Potions: What would a Girl Do without It?
By Slave4Severus
Disclaimer: I still do not own any of J.K.R. characters. Even though I wish I did.
The only thing audible in the virtual darkness was the constant scratching of a feather quill flying over various stacks of parchment with deadly precision. A few droplets of red ink stained the French walnut desk placed at the center of the spacious circular room. A large silver cauldron was simmering softly off to the side and a dying fire was lit under a starkly decorated mantelpiece, above which a painting of Salazar Slytherin was perched. The main source of light in the room was the single candelabra placed mere inches from the inkwell on the desk. The scratching of the quill continued interrupted periodically by hissed mutterings from its darkly brooding owner.
"Stupid..." the quill began to viciously cross out a sentence on the parchment. "Bloody third years!" Another scathing complaint, before…
"Sweet Merlin! Worse than Longbottom…" The quill joined the offending piece of parchment on the 'dunderhead' pile, while Severus Snape snapped his eyes shut and began massaging his temples in consternation. He had been working in his laboratory for the past three hours and felt the beginnings of a tension headache creep up his already stiff neck. Being who he was he ignored the pain and shifted his concentration to the fumes coming from the cauldron.
'Heliotrope with a hint of verdant green.' He pushed himself out of his armchair and strode up to the cauldron assessing the bubbling liquid with a scrutinizing gaze. He quickly retrieved a clean ladle from his storage cabinet, and gracefully began to stir the potion in a counter clockwise motion.
'Three stirs to the left then two to the right. Consistency…satisfactory.' Careful not to breathe in too much of the noxious fumes, he leisurely wafted them towards his face sniffing them imperceptibly. 'Odor may be classified as…saccharine.' Satisfied with his conclusions he returned to his desk and retrieved his Journal from a desk drawer, dipped a fresh quill into a green inkwell, and quickly wrote down his assessments of the potion.
A few minutes later, he swept from his chair and walked over to the supply cupboard to retrieve the two final ingredients, essence of belladonna being the first. His long, tapered fingers then made contact with a bottle containing a milky substance that read 'African boomslang venom' in his scratchy scrawl. He looked at the bottle thoughtfully before turning and approaching the cauldron once again. He uncorked the belladonna and carefully weighed out seven and a half grams before adding it to the potion. The instant the element made contact the contents of the cauldron began to well up and double in volume, big bubbles surfacing and breaking with soft popping noises. The colour of the brew changed from a soft toffee to a vibrant azure hue with shimmering russet fumes. Grabbing another clean ladle he carefully stirred the welling potion until the belladonna had been evenly distributed, and then subdued the flames beneath the cauldron. He pulled out his silver pocket watch and quickly calculated the time it would take for the potion to cool enough before adding the boomslang venom.
"Thirty minutes," he muttered softly before glancing at his wizard watch conveniently encased in a Muggle contraption. The hour hand was pointing to a minuscule message that read 'Thirty-five minutes until completion', while the minute hand read 'Fifty minutes until the Dark Lord demands his potion.' With a flick of his wrist he closed the watch and returned it to the many folds of his black robes. A grim expression flashed across his features as he returned to his desk and picked up a second pile of parchments, bracing himself for another bout of idiocy that was seventh year potions essays.
He pulled the first roll from the pile and studied the name at the top right hand corner. Hermione Granger. He rolled his eyes and buried the parchment beneath the others; he hated to read her essays because the red ink hardly ever touched them. The only satisfaction he would get is to take off a couple of points for penmanship or spelling mistakes which were few and far between. He needed to vent some of his frustration and promptly picked up another parchment. Neville Longbottom. Alright, he did not need to vent THAT much and it too was returned beneath the pile. With a suffering sigh he pulled yet another roll, opened it, and smirked evilly at the name. Harry Potter.
'Yes, this will do nicely.' He thought with relish as he drew his quill as if it were his wand and dipped it leisurely into the red inkwell. Before he even began to read the essay he wrote at the top 'Potter, you turned your work in one minute after the others, that will be five points for tardiness.' He was feeling better already, he admitted with a smirk, and began to read.
