44

Malevolent Brews

St. Mungos

Spell Damage Ward

The next morning:

Petunia followed the little brunette orderly down the hall to the Spell Damage Ward, which was where she would be working for the next few months. The volunteers worked in a ward for a month or three before being evaluated by one of the Healers and asked if they would like to try working in another wing of the hospital. This system prevented burnout and made sure that each volunteer was content with his or her job. Petunia had decided to wear a sensible ankle length dress of paisley green and blue, which complimented her fair coloring and she also wore a soft day robe over that with a pin of a white stag, the Potter family crest, which had been given to her by James before he left for the Auror Academy. She had piled her hair up on her head, for she did not want stray strands interfering with her hands in case she needed to help a patient bathe or eat, it was unsanitary. She also wore a nametag with Lady Petunia Potter upon it. She felt rather pretentious with it on, as if she were bragging, but the fact was that as James' wife, she was a lady now, and did her best to behave with polite decorum.

The orderly led her to a room with the number 42 on a brass plate and said, "This is your first patient, her name's Annie Lyons, she suffered bad burns to her face and neck due to an Acid Venom spell, and now she's scarred for life. Healers did what they could to restore movement and function to her eyes and lips, but one side of her face looks like melted wax. You'll see."

"I was told I am to assist her with her hair and clothing if she requires it and to try and cheer her up, as well as feed her lunch." Petunia spoke up. "Was she an Auror?"

"No, milady. Just a Muggleborn witch who happened to be in Diagon Alley shopping when Death Eaters attacked. Wrong place at the wrong time. But that don't change the outcome none," the orderly said. She turned the door handle and they went in.

"Annie, here's Lady Petunia Potter t' be with you for the morning and early afternoon. Rise and shine! Good morning t'ye!" announced the orderly cheerily, her name was Peg.

The woman in the bed had her back to them, facing the wall. She had the quilt almost drawn over her head, and said grumpily, "What's so good about it, huh?"

"The sun's out and you're alive t'see it," responded Peg spiritedly.

A snort answered her. Peg turned to Petunia. "She can be a bit stubborn till she wakes up fully, likes to lie about, she does."

"And why do you care, Peg? What else is left to me, with the way I look now? No self-respecting witch or wizard will have aught to do with me."

"With your attitude, who can blame 'em? Be nice to Lady Petunia now." Peg turned to go, mouthing, "Good luck!"

Petunia walked into the room, which was colored a cheery eggshell and had prints of pretty landscapes upon the walls. There was a window at the foot of the bed with drapes thrown wide to let in the morning sun. A colorful hurricane lamp in the ceiling also threw plenty of light. There was a chair with an embroidered cushion next to the bed, and opposite it was a bathroom. A small closet held clothes and another dresser against the far wall probably had more clothes. Petunia suspected that the closet probably had a space enlarging spell on it, as was common in wizarding households.

A bouquet of dying flowers was upon the dresser, wilting and dropping petals all over. There were a pair of blue slippers beside the bed and no mirror. Petunia walked up beside the bed, whose occupant was still rudely turned away from her.

"Hello, Annie. I'm Petunia. Would you like to turn around so I can see who I'm talking to? That's the polite thing to do."

"No, I wouldn't," came the terse reply. "What I want you to do is walk right out the door you came in and leave me in peace."

Petunia stiffened. She recognized the classic attempt to get her to leave by being deliberately nasty, she had played that part often enough when Lily and Severus had witnessed her crying as children or embarrassed over one of their silly magical pranks. So she did not respond to the other with sympathy or cajoling. That would not get her anywhere. "If you think being rude will get me to quit, you're wasting your breath. You might think all you're good for now is lying in bed vegetating, but you're wrong."

"What would you know of it, milady?" sneered Annie, still facing the wall. "Pretty pureblood, you think you know what it is to suffer? Ha!"

"For your information, I am neither a pureblood nor a beauty. I am average in appearance and am the Muggle wife of James Potter. I will not pretend to know what you went through after your attack, but one thing I do know is that you won't take back your life by staring at the wall wishing for something that'll never be again and feeling sorry for yourself."

