Disclaimer – still not mine.
A/N - I can quite honestly say that this chapter has been hell. Each time I think I've got it straight I realise that there's a nasty big plot-hole stuck right in the middle of it. Its been driving me up the wall. Anyway, its complete now and (I think), more or less plot-hole free. If you do spot any, please let me know.
Egwene - No, you're right, Sirius isn't escaping all that easily. Um, I'm afraid there isn't much angsting about his friends in this chapter - he's a bit too busy, as you'll see. I did have some in there, for a while, but it didn't really work. There is plenty more coming up in a chapter or two though... Hope you keep enjoying it till then.
Chapter Four He would have given almost anything to leave early. As if having to keep company with the Lestrange brothers wasn't bad enough, he could still feel her eyes on him – and it was not a nice sensation! Smiling distractedly at Rodolphus' crude joke, Severus refused to turn and look again in Mrs Black's direction. Something had changed since he last encountered her two nights earlier and it didn't take all that much effort on his part to figure out just what that something was. She now knew about her stupid Gryffindor son's little prank. He would bet a year's worth of potion supplies on it.
The harsh laughter of the Lestranges was beginning to grate on his ears and, resolutely keeping his back to Mrs Black, he excused himself, easing away through the crowds. The large room was packed, filled with witches and wizards of all ages, all with impeccable bloodlines - most of who were almost certainly related in some way. The Malfoys stood near the entranceway, greeting their guests as they arrived.
"Severus, my boy." He almost reached for his wand in shock as a large, heavy hand landed on his shoulder. He span, and found himself looking up into the face of Arcturus Black.
"Mr Black! I did not realise you were here," he said, giving the older man a small, welcoming smile. Suddenly remembering the formal nature of the gathering he bowed his head, the proper greeting for the head of the great house of Black from a lowly offshoot of the Snapes.
"My potions can manage without me for one night. How are your studies going?"
"Well. Thank you sir."
"Good, good. I've heard it said that you are top of the year in Potions...?"
Severus almost flushed with pride. One of the greatest Potion Masters alive was interested in his studies! "Yes sir."
"Very good," Black nodded. "Your family must be proud."
He fought to keep the scowl from his face. His family? Yeah, right. His mother, who spent most of her time drunk, and his father... Why could his own father not see him in the way that Mr. Black did? But no. All he ever got from him were insults, no matter how hard he tried to please him. He couldn't remember the last time the man had actually praised his efforts - but he couldn't tell Black that, could he?
"Yes sir," he repeated instead.
"And what's this I hear about an incident involving that worthless son of mine and a werewolf?" Mr Black asked then. This time Severus couldn't hide his grimace. Despite the noise of the crowded room, the older man's soft voice carried clearly to Severus' ears. "I am shocked. It is true, I take it?"
Severus, with remembered fury blazing through his mind, slowly nodded his head. A flash of corresponding emotion flared in the older man's eyes. Thankfully, with this man at least, the anger was not directed at him - and, as far as he cared, Sirius deserved everything that came to him!
"He will be punished for it. You can rest assured of that. So... Do you know the identity of this werewolf? How did the boy know of its presence?"
He was tempted to answer. It would have been so easy to inform Black that Remus Lupin was a werewolf... The information, however, would not stop with him and it would be only a matter of time before Dumbledore found out that he had broken his word. The consequences of such an occurrence he did not wish to face. He did not wish to cross Dumbledore. He couldn't tell.
He could, though, hint...
"I don't really think you need to look far beyond his friends for your answer."
Arcturus Black's eyes narrowed, causing Severus' lips to twist in satisfaction. The more trouble he could cause those Gryffindor gits, the better he would feel.
"His friends...? Interesting."
Severus was about to say more when the tall figure standing behind Black caught his attention. A hush had fallen over the room; all eyes gazed now in their direction. He quickly bowed low, causing the Potion Master to turn in surprise.
"Ah, Lord Voldemort," he said calmly, bowing his head.
"Black."
Severus slowly lifted his head, only to swiftly drop it again as he found the Dark Lord's unnerving eyes fixed on him.
"Well, introduce me to the boy then, Black. One of your sons?"
"Unfortunately not. This is Severus Snape, my Lord." After barely a second's pause he added, "His potions ability is, I do believe, unrivalled by any amongst his peers."
"Really... Interesting. Look at me, Boy."
Almost reluctantly, as he felt his cheeks, already warm from Black's praise, flush even further, Severus lifted his eyes to Voldemort's face. For several long moments he stood, transfixed, unable to tear his gaze away.
"Yes..." Voldemort finally continued, giving a satisfied nod. "Yes, you would be a welcome addition to our cause. Most welcome."
Before Severus could make any sort of reply Voldemort and Black had moved off through the crowds. He stood as he was, staring after them, stunned. He could hardly believe that the little encounter had really just happened! Voldemort had just spoken to him...! The Dark Lord had told him that he would be 'a welcome addition' to the pure-blood cause...!
