Chapter 10 Doubts and Distractions
March 13, 1811
My heart aches, broken and used. I will never love another. Not after Euphrates. Broken ritual or not, my heart refuses to beast any longer…
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It was a little after lunch. The rest of the morning progressed quite uneventfully for Severus as he and Tristan had reached an unspoken agreement to not discuss further the tragic love affair between both their ancestors. And after a quiet lunch, Severus retreated to his personal quarters and perused the journal that lay on his bedside table. He went thru entry after entry, detailing what seemed to have been a blossoming long-distance relationship through countless letters between Nile and Euphrates until he found what he was looking for. He read and re-read March 16, 1811's entry. The few words written on top of the page were more than enough for the Potions master to assume how Nile Peverell must have felt. The High Lord was clearly head over heels with Severus' ancestor. For a moment, the obsidian-eyed man could not help but feel rage towards his elder. How could Euphrates do that to Nile? How? He vowed to find out what made Euphrates Prince break Nile Peverell's heart. He glanced at the clock by his bedside. His lessons would resume at 3 p.m. He still had time to kill. He turned back to the diary in his hands.
March 16, 1811
I refuse to continue living. I have called for a full court hearing. I am stepping down. What good would power do if it cannot give you your heart's desires?
'Indeed,' Severus thought. He then frowned. Was this the reason Nile Peverell vacated his Seat? A broken heart? He continued on to the next entry.
March 16, 1811
The whole court was in uproar. And yet, nobody dared to stop me, not even Morpheus Prince who had become almost like a mentor to me until recently. Everything is falling apart…
March 22, 1811
The only spark of light in my dark and dank existence. My sister Anastasia has given birth to a boy, Harold Siegfried. The little one would be my heir…
'So that's how Tristan came to inherit,' Severus mused. 'But that still does not explain why he carries the Peverell name. Shouldn't he be named after the man Anastasia Peverell married? Shame the diary failed to mention the surname of his many time great-grandfather.'
March 25, 1811
I want to talk to him, demand for an explanation… but I know that in doing so, I would only make it more difficult for me to let go. I still ache for my lost love. Every day I spend without him, I die a little more inside. I will not last much longer. I am sinking deeper.
Only he can save me.
March 26, 2011
I think of the moment I met him –my life had never been the same since then. I then think of his insistence –to repay the life debt…
Did I read his motives wrong? Had I been led to believe that he too wanted me, only for him to break my heart and rip my soul?
A shameful thought. I must refrain from doing such a thing. I still would like an explanation from him… or maybe not… My mind is in chaos. But what is done has been done, regretful or not. I only hope that when the time comes for the pact to come into fruitition, that the Last Prince shall be more forgiving…
'Pact? Last Prince?' Severus frowned as he re-read that entry. 'And a life debt? The Princes owned the Peverells a life debt?' His head was spinning all of a sudden. He tried to force down the doubt and rage rising from his chest.
Did Tristan know this? Was his attempts at helping him regain the Seat connected in any way to this pact? Severus shook his head. It wasn't like him to jump in to conclusions. He personally knew the consequences of judging people based on doubts. He would now just have to hold his cards closer to his chest. He would still like to think that the High Lord's concern for him was genuine. He agreed to this on that principle. Although, deep within him, he knew that he could hardly get out of this mess without losing anything.
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At exactly 3 in the afternoon, Severus walked back into the living area. He noticed that the couches had been banished and that a long metal work table had replaced the furniture. A sink dotted one end as did a selection of cauldrons did the other. Tristan stood near the sink, smiling at him.
"Three guesses as to what we're doing and the first two don't count,"
Severus cocked an eyebrow. Tristan's grin widened.
"I figured we go over your Prince Heritage. It seemed that every man in your line was a Potions master or alchemist of some sort." He gestured at the cauldrons. "I thought we'd make it into a game. After all, we need all the fun we could get if we are to survive a month with nobody but each other for company."
"Indeed," Severus said simply. Tristan laughed. The Potions master's eyes were already shining with excitement at the prospect of brewing. Sometimes, Severus Snape was just too predictable. The Lord-in-Training was already inspecting the makeshift Potions Lab.
"A game, you say?" he asked Tristan. "What of my dire need to learn how to tie a kerchief or the symbolism of cuff links?"
The High Lord smirked.
"We can't have you dying of boredom now, can we?" He began pulling potions ingredients out of a cardboard box. "And besides, you'd still have time for that –three more weeks to learn of cuff links and wands and socks –"
Severus huffed.
"I seriously hope that there is more to this Lordship than socks."
Tristan chuckled but said nothing. He was arranging jars and vials on top of the work table. Severus looked at the ingredients keenly: ground beetle eyes, salmon roe, doxy eggs, freshwater pearls, monkshood, lethe river water, gerbil spleen, arsenic, vervain, chamomile, powdered bicorn horn, safflower oil, daisy roots, a vial of phoenix tears and another small vial that held an amber liquid Severus was pressed hard to identify just by plain sight. The ingredients presented were wide in range and purposes. However, if he took out the arsenic and phoenix tears, he knew exactly what the potion was to be. He turned to Tristan with an inquisitive stare.