"You're a Muggle?" sputtered the other.

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"No . . .it's just . . .Muggles don't usually marry old pureblood families." An instant later, the curious tone in her voice shifted and became hard and angry again. "If you had to face what I do every day, you'd not be so calm about it. Especially when I did nothing to provoke them. They just started flinging spells about when the Aurors showed up and I . . .got hit."

Petunia shook her head. "That's pure bad luck. Like you crossing the street at the same time as a drunk driver or something. Or getting into a car crash because the other driver fell asleep at the wheel while driving home late. Or being in a store that gets held up and getting shot. Happens to people all the time, so don't get the feeling that you're special or that you're the only person in the world that ever had bad things happen to you. All you have to do is pick up a Muggle paper and you'll see what I mean. Sure, it's a terrible thing and all, but you're not going to make it any easier by moping about and sulking."

"Easy for you to say! What would you do if you were me, huh, milady?"

"For starters, I'd stop acting like a sulky five-year-old and turn around and look at the person I was talking to. Or didn't your mum teach you any manners?" Petunia declared. "Mine would be ashamed to call me her daughter if I acted like you."

That got a rise out of the witch, as Petunia intended.

Slowly, she turned and lifted her head till she was facing Petunia squarely, though she was still lying down. "There! Happy now? My own mama wouldn't even look at me after, just so you know." The bitterness and hurt in her tone hit Petunia like a smack.

But she looked unflinchingly upon the witch, who was a little older than she was, around twenty three.

One half of Annie's face was smooth and unblemished, saved for two or three pitted tiny marks that could be covered with make-up. Her eyes were a brilliant blue, like cornflowers, and her hair was a dark blond and it fell about her in a great silken mass. The other side of her face was hideous. One corner of her mouth was drawn up in a permanent eerie grin, and the skin of her face looked as if someone had sculpted her face out of wax and then held a candle to it until it ran. Her eye was still normal, but the scarring on her face was terrible. It extended from her hairline all the way down her jaw. It was like staring at one of those Before and After pictures.

Petunia's first instinct was to flinch and gasp. But she wrestled that reaction down and forced herself not to react with horror or pity. Instead she raised an eyebrow and said matter-of-factly, "Well, you'll not be winning any beauty contests, but then neither will I, I've got a horse's jaw, according to the nasty cats at Moorside Primary. At least people probably complimented you on your pretty face once in awhile, unlike me."

Annie stared at her, her mouth gaping. Then she did something she hadn't done in almost a year.

She chuckled.

It was rusty and hoarse sounding, but recognizable as a sound of amusement. "You've got brass, milady! Ain't been told off so good since . . .I can't recall when."

"You needed telling off," Petunia retorted.

"That part o' your job description?"

"Depends." Petunia said, a slow smile coming over her face. "Now, will you get up and get dressed, or am I going to have to come over and give you a bit of a push?"

"Don't see why I ought to bother, who's going to see me? Nobody ever stops by."

"So? Do it for yourself. Unless you enjoy looking like a pig?"

Annie glared at her. "Ballsy chit! You aren't like any toff I ever met."

"I might have married up, but I'm as good as any of you, magic or no." Petunia said, then she walked over to the closet and started looking for something nice for Annie to wear. She found lots of drab colors—black, muddy brown, gray. "What is this? You trying out for a pallbearer or a corpse? Where's some color?"

Annie shrugged. "Didn't feel like wearin' anything bright since they told me I was gonna be like this forever."

"Girl, you're selling yourself short. You can still do magic, right?"

"Of course. It was my face that got wrecked, not my wand!"

Petunia pulled a gray dress with a few shiny buttons and a collar of lace out of the closet. "Here. Change this to a turquoise blue if you would. So you don't look like a funeral reject."

"And if I want to look like a funeral reject?" challenged the other.

"Then, woman, you've got problems."

"What difference does it make what color my clothes are?"

