Disclamer: I do not own anything and wouldn't dare to presume doing so. I'm broke anyway.
Warning: Slow Updater.
Chapter 1 The incident.
Severus Snape was nothing if unpopular. His impossible-to-wash hair and Dark Arts fascination must have helped, but the fact was that he didn't mingle with his peers. He was the geek, the weirdo, the guy who revises at breaktime; in short, he was a loner. His aloofness meant that few of his classmates ever bothered to get to know him. T'was a pity, he could certainly have taught them a few things. But as it was he had no one to talk with and had to resort to other things to pass the time and dull the loneliness. One of those things was potions. He was known thorough the school as a potion genius and the relief at having found something he was good at guaranteed he made damn sure he was the best at it.
Therefore, what was more natural than streching the boundaries of the class work? The present potion teacher professor Horace Slughorn, slytherin by nature, was extremely surprised one day to find little Snape staying after class to ask him something. After a little fidgeting the quietly brilliant student managed to blurt out his request. Strange how the masterful root cutter and liquid stirrer, always sure of himself as he breezed through the latest enigma confusing his classmates was reluctant to ask something so obviously important to him. Especially to his Head of House, if anyone should be inclined to help him, it would be Slughorn. He frowned slightly during the stammering and continued to do so for a few moments afterwards.
"I mean, it would be... Well, if you don't want to..."
Then his jovial laugh echoed throught the dungeons.
"Of course m'boy! Of course, why should I refuse one of my brightest students? You're not supposed to be down there alone so it'll have to be when I am free to supervise you but as long as you don't blow up the school it should be fine. But what do you intend to make?"
Since Severus didn't remember (he'd been so absorded in dreading the answer he'd forgotten his plans) the potion master set him to do a slightly more complex extra-curricular potion. Sometimes it would be a purposely erroneous set of instructions to be corrected. Or, later on, a potion needed to restock the infirmary. In the course of a few months, the potion master decided that marking essays in the dungeons was decidedly too chilly and that the young prodigy must be skilled enough by now not to overturn his cauldron. After that change Severus began to go down there more and more often. Working after hours in the labs became one of his favourite past-times. He often went there when he was frustrated with other people. After a long day's teasing the precision needed for the increasingly difficult potions helped him clear his mind and detach himself from who he was. For a few hours, he wasn't there. There was a pair of hands executing increasingly complicated instructions and there was a clock and a cauldron and a fire and a set of ingredients and a chopping board and a knife, and a knife...
The accident happened during one of those complicated potions. Since it was a Friday evening, he'd reasoned that he'd have the whole of Saturday to sleep so he might as well try something harder than usual. He choose the Chien de Damoclès . It was famed as difficult in textbooks since some of the ingredients were sensitive to magic in the vicinity. The Clabbert warts, for example, light themselves when fire spells are used in a radius of a few meters, something they aren't supposed to do until they are diced since you can't "turn them off'" so to speak. When diced, the magic used to make the wart glow is released and it can be caught and added to the potion. However, if they are already glowing when they are being cut the magic will leak into the ambiant air before you can bottle it.
With all this in mind, Snape established numerous precautions and prepared the sensitive ingredients well before he would need them apart for some of the less viable ones which would lose their properties if not freshly cut/burnt/ground. He lit two fires with matches and set some milk to warm.
Two hours later the dog was well under way. It now needed to simmer for a while so Snape decided to take a walk. The way things were going he might need an Invigorating Draught of some sort before the end of the night so a trip to his trunk (which contained a small supply of it) was in order. He wrote down the precise time at which the next ingredient would need to be added and set off in the darkened corridors. A small bell chimed somewhere with a crystalline sound. 10 o'clock. There'll still be some people up.
As he arrived to the slytherin common room he tried his best to be unconspicuous. He didn't need some random person wondering what on earth he was doing going out an hour after curfew. Snape found his trunk, pulled out two small vials of Invigorating Draught and stuffed them in a pocket under his robes. "Going out again?" The voice made him jump around in alarm. At the door was standing (lounging) Charon, occasional friend and (when he wants something) helper, more often a pain in the ass.
"None of your business.
- If you say so. The fact still is that it's past curfew.
- So?"
Charon examined his nails, "Where would Snape go after curfew? He has no chick or boy to go bang in a classroom." An eyebrown arched elegantly, "Not enough gold for one anyway."
- And? Since when is that a restriction?
- Did you promise them something else?
- Piss off."
A smile, "Bad tactics my friend, you practically agreed.
- Alright, I'm shagging Pomfrey in exange of fresh Pepper-Up potion!
- Wouldn't that be Slughorn?
I frown, "That's just wrong.
- I agree. So who?
- I told you to piss off.
- Since when has that ever stopped me?"
I looked at him and sighed. When indeed?
10 minutes later Snape was running back to the potion lab as fast as his spindly legs could carry him. The verbal spar had made him lose precious time and he was late. He arrived huffing and puffing with a minute to spare to cube a pound of rubarb. His hands worked at lighting speed, a pale blur as the pointer moved inexorably. Faster, faster. He managed in 58 seconds and dumped the whole lot in without looking. Snape then slumped onto a nearby chair and took a deep, stabilising breath; his foolishness had nearly wasted some expensive ingredients and Professor Slughorn would not be happy if he melted the lead cauldron. He put a hand up to wipe his brown and felt something sticky. Snape opened his eyes, unbelieving. A thin trickle of blood ran down the side of his thumb. Disappointment flourished. He should be better than that. Then panic, he hadn't seen if any went into the cauldron. He dearly hoped not. It would have been interesting to watch with all the basilisc in there. If some had indeed gone in then he might not survive; Snape remembered reading somewhere that the reaction was extremely violent. This remark had been written by the sister of the author, along with an orbituary. How could he make such a foolish error! Finally, dare he say it, it felt good.
After sitting there in a daze for a few minutes he checked the clock. He'd need to get back to work soon. Sighing he passed his wand over the cut and healed it. Only a faint red line remained to show his foolishness, so that the world could see his shame.