The Last Sanguimagus

The counter-potion was nearly finished, and Severus worked efficiently, readying his notebook, his auto-quill, anything that he might need. He really would rather have performed the experiment here, in his classroom, where he could monitor everything fully. He scowled again. This was not working out as he had planned.

Once more he read the Flamel page, absorbing it yet again, though he had already committed it to memory. The elegant script put to shame his own less artistic lettering. He reread the suggestions for the accompanying wandwork twice.

He checked the cauldron again. The last stage of brewing was now complete, and the potion had assumed its innocent periwinkle hue. Taking a deep breath, he careful performed a Hovering Charm, only relaxing when the potion showed no sign of change. Taking the other supplies in hand he walked out of his classroom into the dungeon corridor, the cauldron following him obediently.

Going up the stairs was tricky, but he was careful, taking the steps backwards so that he could keep an eye on the brew. He crossed the entrance hall with long strides. It was nearly deserted, though the Weasley girl looked at him in surprise and raced off before he could detract points. He smirked.

Firenze was in the corridor, and Severus nodded at him. Hooves echoed on the hard floor as the centaur turned and went through the door to his own classroom. Severus wondered what the he must think, having left behind all of his kind to teach Divination to human children on Dumbledore's request, only to see Trelawney returned to her teaching post for the next term. Two teachers for a near-useless art. He knocked on Sarah's door, and entered.

Her office was just as it had been, though the Strengthening Solution was gone. The door that presumably led to her small suite of rooms was partially open, and he knocked, softly this time, and stepped through, making certain the cauldron was still behind him. He remembered Minerva telling Pomona about Sarah's dreadful display of Transfiguration, and having to help create her rooms. "Clearly she's forgotten nearly everything I taught her," Minerva had sniffed.

The room was nearly bare, and freezing. The windows were open, letting in the cold night air. There was no fire in the grate. It was even colder than her office had been.

She was lying on her bed, her head resting on her right arm, a blanket resting on top of her. Her pale eyes looked at him, and he could sense her apprehension.

"I have brought the potion," he said unnecessarily. She simply continued to stare at him. He forced himself to step closer. He couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Start with the wounds near my neck," she instructed tonelessly.

Carefully he lifted the blanket off her. There was a bandage around her upper left arm, and a thick piece of white material lay across her back. He peeled it back slowly and she winced. He covered his mouth and closed his eyes tightly for a moment, but it was to no avail. He could feel the burning heat of the wounds as it radiated from her torso.

"There is a chair if you need to sit down." Her voice was as flat as if she was giving directions to the Great Hall, and there was no trace of amusement at his reaction.

He opened his eyes and sat down gracelessly, the cauldron hovering in the air, the night breeze flowing through the room, the blood and heat still seeping from her wounds. It was as if Lucius had just inflicted them. He felt distinctly ill despite the cold air. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. The memories were too near. Get up and finish this, he said angrily to himself.

He stood and approached her again, trying to stamp down his emotions. A small, distant portion of his mind wondered anew at how she'd managed to cope with this for so long. The other unlucky recipients of this particular poison had died from complications or ended their own lives within days. He shivered. The livid crescent-shaped marks on her back were slowly oozing red. He knew without looking that they extended from neck to the small of her back, that the back of one thigh and her upper left arm were also decorated thusly, and that there were nearly two dozen of them because he had helped Lucius apply the Lingering Wounds Potion to every single one. The familiar shape of each cut was burned into his brain thanks to Lucius's predilection for it; the Slicing Charm that the elder Malfoy had developed was well known among the Death Eaters.

Severus's hands were shaking, and he turned to the cauldron. Think of the potion. He had to regain his mental balance. He could feel her eyes on him, piercing him. He took another deep breath.

He chose the mark closest to the base of her neck, one that must be chronically trying because of the pressure of her robes. It was inflamed slightly, and he fought off the remembrance of how it had first looked being carved into her unblemished skin. Using his wand he opened the wound slightly, causing more blood to leak out. He tried not to wince as she exhaled suddenly. Using energy from his wand to hold back a portion of skin he carefully applied a small amount of the periwinkle solution, which seemed to slowly absorb into the wound. Now he would wait for it to draw out the poison.

She murmured something then, and he realised that she had torn a hole in the blanket with her right hand. Still more pain for her. This has to end. But it was taking too long. Nothing had been drawn out. Perhaps the poison was too strongly entrenched in this particular wound.

He opened another wound and applied more of the antidote. He did not have much time. It could separate at any moment, and he wanted to pull it clear of her before it did, in case it caused a reaction. He chose a third and applied a larger amount. Looking at the time, he decided against any more. It was already beginning to look fruitless.

"Only three?" she said, gasping weakly. "You must...not think...it will work."

He cursed silently. Of course, after all the experimentation that she had been through...she would know. "It's still early," he said haltingly. "The potion has...time limits. I don't want to apply more and have it become inert while still in the wound."

She mumbled something that he could not make out. His auto-quill scribbled away as he began to describe the time, the treatment, and what he had done so far. He was watching the first wound carefully.

He looked at the cauldron, and his heart sank. Already the potion had darkened, though it would have been imperceptible to anyone but an experienced brewer. He only had a few moments more. He concentrated and spoke the incantation that he had prepared, carefully guiding the solution out of the first wound. The periwinkle of the antidote had turned a shade lighter. He proceeded to drain the solution out of the remaining two wounds. It did not appear to have changed. She coughed weakly. "Sarah," he began quietly. "I..." He did not want to say it, that he had failed again. He hated failure. He had caused her more pain, more agony. She coughed again. He watched as she shifted slightly. "It does not appear to have worked as well as I imagined."

"The first wound..." Her voice was rough. "It feels different."

Of course she would know intimately every nuance of her pain. He looked at the potion he had siphoned off from the wound, and it did appear lighter. The original potion had been the colour of almonds. Perhaps his antidote had managed to bring out a little. He examined it closer. "It looks as if the first application might have collected some of the poison..."

"It must need...concentration..."

His mind raced. Of course. He could make it stronger...have it ready for the exact moment it came into its potency..."I will brew it again," he said, absorbed in the formula. "I could reapply it...give it more time to work...this particular batch did not hold together well...by tomorrow I could--"

"No," she said faintly. "Not tomorrow."

Of course not...she needed time to recuperate. "Perhaps next Friday, then," he said.

"Yes. Good night, Severus."

He realised that she had just dismissed him, and he had to quell his immediate angry reaction. "Good night, Sarah," he answered stiffly, and left her, the cauldron bouncing along behind him as he stalked towards his own room already thinking of a tumbler of firewhisky and the warmth of a fire.

***

The pain was so intense that she could not seem to concentrate. Everything had blurred into one, agonising whirl. But her wand was in her hand. She grimaced and managed to clear her head for a moment. "Accio," she whispered.

There was a small noise, and the object of her desire struck her hand. She put the wand down and reached out, trembling, wrapping her fingers around the smooth, round stone. The Painstone she had created so many years ago. The only reason that she had not gone mad. She felt the welcoming tingle and closed her eyes. She had tried to forego it...she had used it only a handful of times since she'd come back to Hogwarts. But she could not avoid it. She was exhausted. Her back was on fire.

The Painstone was becoming warm, and she slowly began to siphon her pain into it. It hurt...she had to alleviate it...had to send the pain somewhere...it was only logical. The agony flowed through her into its gemstone prison. She sighed as the fire on her back began to approach a tolerable level. She severed the connection. Her eyes would not stay open, and she drifted into a dream where a soft rain was falling.

***