About A Potions Master

Chapter 17

By Pigwidgeon37

Still cursing, Severus went into his laboratory and plucked a vial filled with antidote out of one of the cupboards. It counteracted many of the more common poisons, so if they were lucky he wouldn’t even have to run a blood analysis for Black. Stupid Gryffindor! As if scampering across the grounds on three legs was not bad enough! No, he has to go and poison himself. But then, they always get themselves into trouble. Thick-skulled idiots.

He didn’t go to the Hospital Wing by Floo, because the vial might have broken—Floo travel was a rather rough business, even when you were used to it.  So he strode through the corridors, occasionally barking reprimands at passing students. Finally arriving at the infirmary, he threw open the door, partly to make a dramatic entrance but also to vent his anger at the completely innocent door. The more innocent the victim, the more—He heard the words “Petrificus Totalus”, swayed dangerously and was caught by an astonishingly healthy-looking Sirius Black.

“Easy, old boy,” Black said, grinning. “Sorry for the little ruse, but how should we have got you out of those mouldy dungeons without it?”

He tried to strain against the binding spell, but to no avail. Black hadn’t been chosen as DADA instructor for nothing. Then he heard the footfall of two persons, and into his field of vision stepped—oh, how he would have wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn’t. His mother and Dumbledore. Oh, Merlin! He was to get a lecture by the two people he simply couldn’t hex all the way to Halloween.

“Hello, Severus,” Dumbledore said merrily, “Like Sirius, I have to apologize for this undignified little scheme to coax you out of your quarters. We will take off the body bind now—the door is locked and warded, and the internal Floo access is temporarily blocked, so there is no need for you to run. Sirius, if you please…”

“What a pity,” Black said, still grinning—Snape wondered whether his face wouldn’t seize up sooner or later. “Okay, I’ll undo the spell. But I warn you, Severus, if you start to roar invectives at us, I’ll cast Boccamutus immediately. And don’t even try anything with your wand. My reflexes are still intact, and I wouldn’t like having to stun you.”

Snape knew a defeat when he saw one. Therefore, when Black released him from the body bind, he simply crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the three people.

Dumbledore, utterly unimpressed by his Potions Master’s murderous stare, conjured four squashy armchairs. “Have a seat, everybody,” he said, offering Mrs. Snape his arm in a chivalrous gesture and guiding her to her chair.  “Sirius, Severus, sit down, please.”

“I will not sit down,” Snape growled. He knew that it was stubborn and childish, but he wanted to have at least the advantage of his height in this thoroughly embarrassing situation.

His mother shook her head and looked daggers at him. “Very well,” she snapped, “But please refrain from stuffing your fingers into your ears when we speak to you.”

“That,” he retorted acidly, “depends entirely on what you are obviously convinced of having to tell me. What do you want, all of you?”

“First,” his mother said, pulling a small black book that looked like a diary out of her pocket, “I want you to read this. From the page I have marked onwards.”

With a derisive snort, he strode over to take the small volume, opened it at the page indicated by a silver clip and… froze. “How dare you!” he hissed, at no one in particular, “How dare you even think of making me read this… this sentimental hogwash! Here!” He held the book out to his mother. “Take it and never, never do anything of the sort again. I am old enough to deal with my life on my own, much as you obviously regret it.”

His mother simply looked at him, lips pinched, eyes flaming, but didn’t take the book.

“Severus,” Dumbledore said quietly, “If you are really so convinced that Miss Granger is, er, unworthy of your affections, what harm can it do to read what she wrote in her diary? Come now, read it, and then ponder your decision.”

“I want him to leave!” Snape spat, pointing at Sirius. “How could you have let him in on the whole matter? You had no right—”

“Severus, try to be reasonable!” Black said, “This isn’t a childish prank, nobody wants to make fun of you. Or humiliate you, or whatever you want. If you had taken the whole affair with as much equanimity as you pretend to possess, we probably wouldn’t have done anything. But you imprisoned yourself in your own dungeons, and afterwards you have been completely insufferable for more than a week. It does eat away at you, there’s no point in denying that.”

Snape moved over to stand directly in front of him, looming black and ominously.  “Since when have you begun the career of a Soul Healer, Black?” he snarled. “I admit that being rejected by that… girl was a blow, but who told you I might want to change my mind on her behalf? This—” he tapped the diary with his index finger “—certainly will do nothing to reconsider the opinion I forged about her.”

“Then reading it is a waste of five minutes at worst,” Black retorted. “Read it, get over with it, and then do as you see fit.”

“I… oh, all right, all right, if you insist,” Snape exclaimed, throwing up his hands in exasperation.

Dumbledore and Mrs. Snape exchanged a quick look and a minuscule smile, while the Potions Master settled down in the empty armchair and opened the book once again. For a few minutes there was silence.

