Author's Note: Finally!!! Another chapter! It is extremely difficult to write during the school year, especially when you know you should be working on original work. I'm a senior in high school now, and I want to enter a writing contest thing, but none of my stories are finished and my creative pores don't know where to begin! Ahhhhhh! I'll bet a lot of fanfiction writers feel the same way, eh? But this way, I'm getting tons of practice writing, which I probably wouldn't be if I were just rambling on about random things that come to mind.
I must tell you, I have removed the "knurd" from chapter one and simply replaced it with a more Harry-Potterish substance. I was all set to leave it in there, and then I went and did an online search to see if anywhere it would tell me on what page to find the description of knurd if "Men at Arms." And I found out, I'd put the right name to the wrong thing! I didn't realize, but apparently in Pratchett's world, "Knurd" isn't an antidote to drunkenness… It is the STATE that is the complete opposite of drunkenness. And it appears in "Sourcery" and "Guards! Guards" (the first Discworld novel I ever read, sniff of nostalgia) apparently, in addition to "Men at Arms." Or something like that. All I know is, knurd isn't a drink, heh heh. Drinks can make you knurd, I understand; but I don't really think the drink Lucius bought for Snape worked that well. Anyway. I still have to fix the red light/green light thing in the chapter where the dog dies, but I keep forgetting about it.
I had something else to say, but now I forget what it was! Dang it, maybe it'll come to me later. I just want to add that I will be continuing to work on this story, but the updates are going to take a while. This one is seven word doc. pages, but I think ten pages is not very likely in future chapters, at least till winter break. Now, on with the show!
***
The Imperius curse, Severus soon discovered, was not an easy one to maintain. It was difficult to remember to continue walking, with so much of his will devoted to retaining control over Rookwood. And thinking: practically impossible! Every time a thought tried to occur to him, he forgot what was going on and felt as though he were dropping something he'd been juggling. People were giving him dirty looks as he absentmindedly brushed past them, and he returned their glares even as he tried to excuse himself. Sometimes he managed to say "sorry." Once he accidentally told a woman "keep walking," instead, but even if he hadn't been so preoccupied he wouldn't have taken the time to be embarrassed. He merely quickened his pace, and managed to shuffle along to Knockturn Alley, which was virtually empty at this time of day.
"Hurry up!" said Severus exasperatedly when he reached the door to Borgin and Burke's, holding the it open and looking as agitated as he was ever likely to look. Obediently, Rookwood strode inside, and in response to the urging of Severus' mind, went straight for the back room. Behind him scurried Severus, his face damp and burning beneath a layer of cold sweat. As soon as he had shut the door, his lungs released a long sigh of relief and his head began to throb. No wonder Rookwood had been loathe to use the Imperius curse! Its effects on the ill-prepared user, Severus was finding, could be quite unpleasant.
"How'd we get here?" asked Rookwood in a puzzled voice, looking around the room suspiciously.
"Food!" Karkaroff exclaimed, stretching his fingers towards the boxes emblazoned with their little cracked cauldrons. From the bookshelf against which he still leaned, Lucius sniffed in his sleep and shifted slightly, but did not wake. "Bring it over here, Augustus," begged Karkaroff, who had showed an unprecedented streak of sense in lowering his voice. Food, in the evolutionary chain, often brings out even the most deeply buried rivers of thought.
Rookwood seemed to have only just realized that he was loaded, pack-mule style, with the warm containers, and he shot a questioning look at Severus as he dumped them in the centre of the room.
Severus straightened and pushed a lock of greasy dark hair out of his eyes, grinning smugly despite the pain that ever so slowly was beginning to recede.
"Augustus," he smirked. "Thank you so much for carrying all of our purchases. I just couldn't see the sense of burdening both of us with the chore if one of us could avoid it." Nonchalantly he toyed with his new wand in his pale, thin fingers. If Rookwood tried anything, he would learn the effects of more than the Imperius curse today.
The other Death Eater's mouth moved slightly, and his brow furrowed in a look caught between two unreadable emotions, and Severus stiffened. Karkaroff mumbled something about cold food being nearly as bad as no food. Then Rookwood grinned and laughed out loud, and the tension burst.
"Thought you'd get me back, eh?" Rookwood said, crossing his arms. "I'd say, it was all worth it, just to see the way you—the way you looked at her!" he tried to continue, but he seemed unable to contain his laughter.