Twenty minutes, three parchments, and a lot of red ink later he felt relaxed enough to add the final ingredient to his volatile potion. He walked over to where the bottle of venom was resting and retrieved a small dropper from the cabinet, carefully uncorking the bottle. He pinched out five drops of venom above the cauldron, each disappearing with a stinging hiss. The potion stopped bubbling immediately and turned to a golden shade of honey as it settled down a few inches under the lip of the cauldron.
"Not finished yet, Severus?" The voice that cut the silence wiped the small satisfied smile from his face as he slowly turned to face the painting above the mantle. With an arch of his eye brow and a neutral expression he faced Salazar Slytherin's painted image.
"Was I not explicit in my instructions to NOT be disturbed?" he spat impatiently as he turned back to his work and began bottling the potion into small vials.
"You only have six and a half minutes left until you will be summoned," Salazar said with matching venom as he paced his canvas with long strides.
"Of that I am quite aware," he hissed softly as he placed the last vial into a small wooden case, closing it firmly, and placing it under his right arm. Without another glance at the painting he walked to the door behind his desk and into his private chambers to retrieve hisDeath Eater cloak and mask from his wardrobe.
"You should not let him wait. Remember the last time it happened?" Salazar was eyeing him from a smaller painting placed strategically in Severus' bed chamber. Again, Severus did not acknowledge him; he was still sore about Salazar hanging here in the first place. He respected the founder; there was no doubt about that, but he hated having four paintings hanging around his private chambers at Headmaster Dumbledore's insistence. He could bloody well take care of himself! So, for the past three months he had to put up with the banter of the founder and his insufferable mollycoddling. Severus donned his cloak, hid his mask beneath the folds, and placed the miniature box with the vials into his pocket.
"Dumbledore requests that you floo him upon your return," the portrait commanded from yet another canvas in the study as Severus approached the hidden passage way located behind it.
He stopped before the painting and sneered at the older man who regarded him with veiled indifference. He wanted to tell him to keep his thoughts and concerns to himself!
Instead, he found himself merely replying with an indifferent, "Humph!"
He cursed himself for his placidness and strode into the passageway. It was not in his nature to be…civil, but for some reason he felt it was necessary to remain on good terms with the painting. He was the Head of Slytherin after all and he tried to convince himself that it was the cause for his tolerance. Salazar's likeness was also mounted in various hallways in the dungeons and he had been prompt on reporting any rule breaking the image himself could not subdue. Severus guessed he deserved a smidgeon of credit for that. Upon his return he would have to have another insufferably long talk with the Headmaster about his need for privacy; and if that would not work he would threaten to douse the paintings with an acidic substance. Severus smirked evilly at the satisfying thought.
As he stepped out of the shadows and into the night he inhaled the sweet fragrance of grass and rain. A quick glance into the dark sky told him that there would be more rain on its way as he walked across the perfectly manicured lawn into the cover of the Forbidden Forest. Once among the dark trees, he began exposing his left arm where the Dark Mark brandished his alabaster skin, feeling the Dark Lord's anticipation as his arm was began to sting uncomfortably. It was not an actual summoning, which leave him in fierce pain, but more of an 'I am thinking of you' stinging reminder.
Severus' face turned into a bland facade of indifference as he pulled out his white mask and donned it. The fingers of his right hand touched the dark mark and he concentrated his thoughts on the Dark Lord and apparated.
The second his feet connected with an unknown marble floor he scanned his surroundings to find the Dark Lord seated in an armchair stroking his pet snake. Severus walked before him, knelt down, bowed his head, and kissed the hem of his robes in subservient submission.
