As always, many thanks to the amazing FawkesyLady. 3
Severus sat in his threadbare armchair, reflecting on the recent events. The confrontation had not gone to plan, and he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that he had made an utter fool of himself.
He groaned as the memory of Miss Crowley's shapely legs swam to the forefront of his mind. He fought his growing arousal by imagining Dumbledore's hairy, skinny legs in place of the girl's, but the fact that he had been thinking about the girl in the first place filled him with self-loathing and disgust. He was supposed to gather information, for Merlin's sake, not ogle a girl half his bloody age!
His self-depreciation turned into anger. Unsure whether he was angry at the girl, Dumbledore, or himself, Severus reached across to the small table by his chair and picked up an old, thin photo album. He stared yearningly at the picture of a smiling red-haired woman. He caressed the old photograph with his fingertips, dragging them across the woman's pretty face slowly, lovingly. 'Oh, Lily,' he whispered and drew in a shaky breath.
He rose from his chair and started to pace around his living room. The heavy curtains were permanently drawn, obscuring the little natural light that may have otherwise shone through the numerous rows of houses. The built-in bookcases covered every wall from floor to ceiling, and the little visible bits of brown, chintzy wallpaper, so dearly cherished by his late mother, were now faded and peeling. The thin, worn carpet, once beige, now greyed with decades-old dust and stains ingrained deep into the fibres, crunched under Severus' feet. Even at home, he wore his usual dragonhide boots. He was aware of the distasteful state of the flooring, and preferred not to step on it directly. Severus was heedful of the neglected feel of his house, especially when compared with Miss Crowley's near-clinically clean kitchen. He found it much harder to breathe in his own home, where the air was stale, dank, and permeated with smoke.
He lit a cigarette, scrutinising his surroundings. Although he was not a slob by nature, he couldn't bring himself to put anything more than a token effort into housekeeping. The place was saturated with tormented memories that weighed heavily on his mind. He could never find comfort, nor solace, within the walls that reminded him of the pain and misery of his past and present.
He realised that, despite his efforts to concentrate on other things, his thoughts insisted on running straight back to Miss Crowley, and Severus' cynical nature enticed him to contemplate his neighbour's suspicious behaviour.
The girl admitted to be working for Dumbledore. She hadn't been deceptive, although Severus was sure that she wasn't entirely honest either. Indeed, he had been busy ever since the Dark Lord's return, and until a few weeks ago, the Infirmary was running low on healing potions. Severus suspected that there was more to it than that. Albus certainly wouldn't have turned Miss Crowley's house into a near-impenetrable fortress for the sake of a few burn salves. Severus knew that the old Headmaster was not above using children to achieve his goals with very little concern for their safety or, indeed, their lives. And in this situation, the pieces simply didn't add up.
So the girl felt safe enough in the area to venture outside without her wand. That, stupid as it was, meant that she was not in hiding. Severus was sure, however, that she was hiding something. He briefly considered legilimising the girl, but decided against it, knowing that the consequences would be unpleasant if the chit decided to run crying to Dumbledore. In spite of his misgivings, he decided that he would have to come up with a plan to establish trust. He pinched the bridge of his hooked nose, his brow furrowing in thought. Alice Crowley might have been a quiet and unobtrusive student, but there was obviously more to her than met the eye. He remembered her verbal assault and smirked involuntarily. The little cub had a big roar. How would he go about persuading the strange little witch to spill her guts?
He tensed as a sudden wave of paranoia crept up on him. The girl was a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors were known for being nosy and intrusive. She was bound to come snooping sooner or later. He would have to add some extra wards to his property, to ensure the girl would never find him in this decrepit hovel.
He was surprised to learn that she was living alone, and felt his curiosity pique again. Judging by the cleanliness of her kitchen, she was obviously doing quite well on her own. But was she really? She was a chain smoker, she wasn't eating, her skin was deathly pale and he noted the dark circles under her eyes. Surely brewing a few batches of healing potions could not have had such a taxing effect on the young witch? Severus was growing more intrigued by the minute. What was Albus really up to?
When an idea popped into his head, he felt his thin lips stretch in a slow, cunning smirk. 'Breakfast,' he thought. 'Tomorrow, I will bring her breakfast.'
Just as he was about to elaborate on his plan, he winced at the sudden searing pain in his left arm. The Dark Lord was calling him to his side yet again. During term time, Severus was summoned once a week. As soon as the summer holidays began, Voldemort expected his spy to report almost daily. Severus groaned, knowing he had no useful information for his psychopathic Master. He knew he would suffer at his wand tonight, as he had done the previous night, and the night before.
