Chapter Nine

A soft hoot awoke Harry from his slumber. He looked around, confused, before remembering where he was. The Infirmary. Draco. Snape. The reality came crashing down on him.

Another soft hoot brought him out of his thoughts. Hedwig sat on his shoulder, nipping at his ear.

"What is it?" Harry asked. Hedwig stretched out a leg at him, and he saw the attached parchment. Quickly, he untied it and opened it.

'Harry,

Wherever you are, we need help. Ron and I found information about a poison in the library, and it sounds much like the one Snape's sick from. To be sure, I need a blood sample from him. As I assume you are with him, can you please get this to me? You need to hurry. Snape is dying.

Hermione'

Harry re-read the scribbled note, before putting it on the chair. She must have been in quite the hurry, because the writing was nowhere near as neat as it usually was. Then again, if she was working against the clock to find a cure for Snape, she must be in a hurry. Perhaps she had managed to draw something from the goblet, and that was why she had not gone to Dumbledore.

"Wait here," Harry told Hedwig, walking over to Snape's bedside. The man on the bed looked even worse now than he had when Harry had dragged him up there. His skin was grey, rather than the usual white. Beneath his eyes were dark purplish circles, making him look like a barely animated skeleton.

If it had not been for the heavy, rasping breathing, Harry would have thought him dead already.

He needed to be silent and he needed to be quick. He muttered a silencing charm, and suddenly, the soft sound of his footsteps vanished. He did not believe that Snape or Draco would wake up – both were too ill, and Draco too drugged, to be awoken – but Madam Pomfrey might be alerted. As it was, he had seven minutes before she would come back to check Draco’s vitals. He ran over to one of the many cupboards in the room.

One good thing about having spent detention here, Harry thought. I know where everything is.

Quickly, he picked out a small vial to pour the blood into, and a small needle. He hurried back to Snape's side, worrying that he might have passed away in his sleep in the short period of time that Harry had tuned out his breathing. Luckily, he had not.

Harry placed the vial on the table beside the bed. He did not know where to place the needle, but he had heard Madam Pomfrey’s spell often enough. He hoped he did it right when he placed the needle to Snape’s armpit, and then uttered the spell. The needle sank into Snape’s skin, and a moment later, blood began pulsing. Harry held the vial to catch it, and made sure it was full before ending the spell. He had no idea how much Hermione would need, and he doubted that he would have another chance at getting blood from Snape. When the spell ended, the needle extracted itself from Snape’s arm, and left no mark.

Harry put the lid on the small vial, and ran back to Hedwig.

"This," he said as he began tying the vial to the owl's legs, "needs to get to Hermione and Ron, and they need to get to it now. Please, Hedwig, hurry?"

The owl hooted reassuringly, and Harry wished that he could feel better. He could not. A life was at stake, and until his professor was out of danger, Harry would not feel better.

He thought he heard Draco shuffle on the bed, but when he turned and looked, the boy lay as still as ever.

As Hedwig flew out the window, Harry slumped back down on the chair. He removed the silencing charm, and shrank the used needle to a size where he could hardly see it, and threw it away. Next, he picked Draco's small hand up in his, and he studied the boy before him, as he had done for hours earlier. It was beginning to become clearer for Harry, that the feelings he had for Draco were not just any feelings. Admiration took the place of annoyance – though he did not doubt that the boy would annoy him once he awoke again – and something else nabbed at his heart, something that made him ache with the wish for Draco to open his eyes and be all right.

Mrs. Malfoy walked over to the table. The thick book lying there looked old and used. She opened it, flipping through the pages quickly. "I know it's here," Hermione heard her mutter. "I know it's in here…"

"Um–" Hermione began. The woman turned around to face her.

"Oh, I'm sorry dear." With a wave of her wand and a word Hermione didn't catch, Hermione felt the bonds on her wrists and feet disappear. The woman smiled at her. "I think I've kept you in the dark long enough, haven't I, dear? My lovely husband has poisoned Severus, and he needs help quickly. This is the only book with poisons in it that my husband has touched in the library in the last few weeks."

“You think he brewed it himself?” Hermione asked.

“He is nowhere near the accomplished Potions expert that Severus – Professor Snape – is, but he can certainly brew a poison,” Mrs. Malfoy said. “The residue left on the goblet allowed me to narrow it down to these six poisons—”

“Where did you get that?” Hermione asked susupiciously.

“Your friend, Mr. Potter, told me you were supposed to give it to the Headmaster,” Mrs. Malfoy said. “When you hadn’t, I had to conclude that it was still in your rooms, or that he had it. I hoped for the former, and it was true.”

Hermione did not know what to make of Mrs. Malfoy. “How did you get into my rooms?”

