Good evening, patient readers. It's been a long summer and fall and I am pleased to get back to doing some publishing. I've been writing (and THINKING), but not getting these out. As always, please DO review. Anonymous is fine, PM is fine. Let me know what you like or dislike. I am hoping a few of the questions I've gotten from the earlier chapters are being answered... And apologies to LadyMalfoy. You get no relief... Cheers! DN
She was in the corridor, she'd escaped. She turned towards the stairs, the way out, freedom. His voice, low but strong, struck her back.
"I will reveal the formula and technique for the Scorpion Venom antidote, if you allow me some time to speak first."
Withering wands, he was a devious one. She paused. She really should go. But an antidote, perhaps the very one that saved her, might now be saving Janiss. He claimed he would share. No Potioneer would dare share such a valuable formula. She imagined the fortune he could make, selling it in secret to those who wanted to use the venom as a weapon, but feared accidental exposure, to those who feared poisoning themselves. Hospitals the world over would want to have some on their shelves, if it was stable. Otherwise, they'd want the Potioneer on their Emergency Consultant lists, and pay good money to secure his services. No, there was no way he would simply share the formula for something so precious. He would surely hoard it for the next 49 years, then make the fortune once he could keep the money for himself. Why give such a fortune to the Ministry he loathed so much, whose officers appeared to feel the same about him?
Lies, it was all lies. He had lied about nearly everything she could think of. From his marriage all the way to student "volunteers." He worked in deception the way other artists might work in oil or clay. She would have to be a fool to waste her time listening to more of his distortions and dishonesty, to allow for the possibility that her determination might waiver, that she might find herself weakened by his presence, as had happened so many times before.
What if he did have such a formula? He must, right? Something had saved her, after something very powerful had rendered her unconscious for more than a week. She fully believed she had been poisoned by a large quantity of Scorpion Venom, and she lived. Madam Pomfrey seemed to believe in the antidote, if Harry's performance hadn't been staged in some way. The boy, at least, seemed genuine and trustworthy. He was Snape's godson; perhaps they shared a talent and taste for deceit.
What if he had an antidote and really was willing to share it? What if she walked away from her opportunity?
That was a lot of "what ifs." What if it was all a lie, a trap? Why would he allow her to get to the hall then? She would certainly remain on her guard, the energy from their duel still flowing in her veins.
She turned, hand ready to draw her wand in an instant. He had remained where he had been when she walked out, having not moved an inch. His hands remained at his sides, his body neutral. His face was less agonized than a moment before, but still tense. She eyed him thoroughly, cautiously.
"You will do so from the far side of the room, without your wand. The door will remain open. I will leave at any point I should so choose."
"Yes, agreed," he replied, with no hesitation.
She took two more breaths, waiting for him to move. He did so, not turning his back on her, but moving farther from the door toward the windows, as well as farther from his own wand. She contemplated picking it up, but decided that might be too aggressive a move. She kept its exact position in her mind, should she need it. Even another's wand with its feeble action would be superior to facing that wand in the hand of its master.
The sun shone from behind him, surrounding him in a warm golden glow. So different from the torchlight or winter sun that she was accustomed to in the dungeon classroom and labs or the Great Hall. She fought the distraction.
Places now taken, though positions reversed, she commanded him "Speak."
He'd kept her from leaving, at least for a time, a victory in itself, in a day filled with disasters. Now, the next step, more perilous than the previous. He struggled to remember just what he needed to say, blood still rushing in his ears from their duel, abandoned only minutes ago.
"Morgan, Dr. Hunter, I mean, you are no captive here, nor were you ever. You are free to go as you wish at any time." The words were all he could speak without stopping for breath. He took more time than he needed, making sure he covered all of what he needed to. "I would like very much for you to stay. I can offer you a permanent position, as Head of the Potions department. I'll finish the repairs to this classroom, support your research, accommodate your speaking and travel schedule, hire a House-elf assistant, a lab assistant, whatever you request." He eyed her directly, pleading in his heart and in his eyes.
She looked at him in disbelief, her mouth dropping open. "A career discussion? That's what you wanted me to remain for?" She snorted. "I'll have no difficulty in landing a job, Headmaster. It's really just a matter of my deciding what I want. Borealis, Beauxbatons, anywhere. Your offer is an insult. I have no intention of being your back-up plan, now that Deputy Alexander has run off." Her words sounded far more confident than she felt, her having taken no steps yet to secure her next position. She relied on his not knowing that.
