Chapter Eighteen:
Eleanora and Hermione pushed their way through the throngs of students that littered the corridors outside the Great Hall, snatching the last five minutes of the lunch break. The taller girl cut easily through the crowd, and Hermione had to practically jog to keep up with her. However, once in the darker and narrower confines of the lower level corridors, Eleanora slowed her pace and looked about her to get her bearings.
"OK," she admitted to Hermione, grinning apologetically, "I'm lost."
Hermione smiled. "Don't worry," she said kindly. "It took me a full term to know my way around here properly. There first time I came down here I was totally lost as well."
Eleanora felt no particular need to mention that she had in fact traversed these corridors before and instead let the shorter girl lead the way from thereon.
The torches flickered brightly in their cast iron brackets and cast ominous shadows over the rough stone walls. Despite the heat of the day and the thickness of her robes, Eleanora shivered. How the hell Snape can stand to spend all of his days down here is beyond me, she thought to herself, already craving the bright sunlight that merrily pervaded the upper corridors.
She and Hermione reached the cavernous maw of the dungeons and Eleanora checked her watch. The slim hands spun erratically, one finally aligning just off the numeral two.
"Hermione," she called to the other girl who had already positioned herself in readiness outside the classroom door.
"I'm just nipping to the bathroom," she called.
"Don't be late!" came the predictable reply from the shadows.
Eleanora hoisted her battered book bag higher on her shoulder and slipped back through the high arch, her eyes seeking out the bathroom door she had seen minutes before. Finding it, her eyes becoming accustomed to the gloom, she gently pushed open the door.
Empty. Thank god.
She threw down her book bag and leant heavily against the wall, the cool tiles sweet relief against her hot cheek. Her heart was performing a complex tattoo deep within her chest and she slowed her breathing, attempting to clear her head before emerging into the darkened corridor.
She would not let him do this to her. Not again. He had flustered her last time and she had barely escaped with her dignity but this time things would be different.
Checking her watch once again, she got to her feet and took a perfunctory glance at the mirror. Her hair which had been carefully restrained in a neat braid this morning had broken free of its confines sometime during a strenuous DADA lesson before lunch and had rioted into disarray one again. Frowning at her reflection, she pulled open the heavy bathroom door and stole out of it, following the chatter of her classmates to lead her back to where Hermione stood, patiently waiting the start of class.
"See? Not late!" Eleanora teased as she strode to her friends side.
Hermione smiled. "Just as well. I should warn you that Professor Snape can get really nasty."
A sandy headed fellow Gryffindor at the side spoke up, "Really nasty? That's an understatement. I heard that he took points off Malcolm Baddock first thing this morning just for being last in the classroom."
A tall Ravenclaw girl grimaced. "He must be in bad mood if he's even taking points off his precious Slytherins."
"Would you rather I took points from Ravenclaw instead, Miss Quirke?" a deep baritone voice drawled silkily from behind the mass of students. The girl spun around to see the potions master standing behind her, his face half obscured by the liquid shadows, his features flickering eerily upon his face in the torch light. He smirked unpleasantly; his hands placed upon his hips, his confrontational stance a stark contrast with the Ravenclaw's terrified cower.
"No, sir!" she stuttered, her face blanching. "I just meant that…"
"Silence, Miss Quirke!" he snapped, his features wiped of their smirk, now bearing the trademark scowl.
"All of you! Into the classroom."
The group stood silent for a moment, unsure of what to do.
"Do not make me repeat myself," he warned his voice ominously soft.
The students suddenly sprang into motion, jostling each other, in their desire not to be the last one into the dark classroom, scared that they too would feel the scathing wrath of the fractious potions master.
Eleanora dared not return the anxious grimaces of her classmates and instead followed Hermione mutely to their seats. She heartily wished that the other girl had not chosen seats directly under the professor's scornful gaze, but saw no way to move now without incurring further reprimand.
"Welcome to Advanced Healing," Snape began, his low voice the only sound in the now silent classroom. "All of you have chosen to undertake this class of your own free will, so I do not believe myself to be unreasonable when I demand total concentration and the full application of your somewhat questionable skills."
