Potions: What Would a Girl Do Without Them?

by Slave4Severus

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and any original characters I will add in as I deem necessary. Everything else belongs to J.K. Rowling. Should any other literary references be used, they will be so noted at that point.

Night was fast approaching the secluded Scottish country side. The lush green hills, wild and beautiful, were covered with the dew of freshly fallen rain and the dark clouds that lingered promised more. The air had grown crisp and a cold breeze lightly shook the tops of the majestic trees that hid the manor from prying eyes. Ten miles to the east the rippling waters of Loch Fyne were dark, gray and foreboding. Nothing but the soft rustling of the foliage cut the eerie silence surrounding the estate.

A cold breeze ruffled the dog's black-gray fur. He was roaming the dark forest for easy prey, weaving through the trees soundlessly. The massive claws did not hinder the animal in the slightest as it made its way through the underbrush, its red eyes, like hot coals, piercing the darkness. Then suddenly, its' great head jerked up and the huge body of the animal went rigid in mid-stride. He sniffed the air unobtrusively, cautiously even, followed by a low, menacing growl. The scent that lingered in his nostrils reeked of humans. A sweet, putrid smell that could only come from an over production of adrenaline and sweat. The dog sat back on his haunches and inhaled the scent deeply. He knew by instinct that there was more than one human roaming his forest and that there was something profoundly wrong about this situation. Silently, he followed his nose deeper into the forest in search of the offending smell.

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Flint Manor lay dark and unyielding beyond the trees. From the front of the house there seemed to be no sign of life, all windows having been shuttered and lights extinguished. To the unschooled eye it seemed that there was no visible indication of residency, but Lucius Malfoy begged to differ. He gracefully stepped from the shadows of the trees and regarded his surroundings intently. It has been a while since last he had seen it, four months to be exact. His last encounter with Farrell Flint could not have been called a very hospitable one. A faint sneer graced his handsome face as he wrapped his black cloak closer to his body. He vaguely remembered why he made advances towards the lady of the house. Granted, she was a beauty, but nothing out of the ordinary that a man of his stature has not taken delight in before, but there was just that certain 'Je ne sais quoi' that he had to know for himself. So, there he was, a guest at a private dinner party lusting after his hosts exquisite wife. And he would have her of course, or his name would not be Malfoy, or better yet Death Eater Extraordinaire. It was common among Death Eaters to share their wives with each other. Hell, some even shared the other women of their household without missing a beat; but he digressed. Unfortunately, he never got further than pressing Melanie up against the foyer wall and stealing a few passionate kisses from her unwilling lips before he was stopped dead in his tracks, by no other than her husband himself. By all means, it was not the first time that a husband had tried to stop his advances, but it was the look in the man's eyes that gave him away. That tell tale look of disgust and contempt, so uncommon for a true Death Eater that had sparked his suspicions of Farrell's loyalty. Of course you could not condemn a man for fending off another gentleman's advances to shag his wife, but that small grain of doubt had been planted within him.

Over the past four months he had been busy finding out everything he could about Farrell; mostly from his jealous younger brother Faustus. He smiled viciously as he remembered how simple it was to extract the right type of information from the sniveling idiot. Farrell had been a Death Eater for the past twenty years, but had become more withdrawn during the last five, much to the Dark Lord's dismay. Unfortunately, the many rounds of Crucio failed to pull him back out of his shell, and Lucius had to admit that the revels were truly not as much fun without Farrell's...desire to perform. Faustus' thirst for power however proved to be the undoing of his brother. All Lucius had to do was mention the rewards of being in the inner circle of Death Eaters, the Dark Lord's elite, and Faustus was only too willing to dish up any funny business pertaining to his brother. He guessed brotherly love only went so far; and in this case not very far at all. Secret nightly meetings with strangers, "business trips" that nobody knew he was on, and the heavily warded estate were only the tip of the information iceberg. Based on these few facts alone the Dark Lord grew suspicious as well and had Lucius instigate a trap for Farrell to fall into. A bit of misinformation here, a planned revel in which Muggle teenagers were to be sacrificed there, and the perfect trap was laid. All he had to do now was wait; with Severus unfortunately, but he did not let that spoil his fun. Like clockwork at precisely eight in the evening four Auror's silently made their way onto the scene were the supposed revel was to take place, but, alas, no fornicating Death Eaters. Good for us, bad for Farrell.

