APoE update, chapter 7

[fabricatedemons]

I've finally updated on most of the sites where this fic is posted (yes, I am a review junkie), so I thought I'd add it here, too.

Another Plane of Existence
Chapter Seven: The Draught of Living Death


Disclaimer: The HPverse belongs to JK Rowling. I merely play in it.

The Draught of Living Death

“And now that you’ve all been reminded of Mr. Filch’s ever-expanding list of rules, contraband, and,” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled in amusement, “ramifications, I have one final announcement to make.”

Severus leaned forward, resting his sharp elbows on the table and placing his chin in the palms of his hands. His stomach was protesting its emptiness in a low series of grumbles, and he was quite ready for the Headmaster’s speech to come to an end. Similar rustling and whispers around the hall made it apparent that he wasn’t the only one tired and ready for a good meal.

“I’m sure many of you have read reports of increasing threats and hostility in the Daily Prophet, tied to a radical group who call themselves Death Eaters.” Dumbledore’s clear, blue eyes surveyed the hall, lingering on each of the students, if only for a moment. Severus had always found his gaze unsettling, especially when he was subjected to it for more than a few seconds. “These reports are not unfounded, and I urge you to proceed with extreme caution both inside and outside of Hogwarts.”

Severus and Rabastan exchanged looks. Rabastan’s brow wrinkled in confusion, and he shook his head slightly, shrugging his shoulders. Apparently, other students were also looking puzzled because Dumbledore nodded emphatically, the silvery hairs in his beard glittering in the candlelight. “Oh yes, I can assure you that I do everything within my power to ensure your safety while you are under my care, but my actions are limited by your own decisions. Dumbledore paused and gave the entire student body a grave look. “I suggest you choose wisely.”

The Great Hall went quiet. Everyone seemed to be waiting for further explanation. Even the professors, Severus noted, looked weary. Professor McGonagall’s eyes were locked on Dumbledore, and her lips were pursed. Slughorn was frowning, stroking an end of his moustache thoughtfully. Dumbledore, however, did not seem disposed to impart any more information, and instead sat down and tucked his beard back away from the table.

Next to Severus, Rabastan snorted and shook his head, muttering something unintelligible.

Severus didn’t pay any mind to Rabastan, but did feel the need to lift an eyebrow when Dumbledore grabbed a fork in one hand and a knife in the other. “Enjoy the feast,” the eccentric Headmaster announced cheerfully. Immediately, heaping piles of delicious food filled the empty serving pieces on each table.

It was as if he hadn’t addressed the students with an important warning at all.

Everyone in the hall slowly began helping himself and herself to food, exchanging personal conclusions as to where Dumbledore’s speech had stemmed from. Though a good portion of the Slytherin table had an idea why the Death Eaters had been mentioned, they didn’t necessarily find it unsurprising. After all, Dumbledore had not mentioned his concerns about the current politics before.

An unsettling feeling developed in the pit of Severus’s stomach, though he wasn’t sure if he could merely attribute it to near-starvation or not. In any case, he kept quiet while the others discussed how Hogwarts’ student population might be affected by Death Eaters, deciding it would be in his best interest to simply listen and file away the information for later examination.

“What was that all about?” someone asked.

Severus, who’d been solely fixated on devouring the Cornish pasty in front of him, glanced up and spotted Florence, who’d approached the table and was eyeing the selection of food in front of the boys. He eyed her with disinterest before turning back to his meal. He sincerely doubted that she was clueless as to where Dumbledore’s small speech stemmed from, and he knew very well that she wasn’t there to engage him in conversation. Rosier was sitting across from him, after all.

“Maybe he’s worried we’re all going to turn into Death Eaters and start a murderous rampage throughout the school,” Rosier replied lightly.

Snape paused long enough to observe their interaction. Florence had rolled her eyes to the ceiling, but her lips were curled up into an amused smile. Rosier still had his back to her and was waggling his eyebrows at the Slytherin boys in a mischievous fashion. The boys groaned and gave him dirty looks, which of course only encouraged him, so he shifted slightly and gave Florence an admiring look. Looping his arm around her waist, Rosier pulled her to him. “How was your summer, Flo?”

“Oh, it was good,” she said absently. She placed her hand on top of Rosier’s head and ran her fingers through his hair. It was a graceful, affectionate gesture that both intrigued and disgusted Severus. He shoved a bite of Cornish pasty into his mouth.

