2 Potions Work
Almost a fortnight had passed since the Hogwarts Potions Master had turned up at the hospital, and Samara wondered whether she would ever hear from him again. It was Saturday afternoon, when she was in the lab once more, working on her pet project. For several weeks now she had been trying to devise a potion to treat the terrible after-effects caused by the Cruciatus curse.
She had made it her priority after a young woman was brought to the hospital at the end of the summer, with symptoms she had never seen before. It had been a pretty young witch, at most twenty years old. When the girl was brought in, she had been shaking and sweating, and was totally confused and terrified. Samara had examined her carefully, but was unable to find any physical cause, any injury or illness. The girl's eyes had been widened, and filled with such terror that it broke Samara's heart. At a loss as to what to do, she had called one of the older Healers for help, and he had recognized the symptoms.
"It is Cruciatus syndrome, Samara. Someone used the unforgivable torturing spell on this girl. We used to have quite a few cases like this, many years ago, when You-Know-Who was still powerful. And if the rumours are true, and he is back, I expect we will see a lot more of this again. If someone is tortured badly, it can actually result in unhinging the mind. The symptoms are shaking, terror, and confusion, as well as terrible nightmares. There is not much you can do, except wait and hope that, with time, the mind will heal. Young people are often the worst affected. Dreamless Sleep potion together with a strong sedative is the only thing that gives some relief. Some particularly bad cases never recover. I believe that is what happened many years ago to Frank and Alice Longbottom. They have been patients in the Janus Thickey Ward ever since."
Samara looked at the contents of her cauldron. The clear blue liquid had looked promising, until she had added some dove's blood into it, which had caused it to curdle into a stinking purple goo. She would have to discard the mix and start over again. So far, she had no success, and was not even sure what she should be aiming for. She had just put the cauldron into the sink, when suddenly the door to the lab opened, and Snape entered the room without knocking. As on his last visit, he was dressed all in black. The contrast between his pallid complexion and black hair and clothes was stark.
"I hope I am not interrupting? The receptionist told me I would find you here."
His deep voice and powerful presence immediately put a spell on Samara. "Not at all, Professor. I was wondering when you would show up."
"Are you still willing to help with Dumbledore's medicine?"
"Of course. I'm just finished with this potion here anyway."
Snape had walked over to the sink and looked into the cauldron. "Finished indeed," he remarked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I hope nobody's life depended on this concoction."
Samara blushed.
"It was just an experiment; unfortunately, it didn't work."
If somebody was going to witness her failure, why did it have to be Snape, of all people?
"Anyway, I thought some more about a treatment for Dumbledore and have a few ideas," she went on, keen to change the subject.
"So did I. I assume we can work here in your lab? Since I no longer teach Potions at Hogwarts, I'd rather not encroach too much on my successor in the dungeons."
Samara could feel her jaw drop. "You're not – Why?"
He hesitated. For a moment, she thought he would tell it was none of her business, but then he patiently answered her question.
"Dumbledore asked Horace Slughorn to return and teach Potions, and I took the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor."
"Oh, I'm sorry -"
"Why? First years and potions – you cannot imagine the mess. Defence Against the Darks Arts is a much pleasanter subject."
He looked at her seemingly amused. Samara suspected that the look on her face had not been particularly intelligent. This really wasn't a good start. Why did she feel so self-conscious in his presence?
"So what else have you tried since you came to see me?"
"I attempted to modify the Vigor Ignis potion to make it last longer."
"And did you succeed?"
"Only to a small degree. I obtained the best result by adding a ginkgo leaf, but unfortunately this variation causes Dumbledore headaches."
She opened a drawer and pulled out two pieces of parchment.
"Here are two formulas that would be worth trying. How about if we each pick one to brew?"
Snape studied the parchments in silence, while Samara's gaze was fixed on his face, anxiously looking for any indication of what he thought of her suggestions. One of the formulas was a potion to strengthen the drinker's magical powers, while the other was a life-extending draught.
