Just so you know, FawkesyLady is the best beta EVER! Fact.
'Ooft! Oh! Bloody hellfire!' Alice grumbled as she clumsily stepped out of the fireplace. She glanced around her living room, and was happy to find everything in perfect order. Bending over to hastily dust herself off was a huge effort indeed, and the uncomfortable feeling of an overfull stomach made her groan. Straightening up, she took as deep a breath as her stuffed belly allowed, and remembered the Shoes-Off spell she had created with the help of her best friends. 'Better cast that now, before I forget.' She pointed her wand at the hearth rug, and waved it in a smooth pattern as she proclaimed 'Shoes Off!' The hearth rug glowed a bright magenta before fading back to its usual dull blue with a faded pink floral pattern.
The witch giggled impishly as she trundled into the kitchen, pausing in the hallway to cast the same spell on the doormat by the front door. 'That pie was good,' she mused as she rubbed her stomach in broad circles. 'That pie was very fucking good.'
Finding her tobacco tin, she leaned against the counter, running a mental checklist of all the things she still had to do that day. Her various projects would need tending to in a couple of hours' time, and her bedsheets needed changing. It was something she did every other day, but because it was her least favourite chore, the witch decided to push that task further down her list of immediate priorities, choosing instead to spend the rest of the afternoon in pursuit of more pleasant activities - or non-activities.
She began rolling her cigarette absent-mindedly as she stared out of the kitchen window. The lovely sunny weather reminded her of the warmth in her two best friends' eyes, and the young witch smiled to herself, amazed at what a hearty meal and good company could do - she could certainly get used to this feeling of utter contentment. All the residual tension drained from her face as she took in a deep, satisfying drag. She wondered if she would find the time to see her best friends before the end of summer. Maybe Fred would be up for one of their occasional lovemaking sessions sometime soon?
'Productivity can go get fucked,' She proclaimed merrily as she waddled back into her living room. She perused her bookshelves in search of something to read - it had been a while since she had the time or inclination to read anything purely for entertainment. Having selected several volumes, the witch sat down heavily in her clunky monstrosity of a sofa - another inherited piece, cherished dearly by her grandmother. The brown, floral upholstery was rough, faded and threadbare in places, but it was divinely comfortable; Alice had almost forgotten how nice it was to lean back against the squishy cushions and feel her body go limp as it hit the cloud-like softness.
'Alright, what do we have here…' she muttered as she inspected the covers. 'Pride and Prejudice… nope.' She set the book aside with a grimace and picked up another one. 'The Master and Margarita… Not today, no. Too heavy for me brain today, this,' she grumbled under her breath, tossing Bulgakov's masterpiece onto the side table. 'Hmm… The Godfather… aye, this'll do, I reckon.'
'The Godfather' was indeed the perfect choice for the young witch, who ensured that her collection of rollups was at hand before leaning back and immersing herself fully into the book. She read slowly, savouring each word as if it was the world's most delectable dessert, turning the pages lazily as she drowned in the literary world of organised crime, power and violence. She snorted lightly as she realised just how much she could relate to Puzo's characters - while she did not partake in killings or drugs, she knew very well what it was like to live a double life - one in the light, another in the shadows. It was easy enough to put up a front, to hide her involvement in the less palatable magics, but she could not help wondering if, and when, the lines would begin to blur.
The loud chiming of the clock shook the girl out of her reverie, and she reluctantly put the book down on the sideboard before standing, ready to face her responsibilities once again. 'No rest for the wicked,' she muttered as she found her wand and double-checked the time. Four o'clock in the afternoon. It was time.
Alice made quick work of checking her basement lab. The latest batch of Pepperup was coming along nicely, with no visible flaws - Madam Pomfrey expected nothing short of perfection, so the young witch took extreme care in brewing each medical potion to the best of her abilities.
She dropped the required amount of crushed violet leaves into the potion, and stirred precisely seven times clockwise before casting a Stasis charm and walking over to the other side of her workbench, where a much smaller bronze cauldron was simmering merrily under a medium flame.
'Nettle… horsetail… liquorice root… linden blossom...' She spoke quietly as she added the ingredients, her lip quirking upwards as the concoction changed colour from a dirty brown to an appealing pastel green - just as predicted. This was her side project, a potion to prevent and reverse alopecia in wizards.