He groaned. "The offer to Alexander was a ruse."
She glared further, but said nothing. Her jaw moved slightly as she gritted her teeth. More lies will be coming your way shortly. Let him hang himself on his ridiculous stories.
He needed to say more, to tell her the whole story. How to begin?
"The notes that Parse read were intended for him to see, to drive his jealousy. He needed to believe that he was going to lose her, which was bad enough in itself. To lose her to me, of all wizards, was intolerable to him, as we both knew it would be. We wrote several letters to one another, behaved in an overtly admiring manner, all to encourage his anger and possessiveness."
"Why would you care to do that?" She remained still, utterly unmoved.
Why must she always challenge me so? Every plan you make she defies, every explanation you give, she sees through in a moment. Her insights to your moods, always more accurate than you let on, seemed tender before, but intrusive now. Best give her more explanation. She is still so close to the door, so close to leaving forever. Use the gift of her time wisely.
"Hypatia is very ambitious, like most Slytherins are. She sees in him an opportunity to increase her standing and influence in the Ministry and the Magical world. It has also not escaped her notice that he is quite physically attractive. She presented this plan, which seemed to fulfill both one of her goals, as well as several of mine."
She allowed a pause, expecting to hear more. "That explains her motivations, but doesn't explain yours. Why would you want to play such a game? Was your goal simply your own smug entertainment?"
"I owed her a favor. This was our agreed resolution of that debt."
She was getting impatient now. "Professor Snape, I have remained here with the understanding that you had something to say to me before demonstrating the Scorpion Venom formula. I have no desire to play '20 questions,' or any other manipulative game, with you. You may either say what you think I need to know plainly, or I'll be on my way, formula or not."
He was on track to losing her yet again. Tell her everything, as you pledged. The only thing you have to lose is everything.
"Earlier in the year, I had made Hypatia a job offer." At this, Hunter's face hardened. "She was to be your junior colleague," he added quickly. "I had planned to offer you the Head of the Potions Department then." This was getting into difficult territory. "Circumstances intervened, and I was forced to withdraw the offer to her and to then re-examine the structure of the Potions Department. Hypatia was exceedingly displeased, but saw that my withdrawal of the offer put me in a position of indebtedness to her. She is not one to squander an opportunity, nor is she kind or merciful when she is angry, as I am sure you can picture. I saw a way to both provide for her a new opportunity, as well as to solve a problem of my own."
You must keep going, whether you are inclined to do so or not. She is giving YOU a gift in not simply leaving. Tell her, as much as you can stand.
He began again. "Parse Winder is a lucky man to be where he is, as Hufflepuffs rarely possess the ambition and cunning needed to rise to high positions in their careers. He is also a vain man, approaching middle age, concerned that his glory days of sporting championship may be behind him. Despite their working relationship, he'd grown attracted to her, as she can be appealing if she chooses to. He'd played a bit hard to get with her, putting her off, thinking he must not be seen to be trying too hard for her, not knowing how much this would injure her pride. He played a game with her, and she was having none of it. Nothing stirs a vain man to action like jealousy."
Jealousy, that's what was driving you down to the dungeons, to Malfoy Manor, to the Quidditch pitch, even to this classroom. Not wistfulness, not wishfulness, jealousy. You are sadly easy to manipulate yourself, Morgan, little different from Parse Winder. And the duelling...
"He didn't want to lose her, and certainly not to a poor, skinny schoolmaster like myself. I'd already thwarted his plans to confiscate this fortune he believed I was hiding, thus he also wanted revenge against me. But it wasn't only a matter of smug manipulation, as it might appear." This was going to be difficult, risky territory, but he had to confess, to tell the whole story. "I was also trying to divert his interest from you."
At this, Hunter crossed her arms and glared, the silent question clear on her face. He could almost feel her muscles preparing to leave. He continued.
"I saw how he flattered you with every visit, heard you talk about your holiday visit, saw the way he stood too close, held your hand too long. He planned more talks with the Ministry, introducing you to more and more important witches and wizards there. Even before his letter to you after your poisoning, I knew he would try to offer you a job. If he were distracted, I would have the chance to make my own offer, paltry though it may be." He paused, as she simply waited it out. They both knew there was more to be said. "And…I was jealous."