A wordless Accio sent his Death Eater garb flying across the room and into his outstretched hand. He dressed quickly, painfully aware that the longer he kept the Dark Lord waiting, the harsher his punishment would be. Taking a few seconds to arrange his thoughts and Occlude his mind, Severus turned on the spot and answered the Summons.
Alice woke up sometime in the afternoon, feeling as though her body was made of lead. Her head ached, pounding painfully behind her eyes, and her stomach felt so empty that she was tempted to eat a buttered brick.
She rose from her chair and walked over to the counter. Frantically searching for sustenance, she tore apart the plastic in which the bread was wrapped, grabbed a single slice, and shoved it into her mouth. She ate it quickly, barely bothering to chew, desperate to slake the gnawing hunger burning a hole in her belly. She made quick work of opening a can of beans and depositing them into a bowl which she then placed in the microwave. While the beans warmed up, she put two more slices of bread in the toaster. 'I'm bloody starving', she thought crossly, 'Thanks to Professor - fucking - Snape who insisted on wasting my precious time!'
The image of the Potions Master's cantankerous face swam to the forefront of her mind. Her obsessive brain catalogued the man's oily hair, the lines of tension between his brows, the thin lips, curled up in a derisive sneer.
'God, he's an ugly bugger,' she muttered to herself as she busied herself with preparing another mug of coffee. 'And you, Alice Crowley, are an absolute nutter,' she continued. 'See? You've even started talking to herself. Admit it – you're crazy. And you've only got yourself to blame. You fancy the hell out of the greasy git. You're insane.'
She took a small sip of her coffee and huffed in annoyance. She wasn't even sure what it was that annoyed her anymore. She stomped her foot, seeking to vent her frustration, but before her foot hit the floor, the fire was doused by her own self-loathing. 'Why would anyone take me seriously if I'm such a… such a CHILD?!'
The young woman was convinced that it was her isolation that caused her to feel some sort of a strange, twisted attraction towards her Professor. She felt disgusted with herself for even thinking such things about the Potions Master – and the Head of Slytherin, no less! Alice was not obsessed with cultivating the never-ending rivalry between their two Houses, but the fact was that Snape, in spite of his position as a teacher, made no effort to hide his own prejudices, taking every opportunity to deduct House Points from Gryffindor. His criticism was often cruel and needlessly personal, and he was so consistently sour, that one Hufflepuff had once remarked that she thought he might have drank a gallon of Four Thieves vinegar every morning instead of his tea.
No, he was certainly not attractive, and it was only the lack of company that was causing her mind to play such harrowing tricks on her.
Alice decided that it was time to contact the only people she felt she could talk to without blushing and stuttering like an idiot. Fred and George might have been busy businessmen now, but Alice knew they were there for her whenever they were needed. The jolly twins were always happy to chase away any gloomy thoughts that entangled her mind. They would crack jokes, sing, or dance on their eyelashes to entertain her, and she would clap, laugh, and weep with mirth. They would have a glorious time, and she would forget all about the dreaded Professor. Yes, that was a good plan. She would send them a note this evening.
She looked at the wall clock, and paled when she saw the time. 'Oh fucking buggering hell on wheels!', she screeched, and ran out of the kitchen, down the narrow hallway and up the stairs at neck-breaking speed. Entering her bedroom, she looked around, trying to locate her wand.
'Ah, there!' she thought and ran to the side of her bed. Her wand, a long and slender piece of rosewood polished to a high shine, rested on top of the bedside table. She briefly caressed the burgundy stick with the tips of her fingers before stashing it in the back pocket of her denim shorts. 'Time to get back to work,' she whispered on her way out.
As she crossed the kitchen in a few short strides and opened the back door, she cast a longing glance at the food she had prepared. 'No time for that now,' she thought gloomily as she made her way outside.
She walked straight over to the shed and paused, considering what lie behind the wooden door on rusty hinges, locked shut with the strongest wards known to wizardkind and a few heavy duty bolts and locks.
Casting a quick silencing charm for extra protection, she started unraveling the tangled web of warding spells, carefully neutralising the various nasty hexes placed upon the outbuilding. It took her a little longer, and tired her out more than it usually did. She was famished, exhausted and still shaken up with the morning's confrontation, so she had to take extra care as she waved her wand in complicated flourishes, tackling the substantial enchantments with unfaltering concentration.
