Chapter 11
The following week Harry worked with Hagrid and tried to subtly discourage the half-giant groundskeeper about using the three-headed dog Fluffy as the coming year's subject for Care of Magical Creatures. The week went surprisingly fast and Harry was sorry to leave Hagrid's comfortable hut and the daily tramps around Hogwarts' grounds with Fang loping along at their side. Even the walks into the normally creepy Forbidden Forest (mostly to collect some runaway plants from Professor Sprout's greenhouses) had been pleasant.
But, as the old cliché says, good things never last and Harry was soon swirling a double-chocolate malt despondently with his spoon on his last weekend in Hogsmeade before he would have to go back to work… in the Potions classroom.
"Cheer up, Harry," Remus said, patting his arm from across the table at The Three Broomsticks. "After all, if Severus is there, he'll have to leave right away to help the rest of us with the wards. If he's not there, well… then you have nothing to worry about."
Harry looked up. Remus seemed unconcerned but was it Harry's imagination or did his former professor look more worn out than usual? "But what about you, Remus?" he asked quietly, "What if Snape is gone on some spying thing? He could be gone for weeks."
Remus made no answer for a moment. Finally, he sighed and gave Harry a wan smile. "Well… I suppose that the Shrieking Shack will be haunted again, for the first time in nearly twenty years." He sounded brave but Harry could see the weight of his condition settle on his thin frame more heavily than Harry could remember. Without Snape to make the Wolfsbane Potion, the wolf would come and with it excruciating pain, a beastly hunger for flesh, and an unbearable loneliness that only Sirius had managed to carve the top off of in the form of Padfoot.
Harry was struck with a sudden anger at the unknown werewolf who had bitten Remus. Remus was a good man, a brilliant wizard, and almost like an uncle to him now that the barrier of the classroom was gone. What had Remus ever done to anyone to deserve such a curse? Harry didn't know how Remus had treated Snape when they were at Hogwarts together but he did know one thing: Snape would make that potion whether he liked it or not, Harry would see to that.
* * *
The next Monday, Harry made his way down the narrow staircase that led to the dungeon classroom, cleaning supplies held in a large bucket that kept hitting him in the knees. Inhaling sharply and, steeling himself to withstand the potion master's snide comments, Harry pushed the door to the dungeon classroom open. The room was dark, the torches along the wall that usually provided the light were burned down and the spicy scent that usually invaded his nose when he entered the room was muted and musty as if the ingredients hadn't been used for a long time and were now covered with dust.
Harry set down his cleaning supplies as quietly as possible and headed towards the door that led to Snape's office and private laboratory, hoping that he would be there. He hadn't been among the professors now working on the northern side of the school, and after asking Dobby and various chatty portraits in the corridor, Harry had been forced to look in the last but most obvious place for the hook-nosed professor.
He raised his hand above the door, preparing to knock. Remember, Remus needs this potion. Endure whatever the slimy git has to say, as long as he'll make the potion. He knocked on the dark wood and to his surprise, the door swung open slightly.
"Professor Snape?" Cautiously, Harry opened the door wider. "I'm sorry to disturb you but I wanted to ask…." His words trailed off, swallowed by the stale air of the dungeon as he saw that the office was empty. Harry stepped forward and carefully opened the door to the small, private laboratory adjacent to the office; it too was empty. Stepping back into the office, Harry scratched his head in confusion.
Parchment was scattered on the floor, as if a violent wind had swept by. Other than that, the office was surprisingly neat and orderly. The last time he had been in here, he had been too wrapped up in the disappointment of not seeing the Sorting Ceremony and eating sandwiches with Ron to notice much of the surrounding room. Two walls had floor-to-ceiling shelves that were covered with many bottles and jars filled with suspicious looking items that Harry would rather not examine too closely. The other wall was taken up completely by ancient looking books that looked surprisingly clean, not dreadfully dusty like the ones in Flitwick's room…. Harry heard a crunch under his foot and hurriedly stepped off a stack of scattered parchment.
