A/N: Hello! I hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving! I got some wonderful reviews and I just wanted to thank all of those readers who were able to review last chapter. It really does mean a lot especially since it takes me so long to write all this out. I always feel a little self-conscious and I hate to admit it but it means so much to me when people like my chapters enough to comment or follow.
As always, I hope that you enjoy this chapter and like it enough to send me a little review or follow (wink, wink.)
Chapter Sixteen: Remedial Magic
Professor Dumbledore didn't seem in the habit of wasting any time. It was that quality that Clara blamed as she slipped into the potions room just a week after her wands arrival and only hours before her midnight rendezvous with a set of troublemaking twins.
Dumbledore had known almost immediately that Clara had received her wand and therefore it had come as a morbid surprise when she had crept into her room to find a note sealed with the Hogwarts sigil dictating the time and location of her lessons.
"'Ello, Clara," an amiable voice greeted her as she tried to sidestep the swell of students trying to hurry to the Great Hall for what Clara assumed was going to be a wonderful meal.
The house-elves that resided in the kitchen always made lavish meals with roasted meat and hearty soups when snow started to blanket the school. Unfortunately, for the next few months until the end of school, Clara would be missing out on these such lunches for three days each week. In all honesty, Professor Dumbledore had given her only two options: attend "remedial magic" after the last class of the day or give up her free periods. She had quickly countered with her own solution.
"Oh, hello, Harry," Clara murmured distractedly. In all honesty, when she had offered the trade of her lunch periods, she had been sitting in Dumbledores office on a very full stomach (that night there had been pumpkin seed soup; one of Clara's favorites.) Now with the impending class with Professor Snape, her stomach growling and her shoes nearly soaked through with snow, she felt very, very unprepared.
"What are you doing here?" The French witch was rather surprised that Harry had stopped to talk to her. Nearly all of the Gryffindor quidditch players had somehow or another heard that she had enchanted the Hufflepuff brooms. On more than one occasion, she had nearly slammed into a wall when they had "accidentally" bumped into her in the hallways. In fact, just a moment ago, Alicia Spinnet had something along the lines of: "You filthy little cheat."
"Um," Clara floundered, trying to regain her train of thought. Just across the hall, she caught sight of Hermione, her face white with agitation as she gathered her books, her fingers toying with what looked to be a miniature hourglass on a gold chain. "Remedial potions classes."
Ron snorted from his place just behind the ebony-haired boy. "Good look with that one. He's in a right foul mood today."
"Nearly chopped Neville's head off when he said that Jobberknoll feathers would make good quills" Ron chuckled, shaking his head.
Clara winced. It would be an incredible waste of feathers to use Jobberknoll feathers to scribble down your grocery lists and what have you. Not only was the fluff used in memory potions but the whole of the feather could be used in the creation of truth serum.
Still, Clara winced, growing more and more aware of the fact that she was about to be trapped in a room with that man for an hour and a half.
"But I'm sure he'll be fine with you, Clara," Harry hurried to say, giving her a half-hearted smile. Somewhere along the line Hermione had slipped past them and run off to her next period since Clara didn't see her anymore. Odd. She hadn't passed by her.
"Yeah," Ron said with an unconvincing nod. "George and Fred like you like you've been their mate since they were babes and they don't hardly like anyone. Not really. So Snape's sure to...um, like? Like you."
He ended that sentence on a twitchy gulp, his adams apple bobbing nervously as he gave a small nod. Briefly, his eyes flicked to Harry, a silent conversation passing between the two before Harry turned around with a stiff smile.
"You're a joy, Clara," Harry said but his eyes were moving from her to the back door to the back potions area with a sort of pitying air. "No one could hate you."
Clara was thoroughly unconvinced. Not only was she sure that Professor Snape could find it within himself to dredge up some form of aggression towards her; she was also sure that it was all too easy to hate her. Given the last day or two had been made up of Gryffindor threatening to enchant her broomstick into a tree, she was more than confident that hating her might be the easiest goal to set for someone.
Still, she forced a wobbly smile. "Thank you… Well, if you'll excuse me…"
Sidestepping the pair, she made her way to a tiny, wooden door just behind the chalkboard which had been magicked to clean itself once classes were through. Subsequently, it also sprayed her down with a fine layer of chalk dust which in turn made her stutter and ram her hip into the nearby table. Harry and Ron both winced as she quickly regained herself with a volley of curses in French and pushed her way into the tiny back room with as much dignity as she could muster.
"Yikes," Ron whispered, watching the door close behind her. "My brother's going to have a mess on his hands tonight."
Harry stared at his friend. "I heard they weren't dating."
Ron blinked. "Oh… Think she'll go out with me then?"
Harry rolled his eyes, turning to leave.
Professor Snape barely even moved when Clara entered the room. In his long black robes, his shoulders hunched in, he looked more like a ghoul than a wizard. For a moment, she stood in awkward silence as she continued through the rows of butterfly dust and mermaid's scales and on and on and on. The stone walls in this backroom had been fitted with a wooden bookcase that held so many different ingredients that Clara's head spun with the possibilities. He could make everything under the sun with this stock. He even had some dust of nightmare just sitting in a jar, glimmering darkly against the low light.
"Professor Dumbledore has made the unfortunate decision to train you since your incompetent parents apparently decided to lock your magic up like you were a wild animal ready to maul the whole of the wizarding world," he said slowly, snapping the ledger in his hands shut and whirling around so quickly that Clara resisted the urge to jump. The box in her hands shook as she jerked, sending the heavy wand inside rolling around. His eyes narrowed at the action like he detested her open show of weakness. "What material is your new wand made of?"
