Chapter Two:
Severus Snape slammed the door to his quarters with a resounding crash that echoed around the lofty heights of the cavernous stone room. The heels of his black boots made smart click on the stone floor with every stride he took until he reached an oppressive looking mahogany cabinet and roughly pulled open its doors. Inside was a selection of bottles containing a fiery amber liquid. He paused, selected one of the bottles and a cut glass tumbler, turned on his heel and walked back out through the door into his office. He sank into a green leather armchair and uncapped the bottle, letting a generous measure of its tawny contents flow smoothly into the glass.
For minutes he just sat, occasionally raising the glass to his lips, his only movement, save the sporadic narrowing of his obsidian eyes as he started impassively at the grey stone of his office wall. His thoughts were a tangle of irritation and anxiety: irritation at Dumbledore's seemingly blind trust and anxiety at what troubles this girl might bring with her to Hogwarts. True, Aloysius was hardly a stranger but setting aside his own dislike for the man, he still felt that his close affinity with the school could only bring trouble. As for the girl, she sounded unremarkable enough. However, half Veela-blood was indeed unusual; most part-Veelas could only claim quarter at the most. His mind chased back to the Veela girl that had visited Hogwarts from Bauxbatons the previous year to participate in the Tri-Wizard tournament. Fleur Delacore. Undoubtedly beautiful, she had exhibited the haughty, supercilious behaviour that he had come to expect of attractive women. He predicted no different of this girl.
* * * * * * * * * *
Albus had owled Aloysius the moment Severus had left his office, asking for a small vial of Eleanora's blood in order to prepare the tonic in time for her arrival in one week's time. An answer had been prompt, arriving the very next morning, in the shape of a magnificent eagle owl bearing not only a parchment but a small dragon-hide pouch containing a tiny vial of blood. Albus had approached the fearsome owl cautiously, eying its long talons warily but it had dropped its imposing head and allowed the headmaster to remove its parchment gently. It had read:
iMy dearest Albus,
Many thanks for allowing my daughter to attend Hogwarts for her fifth year's schooling. I have sent an owl to her this evening explaining the importance of her coming to you. I have no doubt she will settle down immediately. I enclose a small vial of blood, as requested, but I must ask this of you: Take every precaution to ensure that this does not get into the wrong hands. I will endeavour to explain more when I visit Eleanora at mid-term.
Until then,
Aloysius D' Souza.i
Dumbledore, having read the parchment twice, held the tip of his wand to it and in a small burst of light it had vanished. He picked up the pouch and decided to take it to Severus himself in light of Aloysius' concern, He had no doubt of the mans judgement, and would indeed endeavour to protect Eleanora to the full extent of his extensive abilities.
A smart rap on the heavy wooden door roused Severus from his thoughts. "Enter," he called loudly, wondering who would wish to bother him so early in the morning. Visitors to the dungeons were rare, and who indeed could blame the students and staff alike, for not wishing to enter the dark, portentous underbelly of the school. The darkness however, suited Severus just fine, as did the chill that filled the air even in the mid-summer. Many of the students chose to wear their heavy woollen outer cloaks when working in the dungeons, but Severus hardly felt the cold, through the rich material of his black silk brocade frock coat and outer cloak.
Albus' benevolent face peered through the shadows at him. "Ahh, Severus," he greeted the sombre man sat before him.
"It is indeed a delightful morning, what say you to a walk in the grounds?" Severus' darkening expression gave the headmaster his answer, and he shrugged and gave the potions master a benign smile.
"I have with me here the vial you requested from Eleanora." Severus nodded curtly and gracefully rose from his chair, rising to his full height, several inches above the headmaster who stood at an impressive height himself. It was this lean height that so frightened students when he strode forcefully past them in the dark corridors, his robes billowing stormily in his wake, scattering the lower years like losing thoughts, as they pressed themselves into the cold stone walls lest they incur his powerful wrath.