"What happened?" Karkaroff asked, succumbing to the contagion of Rookwood's mirth with a chuckle of his own. Severus flung him a silencing glare, but he realized the direction of the situation and the fact that his dignity was not easily salvageable. Not that he would not try... He had always tried; taking it lying down was even worse—a lesson learned through experience and through generations of pureblood pride coded in his very chromosomes.
"Oh, I just decided our little outing would be as good a time as any to start a little practise," Severus declared in a threatening tone which quickly lost its potency, juxtaposed as it was against Rookwood's snort of laughter and Severus' own quick amendment: "You'd better shut it, Rookwood, before I decide to have another go at it!"
"You know Lustius?" Rookwood turned to Karkaroff and began unheedingly, his face bright with smiling.
"You mean him?" said Karkaroff, nodding his head at the dozing Malfoy.
"No! The curse! Really... Severus thought exactly the same thing." said Rookwood, but he was still grinning.
"That's enough!" Severus snapped, moving towards the other man with his wand out.
"Oh alright! I won't say anything," Rookwood said as he moved away, but he was still grinning terribly.
"And if you ever do, I'll find out, and come for you, and I'll curse you till you'd kill your own mother just to make it stop!"
"Ah, God rest her soul; good thing she's already dead, then!" Rookwood moved his hands as though to make the sign of the Holy Trinity, but was evidently not a terribly religious man, as he left out the tap on the left side of his chest completely. He was smiling in that precise fashion that, like Malfoy's smirk, really seemed to know how to make Severus' blood boil. Augustus was evidently finding fun in mangling Snape's attacks with the most irrelevant comments. Severus was not entirely certain how much of it was guile and how much was simply the side effect of a stupid sense of humour, but he decided the best response would be a glare. He managed a lovely one, and shot it menacingly at Rookwood as he made for the cartons of food.
"Well Severus, if you would kindly provide Igor with a bit of bread, since I see you're serving. You can soak it in the mermaid scale broth," said Augustus, and of course Severus ignored him completely, instead following his antagoniser's slow movements toward Lucius. The white-haired man was slumped in a limp and undignified lump, and had a face deserted of either the usual malice or unusual kindness. That malice had migrated into Rookwood's face, and it crept into Severus' smirk as he eagerly watched Rookwood draw his wand and point it at Lucius' face. Kindness was absent from every corner; the walls themselves seemed content to exude malevolence. Dark magic was not a "nice" thing, whatever it might be. It could roast your worst enemy or save a nation from a tyrant leader; it could make you immortal or kill you on the spot; but you would never see it walk an old lady across the street, or tenderly care for a baby bird. Unless, perhaps, the bird was really the unholy offspring of Lucifer and would be eating the old lady as soon as she had crossed the street and into the dark alley across the way...
"Come on, I'm starving," complained Igor impatiently.
"Shut up," Severus said dismissively, and he absently stuffed a slice of warm bred into Igor's twisted little mouth, without taking his eyes off Rookwood. The former Ravenclaw was hesitating, standing over Lucius with his wand ready but his brow twisted as though in thought.
"Either think of something or let me do it, then," said Severus pointedly, drawing his own wand and mulling over a few promising curses which seemed likely to be appropriate to the situation.
"Be quiet! I know what I'm doing," snapped Rookwood, his pleasantness and annoying grin having been momentarily shucked. And looking closer, Severus realized that the other man's eyes were shifting in a rather unnatural manner, and that his lips were contorting and whispering some sort of words—whether English or some sort of incantation or another language, it was impossible to know. Whatever Rookwood was doing, it fascinated Snape. His vision tunnelled, focused upon that oddly moving face and the absolute rigidity of his scarlet-robed body.
It was likely not a spell, thought Severus, since his wand was still, and silent, and not pointing at anything in particular.
"Come here please, Severus?" requested Rookwood very suddenly. Severus actually moved to stand up from his seated position beside the cartons and do as he was asked, when he suddenly remembered that he despised Augustus Rookwood.
"What for?" he demanded suspiciously.
"If you want to make a fool of Lucius Malfoy, please just get your arse over here," said Rookwood with a slight grin. Only half reluctantly, Severus stood and approached Lucius and Augustus.
"What're you doing?" whispered Karkaroff through a mouthful of bread. He was ignored.
"I've got a new spell all prepared," said Rookwood eagerly. Severus nodded in sudden comprehension. No wonder he had not recognised Rookwood's actions. Spellcrafting was not easy and it was, like so many extraordinary abilities, really only transferable through an incomprehensible right of birth. He had never before seen a wizard in the midst of actually creating a spell.