Clara blinked, tearing her gaze away from the wolfsbane that was shredded on the worktable. The cauldron next to it held water collected from beneath a full moon by the light fog drifting from its boiling surface. There was only one potion that used the full petals of aconite along with that form of water.
"I-I haven't opened it yet…" She tore her eyes from the bubbling potion, debating for a moment whether she should mention it or not. "Why are you making Wolfsbane potion? It will rot with the next full moon."
For a moment, actual surprise flashed across the Professor's face before a sneer curled his lips. "I wasn't under the impression that I would be teaching a snoop as well as a magically incompetent witch." His eyes flashed as he threw a lid over the cauldron, making Clara bite her lip.
She couldn't help herself. He would ruin it.
"You know you can't leave it covered-"
"For more than ten minutes. Yes. I know, Miss Deschamp," Snape seethed, his eyes murderous as he scooped the remaining aconite into a glass bottle. "Get out your wand before I toss you out."
"I - Yes, sir," she said, deciding against mentioning that keeping the potion covered at all would make it less potent for the user. Wolfsbane potion was primarily used for those who had had the misfortune of being bitten by a werewolf and wanted to resist the pull of their lycan form. Keeping it open to the open air - particularly in a location that humans inhabited - was key to keeping in control of the human part of their mind. But from the venomous way that Snape had said her name a moment ago, Clara was under the impression that mentioning this would quickly earn her detention or worse - a complete dismissal for the day.
There was no letter that came with the box, only a lovely swath of purple silk and the smooth beginning of a wand hilt. Before Clara could catch more than the flash of the white and purple of alyssum petals hardened in some sort of resin, Professor Snape had snatched it from her, turning away while twisting the wand this way and that.
"Alyssum petals for - what is that -" The next words that he said were spoken in a tone of utter disgust. "Keeping the peace and staying true to oneself. What utterly ludicrous - frivolous - And the spine of a pegasus for divine guidance." The snort that Snape gave was enough to make Clara flush with embarrassment. "And finally the core -" Snape stilled as he ran his own wand over the smooth, ivory expanse of the tip of her wand, his brows furrowing. His gaze snapped to Clara for a moment before he ran his wand further down to the resin hilt, muttering slightly. "Well, isn't that… interesting." The way that he said it made her think that he was more inclined to use the word disturbing.
Frowning, Snape snapped her wand back to her, his movements clipped. "It seems that the core is made with banshee hair." Clara flinched, knowing exactly what the hair of such a creature meant. The nails of a banshee could be used in nightmare potions and the saliva could be stirred into a tonic that would allow for the reversal of fate - unwinding a course of events that was set to take place. Powerful… and incredibly dark. Death is what the hair of a banshee would allow for. Snape's eyes were critical as they ran over the pale witch. "All rainbows and divine light up until you peel back the exterior and then there is nothing but death, it seems."
"Odd," Clara said uneasily, her hands growing clammy as they clutched at the thin wand. Just at the base, there was a small inscription. Her fingers ran over it again, her brows furrowing.
Snape's eyes saw everything, his fingers working at his own wand in silent contemplation. "Isolt Sayre. That is who made that wand that you hold in your hands. The inscription at the base is her initials and her husband, John Steward. A contradictory wand. And a very powerful one." He took a deep breath, pacing to the other side of the room. "This wand was made in the 1600s more than likely… Your family must have a very large influence."
Clara hadn't heard the name Isolt Sayre for a very long time and at that, only in her history lessons. An Irish-born witch, she was from a pureblood family and eventually escaped to what now is known as America where she married a muggle. Together, her husband and she opened a school for witches, making their own wands for the children that attended. It had to have taken a lot of string-pulling and a lot of money to have acquired this wand. Which made Clara severely uneasy.
"That, however, is neither here nor there at the moment," Snape drawled, his face smoothing out as he whirled to face me. "Cast a spell and we'll see if you're still utterly incompetent or just partially so."
Clara shifted uncertainly, glancing around at all the fragile potion vails. "Are you certain?"
"Miss Deschamp, do you think I'm in the habit of making requests?" For a tense moment, they both stared at each other. In all honesty, if it wasn't for the plethora of potions ingredients in the room then she would be more than happy to cast a spell and let loose whatever misfortune it brought. However, Clara had caught the glitter of unicorn blood in a vial. She definitely wasn't willing to risk that. With a sigh, Snape let out a barely concealed snarl and waved his wand almost dismissively. "Obice. There."
It was a pathetic excuse for a protection spell but it seemed to be all that Clara was going to get out of him. Taking a breath, Clara raised her wand, giving it a short flick and a twist.
"Verbera ven-" Clara let out a short scream, jerking back as the milky barrier around them burst like a milk bubble bursting and the vails gave identical shrieks of cracking glass.
"I seeeee," Professor Snape said slowly, frowning around the room at the nearly broken glasses as he ran an angry hand over the shredded front of his robes, his hair a riot of oily black hair. "Was that a full force spell?"
"N-no," Clara stammered, twisting her wand through her fingers. Emotions were the cornerstone of all magic. If you held back in a spell, your magic would automatically replicate that emotion. Most witches and wizards only felt this kind of reaction when casting in serious situations when the spells needed that extra burst. To have this much of a reaction with Clara's obvious aversion towards spell casting… Clara shrunk back, terror tightening her gut.
"Then a bit more protection might be needed," Snape said almost casually, snapping around and beginning to chant methodically away as he put a stronger barrier in front of the potion ingredients. Hesitantly, Clara raised her wand, unsure if he wanted her to help or- Ebony eyes whipped to hers. "That will not be necessary, Deschamp."
I hope you all liked it and I hope I can see you next chapter as well.