"All the difference in the world," Petunia said in astonishment. "What you wear says something about you. Wearing all that dowdy black and gray says you feel like crap and don't give a damn, and it's also unattractive. Wearing colors says you care about yourself and want to feel good. People will notice and treat you differently."

"But I don't want to be noticed. I've got a face that scares kids witless!"

Petunia snorted. "Between you and me, dear, some kids need that!"

That made Annie chuckle again. "I could almost . . .like you, Lady Potter."

"Petunia. You dress like you were doing and it'll draw more attention to your face than not. Trust me. One thing I do know is clothes. My little sister always said I should have been a fashion designer for the rich and famous. Wearing a dress with color tells people that you've got pride, see, and they won't really look close, because you're wearing normal things. It says—hi, here I am, now get outta my face, you git." She held out the dress.

Annie reached for her wand and cast a simple charm upon it and the dress became a deep turquoise shade.

"Now put it on."

To her surprise, Annie found herself obeying the bossy Muggle. When she emerged from the bathroom, she stopped in front of Petunia and asked, "Well?"

"Much better. Now we can work on your hair. Sit down." Petunia removed a pair of scissors from her handbag and also a brush.

Annie eyed her suspiciously. "What, you know how to cut hair too? Jack of all trades, are you?"

"Sometimes. Your hair looks like birds nest in it."

"So?"

"So . . .people look at you and think . . .ugh!"

"They already do that."

"They won't do it as often if you had a nice trim," Petunia argued. "Or do you enjoy being mistaken for a sheepdog?"

Annie's mouth dropped open. "Anybody ever tell you that you're a bleeding bitch?"

Petunia laughed. "My sister Lily does all the time. Mum too, when she gets real annoyed." Then she added, "Takes one to know one."

Annie laughed loudly. "You're all right, milady. Go ahead. Just don't make me bald."

Petunia had her sit in the chair and went to work. She was no professional, but she did know how to give a basic trim, she had practiced on Lily often enough. After thirty minutes, she was finished. Annie's hair was shoulder length and framed her face neatly, and she even had bangs. Petunia pulled out a small hand mirror and handed it to the witch. "Look. Do you like it?"

Annie shrank away as if Petunia had offered her a lit match. "No!"

"Don't be a ninny! Take a look. You don't look half-bad."

Annie shook her head. "No . . .I've not looked at myself since they told me it was permanent."

"Cripes, just look! Once!"

Cautiously, Annie peeked into the mirror. What she saw astonished her. "Is that really . . .me?" she said softly.

"Yes. See what I mean?"

Annie reached out a hand and touched the reflection in the mirror and then her face. "I look . . .almost normal."

Petunia smiled. "Now don't you feel better?"

The witch nodded.

"I have a question for you. Why can't you just . . .disguise yourself with magic?"

"I could. But a Glamour doesn't last forever and . . .keeping one up constantly makes you exhausted. Besides, I feel like a fraud."

"I understand. All right, what about breakfast? Have you had any yet?"

"No. I haven't been very hungry lately."

"Why don't you try some porridge and fruit then? Or yoghurt? And a cuppa of tea?"

"You saying I look like a bag of bones?"

"No, you did." Petunia answered. "Do they have house elves here?"

"Yes. The one for this floor is called Sunny."

Petunia clapped her hands and called for Sunny to fetch them breakfast on a tray.

The elf returned promptly and they ate quietly. Petunia studied her new charge and thought she had made a good start. And at least she was doing something useful, instead of sitting on her rear reading novels. She knew one thing already. Either they were going to end up friends or throttling each other by the day's end. But she had hope it would work out. Because she sensed the witch and she had one thing in common—they both needed a friend desperately.

LSSSLSSS

Two weeks later

Riddle Manor:

Severus had learned to brew both poisons and antidotes as part of his mastery at the Academy, since a Potions Master, the title did not only denote a teacher of potions, but a master brewer and inventor of them as well, had to know how to brew almost anything. But the poisonous substances he had brewed were done for experimental purposes and not for actual use. His teachers at the Academy had stressed knowing a poison's symptoms and properties so you could brew a counteragent to it, much as you had to know a dark curse being cast in order to counter it. He had never expected to use his knowledge of poisons and malevolent brews for real.

