Dolorum

"Longbottom!"

He smirked as the chubby boy looked up, red-faced, eyebrows raised in a perpetual question.

"That’s three drops of venom, Longbottom, not thirty."

The boy looked down at the list of ingredients that he’d copied down from the chalkboard as students around him edged away in horror. Usually Longbottom’s errors were cause for amusement among the Gryffindors in the class, as well as derision from the Slytherins, but none of them seemed amused by the idea of a potion containing ten times the desired dose of basilisk venom. Snape noted that Harry Potter, in particular, had turned a bit pale as he glanced sideways at his classmate.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for being an imbecile, Longbottom." As the boy squirmed with embarassment, Snape continued, "And another ten for wasting valuable ingredients."

At this Potter looked up, clearly furious. Snape locked eyes with him for a long moment, fighting the desire to smirk again. Getting this expression from Harry Potter was the single most enjoyable thing about taking points from the Gryffindors. But the boy had been slow to anger this year, and Snape thought he knew the reason why. Potter, he was sure, was still shell-shocked from the events that had concluded the Triwizard Tournament. The glazed look in his eyes, the way his friends had to jostle or shout at him to get his attention, the way his hands shook almost imperceptibly as he prepared his potions ingredients...

Potter finally looked away, and Snape shook his head. He couldn’t blame the boy, really. Snape had seen the extent of Voldemort’s rage after Harry escaped him in the graveyard, had suffered the cruel manifestations of it after he had presented himself to the Dark Lord, begging for forgiveness, pretending to pledge his loyalty. Voldemort had only ceased in his torture of Snape after Lucius Malfoy and the other Death Eaters who had children at Hogwarts stepped in and insisted that Snape’s hatred of the Boy-Who-Lived was well-known, that their Slytherin sons had reported that Snape made Potter’s life miserable at every turn. That had been Snape’s plan all along, of course; though in pretending to hate James Potter’s son, he found himself dangerously close to truthfully feeling that emotion. Snape’s hatred of Voldemort ran much deeper, though, from a place that none of these brats need ever know about...

He roused himself from his musings to discover most of the class looking up at him expectantly, having finished with their assignments. Snape cursed himself for daydreaming as he strode around his desk, crossing his arms in front of him.

"Time to test one of your potions, then..." He glanced at Longbottom and heard several students gasp audibly. "I think not. Perhaps -" He stopped in front of Dean Thomas’s cauldron. "Fill a goblet with your potion and set it on my desk. Now all we’ll need is a volunteer..." Snape’s eyes travelled the classroom again and settled on Harry Potter. Potter was still absently stirring his own concoction, oblivious to what was happening in the room.

"Potter!"

The boy looked up blankly; Snape felt a flash of anger.

"Thank you for joining us, Potter. Since you’ve demonstrated such an affection for invisibility," (at this several students exchanged puzzled glances) "perhaps you wouldn’t mind testing your classmate’s potion."

Potter simply shrugged and pushed back his chair, but as he walked around the desk, a crashing sound and a muffled scream drew everyone’s attention to the back of the classroom. Flicking his hair in irritation, Snape hurried behind the last desk to find two Slytherin girls struggling to stand in a mess of spilled potion, with an overturned cauldron between them.

One of them looked up at him in horror. "I don’t know what happened, sir! It just lifted up from the table on its own and fell over!" There was panic in her eyes. "The venom, professor..."

"..Won’t hurt you in this form," Snape said, pulling the two of them up by the back of their robes. "In this mixture, I assure you, it’s quite harmless." He spun around to face the rest of the class. "Who is responsible for this?" He didn’t expect a response, and of course none came. He had his suspicions, though. "Weasley? Trying to rescue Potter from testing a simple potion?"

Ron Weasley’s face turned red as his hair as he tried to sputter out a response. Snape waved him off.

