Disclaimer: Traipsing about in someone else's imagination – I am not earning a profit on anything I post here.
Chapter Two: Potions
Dumbledore lowered his wand in defeat; the Order members around him followed suit. Eight hours had elapsed since the Headmaster had first set foot on Privet Drive, four since all but Snape had abandoned any pretense of concealment. Dumbledore's spy had just returned to him, informing him that he could not contact Malfoy, McNair, LeStrange, Nott or Goyle. He had reached Crabbe, but the man did not seem to have any information, and he did not dare press for it beyond vague inquiries. Severus was certain Crabbe would not become suspicious of the questions he had asked, but he had no desire to wear his luck thin. Number Four Privet Drive was under attack, and the Order could divine neither the nature of the attack nor the location of the attackers. The scene in the yard remained pleasant, and all saw that for the sign of ill fortune that it was. Spell after spell had failed to reveal what was occurring behind a veil so filled with shadow and deceit that one of the greatest wizards of the century could not penetrate the shallow illusion.
"Enough," said Dumbledore, much to the surprise of the Aurors, sneaks, thieves, heroes, spies that filled his ranks. "The worst I feared seems to be the reality of the situation. Let us unite quickly to discuss how we might combine our strengths to defeat the deception we our faced with. Here is not he place." The men and women gathered around Harry Potter's summer domicile exchanged a few wary, concerned, confused and exhausted glances before Apparating to the outskirts of Headquarters. Thirteen Order members crowded the dining room of 12 Grimmauld Place. Snape sneered at the memory of Trelawney's reaction to the same number at dinner three Christmases ago as he counted those present, and wondered what scheme the Headmaster might have in mind for dissolving the impenetrable impression of peacefulness that distressed the Order so.
"We need a new plan of action. Time might be running short, and we know virtually nothing of what is going on behind what I will call a Glamour for now," said Dumbledore, for the Order had deduced that what they were facing was indeed a version of the spell they were accustomed to encountering.
"Mundungus, please procure as much powdered dementor skin and eye of hinkypunk as you can manage," said Dumbledore to the ill-kempt, foul-smelling man who had joined them not a quarter of an hour earlier. Where he had been and what he had been doing the past eight hours Severus didn't care to fathom, but he appreciated the relative clearness of the air once the shutting of the heavy oak doors marked the rank man's exit.
"Severus," sharp black eyes locked Dumbledore's hard blue, "please take the necessary steps to begin the brewing of the Hastaklah potion." A slight hitch in Snape's breathing was the only physical evidence of the shock Snape experienced upon receiving this order. The fact that any tangible evidence of the emotion that registered within him had become manifest was testament enough to the shock that coursed through him. That was a potion the Dark Lord might have asked him to brew. Composed once more within a fraction of a moment, Severus stalked to the Floo and returned to his dungeon lab.
Severus had argued with the Headmaster once about whether a table existed. Dumbledore maintained that it was possible that it did not; Severus set his glass of absinthe on the table and argued that since the glass did not fall through, it existed for his purposes. The Headmaster told Snape that his expectations might be a fundamental and causative element of the observed results; he called him a pragmatist and Severus embraced the title unabashedly. Dumbledore then made the table disappear. Severus was annoyed: he had intended on finishing that drink. The Headmaster at least had the grace to replenish the cup.
He is my master, I his servant, and that is why, thought Severus scathingly as he recalled the memory. The Headmaster had filled his glass, whereas his previous avenue of loyalty would have led him to nothing but torture and pain. Should his logic have been found lacking by the Master he had sworn himself to in word and deed while still a student at Hogwarts, his lesson would not have been without lasting consequence. Now Snape had once again the opportunity to contemplate the role of expectations. He saw what he believed he ought to see, much as though he were looking through the eyes of Deceit itself.
Three clockwise stirs, nine counterclockwise, five clockwise, lower the flame.
Three, nine, five – the soul.
Six clockwise stirs.
Six, zero, zero – a lie.
Seven is perfection.
Six imperfection.
Three is infinite.
Infinity and zero – Muggle churches banned these concepts when they saw their power.
Zero – the limit of our achievement as our aspirations near infinity.
Six, six, and six – infinite imperfection.
Stir. Stir. Stir.
The soul. The lie.
What will we see in a soul that is fraudulent?
Add powdered dementor skin, remove the soul.
Did the Dark Lord turn the illusion into a Horcrux? I thought Horcruxes had to be contained in physical objects, perhaps not…
Now we have only the lie, the deception.
Add eye of hinkypunk: eyes are the window to the soul, hinkypunks cause misdirection – avoid the deception, steer clear of the falsity where his soul, your soul seeks to guide you.
Here is your potion. What now Albus?