Until he became a member of Voldemort's inner circle, that is.

The Dark Lord had given his newly Marked faithful time to heal from his brand of servitude before calling them together again. This time Lily, or Zoey, as she was known to them, was summoned as well. But not to be Marked. Voldemort didn't consider witches worthy of being Marked, the only exception was crazy Bellatrix, who had tortured fifteen Muggles before his eyes to gain the privilege of bearing the brand. Seveus was convinced he had Marked her just to shut her up. He regarded witches as the "weaker" sex, due to his mother's weakness of dying after giving birth to him and not making sure he was provide for so he did not have to grow up penniless and unwanted. Merope had not been a strong woman, she had been a follower, and she had made the mistake of falling for a Muggle instead of a true wizard. Voldemort hated the fact that he was a halfblood, hated that his Muggle father had rejected his witch lover and unborn child, and so did his best to bury that side of himself completely. Which was why he preached the doctrine of pureblood is best. Severus was not entirely convinced that Voldemort didn't imagine himself as a pureblood, he was a genius but he was also a delusional madman.

He and Lily stood across from one another in the circle surrounding their dark master, and Voldemort commenced to give the witches present a little speech about their duty to him. Lily was glad she was wearing a mask, because she could hide the curl of her lip in disgust as Voldemort spoke about a "witch's duty to support him and his great cause by converting others of their kind to the Way of Might and also to find themselves a suitable pureblood follower to be a spouse to them and start having children to swell his ranks.

Disgusting male chauvinist pig! Lily thought scathingly, though she was carefully speaking the responses, "As you will it, my Lord," and "All hail your wisdom, my Lord." Now he thinks we're broodmares, the bounder! The very thought made her ill. She would have loved to bear Severus' baby, but not at the behest of a psychopath who wanted to use her child as some kind of war weapon. She repressed a shudder and prayed the meeting would end soon.

Voldemort's disparagement of women had one bright spot to it—she would not have to endure the Mark, and she was grateful for that, though she would have willingly taken her husband's agony to herself on that night. She would always be grateful for the support of Cindy and Petunia, who had written to her soon after Severus' return, apologizing for not being able to help out that night. Now, as she stood in the circle of dark wizards, wearing the mask and the robe, she was hard pressed not to spit when Voldemort came around and proffered his ring for them to kiss.

Then Voldemort dismissed the witches and began detailing where he wished them to raid next. Severus set himself to remembering every word, so he could inform Dumbledore of their plans. It was the first time Voldemort had ever spoken openly about his plans to any of his followers save Lucius. After picking members of the raiding party, of which Severus was not a member, thank Merlin, he then turned to Severus and beckoned him.

"Come here, Snape, my son. When last we met, I promised you recognition for your special talents, did I not?" Voldemort purred, placing his hand upon the kneeling Severus' head affectionately.

"You did, my Lord," Severus said, kissing the serpent ring.

"And I always keep my word. I have been told you are a genius at brewing. I have long waited for one such as you to come to me. I have need of a Potions Master to brew several elixirs for me. Elixirs of various degrees of difficulty. Will you serve me as my Potions Master?"

Severus coughed. He could feel the Mark tingling and burning upon his arm. "I would be honored to, my Lord," he made himself say calmly. "What do you need me to brew?"

Voldemort smiled evilly. Then he began to rattle off several poisons, most of which caused a person a slow agonizing death. "I shall grant you use of my lab here on my estate, and give you money to purchase any ingredients you might need from the apothecary in Knockturn Alley. I shall expect you to have all of them brewed in a fortnight, if possible." His tone implied that Severus had better make it possible, or else.