Spellchecking was easily the most common of all documented abilities, and affected most of the better wizards to a certain degree. It meant that a witch or wizard was able to (usually instinctively) tweak a spell, sometimes subtly shifting pronunciation, sometimes moving the wand in an ever so slightly different motion, and sometimes even making little adjustments on the inscrutable plane of its invisible ties into the magical energies of wizardkind on Earth. Spellcrafting meant having the capabilities to forge the right magical connections, to find the right words, and to pick out just the right wand motion that would set everything into place for a new spell to be born. It was a less common gift than Spellchecking, but similarly, it was present to varying degrees wherever it was found. The very talented 'Crafters were good with designing spells to create momentary illusions or temporary effects; the really exceptional ones could come up with things like the Cruciatus, Imperius, and Killing curses. Like the other gifts, these had been around since ever magic existed.
Then there were thousands of rarer gifts with strange names and laughable descriptions, like the Polvova, whose touch dispelled dust from any object; or the Ritmahu, who could teach absolutely anyone to do an Irish jig, if only their clothing had visible pure yellow colouring in it. Few people could name all of these gifts, but most well-educated witches and wizards could say what a metamorphmagus was able to do, and that was one of the ten least common of all the gifts. The very rarest were megametamorphmagi, who were actual shapeshifters; so uncommon that the last known megametamorphmagus had been dead by now for 300 years, and the one reliable list (kept by Merlin himself) was only able to positively identify three others from ages past.
Of course, the heads of wizard governments everywhere snapped up the most highly gifted witches and wizards, and Britain's ministry of magic was as likely to do so as anyone else's. Unspeakables were usually highly able spellcrafters, and highly able spellcrafters were usually Unspeakables. It was a rule of thumb that rarely failed. Although through listening in on Rookwood's conversation with his superior at the ministry Severus might have realized what Rookwood could do, it was still a bit of a surprise to think that this man, who had confessed to and even demonstrated his ineptitude with the casting of spells... That he might be a Spellcrafter.
"What, you mean you just thought it up right here?" demanded Severus with sneering incredulity.
"No, I was thinking about it on the way to the Leaky Cauldron," responded Rookwood flippantly. "It's only a little spell; shouldn't last long."
"What's it do?"
"You'll see!"
"Then what do you need me for?" Severus asked angrily, crossing his arms.
"You're going to perform the spell," said Rookwood firmly, and added an "Ok?" which he did not really mean at all.
"I think not," said Severus immediately.
"You have to. It'll scare Malfoy's hair right out of his scalp! I mean, it can't really get any more white, can it?"
"Go on, Snape!" urged Karkaroff, and that just about sealed the deal.
"Despite what you so obviously believe, I am not that stupid," Severus huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as though warding himself from Rookwood's new curse.
"I'll tell you what it does," offered Rookwood. "It's perfect. We'll have a very nice frontal facsimile of the Dark Lord, and you can feed it thoughts and make it talk, if everything's working correctly. Now what do you say?"
"I say: even if you were trustworthy, such a silly little trick would not be worth my time," Severus said aloofly, and would hardly have admitted even to himself that seeing the look on Lucius' face would make the trouble all seem worth it. He sat down by the food and shoved an enchanted super-tasty biscuit past his thin lips.
"You are a really unlike-able person sometimes, Snape," said Rookwood coolly. He faced Lucius, once more wearing a look of intense concentration, but this time pointing his wand in the air beside Lucius as he mumbled his magic words.
Rookwood really was not a very good practical wizard. He awakened Lucius just at the moment that he'd cast the Voldemort spell to appear, but Malfoy did not die of fright. The false Voldemort was perfect, looking as menacing as the real one would have if he'd lost all of his internal organs, and if the entire back half of his body became suddenly transparent. Even the voice was just right, and Severus had to concede he was impressed by the its lovely timbre as the false Dark Lord began to belt out "Flight of the Bumblebee" as a song composed entirely of the word "la." It was certainly a startling spectacle, and Malfoy flung himself back with a satisfyingly horrified look before he paused with an expression of bewilderment to listen to the remaining minute and a half of song before the spell faded away. Then his wide eyes turned on Rookwood.
"Damn!" said Rookwood cheerfully. "I was singing that yesterday... must still be floating around somewhere in my mind. Good morning Lucius. Soup's on!"
"Do you think things are always like this?" Karkaroff asked quietly over Severus shoulder, as Malfoy exclaimed "you idiot!" and launched into a brief but furious tirade.
