Snape ran a hand over Draco's forehead, his long fingers stroking through the boy's hair. "Green frothy potion in a triangular bottle, fifth from the left on the second shelf," he requested in a low murmur, waving his wand to unlock the cabinet in question.
Harry wasn't too surprised when Snape examined the potion thoroughly before administering it. He was surprised, however, that before uncorking the vial, the man paused and said in a low voice, "You need to be prepared, Harry. What Draco suffers now is a coma more severe than the one commonly associated with Somulus. I do not know if the counter potion will work as expected."
Harry nodded, the motion brief and grim. "Let's just... do it," he pleaded.
Snape nodded as well, then leaning over, opened Draco's mouth, his fingertips on the boy's lips utterly gentle.
Harry held his breath, only to let it out in a horrified whoosh when six drops on his brother's tongue seemed to have no effect at all.
Catching his worried glance, Snape explained. "The best we can hope for is that the counter potion will simply take longer than usual to work its way through his system."
"That's the best?" Harry croaked.
Snape leaned forward and slid his arms beneath Draco's shoulders and knees to lift him. "Yes," he answered, his voice still low and serious. "You need prepare yourself to face the worst, as I said. The truth is... if the hex involved any form of mind control, then Draco's brain would have been in a particularly vulnerable state when he imbibed the potion. In that case, the likely result of combining the two is some degree of brain damage."
"Brain damage," Harry echoed, ill at the mere thought. "But Madame Pomfrey could cure it, surely?"
"Possibly," Snape conceded, though he was shaking his head as he began to walk toward the bedroom, Draco cradled securely against his chest. "We will cross that bridge if we come to it, Harry. My greatest concern at the moment is..." Snape abruptly stopped speaking.
"What?" Harry pressed, laying a hand on his father's arm as they reached the bedroom door. "Tell me. Please, Dad. Please."
The Potions Master cleared his throat as he studied the boy held in his arms, but then he looked up at Harry to hoarsely admit, "My greatest concern, I suppose, is that if the hex spelled onto him was a strong one... Harry... I am sorry to tell you this, but... your brother may never wake at all."
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Coming Soon in A Year Like None Other:
Chapter Sixty-Nine: Disfigured
Aspen in the Sunlight
Chapter 69: Disfigured
http://archive.skyehawke.com/story.php?no=5036&chapter=69
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A Year Like None Other
by Aspen in the Sunlight
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Chapter Sixty-Nine: Disfigured
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Snape came to an abrupt halt when he entered the boys' bedroom and caught sight of the wall where the enchanted picture frame used to hang. With that wanded spell still active, the entire wall was still doing as Harry had demanded, and showing Draco. But since now, Draco was right there in the bedroom, cradled protectively against Snape's chest, the wall had become rather like a mirror, reflecting all three of them.
For just an instant, Severus gaped. But then he glared.
At Harry.
"I can't possibly discuss this right now," he scathed. "Just restore the wall and frame."
Harry quickly nodded, though inside he was a little unsure about how to go about it.
"Now, if you would!" his father barked.
Harry turned away, his face flushed as he took a stance similar to the one he'd used before, though of course he didn't lean this time. He merely set his palm against the patch of air where the frame should be, and held his wand at the angle he'd used previously, and looked straight ahead at his own reflection, at the crest which would enable his Parseltongue to flow free. Concentrating on how good it was to have Draco back home where he belonged, he whispered, "Go back the way you were," hoping that would do it.
Thankfully, it did. Harry watched as the wall hardened and the frame materialised to hang upon it.
By the time he turned around, Snape had settled Draco atop his green-and-silver bedcovers, and was sitting on the bed beside him as though observing a vigil. But it was nothing like that, Harry knew; his father was deep in thought, considering what they knew about the Owlery, and how best to proceed now. Loath to break his concentration, Harry thought better than to sit down on the bed as well. But he wanted to be close alongside when Draco woke.
For the moment, Harry refused to consider that the operative word might be if... if Draco woke.
He lifted a hand to accio a chair from the dining room, then realised two things all at once. One, he was so tired that he'd forgotten his father's restriction against getting in the habit of displaying his wandless magic. He hardly needed to hand Severus yet more reasons to be irritated with him... and two, after forcing the enchanted picture frame to do his bidding, his magic felt shaky and depleted.
Or maybe that was just Harry himself feeling the effects of accelerating personal time. His father had re-hydrated him, but as far as his body was concerned, it had still gone two or three days without food or rest.
Either way, it just seemed simpler to trudge out of the bedroom to fetch the chair he wanted. Funny... under certain circumstances, doing something through physical means was actually less work than using magic.
Snape didn't appear to notice him leaving.
As Harry crossed back from the dining alcove, fire erupted in the hearth, and there was Dumbledore's face, creased with worry. "Harry? You're safe, are you?"
"Yeah," Harry nodded, setting down the straight-backed chair and standing behind it. He knew he couldn't claim that everything was perfectly fine, not with his eye in the awful state it was in. The way it was throbbing reminded him he'd better use the ice again, but he pushed that thought aside as the headmaster spoke once more.
"I have Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley here with me. They're most concerned about you, and I can certainly see why. Did Mr. Malfoy give you that bruise, Harry?"
Harry opened his mouth to reply, not at all sure what to say, but then the answer came to him. "I think maybe you'd better talk to my dad," he announced, his voice a bit wobbly as he wondered how on earth they were going to get Draco out of this mess. "But can you tell Ron and Hermione I'm fine and that they shouldn't come back down just now? Severus is taking care of everything. And tell them not to tell anybody about my eye, all right? They don't know what happened. Tell them that. They don't know what happened!"
Dumbledore peered closely at him, then slowly nodded. "Very well. For the moment, I will accede to your wishes, my boy. But I expect a thorough accounting of everything from your father, is that clear?"
"Yes, sir," Harry murmured, spotting his invisibility cloak on the floor. He hoped the headmaster hadn't noticed it... but what chance was there of that? Albus Dumbledore rarely missed anything. "Thank you, sir," he added as he changed positions slightly to block the swath of multicoloured fabric.