When the last of the wards dissipated, she took out a small copper key and opened the bulky lock, then started on the heavy bolt. After a lot of pressing, pushing, and twisting of the thick metal rod, the bolt gave way, and she finally stepped inside. 'Lumos Maxima!' she called out in a clear voice, and the cramped space was instantly filled with a bright light. Mildly annoyed with the stinging pain in her knuckles, she looked around, checking that everything was in place. The shed used to be filled with miscellaneous clutter - old radios, rusty bicycles, broken pieces of furniture and various other things her grandmother deemed too broken to keep, but too good to throw away. As soon as Alice moved in, she cleared the space in the shed and turned it into a small, but comfortable laboratory. She had a little desk, barely visible under the pile of thick, heavy tomes and rolls of parchment, a work station tucked into a corner, and a filing cabinet. Rows of wooden shelves were mounted on the walls, filled with innumerable potions ingredients kept in jars and vials of various shapes and sizes. The entire space may have looked crowded and chaotic, but Alice knew exactly where everything was and the small shed suited her just fine.
'Why, hello there,' she whispered to the little cauldron that sat on her work station under a tiny flame. The cauldron was very small indeed, no bigger than a soup bowl. A thick, oily, glossy liquid bubbled lazily inside.
The witch walked over to the workbench apprehensively to take a peek at her project. Apparently satisfied with her visual inspection, she sterilised a glass stirring rod with a quick flick of her wand and inserted it into the cauldron, carefully examining the strange potion's colour and consistency. The enigmatic liquid was a dark, glossy red, and it slid down the glass rod without leaving any residue. Nodding quietly in approval, Alice discarded the stirring rod and reached into the filing cabinet, selecting a jar of black powder from the drawer. She unrolled one of the scrolls that rested on top of the cabinet, double-checking that she remembered the dosage correctly.
'Five grams,' she muttered, narrowing her eyes to better read the tiny print. 'Five grams, twenty stirs clockwise, followed by another two grams, and four stirs anti-clockwise.' Measuring out the powder with surgical precision, Alice turned back to the workbench. 'Here we go,' she whispered as she grabbed another stirring rod, this one made of solid gold.
She dropped the required 5 grams of powder into the cauldron and began stirring immediately. The tempo was rapid, and Alice's brow furrowed in concentration. At this stage, she couldn't afford to make any mistakes, literally and figuratively. It took the Headmaster the better part of the year to locate and source the necessary ingredients, and she only had enough for this one batch. The cost must have been extortionate, and Alice was not prepared to let their efforts go to waste.
She took out the golden rod and massaged her arm, which ached from the vigorous stirring. She took a few deep breaths and attempted to clear her mind, focusing solely on the task at hand. When the potion ceased swirling around the cauldron, Alice added another two grams of powder and began stirring counter-clockwise, this time at a slow, languid pace.
'Now, I'll feed you, and then I'll leave you to it,' she muttered, and reached inside the filing cabinet once again, this time selecting a green, rectangular box from the very bottom of the drawer. Inside the box, an ornate knife with a gently curved blade was nestled between layers of crimson-red velvet. Alice swallowed dryly, mentally preparing herself for the unpleasant task of feeding the potion. She should have been used to it by now, having done it daily for the past two weeks, but the ritual always left her feeling a little queasy.
She eyed the shiny blade apprehensively. It was sharper than a surgeon's scalpel, and would slice through her skin and flesh cleanly and almost painlessly. 'That's what you get for dabbling in the Dark Arts,' she grumbled to herself and brought the blade to rest against the inside of her palm. Eyes screwed shut, she grit her teeth and clenched her fist around the blade. Gripping the hilt of the knife, she pulled it down quickly, hissing as she felt the sting of pain as her flesh was sliced open.
Alice stood above the cauldron and unclenched her fist. Her brow furrowed, clearing her mind of any coherent thought, concentrating on bonding her intent to the magic in her blood. Moments later, she opened her eyes and looked at the potion, which stopped bubbling and was now completely still. Setting the knife on the workbench, she reached for her wand and cast a healing spell on her injured hand. A quick Evanesco took care of the blood, and she put the knife back into the drawer.
Grinning with relief and satisfaction, she cast a stasis charm on the cauldron and sat down at her desk. She picked up a tattered notebook and a pen, and scribbled down a few notes. Her mysterious concoction was coming along nicely, and she would have to owl the Headmaster shortly, to let him know that the Essence was nearly complete.