The products currently available were completely useless at best, and delivered unpredictable results at worst. Alice found it quite amusing that this was a problem shared by wizards and Muggles alike. She had hoped to have the Hair Restoration Potion completed by the end of the summer, and ready to be mass-produced and put on the shelves at Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes by October at the latest. Judging by the thronging masses of witches and wizards with receding hairlines, and the sheer number of obvious combovers, this product had the potential to become a nationwide hit - one that would provide her with a steady income for years.
Alice's mind was buzzing with happy thoughts of making a decent profit. Visions of batches flying off the shelves and selling out in a day swam before her mind's eye, followed by images of her Gringotts vault overflowing with sacks, filled to the brim with Galleons. She could almost feel the thick, springy mattress she would sleep on, and could taste the juicy, perfectly fried sirloin steaks she would eat every day. Motivated and determined, the witch approached her task with burning enthusiasm. Those steaks were not going to fall out of the sky now, were they?
Some time later, Alice finally lowered the flame under the Hair Restoration Potion to let it simmer overnight. Now, she had one more job to do.
She uncorked a phial of Blood-Replenishing Potion and downed it in one go as a preventative measure as she crossed her kitchen and stepped into the backyard. Alice couldn't tell whether it was just a result of a nice day, or the sun's gentle glow lighting up the area, but the backyard seemed brighter, more airy and less oppressive than before. Making a mental note to spend more time relaxing outside, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she started dismantling the wards around the brick shed.
The sweet, heady scent of wild roses growing right behind her fence made her pause and inhale deeply, humming in delight. The witch had sometimes wondered why such a beautiful plant would choose to grow among the dull ugliness of Spinner's End, surrounded by weeds and piles of rubbish - yet Alice was grateful that it did. Beauty could indeed be found even in the most unlikely places, it seemed.
Her attention quickly shifted back to the task at hand as she felt her concentration slip, and she increased the pace of her spellwork, taking extreme care to avoid the nasty hexes embedded within the wards. She snorted involuntarily as she realised that the pleasing stimuli of the great outdoors made it more difficult to stay focused, and a thin layer of perspiration appeared on Alice's brow as she fought for control over her magic.
When the last enchantment dissipated, she exhaled audibly and stepped inside the shed, grimacing at the horrible squeak of the rusty hinges. She cast a strong Lumos and made her way over to the workbench by the far wall, approaching the tiny cauldron with confidence. As soon as she stepped near and peered into the cauldron, she felt that something was different.
'Hi,' she whispered to the mysterious brew, trying to put a finger on the overwhelming feeling of 'strange'. Greeting the potion was a habit she developed a while ago - something that felt like the natural thing to do - it felt like the potion was waiting for her visits and understood her words, manifesting its answers by rippling the surface or sloshing against the cauldron's rim.
Sometimes she wondered if the strange pull she felt was some sort of an invisible force which compelled her to come back again and again, and if it was somehow connected to the whispers inside her head that appeared whenever she was in close proximity to the cauldron. For all she knew, it could have just been her vivid imagination running wild, but on some days she could have sworn that if she concentrated hard enough, she could make out the odd word or two. Those 'whispers', as she called them, did not sound menacing, and were largely unintelligible, but they were distracting. The witch usually ignored them completely by talking to herself as she worked. The voices would disappear after a session of verbal introspection, and Alice felt relieved to be able to say all of her deepest secrets and desires aloud.
Resting her palms on the table, she craned her neck to stare at her project in confusion, her brow furrowed thoughtfully. Long moments passed. The pull wasn't there. No voices whispered to her, even as she cleared her mind and strained to listen out for them. The potion's burgundy surface was glossy and viscous, just like before. It was also perfectly still. It did not move even as she spoke to it, and its surface did not popple even when she blew on it experimentally. It was almost as if the potion was… ignoring her.
'Well, that's weird,' she muttered, unsettled, as she opened the filing cabinet in search of her ritualistic knife. 'You're usually far more animated, you know.' As she reached out to touch the box containing the knife, she paused, her hand hanging in mid air. A strong sense of revulsion cascaded over her consciousness, and she rapidly withdrew her hand, puzzled by the sudden, strong aversion to the object. 'This is seriously weird. Don't you want to be fed today?'
