"Make sure the table is completely dry. I don't want a watermark on it." Snape was really just trying to be punitive as the work tables in the potions lab were a good century old and had so many nicks, stains and carved initials that no one, least of all him, would really notice or care about one more blemish.
"Sir, yes sir." Anezka replied with a false sense of respect from across the room, where he had her manually scrubbing the table that bore the brunt of her potions debacle. "After that would you like me to lick the floors clean?"
"No." He said placidly, not even sparing the girl a glance, instead keeping his eyes glued to the copy of the Daily Prophet he hid behind. "With your personal hygiene skills, I don't want whatever bacteria that might be running amok on your tongue to contaminate the whole room like that."
Again, the infuriating girl laughed! Snape could not wrap his mind around a person, even worse a woman, laughing at his best barbed insults. Worse still, after her brief, indelicate snort, a barb as strong as his flew out of her mouth. "This coming from a man who thinks shampoo is a fascist conspiracy."
He gently lowered the paper along it's center crease, and stared at the girl for a moment. She was just going about her business of resetting the workstation to re-brew the potion as if nothing had been said. This composure seemed at odds with her usual frantic attitude, and while usually he found himself to be rather fractious when dealing with students after hours he was surprised to asses himself to be fairly placid, despite being in her company. He didn't know what had changed since forty minutes ago when his head pounded and he felt on the brink of anger every moment.
While she fired up the cauldron and started mixing ingredients, he reached the end of the news, and for want of something to keep up the appearance of being occupied, he picked up the stack of pages that had been delivered previously.
The title, scrawled in the top margin of the muggle note-book paper, almost had him laughing aloud. "A modern insight onto Machiavelli's 'The Prince, - or- How To Rule The World For Dummies." If her title was that long winded, he feared for the brevity of the rest of the paper. Sparing her a quick glance before digging into the first paragraph, he was appeased to see her very diligently preparing a fresh batch of ingredients. Assured that she would be occupied for at least a solid fifteen minutes, he continued to read.
"Contrary to what the modern interpretationists say about good old Nick Machiavelli, you have to give props to a man who starts his treatise on political machinations by calling out the toadying and general bribery that rulers and men of power have to put up with from their followers. That being said, he is also completely honest and says that he too has a very important gift to give the 'prince' in an effort to vie for some appreciation. It's the most important thing he could think to give - knowledge." As far as opening paragraphs went, it was certainly attention grabbing, but Snape wasn't sure if it was because it was a well written hook or if it was just a morbid curiosity to see if the rest of the essay was as much of a verbal train wreck.
"Now, before all the Ravenclaws who might be reading this get up on their overly-intellectual high horses of 'knowledge is power' , Machiavelli points out that TRUE knowledge isn't just found in books, but is rather an equal balance of studies AND real life experience. Often times in modern society, both magical and muggle, we over emphasize one or the other this just shouldn't be - not if you don't want to fail miserably at life."
Snape found this observation to be startlingly true. While he valued all the knowledge to be found in the stacks of books he owned, he knew they weren't worth a damn if one didn't know how to apply them. He also found that the things he learned from other people saved his life more times than textbooks had.
Suddenly, he heard a frustrated sound and looked up in time to see Anezka tugging at her hair. "Seriously, Snape! What am I do wrong? I just started trying to heat the Avalonian Well Water and it's ALREADY boiling. I am pretty sure that is what messed me up last time, but I can't get it to slowly heat."
Putting the papers down, he looked at her for a moment and pondered how exactly he was going to disparage her need for assistance, but no words came to him, and instead he found himself standing and crossing the room to stand by her side.
She started speaking again before he made any real observations. "I've tried to adjust the heat, repositioning the height and lateral location of the cauldron. The early spike in the temperature is the only thing I can think of that made the potion turn south in the end and it just refuses to regulate. He continued to loom over her and watch her try to prepare other ingredients all the while attempting to control what was already over the flame. "What do I have to do?!"
"Did you dust the bowl of the cauldron with powdered lovage?"
"Yes! And I rubbed chatting toad bile on the sides before hand so the lovage would stay evenly coated."
Snape was quietly impressed that she had done so. It certainly hadn't been in the instructions, but was a well executed adaption. He certainly couldn't let her see this though. "Well, the inferior quality of the cauldron will certainly not help your cause."
Her shoulders slumped in dejection and she shook her head. "Dammit. I knew I should have brought my full set of with me."