"I suppose it's worth a try," he finally replied, his voice completely devoid of any emotion. He handed one of the recipes back to her, and she was not at all surprised to see that he had chosen the power-enhancing potion for himself.
"Let's get started then. Clean cauldrons are in the cupboard back there; and we have a comprehensive store of ingredients in the room at the back. I'll go and fetch everything we need. There is a jar of distilled water in the corner. Use that rather than the tap water."
Snape raised one eye-brow, but then obliged, taking two cauldrons from the cupboard, and filling them with water. Samara suspected that he did not like being told what to do. Well, if you're going to be working in my lab, you better get used to it, she thought grimly, as she disappeared into the store room.
When she re-emerged with a tray of jars, he had already lit two stoves, and arranged mortar and pestle, chopping boards, and knives on the work bench. She put down the tray, and the two of them set out to work.
While Samara was grinding her owl feathers, she couldn't resist watching Snape furtively. It was impressive to see the skill with which he chopped and crushed herbs, the precise and confident actions of his hands, as he opened and closed jars, the complete concentration with which he worked, bent over his cauldron, his hair flopping into his face, completely absorbed by what he was doing. She couldn't help but notice his hands. They were slender and long-fingered, but strong and masculine at the same time. Despite the little scars and calluses, which told of handling dangerous potions ingredients, and years of working with the tools of his trade, she considered them rather beautiful. Her eyes lingered on an inch of the immaculately starched fabric of his shirt cuff protruding from underneath the sleeves of his black robes, which didn't allow as much as a glimpse of his wrists. She caught herself wondering what they would look like. Berating herself for entertaining such bizarre thoughts, she forced herself to focus on her own work again.
For a long time, neither of them spoke a word, and the only sounds in the room where the scraping of wood against the metal of the heavy pewter cauldrons, and the tap dance of the knives on the chopping boards.
When all the ingredients had been added, and the potions were bubbling quietly, Snape looked up from his cauldron. Suddenly, Samara found herself caught in the deep black tunnels of his eyes. Their intense gaze made her feel exquisitely uncomfortable. She could feel her pulse quicken as adrenaline was released into her bloodstream. Yet, when he looked away again, she felt almost bereft.
"This has to simmer for at least twenty-four hours now to give a good strength," he said, while he was busy clearing away his tools. "May I leave it to you to top up the water, and make sure it continues to boil?"
"Sure. How about if I bring bottles of the two finished potions to Hogwarts next week, and we get Dumbledore to try them? It would also be helpful if I could take a look at his injured hand."
Snape nodded. "Thursday. I believe Dumbledore will be available then. Ten o'clock in his office. I will notify you should plans change. But now I believe I have imposed on your time long enough. Goodbye, Miss Ravenhood."
And before Samara could have offered him a cup of tea, he left as suddenly as he had appeared.
Samara had gone to St. Mungo's on Sunday to check on the potions, topping up the water and checking that the heat was not too strong. Luckily, the fireplace in the sitting room at Ravencroft was connected to the Floo Network, so that she could travel between her office and her home easily. On Monday morning, she had taken the potions off the fire and left them to cool. Both potions had turned out perfectly, but she would have expected no less from Snape.
Now they stood bottled up on her desk. On Thursday morning she packed them into her bag, grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the little bowl on the mantelpiece, and shouting "Ravenclaw Tower", stepped into the fire.
Moments later, she twirled out of the large fireplace in the Ravenclaw common room, brushing ash and soot from her cloak as she straightened herself and took a look around. It had been so many years since she had last stood in this room. At this time of day, it was completely deserted, as the students were all in class, but it had not changed at all since Samara's school days.
She would never have dared to floo directly into Dumbledore's office, and the common room had been the first suitable place in the castle that had sprung to mind. She left, quietly closing the door behind her, before climbing down the long winding staircase of the tower, and making her way across to the Headmaster's office.
Once she got there, standing in front of the ugly stone gargoyle, she realised that she could not get through without the password, and tentatively knocked the statue on the chest.
"Samara Ravenhood, coming to see Professor Dumbledore."
