*Sigh*. I really do want to get back into writing this story, but I'm having issues. I have a lot planned for it, but it's like a missing steps plan, 1, 2, 3, and 5, 6 7 are done, but 4 is still sort of iffy.
I've started another story, but it's on an entirely different creative vein than this one, so I don't think it'll interfere that much.
Still, I guess any progress is good progress. I'll do my best to get out a chapter or two a month, at the very least.
This week: Potioneering! With actual talent!
"Come in." beckoned Severus Snape, as he dramatically gestured from his seat. "You begin immediately."
Gingerly, the blonde Gryffindor stepped inside the classroom, nodded towards Snape, and began her walk to one of the Potioneering stations. With a slightly shaky gesture, she began to extract various ingredients from one of the adjacent cupboards.
Acutely aware that it'd likely be several minutes at the very least before anything truly happened, Snape turned his attention to the ever-growing pile of horrendously-penned essays below him. Had none of these children ever even seen a dictionary?
'D, D, D, D. All of these bloody essays are D. No wait, this one is a T.' grumbled Snape, before a muted hiss drew his attention upwards.
In front of the Gryffindor, were several large piles of ingredients, along with several, much smaller piles.
Resisting the urge to rub his eyes, he muttered, "And what exactly is the problem now?"
"Ingredients are crap." groaned Cain, as she continued to sift through the drawers. "I can't use even half of these. If I do, the potion will kill someone."
An eyebrow slowly raised. "And you cannot use your own ingredients for this brew?"
More shuffling of third-rate ingredients. "How can you tell that I haven't tampered with the ingredients beforehand? I'd like to prove at at least half of this can be run-of-the-mill."
With a near imperceptible nod, Snape replied, "Continue."
There was only a bit more banging around, before an slight grunt of accomplishment once again drew his eyes up off of the parchment.
"I think I've got everything." spoke the Gryffindor, as she placed aside her knife, and lifted her cauldron up above the fire, dragonskin gloves donned.
'Ah, so it begins.' thought Snape, as he sauntered over to the prepared station.
The ingredients made logical sense, at least.
Hydra bile and macerated ivy, while relatively uncommon in a brew, had their uses in powerful restoratives. Troll marrow and cobwebs, in strength-bolstering unctions. The still-living cockroaches, and bezoar, however, were much different than the usual fare, as was the strange vial of blackish fluid lying just to the right of the trapped roaches.
"And what exactly, is this brew of yours supposed to accomplish?" stated Snape, as he leaned closer to take a better look at the ingredients.
As expected, all were of the correct quality, save for the still-unidentifiable vial. The roaches shook their antennae back at him feebly, as they raged against their glass prison, which was nought but an upturned glass.
"It's a skin-repairing potion." answered the girl, as she set down the cauldron, filled it from a downspout, and retrieved her knife. Slowly, she began to prepare and add the ingredients.
"It's meant for dealing with critical bodily wounds, and is extremely quick at restoring damage to soft tissue. Unfortunately, it's still a little bit poisonous, so it's only good in an emergency." continued the girl, as she lit the fire below the cauldron, bringing the still-pure water to a slow boil.
'Interesting.' pondered Snape. "Would is have any effect upon the eyes, for example?"
The bile, marrow, and vial were vigorously whipped together into a thick, gelatinous paste, which was quickly dissolved into the bubbling cauldron.
The girl frowned as she shook her head. "I couldn't find a volunteer willing enough to test that out." There was a slight, unnecessary flourish with the knife, as she mimed a quick stabbing motion. It didn't take a genius to understand her point.
The cobwebs were next, sprinkled lightly onto the surface of the potion, which quickly devoured the silken strands.
"Not even a Gryffindor?"
The roaches soon followed, first removed one-by-one from their glass prison, and then de-winged with a single,practiced motion. They were then thrown, still alive, into the brew. The bezoar followed immediately after, being crushed with the flat of the knife, and then gingerly being lowered in.
There was a slight, restrained chuckle. "Nope. Turns out, not even they are that dumb."
The potion's hue had slowly shifted to a murky, uneasy mauve as its substance began to grow thicker. The slight, acrid smell of burning flesh and electricity wafted from below.