"Severus, rise and give me what I have been waiting for," Voldemort said softly, the 's's in his speech standing out a bit. Severus rose from his uncomfortable position and pulled out the small package of vials from his cloak. He quickly enlarged the mahogany box, opening it, and presenting its contents to the Dark Lord as his eyes discreetly searched the premises for any other Death Eaters. Thankfully, there were none, rendering a display of authority on Voldemort's part useless. If all went well, he could return to Hogwarts without having been exposed to an Unforgivable.
Voldemort studied the contents and lifted one of the ten vials from its velvety haven, bringing it up to the candle light that surrounded them. A twisted smile came across his lips.
"Tell me again Severus what this potion does to the drinker." He fairly hissed at his minion.
"The Quirito-mortifer potion or screaming-death potion burns the viscera and other soft tissue within ten minutes of consumption, while the body's outward appearance seems to be unblemished." He quipped on command, knowing that the answer would please him. There were other poisons he could have created that could have killed instantly, but Voldemort always preferred agonizing and painful to quick deaths.
The Dark Lord eased out of his chair and began to circle him like a vulture as he stared at the potion with fascinated interest; stopping only to voice another question.
"Have you created an antidote as well, Severus?" His red eyes turned to slits.
'Trick question,' he thought weighing the consequences his answer would have.
"No, my Lord I have not created one yet." That of course was a blatant lie. He had about five vials of the antidote hidden in his chambers in case the potion was turned against him or an Order member. Admitting to having it could have made the Dark Lord suspicious of his motives, and thus decided to hide that fact from him.
"Good, Severus. I am pleased with your work," Voldemort said softly before replacing the vial and closing the lid of the box.
"Thank you, my Lord," Severus murmured, relinquishing the hold he had on the poison as it was taken from his grasp.
Voldemort turned and walked to a small table that was set up close to the roaring fireplace. A Persian rug and two green winged armchairs were sitting intimately before it. If it would not have been the Dark Lord's new premise he would have thought it quite cozy, actually.
A soft pop to his right pulled Severus out of his reverie as he turned to watch another Death Eater kneel on the marble floor, forcing the Dark Lord to turn hastily, staring at the figure cowering a few steps away with a frown clouding his serpent-like features. Severus knew he hated being interrupted without warning and watched the Dark Lord walk towards the new comer with determination. Voldemort quickly drew his wand and pointed it at the Death Eater muttering Crucio. The pained screams that followed belonged unmistakably to none other than Lucius Malfoy.
While Severus watched the scene unfold before him, he pierced Lucius with a calculating stare, taking in the disheveled appearance of the man writhing before the Dark Lord. His hair was a tangled mess spilling forth from his hood; his black robe was soggy and wet with an ample amount of mud clinging to its hem. His shoes did not fair any better. Severus would have expected this type of attire from McNair or even Goyle, but Lucius had always been meticulous about his appearance.
Voldemort ceased the curse and stared down at the panting figure.
"Lucius, remove your mask." His voice took on a soft lilt that could only be characterized as cold and unfeeling.
The blond man tried to catch his breath as he returned to a kneeling position carelessly taking off his mask and holding it in both hands.
"My Lord, I have come to inform you about this evening's festivities." His voice caught in the back of his throat as he was hit with another round of Crucio, his body convulsing spastically.
"Do not bore me with details!" Voldemort hissed.
"Of course, my Lord," Lucius panted. "The traitor had a secret."
Severus furrowed his brow behind the mask in consternation, as he regarded the blond man's attempts on righting himself once more. Which traitor was he talking about?
"What secret?" Voldemort commanded.
Lucius dared to look up at this point harnessing his fleeing energy before making his next statement. "There was a child."
Severus mind was working with fast precision. There had been a revel tonight that was certain and unfortunately he had not been privy to it. He had been stuck in his lab making that damnable potion! His brain tried to go through all of the ranks of the Death Eaters trying to figure out who it was they were discussing and none came to mind.
"Where is it now?" Voldemort had levitated Lucius up to eye level and spoke to him in barely more than a whisper.