“And what, pray, does this prove?” Snape asked finally, snapping the diary shut.

“It proves nothing, Severus,” his mother said. “It merely demonstrates that Hermione is in love with you, and she never mentions Mr. Weasley. I am the only one who read it,” she explained, seeing the pained expression on her son’s face, “and I daresay that, given her many scruples about herself and your relationship in general, she would certainly have referred to Ron Weasley as a possible source of scruples, had there been a bond of any kind between them.”

Snape gave a short laugh. “This is ridiculous, mother. You could have written that. After all, she left everything at the Manor. How easy to enchant a quill to imitate her handwriting and jot down some sickeningly sweet nonsense.”

Dumbledore heaved a deep sigh. “All right, Severus, if you are that stubborn, I am afraid we have to resort to more drastic measures.”

Before Snape could do anything to defend himself, Black—who had never put away his wand but kept it pointed towards him—muttered a spell, and thin, silvery ropes shot out of the armrests and legs of the chair Snape was sitting on.

“Thank you, Sirius,” Dumbledore said and rose from his seat. “Cassandra, the vial, please.”

Mrs. Snape plunged her hand into the depths of her robe, extracted a vial and handed it to the Headmaster. Snape, who had been trying to wrestle his arms free of the bonds, gave up and lifted his head.

“What is that?” he asked, looking at the muddy-brown, thick liquid in the glass vessel.

“Something you had the good grace of leaving in your laboratory at the Manor, simmering peacefully,” his mother answered. “And believe me, we will put it to good use. Now open your mouth and drink.”

He shook his head. “I will not drink this vile concoction. What kind of harebrained scheme is this, anyway? Who do you want me to turn into?”

His mother gave a wicked smile. “The only person who can gather sufficient proof that Hermione Granger is in love with you, and not with Ron Weasley. Prepare yourself for a rough hour, dear son.”

**°°**°°**

“Ginny! What a pleasant surprise!” Molly Weasley hugged her daughter. “I thought you had to prepare dinner for tonight.”

“Yes, I do,” Ginny said, “but that can wait. It’s ten in the morning, I’ll have more than enough time in the afternoon. Besides, the dinner is the reason for my visit. I need your recipe for the Apple-and-Gooseberry Pie. And I thought it would be nicer to come here than just call you by Floo.”

“Of course,” said Mrs. Weasley, already rummaging through the shelf that held her recipe books, “Oh, dear, oh, dear, where is it?—Would you like to prepare some coffee in the meantime?” she asked over her shoulder.

Ginny got up, nodding and smiling, and began the ritual of coffee-making. “How’s Ron?” she asked, seemingly not very interested.

Her mother gave a growl like an infuriated lioness. “Your brother, who unfortunately is also my son, is upstairs in his room, sulking. He is under house arrest, until he sees reason.”

Ginny’s eyes grew wide. “House arrest? Mum, he’s twenty-one, you can’t—”

“Oh yes, I can. He behaved like a fifteen-year-old, so he will be punished like a fifteen-year-old. Believe me,” she said, turning round towards her daughter, victoriously brandishing the recipe, “nothing would have made me happier than to see him and Hermione together. You know how much I like her. But the way he behaved towards her was simply abominable. He would have deserved more than just a broken nose and some teeth less.”

“But his face has been fixed, hasn’t it?” Ginny inquired.

“Yes, and it cost his father ten galleons. Not that it was worth a single of them. And he will have to repay them.”

Ginny chuckled. In a way, she even pitied Ron, but his confinement to his rooms fitted perfectly into the plan. “How long will he have to stay… uh, under arrest?”

“As long as is necessary to recognize his mistake. But at least until tomorrow evening. No weekend out, chasing girls, oh no, not with me!”

Ginny nodded. “I see. Is he allowed downstairs for meals?”

“Ha!” her mother said, “Of course not. I banish them up to his room. In fact, I simply put a ward on the third floor landing and the windows, so he can go to the bathroom, but nothing else. Seeing as how that lazy slunk hasn’t yet gotten his Apparition license, there’s no way he can get out of the house.”

“Wards!” Ginny gasped, “What… what kind of wards?”

“Oh, just a simple Nolimetangere. Keyed only to him, of course, and I have confiscated his wand. We can get through, should the necessity arise.”

Ginny let out a small sigh of relief. “How very ingenious, mum. You thought of everything.”

“Well,” Mrs. Weasley said with a satisfied smile, “It’s not as if I had never done it before. Remember how often Fred and George had to stay upstairs? Which did not,” she continued, her brow darkening, “prevent them from developing that nonsensical stuff while left to their own devices.”

“Oh come on, mum,” Ginny laughed, “they own a thriving business now. Time you forgave them for the Ton-Tongue-Toffees. And now tell me: is it better to use the apples with or without the peel?”