"And what, dare say, was in that vial?"
The Gryffindor paused slightly, before recovering. "Dilluted Pyrodaemon blood. Three to one blood to grain alcohol. My father's a Dark Creature hunter, so he's always able to scrounge up a decent supply of it."
Pyrodaemon blood?
Torn between curiosity for the potion, and curiosity of the source, Snape glanced down at the potion. It was fully assembled now, and from the rate it was being stirred, would likely require far more than a handful of minutes to proceed to the next phase. More than enough to glean the answer to his question.
With practiced ease, he engaged his Legilimency, and thrust it forward into the mind of the girl before him.
It was surprisingly difficult.
The memories of her father, providing her with the vial, were easily accessible, but beyond that, things quickly became hazy. She wasn't a Occlumens by any means, but the memories seemed to fade into a distorted mess, growing more and more incomprehensible the further in he pressed. His attempts to discern the true source of the vial, the answer he was searching for, retrieved naught but a sense of vertigo, and a slight sense of unease.
Giving up that particular question as a lost cause, he turned his attention towards other matters. After all, Albus had asked him to keep an eye upon Potter, and with the interference of Umbridge, he hadn't been able to fully get a read on the boy. However, if the girl in front of him was as close with Potter as she seemed to be, she'd likely be just as effective a target.
Unfortunately, his mind wasn't quite as quiet as he had hoped, and his remark about Umbridge did not go unheard.
Sensing the stray thought, the girl's mind shot into overdrive, throwing back vivid images of the recent sabotage of Umbridge's office, intermixed with a near oppressive feeling of fear, disgust, and hatred. Snape could see the involvement of Potter and his gang of misfits as well, but he supposed that could go unreported. Umbridge had, after all, attempted to audit him.
He did not appreciate that gesture in the slightest.
Further pushing on the subject of Potter returned mixed signals. Traces of hope, fear, and paranoia interlaced memory after memory of them training together. Good, so they were, in fact, continuing to train. Albus had hoped that they'd be doing so, but to have it confirmed would help assuage the old codger's worries.
Even further probing revealed the renovation of the Chamber, Umbridge's assaulting of the Muggleborn, even the dozens of embarrassments continually piled up upon Potter's little gang of misfits by miscommunication, stubbornness, and what appeared to be a rather disturbing fascination from Miss Cain's roommate.
Nothing out of the ordinary. With a accepting, (although still confused) blink of assent, he retreated back to his own mind, to continue watching the potion.
"Okay…" murmured Cain as she retrieved her wand. "Now either you can boil it for another thirty minutes, or you can superheat it for only three. I'm going to superheat it, just because it's faster."
There was a slight flick, as the flames below tripled in size and heat, shifting from a deep red to a brilliant blue. The potion's bubbling rose in frequency, as the potion began its rapid shift towards its final state.
"The potion's not really meant for non-serious injuries, though." admitted Cain. "Unless you're really hurt, it's generally not worth it, since it puts you out of the picture for a while."
Snape nodded. "The potion is poisonous, then?"
"Kind of. It won't kill you, but it definitely isn't good for you, and won't feel good for you either. From what I can tell, it really messes with your balance, and if you're not careful you'll fall over, so it's no good in a fight." stated Cain, as she removed her stirrer from the roiling solution, "Still, better to be poisoned slightly, rather than be missing half of your face. Another bezoar after you take the potion generally fixes the poisoning, but it also kicks out the effect, so you need to wait until after it does its work."
With a slight deep breath, Cain retrieved an empty flask from a cupboard, glanced at it, and then quashed the flames below the cauldron. Slowly, the potion's bubbling died down, leaving naught but the distant drip of the pipes on stone in the distance.
"After it's cooled, it should be done. All in all, this potion takes about thirty minutes to brew the fast way, and is good for about a year and a half. A flask is four doses." continued Cain, as she recited a list she had obviously prepared beforehand.
There were several moments of awkward silence, as the potion slowly cooled. The blonde fidgeted before him, likely unsure of whether or not she had succeeded.