He picked them up to get them out of the way and absently looked at the writing on the top one.
"Dear Professor Snape,
The Caliginous Cauldron is most delighted to receive your latest submission entitled 'Young or Old: The Importance of Age in Selecting Jobberknoll Feathers for Various Potions.' Your composition upon the peculiar effects of feathers from a young Jobberknoll as opposed to more mature feathers for the use of several potions is a very welcome addition to our scholarly journal…"
Harry quickly put the stack of parchment on the desk, feeling intrusive and strangely disjointed. The thought of Snape as a scholarly writer, as a scientist of sorts had never occurred to him. Snape was always Snape: greasy, scowling, sallow, thin, ready to take away points from Gryffindor on a whim. But now, Snape the intelligent Potions Master was beginning to emerge and Harry found, to his dismay, a grudging respect starting to form for his absent professor.
Speaking of which, where in the wizarding world was he?
* * *
Harry hurried over the wide grounds of Hogwarts, towards a tall bearded figure dressed in bright sparkling blue; it was Dumbledore, of course. The other professors, it looked like, were taking a break from ward-weaving for afternoon tea. Professor McGonagall was busy transfiguring various trees and bushes into a table and enough chairs for everyone while a couple of house-elves came trotting up, toting a large basket full of food and a tea set.
Dumbledore had just settled down in a chair when Harry ran up. "What is it Harry?" he asked, accepting a cup of tea from the bowing house-elf with a nod of thanks.
"Do you know where Professor Snape is?" he asked, slightly winded.
Dumbledore's expression clouded slightly. "I'm afraid not, Harry. He's missing."
"Missing!"
"Yes. He left in a great hurry about two weeks ago to run an errand in London." Dumbledore sighed and suddenly Harry realized how much Dumbledore cared about his staff members. "I won't deny that I am deeply concerned by his absence. It isn't like Severus to run off without leaving me word of his whereabouts."
"Can't you alert the Ministry or something? Surely they have detectives or something of that sort…" asked Harry desperately.
"I have been reluctant to inform the Ministry of anything concerning Severus. Despite my vouching for his character, the minute they see him stray, or what they perceive as straying, he'll be back in Azkaban. And, most likely, he won't ever get out again."
Harry clenched his fists, willing the memory of the cold despair that the Dementors inspired away from his mind. "He must be found, Professor!" He looked around, saw that Lupin was safely on the far side of the table, talking pleasantly with Professor Vector and lowered his voice a notch. "What about Remus? The full moon is on August 14, less than a month way."
"I know, Harry," Dumbledore replied quietly, "No one else here has the skill to make the Wolfsbane Potion and even if they did, I couldn't spare them from the ward-weaving. We're short on available wizards as it is." After a pause he sighed. "If worse comes to worse, the Shrieking Shack is just as capable in housing Remus now as when it did nineteen years ago."
Harry fell silent. He hated to think of Remus being all alone for the painful and terrifying transformation. Outwardly, he nodded and returned slowly back to the castle, deep in thought.
Harry remained quiet and thoughtful the rest of the week as he cleaned the Potions classroom, forgetting even in his musings the horrible state of Neville's desk. What he was thinking about was no trivial matter; Harry knew that Snape had the recipe for the Wolfsbane Potion and as he had made it for Remus during his third year, Harry also knew that Snape had to have most if not all of the ingredients required for the potion. What if… what if Harry made the potion? Harry's grades in Potions were excellent. They had not always been but it seemed that within the last year or so, the subject had become a lot easier and although he disliked the class because of the teacher, he enjoyed, as Snape had once put it, "the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron." There was a distinct satisfaction in seeing a potion well made, bubbling gently until bottled up or used for its intended purpose.
But the Wolfsbane Potion was such a difficult one that Sirius had mentioned that Snape was the only one whom Remus trusted to make it accurately. Then again, everyone had thought that surviving "Avada Kedavra" was impossible too. Harry snorted as he slopped more of Mrs. Skower's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover onto Neville's charred desk. Harry had not only survived the Killing Curse but he had faced Voldemort three times, four counting the horrible night his parents died, and lived to tell the tale. Surely a potion would be, if not easy, then an interesting challenge.