There was, however, one problem. The parchment containing the recipe was incomplete. The ink was smeared or faded in several places, making it near-impossible to decipher the ancient writing. She had managed to overcome those difficulties previously with a little creativity and a lot of research, but now, she was truly stuck. Even Dumbledore's extensive library did not provide an answer to her predicament, and they both knew that time was running out.
She put her notes under her arm and left the shed. She was tempted to leave the shed unwarded for a short while, just so she could run into the kitchen and finally put something in her stomach, but decided against it. The potion was far too dangerous and far too precious, and one could never be careful enough. As she stood in front of the wooden doors, putting up the numerous layers of protection, she realised what a threat Professor Snape could be to her work and personal security. He knew where she lived. He knew what to do to get inside. And Alice was sure that, should he wish to, he would have no problem breaking down the more malicious hexes embedded within the wards that guarded her property.
'I should ask Dumbledore to strengthen the wards further. I wonder if I could make the property Secret-Kept. This way, he would never find me again,' she mused as she crossed the backyard. Tossing her notebook onto the kitchen table, she set about reheating her beans, which were still in the microwave, and reheating the two slices of toast.
As she waited, Alice found two scraps of parchment, a quill, and a little pot of ink in one of the kitchen cupboards. She dipped the quill into the ink and stared into the middle distance for a moment, considering her words. The scratching of her quill provided a rhythmic staccato over the ticking of the toaster and the background hum of the microwave.
''Headmaster,
The Ashes are compatible with the potion. I've hit a wall. Need more time.
- A. ''
She rolled up the parchment and put it aside. She collected her food and set her plate down in front of her. Wolfing down her humble meal of beans on toast, she considered the latest hindrance to her project. She needed to buy more time, perhaps visit Knockturn Alley to try and get her hands on some obscure tome which had slipped under her radar. Time was running out, and her mind was on high alert with a sense of urgency She knew she had already exhausted all of the possibilities, but could not bear the thought of sitting idly. She would go through all of her books yet again with a fine-toothed comb. There had to be a hint there somewhere, something she had previously missed.
'I could see if Fred and George are about, make a day of it.' Cheered by the idea, Alice tucked in to the last of her toast before taking up her quill again.
'Fancy meeting up this week? Had a terrible day. Snape found me here. Hope you're both alright.
-A.'
She walked across the kitchen and opened the window. 'BARRY! COME HOME YOU BLOODY BASTARD!', she called out and jumped to the side. Seconds later, a massive Eagle Owl came swooping past. He circled the room and settled imperiously on the back of a chair, staring at its mistress with obvious disdain.
'Hello, Baz.' The bird ruffled its feathers and narrowed its eyes at Alice. 'Oh, don't look at me like that. You're so cu… OUCH!', she shrieked and jumped away as the owl bit her finger viciously, drawing blood. She stared daggers at the horrid creature, holding her injured hand against her chest.
Barry the Bastard shuffled side to side on the chairback, glaring at Alice with cold murder in his eyes, as if to say, 'What the FUCK do you WANT you daft BINT, and dinna ever use the C-word again if you like your pretty eyes where they are!' He pivoted his head away as only owls can do, effectively giving her the cold shoulder whilst keeping his talons facing straight forwards. She thought she could hear him muttering, 'Except cunt. That's acceptable. Good word. Hard consonants.' Barry, (whose real name was Apollyon, but Alice found it far too dignified a name for such a wicked beast), never woke up well, preferring nocturnal activity. Alice knew it very well, but at that moment, she really needed him.
'Alright, alright! Calm your beans love!', Alice threw up her hands in a placating gesture. Tossing a handful of treats towards the menacing bird, she quickly tied both missives onto Barry's leg, mindful of the sharp beak and claws that threatened to attack her at any moment. 'I need you to take those to Professor Dumbledore and the Weasley twins. Can you do that for me?'
The owl hooted angrily, as though it was trying to say 'Why the FUCK did you tie this to me if you didn't think I'd deliver it? Shall I use it to wipe your bloody arse?' Barry bobbed and wove his head like a prize fighter, ready to lash out if Alice gave him an opening.
'Alright, be off then, you horrid bloody ratbag!', She huffed. Barry gave Alice a last, hateful glance, flapped his wings and took off. Circling the kitchen gracefully, he flew out of the window, leaving a large dropping on the countertop. 'That's for thinking I'm CUTE, witch,' he seemed to say.