“Did you miss me?” Rosier asked. He didn’t bother looking at her; his eyes were fixated absently on something over Severus’s left shoulder.

Florence’s cheeks flushed pink; she was obviously unwilling to admit anything of the sort in front of a bunch of teenaged boys. She removed her hand from Evan’s hair and squeezed his shoulder gently. “If you can find me later, I’ll give you your answer,” she whispered. Lowering her lashes coyly, she nodded to the other boys, grabbed a scone from the plate in front of Rosier, and left. The boys watched her settle down on the bench a ways away, next to Narcissa and Amycus Carrow.

“When you find out the answer to that, Evan,” Rabastan piped up wryly, “you’d better share the knowledge.”

Evan snorted. “I’m not going to have you wanking off to obscene fantasies based on my love life,” he replied. “Get your own bird, why don’t you?”

Rabastan’s gaze drifted to Narcissa and back again, not bothering to be discreet about it. Evan watched him and laughed derisively. “If she’s your goal,” he added, “then you’re better off in your own little fantasy world.”

Severus, sharing a similar opinion, sniggered, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’re not pretty enough,” he said with a snort, thinking of Lucius Malfoy.

This, of course, was incredibly amusing to the rest of the Slytherins, with the exception of Rabastan.

Severus picked up his goblet and lifted it to his twisted smirk, completely unaware that something mushy and wet was flying at his forehead. It hit him with a soft slopping sound, bouncing off of his nose and landing in his goblet with a plop. He yelped angrily and glared into his drink. A piece of cooked carrot was floating in his pumpkin juice, and he stared at it, torn between shock and anger.

The other Slytherins must have found the look on his face hysterical, seeing as that they were all nearly falling off their benches with laughter. Rabastan was the only one not laughing, though he did have a suspiciously smug look on his face. He crossed his arms over his chest and exhaled loudly out of his nose. “Says the prettiest bloke in Slytherin house, Severus Snape.” His wide mouth curled up into a sneer. “Orange suits you, by the way. Perhaps the next set of dress robes you buy-maybe to celebrate your fortieth birthday-will be orange.”

“Sod off,” Severus replied tartly, and grabbed his fork, stabbing at his pasty furiously. Although he considered throwing food beneath him, he did maintain a certain esteem for cutting remarks. “I may not be pretty, but at least no one has ever questioned whether or not there is troll blood in my lineage.”

Rabastan blinked at him, and Severus saw something nasty developing behind his brown eyes. He dropped his hand to his side, gently patting the pocket where his wand was hidden. He’d be ready should Lestrange decide to try anything.

Rabastan, however, seemed more interested in the origin of that rumour than hexing Snape, which was, by and large, lucky. Severus didn’t really want to lose points on the first day of school.

Lestrange fixed him with a dark look. “Who said that?” he demanded.

Severus shrugged. “Some girls.”

This, of course, seemed to infuriate Rabastan even further, which was Severus’s intention. “Which girls?” Rabastan snapped, frowning and turning his head to eye every female who was present in the Great Hall. “Who was it?”

Snape swiped at his forehead with a napkin, grinning maliciously. “Oh, there were so many of them I could hardly pinpoint an individual voice,” he said, enjoying the furious growl that was Lestrange’s reply.

“More than one of them?” Lestrange finally managed to sputter. “Which house do they belong to?"

Snape shook his head slowly, still smiling. “It’s hard to say,” he said silkily. “I told you that there were quite a lot of them.”

“Who were they?” Rabastan bellowed, slamming his fist down onto the table. Naturally, this attracted a lot of attention, even from the professors’ table, and the boys immediately began to shrink under Professor McGonagall’s stern glare.

Rosier grunted unappreciatively. “Who cares?” he said dismissively, then shook his fork at both Severus and Rabastan. “They’re probably the same ninnies that think Snape is part vampire. Now, will you let me enjoy my dinner in peace, please? You’ve nearly driven me to join the firsties.” He eyed them both with an unorthodox (for Rosier, anyhow), severe stare that shut both Rabastan and Severus up, if only for a moment.

Severus was caught off guard by Rosier’s sharp reproval, and Lestrange also appeared to be surprised, but it didn’t stop either of them from being suspicious of his new behaviour. Severus turned to see if Florence had been watching them, and sure enough, she was gazing at Rosier with what Severus could only assume was admiration.

He shook his head. “You’ll stop at nothing,” he muttered to Rosier. “Pathetic.” He glanced back in Florence’s direction and happened to catch Narcissa’s eye. Her gaze flickered to Florence and back, and she shook her head, though the movement was so slight he nearly thought he’d imagined it.