“My dear, I was Head Girl in my time too,” Mrs. Malfoy said. “Once you get to know Lady Abierta, it’s not the biggest of troubles to get her to open up.”

“You were Head Girl?” Hermione asked, rather surprised.

“Yes,” Mrs. Malfoy said. “Can you guess who was Head Boy? Nevermind. There are more important things to discuss.”

She gave Hermione a list of the poisons in question. They had much the same ingredients, but each had a very specific ingredient that made the poison what it was. Hermione recognised all of the six specific poisonous ingredients, and she saw the problem.

“The antidotes for these are completely different,” Hermione said. “If we give him the wrong one, we’ll kill him instead of heal him.”

“Yes, Miss Granger,” Mrs. Malfoy said. “Which is why we need to know the exact poison. I have all six antidotes finished, but you need to tell me what his symptoms have been.”

“Why don’t we go up and ask Harry?” Hermione asked. “He must know better – and if you have the antidotes anyway, I don’t see the problem?”

“If I am correct in why my husband kidnapped you, I’d say there is a risk that he is running around the school as you, especially as no one seems to be missing you,” Mrs. Malfoy said. “If we happen to run into him, Severus might pay with his life for it. On top of that, I cannot bring these antidotes near Severus. One whiff of the wrong one—”

She trailed off.

“We could use a disillusionment charm,” Hermione said.

“You underestimate my husband, Miss Granger,” Mrs. Malfoy said. “He will no doubt have warded this door to alarm him if you leave. He might even be aware that I have come in here, although I doubt it. This is a hidden room Lucius found when he was a student at Hogwarts, and he shared it only with a select few. I was one of them.”

“And he won’t believe you’ve betrayed him?” Hermione asked.

“He won’t believe I would dare such a thing,” Mrs. Malfoy said. “Now, the symptoms.”

Hermione studied the list again, and its ingredients, going over what she knew of the qualities of the poisonous ingredients.

“We can strike these two out,” Hermione said and pointed. “They’d both have killed him already. He drank the poison a week ago and even if it just had been very little, he’d have been dead within a day or two if these had been Luc—Mr. Malfoy’s choice.”

“You may call him Lucius,” Mrs. Malfoy said. “Or ‘the biggest bloody bastard in the country’, for that matter.”

Hermione had to snort at that, although she glanced up to find Mrs. Malfoy’s face pinched with anxiety. Hermione did not know the nature or depth of Mrs. Malfoy’s relationship with Professor Snape, but it obviously ran deep enough for her to be quite upset by the current events.

Then again, Harry, who did not have something that anyone could even begin to call a relationship with Snape, worried as well. Hermione herself could feel the tug at her heart, the worry about a fellow human being. Snape, for all his nastiness and cruelty to her and her friends over the years, did not deserve to die.

“This one would have made him throw up all over the place for days,” Hermione said. “I think we can cross that off, because he had classes for several days before he got so ill he couldn’t teach anymore.”

“That leaves three,” Mrs. Malfoy said, stating the obvious. “I have thought about the Moonseed potion. Considering the combination with the coriander, I’d say that poison would have a taste that Severus would have remembered. Since he drank it with water, as far as I can tell from the residue, he would have recognised it rather soon.”

Hermione nodded. “After years as a potions master, yes, he would have recognised that. I’ll cross it off. That leaves these two.”

Narcissa sighed. “They would both have a slightly sweet taste, but otherwise be quite undetectable. Both would leave him alive for this long, but not much more.”

“It depends on the amount he drank, of course,” Hermione said, “but let’s say a third of the goblet was the poison. I’d say he has a couple of hours left, at most.”

Mrs. Malfoy looked stricken at this, although Hermione had to believe that she had, since she obviously knew her way around potions, already figured as much out.

“Mrs. Malfoy, cork those up as tightly as possible, and ward them, so that no fumes can get out to Professor Snape,” Hermione said. “We have to get up there.”

“And then what?” Mrs. Malfoy asked.

“We’ll figure it out. But if we don’t leave, he’ll be dead anyway.”

Morning came all too quickly for Harry. He had already decided to skip breakfast, and instead stay in the Hospital Wing, but after that, he would have to go. Of course, Potions stood first on the list of subjects for the day, and Harry doubted that it would matter if he did not attend. They would have a substitute anyway, as the real teacher lay a few feet away, unconscious.

The heavy, rasping breathing had turned into shallow gasps sometime during the morning hours. It worried Harry immensely, for it meant that he was getting worse. Madam Pomfrey had been in there several times, wringing her hands but being completely unable to do anything about it. She poured some healing potions down his throat – it was all she could do – and checked his vitals, just as she did with Draco. As expected, it had not helped.

