Nocturne by Tira Nog

Chapter 10

Two weeks later as Harry lay in bed the night after taking the first dose of the vampirism cure, he was sorry to acknowledge that Severus was once again proven correct. It wasn't a pleasure; in fact, the experience was so far away from pleasure that he couldn't remember what it felt like to feel good, and he was only sixteen hours into the procedure.

After drinking down the first draught of the smoking, yellow, foul-tasting brew at sunrise on the dark of the moon, Harry spent the entire morning sitting on the toilet with diarrhoeic cramps, and the afternoon retching the contents of his stomach into a bucket. He was beyond miserable and wishing that there had been any other way to do this.

It was a testament to Gryffindor stubbornness that he didn't once think of abandoning the idea, for all that Severus kept threatening that he wasn't going to brew the second batch. He'd won that argument. At least, Harry thought he had. It was hard to consider anything that made him feel this bad as winning.

Even worse than what the noxious potion was doing to his own body, was the effect the ordeal of having to watch him suffer was having upon Severus. The guilt was eating Severus alive, and this was only the first day. Severus could barely meet his eyes.

His lover had hovered outside the open bathroom door all day long, doing his best not to intrude upon his privacy, while staying close enough to catch him should he pass out – which was still a distinct possibility.

Now that the cramping, voiding, and vomiting had finally stopped, Harry was propped up in their bed on a mound of pillows, trying to rest.

Severus sat in a straight-backed chair at his side. His face looked like it was carved from stone; it was set so rigidly in pained lines.

Severus held a mug of thin vegetable broth clutched between his hands in his lap. He was staring down at it as if the secrets of the universe could be found in its cloudy depths. His longish black hair was veiling his face because of the way his head was bent.

Harry thought that he'd never seen the man look so beaten.

As if sensing his gaze, Severus glanced over at him. "Would you like to try another sip?"

Harry hadn't been too successful at keeping the last try down.

"Yes, please," he said, mostly to get Severus to move closer to him.

Severus came to perch on the side of the bed. Slipping his hand beneath his head to gently cup his skull, Severus lifted him up and held the mug to his lips with his other hand.

Harry took a sip of the thin, salty broth and murmured his thanks. This sip seemed inclined to stay where it was put.

"More?" Severus questioned.

"No, thanks." Harry put his hand on Severus' arm to stop him as his lover made to draw back to his chair. "How are you doing?"

"Me?" Severus appeared shocked. "I'm not the one being poisoned."

"It would be easier for you if you were, I think," Harry said and then offered, "You don't have to watch. Poppy would take care of me if we told her what we were doing."

Madame Pomfrey, Minerva, Hagrid, and Severus were the only teachers who had remained at Hogwarts over the summer.

"Would you rather be with her? I know . . . that I am not the most compassionate caretaker," Severus stiffly replied, lowering his gaze again.

At that moment, Harry would have given anything in the world to see Severus sneer at him. This guilt-ridden spectre was more painful to him than the cramps the potion caused.