They exchanged amused looks, obviously sharing like sentiments, and Narcissa gave him a small smile before turning back to the girls, leaving him to stare bemusedly at the tidy knot in which her hair was done. He tried his best to seem unaffected by the private exchange, knowing fully well that Lestrange could possibly be watching. It was hard to get most things concerning Narcissa past Rabastan, mostly because he fancied her. Severus didn’t want to start any more trouble, and Rabastan could easily misconstrue any interest Severus showed in Narcissa. Still, the small, shared moment left him feeling pleased.

“Pathetic?” Rosier chuckled, apparently oblivious to the goings-on in his surrounding environment. “You won’t be thinking that later, when you’re lonely and cold in your bed.”

Severus scowled at him, but didn’t waste any effort on arguing that point.

* * *

The potions classroom had changed only a little since last term. The jars and bottles of various ingredients had been refilled, the tables had been scrubbed and purged of any telltale burn marks or accident stains, and a cauldron of something that smelled intoxicating bubbled near the front of the room. Even though he wasn’t exactly fond of Professor Slughorn, the potions room did offer Severus a certain amount of comfort. It was the one class in which he felt at ease since entering Hogwarts, and he had been able to excel without much strenuous effort.

He was the first to arrive for NEWT level potions, it seemed, so he walked over to the front corner table, set down his satchel with a soft thud, and made his way over to the large cauldron to inspect it. The surface of the opalescent potion shimmered, and spiralling wisps of steam rose towards the ceiling. He stood over the potion and leaned down, narrowing his eyes at the forming bubbles. A rather large one popped, and a fresh burst of aroma reached Severus’s nose. The scent filled him with both contentment and longing.

Unfortunately, it only lasted a minute-exactly to the point at which he realized just what was holding his interest.

“You must be joking,” he muttered, quickly taking a step backwards.

At first glance he’d suspected that it was a feminine potion in nature, perhaps some sort of cosmetic brew, what with the steam spirals and the mother-of-pearl sheen. Upon further inspection, however, he realized it was what he should have suspected in the first place--a love potion. He’d never had a high opinion of love potions, considering them silly and pathetic, and standing in such close proximity to one left him with a queer feeling in the pit of his stomach.

…Of course, he might also be able to attribute his discomfort to the fact that he was inexorably drawn to the aroma emanating from the brew. Unable to restrain himself, he closed his eyes and breathed in deeply; the vapours were captivating.

“Ah, Severus,” a jaunty voice greeted him. His eyes snapped open and fixed on Professor Slughorn, who was smiling at him from behind his large moustache. “Enjoying the Amortentia, are you? I thought you would find it intriguing.”

‘Amortentia,’ Snape thought, ‘of course.’ It was the greatest love potion in the world; he’d heard of it before. He opened his mouth to say so, but cut himself short upon hearing Slughorn’s little comment. “You thought I would?” he repeated, thinning his lips. Somehow he didn’t think Slughorn would be concerned about his love life, or lack thereof. Did he think Severus was some pitiable, wanton student whose only opportunity at love would be through a potion? His hair nearly curled at the thought.

“Of course,” Slughorn answered jovially. “You’re one of my most dedicated potions students. I thought you might be interested to see it, considering the fact that the brewing process is so involved.”

“Oh.” Severus mentally cursed himself for thinking so defensively. “I did find it interesting,” he admitted, somewhat ruefully. “What makes the smell so alluring?” He noticed movement in his peripheral vision and saw Evans approaching them, bag slung over her shoulder. His fingers clenched at his sides involuntarily.

“Gardenias,” she answered, placing her bag on the table next to Severus’s. “I smell gardenias, and it’s lovely!” She walked up to the cauldron, brushed her hair back behind her ears, and peered into it inquisitively.

“Lovely, indeed,” Slughorn chuckled. He beamed at her. “You may smell gardenias, my dear, but I assure you that gardenias are not on the ingredient list.”

“No?” She sounded surprised. “Oh, well, it smells just like my mother’s garden.”

Though Eileen Snape had no garden to speak of, Severus wasn’t unfamiliar with the smell of gardenias. “I don’t smell it,” he announced with a raised brow.

Evans opened her mouth to say something, but didn’t have the opportunity to answer. More students were arriving, and like Severus and Lily, they were all attracted to the Amortentia. Rabastan and Florence soon flanked Severus, both inhaling deeply.