Harry wanted to split himself in two. He wanted to go down to Hermione and Ron and help them with the antidote, yet at the same time, he wanted nothing but to stay here.

Madam Pomfrey entered the room again, distress etched on her face. She frowned at Snape's shallow breathing. Shaking him slightly, she received no response.

"He's getting worse," Harry said quietly, looking down at Draco's hand rather than meet Madam Pomfrey's eye.

Madam Pomfrey looked at him. It seemed as though she would start crying soon. Harry refused to cry. If he cried, it meant he had given up, and he had not, not yet. Now, he felt rather numb, and was glad for it. He did not want to feel any more pain.

"Harry, there is something I need to tell you about Professor Snape's condition," Madam Pomfrey said.

"What?" Harry asked. "That he's going to die? I know that.”

Madam Pomfrey looked slightly shocked at his words. Her eyes told Harry he had guessed right on what she 'needed to tell him'. His tone was harsh, too harsh perhaps, because none of this was Madam Pomfrey’s fault, any more than it was his. Her whole body shook when she looked at Harry and tears made their way down her cheeks. He wondered if she had ever lost a patient at all.

Four sets of lungs breathed in the room, but only one held a regular pace. Draco's sleepy breathing was soft and deep, the suffering gone from his face, replaced by gentle neutrality as the potions of Madam Pomfrey allowed him to heal. Harry, Madam Pomfrey and Snape, however, all breathed quicker.

The head appearing in the fireplace was a welcome disruption to the silence in the room.

"Poppy, are you there?" Dumbledore asked. "Ah, yes, there you are. And Mr. Potter, you remain in the Infirmary, I see."

"Yes, Albus?" Madam Pomfrey asked between sobs.

"Well, you see, I have two students here with a rather large vial containing a red liquid. They claim it is the antidote to the poison Severus drank."

Harry's heart leaped, but he dared not hope. He would not let himself feel relief until Snape was well on his road to recovery.

"Well, Albus, what in the world are you waiting for?" Madam Pomfrey shouted at him, a smile threatening to break through amongst the tears. "Send them up!"

"Very well," Dumbledore said, stepping into the fire in his office and emerging from the infirmary one. Two students followed suit and arrived a moment later. Hermione held a vial in her hands.

"Go on, serve it to him," the Headmaster told Hermione.

She smiled. "Yes, Professor."

Hermione and Mrs. Malfoy raced up the stairs. Hermione cursed that there had been no fire in the dungeons, where Mr. Malfoy had imprisoned her. Now, instead, they had to race against time towards the Infirmary. Step by step, up, up, up. Hermione was breathing heavy, and her heart was beating wildly in her chest.

Up, up, up… Faster!

They both felt an urge tug at them, and Hermione did what she thought impossible – she sped up even more. She prayed that the stairs would stay still; if one of them began moving, they would lose precious time.

She had travelled the way to the Hospital Wing many times before – after all, Harry had a tendency to be sentenced there far more often than she liked – but never had the way there seemed so long. Stairwell after stairwell. She was surprised that Mrs. Malfoy was still keeping up with her.

Finally, they were in the last one. It was a smaller set of stairs, as they all were when you came high up in the towers.

There were the doors, open, thankfully.

The scent of the Infirmary hit her nose, and she skidded to a stop just within the doors. Mrs. Malfoy came close behind.

"No!" Hermione screamed when she saw a figure move towards the sick Potions master on the bed. The vial in the other girl's hand shook, and she turned around, shocked to look at the source of the voice.

Hermione froze.

Harry watched Hermione move towards Snape's bed. He wanted her to hurry; he wanted the Potions master to survive. The man’s salvation was there, mere feet away, contained in a vial with a tiny glass lid, carried in the hands of his best friend. Harry almost allowed himself to feel relief, but knew he could not, not until Snape had the antidote in him, and had opened his eyes once more.

He heard footsteps, and someone came crashing into the room.

"No!"

Harry's head whipped around to the door and the newcomers. Bewildered, he saw Hermione stand there. At the same time, she stood at the side of Snape's bed.

"What the –?" Ron was the first one to say anything. "Two of them?"

Harry shook his head to clear it. He looked over at the other person, standing behind the newly arrived Hermione. Harry levelled his wand upon the Hermione by the bed, while Ron pointed his at the newcomer.

"Mrs. Malfoy!” Harry exclaimed, recognising the other person in the doorway.

"Who—who’s the real one?" Ron asked.

"I am!" came from two directions. Harry, Ron, Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey both looked between the two girls, all confused.

