Severus glared at the thin layer of clear liquid in the bottom of the vial. If he’d done this right that was the poison that was currently affecting Arthur Weasley. If. If he hadn’t, it was some combination of blood bits and poison bits and Merlin knew what else. Despite his best efforts there was probably snake saliva mixed in at the very least…assuming snakes even have saliva. For some reason I’m finding it very difficult to believe that the question of whether or not snakes have saliva is actually a concern of mine. The real issue of course was contamination from whatever the St. Mungo’s healers might have applied in an attempt to stop the bleeding, but there wasn’t a great deal he could do about that either at this point. Despite the fact that mixing potions together haphazardly was an excellent way to put an abrupt end to one’s family line. Not actually what I’m going for, although I suppose it is one way to end this lunacy. A normal potions master working in a research setting might encounter a completely unknown poison—a completely unknown substance, period—perhaps once in a decade. After all, they were generally paid for the creation of various potions not hunting about in the wilds for things that might or might not have some value. For a potions master in the pay of an institution like St. Mungo’s it might occur as much as twice or even three times that often simply because of the sheer idiocy of the vast majority of the Wizarding population. But no one has to deal with two completely unknown substances in the space of six mere months. No one. The idea is preposterous. There’s barely time to finish preliminary investigation on one in that amount of time.

He gave the vial another glare and then set it—carefully—on the countertop. This wasn’t the time to get careless and spill; he could hardly go to St. Mungo’s and suggest that Arthur bleed a bit more. Although since he still hasn’t technically stopped bleeding…. Unfortunately the only certain way to test whether he had enough—or even any—actual poison seemed to be sticking some on an open gash and seeing whether the blood clotted or not, and personally he had no desire to spend however long it took to get some sort of cure cobbled together bleeding. Where are students when you need one?

There was a sharp rap on the door to his workroom and he swiped at his eyes and waved it open. At least he knew it wasn’t Poppy here to harangue him about getting enough rest since he’d never given her the password to his quarters.

“Severus,” Minerva greeted, offering a handful of parchments.

“What—?”

“From the potions masters at St. Mungo’s who’ve been assigned to Arthur’s case. They detail what they’ve been able to figure out so far. Healer Smethwyck asks that you keep them updated as to your progress as well.”

A wise idea; it would keep them from duplicating research. He should write up the steps he’d gone through to purify the poison and pass them along, actually. Although…. “Do you happen to have a quick quill that I could borrow for the duration of this little emergency?” He hated the things—the shops might claim they were ‘accurate to a word’ but that had never been his experience—but there just wasn’t the time to waste writing everything out by hand.

“Horrible things,” she said with a grimace, “but I do believe I have one tucked away in my office.”

“How is he?”

“The self-sealing bandages seem to have stemmed the blood loss—although the wounds still aren’t looking any better—and they’re dosing him with blood-replenishing potion hourly. They still haven’t made up more than a third of what he’s lost, but at least his color is a bit better.”

Since Severus hadn’t actually seen him before he had no real frame of reference, but he nodded anyway.

“Harry and the Weasley children will be returning to Hogwarts after they finish their visit to St. Mungo’s…Molly needs to be with her husband and they’ll be safer here than at the Burrow alone.”

For a moment he had a horrible suspicion that she was going to pull one of Albus’ tricks and announce that he’d be hosting the five of them in his quarters or something equally horrendous—Harry was tolerable, but four Weasleys were absolutely out of the question—but it seemed that she was just informing him of the fact because she turned with a quick nod. “I’ll send down the quill with one of the elves as soon as I’ve found it.”

“Thank you.”

“Have you slept at all?”

“What?”

“Severus, it’s half past ten in the morning. You worked straight through breakfast as well.”

“Merlin’s beard.” Although he didn’t have much strength to put in the invective…of course having been up for over a day would explain that.

“You’re hardly at your best when you’re working with no food or sleep.”

“I know, I know.” I don’t need a lecture on the subject. “I’ll see about a nap after I look over their notes.” He waved the sheaf of papers she’d given him.

“Hm.”

As long as she didn’t set Poppy on his case he wasn’t going to worry about her opinion just now, and it was with some relief that he watched her exit his rooms. It was more of a relief when a house elf appeared with Minerva’s quick-quill. And a tray of food. He dictated between bites, double-checking that what he said was what was written. It was more accurate than he’d expected; enough so to be sent off with one of the school owls, at least.

A lighter knock on the door to his laboratory distracted him from cauldron number three an hour or two later. He’d stretched out on his bed for about ten minutes before deciding that sleep was a lost cause for the time being and went back to work, but even so he had to bite back a yawn as he called for his visitor to enter.

“Professor?”

“Hello, Harry. How are you?”

“All right, I guess. I can’t stay long; Ron and the others will miss me.”