Whoa… slow down, Harry, he thought, resisting the urge to take out his wand and banish Neville's desk to the other end of the world. This is Remus we're talking about, not some stupid prank with Ron. Harry felt a pang of loneliness, thinking of his best friend. He hoped that it was nice in Romania but he wished that Ron and Hermione would hurry back. Thinking of them, Harry decided to wait a few days more. After all, Snape might show up and it wouldn't do at all if Harry were caught raiding Snape's personal stores for a highly advanced potion that was probably illegal for someone his age to make.
* * *
A few days later, there was still no word from the absent Potions Master. Harry had been growing impatient with each passing day and finally he could stand it no longer. Quietly, Harry set aside his cleaning supplies and again stepped inside Snape's office. His green eyes fell on the faded spines of Snape's personal library. *The recipe is here somewhere and…. Harry's eyes swept over to the two walls filled with Snape's personal potion stores. All the ingredients are undoubtedly there… Harry gulped, what he was thinking about doing was probably against several laws… Remus might be angry with him for even attempting such a difficult potion. Harry didn't even want to think about what Snape would say if he saw that Harry had used his personal potions ingredients.
Torn with indecision, Harry bit his lip and his eye suddenly caught a slight sparkle from something on the fireplace mantle. He walked over and looked. It was Fire-Talking Powder. Now that was something that would help... Harry dug out his wand and only hesitated briefly before pointing at the fireplace and muttering "Incendio." The professors would still be taking their break for afternoon tea so using this little bit of magic wouldn't do any harm.
Taking a pinch of the powder, Harry sprinkled it on the roaring flames and said "Romania: Charles Weasley's House" loudly, trying not to cough from the smoke. The flames licking upwards around the brick turned pink. Harry leaned farther forward. "Hermione? Are you there? It's Harry. I need your help…"
The following week Harry worked with Hagrid and tried to subtly discourage the half-giant groundskeeper about using the three-headed dog Fluffy as the coming year's subject for Care of Magical Creatures. The week went surprisingly fast and Harry was sorry to leave Hagrid's comfortable hut and the daily tramps around Hogwarts' grounds with Fang loping along at their side. Even the walks into the normally creepy Forbidden Forest (mostly to collect some runaway plants from Professor Sprout's greenhouses) had been pleasant.
But, as the old cliché says, good things never last and Harry was soon swirling a double-chocolate malt despondently with his spoon on his last weekend in Hogsmeade before he would have to go back to work… in the Potions classroom.
"Cheer up, Harry," Remus said, patting his arm from across the table at The Three Broomsticks. "After all, if Severus is there, he'll have to leave right away to help the rest of us with the wards. If he's not there, well… then you have nothing to worry about."
Harry looked up. Remus seemed unconcerned but was it Harry's imagination or did his former professor look more worn out than usual? "But what about you, Remus?" he asked quietly, "What if Snape is gone on some spying thing? He could be gone for weeks."
Remus made no answer for a moment. Finally, he sighed and gave Harry a wan smile. "Well… I suppose that the Shrieking Shack will be haunted again, for the first time in nearly twenty years." He sounded brave but Harry could see the weight of his condition settle on his thin frame more heavily than Harry could remember. Without Snape to make the Wolfsbane Potion, the wolf would come and with it excruciating pain, a beastly hunger for flesh, and an unbearable loneliness that only Sirius had managed to carve the top off of in the form of Padfoot.
Harry was struck with a sudden anger at the unknown werewolf who had bitten Remus. Remus was a good man, a brilliant wizard, and almost like an uncle to him now that the barrier of the classroom was gone. What had Remus ever done to anyone to deserve such a curse? Harry didn't know how Remus had treated Snape when they were at Hogwarts together but he did know one thing: Snape would make that potion whether he liked it or not, Harry would see to that.