Eventually, the potion did cool, and the flask was offered to the Potion Master.
Taking the offered flask, Snape stepped forward, retrieved a ladle, and dipped it into the solution. Slowly, he filled the flask, taking great care to not spill a drop.
The potion was identical to the sample he had been given before. The hue, consistency, and smell were the same.
"Does the potion have a name?" asked Snape, as he held the potion up to the light, to search for potential solids. None.
"I call it Mend, for lack of a better name." admitted the blonde, as she glanced into her cauldron, looking for mistakes, likely.
"The potion appears… adequate." stated Snape in a flat tone, as he slowly swirled the flask. "But does it work?"
"I… um… I could go find a rat or animal or something?" murmured the blonde, as she glanced about her in a panic. "Crap! I didn't think that far ahead!" was her (much quieter) addition.
"No need."
The potion was, to the best of his knowledge, perfect. Or at least, perfect enough for him to trust it to work. Thus, without even a hint of hesitation, he removed his own silver knife from his pocket, tested the edge with a finger, and then ran it, blade down, along the edge of his off arm.
Long years as the whipping boy of Voldemort himself had all but deadened most of his nerves, so he felt nothing as he deftly removed several inches of flesh from his arm. Barely enough to inconvenience himself, but more than enough to prove the potion's effectiveness. The flesh below was bloody nonetheless, but barely enough so to be noticeable at a glance.
It amused him greatly to watch the look of horror, pain, and revulsion that danced across the girl's rapidly-paling face as he did so. Was she afraid of cutting her arms? That would definitely explain the hesitation she always bore when handling her knives, and her near slavish insistence upon wearing gloves whenever she worked with said knives.
The deed was done. Now to test the potion.
Snape raised the potion to his lips, and took a swig.
The side-effects began almost immediately, as the fluid numbed the flesh of his mouth. The numbness followed the liquid's path, down the throat, and into the gut. With great care, he stoppered the flask, and handed it back to the wary Gryffindor, who silently accepted the flask.
Unlike Skele-Gro, the potion he assumed was the closest in effect to this one, this potion's effect was less of a stabbing pain, and more of an insatiable, searing itch, interlaced with a burning. His vision began to swim as his eyes unfocused slightly. Still, he was used to this, having consumed far worse draughts, and having suffered far worse effects.
Even as the dizziness from the poison began to set in though, he could still plainly see the magic begin to take effect.
The effect of the potion was definitely much faster than Skele-Grow, as the edges of the exposed flesh seemingly melted, flowing over the exposed wound, leaving behind a thin membrane. In seconds, the exposed wound was again covered and staunched of bleeding, and while the itchiness did not subside, the feeling of air upon exposed, bloody flesh all but vanished.
In moments, the flesh once again crept outwards, until it sat, full healed and unblemished, as if nothing had ever happened.
Quite loudly, Cain let out a shaky breath as the potion finished its work.
Snape considered his options.
On one hand, he knew that the potion's poisonous effects would do nearly nothing to him, as his hard-earned resistance to most poisons had been cultivated over many years of potioncraft.
On the other, his face was quite numb, and he'd likely sound quite foolish speaking without a working tongue.
With a shrug, he retrieved another bezoar from the cupboard, swallowed it, waited until he could feel his tongue once more, and then turned back towards his student.
"It works." was his answer.
"It works." was the reply, although it was intersected by a gulp. Nothing much more needed to be said. "Do you want me to leave you the potion? I think the Hospital Wing would get better use out of it than I would."
"Indeed."
The tension in the air was all but gone as the girl quickly bottled up her potion. In total, there were five additional flasks of ready-made potion, more than enough to last a year.
Probably more than a year, but if Potter's exploits continued to ascend in danger, it'd be likely far less than that.
The girl finally broke into a smile as she gathered her supplies and headed for the door.
She paused slightly, before speaking over her shoulder, "See you next week, Professor Snape?"
"Yes." affirmed Snape, as he began to scrawl down a detailed recipe for the potion, for later reproduction.
The girl did not turn to face him as she left, but if she had, she'd have seen the slight traces of a genuine smile.