Snape shrugged. "I truly hope not."
Luckily for everyone, Rookwood in particular, Lucius' initial reaction was calmed by the thought of food, and his later reaction was suspended by said food's actual consumption. Severus was slightly annoyed to see that Malfoy had already regained his aura of princely refinement and was now eating slowly and sensibly, while Severus simply gulped his helpings down.
"You eat like a goat," Lucius informed him, disgusted.
Severus, who was really regretting Rookwood having brought Malfoy back into the equation, grunted and glared and did not amend his behaviour for even an instant. Malfoy could go to hell, Severus decided.
It was a short time later that everyone had filled their stomachs (even Karkaroff, whom Rookwood had half-heartedly fed with large pieces of dry foods), and the three unfettered Death Eaters relaxed around the room while Karkaroff slid down in his chair to as comfortable a position as he could manage. Karkaroff wished aloud that he were able loosen his belt a bit, but even Rookwood was adamant that no-one was going to go that far to assist him.
Rookwood and Malfoy kept up a steady flow of meaningless chit-chat as the dingy light out in Knockturn alley changed and began to dim with the sun's descent from the sky. Severus listened with one eye on the shadowy street, and occasionally put in a few words when the other wizards stumbled upon a topic that really interested him. It was hard to concentrate knowing the risk they would soon have to take.
"Don't you think we should begin to prepare?" Severus blurted after a while, interrupting an exceedingly dry conversation about the involvement of Quidditch teams in world politics.
Rookwood shrugged "I suppose. How much have you got with you, Lucius?"
"A fair amount. A couple of sips should last for at least half an hour. You propose we give it to him now?"
"Why not?" said Rookwood. "We'll wait out in the alley and return to give him some more if Borgin hasn't come yet."
"Sounds feasible," said Malfoy noncommittally, and as he rose to his feet he reached into his robe pocket and pulled out a little red flask.
"Might I have a look?" asked Severus curiously, stretching out a hand. It would be an interesting experience to examine such a rare potion, and potions was one of his favourite areas of study. Perhaps, he thought, seeing it at least might give him some sort of inspiration.
"I'll allow it, just so long as you don't drop it," said Lucius warningly, holding out the flask in his firm grasp. He did not let go until Severus had practically pried it from his fingers, and even then kept a vigilant eye on the bottle.
"I wouldn't hurt it," said Severus softly, cradling the red glass in his palms. He touched the ceramic stopper reverently as he read the label. He didn't recognise the creator's first name, but the last name was familiar enough. Furius Dumbledore, he read. He almost had to be a relative of Albus Dumbledore, current headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and wizardry. Severus had to frown at the thought of him. Capable and encouraging as Professor Dumbeldore had always been, Severus' memories of the old man were not particularly pleasant. His fearsome face on the terrible night the Potter gang had tried to kill him, the night they tried to feed him to that beast... That tainted his feelings, of course. But additionally, there was the little pang of inadequacy he felt every time he'd not lived up to Dumbledore's faith in him.
That man believed everyone was a great wizard waiting to blossom, and after school let out, many Hogwarts alumni proved to be exactly what the headmaster had always believed them capable of becoming. Severus did not like to imagine what Dumbledore would think of his current involvement with dark magic and darker wizards, but he realized that even if given the chance to leave right now and return to his former state, he would firmly decline the offer. He wondered briefly if this Furius Dumbledore was as accepting as his relative at Hogwarts.
No, not relative, thought Severus, his attention caught by a line of tiny script at the bottom edge of the label; not a relative of Albus Dumbledore: an ancestor!
"No wonder one of your little friends was able to filch this," Severus scoffed.
"What are you saying?" demanded Malfoy.
"Did you notice the date on this flask? I'd wager my life that friend of yours must have found it on the 'to be replaced' shelf. Oh, hell..."
"I read the damned thing," Lucius snapped. "Says 'January 16-something-or-other.' What does age have to do with it? Potions can keep perfectly well for centuries after brewing."
"Yes, but that's not the date of creation, now is it?" Severus asked, pointing to the place on the label and receiving only a suspicious and confused look from Malfoy. Severus exhaled a sharp sigh. "It's the expiration date."
"Will it work at all?" Karkaroff asked, looking definitely worried.
"Well, illusion brews can be unpredictable," began Severus knowledgably, and did not miss the semi-discreet rolling of Lucius' eyes. "If the potion-brewer was very good—" and he somehow suspected that, being related to Albus Dumbledore, he was—"then it should have lasted well past 1630."