The Potion was as calm as a mill pond, and Alice felt uncomfortable in the penetrating silence. A niggling unease registered at the front of her mind - has she somehow ruined it? Everything had been going well up until now. Her project was behaving as expected, but her references were limited. Alice and Dumbledore have been half-playing it by ear and half-walking in the dark from the beginning, using odd scraps of information to predict the different stages of the brewing process. Alice often felt like she was navigating a minefield - the room for error was enormous, the resources were scarce, and one bad step could have destroyed all of the hard work. And yet they could not afford to make any errors. Any unexpected change in the potion's behaviour was therefore a severe cause for concern. 'I'll… leave you to it then,' Alice cast one last worried glance at the cauldron before heading back towards the door.
She hastily erected the usual wards around the shed, taking much less care than she normally would. Her good mood had evaporated, and she was now seriously afraid. She sprinted into the kitchen and searched frantically for a piece of parchment and a quill, intending to notify the Headmaster immediately - she may have had her reservations about the old wizard's intentions, but this was something he simply had to know about. Her hands quivered uncontrollably as the young witch scribbled a note on the small piece of parchment she found knocking about in one of the cupboards. Her handwriting resembled chicken scratch, and was barely legible even to Alice herself, but she made the decision to send it anyway and hope for the best.
'I need my owl, I need my fucking owl!' She spat as she ran back outside to call for Barry to come back, hoping the wretched bird would comply. Just as she was about to start yelling his name like an idiot, she heard a loud whooshing sound coming from behind. Alarmed, Alice drew her wand reflexively and peered into the kitchen, a defensive hex hovering on the tip of her tongue. Finding the kitchen empty, Alice decided that the noise must have come from the living room.
Padding quietly along the hallway, she listened for any sounds that could indicate the identity or intention of the unexpected visitor. She could hear the rustle of fabric and a quiet cough, followed by the sound of feet shuffling along her garish, patterned carpets. She had to mentally chastise herself into focus as her mind groused a reflexive, 'I hope that whoever it is isn't leaving any dirty fucking footprints!'
With her free hand, she slowly reached towards the handle, intending to push the door open quickly and stun the intruder immediately.
'Miss Crowley?'
Alice nearly jumped out of her skin as the familiar sound of the Headmaster's wheezy voice floated towards her from behind the door. She staggered into the living room with an undignified shriek, her wand still at the ready, only to be greeted by the ridiculous sight of Albus Dumbledore, who stood in the middle of the room, dressed in hideous lime-green robes adorned with purple peonies. The old wizard was seemingly fascinated with the bulky contraption placed in the corner, to the immediate right of the fireplace. He was observing the chunky grey box from a variety of angles, and was about to poke its curved glass front with his wand. The witch's face glowed like a burnished tomato. The oddity of the scene stole the wind out of her fury and she spoke in a querulous alto, 'What on Earth are you doing? For that matter, why are you here?' Panic was supplanted by exasperation, and she put her hands on her hips, toe itching to start tapping.
'Good afternoon, Miss Crowley,' Dumbledore replied calmly and gave Alice a benevolent smile. 'I was just admiring your… fishbowl with a window and knobs. Strangely, I see no fish...?'
'Goodness gracious, Professor!' She cried, 'This is a private, slimline, colour television set with built-in VHS facility, and no connection whatsoever to any aquatic ecosystems! It was also very expensive, having come from a highly desirable department store, so please do step away from it before you break it!'
If Alice wore pearls, she would have surely been clutching them by now. The television set was her pride and joy, and the inconsiderate wizard had the audacity to call it a 'fishbowl'. Alice's lips thinned in righteous indignation, and she wondered what was wrong with the wizards of today, as it seemed that none of them could recognise excellence when they saw it.
'Ah, it would send Arthur into paroxysms of joy, no doubt,' Dumbledore shrugged carelessly and turned to face Alice again. 'I have called in to inform you about a discovery I made regarding the Potion…'
'I was just about to send you a letter!' The witch interjected, her voice unnaturally high. Dumbledore had great timing, that was obvious, but having to explain her failure in person was the very last thing that Alice wanted to do.
'Is everything alright?' Dumbledore asked calmly, his face leaning slightly to the side as he regarded Alice over the rim of his half-moon glasses. The witch was visibly agitated, and she averted her gaze, breaking eye contact. Rubbing her eyelid with one finger, she took a deep breath, and explained.
