The Draught of Asphodel by Ttime42
Summary: When Harry accidentally drinks a brutal potion with roots in dark magic, he has to reluctantly rely on Hogwarts’ prickly Potions Master to fix the outcome.
Categories: Healer Snape, Teacher Snape > Professor Snape, Parental Snape > Guardian Snape Main Characters: None
Snape Flavour: Snape Comforts, Snape is Kind, Snape Spanks, Snape is Stern
Genres: Angst, Family, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort
Media Type: None
Tags: Alternate Universe, Injured!Harry
Takes Place: 5th Year
Warnings: Physical Abuse, Physical Punishment Spanking
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 15 Completed: Yes Word count: 67467 Read: 29465 Published: 16 Jan 2023 Updated: 13 Jul 2023
Back to Hogwarts by Ttime42
Harry didn’t sleep well that night, tossing fitfully in his sheets. He woke up several times drenched in sweat. At one point he threw off his sodden shirt and dug through his packed trunk to put on another. His head pounded. He dreamed of spidery fingers racing over his body, sinking below the skin and tapping along his nerves. His spine was gripped in a tight cold fist and the muscles in his legs and arms fluttered and cramped. His very veins felt aflame, burning from head to foot. It was impossible to relax. If his headache abated, he was sweating. If the sweat dried, his throat was raw. Around dawn, after sleeping for barely three hours, he gave up and opened the curtains. Pale grey light shadowed the room and Harry sat on the edge of his bed, trembling faintly. What the hell was this?

The floor in the corridor creaked and then Sirius’ soft voice: “Harry?”

He hitched a knee up on the bed as he turned around. “Hey Padfoot.” His voice was hoarse and sullen.

“Are you sick?” Sirius came into the room. Their bedrooms shared a wall and Sirius probably heard the tossing and turning. Little did he know that his godfather barely slept anymore, not since Azkaban.

“I think so.” Harry said.

Sirius sat on the edge of the bed and put a hand on Harry’s forehead. The cool hand felt so good against his flushed skin. His eyes fluttered closed.

“Merlin’s balls, Harry, you’re burning up! Did you take a healing potion earlier?” Sirius wondered if this was the doxy venom at work. Had this doxy been particularly venomous? Still, Harry shouldn’t be having this kind of reaction to a simple bite.

“Yeah.” Harry said. “Mundungus gave me one.”

Sirius paused. “Mundungus gave you a healing potion?”

“Yeah, he had just bought, er, gotten some potions. He gave me one.”

Sirius didn’t say anything and Harry looked at him in the slowly brightening room. “Did you look in the cabinet for one?”

“I did but I couldn’t find any.”

“You’re sure it was a healing potion he gave you?” Sirius said.

“Yeah! It looked and tasted like a healing potion. My arm stopped hurting.”

This was good enough for Sirius. He stood up. “I’m going downstairs anyway, I’ll make you another dose. Healing potion’s about the only potion I can make decently. Got horrible marks in potions.”

“How come you’re up, Sirius?” Harry asked.

Sirius paused in the doorway. Because I couldn’t sleep from all the nightmares I keep having about Azkaban? Because my mind is always racing a mile a minute? Because I dream that Voldemort is going to kill you and if you died that would end me?

Sirius shrugged. “Not very tired I guess. Lay back down, Harry. Read or something. I’ll bring you another dose in a flash.”

Harry felt much better a few hours later. The healing potion Sirius made him was potent and by the time they were ready to leave for the train station to board the Hogwarts Express, Harry felt completely normal. He bid Sirius goodbye at Grimmauld Place and Ron’s dad escorted them to King’s Cross where they met up with Molly Weasley, Ginny, and the twins. They all hugged the Weasley parents goodbye and boarded.

“Have a good year, kids!” Arthur called.

“Stay out of trouble!” Molly added in a wobbly voice.

“Molly, darling,” Arthur put a hand around her shoulder as the train pulled away. “It never gets easier, does it?”

“No.” She wiped her nose with a handkerchief, watching the train containing most of her children, Harry included, shrinking into the distance.

