Amoris Infinitas

Chapter 5: Potions and Mirrors

After a long and sleepless night spent at the bedside of a wanted murderer healing his numerous shattered bones and knitting blood-oozing gashes back together striving to save said murderer's life, Madam Pomfrey was taking a long and deep afternoon nap when suddenly her alarm went off. Instantly wide awake, she jumped out of bed and into her slippers and dressing gown, grabbed her wand, and hastened over to the sick-room.

"Professor Snape! What do you think you are doing!" exclaimed the Mediwitch at the sight of her patient.

"I'm not a professor anymore," Snape growled, glaring at Pomfrey with feverish eyes as he made to leave his bed. "Where are my robes?"

"Don't you dare stand up, Mr. Snape. You need at least another three, four days of strict bed rest, or you'll have a relapse."

"I need to brew. Once again, where are my robes?"

"Brew? You must be delirious! You'll leave this ward only over my dead body, Mister!"

"And how, pray tell, can you be sure I won't kill you?" Snape spat bitterly.

Pomfrey paled. "You wouldn't ..."

"Don't try me, woman. Get my clothes, and then get out of my way. And no, I'm not going to brew a poison of mass destruction, but a healing potion - for myself."

"You think you can heal yourself better than I can?" Madam Pomfrey said, offended. "I'm awfully sorry, but the house-elves are cleaning your things and patching them up; they weren't in a much better state than you were. And your quarters have been locked and sealed by the Ministry."

"Then get some house-elf to pop in and out again; they don't care about seals," Snape snarled impatiently. "I need that potion - now!" Exhausted from the heated conversation, Snape lay back on his bed again while Madam Pomfrey hurried into her office. He could feel the bandages on his chest become moist and warm from freshly seeping blood, but didn't care. The pain in his left side was much worse; it had woken him up from his healing sleep much earlier than Madam Pomfrey had expected. The blackened wound that caused it was barely the size of his palm yet, but it would be spreading inexorably and deadly like the plague. Soon, he would not be able to make the potion anymore; he already felt the fever rising, a fever that would consume him if he didn't get the potion ready in time. And Pomfrey, who was supposed to be a healer, had obviously not yet realised at all what was wrong with him. Healers! If he had a wand, he could heal those annoying cuts within bare seconds. But there was no wand on the bedside table. Of course, they couldn't leave him with a wand after what he had done. It would be safe at the headmistress's, no doubt. And the mirror? He'd have to see her soon, anyhow, but not now. First the potion. About two hours of brewing. If he only could make it down to the dungeons. And his robes. He needed his robes. What the hell took Pomfrey so long? The pain was driving him mad. Two hours, two more agonising hours ...

"Mister Snape?" The drowsing wizard woke with a start. "Here, Dobby got you some clothes. But first you take those." With an air of disapproval, Madam Pomfrey handed her patient one more bottle of Blood Replenishing Potion and two phials. Snape didn't need to read the labels to recognise the liquids as a fever suppressant and a Pepperup Potion. Much to Pomfrey's relief, he downed the potions without protest, then got into his clothes with the Mediwitch's help.

"I told Miss Granger to come to the Potions classroom. We will assist you," said Pomfrey firmly. Snape curled his lips as if to give some scathing comment, but thought better of it. He would need all his energy for the task ahead, not for futile discussions. And, even if he did not like the thought much, he might actually need the help.

"We'll take the Floo, you wouldn't want to collapse halfway down the stairs," said the Mediwitch sternly and steered the none-too-steady ex-professor out of the room and into her office.

o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o

Hermione was already waiting in the Potions classroom when Madam Pomfrey stumbled out of the fireplace, steadying an extremely pale Snape. As he saw her, Snape straightened up into his usual impressive posture, but she could tell that the man was far from recovered and should, by all means, be tightly in bed. Her curiosity was aroused. What was that mysterious potion for that Snape wanted so dearly?

Two hours later, Snape looked dead on his feet. After he had added one single drop of some clear liquid from a tiny opaque phial Dobby had collected from his private stores and stirred three times anti-clockwise until the potion took on its final amber colour, the Mediwitch pushed him vigorously into a chair, and he simply let it happen, closing his eyes as he sat, his hands trembling with exhaustion.

