his explanation as concise as possible.
“How long since contagion?” Snape prompted.
“It was between five and six this evening,” Harry replied, trying desperately to keep things in perspective as another wave of dizziness engulfed him. “Curfew was at eleven, so it must be close to midnight…” Suddenly the concept was beyond him.
“It’s barely past ten, Potter. Curfew is at nine on Sunday evenings; surely things haven’t changed that much!”
“You’re right, forgive me.” Harry sighed woodenly. “I’m just not…”
“Relax and breathe deeply,” Snape urged in a less strident tone. “Describe the symptoms.”
When Harry finished, he felt as if he were a hollow shell. Enumerating Dumbledore’s reaction to the vile potion that he’d drunk before his death revived all those phantoms in Harry’s mind.
“You’re in luck that topical poisons are notoriously slow-acting,” Snape drawled. “Still, five hours down and your window may soon be closing. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Harry nodded dumbly. “Time to administer an antidote is counting down,” he repeated through papery lips.
“Potter, what became of the decoy?” Snape’s tone had a new urgency about it. “You’ve described symptoms from two different batches of poison that may not be the same.”
“I’m not sure,” Harry stammered. “It was worthless…I may have even lost it at Privet Drive…That’s the last time I saw it…in the bottom of my trunk…I didn’t realize I’d said…”
“We’ll just work from your symptoms then,” Snape concluded. “As to the other, it seemed rather obvious. Nothing else would pack this kind of a punch, especially after lying dormant for such a long time. Knowing that the source of the poisoning has been irrevocably destroyed, do you have anything that may have come in contact with the object?”
“I’ve the box in which it was stored to keep it quarantined as well as the old handkerchief in which it was wrapped for the past couple of years.”
“Good, there may still be valuable traces in case the solution proves particularly stubborn….And you’re certain that the fluid caused a spontaneous combustion?”
“Yes, I may even have the wooden plank we used. Shall I try to pull it out of the hearth?” Harry felt like he was grabbing at straws.
“No, all of the necessary elements would’ve been consumed in the initial fire.”
“We don’t have very much to work with, do we?” Harry conceded hoarsely.
“More than you think.” Snape’s tone was confident and smooth. “You’ve described interactions that have a rather unique signature… You must go to Slughorn for the antidote. I will provide what assistance I can to guide him most of the way, but you will have to place your ultimate trust in him.”
“But he was the one who told Voldemort about Horcruxes in the first place!”
“If you were able to retrieve the final version of the memory from him, then he has already agreed to cooperate with you. I fail to see an obstacle.”
Harry balked at the predicament before him. “I tricked Slughorn into giving me the memory while he was in his cups! I doubt that he even remembers giving it to me.”
“I see,” Snape returned in a calculating tone. “Then you should see to it that he doesn’t find out the complete truth of the situation. You’ll have to be extremely careful with what you tell him… Get a scrap of parchment to jot this down, you must be very exact with your words to avoid any potential pitfalls.”
Harry slithered on his knees to his desk and hastily grabbed a clean sheet of parchment, quill, ink, and the discarded Quidditch magazine to use as a writing surface. He was practically panting from the effort.
“Begin.” Harry nodded towards the dark mirror with as much determination as he could muster.
“Tell Slughorn that you’re dealing with a Class C poison, topically transmitted, that has lain dormant for close to twenty years. One of the components of the antidote will be macerated nightshade. If he asks why you’re so certain, mention ‘anaerobic combustion.’ Read that back to me, it must be exact. The last thing you want is him probing around for additional facts.”
Harry felt nervous sweat beading on his forehead as he worked his way haltingly through the scribbled information.
“Potter, tell me honestly: are you having trouble remembering the facts or it is just that your handwriting is too shaky?” For once, there was no derision in Snape’s voice.
“A little of both,” Harry admitted. “But mostly, I’m having trouble reading my own scribbles.”
“Understandable, dictate it to one of your co-conspirators. You’re not steady enough on your feet to make it two steps to your desk, see to it that you send someone else to Slughorn’s office.”
“I’ll do it just as you say,” Harry promised.
“Now, listen very carefully to me, this information is just between you and me.” Snape’s tone was so dispassionate that it seemed as if the man’s veins were filled with ice. “Please understand, I get no pleasure from saying these words to you, Potter; but you’re entitled to know the truth of what you’re facing. The fact that this poison has lain in wait for such a long time makes it virulent in the extreme. It is entirely possible that there is no known antidote. A hard fact to face, but unavoidable in the case of all unknown poisons. Not meaning to be indelicate, but are your affairs in order?”
“Yes, the Headmistress dispatched my letter to Gringott’s within the past month,” Harry affirmed.
“What about more personal relationships? Any last words you wish you’d said in person?”
Harry felt a dull ache begin when he thought of Ginny.
“Something to think about as you wait for the antidote to take effect,” Snape offered sagely. “As much as I would sit with you until Slughorn arrives, every extra minute that I steal just makes it more likely that I will be apprehended. Make sure that someone waits with you so that any new symptoms can be noted. And, Potter, if you start to feel like you’re sitting naked in a snowdrift, you must contact Madam Pomfrey immediately. She needs to be at your bedside.”
Harry nodded grimly as the import of Snape’s words became clear.
“Just for the record, I want you to know that I did not create this poison. Despite my numerous ill deeds, and there have been many, I have never created poisons for the Dark Lord.”
“Thank you for those words, Severus.”
“Don’t thank me unless you survive the night! Otherwise, what difference does it all make?” Snape sneered. “You have no more time for words, now go!”
Feeling as if he was without any good options, Harry rose shakily to his feet. Leaning his full weight against the bureau, he closed the bottom drawer as best he could with the side of his foot. He rested against the doorjamb to Ron’s room in order to catch his breath and sent a silent Muffliato charm in the direction of Neville’s closed door. Barely managing to avoid a collision with a chair, he practically collapsed at Ron’s bedside.
It was unclear whether it was the tone of voice or the fierce undulating of the mattress where Harry had broken his fall, but Ron sat up wide awake in bed at the words: “I need your help, Ron! I think I’ve been poisoned!”
Harry Potter and the Hero's Lament by L A Moody
Chapter Notes: The destruction of the final Horcrux leads to a risky consultation with Snape.