"I shall make it so, Master," Severus agreed, bowing his head and making sure his Occlumency shields were at full strength. His face remained calm and impassive as stone, but inside he was seething that he be forced to waste his time brewing poisons like an assassin's apprentice. Ones which he knew would be used to torture some unsuspecting Muggle or Muggleborn or blood traitor . . .or their family. You knew when you agreed to become a spy that your role might require going against everything you ever stood for, including ethical brewing, he reminded himself. But that did not make it any easier. Since he had been tall enough to look over the top of a cauldron and handle a stirrer, Eileen had taught him to brew responsibly, using his talents to help and not harm. Voldemort's request ran counter to everything he had been taught. Worse, his potion making had always been something he took pride in, his refuge when things were at their worst. But now the Dark Lord had tainted even that. He felt something bright and shining in him wither and die then.

"Very good," Voldemort said, and raised him. "Oh, and should you finish your brewing early . . .feel free to experiment and invent recipes and brews of your choosing."

First the stick and then the carrot, eh, my Lord? Clever sodding bastard. Snape swore in his head, for his one weakness, not counting his wife and family, was inventing new drafts and elixirs. His innovation mind was always coming up with new possibilities, though he rarely had time to test them out. Now, however, he would have time, thanks to Voldemort. "You are most generous, my Lord," he had told the dark wizard.

A week later, he found himself in the basement of the Riddle mansion, brewing Black Adder's Tongue—a sticky black venom that could be used as a coating for weapons or mixed with food, it killed in seconds and turned the victim's face black afterwards. He methodically went down the list of powders, solutions, pastes and elixirs, trying to focus as little as possible on them, or what they were being used for in the torture chamber next door.

He did not even have the solace of going home to his own bed or his wife, since some of the brews required he watch the cauldron closely, sometimes for half a day or more, and since he had no apprentice to help . . .he was forced to remain as a guest of the manor. He set up a bed in the lab. He warded his room, of course, but even then he slept poorly, having not only to get up and tend the potion, but also being woken up by the poor wretches sobbing and pleading for mercy. It was enough to make him nauseous and the first two nights he spent that way he ended up vomiting. Merlin have mercy, but I don't know how much more of this I can endure. I want to go in there and just kill MacNair and Avery and whoever else is hurting those poor sods or even grant them a peaceful death, and yet I must sit here and do nothing except bear witness. It is enough to drive me mad!

The last raid the Death Eaters had gone on had yielded several Muggles, which Voldemort and his followers tortured out of fun, not because they had any useful information, and a single Auror, whom they tortured for both information and pleasure. Severus soon tired of hearing the awful sounds and once he had finished over three quarters of the potions upon the proscribed list, turned his hand to relieving both their own agony and his own by creating a special draft.

It wasn't one that eased the victim into a peaceful death, for such a thing would be noticed, Voldemort wasn't stupid, more's the pity, and he would have traced a simple Deadly Sleep right back to Severus, such potions, even when mixed with another, tended to linger in the system. It was not time yet to tip his hand and he wished to keep himself alive. Depriving the sick bastards of their entertainment was not the way to ensure a long life, so he did the next best thing.

On the fifth night, Bellatrix, who was an avid participant in the midnight sessions, stopped by to see how he was getting on, and it was then he introduced his Dark Truth serum. "Next time you take the Auror for questioning next door, give him this," he said coldly to Bellatrix, who was lingering over his shoulder.

"What is it? Some kind of Elixir of Agony?" she asked eagerly.

He sneered at her. "LeStrange, why would I waste my time creating an elixir when you can do that job so much more efficiently? No, this is a special truth revealing draft, one that will help you question someone much faster and more reliably." He held up a squat vial of a murky gold liquid.

"And why would we need that, Snape? We get results enough when we use hot irons. Or the Cruciatus. Or Veritaserum."

"Do you? But the first two methods take hours and Veritaserum can be fought off if you have enough training to give an alternate truthful answer to a question or the questioner asks a question with multiple answers."

"Hmmm . . .you're right. I never thought of that."

Of course you didn't, you stupid hag. You have the intelligence of a nasty slavering beast, without an original thought in your sadistic little mind, he thought savagely. "So, I have made a Dark Truth serum to give to him," Severus continued. "It's a combination of both Veritaserum and a Babbling Beverage. One swallow of this and your Auor will sing like the proverbial canary."