"No matter. Ten points from Gryffindor." He smiled to himself at the howls that this produced from around the room. "Now then, we have Thomas’s potion?" He saw that the goblet had been placed on his desk. "Potter?"

The boy had been standing quietly at his own desk while the mess in back was sorted out; now he obediently walked to the front of the room, eyes downcast. Snape ignored the furious stares of Weasley and Granger. They think I’m picking on him, he thought. Well, they’d be right...

Potter reached the teacher’s desk and picked up the silver goblet. As his fingers touched the ornate metal, the boy visibly winced. Gingerly, he picked up the goblet and sniffed its contents. Snape watched with interest as the apathetic blankness vanished from Potter’s expression; the boy’s eyes had suddenly become alert and bright.

"Drink the whole thing, Potter, and spare your classmates the sight of a partially invisible body floating through the school for the next few hours." The Slytherins sniggered.

Harry Potter had frozen, though, his face close to the cup while his eyes closed in concentration. His free hand suddenly reached up and closed over the lightning scar on his forehead.

"Oh great, here comes another seizure!" Draco Malfoy’s voice cut through the silence that had descended, sending the Slytherins into another bout of laughter. The Gryffindors - Weasley and Granger in particular - began to whisper to each other in alarmed tones.

The burst of sound seemed to rouse Potter. He blinked slowly at the goblet in his hand. Snape was suprised when the boy held the silver cup out toward him.

"I think something’s wrong with this, professor. Maybe you could check it before I try to drink it?" Potter’s voice was even and polite, but his eyes flashed as he looked intently at Snape. There seemed to be something beneath that gaze. Fear? Snape thought. Pleading? Accusation? He wasn’t used to trying to read the boy’s expressions, and he certainly wasn’t going to start now.

"Let me remind you, Potter, than one of your housemates brewed that potion. So DRINK - now! And ten points from Gryffindor for your cowardice."

It had been the right button to push - Potter immediately scowled and turned red. He raised the goblet to his lips, then stopped again. Snape bit back a sigh of exasperation as the boy again stared into the liquid in the silver cup.

The green eyes raised to meet his again. "Really, professor, if you could just...."

"Twenty points," said Snape coolly as jeers from the Slytherins filled the room.

Potter frowned and glanced helplessly at his friends. Snape noted that Hermione Granger looked intensely worried, while Ron Weasley appeared to be embarassed for his best friend. "Just drink it, Harry," Snape saw him mouth silently as his friend caught his eye. Ah, peer pressure, thought Snape as he watched Potter’s increasing discomfort.

The boy looked to him again, his plaintive expression easily readable now. The hand holding the goblet was trembling slightly. "Professor..."

This wasn’t like Potter at all, but that did nothing to diminish Snape’s enjoyment of the situation. "FIFTY points, and if you delay further, we shall test the potion on Miss Granger, instead."

Harry’s shoulders slumped, and his eyes closed as he lifted the goblet to his mouth and drained it with a few long gulps. Several students broke into sarcastic applause.

"Stay there, Potter, so your classmates can have a decent view of your incredible vanishing act. Now then," Snape spun away from Harry to face the rest of the class, "You’ll notice that the hands and head will be the first to dim..."

He was interrupted by a choking sound behind him, followed by exclamations from some of the students. He looked over his shoulder.

Potter had turned pale and was hunched over, clutching the edge of the desk. His eyes were squeezed closed as his face scrunched in what appeared to be pain. As Snape watched, the boy retched slightly and swayed against the desk.

"Oh, bother, Potter! I told you, the venom in the potion is neutralized. Take your bloody seat, and another fifty points from Gryffindor for the histrionics."

Harry cracked open his eyes and nodded slightly, then took two steps toward his own desk before he cried out and fell to the floor.

"Oh, bloody hell..." Snape muttered as he strode over to the fallen boy. He was brushed out of the way by Weasley and Granger as they rushed to their friend. Potter had stopped convulsing and was lying, panting, on the stone floor.