As she stood there waiting in the corridor, she spotted a silver-haired man with a big moustache bumbling along and slowly approaching. She recognised him immediately, but he seemed too absorbed in his thoughts to notice her.
"Professor Slughorn, how are you doing?"
He looked up blankly at first, but then his gooseberry eyes lit up as he recognised her. "Miss Ravenhood! It has been a long time! Is it still Miss Ravenhood?"
"Yes, it is."
"What a nice surprise to see you! I heard you've had a very successful career at St. Mungo's. Although I still think you would have done better to work for the Ministry."
"I do love my work though."
"And that is all that matters, of course! Thankfully, I have enjoyed reasonably good health so far, but I would not hesitate to come and see you, should the need arise."
"Of course, Professor. Although I do hope you will not have any reason to do so."
"Listen, I am hosting a little Christmas party before the holidays, Hogwarts staff and a selected group of students – you see the Slug Club is still alive. It would be marvellous if you could join us, famous alumna that you are. How would you like to come along?"
"I would love to."
"Excellent, I will get an invitation owled out to you. But I think Professor Dumbledore expects you. You better go up." He pointed at the gargoyle, which had moved aside, revealing the spiralling staircase behind.
When Samara entered the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore was sat in a high-backed armchair in the corner. Snape stood beside him, arms crossed. Dumbledore seemed tired, and aged by decades since she had last seen him; however his eyes still twinkled cheerfully.
"Thank you for coming here, Miss Ravenhood, we have been awaiting you eagerly," he said with a benevolent smile.
Samara unpacked the two bottles from her bag, and set them down on the small round table next to Dumbledore's chair.
"Professor, before you try these potions, may I have a look at your hand?"
Dumbledore pulled up the sleeve of his robe, and held out his injured hand.
"Do you have any pain?" she asked.
"Not at all, it is completely insensitive," he answered, looking at his own hand with detached curiosity, as if it were some unusual artefact.
She ran her hands around the extended limb, carefully palpating every inch. Dumbledore's hand felt cold. The skin was blackened, looking almost burnt, and the fingers were gnarled like dead wood. She could not feel a pulse on his wrist at all. When she felt for his brachial pulse higher up, it was slow and not very strong – not a good sign.
"I'm sorry, Professor, I don't think it will be possible to heal this injury, it would be like trying to awaken the dead. All we can hope for is to stop it from spreading."
"Oh, of course, I'm not expecting you to heal it. See, I still have one good hand, and my brains. That is all I need," he said with a smile.
Then Snape conjured a goblet, and Dumbledore tried the potions. The effect of the first one, the potion designed to strengthen a wizard's magical energy, was only weak. Samara supposed that Dumbledore was already an extremely powerful wizard, and that there probably was little scope for improvement. But when she said so, Snape just dismissed her concerns. She sighed inwardly. Why was it that so many wizards seemed obsessed with the idea of increasing one's power? She had treated countless cases were such attempts had gone wrong, and the patients were almost always male. In her experience, precision and subtlety in magic usually yielded much better results than sheer power.
Samara's life-extending potion proved to be slightly more effective, although it caused the Headmaster palpitations. She was confident however, that it would be possible to reduce the side effects of the potion, and considered this the more promising route of action. Snape disagreed, arguing that it was usually far easier to increase the strength of a formula than to alter the nature of its effect. Dumbledore watched their bickering with an amused smile, as if it didn't concern him at all. In the end they agreed that it was worth pursuing both options.
Before Samara left, Snape took her aside to have a quiet word.
"What about the unicorn blood?"
"His condition is very serious, but I think it would be worth to refine these potions further. If that fails, we will consider the unicorn blood."
Snape didn't seem satisfied with her answer.
"We are dealing with Dark magic of the worst kind here. No ordinary potion can give more than temporary relief. I don't want to waste any time."