"Huh? Why would we want him to do that?"

Severus rolled his eyes. Merlin grant me patience! "It's an expression, Bellatrix! Don't be so literal. It means that the person will babble the whole truth and nothing but the truth, willingly, for twenty minutes, without needing to be 'prompted' or even questioned specifically. All you need to do is ask them to tell you the truth about their recent activities and they will start talking and tell you everything they did from the time they woke up in the morning. It's much more efficient than your little 'question and answer' sessions."

"Oh." Bellatrix considered. "That's good, I suppose. Only . . .it takes all the fun out of it, you old stick. I like it when they try and fight."

Severus concealed a look of revulsion and made believe he was yawning. "Yes, but . . .their twittering and squeaking is causing me to lose sleep and interrupting me at crucial stages of brewing and rather than ruin my potions and suffer the Master's wrath, I invented this. You don't need to use it on all your little toys, Bella, just the ones like the Auror. Try it and see."

She sniffed. "Okay, you old bat. The Master always says to make sure we get the most out of our prisoners." She turned to leave. "You had better hope it works . . . for your sake. He doesn't tolerate failures."

Severus hoped it did too, but not for his own sake. He figured the quicker and more accurately they obtained information from a prisoner, the quicker they would be to end his or her suffering, it was his own brand of mercy. And it could be used by the Order and the Aurors as well.

It was all he could think of to do.

As it turned out, the elixir worked like a dream. Voldemort, who appreciated clever magical inventions, especially ones created by Slytherins, proving they were the most ambitious and intelligent wizards ever to come out of Hogwarts, was very pleased. He praised his pet Potions Master over and over, then asked him to choose a reward for his services.

Severus answered honestly, "My Lord, there is no reward better than knowing I have pleased you." So you quit torturing the poor wretches and let them die in peace. "Except, perhaps, to go home to Zoey, my wife."

Voldemort chuckled indulgently. "Ah, to be young and in love again! You have done well, Severus. Go then. The rest of these can wait for another time. Go home to your sweet wife and see if you can create some more little potioneers for me."

He winked lewdly at Severus, who flushed, and murmured, "Thank you, my Lord. You are most generous."

Voldemort smiled. "As a good overlord should be." He waved Severus off.

Severus hurried from the lab and Apparated home to his backyard. He was shocked to see that it was still daylight. Lily was at work still, so he had time to take a shower and scrub the stench of the malevolent brews from his skin and hair, drink a Calming Draught and Stomach Soother, and eat some bread with butter and drink a cup of mint tea. Then he curled up on the sofa with Sorrell on his chest and slept until he heard Lily unlocking the front door.

"Sev! Oh, thank Merlin, you're finally home! Are you all right?"

He woke then, and stared into her beloved emerald eyes. He felt jaded and worn out and somehow much older than eighteen. "Now I am." He sat up and drew her to him, whispering, "Just hold me, Lily. Hold me and never let go."

So she did, and they remained that way, drawing silent comfort from the other, until their growling stomachs reminded them it was time to eat. Severus reluctantly released Lily so she could prepare supper and he said, "You are better than any Euphoria Draft, little oracle."

She kissed him then, slowly and passionately. "I missed you so much. I was so worried when he drew you aside after the meeting . . ."

"If there is breath in my body, Lily, I shall always return to you," he promised.

"And I shall always be here, waiting." She caressed his face. "What would you like to have for supper?"

"You."

"Besides that, you randy old goat!" she laughed.

"Whatever is easiest and quickest," he said, knowing she would read his meaning.

"Soup and sandwiches," she said, and hurried into the kitchen. Dinner would be quick, but the rest of the evening would be savored, she thought with a wicked smirk, one kiss, one breath, at a time.

What did you think of Petunia and Annie? Should they become friends?

And how did you like Severus' invention?

Thanks for all your encouragement and please keep reviewing and reading!

Next: Lily faces her own dark time when Bellatrix takes her on a raid and we find out how James and Sirius are doing at the Auror Academy.