He'd said it. What he hadn't even wanted to tell himself. "I am no better than Parse Winder. I, too, am approaching middle age. If I had any glory days at all, they are most certainly behind me. However, I have no money, little power outside the grounds of this school, no charm, no good looks, and a rather dismal future ahead, for at least 49 years. I can't compete with Parse Winder. What witch wouldn't want him rather than me?"
I did. I wanted you. At least the you I thought you were. The things jealousy does to us, all of us.
"You insult me if you think I'd be interested in a jelly-brained blowhard like Parse Winder." She spoke as disgustedly as she could, arms still crossed, face still hardened.
"Jealousy blinded me." And fear of losing you, which I can do quite capably myself with no need of help from Parse Winder or any other wizard.
Her glare had softened somewhat. She now regarded him like an object in a museum, inspecting him. So at least Hypatia Alexander had some explanation. Rather a lot of drama for this purpose; her temper must be epic. If his intent were true, he was successful; at last notice, they'd pledged themselves to one another. And if Hypatia Alexander warranted this much drama for a rescinded job offer, what would she do with a broken pledge? Hunter smiled inwardly at the scenarios, then castigated herself for finding amusement in another's troubles.
She burned with questions, but also with a greater resolve not to get dragged into his verbal chess games. She had one primary question to ask, whether he wanted to talk about it or not.
"What does your wife think of all these clever games?"
She was impressed by his managing to bring forth authentic-looking confusion. "You've mentioned a wife before. Morgan, I have no wife. I am not married. I have never been married." And I am farther from that today than perhaps I ever have been before.
Even uttering the question was liberating. Now she prepared herself for lies, excuses, explanations. She sneered. "So you deny it, deny your marriage to Sybil Trelawney. You toasted with the Malfoys to your Unbreakable Vow. I witnessed it myself."
So that was why she was in the alley. She'd followed you to Malfoy Manor that day, apparently seeing only part of the events of that day. How did she know you were going? Why would she do that?
"You must only have seen a portion of the day. The Unbreakable Vow that we toasted I made during the war to protect Draco Malfoy, a former student of mine. It is an eternal vow, like any other, so it will persist as long as both of us are living. He has, or rather had, a manipulative and persistent admirer in Pansy Parkinson, who admired him primarily for his money, though his good looks and intelligence certainly added to his appeal. I arranged circumstances for her to become aware that his family has very little money now, despite their still having their very fine home and clothing. She had come intending they be wed that day, but changed her mind rather quickly once she understood the family's true situation. Professor Trelawney was there as my supervision, as per the conditions of my probation. We toasted Draco's rescue and our own gratefulness at having survived." At these words, he paused, remembering the many good witches and wizards who had not.
Hunter let those words sink in, feeling her stomach sink. He wasn't married, she'd been mistaken. The wedding the girls were excited for had been planned for Pansy Parkinson. He wasn't in love with Hypatia Alexander. Or at least he claimed as much. She wasn't going to pepper him with questions, wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of her inquisitiveness.
He regarded her, still skeptical, still reserved, still distant. His ache for her had only grown, now that she wasn't hurtling hexes and spells at him. He longed to understand what she needed, what was the method to regain her trust, to pull her to him again as she once been, before he'd made so many mistakes. He'd made her the job offer, explained about Hypatia, and Trelawney. He had no access to the gifts he'd planned for her. Now there was only one thing further to do and he needed to do it quickly, as he'd lost so many chances before believing there was time. As difficult as it had been to allow himself to be defeated in a duel in front of the entire staff and school, to behave like a love-struck teenager once again in a painful echo from his own school days, to admit his jealousy both to her and to himself, what was to come next would be even more difficult. If ever he needed bravery in peacetime, this was it.
"Morgan, I have given you so very little reason to trust me, so very little reason to believe my words. It is a great kindness for you to stay for these few minutes to hear me out. I will tell you the formula for the antidote, but I have more I need to say." Everything that he'd done with Lily, he'd done a second time. He'd been angry, fearful, spoken words he couldn't take back, and now he was begging for forgiveness, yet again. Only a fool would do the same thing repeatedly and expect different results. He was that fool. "I disbelieved you after the story came out in the Prophet. I deserted you. I cannot forgive myself for these mistakes, especially after my invasion of you last fall. I cannot even bring myself to beg for your forgiveness, yet again, as this is far too much to ask. I only ask you to stay, let me show you who I can be. At the end of the school year, you can decide for yourself to leave or to go. I only ask for your time."