Samara was well used to this type of argument. Most patients thought that their condition required the most powerful and expensive medicine, when ninety-nine percent of the time a fairly simple potion could cure their ailments. She had learned to stay her ground, however. In fact, during all her years at St. Mungo's, she had only once had reason to resort to unicorn blood. The other time she had used it, it had been wholly unnecessary, but the patient had turned out to be a close relative of the Minister, and it had been made clear to her that she would be fired if she didn't produce the requested potion. So begrudgingly, she had complied, all the while bemoaning the waste of such a valuable resource.
"It's not as simple as that," she replied. "To prepare a medicine from unicorn blood is a lengthy process. So we need these potions in the meantime. I will also need to submit an application to the Ministry; and to justify its use I need to show that everything else has been tried."
Seeing the questioning look on Snape's face, Samara continued to explain, "Ethically sourced unicorn blood is gained from the placenta, the afterbirth, and is extremely scarce. The Department for Magical Maladies keeps a small supply, but restricts its use to only those patients with a life-threatening condition, that doesn't respond to any other form of treatment. Even if my application is successful, we will only be able to get a very small amount of blood, a small vial at most. Have you ever used unicorn blood?"
Snape shook his head.
"Well, unless you slaughter a unicorn to obtain a large quantity of blood – and I'm sure you know the implications - the blood needs to be added to a potion to stretch it, and enhance its effectiveness. It is a very complex potion to make, and takes three full moons to prepare. I have only done this a couple of times before and would appreciate your help; we can't afford any mistakes."
Snape gave her a brief nod of agreement.
"Then come to St. Mungo's tomorrow evening; we have no time to waste."
He nodded again, his face completely unreadable.
She waved goodbye to Dumbledore, and, with a sprinkle of Floo powder, disappeared back to her own office.
Over the next weeks, Snape and Samara worked together at St. Mungo's several evenings a week, trying to alter the ingredients of the two potions slightly, in order to get them to work better. They usually disagreed strongly on the best course of actions, so invariably ended up each brewing their own potion. But this was not an ineffective way to work.
While the potions simmered, Snape actually accepted a cup of tea. Initially the wait was awkward, and Samara had found it hard to break the ice. The Potions Master would not take part in conversation, and preferred to just stand there in silence and stare into the cauldrons. On the third evening however, Samara had started to tell him about cases she had seen at work during the day, and asked his opinion on some formulas. This had been something that aroused his interest and got the conversation going. Soon they were discussing new developments in potion making, and the best places to procure ingredients, and the time seemed to fly.
Then one evening, Samara waited for Snape in vain. When it was half an hour past the appointed time, she eventually got on with the potions alone. Samara's disappointment grew, when he didn't show up the next evening either. She couldn't imagine what would keep him away.
On the third evening she had resigned herself to working alone, lit the fire under her stove, and made herself a cup of tea in her office, while the water heated up.
Then suddenly the door opened and Snape entered.
"I'm sorry to be late."
He didn't look well, his face was gaunt and even paler than usual, and his eyes appeared sunken, tired, and weary. He looked as if he had not slept for days, and his long hair was grimy and unkempt. Samara was concerned.
"Professor, where have you been? You don't look well. Sit down; let me get you a drink."
While Snape took a seat in one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace, Samara went into her little kitchen. He would need something stronger than tea this time, she thought, and started to brew her mother's special recipe, a perfect drink anytime someone needed a pick-me-up, an infusion of ginseng root, ginger, lemon, and lavender honey. She returned to the office with a mug of steaming liquid and handed it to Snape. He took a sip, and closed his eyes for a moment.
"Hm, this is tolerable, I suppose."
As always, Samara was enthralled by the sound of his deep velvety voice. She crouched down in front of him, looking up into his eyes.
"Are you okay? What happened? Why did you not show up the last two days?"
"I had other commitments."
She moved to rest one hand on his knee, but his eyes shot her a forbidding look, and she quickly withdrew her hand.
"You look like you've been to hell and back."
"I'm fine." There was a finality in his voice that allowed no further questions.
Samara sighed inwardly, she had to accept that, whatever 'commitments' had taken such a toll on him, he wasn't going to talk about it. She got up and returned to her cauldron.