He shifted uncomfortably, and Severus shifted his current attempt off of the heat. It wouldn’t be harmed by a bit of waiting. “Is there something you wanted to speak to me about?” No, of course not, he came down here for a bit of exercise.

“It’s because of me isn’t it? That Mr. Weasley was attacked. I remember I used to dream about the Department of Mysteries before…before the Occlumency lessons. I didn’t realize what it was then, but…. And the headmaster said that that’s where the record of the prophecy is kept.”

Severus suddenly wished he’d dosed himself to sleep. It would have at least postponed this conversation until he was more able to deal with it. And if I’d gotten very lucky he might have gone to Albus and kept me out of things entirely. “The Dark Lord can’t touch the prophecy. No one can take it except—”

“The person it refers to; I know. So only me. But that doesn’t stop him from trying. I mean, that’s why he sent Nagini to the Ministry, isn’t it?”

“I imagine so.”

“Yeah, well, I know so.” Harry scuffed the stone with his tennis shoe. “I want this to stop, Professor. I want people to stop getting hurt because of me.”

“What happened to Arthur Weasley is not your fault, Harry. It’s the Dark Lord’s fault, and no one else’s.” Well, perhaps a Deatheater or two he could name in the Ministry could share the blame as well; the ones most likely responsible for getting that thing in—and out—without detection, but now was hardly the time to pursue that subject. Harry looked like he wanted to continue arguing, and he searched for some sort of distraction. “Arthur is going to be fine.”

“Is the bleeding stopped?”

“The healers say that the self-sealing bandages are working well.” Well, something along those lines, anyway. Harry had probably just come from St. Mungo’s so he no doubt knew what was going on just as well as Severus did, but….

“But if they take them off he’s still hurt. The bites aren’t closing.”

“That problem is being dealt with as we speak. There is nothing for you to worry about.” A bit more of a blanket reassurance than he’d normally even consider giving, but it was better that than have the boy continuing to fret about just why Arthur Weasley had been attacked. “Now why don’t you go back up to the tower and spend some time with your friends? Play a few games of chess, go flying….”Do something other than ask me questions.

“Do you maybe need some help with something here?”

And I thought you said you couldn’t stay long. He shook his head and waved a hand at one of the smaller tables along the wall. Easier to go along with him than force him out just now. “Lemmas root. Dice it. Neatly.”

“Yes, sir.”

Harry set to dicing with a will that Severus wished he’d show in class on occasion, and he turned back to the work that had been interrupted. At least as long as he had something to do Harry didn’t seem inclined to push more conversation that Severus wasn’t ready to deal with, and while the fact that Severus had gotten rather…accustomed…to his presence didn’t in any way improve his potion-making abilities he was competent enough to dice and shred and such. Perhaps even a bit more than that—not much more, but he’d done tolerably well back in Brazil—but the ingredients Severus was currently working with were volatile enough that he didn’t want anyone else at that counter.

///////////

“—fessor? Professor?!”

Severus twisted his head to glare but he couldn’t afford to move quickly without risking an explosion in the cauldron in front of him. He’d babied the thing through the addition of the last half-dozen ingredients and didn’t even want to think about disturbing it until it finally settled. “What?”

Harry had shifted several tables down, shredding, mincing, and doing whatever else was required for some of the ingredients Severus had considered adding. “The chime on the front door to your quarters is ringing.”

“Well, go answer it.” The liquid wasn’t fading from the obnoxiously bright violet color it had attained after the mugwort had been added, and he slapped the counter sharply. He was going to have to start over…this wasn’t going anywhere. Well, not anywhere particularly useful although if he wanted a truly vicious corrosive he was very nearly there. He wasn’t even going to waste any of the venom testing it—it might destroy the poison but it would kill Weasley first, so…. Hours of work, completely useless.

“Professor?” Harry interrupted again, sticking his head back through the doorway. “Dinner’s nearly over…I’m going to go up with Ginny before everything is gone.”

The Weasley girl was hanging back behind the boy’s shoulder, obviously curious but not willing to actually enter his lab. Good. “Yes, fine.”

“Do you want me to bring you back something?”

“If I wanted food, I would call for a house elf. Go.”

Harry started to say something else, but a muttered, “Harry, come on,” cut him off and there was the sound of his workroom door swinging shut.

“Damn it, where did I go wrong?” He wasn’t entirely sure. If he just knew where to start, what the Dark Lord might have done…. There was a heavy bang on his workroom door and he snarled at his next visitor to enter. It was probably Poppy coming to harass him about missing meals again; just what he did not care to deal with now. She didn’t know the password, but Harry wouldn’t even have considered refusing her entry.

“Mr. Potter let me in on his way out,” Alastor said as he stepped in. “I think someday you and I must have a conversation about that.”