"I wouldn't allow you to use them. One must learn to brew the recipe without a myriad of gadgets and professional equipment before they earn the right to use the advanced techniques." With that he started to walk away, but looked over his shoulder as he walked. "Raise the temperature, rather then lower, and allow it to come to a rapid boil, but don't allow more than half an ounce to boil off, then shut off the heat. If you have pre-prepped most of your ingredients properly, by the time you ready to mix them in, the cauldron will have cooled to the appropriate temperature."
As he sat back down, he realized that he never told a single student this trick and none had ever actually figured it out. He also never told them it was nearly impossible to brew a satisfactory veritaserum in a pewter cauldron without doing this. Why he told her now confused him and he decided to hide himself once again in the essay. He lost himself quickly, finding a humorous wisdom in her explanation of the much maligned Machiavellian theory.
"He talks a lot about the idea of rulers being feared or loved, of the concepts of cruelty and mercy, and he dares to bring up the idea that sometimes cruelty is the right answer, or as the modern poetic genius of Nick Lowe put it, you've got to be cruel to be kind. Nick Machiavelli of course backs up his theory with historic examples of times where rulers made choices so as to be well liked and considered merciful, only to have the destruction of entire cities ensue, rather then backing it up with a catchy chorus like Lowe did, and because of that, everyone ignores this as reasonable fact and decries Machiavelli as a sadistic, cruel, heartless politico. Yes, it's true, that he told the prince that he was writing to that if you can't be both loved AND feared, it is better to choose to be feared. The part everyone likes to forget is that he also stressed the fact that you can not let those you rule fear you to the point of hatred - a lesson that a dark wizard who recently attempted world domination would have been behooved to listen too if he seriously wanted to win."
The reference to the Dark Lord was not what gave Snape pause on this, but rather a rare bit of self introspection. He believed fear was an important tool to be used in a position of authority, and that cruelty was part of a learning curve, as the world would show no shortage of it after students no longer saw him, but the idea that to effectively use both of these things, one must not push them too far never struck him. Without a doubt, every student in the school, even the sycophantic 'good' children, hated him. If he was being completely honest with himself, so did most of the staff. There were only two souls in the castle that seemed neither to fear or hate him. One was Dumbledore and the other . .. he looked up to see the other hold an aluminum pan with a foil cover over the flame that her cauldron had been sitting on.
"What . . . are you doing?" He didn't stand this time, and his tone was laced with malice. He reminded himself that he enjoyed being feared and wanted to redouble his efforts to take her off that list of two.
She looked up and smiled, an unfamiliar smile. It was almost friendly. "Well, I figured since you are making me miss my dinner, you wouldn't mind if I made myself some popcorn." She held up a cardboard disc, that bore the words Jiffy-Pop across it. " I mean, I have to wait to put this back on the heat until it turns a dark shade of aquamarine, according to my notes." She nodded towards the steaming cauldron then shook the tin, just as some popping noises started and the folded foil top started to expand.
He almost allowed his jaw to drop, but instead contained himself to an angrily arched brow. "This is unacceptable."
"Oh, don't worry, I will gladly share some with you, provided you can scrounge up a cup of tea for us." She clearly ignored what he had said, or had misinterpreted it to mean something else.
Too furious to respond again he went back to his reading forgetting for a moment that the paper and the girl making snack foods in his potions lab were the same person. "Many call Machivelli two-faced. In fact, his name has become a synonym for a cunning, scheming, and unscrupulous person. He get's this because he encourages the idea that if it is going to be used against you, a person should not keep their word, because he is honest and says that while everyone wants to love the oh-so-noble and virtuous rulers, it is often it's the cunning, slightly amoral leaders that often times accomplish more. The whole idea of 'the end justifies the means', while not used verbatim, is often attributed to him and this work. People are offended by this idea, but they are stupid. Sometimes, to perform a little evil to accomplish something good needs to happen." Snape swallowed hard, these words haunting him. There were several more paragraphs on the subject, pointing out various historical wars and political movements that were embraced with gusto as being worthy causes, but he wasn't sure he could tolerate reading them as they all just struck a strange and raw nerve. He had just laid eyes on a paragraph he felt he might be able to get through with a steady stomach - discussing how a wise ruler needs to accepts the traits of both the bravery of lions and the cunning of foxes - when a large handkerchief tied into an odd bowl shape was placed in front of him, bearing a small heap of fresh popcorn.
