From the point of view of Severus Snape
***
Albus's summons was as always inconvenient. After a long day of attempting to force knowledge into hardheaded halfwits with no appreciation of the beauty of my art, I had just settled down to continuing my research in the Deadening Draught. With the exception of a great deal of frustration, this research was the only outcome of two weeks seeking additional information about Mortin's death. A second attempt to locate Kip had only resulted I me loosing the contents of my pockets. But on my last visit to Palson's establishment, he had managed to sputter out that Voldemort had commissioned him to make ten liters of the concoction. Considering that the standard dose size was about a tablespoon, this was enough to dose an army.
I had never though of Deadening Draught as a particularly useful potion. It acts as a temporary emotional anesthesia. For one hour the drinker is separated for their emotions and able to think with perfect logic. However, when the effect wears off, all the repressed emotions all well up at once. If the potion had been used to suppress anything particularly nasty, the backlash could easily drive the drinker to insanity.
Nonetheless, if the Dark Lord was interested in Deadening Draught than so was I. It struck me that if the side effects could be eliminated, it might actually be useful in dealing with Dementors. Maybe if I added rose water…
I had just managed to relax into my customary half trance of stirring and adding ingredients when Albus's head appeared in the fireplace.
"Severus, I would you come to my office please," he said with the air of one who is offering a great favor. When I stepped out of the fireplace, I immediately noticed the presence of everyone's favorite Gryffindor trio. For a blissful second I allowed myself to hope that I was summoned because they had finally managed to get themselves in trouble. But judging from the jovial expression on Albus's face I gathered this hope was probably in vain.
"Thank you for joining us. Please have a seat and a sucker," Albus began offering me one items with each hand. Declining both, I waited stonily for the interruption of my afternoon to be explained. Unfortunately, the Headmaster seemed determined to test my patience.
"I was just beginning to explain the Order of the Phoenix to Harry, Ron and Hermione." I crossed my arms and leaded back against the doorframe only half listening to Dumbledore's explanation about how during the first rise of Voldemort the Order had been composed of England's most powerful witches and wizards who toiled to tirelessly to defeat the Dark Lord. I was unsurprised when the history lesson was gradually morphed into a recruitment speech. By the time the Headmaster finished speaking, the students were practically begging for admission and eagerly agreed to attend the first meeting that evening.
Deciding that the purpose of my summons was to allow me to witness this latest show of favoritism towards Potter and his faithful sidekicks, I attempted to silently follow them out of the office.
"A minute Severus," the headmaster stalled my departure. "I have a small favor to ask you." Those words always had an ominous sound to them. Many of the worst experiences in my life, from spying missions to chaperoning dances, had started with Albus asking me for a small favor.
"As you know, Minister Fudge has sent Commissar Garret to advise me and ensure the safety of the students." I have always found Dumbledore's insistence on euphemisms annoying. We both knew that the Commissar was really sent to spy on Albus and prevent him from doing anything that could potentially embarrass the Ministry or force Fudge out of his idiotic state of denial.
"I believe it would be unwise to allow her to find out about the Order meeting. She has displayed an interest in your company so I was wondering if you would volunteer to keep her away form school and distracted this evening." As the 'request' was made the twinkle in Albus's eye increased ten fold and I was rather trapped. I pleaded a headache, urgent business, and lack of knowledge of how to entertain a woman to no avail. I was sent off to collect her from her rooms with the information that our dinner reservation was at seven and the advice that women were always charmed by men who listen.
***
I have always looked forward to Friday nights. They were the one evening a week that I could be almost guaranteed peace and quiet to work on my research or catch up on my reading, blissfully certain that I would not have to deal with a classroom full of brats for two more days. Tonight was a marked exception. I was sitting at a small table in the Three Broomsticks listening to that insufferable Commissar woman talk about how if we just caught Sirius Black all our troubles would be over. After all You-know-who is undeniably dead. The most irritating thing was that she actually appeared to believe it. Her eyes were shining with conviction and her voice was the clearest I had ever heard it, with the notable exception of whenever she had to say you-know-who. She seemed to stutter over the euphemism. I had an almost uncontrollable desire to correct her in the most scathing of terms.