"Harry? Harry!" Ron Weasley turned Harry over just as another convulsion wracked his body. This one lasted longer, and as Potter curled into a fetal position, retching, and his classmates crowded the front of the room, some yelling and some laughing... Snape felt a cold knot in his stomach that spread up his chest; suddenly he could hardly breathe. His mind flashed back to a long-repressed memory... a time when he’d seen someone else suffering a reaction like this one... No, it can’t be...

Fingers going numb and ears ringing, Snape knocked down two students as he lunged at his desk and snatched up the goblet Potter had drank from. He held it under his nose and inhaled deeply, and felt his heart stop as a chill of horrified recognition engulfed him. That sickly smell - like sour blood and decayed flesh and exhalations from the foulest places on earth - it paralyzed him; he heard echoes of long-ago screams in his head...

"Professor!" Hermione Granger was staring up at him, face covered with tears as she tried to cradle a thrashing Harry Potter’s head in her lap. "What’s happening?! You have to help him!"

A din of noise filled the room, above which Dean Thomas’s strained voice could be heard pleading with the classmates who had pinned him down, "But I followed the directions, I swear it. I did!" Not even the Slytherins were laughing now; most of them had taken high perches on the desks in front, staring down at Potter with expressions that ranged from fear to mild amusement. Snape’s eyes fell on Draco Malfoy. Lucius’s son was hanging back, eyes narrowed in confusion. He caught Snape’s gaze and slowly shook his head. I didn’t think so, Snape thought as his attention returned to Potter. Someone had switched the potions - that had to be the explanation. The spilled cauldron in the back had been a diversion. But who? There was no time to investigate now, though...

Lavender Brown burst into loud sobs as another convulsion twisted Harry Potter’s face and body in agony. Snape recognized the pattern now. Absurd, unbelievable pain, followed by a few seconds of precious calm. The painful episodes would grow longer, the calm periods shorter until gradually the victim would dissolve into a world of hopeless agony, praying for those moments of relief that would no longer come... It was worse than the Cruciatus curse, worse because it wouldn’t end, not until death came... Snape knew all this; he was intimately familiar with this poison. After all, he had invented it himself, and he was the only wizard alive who could brew it.

And he had only witnessed its use once before.

Snape knelt down at Potter’s side. Without looking up, he began issuing orders. "One of you must go to the hospital wing and fetch Madam Pomfrey immediately. Tell her to bring cool compresses and a hydrating solution. Someone else find Dumbledore and McGonagall and bring them back here." He looked up, eyes flashing across the panicked faces of students before settling on one. "Malfoy!"

The blond boy moved forward quickly. "Professor?"

"Start up two fresh cauldrons. Boil plain water in one and heat a half-cup of unicorn blood in the other. Then start crushing black wasp wings."

Ron Weasley glared at him from across Potter’s shuddering form. "Malfoy!? You can’t be serious! He probably did this! He’s..."

"...The best student in the class, Ron, so shut up." Granger’s voice was quiet and firm, and Snape looked at her in mild suprise. She never took her eyes off Harry. "Is there anything we can do, professor?"

"Just stay with him," he said, placing a hand on Potter’s shoulder. He could feel the deep tremors shaking the boy. "Talk to him, quietly. He can probably still hear you. He’ll need something to ground him in reality." Snape looked at the boy’s face, which was mostly covered by the arms he’d thrown up over his head in a vain attempt to ward off the agonizing assault. His eyes were closed tight, his glasses long since fallen off, and his jaw muscles worked under the pale skin of his cheeks. His hair was already damp with sweat. But other than a quiet mewling sound with each breath, Potter made no noise. He seemed to be fighting against it. Snape’s head again echoed with screams, two people, begging for his help...

"Done, professor." Malfoy had followed his instructions and was awaiting more. Snape rose shakily to his feet and began to recite the ingredients needed for the antidote. He knew it by heart, though he’d never actually made it. He’d forced himself to memorize it; he recited it like a mantra in his head on sleepless nights. It was his only prayer, the only penance left for him.

