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Chapter 2
"At the end of my seventh year at Hogwarts, I sat my NEWTs and left, with no small amount of enthusiasm. There was nothing attaching me to that place, save bitter memories and loathing. Of course, what anybody else thought of me was worth to me little more than a bite from a werewolf.
What to do next? I knew my skill at Potions was considerable. I knew my talents at the Dark Arts were perhaps even more advanced – and it was certainly the latter I preferred. But try as I might, none would give me a chance at my favoured subject. The simpering fools were too afraid, I suppose. The Dark Lord was nearing the considerable height of his power. Anyone expressing any keen liking of the Dark Arts could – more than likely – be a Death Eater. The only one who would give me a chance was Lockhart – a petulant fraud if ever there was one – and he offered me the position to be his assistant. I had the temptation to curse him to high heaven, but refrained.
And so I bid my time, and waited a few months. Still nothing. Finally, I sighed, threw up my hands and gave up. Naturally, if I could not find employment in one area, I must try for another. I had a natural affinity with Potions. There was something about the calm and methodical procedures of making a potion… the exact measurements, the fumes, the gentle simmer of the potion… the crackle of the fire… I delved more deeply into the subject than the great Arsenius Jigger himself. I discovered new concoctions, quicker methods of brewing, deadlier poisons… more potent truth serums… it was little wonder that I was approached by the Dark Lord's minions a little while later to join his ranks…
Anyhow, it was in the winter of that year – five months after I left Hogwarts – that I, what with my excellent NEWTs, started work at the Ministry – Committee on Experimental Potions – as a Junior Potions Master. Junior! I knew more about Potions than any of the senior fools who were working above me. I could whip up a Polyjuice Potion in half a month, while the rest of the blockheads slavered over their text-books, waiting twenty one days for their lacewing flies to stew… pedantic dunderheads that they were.
The war with the Dark Lord had forced the Ministry to use any means necessary to do whatever it could. I was developing Potions so strong, so highly illegal, so unethical – and yet Ministry sanctioned – that, naturally, I was delighted with my profession, and it was not long before I was approached.
I remember the afternoon rather well. I was developing the Potion now known as the Mandrake Restorative Draught – since there were many cases of Petrifaction at that time. Just as I'd pulled the irritating creature I was dealing with out of its pot, I was told that I had a visitor. Naturally riled, I squashed the filthy imbecile back into its home and wiping my hands, approached the door. I was shocked at seeing Bode – head of the Department of Mysteries – and Millicent Bagnold – the Ministress of Magic at that time. The conversation was short and only the Ministress spoke:
"Your skill at Potions is considerable. The Ministry had decided that your talent would be better employed elsewhere. Report to the Department of Mysteries – Level 9 – first thing tomorrow."
I could barely acknowledge this before the intolerable couple left. And so, I became… an unspeakable.
The rumours – in this case only – were true. The Department of Mysteries was advocating the making and inventions of Potions that should never have been made, so truly horrifying they were. And I was directly responsible for making them.
The Department, as you very well know, has twelve classified committees. I could only guess what happened in the other eleven, but as far as I was concerned, my home for the next few months would be the Potions lab. And impressive it was. An enormous room, with the latest equipment in Potions. Rare and deadly ingredients were common place, and it was all mine and one other's.
So Headmaster, many of the dangerous Class A Potions you know: Everlasting Elixirs, Veritaserum, the Victus Flamma… all were brewed first and foremost by me. Of course, this story isn't about my achievements… otherwise it would turn into an epic tale spanning in all directions with mass proportions.
I have mentioned that there was to be another one working alongside me. And it was my luck that this happened to be a woman. It was further bad luck that this woman used to be in The Slug Club – her idea of herself was thus further inflated. And last and worst of all, she was a Black. Now if there exists any more arrogance-inspiring combination, I have yet to see it. The creature thought, quite literally, that she was a gift unto the Wizarding community. Her arrogance and big headedness, unlike my own, had a false source. I found her talent at Potions acceptable. Her skill at other aspects of magical education was similarly… acceptable. Her name you might wonder… well her name was Pétale Black. A dear old cousin of Sirius Black. Disowned of course, because her father – the brother of Nigellus' great-grandsons – had married a French dame; a mudblood, and the result of the happy union was this… woman…
The usual Black graces were all present in the fair mademoiselle. She was small – so small that she barely came up to my chin, thin, fair and with eyes that held the fires of hell itself. And I despised her. Utterly and profusely.