Florence sighed dreamily before giving a small nod of acknowledgement to both Snape and Lestrange. He nodded once, and felt slightly relieved that he wasn’t alone with Evans anymore. Severus could make out Black, Potter, and Pettigrew’s faces on the other side of the cauldron, faces obscured by the spiralling steam. Lupin, predictably, was not there, which was a shame only for the fact that he was the most tolerable out of the lot of them. If their presences weren’t reality checks, Severus wasn’t sure what was. The intoxicating smell nearly turned sour on his palate. He had so hoped that they wouldn’t pass their O.W.L.s.

“Cor, it smells so good I could drink it,” Black said with a grin. “Like liquid sticky buns.” His grey eyes flickered around the room for confirmation, though they didn’t linger over the small group of Slytherins for very long. “It’s making me hungry.”

“I don’t smell sticky buns,” a Ravenclaw contended.

Florence shook her head and frowned. “No, not sticky buns. Don’t you smell aftershave?” She bit her lip shyly and glanced around. “It’s sort of like aftershave, I think.”

There was a lot of sniffing and mumbling going on as the students tried to detect the possible ingredients. Severus inhaled again, trying to discern gardenias or aftershave from the scent, but he simply didn’t smell them. He even tried to identify sticky buns, though he felt fairly certain that sticky buns were not active ingredients in this particular potion. He highly doubted that they were ingredients in any existing potion, for that matter. Black was such a dunderhead.

Professor Slughorn bobbed around the cauldron, stirring it with a large ladle and looking exceptionally pleased with himself. He didn’t appear to be ready to reveal the ingredient list, hanging the ladle back onto the wall and rubbing his palms together excitedly.

“Well?” he prompted, “what else do you smell?”

Potter cleared his throat. “Peter and I both smell butterbeer.” He sniffed again and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Is anyone else reminded of the Three Broomsticks?”

Sirius nodded. “Yeah, that too,” he agreed. “I can smell that.”

Rabastan, on the other hand, shook his head. “It doesn’t have a sweet smell,” he scoffed. “It’s not aftershave, either,” he said, looking down at Florence in disgust. Severus wondered if he, too, suspected that it was Rosier’s aftershave she smelled. “It’s more like Gringotts. You know, when you’re riding down to your vault. That’s the smell.” His nostrils flared as he took another whiff. “It’s good, whatever it is.”

Severus didn’t smell Gringotts, either, not that he had much of an idea as to what it smelled like. When he tried to distinguish the scents in the vapour, he was reminded of the library. In fact, he was sure that the smell reminded him of the library. There was also an antiquity about it that reminded him of the Slytherin common room. Perhaps that’s why he found the smell so comforting. He rather liked those areas of the castle.

A dozen heads bobbed up and down in agreement. At least everyone seemed to agree on that specific point.

“Piping good,” whispered Peter loudly. Snape sneered at him in disgust. Pettigrew was a piping idiot.

“Has anyone figured out why everyone perceives the smell of Amortentia differently?” Slughorn asked. He eyed the classroom expectantly, gaze flickering between Severus and Lily.

Severus cleared his throat. “Each person who smells Amortentia perceives the scent of what they find most,” he paused, trying to find the words, “appealing.”

The Gryffindor boys snickered and Severus shot them a death glare, but everyone else seemed to find this interesting. Florence, in particular, looked enchanted by this revelation.

“Very good, Severus,” praised Slughorn. “Twenty points to Slytherin.”

“I knew that,” whinged a Ravenclaw.

“That makes perfect sense,” Lily mused. “Amortentia is the most powerful love potion in the world, isn’t it?”

“It is,” replied Slughorn. “And it has an extremely difficult brewing process. I’ve been working on this for several months now.”

“Aren’t love potions frowned upon?” Rabastan asked shrewdly. “Not exactly illegal, but didn’t the ministry place some sort of statutes on them?”

A normal wizard might have tried to skirt around that issue, but Slughorn shrugged it off with a dismissive chuckle. “Mr. Lestrange, I leave the legalities to the Ministry and other legal officials. My duty as a Potions Master is to supply the demand, and in this case, the demand is high.”

Severus raised an eyebrow sceptically, and he wasn’t the only one. The students often wondered how much of Slughorn’s business was done on what Muggles would call the black market.