"Severus?" Dumbledore, McGonagall and Pomfrey all arrived at the same time. The headmaster rushed forward and knelt by Harry’s side. "What is it?"

"Dolorum potion, Albus." Snape could barely raise his voice above a whisper.

All of them paled; McGonagall pressed a hand to her chest and gasped. Dumbledore looked sharply at Snape. "How?"

"I don’t know. Someone switched the potions, and I... I made him drink it." He would go to Azkaban, and he would deserve it. He should have been sent there long ago.

As if in agreement, Dumbledore nodded, placing a hand on Harry’s head as the boy jerked in pain. "Finish the antidote, but it may be too late..."

Snape knew what he meant. The antidote took at least a half hour to prepare, and the Dolorum poison would likely kill Potter well before then, or at least drive him insane. But he had to try. As Snape joined Malfoy at the two cauldrons on the teacher’s desk, he was dimly aware of the other professors seperating the students into groups and questioning them individually.

Suddenly a shrill cry rang out from the other side of the room. A high-pitched laugh followed. "The Dark Lord has come again! Pain and death to those who dare oppose him!"

Several students screamed and scrambled away from from where Albus Dumbledore had pinned Millicent Bulstrode against her desk. She did not resist; there was a sick grin curling up the corners of her mouth, and her eyes stared blankly at the headmaster. She laughed shrilly again. "The servant of the Dark Lord must be reminded of his obligation. Harry Potter will suffer and die!"

At this, Snape’s mind clouded over, and he slammed the knife he was using to slice willow roots into the desk. Malfoy lifted it away from him without a word and continued the cutting. Long minutes passed as Snape struggled to breathe. He’s sending me a message, he thought dimly. He wanted Potter dead, and he’s done it in a way that will prove his power, his ability to reach even into this school, to get the boy while I was responsible for him...

"The Imperius curse,' he heard Dumbledore say from far away. He looked up as the headmaster pointed his wand at Miss Bulstrode and muttered "Finite Incantatum." The girl’s eyes rolled back, and she slumped, unconcious, to the floor.

A gasping, choking sound drew his attention back to Harry Potter. The boy was thrashing more violently now, clutching at the robes of the friends who tried to comfort him. Weasley was on his knees, face buried in his hands. Granger was leaning in over Harry’s head, speaking unintelligbly to him in a low monotone. Potter managed to gasp out a word with every few breaths. "No... please, oh... no.... please...." They hadn’t lasted this long, Snape thought bitterly. They’d been dead already. And that had been more merciful. He silently cursed the boy’s strength as he returned his attention to the mixtures in the cauldrons on his desk. Malfoy had done an impeccable job, as usual, and the potions were nearly ready. As soon as the one turned red, they would be mixed together and administered. So it was just a matter of waiting...

"Is it the same batch, professor?" Malfoy asked him quietly after a while, his grey eyes fastened on Potter’s shaking form. Snape started in suprise; he wasn’t aware that the boy knew. But then Lucius seemed to tell him nearly everything.

"I think so," he whispered, not caring that his godson must have heard the panic in his voice.

Malfoy was quiet for a moment, then he turned to Snape and asked, "Are you all right?"

Snape returned his gaze, not able to draw a breath to answer. Suddenly an ear-splitting scream filled the room and echoed off the stone walls of the dungeon. It was followed by another, then another. The screams were raw and gutteral - the screams of a soul spiralling toward insanity. Snape’s legs crumbled beneath him, and he sank to the floor and looked at the boy in front of him.

Potter’s eyes were open, blank and glassy. Granger clutched his face between her hands. "Harry!? Harry!!" She looked up at Dumbledore, desperate. "We’re losing him, Professor!" The screams continued, and Snape leaned his head against the cool wood of his desk. It won’t be long now...