"You want me to brew a Fertility Potion?" Severus challenged the young man. The Fertility Potion was not really hard to make, only complicated due to the number of ingredients to be prepared in a myriad of ways and the complex stirring patterns it required –but it certainly did not take a Master of his caliber to successfully make it. Tristan had a smug look on his face. Severus shrugged.
"Not that I am ever turning down an opportunity to brew, but I fail to see why this relates to my heritage. It was not even a Prince who invented this mundane concoction."
Tristan raised an eyebrow/
"Of course, professor," The young man said. "But we are not making a fertility potion –" he motioned towards the ingredients. "What does not belong here?"
The Lord-in-Training furrowed his brows. Was this man really challenging his knowledge as a Potions Master? He took a deep breath, trying to control his temper.
"Arsenic and Phoenix Tears. Arsenic would render the properties of lethe river water useless, and phoenix tears would spoil the safflower oil. Simply put, those two ingredients would cause an explosion if added to the base of the fertility potion."
Tristan merely nodded. He grabbed the unknown vial of amber liquid. "And this, professor?" Severus took the vial from him and inspected it against the light. He gently swirled the contents before opening the seal and removing the stopper. He then took a glass dropper, extracted a bit of liquid and let the drop fall onto the metal work bench. When it did not react, he took a tentative sniff of the vial. The man's eyes widened.
"Basilisk venom? But –"
Tristan smiled. From his pocket, he pulled out a battered-looking journal with gold peeling letters on the cover –and the unmistakable Prince Family Crest.
"I managed to nick this out of Prince Manor."
Severus did not even register the fact that he had a Manor to his name, or the fact that Tristan Peverell managed to break into the supposedly ancient wards surrounding the property. He was busy looking at the small bound book in the young lord's hand.
"Is that –"
"A journal of potions experiments," Tristan had a strange glint in his eye. "A journal of FAILED potions experiments,"
"Failed?" Now Severus was confused. He frowned. "I do not seem to grasp your twisted logic, Lord Peverell."
"Ah, aren't I too young to be twisted?" The young lord sighed. He flipped through the pages of the journal. "Now see, this indeed had been a collection of unsuccessful attempts. But, seeing as your ancestors were the brilliant and persistent men that they were, most of the recipes in here have already been remedied –"
Severus looked smug.
"But of course –"
"Except for one." Tristan declared rather triumphantly as he showed Severus what seemed to have been the last entry on the journal.
"A Male Pregnancy Potion?" he stared at the written text Tristan was holding out for him to read and scanned the ingredients. He then looked over to the ones on the table. "You want me to attempt to rectify this botched-up attempt?"
"But of course."
Severus grabbed the potions journal from the young lord's hands and began scanning the notes his previous ancestor that had last tried it had left. Actually, the author and the last reviewer were the one and the same to have done so. Severus noted some crossed-out ingredients and some added ones, as well as modifications on the stirring patterns. Basically, the recipe was almost identical to a basic fertility potion for females with some changes. He was absorbing the writings for a few minutes until a frown crossed his face. He thrust the book back to Tristan with a huff. The young lord cocked his head in silent wonderment. Severus caught his calculating look.
"That potion –is impossible."
"Oh, how so?" Tristan asked nonchalantly. Severus took a deep breath but said nothing. Tristan's eyes brightened.
"Of course, you would already know what went wrong, right Severus?" The Potions Master glared at him.
"Even with the addition of basilisk venom, the arsenic will still need to be neutralized. Phoenix tears would not suffice even if I substitute almond oil for safflower oil –not unless –" he stopped mid-rant and turned to the journal once more. "Unless –have you got a quill on you, Tristan?"
The High Lord chuckled at the man's impassioned look as he handed him a luxurious eagle-feather quill. Severus turned to a fresh page on the journal and began scribbling away. Tristan watched mesmerized as the man bent over the table where he laid the book down. Severus had this wild look in his eyes whenever he dealt with Potions that was almost too –enticing to see, Tristan knew that the man would not just back down from any potions puzzle without reason and that he would not stop until he found his answers, The young lord decided to sit on the workbench next to Severus, his long legs dangling on the edge, as the Potions Master made his own notes on the Male Pregnancy Potion. About fifteen minutes later…
"Damn!" The quill snapped against the force of the table. Tristan looked inquiringly at the older man. A few soft tendrils of Severus' hair escaped the leather tie that was holding them by his nape and was now framing his rather striking face.
"Have you figured it out?"
Severus looked at the younger man and sighed dejectedly.
"I see why Euphrates was unsuccessful."
"Euphrates?"
Severus pointed to the initials 'E.T.P.' at the bottom of the last page he w3as inspecting earlier and the year '1811' beside it.
"He was the author of this potion and the only one to modify it as well. And I see why the others after him did not even attempt."
"And that is?"
Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. Tristan noticed that he did that a lot when he was pressured or tensed –or agitated.
"The potion –is not impossible to brew. But the ingredient that completes it –is almost too impossible to procure –even more rare than the basilisk venom."
Tristan looked intrigued. Severus continued on.
"Basilisk venom, while containing the right properties, is not potent enough. It would be useless to attempt this potion. Forget it –"
"Wait, you haven't given up yet, have you?" Tristan asked. Severus gave him an imploring look, crossing his arms across his chest.
"Well, Lord Peverell, unless you can somehow acquire freshly-ground basilisk fangs from a female adult basilisk, then I suggest we cease this farce."
The High Lord just grinned at him.