Based on the darkness of the manor Lucius knew he was expected. His elegantly gloved hand slid under the black cloak to retrieve his wand and he quickly began to lower the complicated wards without detection. A sly smile played on his lips.

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The lights in the ballroom had been dimmed considerably, but Alanna hardly noticed them. She was too consumed in her playing to really notice anything. Her eyes were closed in reverie as her fingers caressed the white and onyx keys, her body swaying slightly in emphasis. Even though her body was screaming with tension from the day's activities her mind was perfectly focused on creating a different type of magic...when she wasn't thinking about how she had to dodge every bloody tree in the forest!! Her entire body ached from various broken bones she had received during her numerous flights. Two ribs, her right ankle, fractured right femur (nasty run in with a 500-year-old oak), and a dislocated shoulder were only a few of the injuries she had to be patched up for. Her tolerance for pain has always been high, but not her tolerance for endangering her life without reason. True, her father was there to mend all of her fractures and abrasions, but he was definitely not a medi-wizard. Now, all Alanna wanted to do was find the quiet sanctuary of her lab and brew a couple of potions for her desperate body. She sighed softly. At least the piano took care of her immediate frustration.

As Alanna was nearing the close of the piece the unmistakable image of a ghost materialized behind her left shoulder. A soft smile graced the transparent lips of the lady; her eyes too were closed with delight as the last chord rang out and reverberated through the ballroom. Alanna finally opened her eyes and inhaled deeply.

"Miss Flint, ma chèrie."

Alanna shifted on her piano bench and looked at, or rather through, her teacher.

"Zat was trés beautiful. I especially loved ze...spirited rendition of the prelude. All of my lecturez 'ave not been in vain, I see."

Alanna raised a brow at her deceased piano professor. 'If she thinks playing overly harsh and in a foremost loud fashion then yes, you could have called it spirited.'

"You 'ave made great progress zis term, ma petite. I will zee you next week. Class dizmissed." With another genuine smile Madame Phantôme vanished, magically unlocking the ballroom doors.

Alanna stiffly got up from the piano bench, closing the lid to the keys with a soft thud. Her mind was already going over the needed ingredients for her muscle relaxant potion, she was proud to say that she not only created an oral version, but also a form of bath oil that worked itself into the skin. She longed for a very, very hot bath, right after her parents little talk. As she turned to walk out the wall sconces began to extinguish themselves, casting everything in utter darkness.

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His steps were silent as he made his way over the perfectly manicured lawn toward the house. He did have to admit that lowering the wards was more difficult that he had expected, and he was past schedule. That would never do of course. Stealthily, Lucius made his way to the side of the manor searching for a subtle way to penetrate its walls, his eyes searching the highest most windows for any movement in the darkness. That's when he heard it, the unmistakable sound of a piano being played in the distance. Like a moth to a flame, Lucius turned toward the sound and carefully walked to the back of the house; eerily attracted by the disembodied melody. When he reached the rose garden he stopped in mock surprise.

'Dear me, there is actually someone in the Flint family who has some taste?' His lips curled slightly at his own jest. 'Rachmaninov...Piano Prelude...in G minor.' He did not want to admit to himself that he was listening to true talent, or he would have felt a pang of guilt for being forced to torture the musician. He was intrigued, however, as he walked through the garden and up the terrace steps, his wand at the ready. He recognized his surroundings immediately, having been invited to high society balls here before. If he recalled correctly there was a nice little nook by the last bay window that would allow him to view all the goings in the ballroom without detection. Even though it would have been more of Severus' style to hide and play Peeping Tom, he convinced himself that he was trying to keep a low profile. A Malfoy, of course, never hides ...or Peeps for that matter.