He gently took the vial and held the tiny container up to the lone candle light that burned in his office. Seeing nothing to his displeasure he turned and said, "Very well, Albus. I can have the tonic prepared in two days time. This batch should last the girl until late spring at least at the normal dose."
Dumbledore nodded his approval and said, "No doubt, Severus you are eager to begin the process. I shall leave you to your estimable work." A brief moment of understanding passed between the two wizards, no words needing to be spoken to convey the trust they placed in each other.
At the gentle click of the door being shut, Severus once again sank into the chair, sliding his long, lithe legs under the mahogany desk. He downed the last of his fire whiskey and summoned one of the grimoires from his extensive shelves with a well-practiced flick of his wand and a muttered command, "Accio Potions of the Romanies." The heavy book landed before him on the desk, and with elegant fingers he leafed thorough it's many pages until he had found what he required. A slow curve of a smile spread across his face, as he read about the distinctly unpalatable taste of this particular potion. He allowed himself a rare chuckle as he imagined the look on the face of this no doubt exasperating girl as she was forced to swallow the unpleasant mixture. Never let it be said that Severus Snape did not poses and sense of humour, dark and mordant though it was.
He left his writing desk and entered the empty and silent classroom: its many desks set in orderly rows that he regretfully noted would be destroyed as soon as term began. He deftly gathered the myriad of ingredients together and to any invisible spectator, a veritable sight would have been their reward for daring to impinge upon Snapes solitude. His face took on a look of animated passion as he adeptly diced roots, powdered dried leaves and strained viscous mixtures, adding each in turn to a large, simmering cauldron set over a merrily burning flame. So absorbed in his work he was, that he did not realise the swift passage of time has rendered his late for luncheon. A sudden hiss from the cold, empty fire place heralded the appearance of Madam Hooch's disjointed head in the darkness.
"Severus?" she called. An annoyed glance was her silent reply.
"What is it, Arachnia?" he asked tersely. Her brows furrowed in irritation at his brusque tone.
"I just thought I would inform you that you are expected in the Great Hall for luncheon and the staff meeting following," she called from the dark hollow.
His expression hardened even more so. He resented Dumbledore's insistence that all the staff dined together in the Great Hall, as he would much prefer to take his meals alone, in his quarters, away from the feeble attempts at cheery conversation that always ensued from the other staff.
Severus Snape was by habit and preference, a solitary man. He found his fellow staff at Hogwarts to be tedious at best and at worse, nothing short of unbearable. Their sorry attempts to initiate him into conversation were unwelcome and irritating. However after several years of failed attempts at conviviality, most had learnt to simply let him be.
"Yes, yes," he replied, waving aside her words, and turning back to his bubbling cauldron.
A silence ensued, broken by her cry of "Oh, you can't blame me for trying, Severus!"
He whipped around and shot back in his silkiest tone, "My dear Arachnia, I thank you for your most valiant effort to coax the old bat out of his dungeon but at this present moment, this potion is a more pressing matter than making small talk with Dumbledore over a platter of bread rolls!" His voice had risen to an infuriated shout and Madam Hooch's affronted face gave a sigh of exasperation and disappeared with a loud pop.
Taking a few moments to make sure that she had in fact left him to his own devices, he turned back to his cauldron, and saw to his perturbation that the viscous mixture had turned a deep, rich brown with ebony depths to it. The potion, it was explained in the grimoire, should, if prepared correctly, turn the exact same colour of the blood donator's eyes as was the want of this particular concoction. The eyes of a Veela were usually arctic blue in colour and he wondered momentarily if he had made an error somewhere in the process. However, such was his expertise in his chosen field and his own knowledge of his extensive skills that he discounted that thought immediately.
The potion having cooled and his earlier doubts having been dispelled, he carefully bottled it in several large doses and locked them in his personal stores. That done, he grimly set out through the dungeons to attend Dumbledore's staff meeting.