'Professor, I really don't know what's gone wrong with the Potion, I… went to feed it, and it rejected me. It… it usually seems to swirl around the cauldron, to move… oh, I don't know how to explain it - it was being weird. It was completely still. I don't know what I've done wrong, I really don't, and…' She trailed off, not having realised that she had started to pace about her room, waving her arms around as she struggled to get her point across. 'It's been taking me longer and longer to feed it lately. It was demanding more and more blood, and now it stopped. It wanted none, I'm sure of it!'
Dumbledore continued to stand there, his posture relaxed, and waited for the girl to finish babbling. A small, amused smile played around his lips as he observed the agitated witch. 'Miss Crowley!' He boomed as the girl took a deep breath, ready to launch herself into a fresh monologue. The witch paused mid-breath, startled, and stared wide-eyed at the old wizard, uncertainty written across her features. With a small chuckle, Dumbledore continued, 'I called in just to advise you that you should expect for this to happen.'
He held up his hand in a halting gesture as the witch opened her mouth to speak. 'I am glad to learn that my prediction was correct - I only discovered this last night. I had come across a new volume, fascinating story for another time, really. The Essence will grow in spurts, and then go dormant. The text suggested that it will do this three times before reaching peak potency, although more may be necessary depending on the brewer. I am afraid that you can expect to sacrifice even more of your blood and magic over the next few weeks.' The glow of academic discovery shone from the elderly wizard's eyes, and he smiled at Alice, fully expecting that she would be as delighted as he was at this new tidbit.
'My… magic?!' Alice's eyes nearly popped out of her sockets, and her face twisted into a rictus of furious confusion as she whipped out her wand and pointed it straight at the old man's chest. Her previous look of fear and anxiety was replaced by an expression of hateful anger as the witch growled, 'What the fuck do you mean, my magic, you duplicitous Nogtail?!'
'Now now, Miss Crowley, there is no need for this.' Dumbledore indicated the tip of Alice's wand with a tilt of his chin and a twinkle of his eyes. His deliberate refusal to acknowledge the gravity of the situation infuriated the girl even more, and her eyes glittered dangerously as she refused to lower her wand.
'I suggest that you calm down immediately, Alice. I might have to silence you if you cannot keep a more civil tongue…' The threat in Dumbledore's voice was crystal-clear as the grandfatherly persona began to shatter. 'I must remind you that you agreed to do this, out of your own free will…'
'No I fucking didn't!' Alice cried at the top of her voice. Heeding the Headmaster's warning, she lowered her wand, and clutched it in her fist, tightly by her side. 'What the hell is... it doing to my magic?!'
'Let's have a seat.' Dumbledore walked over to the armchair and sat down, humming in appreciation at the plush cushions. 'Ah, that's much better. You really don't appreciate the the luxury of a good armchair until you get to my age. Just celebrated my birthday last week, you know.' Dumbledore punctuated his remark with a good-natured titter as he leaned back relaxedly, crossing his legs and folding his wrinkled hands across his stomach. Alice, on the other hand, refused to sit down. She was pacing the room like a frenzied lioness, spitting out audible expletives in her anger.
The Headmaster reached into his pocket, and, finding a lemon drop, popped it in his mouth before speaking in a light tone, 'The Essence is draining the magic in your blood. I am quite surprised you didn't realise that, Alice - although perhaps I should have made it more clear… It isn't permanent, and it only weakens you for a short amount of time, depending on how much blood is taken…'
'Are you fucking mental, you old codger?!' Alice spat venomously as she paused in her pacing. 'I've been weak for days now! I can't keep up with brewing Blood Replenishing Potions for myself! I nearly passed out after firing one fucking Stunner at my owl! I thought it was my shit diet that was doing it, but no - there's a fucking potion draining my fucking magic and you never fucking told me!' Her last words were so loud and shrill that the Headmaster winced, and held up his hands in a placating gesture.
'It is only temporary. The end result will be worth it - do try to trust me, Miss Crowley…' Dumbledore smiled winningly at his student and co-conspirator. 'Alice. Your strength will come back in no time. Youngsters regenerate incredibly quickly. And the magic you bravely sacrifice now will give the Light an enormous advantage in the war effort once the Essence is complete…'
'I can't trust you as far as I can throw you, Albus.' Alice had resumed her pacing as Dumbledore made his speech, and she now whipped around and jabbed one finger in his direction. 'Is there anything else I should know? Any more surprises?' She asked in a singsong tone. After a short pause, she gave Dumbledore a hateful glare as she shouted, 'And why didn't you tell me Snape lived in the area?!'