"How much do you need?" Pomfrey asked gently.

"The little silver goblet. To the rim. The rest ought to be bottled before it starts to cool," he answered groggily, not even opening his eyes when the goblet was held to his lips. He swallowed the bitter-tasting liquid, and fell asleep.

"Miss Granger, would you, please, transfigure that chair into a sofa? I'll go and get some blankets and fresh bandages."

Hermione nodded and flicked her wand. Now, instead of the chair, there was a comfortable-looking pink sofa. Carefully, she levitated the sleeping wizard onto it, smiling to herself as she thought of how much he would appreciate the bright colour of his new bed. No, don't be cruel, she berated herself and, with another flick of her wand, turned it dark green. Then she started to collect and clean the brewing gear that lay all over the tables. It had been an extremely complicated potion, and Snape had brewed it up all by heart, never in the least doubtful what he had to do next. Although she was pretty good at Potions, she realised she would never reach his level of perfection, no matter how hard she worked. It just wasn't enough to carefully follow the instructions, for true mastership you needed to have the creativity and intuition to improve them, like the Prince had had ...

"Ah, thank you, Miss Granger," the Mediwitch said when she returned, a pile of blankets and bandages in her arms. Setting the load on a chair beside the sofa, she began undressing the oblivious Potions master.

While Hermione was clattering about with silver knives and cauldrons, she glanced over at the sofa from time to time. The cuts caused by the Sectumsempra were still of an angry red colour and had opened again in places, but they were obviously healing. However, when Pomfrey moved to replace the bandage around Snape's head, she could glimpse another wound in the wizard's side that made her gasp; it was blackened and shrivelled as though his flesh had been burned away ...

o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o

"It was that burn mark he wanted the potion for," Hermione explained to her friends half an hour later as they were sitting at the shore of the lake watching the sun set. "But, Harry, you said you only used the Sectumsempra, it couldn't possibly have caused such a wound, could it?"

"I really don't know. I guess we'd have to ask Snape. Although, he didn't need any potion to heal Draco ..."

"And it really looked like Dumbledore's hand, black and shrivelled?" asked Ron, making a face as if he'd had to eat slugs.

Hermione nodded.

"Dumbledore's hand ..." Harry murmured. "Snape can't have ..." He reached into his pockets. With all that had happened, he had totally forgotten about the mirror. He had thought it was some secret means of communication, like Sirius's mirror; it couldn't possibly be ... He unwrapped the little package. There it was, bloodstained and dirty and broken.

"What do you want that for?" Ron asked, looking no less disgusted at the sight.

Without replying, Harry pointed his wand at the offending object. "Scourgify!"

Pink soap bubbles appeared on its surface. After wiping the bubbles away with the handkerchief, the mirror looked slightly better. Finally, after the application of multiple cleansing spells, the mirror's silver surface emerged from under the grime and dirt. There were intricate engravings, garlands of minute flowers intertwined with ancient runes. And on the handle was a soaring eagle.

"Harry, this is not what I think it is?" stammered Hermione, awestruck.

"Must be. Rowena Ravenclaw's mirror," Harry almost whispered. "I found it in the grass where Snape had lain - he must have fallen on the mirror and broken it."

"And the release of dark magic has caused the injury, same as with Dumbledore's hand," Hermione concluded solemnly. "The potion he brewed must have been identical to the one he treated Dumbledore with."

"But what on earth did Snape want with a mirror?" asked Ron incredulously. "He doesn't exactly look as if he had ever used one."

"Perhaps he was safeguarding it?"

"No, Harry," Hermione shook her head. "Snape wouldn't be so stupid as to carry such a precious object around with him, especially not if he was to safeguard it for Voldemort. I bet he wanted to give it to Professor McGonagall to have it destroyed."

"Well, now it is destroyed." Harry wrapped the handkerchief around the mirror again and put it back into his pocket. "Five Horcruxes down, one more to go."

TBC

o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o O o