He stared around the classroom, his unfathomable gaze lingering somewhat upon the group of Slytherin who had claimed the back row of desks.
No one spoke, and he seemed satisfied of the class's undivided attention.
"Today, we will be discussing the rudiments of two basic wound healing potions, both of which can be found in chapter four of your almanacs. By the word discussion, I mean that I will talk and you will listen in silence, unless a question is directed to you. Do you understand?"
The class nodded in silence, except for one curly headed Hufflepuff who responded with a muted, "yessir."
Snape flung the full force of his contemptuous gaze upon the unfortunate boy.
"Five points from Hufflepuff," he snapped, not blinking an eye.
The boy opened in mouth in incredulity, but was cut off by the professor.
"Ever heard of a rhetorical question, Mr, Finch-Fletchly?" The potion master's face was contorted in a derisive sneer, and his voice dripped with viscous sarcasm.
"Umm….Yes, sir," the boy replied timidly, not daring to lift his gaze off the blank sheet of parchment on his desk.
"Then you should have known that it was a question which required no reply. Had the reply been anything but a resolute yes, then you would have been free to leave this class and not come back. Do I make myself clear?"
The boy nodded, clenching his jaw as if he feared that his mouth might articulate a response beyond his control.
The class sat deathly still, no one daring to move a muscle lest they become the next victim for the wilful beast of Snape's rage.
He perused the motionless class with his obsidian eyes.
"Why, pray tell, have none of you got your books out?" he asked softly, his muted voice belying the menacing undercurrent of danger it carried.
A sudden dash for books ensued and Eleanora scrabbled hurriedly around her book bag for the heavy leather bound volume. She recognised it as the one that Hermione had fallen asleep reading. Leafing through the book, she found the correct page, and set it upon her desk. Dragging her gaze up, she found herself meeting the eyes of the professor. He observed her coldly, her coal black eyes giving no clue as to the thoughts behind them. Meeting his gaze, she was determined not to look away, knowing that this would be taken as a show of weakness that she was not willing to submit to. His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, one eyebrow raised provocatively. Eleanora raised her chin defiantly, refusing to break his trenchant stare. Irritation flickered across the harsh plains of his face and he tore his eyes away, turning instead to fix them upon the pages of his own volume.
"Now that most of you have shown that you can count," he sneered, glaring perniciously at a flustered Ravenclaw still flicking through the tome, "We shall see whether you can also read. I personally, do not hold out much hope."
Hermione sat up dead straight in her chair, a determined look etched upon her face, her fingers anxiously twitching over the words inscribed upon the page as if trying to read them by Braille.
Snape glanced up from his study of his book, a lock of hair falling fluidly over one eye. He made no move to remove it, merely glanced around the assembled students, with the expression of a cobra innately poised to strike at its selected victim.
"Miss Abbot," he barked suddenly, his voice filling every crevice of the darkened room.
"What would I get if I added powdered Graphorn to an infusion of Daisy root?" His tone was demanding and sent a delicious shiver down Eleanora's spine. She bit her lip, anxiously surveying the blond girl, as she stuttered her way though an answer.
"Ummmm….B – b - burn healing balm?" she tried hesitantly, her fear of the domineering potions master manifesting itself in the timorous stutter of her voice.
"Incorrect," Snape snapped. Eleanora expected that he had not even bothered to listen to the girl's answer, so sure was he of his class's ignorance.
"Could any one of you imbeciles provide me with the correct answer?" he asked tauntingly, pressing his palms upon his desk and leaning forwards threateningly. Eleanora instinctively leant backwards, and prickled with irritation as she caught the acrimonious gleam in his onyx black eyes.
Hermione shot her hand up so fast that Eleanora heard the faint whistle of the air as it rocketed past her ear.
Snape made no recognition of Hermione's hand, now waving excitedly above her head. Slowly, Eleanora raised her own arm.
Snape's eyes widened indiscernibly, and the corners of his mouth flicked upwards in interest.
Well, he thought, the veritable Miss D'Souza has found her feet it seems. He grudgingly admitted that it took an indomitable student to risk such castigation from the potions master on their very first day. Still, he noted with some annoyance, she did not seem to be particularly affected by his tactics of intimidation. We shall see about that, he thought sadistically to himself.