'Ah… yes, that was the other thing I meant to speak to you about…' Dumbledore shifted in his seat and steepled his fingers, his expression changing to one of earnest gravity. 'I was hoping that you would never bump into Professor Snape, considering that neither of you is particularly fond of the great outdoors… but alas, I was wrong.'
Alice snorted at this pronouncement, and Dumbledore cleared his throat, adjusting his half-moon glasses before continuing, 'Never mind - perhaps it is a good thing after all. You are both isolated, and I believe both of you could benefit from an ally… No no, hear me out please,' Dumbledore raised his hand as Alice opened her mouth yet again, undoubtedly to disagree vehemently.
'I would like you to look out for Professor Snape - I'm sure you are aware that he is the Order's Spy in Voldemort's ranks…' The girl nodded without a trace of surprise on her face. Dumbledore chuckled lightly, 'But of course you know - whatever the Weasley twins know, you know...' His expression turned serious again, the hint of good humour gone as quickly as it appeared. 'I would like you to keep an eye on Severus for me. He is carrying a heavy burden, and is unlikely to accept any help. Sometimes, even a conversation about the weather can have a positive effect on a stressed wizard…'
'You want me to spy on your Spy,' Alice stated flatly, crossing her arms and blocking her chest defensively.
'I am requesting that you look out for him, Miss Crowley.' Dumbledore corrected the girl, a hint of tiredness creeping into his voice. The old wizard had had enough of this conversation now. 'And I absolutely insist that you never, ever mention the Essence to him, under any circumstances.'
'And what if I do?' Alice spat venomously. Dumbledore narrowed his eyes, and she gulped audibly as the wizard stood to his full height and pinned her with a steely gaze.
'You will NEVER mention the Essence to Severus Snape, or anybody else. You will NOT jeopardise the war effort!'
'I never wanted to be part of your fucking war!' Alice shrieked, covering her face with her hands. 'I never agreed to be involved!'
'Oh, but you did,' the Headmaster's voice lowered dangerously. Scowling, he took a step towards the young witch, who looked ready to burst into tears any second now. 'Do I need to remind you of your experiments with the Dark Arts? Your skills are forbidden, yet they are valuable. Which is why I gave you a choice - either you work for me, and do your bit for the Light, or you can explain your use of the Dark Arts to the Wizengamot…'
'It wasn't a choice, it was blackmail!'
'Call it what you want,' Dumbledore shrugged casually. 'But whether you like it or not - here you are. And don't say I haven't done anything for you. You wanted to live independently and earn your own living - I gave you that opportunity. After the war, your career prospects will be limitless… unless you betray our trust, that is. Who would trust a Dark witch, after all? If you ever got out of Azkaban at all, that is...'
Alice dropped her arms, allowing them to hang limply by her sides. She no longer could even look at Dumbledore, her lips drew straight in a thin line of grim resignation. 'I won't tell anyone.'
Dumbledore nodded, apparently satisfied. He stood and walked over to Alice, who fought to suppress the flinch as he laid one hand on her shoulder. 'A wise decision, Miss Crowley.' The Headmaster took a step towards the fireplace. 'Good day to you.'
He took a pinch of Floo powder, but something drew his attention back to Alice. In a the tone one might use to critique a good meal, he casually added, 'By the way - this Shoes-Off charm would work much better if you cast it around the entire floor, not just upon the hearth rug. Fascinating idea. You should submit it to Witch Weekly once you perfect it.' He gifted her with a patented Dumbledore sparkle, 'Toodles!' and dropped the powder into the grate, finally disappearing in a swirl of green flame.
Alice exhaled a long, shaky breath as soon as she was sure the Headmaster was gone. She allowed her control to loosen, and her shoulders shook with quiet, broken sobs. The witch stood alone in the middle of her living room, cradling her head in her hands. At length, her breathing became more regular and her tears stopped flowing as the sky outside dimmed to the grey veil of twilight. She was surprised that only half an hour had passed, marked by the street lamps flickering to life. 'I better get on with it, then,' She muttered dejectedly as she walked back into the kitchen and opened the pantry. Three bottles of cheap wine stood on the far shelf, and Alice grabbed them all, plonking them on the table. Aloud, she declared, 'Alcohol is not the answer, but neither is milk.' As her hand wrapped around a glass in one of the cupboards, she sent up a silent prayer for relief. Nimue knew, she needed a drink.