Her heart ached, hearing words that sounded so beautiful in her ears. Words of reconciliation, words of respect. But still, only words. She'd seen so many actions, some explained today, but still only words. He hadn't cast a spell or jinx at her in their duel, which meant something. He was now completely disarmed in her presence, a strong showing of trust. But did that change her own trust in him? So many months of sadness, so many months of darkness in her soul could not be undone in a single conversation, no matter the words.
"Show me the formula."
He closed his eyes. It wasn't working. It wasn't enough. He was getting the same results as before. He gave thought to kneeling, begging, but knew before he started this would be worthless, as it had been before. It wasn't about how he felt. She now knew how he felt. Her own heart needed to change. But how, oh, how?
Resignedly, he turned to the boards. Every one was cracked, the chalk scattered across the stones of the floor. "Morgan, may I get my wand to repair the boards and help write the formula? Otherwise, it may take me all evening to write it out by hand." She gave a short nod. He noted her hand near her wand as he went to retrieve his.
"I'll help you repair the boards," she said, drawing out her own wand.
In tandem, their "Reparos" mended the chasms in the boards. They also righted and fixed a few of the desk and stools. Morgan waved the books back on the shelf while Snape patched the walls a bit. Once the classroom looked like a classroom again, rather than a battleground, he began.
"First, the ingredients," he said, waving a long list on the board. "Note that there is an equal proportion of New World and Old World components. Neither set of known substances alone has been found to act as an antidote to the present day, but little effort has been made to bring them together."
Hunter read them, many of which they'd used in their research. She pondered their characteristics as he now began to write up the preparation of each: the grinding of minerals from particular places; the harvesting, chopping, and drying of plants from both hemispheres; the sacrifice and preparation of insects, frogs, and lizards. He remarked on about the contribution each was making, confirming what Hunter had concluded upon reading the list. She took a step closer.
Now in a more comfortable setting, lecturing rather than confessing, his voice became more rhythmic, less labored. She listened carefully.
"The beetle carapace adds to the strength of the quartzite powder," she intoned. He nodded and continued on, noting the contribution each made, illustrating the theories about how each item would strengthen another. She understood every step, every preparation. "Grind instead of the traditional shredding, to release the active ingredient faster in the extraction."
She became immersed in the discussion, lost within the formula, the tone of his voice soothing her previous agitations as she began to focus on the lecture, rather than the lecturer. Every step, building on the next. An astonishingly complex formula, but perfect in its purpose. She knew what the method of brewing would be even before he drew it, a rapid extraction from the minerals, a slow, thorough boil of the plants, followed by the separation, then the frog intestine and lizard bones dissolving in the concentrate. By the time he reached the step of combining with the dry powders, she drew the equipment set-up for him.
It was heaven on earth, to think this way again. She was nearly out of breath again, but now in a good way. She was doing more of the lecturing than he was, wishing he would draw faster, finish faster. All the work they'd done on other meldings of Old and New World Potions, every experiment with other techniques, other vessels, he'd used here to great effect. He'd correct her drawings, say more about the origins of items or the best season for harvest. We can talk about all that later. Please just go on with this amazing potion.
He tried desperately to slow the lecture down, for all too soon he would reach the penultimate step. He tried to say more about the theory, to mention attempts that hadn't worked. Incompatible ingredients, fractured vessels, worthless results. But she would simply step in and draw out the next step without even needing him to explain it. He made a few mostly minor corrections, just to buy a bit more time. She would impatiently start to talk about the next step, draw a parallel to their earlier classroom work, connect a theory here to a result there. She was constantly three thoughts ahead of him, and one drawing ahead. Slow down, he begged to himself. I want this to last forever. I want to be your Scheherazade.
Now nearly out of breath, she turned to him. "What's next? We are at the end of the list of components, everything is combined, but this still won't work. There's still something missing. It's almost there, but not quite. It doesn't feel right."
He couldn't look at her, couldn't allow himself even a glimpse. He kept his eyes on the board, on the last thing written there. Had he drawn it or had she? He didn't know, their efforts together had been so seamless. She was right, of course.