Lucius' swallowed convulsively. "I do not kn…"
He never finished the sentence as Voldemort flung him across the room with a flick of his hand. Lucius crashed into the wall and crumbled to the floor with a soft thud. He then turned to Severus.
"Return to Hogwarts, Severus, and report any…unusual activities." His cold eyes returned to the pile of robes and hair that were Lucius.
"As you wish, my Lord." Severus bowed and apparated from the scene.
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Severus' solitary figure emerged from the shadows of the Dark Forest with strong, heavy strides and billowing robes that could not even be subdued by the driving sheets of rain. With an air of urgency he made his way up the massive stone steps that lead to the entrance of Hogwarts and flung open the double doors entering the deserted castle. He did not slow his stride as he veered to the left in the entrance hall and quickly descended into his domain; the magical doors closing softly behind his person. He strode into the dungeon, the sounds of his shoes echoing eerily from the stone walls as he entered the passageway leading to the entrance of his chambers. Before he could reach them, however, the pearly apparition of the Bloody Baron floated through the wall, and waited for Severus to approach.
"Good eve'n, Head of House." The Baron wheezed rustily.
"Good eve'n, Baron. What have you to report?" Severus, inquired, his tone clipped and impatient.
"During your absence there have been two nightmares in the second and third year boys' dormitories, four attempts from fifth and sixth years to sneak out of the dungeon, and one seventh year girl who has not yet slept in her own bed." He finished his report with a note of disapproval.
Severus arched a perfectly shaped black brow with indifference. "Who is the seventh year student?"
"Miss Parkinson." The Baron rattled with disdain.
Severus scowled at the ghost. He knew EXACTLY where that little tart had been spending most of her nights, and if Draco Malfoy were not so closely related to Lucius he would have probably put an end to the raging teenage hormones. The thought of any relation of Lucius' cavorting like animals, elicited pure, unadulterated disgust from the Professor.
"I will deal with the situation in the morning." He turned on his heel and strode the final steps to his chambers, muttering the password before the wall melted away; he did not wait to see the Baron glide through the passage to the upper levels of the castle
Severus walked to the hearth in his room, dropping the Death Eater mask carelessly to the floor, where it clattered before the flagstone of the fireplace. Next, he withdrew fromhis shoulders the heavy, black cloak and discarded it as well. He quickly faced to the fireplace and threw a pinch of floo powderonto the dying embers, which rekindled with a soft roar of high green flames.
"Headmaster."
The head of the elderly wizard revealed itself almost immediately.
"Severus, you are back. Step through, please."
Severus stepped into the licking flames and through to the fireplace on the other side facing Headmaster Dumbledore with a blank expression. He was surprised however to find himself in the pristine white confines of the hospital wing and not, as he thought, Dumbledore's office.
"Everything went well, I presume?" The Headmaster asked in hushed tones. Severus nodded curtly and glanced down the rows of empty hospital beds until his eyes lingered on a small form covered by a plethora of white blankets. He sneered with contempt. Potter. He must have had one of his infamous nightmares again.
'The little brat always knew how to milk a bad dream for all it was worth!' he thought viciously. Dumbledore slowly began to walk toward the infirmary'ssole patient, giving Severus a knowing look.
"Everything went according to plan, Headmaster, before we were abruptly interrupted by none other than Lucius Malfoy." Dumbledore gave him a startled look as he continued. Severus took a moment to savor this; it was rare one could catch Albus off guard. "Apparently there was a revel scheduled this evening that I was not informed about." A moment of pregnantsilence followed that statement, as the older wizard's eyes glanced back to the still figure beneath the covers.
"As you can see Severus, Harry has had another telepathic-dream with Voldemort shortly before you arrived here," he announced gravely.
"Did he see anything Headmaster?"
"He did mention a Death Eater gathering, but what he saw were isolated images of the actual course of events. I believe that Voldemort may have extracted Lucius' memories and the results must have displeased him." Dumbledore looked down on the peacefully sleeping youth.