"Miss D'Souza?"
Eleanora took a deep breath. "Powered graphorn and daisy root would give you a wound cleaning potion. Add a measure of crushed bezoar and you'll get a fairly powerful antidote for most poisoned flesh wounds."
His mouth thinned. That was to have been his next question, designed to floor anyone apart from that insufferable bushy-haired Gryffindor, Granger, who had lowered her hand, somewhat disappointedly.
"Correct, Miss D'Souza," he replied, fixing the girl with a penetrating gaze. "Five points from Gryffindor however, for a blatant display of showing-off that even your friend Miss Granger could have been proud of."
Eleanora's jaw dropped in disbelief. This, coming from the man who had less than five minutes ago demanded complete application, was beyond belief. She shot a venomous glance at Professor, but his back was turned, a triumphant smirk curled upon his lips.
Hermione shot her a remorseful glance, her own cheeks flushed at the professor's vindictive comment.
Resisting the urge to ball up her parchment and take a well aimed shot at Snapes head, Eleanora picked up her quill and instead put her hand to work copying the long list of ingredients that was scrawled across the blackboard.
"When you have finished copying the list," Snape directed overbearingly, you will collect the ingredients for the basic wound healing salve from the central bench and begin your preparation, two to a cauldron."
Eleanora pushed her chair back, her list having mostly been written from memory, jarring slightly from the gating sound it made in the other wise silent classroom, blanketed with the cloying silence of subjugated concentration. Hermione joined her and they collected their ingredients and selected a cauldron stationed as far away from Snapes desk as possible. Snape himself sat motionless at his desk, staring fixedly at the two girls, his face half hidden in the liquid shadows thrown by the torches.
She had unnerved him, a feat largely impossible thanks to the barrage of defences that he had erected over the long and painful years. She seemed unimpressed by his well practiced terrorization of his students, though he had relished the fleeting look of fury on her face as he had deducted house points for what had been a very eloquent answer.
Her blasé attitude towards him ignited a fierce urge within him to impress upon her just what it meant to feel the wrath of Severus Snape. All he had to do was to lie in wait for her to make just one error, though he had an uncomfortable feeling that he might be waiting for rather longer than he would have to with the usual imbecilic rabble.
She and the intolerable Granger were bent in concentration over their bubbling cauldron, a whispered conversation playing upon their silently moving lips. Eleanora stretched out a hand to consult the almanac, her forehead creasing in absorption as she studied the pages. Turning back to the work bench, she picked up the pestle and mortar and began to ferociously crush her spine of Lionfish.
I bloody well wish that this was Snape's head, Eleanora thought to herself, mercilessly pounding the brittle fragments of bone into a fine power. She surveyed the contents of the pestle critically then tipped them into the cauldron. Shortly after followed Hermione's bowl of diced Ashwinder eggs.
Both girls stared expectantly into the cauldron, their faces illuminated with a reflected greenish hue from the vivid emerald potion that bubbled merrily within.
"And we're done!" Hermione said, lifting the cauldron off the flame, setting it down carefully on the work bench.
"I will be the judge of that, Miss Granger," came the silky voice mere inches behind Eleanora's ear. She faintly quivered at his nearness, but kept her face impassive as he stooped over their cauldron, surveying the viscous contents with a disparaging eye.
Straightening his lean frame he stared coolly at the two girls. Eleanora glanced sideways at Hermione, who was nervously pleating the folds of her robe with anxious fingers as if dreading the harsh rebuke of the potions masters.
But no such rebuke came.
"The potion has been prepared correctly."
With those sparse words, he swept back to his desk. Eleanora gritted her teeth. No words of praise or congratulations, but then she told herself that she should expect no more. Hermione certainly seemed well used to thankless affirmation of her potions.
The lesson had ended with Professor Snape setting an extraordinary large amount of homework. Several of the class gaped in incredulity as he dictated the task, but knew full well that to protest would be to instantly double the amount.
Eleanora scribbled the notes down roughly, her fierce scowl hidden from view by the thick curtain of hair that obscured her face. She was thankful that McGonagall had let them off homework that morning. With any luck, she thought sullenly, I might have finished this lot by Christmas.