Tucked securely into his perfect hiding place, Lucius searched the darkened ballroom for any type of movement and did not find any. 'How strange.' He thought as he pointed his wand at the first window and with a circular flick muttered a soft spell. The darkness seemed to melt away from the window, revealing the room beyond cast in soft candle light.

"Deflection charms, old man? Not very original." He breathed out in a whisper, as his steely gray eyes focused on the grand piano in the middle of the room.

His eyes widened in surprise at what he saw. A young girl, no woman, was seated at the piano playing the keys in rapt concentration. Her hands deftly flying to the quick pace of the Prelude, her upper body swaying delectably in quiet expression. Her sleek auburn hair fell in soft, glossy waves down her back, creating a dark red halo around her angelic features. Lucius looked upon her with the devilish delight of a connoisseur, who knew a prize when he saw one. Her high cheekbones, full lips, and heart shaped face were all signs of good breeding, something he valued in females. Her eyes were closed, making him ache to know what color lay beneath those black-dusted lashes; he hoped they were a lush green to go with that beautiful hair of hers. He appraised her age around 17 or 18, making her ripe for the plucking in his eyes. Hell, he had plucked younger! His eyes focused on her slightly parted lips and a jolt of electricity went through him. Although he could not make out her entire body, due to the blasted instrument, his eyes wandered over her simple cobalt blue robes to the swell of her breasts. Lucius loved his women to be slight, but he would make an exception with her. He wondered who the little dove was. In the end it really did not matter who she was. If she was in the house at the time of the raid, she would be his for the taking. He subconsciously wet his lecherous lips.

"My, my, my, what have you been hiding from us, Farrell." He softly crooned to himself

A sudden movement in the ballroom forced Lucius to lean back into the shadows. He watched as the outline of a ghost materialized behind the girls left shoulder. When he thought that this encounter could not become any odder than it already had, the ghost began to speak with her. He could barely make out what the specter was saying, but two words seemed to ring out true and clear.

Miss Flint.

Lucius could hardly contain his glee at this new turn of events. 'MISS Flint! Oh, this will be priceless.' He chortled to himself. The Dark Lord would be so pleased with this new turn of events. An innocent life that could be tortured in his name has always been looked upon in favor. Especially, if it was the daughter of a traitor. He quickly turned from the terrace, having seen enough. His strong, steady strides lead him back to the edge of the forest, where he turned back for one last glance. His lips curled into an evil smile.

"Do not leave now, Miss Flint. We have . . . unfinished business."

With those soft spoken words of promise he pivoted on his heel and proceeded into the darkness of the forest.

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The animal sniffed the rapidly cooling night air. There it was again. That horrid human smell that would not leave. They were gathering, he knew that now. He followed at least eight different humans around his forest for the past two hours, and the air brought the scents of at least ten more. He growled lowly in anticipation as he neared a small clearing in the heart of the forest. He knew the place well, having had snared a few deer here before, and silently made his way over to a big bolder situated at the south side of the alcove. Here, he had the perfect spot to watch them as he pleased. There were nineteen of them all together, dressed in black from head to foot murmuring softly to each other. Their smell was overpowering now, chasing away any inhabitants of the forest that ventured too close to their place of meeting. His red coal eyes diminished to menacing slits, sizing up every human in the clearing. He could sniff out the growing sense of anticipation, oozing from these lowly creatures with every passing minute. Something was making them very excited. He did not know what, but he would sit here and wait before he made a move.

Author's Note: Thank you for leaving your reviews! I really appreciate them. Mysticsong1978 created Peaches for me, if you would like to view him, for yourself, please visit MysticSong1978's webpage which is accessible through her Fan Fiction profile.