“They’ll be back for the holidays before you know it. And besides….it’s not so bad to have the house to ourselves, is it?” He had a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

“Arthur!” She pretended to be scandalized and they giggled as they left the station to return the the empty Burrow.

 

 

Ninety minutes into the journey found Harry yawning. He was in the compartment with Luna, Neville, and his toad, Trevor. Ginny was hanging in the open doorway with Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan. Ron and Hermione were prefects now and they had to deal with the first years on the train. They were all chatting and catching up from the summer. Harry wanted to join in but he was so tired. He leaned his head against the glass as Neville laughed loudly at something Dean said.

“Harry?” Luna touched his arm. “You okay?”

“M’tired.” He said.

“Were you ill?” She asked, her voice breathy as usual. “Maybe you have a Bulbous Rexcore infestation?”

“Uhhh, doubt it.” Harry said, wondering what on earth a Bulbous Rexcore was. It was hard to articulate what was wrong. His head kind of hurt and he felt both restless and tired. The throat pain had gone away but he was feeling warm again. He was just….off.

“I wonder if Madame Pomfrey knows anything about Bulbous Rexcores?” Luna said to no one in particular.

“I should be fine.” He said, lifting his head off the glass when he heard the familiar, “anything from the trolley, dears?” Harry loaded up on chocolate frogs from the kindly witch, doing his best to ignore his symptoms. He probably just needed a good night’s sleep. A chocolate frog or two wouldn’t hurt either.

He crammed the frog in mouth and looked at the accompanying card. Professor Snape. Harry made a face and dropped it on the floor. The less he saw of Snape this year, the better.

 

 

Harry still wasn’t feeling well by the time they got to Hogwarts. He practically fell asleep during the dinner and sorting. He wasn’t hungry and rather than laugh and shout with his peers, everything seemed just a little too loud and bright. Hagrid’s giant-sized absence didn’t make him feel better and no one had anything good to say about their new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Dolores Umbridge. When everyone stood up to go to their dorms, Hermione grabbed his arm and steered him away from the crowd.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked. “Dorm’s that way.” He pointed in the direction everyone was heading.

“We’re not going to the dorms. We’re going to Madame Pomfrey. You look awful, Harry!”

“But you’re a prefect now, you have to go—”

“Miss Granger. Mister Potter.” Professor McGonagall’s voice stopped them both. “I know it’s been an entire summer but surely you’ve not forgotten where the Gryffindor common room is?”

“Professor, he’s not well.” Hermione said.

McGonagall looked at Harry over her spectacles. The boy looked positively peaky. “Hm. Right. With me, Potter. Miss Granger, assist your fellow prefect with the students.”

“Yes, Professor.” Hermione gave Harry a final glance and left.

“What are your symptoms, Potter?” McGonagall began walking with Harry.

“Um, headache kinda. My throat hurt yesterday. I didn’t sleep well. Really warm? Like my veins were on fire.”

She gave him a sharp look. He shrugged.

“That’s the best way I can describe it. Nightmares too.”

“About…him?”

“No, not Voldemort.”

They traveled the short distance to the hospital wing where Madame Pomfrey was getting settled in her office post-feast. McGonagall knocked on her door.

“Minerva, nice to see you again.”

“Hello Poppy, I’m afraid I have an ill student.”

“Already? Starting early this year.” She came out of her office and laid eyes on Harry. A thin sheen of sweat was on his face and his eyes were ringed in dark, tired circles. “Goodness, Mr. Potter.” She said. “To bed!”

He didn’t argue. He was definitely ill.

Harry wandered over to a bed and Madame Pomfry turned to McGonagall, “thank you, Minerva, I can take it from here.”

She left and Madame Pomfrey gave Harry a fresh set of hospital trousers and a buttoned shirt. He knew the drill. He had spent enough time in the hospital wing to know that he was to change behind the curtain and come straight to bed. He changed quickly, feeling woozy, and got into the hospital bed. No sooner was he settled than a thermometer thrust itself into his mouth. Madame Pomfrey put two fingers on his wrist, checking his pulse. Harry stayed still until she set his hand down. She took the thermometer.

“Oof, Harry, you’ve a fever.”

He laid back on the pillow, sweating and chilled.

“When did this start?” She asked.