"It seems there has been some Polyjuice in the use," Dumbledore said. Had Professor Snape's life not been in danger, Harry guessed that the Headmaster would have been smiling. Now, both the smile and the twinkle in his eyes had gone.

Harry's eyes travelled between the two, trying to decide who could be the real one. Problem was, no detail differed between the two. They both had the same bushy brown hair, and the same brown eyes. They were the same height, the same – well, they were just the same.

All the while, Snape’s breathing filled the air like a bad, raspy soundtrack.

Then Ron suddenly smiled. “I know – what did the Divinations homework that Harry showed you on Tuesday say?"

Ron looked between the two Hermiones, and gauged their reaction with interest. As did the rest of the room. The girl by the bed looked blankly at Ron, as though trying to hide her lack of knowledge by staring at the floor. The girl by the door, however, turned bright red.

"I—I can't say that with the Headmaster here!" she squeaked.

"That's our Hermione," Harry said. He turned to the girl by the bed. "That's someone else, and if I had to guess, I'm thinking, Mr. Malfoy. Right?"

"That would be cor–"

Before she had time to finish the sentence, Ron had swished his wand at the fake Hermione.

“Petrificus totalus!” he yelled, and the girl’s legs snapped together, her arms to her sides, her body rigid. She began to tip over, no longer having any balance.

“No!” yelled Mrs. Malfoy then.

Harry realised why immediately– the vial held in Mr. Malfoy’s female hands. He could only guess that the very inhalation of whatever was in that bottle would be fatal, at least for one very ill Potions master.

“Wingardium leviosa!”

It was the first spell that came to his mind, the first-year-spell that Hermione had once excelled at, just as she excelled in anything and everything. It hit the bottle the very moment before it would have smashed into pieces on the ground, and it sailed up into the air, away from Mr. Malfoy’s furious glare.

Dumbledore plucked it from the air. “Twenty points to Gryffindor for that save.”

He turned to Hermione and Mrs. Malfoy. “I trust you have the antidote?”

“We don’t know which one it is,” Hermione said. “We’ve narrowed it down to two, but—we can’t say which one is—”

“Get Veritaserum and give it to him,” Harry said, pointing at the fake Hermione on the ground.

A gurgling sound came from Professor Snape, and he moved slightly on the bed, gasping for air even in unconsciousness. Madam Pomfrey hurried over, performing an oxygen spell that would help him breathe.

“We don’t have time to get Veritaserum,” Mrs. Malfoy said, her eyes filled with tears.

“Use the blood.”

Everyone turned and stared. They had completely forgotten about the other occupant of the Infirmary – Hermione looked shocked to see him there at all. Harry realised that Mr. Malfoy must have imitated her since breakfast, leaving Hermione without knowledge of the morning’s events.

Harry had not realised that Draco had awoken at all. Draco looked blearily around the room, shadows beneath his eyes, but still alert. Harry wanted to take him in his arms and hold him and never let go, just to make sure that nothing else happened to him.

“What?” Harry asked.

“The blood,” Draco said. “You drew blood earlier. I—woke up and you—a vial.”

His lips were cracked dry and his voice barely more than a whisper. Harry stared at him.

“Well, I have a bit of that left,” Ron said, taking the vial out.

Hermione snatched it from Ron. “Ward me,” she said to Professor Dumbledore. “He mustn’t breathe in the fumes.”

The Headmaster held out his wand and started chanting a warding spell. Silver walls appeared around Hermione, who took a deep breath, and opened the first of the two antidote vials. She levitated two drops of Snape’s blood in the air, and then added a single drop of the antidote. She studied it closely, her mouth moving, and Harry had to assume she was doing some spell.

He looked over at Snape, who gasped for breath even with the mask of extra oxygen that Madam Pomfrey had created. He arched his back, shaking badly, his forehead shining with perspiration.

Hermione redid the test within the confinement of the wards, with the other vial of antidote. Harry held his breath – what if they were wrong, and that one was not it either? Professor Snape had mere breaths to go now.

Hermione looked up, triumph on her face. Harry felt relief flood his mind, although it was replaced in the next second with a great sense of urgency. Even if that was the correct potion, it might still be too late. Dumbledore took down the wards.

She ran to Snape’s side, and Mrs. Malfoy stood on the other, holding Snape’s hand and crying all the while. Hermione poured the antidote into Snape’s mouth. His reflexes made him swallow, and Hermione pushed until the entire vial was empty.

He stilled, and for several seconds, he did not take a new breath. Harry stared, wondering if they were too late after all.

Then he took a breath, raspy as the one before. It was no miracle antidote, no immediate cure.

Hermione turned to Dumbledore. "I guess all we can do is wait now. Wait, and hope."

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Chapters

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