My first day as an Unspeakable dawned and I arrived at my post promptly, dressed in plain black robes. You may remember the look I chose to adopt at Hogwarts. I do assure you that that was purely a choice. An acquaintance had informed me that if I was to have a chance at a job, I must change my personal appearance. I saw the sense of this, and so disappeared my long hair – replaced by a shorter style – so disappeared my stringy sallow look. I was pale still and this was the way I wished it. In short, although I wasn't going to set any female hearts fluttering – no desire did I have to do so – I did look somewhat professional and… acceptable.
Bode was present – sullen man that he is – and he introduced me to my colleague, who was dressed in plain black robes several sizes too large for her. My first impression of her was that she was a child, she was so small.
"Severus, meet Pétale Black, Pétale this is Sev-
With unbounded enthusiasm the munchkin strode forward with her small hand outstretched and an alarmingly huge grin on her impish face. "Severus Snape, yes I know… who doesn't? Pleased to meet you…" she spoke with a perfect accent; there was no hint of her French origin present. For courtesy's sake, I was forced to shake her hand, hot and moist though it was, it was completely enveloped with my own. I forced a smile, although it must have come out looking like anything but because she withdrew a few steps.
"Your instructions will be left each morning on your desks. Because of the nature of your work, you will be afforded no assistants. Remember also that you are both Unspeakables so the outside world must not get a hint of what you do here. You must dress at all times within the Department in your black robes. Good day." The sallow-faced man left; I've never seen Bode since… of course, I have no desire to.
We were, as I described before, in the Potions lab, an enormous room, lit brilliantly, with gently simmering cauldrons. It was a large circular room – like the one with twelve doors we had just exited, and arrayed around it were cupboards, bookshelves, shelves all containing Potions equipments, ingredients and books. In the middle of the room were, as I mentioned before, long tables with gently simmering cauldrons and crackling flames beneath them; the temperature of the room was enchanted to stay cool. At the two opposite north and south poles of the rooms were two huge oak desks, each containing its own simmering cauldron. My intellectual appetite was whet, and I was impatient to get to work. Left to my own devices, I felt that I could learn to have a little fondness for my job. I had not calculated on my 'comrade.'
"I'm so glad to be working here."
I grunted my agreement and I proceeded to a desk bearing a placard on its surface stating: "Snape, Severus." There was a single slip of paper on it – alongside with the cauldron and a pair of dragon skin gloves – and in a cryptic style of handwriting, I read the words: 'Devise a potion that will make the drinker invisible for a few hours. For reference, see the Encyclopaedia Venenum; Section Entitled "Invisibility: Cause and Effect – the Incognitus Hominis."' The encyclopaedia in question was stored in a huge shelf near my desk. There were approximately one hundred and fifty thick volumes, and I was delighted to behold the most extensive library on Potions that I had ever seen. "This will do… very well indeed." I muttered to myself, and immediately delved into my work.
Alas, not to be. I had temporarily forgotten Ms. Pétale but she would not bear her royal presence to be ignored. Bounding amid the tables – barely taller than the cauldrons themselves – she oo'd and aa'd at all the different things before her eyes, rather like a child in a toy shop. Moving towards her desk – I was rather interested to see what her task was for the day and silently hoped that it was not similar to mine – the little wretch turned to see where I was, and banged headfirst into a cauldron, the contents of which spilled all over her.
I was rather tempted to leave her where she was, but I could hear her moaning, and the little mercy that I have was piqued and so I started towards the source of the groans. Finally seeing a heap at the end of a row of tables, I started towards it, and just as I neared, I saw it move slightly. Good, I thought, at least she's not dead. Even before I neared her, I smelt the spilt potion and relaxed. Peppermint draught… nothing harmful. The creature was probably burnt and nothing else. Jogging back to a store cupboard, I delved among the shelves until I found what I wanted.
The moans were growing louder. Insufferable little brat, I thought. Can't she wait? Jogging back to her, I turned the small heap over and beheld her covered in burns, with her eyes screwed shut and her hands covering her face.
"Silly creature. This is not a toy shop where you may frolic and skip around like a child. This is a Potions lab. Be very thankful that the potion wasn't full of essence of aconite or you'd be dead."
I forced her hands away from her small face, smeared the orange paste over burns – loathe to touch her – and after a few minutes the burns and the paste faded, and she was back to herself, with a bruised ego of course. Springing up, she sprung my hand a few times again.
"Thank you Mr Snape…"
"You shall address me as 'Professor,' Ms Black. I hold the station of a Senior Potions Master. And there is no need to thank me. A little discretion on your part would be all the gratitude that I need."
She was a little spiffed at my dry reply, but took it all in a stride.
"Well thank you Professor. And you can call me Pétale."
"As you wish Ms Black."
I resumed my work.