"So probably nothing to worry about, correct?" asked Rookwood uneasily.
"Possibly nothing to worry about. I told you, this sort of potion is rather unpredictable, without even going into the fact that an invisibility potion isn't something one would waste in foolish testing!" said Severus, feeling his ire rising now. He simply did not know what to expect, or what he or any of them were going to do if the potion failed to function properly. He pressed his thin lips into an even thinner line and thrust the flask back at Lucius. "Just go on and try it; get it over with."
"Gladly," said Lucius shortly, curling his fingers around the stopper.
"Just a moment," said Severus quickly.
"What is it?" asked Rookwood nervously.
"Malfoy, when you open it, be certain to have the stopper close at hand. The longer it's open to the air, the less likely it is that the magical essences will work correctly."
"Yes, alright," said Malfoy dismissively, his body turned towards Karkaroff but his face turning to give Severus a look of disdain. "For once, Karkaroff, I'm going to ask you to open your mouth. Go on," commanded Lucius imperiously.
Karkaroff did so without complaint, and quickly Lucius unstopped the lid and raised the flask above Karkaroff's gaping mouth. His eyes squinted together in concentration as he tilted the container slowly, slowly—Severus could only hope it wasn't too slowly, but he knew that Lucius was rightfully trying to conserve as much of the precious liquid as possible. Finally a single dollop of brown sludge dribbled out onto Karkaroff's waiting tongue, and Lucius righted the flask.
"Don't you dare spit that out," Lucius hissed warningly at Karkaroff's revolted expression. "Swallow it and open up, once more."
With a sickly gulp, Karkaroff forced the goop down his throat, and Severus could not help but make a face at the thought of having to choke down such a potion. If there was one drawback to the art of potionmaking, it was the fact that most potions tasted unbelievably foul. Hardly anyone bothered to add flavouring, unless the recipe was fairly simple, since it was generally not worth the risk of ruining the hard work of many months just to make it taste nice.
"Ah hake inking hohons," Karkaroff lamented with his mouth opened, and Lucius did not even bother to respond as he repeated the slow process of measuring out the dollop. Karkaroff swallowed this, too, although he looked ready to vomit.
"Isn't it working?" asked Rookwood hoarsely. His eyes were fastened intently upon Karkaroff.
"Be quiet and observe," said Severus tersely. Before there eyes, Karkaroff's form was beginning to flicker. Would it work? Severus wondered. Even if it did, he considered, there was simply no knowing just how far its illusive properties could be trusted.
***
Well? What do you think? I personally KNOW that I'm sort of cramming sort of a lot of overly dramatic stuff into a rather short time frame, but whatever. If this really bothers you, I can't say I'll fix it, because that would be really freakin' hard, heh heh. I can, however, say that the future holds less over-the-top crap. Less, I said less, not none! Lol. That is not to discourage you from telling me off in your review, however. I appreciate suggestions, especially with writing style. I use certain sentence patterns a lot, and if there are any grammar experts who can suggest some interesting sentence variants, I would be delighted to learn from you. And anyone who feels like it can write and tell me how I'm doing keeping everyone in character. Karkaroff comes off as so annoying and just I-really-wish he'd-get-out-of-my-face-and-shut-up-ish. Although he's a big jerk in the books, so I guess that begins to excuse it. How's my Snape doing?? Rookwood? Lucius? Were the little "gifts" and "Headmaster Dumbledore" digressions big detractors from the story? I didn't know how else to get the information out there, without inserting a chain of dialogue more conspicuously convenient than even the stuff I've done to this point. Rookwood grins an awful lot, doesn't he? Oh, well. Can't be helped. He's like that, you know. Sort of infuriating. I hope you weren't as ruffled by it as Severus was? Anyway, anyway… REVIEW!!!!!
Additionally, thanks to Trin for being the only one to review chapter 10! Sorry, Snape's thirst for revenge is unslaked thus far. Also thanks to Queen Smuffles and Marauder1Prongs for putting me on their favorite authors lists! And Marauder1Prongs: there are more of you guys?! It's like a secret underground association of marauders, surfacing now and again to read the same fanfics... That's cool, MarauderXSo-and-sos! I swear, to all four people on whose lists I'm featured, getting on your guys' favorits author lists is almost as good as a review! Actually, ego-wise it's better, hee hee. I can't read between the lines with an unwritten honor! So... reviews, please! I won't ask you to put me under favorite authors; that seems... wrong somehow. My sense of propriety is all screwed up, but whatever. Until next time...
