Severus Snape knelt beside the cauldron, resting his forehead against the rim, letting the cool metal momentarily ease the pounding ache in his skull. Full awareness of his surroundings returned slowly. The room was dark, no longer supernaturally so, but simply the darkness of the dungeon, of night. The cold lingered, little more than the ordinary chill of the laboratory. Had the screams finally stopped, or had he just grown numb to them ? The potions master felt his arm, felt the slick warmth of fresh blood. He rose, using the edge of the work table to haul himself up, and felt along the table for the second bottle of Blood-Replenishing Potion. As some of his strength returned, Snape became aware of the muffled sound of crying. "Lumos." He leaned over the cauldron, trembling with more than just cold. A child huddled there, eyes clenched shut, arms wrapped around her knees.
Snape lifted her out, feeling something close to awe. He dropped to his knees, clutching her to him. She was real, his creation. He could feel her slight weight against his chest, the bumps of the spine through the soft material of her robe, the sharp angles of the shoulder blades. The ribs rose and fell, the breath warm against his throat as her sobs subsided to whimpers, a mindless, animal sound. Fear clutched at him then, fear and horror. He hadn't felt such emotions during the ritual, not even when the Dark shadows had closed in and his life – her life – had hung by a single silver thread. Had the portrait-child survived her rebirth whole, intact ? Or was she somehow... defective ? Snape thrust her to her feet, gripping her by the shoulders until she managed to stand, swaying, on her own. "Stand up. Speak," he commanded harshly. "Say something ! Look at me !" The eyelids fluttered. Snape held his breath. He couldn't bear to look into the living eyes of the child, not if the personality and intelligence he'd seen in the painted eyes of the portrait had been snuffed out.
The eyes opened wide, grey-green, still shiny with tears. "Professor Snape... you're all right ?"
"Of course I'm all right," he snapped. "What is your name ? Recite the ingredients of the Wit-Sharpening Potion."
In the dim light, the girl blinked at him. Her expression clearly indicated that she was as unsure of his mental capacity as he was of hers. "Veronica Stuart. Scarab beetle, armadillo bile, and ginger root," she replied dubiously.
Snape threw back his head and laughed exultantly. "Yes ! I did it," he roared.
The girl giggled, the first time he'd ever heard her do so. "I'm alive." Abruptly, she yawned, a huge yawn, cracking her jaws wide.
She raised a hand, belatedly, to cover her mouth. Snape stared in fascination at that hand, the delicate joints, the faint blue tracing of veins, each finger tipped with a little pink nail. His creation. She was real. He had done it.
"I'm so tired, Professor."
So was he, Snape realized. Exhausted. His mind worked sluggishly. What to do with her ? One of the girls' dormitories, obviously, but not now, not in the middle of the night. Well, he certainly wasn't going to take a student to his own quarters for the night – not even this student ! Ignoring his mental debate, the child was already slumped on a bench, deep in slumber. He shrugged. Why not ? She'd slept in the lab for hundreds of years; one more night wouldn't hurt her... But what if she awakened in the dark, alone and frightened ? Snape glowered at the child. She was already causing problems he hadn't foreseen. Grudgingly he conjured an armchair and footstool for himself. Once settled, the potions master took another long look at what he had created. A huge yawn of his own interrupted his observation. "Nox." The torches went out. Moments later, Severus Snape was asleep.