"Severus!" Malfoy snapped at him, using his first name to catch his attention. Snape felt himself being pulled to his feet. The potion in the left-hand cauldron had turned scarlet. Malfoy had produced a clean goblet and was waiting for instructions. But Snape felt a strange calm settle over him; he had to do this. It may be too late, but he had to finish it. He snatched the goblet from Malfoy.

"Half a measure of that one first..." he watched as his godson poured precisely, carefully. "And then..." he stopped talking as he added in the other potion himself and swirled the two together. There was a slight flash, then the antidote turned bright white.

"Now!" Snape was suprised at the strength in his own legs as he dashed around the desk. He handed the goblet to Dumbledore then sank down and gathered Harry Potter up against his chest. The boy was limp; the screams had tapered down to whimpers; the green eyes had closed again. Snape reached up for the antidote and pressed his fingers between Potter’s lips, trying to force his mouth open. He had to hurry, the antidote retained its potency for only a few moments. He tilted Potter’s head back and poured the white liquid into his open mouth. The boy jerked once, sputtering and choking, but Snape clamped his jaw closed and held it until, by reflex, Harry finally swallowed. Then Snape forced his mouth open again and repeated the process, again and again, until the goblet was drained.

A tense silence filled the room, but Snape barely noticed. He dropped the empty goblet and cradled the heavy, trembling body against him. Eyes closed, he forgot for a moment who he was holding. I should have saved them, he thought numbly. I should have... but I couldn’t. And it’s too late for Potter, too. Death at my hands, for all of them...

A hand on his shoulder brought him back to himself. He opened his eyes to see Albus Dumbledore crouched in front of him.

"Let him go, Severus. You’ve done all you can."

Snape looked down at Potter. The boy was quiet, eyes closed as if in sleep. He was still breathing, but that might have been from the antidote. The unicorn blood would keep the systems functioning for a while, even if the mind had shut down. At least he would die without further pain.

Snape surrendered Potter to Madam Pomfrey, who immediately began loosening his robes and issuing quiet commands to Hermione Granger. He struggled to his feet and found that his godson was at his elbow, helping to hold him up.

"Take him to his quarters," Dumbledore said to Malfoy. "And stay with him until I get there."

Draco nodded and guided his professor toward the door. Snape noticed that the remaining students had been evacuated from the room at some point. He wondered for a second what had happened to Millicent Bulstrode. But it wasn’t the girl’s fault. It was his, and his alone.

"C’mon, Severus." Malfoy pulled him firmly out the door. Snape allowed himself to be led further into the dungeons, not knowing or caring what would happen to him. With Potter gone, Voldemort would be unstoppable, and there was no hope for any of them.

** A week later, Double Potions was drawing to a close as the students, working in pairs, waited for the potions in their left-hand cauldrons to turn red. The Dolorum antidote was a difficult process, but they had all completed the assignment with the utmost seriousness. The students would have been correct in assuming that the potion would need to be memorized for the final exam.

Severus Snape’s eyes flickered around the classroom and settled on Harry Potter. The boy was whispering something to Weasley while waiting on their potion. Snape took in the boy’s upright posture, bright eyes, and red cheeks with amazement, and a tinge of sadness. Who would have thought he’d be so strong? And why couldn’t they have been? Not that it would have mattered. I wasn’t allowed to make the antidote then...

There was a flurry of activity as everyone’s potions changed nearly at once and the students rushed to complete the mixture of the two parts. A few laughed in triumph as their potions flashed to bright white. Potter just gazed at his thoughtfully, until Weasley nudged him to begin cleaning up.

"Class dismissed," Snape announced. "Potter, you’ll stay here for a moment."

Several students glanced up in suprise, but Potter simply nodded and sat back down. Ron Weasley flashed Snape a hostile look before following his classmates from the room.

When they were alone, Snape locked eyes with the Boy-Who-Lived... again. "How are you feeling?" he asked, not able to keep the customary harshness from his tone.