His eyes followed those of the Headmaster and he sneered with contempt. Potter's face was flushed, probably from the horrendous mountain of blankets, and his forehead glistened with perspiration. He must have received the Dreamless Sleep draught a few minutes before Severus had entered the infirmary. The potions master squinted his eyes and focused on the boys scar. He was still contemplating on what Lucius had said to Voldemort about 'the child of a traitor,' and the statement's implications. It raised too many questions that his tired mind was not willing to process after hours of brewing combined with sleep deprivation. He subdued his impulse to massage his throbbing temples and instead glanced back at Dumbledore, who was watching him with hooded, all-knowing, eyes.
"Headmaster, I…," Severus fell silent at the sound of a door opening. Madam Pomfrey whisked inside, looking particularly vexed; her hair unkempt eyes red from sleep, which immediately focused on Severus' form with a calculating look. Professor Snape rolled his eyes and folded his arms defensively.
"Severus, take off your robes and sit on the bed." She did not stop as she passed the two professors on her way to the medicinal potion cabinet. Dumbledore watched her with amusement as he tried to suppress a girlish giggle at Professor Snape's scowling reaction.
"I do not have all night Professor, so please, do not make this harder on yourself," she quipped with a quick glance over her shoulder; Severus' face immediately twisted up in anger.
"Madam, will you desist treating me like one of your charges! I am not in need of your attentions," he ground out flatly.
"Severus, with all the fuss you make you may as well be." Madam Pomfrey quickly returned with three different potion vials and began to swish her wand at his person.
Before the eager nurse could disrobe the Potions Master with her wand, Dumbledore held up his hand receiving both parties attention.
"Poppy, Severus has not sustained any injuries tonight, but he appreciates your concern." He watched the nurse mumble inaudibly under her breath while Severus growled with displeasure.
"Now, I will leave Harry in your capable hands, Poppy, and will bid both of you good night. I have to leave Hogwarts for a couple of days; pressing business at the ministry." He smiled kindly, and quietly left the infirmary.
Severus turned his glaring eyes on the nurse and with a sneer walked over to the fireplace and flooed back down to the dungeons. 'The nerve of the woman,' he ranted to himself as he stepped out of his fireplace and into his study. He strode over to a simple mahogany cabinet, past his vast bookshelves, and pulled out a bottle of Old Ogden's Firewhiskey, pouring a liberal amount into a crystal glass. The burning of the alcohol did not help his foul mood as he downed the contents of the glass in one swallow. He hoped that a few hours of much needed sleep would prepare him for questioning the Potter boy about his dream.
He was intent on finding out who this supposed traitor of Voldemort's could be, but it would have to wait until morning. He began unfastening the numerous buttons on his robes, picking up his discarded clothes from earlier and draping them over a nearby chair for the house elves to clean. With a stifled yawn he entered his bed chamber and walked over to the lush four poster bed, ridding himself of the rest of his clothing. He slipped under the cool satin covers and finally let his aching muscles relax as his mind slowly drifted into sleep.
He awoke, barely three hours later, at the crack of dawn. He got out of bed and began his usual morning routine. A quick shower, which included washing his hair even though he knew the greasy tresses always looked three days old, dressing in his every day robes, black, black , and...more black; he liked the pattern, and a pot of strong coffee to fully rouse his senses. After his second cup he decided it was safe enough to finish the rest of his marking before he would go up for some breakfast, and strode into his private lab to retrieve his work.
