Veronica didn't feel any different at all the next morning, but Severus Snape looked a good deal worse for wear. "Professor Snape ? Are you all right ?" He responded to her timid inquiry with a snarl and a demand that she recite the fourteen most useful antidote ingredients. Nothing changed for the next four weeks; Snape frequently looked pale and exhausted, reminding Veronica of the years when he'd been a spy for Albus Dumbledore. One morning he entered the laboratory in a foul temper and with his left arm in a sling. Even then she hadn't dared to ask what had happened to him, but suspected, with a twinge of guilt, that it had something to do with her potion. The next day Snape's arm appeared to be perfectly fine. Two days later, he reminded her that the moon would be full that evening.
Half an hour before midnight Severus Snape locked the laboratory doors and cast Imperturbable Charms on them. "Did you get permission to do this ?" Veronica asked as he positioned a work table close to her frame.
"Better to plead Imperious than to ask permission," he told her with a smirk. Veronica watched with barely-contained excitement as he laid out a variety of items on the work table, including the sinister leather-bound book. The woodcuts on the page he turned to seemed even more horrible than the ones he'd shown her before. Veronica leaned closer, trying to read the text, but Snape had placed the table just far enough away that she couldn't make out the words. Now the potions master was levitating a massive cauldron into the room, the largest Veronica had ever seen. Dark liquid swirled within. She wondered where he'd been hiding it for the past month.
Snape glanced at the clock and picked up a double-edged black knife. As the hand ticked over toward twelve, he rolled up his left sleeve. The Dark Mark was still there, Veronica noticed, though faded now, more like a normal scar. The clock began to chime midnight. She gasped as Snape slashed his arm with the knife. "Wh-what are you doing ? You cut yourself-" she stammered, staring in horrified fascination at the sudden rush of crimson.
"You were expecting me to bring a virgin sacrifice ? One of the students, perhaps ?" He sounded amused and not at all adverse to the idea.
"I thought... well, don't you have to use virgin's blood in a Dark ritual ?" she asked. It was unnerving how casually he'd opened a vein. He was clenching and loosening his fist, she realized, to keep the blood flowing freely.
"Virgins are highly over-rated," he said silkily, glancing up at her briefly. "Yes, the old texts demand a virgin sacrifice, but modern potion-making methods have proved that plain, ordinary, human blood works perfectly well."
"But you're losing an awful lot of it, sir."
"Easily dealt with. Blood-Replenishing Potion." Setting the knife down for a moment, Snape suited action to words, selecting a bottle of ruby-colored potion from the table and draining it at one gulp. Blood continued to flow into the cauldron from the gash he'd made. The liquid within was starting to roil and seethe, as though just coming to a boil. But there was no source of heat, Veronica realized with a start.
"Professor ? How is that-"
"Be quiet," he ordered. He'd picked up his wand and had begun to stir. Softly at first, then louder, Snape intoned the words of a spell. Latin, Veronica thought, interspersed with some older, harsher speech. She imagined she could just make out some of the words. Bone of my bone, blood of my blood... no, surely not ! The dungeon, always clammy, was becoming noticeably colder as Snape chanted. Darker, too, the girl realized. The torches dimmed. Shadows stretched across the ceiling, inky black and somehow menacing.
Finishing the chant, Snape took the knife in hand once more. He came around the table and began to cut the painting free of her frame. His breath formed puffs of mist in the now-frigid air. Frost coated the lip of the cauldron, the liquid inside still seething, bubbling. The shadows reached out for them as Snape pulled the canvas off the wall. The loss of stability made her head swim, her stomach churn with nausea. "I'm afraid," Veronica whispered.
"Too late for that." Far too late. He carried her to the cauldron. There was no way to prepare her for what was going to come next, Snape decided, so he didn't waste time trying. The portrait-girl's eyes widened as he gripped her canvas tightly and began to pull. She let out a scream of pure terror as the ancient material split easily in his grasp, tearing in half, then into quarters. The timbre of her cries had changed by then. Snape was intimately acquainted with the sounds - they were screams of pain. He ignored her as best he could, reminding himself that this was an inanimate object, not a living child. Still, it felt like murder. Methodically, Snape ripped the painting into smaller and smaller pieces, flinging them into the cauldron. The screams went on and on, even after he'd reduced her to shreds. Now the darkness was so deep, so total, he could no longer see. The room was icy. He shivered, the bone he'd broken for her aching with the cold. Snape located his wand by touch and began to stir.