Potter shrugged. "Okay, I guess." Snape continued to stare at him, and the boy sighed. "A little nauseous, still, and a bit shaky. But otherwise fine."

Snape nodded, then drew a deep breath. "I would like to know... when you initially refused to drink it, how did you know that the potion had been switched?"

Potter squirmed and looked at his hands. "Er... I just... it sort of, well, felt wrong. My scar..." His voice trailed off, and Snape realized that the boy hated to draw attention to his curse mark. "Besides," Harry blurted out, "it smelled like shit."

Snape clenched his teeth against the smile that tried to form. Like shit, indeed. But he owed the boy an explanation. "Potter, you might have been told that I was the one who brewed the Dolorum potion that you drank last week." By the shocked expression on Potter’s face, Snape gathered that he hadn’t. He continued, "It was many years ago, fourteen to be exact."

"Around the time Voldemort fell," Potter said thoughtfully.

The boy’s mind works quickly, Snape thought. That will make this easier. "When I was a... when I was in his service, he demanded that I create a potion to be used for the purpose of torture to the death. I complied, of course." He risked a look at Potter; the boy’s faced showed interest, but no judgement. That will change in a moment. "He’d been questioning my loyalty, and I knew that I had to exceed his expectations to save my life, as well as the lives of... So I invented the Dolorum potion and presented it to the Dark Lord. He was pleased, and insisted on testing it. I assumed he would use a Muggle, as was his routine, but..."

Snape’s voice fell, and he had to take a minute to steady himself. Potter was unmoving, staring at his potions instructor with a strange, dread-filled expression.

Snape continued in a whisper. "He used... Voldemort tested the potion on my wife and daughter." He heard Potter gasp but forced himself to press on. "I was immobilized, forced to watch..." Then he couldn’t continue anymore, as his throat constricted at the thought of the terrified, agonized screams, the faces wrenched in pain, the accusations in their eyes before they finally glazed over...

"Professor?"

He hadn’t noticed Potter get up from his seat and come along beside him, but he suddenly felt the boy’s hand resting lightly on his arm. Such a small gesture, it shouldn’t have been as comforting as it was. Snape looked up at the boy’s face and was shocked to see tears filling those bright green eyes.

"I’m sorry, professor," Harry whispered. His voice shook with what was easily recognized as rage. Snape was glad; he didn’t want the boy’s pity, but anger could be productive.

Snape pulled his arm away and abrubtly stood up. "I just thought you deserved to know."

"Sir -" Potter’s voice was tentative now. "How do you know the stuff I drank was from the same batch of potion that you brewed?"

"Because the recipe was never recorded. It was lost to Voldemort when I left him to join with Dumbledore soon after. No one else would know how to make it. And it keeps indefinitely, possibly even increasing in potency over time."

Potter’s eyes narrowed. "So he might have more?"

Snape sighed - that had been the idea haunting his nightmares for the past week. "Yes, which is why every student and teacher in this school will have memorized the antidote by the weekend."

Potter nodded, staring at his professor intently.

Snape looked away and waved a hand absently at him. He felt drained, and the boy’s continued presence made him feel vulnerable. "Dismissed, Potter."

"Professor?"

Bloody hell... "What?"

Potter hesitated, then dropped his voice. "How old was she, sir? Your daughter?"

Snape’s stomach clenched, and he pressed his palms against the top of his desk. "Two, Potter. She was almost two." He closed his eyes.

There was a silence, then he heard Potter whisper, "Thank you, sir." The boy’s footsteps faded as he crossed the room and exited into the hall, closing the door softly behind him.

Severus Snape sat at his desk for a long time, as the candles burned down around him and memories flooded though his head. For the first time in years, he could remember soft laughter instead of the screams, quiet feminine voices murmuring to him in moments of peace. And then he felt something else, welling up inside him, something that he’d lost so long ago that he hardly recognized it - hope.

* The End *