**°°**°°**

You offered a girl a future, Ron mused, and all you got was a bloody nose and house arrest. First, Harry had got mad at him, then Hermione, and finally his mother. What the hell had he done wrong? They all claimed he had behaved horribly, made a terrible mistake, destroyed budding love affairs… Love affairs!  Ridiculous! Who would have a love affair with Snape? Or, more to the point, who would have a love affair with Snape if they could have one with Ron Weasley?

He shook his head and stared at the ceiling. To own the truth, he was hurt.  Hermione had humiliated him in front of the whole Ministry. Well, not the whole Ministry, but gossip had travelled fast, and by Monday evening everybody had known. What an unfortunate coincidence that he had had his appointment with Fudge on Monday morning. Although he had to admit that he was not completely devoid of luck, for he would start working only on 15 September. Plenty of time for the others to forget. Maybe one or two teasing comments, and that would be it. But to be knocked out by a woman! On the other hand, she had caught him completely unawares. So maybe it wasn’t such a shame after all… His nose was slightly crooked now… not that he minded, it gave him an even more daredevil appearance. A man with a straight nose was a man who had never gotten into a fight. No need to tell anybody that it had been a twenty-one-year-old female lightweight who had granted him this attribute of virility.

She had been looking horrible! Despite his astonishment at not receiving a reply—for Pigwidgeon had returned all right, only letter-less—he had to say he was glad she hadn’t accepted his offer when he had seen her on Monday. What a mess! That hair! He had always thought she lacked the necessary curves—breasts like two peas on a wooden board!—but she had certainly deteriorated. Well, maybe Snape the Vampire liked haggard women. Perverse bastard!

Ron glanced at his watch. Half past twelve. Definitely time for lunch. His stomach was making very angry sounds indeed. At least they didn’t starve him like the Dursleys had done with Harry, that summer after their… which year had it been? Their first, if he remembered correctly. He went to the window to try and catch a whiff of kitchen aroma wafting up. Careful not to touch the ward, he leaned forward and inhaled deeply. Roast chicken? And… he sniffed again.  Mushrooms. Definitely. Nodding in satisfaction, he turned round and gasped. In front of him stood a tall, grey-haired witch he had never seen in his life. She was looking him up and down with an expression very similar to disgust, out of black eyes that seemed familiar. And she was pointing her wand at him.

“Mr. Weasley, I presume?”

Gods, she sounded posh! “Y-yes,” he said cautiously, “And who—”

A shark-like smile. “Sit down, Mr. Weasley.”

Considering that the tip of her wand was unwaveringly directed towards him, he thought it better not to refuse and slouched towards his bed, to sit down.

“Wonderful,” she said. “Petrificus Totalus.”

**°°**°°**

Pacing her flat, Hermione was deeply engrossed in her thoughts. She had accepted Ginny and Harry’s invitation to Godric’s Hollow, and Ginny had assured her that there were going to be only the three of them. Fine with her. Difficult enough to spend an evening with a happy couple. She had been feeling better since she had beaten the hell out of Ron five days ago—her knuckles were still bruised but she had no intention of magically healing them. Not because of the nice shade of green they had assumed in the meantime, but because they were something like a visible sign that she had finally gotten again some semblance of control over her life.

Yes, her overall mood had improved. The pain was still lingering, waiting for moments of distraction, where it would pounce and grab her, but all in all she felt definitely better. After the encounter with Ron, which had earned her, besides the satisfaction, an extremely tedious half-hour in Cornelius Fudge’s office, she had decided that, even though she couldn’t think of another man at the moment, there was no reason for her to look like an old display dummy dragged out from under the municipal toxic waste dump. Apart from that, it was probably better not to look her worst when visiting at Godric’s Hollow, for the more pitiable she looked, the more she was likely to be pitied.  Only if she appeared more or less normal was there any chance of dismissing the topic of her liaison with Severus as unimportant. The difficulty consisted in finding the right thing to wear. If she was too bright and shiny, the shrewd Potter couple was never going to buy it. In the end, she settled for simple black trousers (transfigured), a plain white silk shirt and flat black shoes.  Hair—well, probably it was best to simply plait it. A dab of pink on the lips.

She controlled her image in the mirror and nodded in satisfaction. Definitely the epitome of female poise. A bit hollow under the cheekbones. And there were shadows under her eyes. Then again, she didn’t have to be perfect, did she? With an encouraging nod to herself, she tucked her wand into her sleeve and Disapparated.

**°°**°°**

“No!” Snape groaned, after he had recovered from the unpleasant, stomach-and-skin-wrenching effects of the potion. He looked from his freckled and decidedly inelegant hands down to his shoes that were almost bursting with a pair of overlarge feet.

“Congratulations,” Sirius said, trying not to grin. “Now let me adapt your clothes, and off you go by Floo.”