The next Monday, Harry made his way down the narrow staircase that led to the dungeon classroom, cleaning supplies held in a large bucket that kept hitting him in the knees. Inhaling sharply and, steeling himself to withstand the potion master's snide comments, Harry pushed the door to the dungeon classroom open. The room was dark, the torches along the wall that usually provided the light were burned down and the spicy scent that usually invaded his nose when he entered the room was muted and musty as if the ingredients hadn't been used for a long time and were now covered with dust.
Harry set down his cleaning supplies as quietly as possible and headed towards the door that led to Snape's office and private laboratory, hoping that he would be there. He hadn't been among the professors now working on the northern side of the school, and after asking Dobby and various chatty portraits in the corridor, Harry had been forced to look in the last but most obvious place for the hook-nosed professor.
He raised his hand above the door, preparing to knock. Remember, Remus needs this potion. Endure whatever the slimy git has to say, as long as he'll make the potion. He knocked on the dark wood and to his surprise, the door swung open slightly.
"Professor Snape?" Cautiously, Harry opened the door wider. "I'm sorry to disturb you but I wanted to ask…." His words trailed off, swallowed by the stale air of the dungeon as he saw that the office was empty. Harry stepped forward and carefully opened the door to the small, private laboratory adjacent to the office; it too was empty. Stepping back into the office, Harry scratched his head in confusion.
Parchment was scattered on the floor, as if a violent wind had swept by. Other than that, the office was surprisingly neat and orderly. The last time he had been in here, he had been too wrapped up in the disappointment of not seeing the Sorting Ceremony and eating sandwiches with Ron to notice much of the surrounding room. Two walls had floor-to-ceiling shelves that were covered with many bottles and jars filled with suspicious looking items that Harry would rather not examine too closely. The other wall was taken up completely by ancient looking books that looked surprisingly clean, not dreadfully dusty like the ones in Flitwick's room…. Harry heard a crunch under his foot and hurriedly stepped off a stack of scattered parchment.
He picked them up to get them out of the way and absently looked at the writing on the top one.
"Dear Professor Snape,
The Caliginous Cauldron is most delighted to receive your latest submission entitled 'Young or Old: The Importance of Age in Selecting Jobberknoll Feathers for Various Potions.' Your composition upon the peculiar effects of feathers from a young Jobberknoll as opposed to more mature feathers for the use of several potions is a very welcome addition to our scholarly journal…"
Harry quickly put the stack of parchment on the desk, feeling intrusive and strangely disjointed. The thought of Snape as a scholarly writer, as a scientist of sorts had never occurred to him. Snape was always Snape: greasy, scowling, sallow, thin, ready to take away points from Gryffindor on a whim. But now, Snape the intelligent Potions Master was beginning to emerge and Harry found, to his dismay, a grudging respect starting to form for his absent professor.
Speaking of which, where in the wizarding world was he?
Harry hurried over the wide grounds of Hogwarts, towards a tall bearded figure dressed in bright sparkling blue; it was Dumbledore, of course. The other professors, it looked like, were taking a break from ward-weaving for afternoon tea. Professor McGonagall was busy transfiguring various trees and bushes into a table and enough chairs for everyone while a couple of house-elves came trotting up, toting a large basket full of food and a tea set.
Dumbledore had just settled down in a chair when Harry ran up. "What is it Harry?" he asked, accepting a cup of tea from the bowing house-elf with a nod of thanks.
"Do you know where Professor Snape is?" he asked, slightly winded.
Dumbledore's expression clouded slightly. "I'm afraid not, Harry. He's missing."
"Missing!"
"Yes. He left in a great hurry about two weeks ago to run an errand in London." Dumbledore sighed and suddenly Harry realized how much Dumbledore cared about his staff members. "I won't deny that I am deeply concerned by his absence. It isn't like Severus to run off without leaving me word of his whereabouts."
"Can't you alert the Ministry or something? Surely they have detectives or something of that sort…" asked Harry desperately.