This would not be the last time Snape remained absent, and every time he would look exhausted and run-down when he finally returned. He refused to speak about what he had been up to, and Samara stopped asking.
The breakthrough finally came at the end of the third week. On that evening, as Samara waited impatiently for Snape to arrive, she recalled the discussion they had the day before. Snape had wanted to work on the power-enhancing potion, and try to make it stronger by replacing scorpion tails with acromantula poison. Samara, on the other hand, was still convinced they should stick with the life-extending potion, and work to eliminate the side-effects.
"I think we should use Convallaria instead of Digitalis. It is a lot gentler, and Dumbledore's pulse was a little weak," Samara explained.
"Then you shouldn't mess with Convallaria," he scoffed.
"I've had good experience with this," she defended herself. "You, on the other hand, seem to think that just using expensive ingredients will fix anything. Besides, we haven't got acromantula poison."
"Let that be my concern, I will be able to obtain some. Acromantula can be relied on to produce a very powerful potion every time."
"Powerful it may be, but I find it useless for healing applications."
Again they had agreed to disagree, and each decided to pursue their own idea.
Her instincts told her that the Lily-of-the-Valley was the way to go, and she couldn't wait to try it out. She had already set up two cauldrons of water, and laid out all the ingredients, when the door finally opened and Snape entered.
"Good evening, Miss Ravenhood."
"Good evening, Professor. I trust you have the acromantula poison?"
His eyes fell onto the set-up on Samara's work bench. "I do. I see you have prepared everything."
He lit his stove with a flick of his wand, took a little vial of liquid from his pocket, and set it on the bench.
"Where did you manage to get it?" Samara enquired.
"The Hogwarts gamekeeper and Professor for the Care of Magical Creatures is rather friendly with spiders."
The two worked in silence, chopping and grinding their potions ingredients, stirring and simmering, until the last ingredient had been added, and Snape extinguished the fire under his cauldron. He took a ladle to fill a little of his finished potion into a goblet. Upon trying a small sip, a satisfied smirk spread over his features.
"Hm, this is very good indeed. You should try it. It will dispel any misgivings you may still have regarding the use of acrumantula," he said with undisguised smugness in his voice.
Samara accepted the goblet he extended her, taking an uncertain look at the dark liquid inside, which was giving off a rather unpleasant smell. Holding her breath, she took a very small sip. As soon as she had swallowed the pungent potion, she felt like her hair was standing up and her eyes wanted to pop out of their sockets. She started coughing violently, which resulted in her spilling the remaining content of the potion on the floor. She reached for her wand to clean up the mess, but as soon as her hand closed around the shaft, a burst of flames erupted from the tip. Appalled, she quickly dropped it, before she ended up setting the building on fire.
"Merlin!" she cried, "Strong it may be, but not in a good way. You can't give this to Dumbledore. It might finish him off in his fragile state of health."
Snape seemed annoyed at her criticism.
"Nonsense. It may not be for the faint-hearted," he retorted with a pointed look at her, "but the old man is tougher than you give him credit for. You should see him finish an entire jar of Fizzing Whizz-Bees over the course of a single staff meeting."
He peered into her cauldron critically, and she knew he was eager to find any fault with her potion.
"Well, let's see what you have produced then," he said with a challenging undertone.
She wondered why it always seemed like there was a competition going on between them, when they were both working towards the same goal, and it really didn't matter whose potion would be the one to save Dumbledore, as long as he was saved. She filled a goblet with her own potion and tried it. If there was anything wrong with it, she preferred to be the one to say so. But there was nothing wrong at all.
"It's perfect! Absolutely perfect!" she cried out, feeling elated.
She had to restrain herself from jumping up and down excitedly. This was the best potion she had brewed in a long time. With a beaming smile on her face, she handed Snape the goblet. He downed the content, and then raised a mocking eye-brow.
"Is there anything in it? It tastes like water, and I feel absolutely nothing."
"Well, that's the point! It has no side-effects, not even an unpleasant taste, perfect for a potion that needs to be taken every day. And what exactly were you expecting to feel with a life-extending potion?"