“Yes, fine, does three years from Tuesday work for you?” Not that Severus was entirely certain what ‘that’ meant, but he wasn’t in the mood to play word games either. I thought Aurors were supposed to be observant—can he not see that I’m busy? Maybe I added the calcium globules too quickly? But there was nothing there for them to react to at that point…there is no way that it should have gone bad so quickly.

Alastor glared and muttered something that was probably uncomplimentary and then offered a handful of papers. “From St. Mungo’s. Owls can be intercepted.”

“Thank you for that fascinating bit of trivia.” Paranoid lunatic. It wasn’t as though anyone particularly cared about what was being transmitted—the only person who might be looking would be the Dark Lord, and what was he going to do? Horror of horrors, maybe he’ll publish our results and claim the credit for himself. It’s not as though having our notes is going to do him or anyone else a great deal of use otherwise. Stealing letters isn’t going to stop the research, and anyone who doesn’t take basic precautions to de-hex, –jinx, and –curse their post deserves what they get. He took the papers and dropped them off to his right. He’d take a look at them when he figured out just where he’d gone wrong. There were three other potions masters working on the problem; two of them didn’t seem overly inspired but he recognized the name of the third from a seminar in Italy last summer and some of her earlier notes had looked somewhat promising. Nothing definite—certainly nothing that indicated that he should change his own line of research—but more than what the other two had managed thus far. He considered the cauldron again. Maybe I need to start with a stronger base. It’s—

“About that mouth of yours too.”

Severus paused for a moment. Can be intercepted? Ah, ‘a conversation about.’ Joy. “Is that all?”

“Hm.”

He was poking around now, along Severus’ back shelves, and Severus made a mental note to put some kind of touch-transmitted poison on the spines of a few of his books whenever he got a chance. Nothing particularly deadly, but…. My, I’m feeling bloodthirsty today. Although by his count he’d been up for something over thirty-six hours now, the majority of them stressful, so he could hardly be blamed for being in something of a temper.

“You act as though you actually expect to accomplish something.”

“Yes, well, leaving someone to bleed to death—” at least someone who wasn’t trying to kill him—“goes against my professional ethics.” Although not half as much as letting that creature out-think me with regards to a potion does. Merlin knew he wasn’t any kind of expert at transfiguration, and while he was good with charms and quite a bit better than ‘good’ when it came to the Dark Arts and defense against, potions was his subject. It always had been, and no psychopathic Dark Lord was going to beat him in it as long as he had any say in the matter. There was a faint chime—someone from the staff at the outer door—and he bit back a groan. If Albus announced that I’m taking visitors, I will bloody well hex him. “Come in.” Why not; he wasn’t getting much accomplished with Alastor around anyway.

“Severus, do you know how many meals you’ve missed?”

Poppy. Wonderful. This is why you ask ‘Who is it?’ before you open the door.

“Just because that arm of yours is healed doesn’t mean that you need to be starving yourself,” she continued, joining them in the laboratory. “You did have other injuries, and you could still relapse.”

I could also sprout horns and join the Wild Hunt, but I don’t see that as particularly likely either. If he got sick at this point it would be entirely on his own merits. There was a chuckling sound from behind him and Severus gritted his teeth. He was going to hex one of them before this night was over. He knew it. “Poppy, I had one of the elves bring me breakfast. I had a light—” nonexistent, in fact—“lunch, and as soon as I get this sorted out I will make sure to eat a proper dinner. Will that suffice?”

She tapped her foot. “And how long has it been since you’ve slept?”

“I couldn’t tell you precisely; it’s not something that I normally track very closely.” Perfectly true, of course.

“A rough estimate will do.”

Damn. “And after I have dinner, I will sleep. Is that acceptable?”

“It will have to do. I heard about Arthur and I do understand the urgency, but you’re of no use to anyone if you work yourself into the ground.”

He gave her a half-glare and nodded slightly. “I am aware of that, thank you.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she nodded as well. “I suppose that’s the best I’m going to get. Goodnight, then.” Another nod, a bit off to one side. “Professor Moody.”

“Madam Pomfrey.” She disappeared in a swirl of skirts, and Alastor barked a quick laugh. “You really do have them fooled, don’t you?”

“Alastor, what in Merlin’s name do you want? She’s right about the amount of sleep I’ve managed to get recently; I’m certainly in no shape to play guessing games.” Not if you didn’t want the evening to end in curses—and I mean that quite literally—anyway.

“They think you can actually do something about this venom.”

“Yes, well, it is my profession so I suppose it stands to reason.” One of them anyway, the others currently including teacher—Merlin help me—and retired spy, but somehow I never planned for either of those.

“I’ve seen what Malfoy’s cronies are capable of accomplishing within the bounds of their ‘professions,’ thank you. I’ll grant you’ve got a bit of talent when it comes to making this and that, but paying off the right people doesn't precisely confer skill.”