"I have been reluctant to inform the Ministry of anything concerning Severus. Despite my vouching for his character, the minute they see him stray, or what they perceive as straying, he'll be back in Azkaban. And, most likely, he won't ever get out again."
Harry clenched his fists, willing the memory of the cold despair that the Dementors inspired away from his mind. "He must be found, Professor!" He looked around, saw that Lupin was safely on the far side of the table, talking pleasantly with Professor Vector and lowered his voice a notch. "What about Remus? The full moon is on August 14, less than a month way."
"I know, Harry," Dumbledore replied quietly, "No one else here has the skill to make the Wolfsbane Potion and even if they did, I couldn't spare them from the ward-weaving. We're short on available wizards as it is." After a pause he sighed. "If worse comes to worse, the Shrieking Shack is just as capable in housing Remus now as when it did nineteen years ago."
Harry fell silent. He hated to think of Remus being all alone for the painful and terrifying transformation. Outwardly, he nodded and returned slowly back to the castle, deep in thought.
Harry remained quiet and thoughtful the rest of the week as he cleaned the Potions classroom, forgetting even in his musings the horrible state of Neville's desk. What he was thinking about was no trivial matter; Harry knew that Snape had the recipe for the Wolfsbane Potion and as he had made it for Remus during his third year, Harry also knew that Snape had to have most if not all of the ingredients required for the potion. What if… what if Harry made the potion? Harry's grades in Potions were excellent. They had not always been but it seemed that within the last year or so, the subject had become a lot easier and although he disliked the class because of the teacher, he enjoyed, as Snape had once put it, "the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron." There was a distinct satisfaction in seeing a potion well made, bubbling gently until bottled up or used for its intended purpose.
But the Wolfsbane Potion was such a difficult one that Sirius had mentioned that Snape was the only one whom Remus trusted to make it accurately. Then again, everyone had thought that surviving "Avada Kedavra" was impossible too. Harry snorted as he slopped more of Mrs. Skower's All Purpose Magical Mess Remover onto Neville's charred desk. Harry had not only survived the Killing Curse but he had faced Voldemort three times, four counting the horrible night his parents died, and lived to tell the tale. Surely a potion would be, if not easy, then an interesting challenge.
Whoa… slow down, Harry, he thought, resisting the urge to take out his wand and banish Neville's desk to the other end of the world. This is Remus we're talking about, not some stupid prank with Ron. Harry felt a pang of loneliness, thinking of his best friend. He hoped that it was nice in Romania but he wished that Ron and Hermione would hurry back. Thinking of them, Harry decided to wait a few days more. After all, Snape might show up and it wouldn't do at all if Harry were caught raiding Snape's personal stores for a highly advanced potion that was probably illegal for someone his age to make.
A few days later, there was still no word from the absent Potions Master. Harry had been growing impatient with each passing day and finally he could stand it no longer. Quietly, Harry set aside his cleaning supplies and again stepped inside Snape's office. His green eyes fell on the faded spines of Snape's personal library. *The recipe is here somewhere and…. Harry's eyes swept over to the two walls filled with Snape's personal potion stores. All the ingredients are undoubtedly there… Harry gulped, what he was thinking about doing was probably against several laws… Remus might be angry with him for even attempting such a difficult potion. Harry didn't even want to think about what Snape would say if he saw that Harry had used his personal potions ingredients.
Torn with indecision, Harry bit his lip and his eye suddenly caught a slight sparkle from something on the fireplace mantle. He walked over and looked. It was Fire-Talking Powder. Now that was something that would help... Harry dug out his wand and only hesitated briefly before pointing at the fireplace and muttering "Incendio." The professors would still be taking their break for afternoon tea so using this little bit of magic wouldn't do any harm.
Taking a pinch of the powder, Harry sprinkled it on the roaring flames and said "Romania: Charles Weasley's House" loudly, trying not to cough from the smoke. The flames licking upwards around the brick turned pink. Harry leaned farther forward. "Hermione? Are you there? It's Harry. I need your help…"