'Bastard,' Alice muttered angrily under her breath before slamming the window shut.
Albus Dumbledore paced around his office distractedly, musing over the disturbing news he had received earlier that day. 'I was hoping this wouldn't happen', he mumbled to Fawkes, his pet phoenix. 'I was hoping they would never bump into each other.'
He sat down heavily in his ornate chair and sighed deeply. Reaching into a bowl of lemon drops, he popped one into his mouth and sucked on it in a desperate attempt to alleviate some of the stress. This time, however, not even the sweet and sour taste of his favourite lozenges did anything to calm his racing pulse. His informer apprised him of his spy's encounter with Miss Crowley earlier today. It was a complication that had the potential to blow his plans to smithereens. If Severus was to find out about the Essence… no, he dared not think about it.
'What do I do now, Fawkes?' He asked his familiar in a dispirited whisper. The phoenix bobbed its head to the side, as though considering the old man's question, then chirped merrily, indicating the bowl of pork scratchings on the nearby chest of drawers.
'I should have expected this, my friend,' Albus said, bowing his head and pinching the bridge of his nose in concentration. 'As reclusive as those two are, they were bound to have met at one point or another. I was a fool to have thought otherwise. Now, Miss Crowley's work is in danger, and Severus… ah, Severus… he's slipping away, you see. Could it be that the memory of Lily is no longer enough to keep him within my influence…?' he trailed off, staring into the middle distance. 'If I lose his loyalty, we're doomed. We cannot win this war without Severus' help. If he discovers the Essence, he will never forgive me. He will turn away from me...'
Albus stood up abruptly and began to pace the perimeter of his office again. It had been a long time since he felt so truly horrified. He knew that Miss Crowley had invited her Professor into her home. Severus was a perceptive wizard, and would have sensed immediately that something wasn't as it should be. He was also persistent, and would try to get to the bottom of it. Of that, the Headmaster was sure. Perhaps he already had?
The Headmaster turned to his familiar again. 'I thought Severus' love for Lily was strong enough to keep him within my grasp, Fawkes. But now, I'm not so sure anymore.' Albus shook his head and studied the ornate carpet. 'If only I could find another reason for Severus to keep fighting the good fight...'
Just then, the wizard's gloomy musings were interrupted by a rattle coming from behind the window. The old man moved the red velvet curtain aside, and immediately noticed the massive, hostile-looking owl scratching the glass with its sharp talons in a display of impatient irritation. With a flick of his wand, the window opened, and Albus ducked to the side with surprising speed and agility. Unfortunately, he wasn't quick enough, and was greeted with a massive runny poo which landed on the sleeve of his brand new, jade-green robes. The ill-tempered creature did not like to be kept waiting.
On any other day, the owl's actions would have elicited a hearty chuckle from the Headmaster, but this time, Albus eyed the bird apprehensively. 'And what news do you bring?' he asked, and with trembling hands, untied the parchment from the owl's leg. He stalled for time, taking deep breaths to calm himself. Was Miss Crowley writing to inform him of their project's discovery? But surely, if that was the case, Severus would have come to confront him by now?
Seconds ticked by, and Albus shook himself out of his pondering. Gliding over to his great walnut desk in nervous anticipation, the ancient wizard adjusted his half-moon glasses, unrolled the parchment and read the missive quickly.
He shut his eyes tightly, and with a great sigh of relief, Albus turned towards the nearby chest of drawers, tossed a pork scratching towards the owl, and dropped heavily into his chair. 'Thank you,' he whispered to nobody in particular, ignoring the jealous squawk that came from Fawkes' perch. He had a lot to be thankful for. Miss Crowley had not mentioned Severus, and it looked like the their secret was still safe.
Albus watched as the vitriolic owl gobbled up the pork scratching, sending disdainful glances towards the phoenix. The brown bird hooted something that, judging by Fawkes' shocked expression, must have been an exceptionally vulgar obscenity, and swiftly left the office through the window, leaving another dropping on the windowsill.
Rushing over to the window to clean up the mess, Albus suddenly stopped in his tracks and straightened his back. The plan beginning to form in his mind was risky and delicate, but if the Headmaster played his cards right, Severus' dedication to the cause would be set in stone.
The old wizard reached inside his pocket, found another lemon drop and put it in his mouth. His eyes twinkled with self-satisfaction, and he glanced at his phoenix with an expression of someone who had found a pot of gold.
'Perhaps, with a bit of prompting, Severus would be willing to fight for another love...'