Of Lilies & Roses
Chapter One - NowPotions Master continued to rage in his classroom; the latest bunch of dunderheads proved to be as useful as the last lot. Their tiny forms scuttled out of the dungeons with fear as the door slammed shut behind them.
"Another bunch of useless incompetent idiots!" he screamed at the walls.
The floor of his dungeon was covered in what was meant to have been a simple potion. One of the workbenches lay broken on the floor. The Potions master moved his robes out of the way as he knelt on down. Trying to collect the pieces of exploded cauldron that were scattered all over the room. The potion had now soaked into the floor beyond the powers of a simple Scourgify.
"Why now?" he muttered to the walls, while he carefully retrieved the cauldron.
The explosion had in fact echoed through the entire school. The surprise had most of the Professors grabbing for their wand, a reflex of times past. Although Professor McGonagall barked a few orders to the students and ran from her class. Her feet found themselves swiftly heading toward the Dungeons.
"Let him be alright. Let him be alright," she muttered under her breath.
On turning the corner she saw a first year class heading towards her. They all looked very scared and in some places slightly burnt. She stopped them with her hand.
"I trust Mr Niles that you can explain why you are not in your class?"
"Professor we were having Potions lesson…"
"But Freddy's cauldron exploded," another student interrupted.
"It went everywhere and the Potions Master threw us out of his class, Professor." Mr Niles concluded.
"Well I trust none of you were injured in the accident, although some of you do look a bit worse for wear. For now I think it best you go to your Common rooms to tidy yourselves up, it will be lunch soon so you may as well wait there. Mr Niles I will leave you in charge,"
Leaving the first year class to make their way, she continued at full speed to the Dungeons. A drop in the temperature meant that she was not that far away. Turning the corner the Deputy Headmistress was greeted by a closed door, she knew from experience that it would be locked and warded from intrusion. But now is not the time for privacy Severus she thought. Placing a hand against the door she closed her eyes blocking out the sounds of the school, to focus solely on the room beyond the door. The Potions Master was kneeling on the floor his head in his hands. The Deputy Headmistress removed her hand; this is a matter for Dumbledore she thought. Quickly she left the coldness of the dungeons to the warmer climbs of the Headmasters Office.
"You must do something Albus," Minerva pleaded.
"What would you expect me to do?" Albus responded casually.
"I would expect you to step back from that desk of yours and go and see your friend. You know full that Severus hasn't been the same since the war and yet he has not spoken to a soul about it. Really you need to talk to him before some poor student gets killed in his class," she looked firmly at her friend.
"But the war was over years ago. What sense would there be in me going to talk to him now? To open those wounds that should stay closed," Albus pretended to rifle through paper on his desk.
"You don't fool me Albus or anyone else around you. You won't acknowledge there's a problem because…" Minerva faltered.
Albus stopped pretending. He looked deeply into the eyes of his long time friend. "Because I never forgave him," the words trickled of his lips.
"Yes Albus. You never forgave him… It was an unfortunate accident, but one that saved many lives," her voice lost its normal power, as she remembered that day.
There was a silent so profound that it hurt both of them deeply.
After an hour of good scrubbing the dungeon regained some of its normal tidiness. The Potion Masters robes were cast aside. His white shirt was soaked from the cleaning, as the buckets contents had now turned a deep shade of green. Leaning back on his heels he surveyed the damage. The broken desk had now been repaired and the shards of cauldron were now in the bin. Apart from the large stain on the floor everything looked the same. He stood up, picking up the bucket from the floor and taking it to a small sink where he poured it down the plughole. The Potions Master worked through his distress, there were moments in his life he could almost forget the past; forget what had happened and move on. But then there were times when it all came flooding back, the past intervening on the present and he hated it.
Hiding the bucket away, he walked over to his desk and picked up his robes; he cast his eyes over the clean dungeon letting them rest to a particular seat. Since the start of the first term since the war the Potions Master had prevented anyone from sitting in that chair. Over time the meaning of such peculiarity had become forgotten. Only that now it was a prank frequently set by the more mature students against the more innocents first years, often to serious consequences.
The student body of Hogwarts still feared their Potions Master, his temper was well renown and failure was never accepted. Mutterings in the corridors whispered of madness, that something had happened to him in the Great War and had never recovered. They never realised how close the truth their whisperings were.
During lunchtime the Potions Master slipped away from the school. Only a few noticed he was not at the meal. But the exploits from the previous lesson had already reached many of the student's ears, adding to the already rumour filled corridors.
He had decided that with only one more lesson this afternoon he would send them all to the library, Let Mrs Pince sort them out he thought. He attached a note to the classroom door telling them what he wanted from them and left the cold corridors of the dungeon. When the next class arrived in the cold corridor, they walked with trepidation. Having heard what had happened they each knew that even the best behaviour would not be good enough. So when they first student reached the door to find a note pinned to the door, a sign of relief was heard all round.
"What does it say?"
"That we have to go to the library. To research a wound healing potions," the first student read.
"Go to a Mediwitch that's what I say," another student piped up, causing the rest of the class to laugh.
"Well he wants a three foot length of parchment on them. How you brew them? Contain them and what the dosage is," the first student continued.
The class groaned. "Three feet you can't be serious,"
The first student read the small print of the note. "Oh and he wants it by 6 o'clock tomorrow."
Another groan issued from the class. "Well we best get going. If we manage to do it all now at least we can hand it in straight away."
The class moved away from the dungeon, walking to sanctuary of the library.
The Black clad figure entered the Hogs Head; he ordered a double Firewhiskey and knocked it back in one. Then he ordered another and sat down by the fire. The crowd in the bar knew full well not to disturb him, so they carried on with their business leaving the black clad gentleman to his thoughts. Today had been a bad day.
The following day everything returned to normal. The Potions classes continued with usual ferociousness and the Headmaster still had not spoken to his friend.