The party suddenly looked far more promising.
Where had she put his bloody wand? It had to be in here somewhere! Sirius scowled around at the darkened room - at the heavy, dark fabrics and repetitive snake motif, at that hideous great tapestry filling the far wall. Merlin, he hated this place. In fact, of all the rooms in the house, he had to hate this one the most. This was his mother's room, his mother's territory, and the place where some of his worst memories of childhood were situated. Somewhere in there she had to have hidden his wand. The only question was where?
He had begun his search at the tall, glass-fronted cabinets, carefully rifling through the contents of each shelf. It wasn't there. Half an hour later and he was beginning to wonder whether, unlike each occasion in the past, maybe it wasn't hidden in the drawing room at all. He'd already looked in all her usual hiding places. He supposed he could maybe search the woman's bedroom - as unpleasant as that thought was - but if he didn't find it in any of the obvious places there... he had no idea where else to try. He would, to put it simply, be well and truly fucked.
Muttering under his breath, Sirius turned to leave, only to halt, a shocked curse on his lips, as he caught sight of a house-elf peering in around the doorframe. His immediate thought was of that ugly sneak Kreacher, but he quickly realised his mistake. This house-elf was a far more welcome sight than his mother's favoured servant ever could be.
"Tibby!"
The small female, caught as she turned to flee, froze. Her gnarled, tea towel clad body was tense, her eyes darting frantically around for a route of escape. Sirius frowned.
"Where have you been, Tibs?" he asked her. "I was starting to get worried..."
And he had. He had many a time wondered about his old nursemaid's whereabouts since arriving back at Grimmauld Place, but there wasn't anyone here who he could have made enquiries with. His main worry had been that she had gone the same way as so many others in the house. His dear old Mum showed an unnatural enjoyment in the whole process of house-elf beheading. The beheading of one whose loyalty had always swayed more towards the 'treacherous Gryffindor son' would, no doubt, please her even more.
"Tibby can't stay, Master Sirius. Mistress will be angry!"
"She's ordered you not to help me, hasn't she?" Sirius ground his teeth together in annoyance. That hideous old hag! "Tibs, do you know where my wand is? Do you know where she hid it?"
The house-elf began to slowly back away down the hall. "Tibby can't talk with Master Sirius. She will need to punish herself..."
He sighed, accepting defeat. He didn't want Tibby to get into trouble with his mother because of him. "Its all right Tibs. I know what she's like. You can go - I can manage on my own."
"Master Sirius is too kind. Far kinder than Mistress..." Her large green eyes, suddenly filled with a determined defiance, fixed on his. "Tibby was in the drawing room when she hid it. She saw."
With that she vanished, leaving Sirius blinking in astonishment. Well that answered that question, he supposed. His wand was somewhere in the drawing room. Unfortunately the question of where still remained. He had already practically torn the room apart looking for it!
After a further half-hour spent rummaging, he finally gave up on the fruitless search. He wasn't going to find it and, more importantly, he had other things to do tonight. At least he now knew not to waste time looking elsewhere. That didn't make things any less annoying though. Without a wand things would take him a lot longer than he'd planned.
Damn his bitch of a mother.
Five minutes later Sirius was standing again before the doorway of his father's study. He was abuzz, running on a high – a mix of anger, fear and excitement running through him. This time he didn't bother knocking, didn't bother thinking up useless excuses. There would be no interruptions. He simply pushed open the door and strode straight in.
Tonight, before his parents returned, he would leave the house and head back to Hogwarts. Prior to that, he was going to destroy his father's potions. Probably the man's notes as well. Yeah, thinking about it, definitely his notes. Not even his father would be able to remember all of the processes he'd followed to gain the potions he desired. The notes would be vital for the recreation of each and every one.
He barely even paused in the outer room, a quick glance at the untidy desk was all that was necessary. Although it was possible that the room contained something of importance, it was not particularly probable. With a few quick steps he crossed to his father's inner sanctum. The workshop, where he created his potions - that was where everything would be.
The room was large. Deceptively large - but then, most of the house was like that. As much as he disliked the fact, this wasn't his first time in the room. He had never before entered voluntarily, but he had been in there. The scurrying rats and dejected-looking gnomes that filled the large cages on the far side of the room were not always good enough as test subjects, and, on those occasions when his mother was unable to think up an appropriate punishment for some misdemeanour...
Suffice it to say that he had many a time been forced to drink some foul concoction, whilst his father sat taking notes on the various effects. He scowled at the unpleasant memories. He probably should have guessed that the pain he was put through, or the loss of control he had sometimes felt, weren't unwanted side effects but the very things the man was trying to heighten.
He supposed... well, he hadn't wanted to know, had he?