Severus was tired enough that it took a moment to understand the implications of Alastor’s statement, and then his fingers twitch convulsively toward the near-corrosive in front of him. And then he paused to consider how long it would take him to reach the actual poison. It would only take a little cut—a shattering glass vial would see to that—and he’d have plenty of new blood to purify. Alastor already had a multitude of scars; a new one or two wouldn’t matter much.

It was one thing to insult his loyalty. That he expected; it wasn’t precisely an uncommon reaction and he’d had plenty of experience dealing with it. Insulting his abilities, however…. As a Deatheater he might have pretended to be slightly less talented than he was in reality to keep the Dark Lord from getting his hands on some truly horrendous substances, but comments of that sort were not something that he was prepared to tolerate from anyone else. “I think you need to leave. Now.” Before he did something that he—well, he very much doubted that he would regret it, but the ramifications would no doubt put a damper on his future plans. What there is of them, anyway. Thus far Azkaban wasn't featured and he'd prefer to keep it that way.

“I’m not—”

Several lighter containers began to rattle ominously and he clamped down reflexively on his temper. If he’d been in the outer room he would probably have let a few shatter, but in here it would do far more harm than good. “Regardless of your opinions, I do have work to do. I believe you know where the door is.”

Both of Alastor’s eyes focused on him for a moment, and then he nodded slightly. “As you please, I suppose. If you must persist, get a messenger to take your notes to St. Mungo’s from now on. I’ll be going back tomorrow morning for guard duty if you want me to take them.”

Severus glared at the door for several moments and then selected the now-empty jar that had held the Lemmas root Harry had diced earlier and threw it with great force against the far wall. It shattered most satisfyingly. Of all the arrogant, conceited…gah! He wasn’t even sure what expletive he wanted to apply in this situation. No one—no one, not even the moronic foursome that had haunted his schooldays—had ever dared to imply that he was anything less than perfectly competent in his chosen field. A bottle of newt eyes—he hadn’t meant to pick them up but they’d been sitting on the wrong shelf—followed the empty jar. There was a light knock on his workroom door and he waved it open with a bit more force than necessary.

“Professor?” Harry edged in cautiously. “Is something…wrong? I thought I heard a crash.”

“It’s none of your concern. I thought you went off with your little friend?”

He shrugged. “I just grabbed something quick to eat. I’m not really hungry. I finished powdering the Graphorn liver before I left…is there something else I can do?”

“Not right now. I suggest you return to your tower.” He turned back to the cauldron in front of him, taking a deep breath and forcing his irritation down, and debated what to do with the contents. There would be time for him to release his temper later, right now he was going to have to be careful how he disposed of this particular batch of failed results. It would melt right through a glass vial, and simply dumping it down the drain wasn’t an option with something of this potency. He did pick up a half-dozen silver lined ones on a trip to Spain a few years ago; now if he could just remember where he put them. He drummed his fingers on the counter lightly.

“Are you sure Professor?”

He aimed a glare back over his shoulder. “Mr. Potter, I find myself in grave need of peace and quiet. You may run and fetch two of the vials with the silver tint on the inside from the cabinet in the spare room, and then you may return to your rooms. I’m sure your friends would appreciate your company.” He had notes to read, notes to if not write then at least dictate and check, a base to restart, a meal to eat, and—unfortunately—a nap to take if he didn’t want Poppy on his case. And possibly a few more jars to smash. And that was after dealing with this mess. He already knew what Poppy’s reaction would be if he took another dose of Come-alert Draught and stayed up working through another night; she could be decidedly devious when she chose. Besides, there was a point where Come-alert stopped having any effect besides making things look very bright anyway, and he strongly suspected he would reach that limit sometime around two tomorrow morning.

The vials appeared at his elbow a moment later, but Harry had apparently taken his words to heart because he didn’t attempt to find any reason to hang around. Severus split the useless potion between the two vials, stoppering them carefully and setting them aside to be disposed of later. Notes were again dictated between bites of a meal, and he considered for a moment before owling them off. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with Alastor just now, nor make allowances for the man’s paranoia.

Setting up the base—well, bases, he was going to try a few different variants and see which settled the best—didn’t take as much time as he’d expected. Having an assistant to prepare ingredients was rather useful…if Harry turned up at some point tomorrow he’d have to remember to thank him. Or at least acknowledge his efforts. No point in worrying about it just now though. Preparations might not have taken as long as he’d expected, but it was still late, and he dosed himself before climbing into bed. If he didn’t he’d be up considering cures and reactants and who-knew-what-else until the early hours of the morning even without taking any potions…he’d done it more than once before. As it was he was considering further steps to purify the venom as he finally drifted off.