"Here you go! Extra buttery. And don't worry, the hanky is clean." Anezka said, then paused. "Mostly," She whispered out of the side of her mouth. "Didn't you make tea yet?" All Snape could muster was a blank stare, as he tried reconciling the verbally unpretentious yet thought provoking author of this essay in front of him, with the strange, quite possibly mentally disturbed girl, who was currently trying to pick a corn kernel out from between her teeth.
She turned and walked away, presumably to check on her potion again, attempting to toss popcorn into the air and catch it in her mouth as she walked, leaving trail of uncaught attempts behind her as she went. Snape was honestly surprised that she didn't trip and kill herself during the whole process, and he went back to the papers, trying to ignore the fact that since her mention of tea, he found himself desperately wanting a cup. He didn't touch the popcorn that was sitting in front of him, but occasionally would look at it skeptically, as if it might have moved or jumped up to bite him.
"Hey, you got another second?" She called across the classroom to him, mouth full.
"No." He said and shuffled about to try and look busy, but there were no assignments to grade, no books to read and he really didn't want her to notice her own writing sitting on his desk. He finally spared a glance to see her still staring at him, as if she was waiting for him to give up the attempt. "Well, what?" He snarled.
"Can you just tell me if this is looking right? I think I got it, but I just want to be sure before I start stirring in the jobberknoll feathers."
That was twice in one night that she actually asked for assistance. Snape wasn't sure which was a more rare occurrence, that a student would casually ask for his expertise without nearly wetting themselves doing so, or him actually indulging their need for help. He pushed his chair away from his desk with a martyred sigh and crossed the room.
He arrived at her workstation and cast a quick glance at the cauldron. "You added the seeds too quickly, and they burned off. Let it sit off the flame for a full minute, then add three more seed, pausing for a count of twenty between each."
She moved the cauldron to follow his instruction and while she let the potion sit, she started scribbling notes on all the advice he had given her in the margins of her text book's pages, and act that made Snape slightly nostalgic for his own school days. As if she had been counting in her head, just as he had been doing, Anezka placed the cauldron back on the flame in exactly sixty seconds, then looked up at him after dropping the first seed in. "So, you said that standard pewter isn't a good cauldron to brew this in? What gauge and material do you recommend if you don't want to have to do all this fuss?"
A silent smirk spread across Snape's face. "Well, something like the 'Respiraţie şi sânge' cauldron made in Eastern Europe is always an option. It withstands very high heat and has charms to prevent scorching." He didn't know why he brought the cauldron that still sat unused on his mantel in his quarters up at this time. It had been months and he had always chosen to ignore it and never mention it to her.
Casting an inscrutable, sideways glance at him after dropping in the second seed, she also hid a small smile. "Those are mad hard to come by. You would be one lucky bugger if you have one of those."
"Yes, well, some idiot left one behind in her before Christmas last year. Quiet foolish of them to leave it behind, wouldn't you say." He drawled slowly.
The third seed was dropped into the brew. "Well, I imagine if they left it behind they weren't too worried about it. Chances are they could get another pretty easy." She brushed her hands as if to remove any remaining ingreidents, then turned to face Snape face to face, and leaned against the desk. "That's got to simmer for twenty minutes before I can put it in the fermentation bottles. How about I make us that cup of tea, yeah?"
As she charmed some water into a clean cauldron and set it over a second fire, and summoned two chipped beakers from her bag, Snape returned to his desk and buried his nose in the first book to come to hand. He flipped through the first few pages whilst she managed to find two tea bags from the vault like treasure trove she carried in knapsack form.
What seemed like a moment later, she stood in front of him holding the two steaming mugs. "Now you can have Earl Grey in 'I Heart Paris' or some PG Tips in the mug shaped like Santa's head, but what has a missing nose. They are both black as I don't carry cream or sugar in my bag."
He pointed to Earl Grey, and she handed it to him silence and settled herself down in a seat near to the front of the room, where he sat. Taking a sip of the tea, she summoned her text book from the back of the room and continued both writing and reading her marginal notes.
An odd calm and quiet settled over the room, him with his book, her with her notes and occasional checking of her simmering brew, and Snape, for once, felt at rest. No students were bothering him, no evil lurked over his shoulder, Potter was safely tucked away somewhere in the castle, and he could just sit back and enjoy his reading. Only, for once, he was not alone. The comfort he felt in this would have unsettled him if he had given it more then a passing thought.