Precisely at 6:45, Professor Snape strode up the many stairs of the dungeon with his signature scowl in place. Not that there were many students loitering about this early in the morning, but one could always hope. As he walked past the moving staircases he could see a few tired looking students making their way down to the Great Hall as well. He sneered with disdain and hoped that his breakfast would not be disturbed with their idle chatter. With this in mind he reached the double doors and gave them a firm shove and they parted to admit him. With a vicious glare at any who dared to look up, he made his way forcefully and decisively towards the stairs to the teachers table, which was only occupied by Professor McGonagall. He gracefully took his seat and scowled some more before helping himself to some toast. As he took a swig of his pumpkin juice he grimaced with disdain at the sweet liquid sloshing in his mouth. It was decidedly too early for this type of 'nutrition' and he placed the goblet back on the table. His eyes scanned the occupants of the hall as he consumed his buttered piece of bread. The Hufflepuff table was totally deserted, while the Ravenclaws seemed to be early risers with at least two of every year being present. The Slytherins on the other hand also had a meager attendance. Those present, however, included Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and…Parkinson. Remembering her nocturnal activities he decided to have a little 'talk' with her before class. As his eyes roamed over to the Gryffindor table he could make out the tired features of Weasley and Granger, who ate their meal with mechanical precision. They were most likely gracing the hall with their early presence because of Potter; he sneered as he thought the saviour's name.
With a quick wipe of his napkin he finished his breakfast and got up from the table, nodding curtly at his fellow professor, and then focusing his attention at his house's table. He was looking at the Parkinson chit willing her to look his way, but the girl was too enthralled with Malfoy to notice anything around her. Sweet Merlin, how he hated hormonal teenagers! He walked toward the far left side of the hall passing behind the Slytherin table with an annoyed expression etched on his features. He was not looking forward to this.
He never made it more than halfway down the hall, however, when he heard an unmistakable ringing in the distance.
'The wards have been penetrated!' he thought in alarm. Was this what the Dark Lord had meant by unusual activities? With a grim expression he quickly pulled his wand and pivoted on his heel, facing a surprised Deputy Headmistress, who was already striding purposefully toward him. They had to figure out quickly where the breach had occurred and find the trespasser before the school was infiltrated. He did not have time to dwell on the fact that the wards had never been violated before; at least not to his knowledge.
To any onlooker, Severus would appear rather relaxed and indifferent to the forthcoming events; it was an acquired skill, adopted from years spent playing the role of double agent. However, he was tense with anxiety as an explosion of glass erupted from one of the big bay windows of the room. Within seconds Severus had an extremely rigid shielding charm in place as a multitude of glass shards rained upon the screaming occupants of the hall. As he looked up at the candle enchanted ceiling he could make out a black cloaked figure on a broom hurling toward the stone wall to his left. His mind raced with the possibilities on whom the figure could be, as it hit the wall with brute force, shattering the broomstick.
"Stupefy!" His incantation hit the body in mid descent, lifted it up a few feet and sent it crashing onto an unoccupied part of the Slytherin house table with a sickening thud.
The Great Hall became absolutely quiet as they all stared at the limp body, whose identity was still hidden by the massive cloak and hood. Professor McGonagall had finally caught up with Severus as he approached the table with his wand still drawn, expecting some form of retaliation. He could smell the blood before he could see it as he reached for the hood of the cloak and yanked it back, revealing the form of…a girl?
Professor McGonagall gasped at the blood stained, bruised, and swollen face of the girl on the table. Severus quickly moved to find a pulse on her neck, which he grimly discovered was very faint and irregular. If she made it to the infirmary he would be surprised.
"Mobilicorpus," he said softly and levitated the body off the table, leaving behind a pool of her blood. Without a second glance he strode out of the hall en route to the hospital wing, with the bloody girl floating behind him.
'Why do these things keep on happening on my watch,' he thought darkly as he ascended the stairs two at a time.
Authors Note: Hey everyone! Sorry, that I have not posted sooner, but unfortunately I have been pretty sick this week with a cold and a nasty fever. Also, my beta had her wisdom teeth extracted and has been on a painkiller high. So, if this chapter seemed ODD then that is probably why (more me than her of course). Thank you for all of your wonderful reviews! They are what keep me writing (even when I am sick)! Mysticsong1978 and I have created a yahoo group and are inviting you to join, where we will keep you up-to-date with our fan art, story updates, et cetera. We did this since prefers that chapters do not consist solely of author updates.
http:groups . yahoo . com / group / Severus-ItsWhatsForDinner
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