"Then how do you know it that has any effect? Or are you suggesting we wait a few hundred years..."
"No," she countered, a bit in a huff, "but when you give it to someone who is about to die, you will be able to tell the difference."
"Pah," he scoffed, "I believe this sort of thing is called the placebo effect."
Samara bit back a snappish retort. She was neither going to let him taunt her like that, nor was there any point in provoking an argument. So instead she decided to change the subject.
"You'll just have to see for yourself. Anyway, I think we have exhausted this avenue and it's time to move on now."
On this point, Snape agreed, and so, as the Christmas holidays moved closer, they started to do research into other potions that could help Dumbledore. Snape brought a different stack of books with him every time, while Samara worked her way through St. Mungo's library. They sat quietly reading in Samara's office in front of the fireplace, occasionally sharing an interesting piece of information they had come across, or discussing the merits of a potions recipe. Occasionally, when they had found a promising formula, they made it up in the lab.
The competitive spirit between them continued, however, as did their differences in opinion and approach. Snape would never stick to a recipe, always adding his own touches and variations. Samara, on the other hand, felt they should follow the instructions to the smallest detail, at least for the first time they tried something. She was often annoyed by the liberties he took with the recipes, even though she had to admit that he often got the better result.
In any case, for Samara, the evenings with Snape had become the best part of her life, one she actively looked forward to. It was stimulating to work with someone so competent, exhilarating to bounce off ideas with a man of such outstanding intellect. And rarely had she met someone who shared her passion for Potions, that discipline of endless possibilities.
To most people, potion-making just meant taking a book, and following a recipe to the last boring detail. But those traditional formulas were just the result of what generations of wizards and witches had discovered and written down. There were infinite ways in which ingredients could be combined, probably hundreds of formulas to create a desired effect. But to find even one took far more than a thorough knowledge of the ingredients and their magical properties, far more than patience or blind experimentation. What really distinguished a great Potions Master was that elusive inspiration, the intuition that told you which herbs would form a synergy, which ingredients had an affinity to a certain trait, not to mention the different ways in which the potions had to be stirred, boiled, rested, shaken, the influence of moon cycles, and even the seasons.
If Samara was honest with herself, however, she was drawn to the darkly brooding professor for more than academic reasons alone. She found him increasingly attractive, and often caught herself secretly watching him as he sat reading, his face illuminated by the soft glow of the fire, shadows dancing across his harsh but noble features, framed by a mass of long, black hair. When he looked at her with his intense, black eyes, she felt something tighten in her stomach, and her heart skipped a beat. And then there were those elegant, nimble hands. She wondered what they would be able to do to a woman. But Snape did not appear to reciprocate these feelings. In fact, he seemed careful to avoid all physical contact between them. Nevertheless, Samara liked to imagine that underneath the cover of dourness, sarcasm, and his cool, formal demeanour was a man who could love passionately.
Yet, his allure seemed to be lost on other women. One day the receptionist pulled her aside during the department's coffee break.
"Samara," the mousy-looking woman with big glasses warned her, "I really don't think a pretty young witch like you should be hanging out with this creepy man alone in the evenings. They say he was a Death Eater before he went to teach at Hogwarts."
Now that was just ridiculous. Yes, no doubt, Snape could be intimidating, even rude, Samara thought, but a Death Eater – no way!
"I don't think he would be Potions Master at Hogwarts if he was a Death Eater, Myopina! Dumbledore obviously thinks very highly of him. We are working on something important together, and I can assure you he has been a perfect gentleman."
But Myopina was not convinced.
"I don't like him. He never says a friendly word, just gives me an evil look, and walks right past me. What an unpleasant person; he makes my skin crawl!"
Samara smiled when she recalled the conversation. In any case she very much enjoyed the company of this enigmatic man. And if his presence sent tingles down her spine, it was for an entirely different reason.
Nevertheless, she decided to give Snape a key for the staff entrance, a flooded public toilet with an 'Out of Order' sign at the door. That way he wouldn't have to come through the visitor's entrance, arousing Myopina's curiosity and suspicion.