Albus had advised me to just keep her talking and talking appeared to be the woman's only talent. At the slightest provocation she would wax eloquently if rather boringly on such subjects as why we should all trust the ministry and allow them to take care of everything. The only problem was my rising temper and the unexplainable coincidence that every time she shifted in her chair she ended up several inches closer to me.
"Two more hours Severus," I thought to myself. "You have survived torture at the hands of the Dark Lord himself surely you can survive this for two more hours."
***
I managed to get rid of the woman only with assurances we would do dinner again soon. Unfortunately, I was quite sure that, courtesy of Albus, the words were true. However, her unexpected reluctance to leave my company meant I was running late for the meeting. Running late always made me nervous. I prided myself on always being precisely punctual. I hurried out to the grounds and levitated a rock to freeze the Whomping Willow.
I tried to fight back the apprehension I felt at entering the passage. Odd how I can risk my life on spying missions without a second thought but feel a thrill of terror upon entering this comparably safe place. I suppose the first time you are scared for you life is bound to make an impression.
I arrived at the shrieking shack several minutes later and turned right to enter into the sitting room. The scene that greeted me was the exact opposite of what I would want in a room. It had probably one been bright and cheerful, but now the wallpaper was faded and pealing. The rooms only furniture, two couches and an overstuffed chair, were misshapen and their fabric was dirty and torn. The effect was a far cry from my preference of cold, clean stone and impeccable order. Although it was the largest room in the shack this was not saying much. It could not possibly be much more that 100 square feet. However, the main cause of my cringing was that it was stuffed full of people.
Noisy people. One would think that when we had not even room to move our elbows people would at least have the grace to be quiet, but apparently not. Madams Pomfrey and Pince were accompanied by Professors Flitwick, Hooch, Sprout and Vector in attempting to sit on one of the couches. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and their three oldest children occupied the other couch. Percy somehow managing to look pompous while squished between Bill and Charlie. Various members of the Order from the first war and recruited members of the Ministry lined the walls and sat uncomfortably on the floor. Everyone was speaking loudly on some random topic all their own.
My eyes instinctively sought the Headmaster in an attempt to find some balance in the chaos. However, I quickly lost hope upon seeing that him with Arabella Fig. To most of us Dumbledore was something of a father figure or at the very least a crazy but respected uncle. Arabella Fig provided a refreshing exception to this rule. Popular rumor stated that they had been bitter rivals when they attended Hogworts together over a century ago, but the passage of time had bled the rancor from their relationship. The only remaining sign of their past enmity was constant bickering that now served as an affirmation of friendship.
Their current squabble revolved around who should have the honor of sitting in the room's only padded armchair. As I watched, Albus claimed that as the older of the two he should have the right to rest his weary bones. At these words Fig gave a cry of triumph and sat declaring that she was the elder by three day because of her use of a time turner.
As the Headmaster began to contest this point I heard a cough behind me and turned to find Minerva surveying the scene with disapproval. The Head of Gryffindor house is even less tolerant of disorder than I am. Upon ascertaining the only available seats were on the floor she picked up two pieces of wallpaper that had fallen and transfigured them into stools; one for herself and one for her husband. Upon seeing his wife's entrance Mr. McGonagall desisted in attempting to give the entire room a sugar high by disturbing lollypops and walked jauntily to his wife's side. I have often though Mr. McGonagall lets his somewhat distant blood relationship to Albus have too great an influence on his character.
While watching this scene I had apparently missed the entrance of the newest members of the order. As a returned my eyes to the Headmaster I saw the three Gryffindors seat themselves on the floor next to Albus.
Apparently their arrival was the signal for the meeting to begin. I listened with what I considered to be great forbearance to Albus's hackneyed but cheerful opening words. After he finished speaking I stood to offer my scant elaboration on the sarcastic report I had mentally devised two weeks before. Most of the member of the order listened with the polite but slightly bored attention deserved by a report reveling what everyone with half a brain had probably already guessed, but my recital of Kip's conditions seemed to light a fire in Miss. Grangers eyes. I realized with a shudder that I had just inadvertently given the know-it-all a puzzle. As I finished my report, I offered a silent but desperate plea that whatever mischief I had just inspired steered well away form me. But I have never been particularly luck.