Harry detailed everything from the doxy to the moment he drank the potion to his arriving at Hogwarts.

“Harry, I’m going to do an assessment and a blood draw.”

“Okay.” He said.

She summoned a needle, vial, and some tubes from a cabinet. She cast a quick numbing charm on the crook of his elbow, cleaned his skin, and drew a vial of blood. She brought it to her office and came back, murmuring the words needed for the full assessment. It was a simple, invaluable spell. She held her wand over various points of the patient’s body, casting an invisible net of sorts that would glean information about metabolism, blood type, allergies, recent food eaten, and most importantly in this case: the contents of the most recent potions he’d consumed. She finished the spell, leaving a hair-thin network of criss-crossing soft blue lines hovering a foot or so above Harry’s body. 

“Have you had a healing potion?” She asked.

“Yeah. Two this morning.”

“Oh, that’s enough then. No potions since?”

“No.”

“Alright love, just you rest now. We’ll have that assessment soon. If anything funny turns up we’ll ask Professor Snape.”

Snape was the last person Harry wanted involved in his illness.

“Would you like a calming draught?”

“I think I’ll be okay…” he thought of the nightmares and their spidery fingers. “Maybe the dreamless sleep?”

“Sure.” She reached into her apron. She often carried vials of healing potion, calming draughts, dreamless sleep, and the like. In a place like Hogwarts it was wise to be prepared.

Harry’s assessment turned up an odd mixture of ingredients running through his system, the likes of which Poppy Pomfrey had never seen. This disturbed her. She was an expert potions witch, regularly putting together various calming, healing, and medicinal mixtures. She could cure the flu, guess the exact dosage of skele-grow a patient required just by looking at them, soothe teenage skin conditions, provide a plethora of premenstrual syndrome panaceas, fix a cold, and much more. She knew just about every potion that could safely go through a young magical body and had devised several bespoke potions herself.

This though…this was beyond her. Whatever Potter had consumed, it certainly wasn’t just a healing potion. Sure, the ingredients for a healing potion were present—Bubotuber pus, dittany, wormwood, etc—this was expected. There was also asphodel, which was common enough, but definitely not found in healing potions. The assessments also turned up dragon claw ooze, Granian hair, and something called Anjelica. She wasn’t sure if Anjelica was a plant, person, or animal.

She went to Harry’s bedside the next morning with a breakfast tray once he was awake.

“How do you feel, Harry?” She asked.

“The same.” He said. He still had dark circles around his eyes despite the night’s solid rest. “My head kinda hurts again. My fingers and toes are tingling.”

“Are you hungry?” She asked.

He shrugged.

“Try, anyway.” She set the tray down on a table and wheeled it towards him.

“Madame Pomfrey, what did the assessment show?”

She paused and Harry sprinkled some sugar on his porridge.

“Well, Harry, you did take a healing potion.”

“Yeah.” He said, bringing a spoonful of porridge to his mouth.

“However, there’s something else in your system.”

He put his spoon down. “What?”

“I don’t exactly know.” She said. “Many of the ingredients aren’t typically in any sort of potion used for medicine.”

Harry’s face was pinched. “Do you think those other ingredients are what’s making me sick?”

“Most likely. When Professor Snape returns, we can ask him. He’s our resident potions expert, after all!”

Harry’s appetite was throughly gone now.

Seeing his dejected look, she continued. “There’s no reason to think you can’t be cured, my boy. If whatever potion you took was going to kill you, it likely would have by now!” She was trying to be positive but Harry found this even more depressing.

“Thanks, Madame Pomfrey.” He said. “When can I leave? I have class…” He hated the idea of starting the school year behind. Fifth year was supposed to be hard enough.

“I’ll check your symptoms after lunch.” She said. “If you’re feeling better, you can go to class.” She didn’t like that answer but she could hardly keep the boy here if he felt well enough to attend classes.

Harry leaned back in the pillows and chewed his bottom lip. This was probably nothing. It was most likely a bug he’d picked up. There was always something going around. He’d take a few potions and be good as new in a couple days.
The End.


This story archived at http://www.potionsandsnitches.org/fanfiction/viewstory.php?sid=3829