Numerous small fires, set beneath steadily bubbling cauldrons, lit the room, setting shadows dancing over the walls. The fire in the grate, however, had burned down to embers. During the daytime sunlight would stream in through the large window – or, at least, it would when the heavy curtains weren't drawn. Even he knew that the effect of daylight upon some potions could be as destructive as an ingredient added too soon.
The disorderly nature of the outer room was deceiving. In here his father's true, methodical character could be plainly seen. The desk here, sitting beneath the window, was tidy - the complete opposite of the other. Beside each cauldron upon the long battered worktable sat a scroll, filled with the older man's sprawling handwriting. More scrolls were neatly stacked on the shelves that ran the length of the room, along with the many large volumes on potion brewing. Everything was carefully organised.
Without the slightest hesitation, Sirius walked along the worktable, gathering scrolls as he went. He dumped the pile beside the fireplace and crossed to the shelves to gather more. A few minutes later he was kneeling, a satisfied grin on his face as, one by one, with only the occasional glance at the contents, he fed the scrolls to the now blazing fire.
Before too long he held only the last few - the most damning, if they fell into the wrong (or did he mean the right?) hands. He stared at them in silence for a moment, frowning slightly as he tried to decide how to proceed. Should he simply destroy everything in the place, and then get out? Leave it at that? His father would have months – maybe even years – worth of work ahead of him. There was, however, another possibility... He could keep a few things as proof of what his father was up to. He could hand his father over to the aurors. Over to the dementors. Voldemort would never get his potions then.
He rubbed at his eyes in confusion. What should he do? Loyalty to the family had been drilled into him his entire life. He had never before been able to breathe even a single word about his home life to anyone. Not even to his friends. But... he'd tried to break away from everything else they'd taught him - why not this as well?
In an instant his decision was made, and he clambered stiffly to his feet, tucking the scrolls into his pocket. Before they knew it he would be back in Hogwarts, and Dumbledore would know about his father's work. All he had to do first was destroy the potions.
Which, he suddenly realised, would probably not actually be not all that simple...
He gazed at the many cauldrons and their various coloured contents with a growing sense of bewilderment. What could he do to them? What would destroy them completely? If only he had his wand! Things would have been so much easier... A handful of simple charms and everything would be gone. But no! Because of his hag of a mother he would have to do it the hard way.
He supposed he could just pour them down the drain, but Merlin only knew what sort of reaction he'd get as they all mingled down there. As much as he hated the place, he really didn't want to bring it down on his head!
He tried to think back on the notes. What had been used in making the things? And what substances reacted badly with those...? He was an idiot! Why hadn't he done this first and then destroyed the bloody notes? Or at the very least have read them through properly first!
Thinking about it, he suddenly realised, he didn't even have the slightest clue as to what the various potions were. For all he knew half of them could be perfectly innocent... potions for the removal of warts, or something equally blameless. Without the notes for reference he had no way of knowing. Which meant that he probably had twice as much work to do than was actually necessary. He groaned. Great! Just bloody typical!
With a grimace he crossed to the large oaken supply cupboard that sat beside the cages, dominating the far corner of the room. As large as it outwardly seemed, the size of the cupboard was, like the room itself, deceptive. Far more items filled the shelves than natural space allowed, with jars of ingredients sitting comfortably in spaces that should have been too small for them. The shelves also stretched much further back than was physically possible.
The lower shelves of the cupboard were filled with numerous ranks of small vials. Very familiar vials. With a frown Sirius lifted one, turning it carefully in his hand so the label was visible. Yeah. Just as he thought. More bloody potions. Urrgh – he'd deal with those later. First he would get rid of the ones in the cauldrons.
He hated potions, but it was times like this that he actually wished he'd paid some attention in his lessons. Much to his father's disgust, it had never been a subject that held his interest. He began to rummage through the supplies, chewing on his lower lip as he read the labels. Venomous tentacular seeds. Powdered spine of lionfish. Snake fangs. Armadillo bile. Shit. Why couldn't James be here? He'd know what to do! Or, even better, why couldn't it have been something to do with transfiguration that he had to do? Now, transfiguration - that he knew.
"Which one?" he murmured. "Arrgh. Which one?"
With a final fatalistic groan, he closed his hand around the first jar his hand landed on. Without even glancing at the label, he removed the stopper and tipped its contents, a fine, chalk-like powder, into the nearest cauldron. Almost immediately the potion began to bubble, making him flinch hurriedly away. A moment later the bubbling halted, and the potion had turned from green into a violent shade of purple. And it now gave off a smell that reminded Sirius unpleasantly of manure.
"Well, that seemed to work," he said, crinkling his nose against the smell as he peered distastefully at his handiwork. "But, just to be on the safe side..."
He reached for another vile and, again without even looking at it, poured its contents into the cauldron. And the cauldron exploded.
A/N - reviews are greatly appreciated... Do I have to beg?