She couldn't take her eyes off him. What was going through his mind? Her thoughts, once tumbling forward, now came full stop. He was hesitating. He wasn't going to tell her, not the full formula. He hadn't expected her to catch on so well, had underestimated her. He tricked you. You listened to his sob story, gave your time, and he's not going to give you the whole formula. You let yourself get carried away, like you always do, so ready to believe it will all go back to the way it was. Have you learned nothing of this wizard? You'd be better off blind.
Her voice, just moments before music ringing in his ears, was now back to the chilly tone he'd heard too much of today. "We had a deal, Snape. I stayed to listen to your sob story, and you were to give me formula. Not half the formula, not three-quarters, but the whole thing."
He turned to her now, met her eyes. With no more hesitation, he said "Blood."
She narrowed her eyes, silent.
"The missing component is blood."
She looked back at the board, running down the ingredients and methods in her mind. Blood would enhance the power, but just any blood wouldn't do. Nothing cold-blooded, so invertebrates and lizards were out. Birds and small animals with fast metabolisms would have hot blood, but it would take so many to harvest, it would decimate their populations irresponsibly. Larger mammals, like deer or coyotes, would have enough blood, but any decent Potioneer would struggle to find a need for all the other body parts. Try as she might, she couldn't make the formula work, not powerfully enough to revive and strengthen a person who'd received as much venom as she had. There was more he wasn't telling her, wasn't sharing with her.
Morgan Hunter had reached the end of her patience. The day had been the most exhausting day of her life since the day Phillipus died, with intellectual, emotional, and physical battles fought. Win, lose, and draw. What did she know of this man, truly? Talk was cheap and she'd seen for herself how much of a manipulator he could be. Parse, the Wizengamot, other staff at the school, even students. And her. Where did it begin and end? Why believe any words from a wizard so obviously accustomed to deceit and misrepresentation? He clearly had long practiced identifying a person's weaknesses and exploiting them to his advantage. He knew she had faced the death of her husband, knew that she found him desirable on so many levels, because she had been honest with him. He had thought her weak and needy, and had been surprised to find out something of her strength. Now he was in the position of needing to negotiate, a position in which he clearly felt uncomfortable. Severus Snape, you've found another witch who might just be able to play your game on equal footing, to your surprise, she thought smugly.
To what end? Her goal was only to get away from this place, to return to the desert and begin her life again. What was his? He knew now where the money for the school had come from, knew that Ethinian had attacked her in anger because he thought he had lost any chance of getting her fortune. Unless he wanted a large collection of cauldrons of various sizes, shapes and materials and a nice library of Western Hemisphere Potions books, she was of no particular use to him. Was it a matter of ego to retain her on staff? Several wizards and witches had implied that her working here reflected very positively on Hogwarts in general and Snape in particular. He hadn't been pressing her to stay, hadn't offered her a more permanent job until today, so that, too, might be a ruse.
She could still make the 5:30 train in Hogsmeade.
"Thank you for sharing this, Professor Snape. Perhaps I'm just not seeing what you intend me to see. I'll be going now. I'll send for the rest of my things later."
He'd never heard her sound so emotionless before, her tone flat, her eyes lifeless. She listlessly pocketed her wand, turned and walked to the door.
Every fiber of his brain rebelled. NO. NO. NO. Not again. He needed her, had to have her. She was the key to any future he might have, the link somehow to the mermaid girl. His mind reeled, all other thoughts erased. Morgan, no. Please, no.
NO. NO. NO. She can't leave. You can't stop her. This must not happen, I can't allow it, can't bear it, can't prevent it. I have nothing left to give. I've made the job offer, explained all the foolish and confusing situations, shared a most precious formula. I have nothing left. Without her, I will be nothing.
"The formula could be better, if I had an able partner to help me. No, an equal, a colleague, a collaborator."
She paused, turned, and regarded him coolly.
He gave up his resistance to begging. "Morgan, please stay, please work with me, please be with me. You've ensnared my senses, inhabited my veins. I'm not sure I can even live without you." His hand twitched against his wand. That's the worst thing you could do. It wouldn't solve your real problem, and she might hex you out these windows. With great effort, he made sure his wand hand was still.
She turned again and walked out the door.