Slughorn waved an arm towards the tables and urged the students to take their seats. “Congratulations to all of you for your achievement in your OWLS and subsequent placement into this class. I was just remarking to Headmaster Dumbledore how pleased I was upon receiving my class roster; many of you show promise in the art of potion brewing.” His eyes glittered wily. “Some of you, no doubt, will be able to assist me in a special project that I will be beginning later this term.”

Severus recognized the glitter in Slughorn’s eyes. It was a hungry look, like a predator hunting its prey, and Severus was no fool; long ago he’d come to the conclusion that Slughorn used his students for his own benefit. And, like most things that Slughorn dealt with, the benefit probably had some sort of monetary value.

The students settled themselves into the four tables in the Potions classroom. Severus took his seat at the far table, and Lestrange and Florence soon joined him. Evans, whose bag was next to Severus’s, sat down on the stool beside him without a word.

He looked at her sharply and then darted a glance at his tablemates. Florence was eyeing Evans in a hostile sort of way, and Lestrange had an uninviting scowl plastered across his face.

“What do you think you’re doing, mudblood?” he growled contemptuously.

Severus closed his eyes briefly, preparing for the worst. Why did she insist on putting herself in compromising positions? She was extremely foolish. He sighed and opened his eyes, waiting for Evans’ response and sincerely wishing that she’d had enough sense to sit somewhere else-somewhere where she was wanted.

“I’m sitting,” Evans snapped. “I suppose it was foolish of me to think that obvious.”

Lestrange took in a breath of air with a hiss. “You need to move,” he grunted. “Now.”

Evans wouldn’t look at any of them, but she didn’t budge from her seat, either. “No,” she said quietly.

Dear Merlin, what was she doing? Snape desperately wanted to rub away the headache that was beginning to pulse at his temples. His mind was reeling, frantically trying to come up with something to rectify the current situation. Beads of sweat began to develop along his hairline, and he opened his mouth, searching for the correct words that would not alienate him from Florence, Rabastan, or Lily. What could he say? He simply had no idea.

“Why don’t you sit with Potter and Black?” Florence asked suspiciously.

Lily made an indignant “Tuh,” sound and shook her head. Her eyes were still glued to the front of the room.

Snape shook his head in bewilderment. He couldn’t decide if she was mental or cheeky for choosing Lestrange as a tablemate over Potter, but he was leaning towards the former. He was about to tell her she’d be better off taking a seat at another table when an idea struck him like a bolt of lightning. He curled his mouth up into an acerbic grin.

“I wager Longbottom’s got something to do with it,” he said softly. He turned and fixed both Florence and Rabastan a knowing look. “He’s probably ordered all of the prefects to keep an eye on any suspicious activity.” He snorted derisively and tilted his head back towards Evans. “I’m sure that three Slytherins sitting together would seem terribly suspicious to a Gryffindor, what with the rivalry and all. Evans here probably felt it was her duty to investigate.”

He wouldn’t let himself turn around and look at her. Instead, he watched Florence and Rabastan. They looked as though they were nearly convinced.

“You think so?” asked Florence.

“Would you put it past him?” Snape countered.

She frowned. “No.”

“Is that it?” demanded Rabastan. “Were you put up to this?”

Lily muttered something that ended with “…ridiculous.”

Severus didn’t know if she had made any facial expressions or not, but whatever she did seemed to further persuade Rabastan. “Well, go on and sit here, then,” he said. “You can go report back to Longbottom,” Longbottom’s name was spat vehemently, “and tell him that I said he was a gormless duffer.”

Severus nearly laughed, and finally allowed himself a triumphant look in Evans’ direction. She was pink in the face, but still staring resolutely at the front of the classroom. She seemed to be trying her best not to glare at them.

“I’ll pass that along,” she said, and Severus took note of the sarcasm in her voice. She didn’t, however, dispute his allegations, which pleased him.

Slughorn cleared his throat loudly from the front of the classroom, signalling everyone’s attention. “Page ten in your books, please,” he announced. “Today you will be attempting the Draught of Living Death--a complicated little potion that should get you back into the swing of potions brewing.” He walked over to his desk and took a seat in a large chair, settling his hands over his rotund belly. “You may check for ingredients in the stores should you need them,” he continued, “otherwise, you may begin.”

The students started preparing their ingredients for the potion. Sounds of meticulous chopping, scraping, and igniting fires filled the classroom. Severus, unlike the others, had not immediately started divvying up the necessary ingredients. Instead, he was studying the instructions thoughtfully, tracing his lips with a finger as he decided how to approach the potion. The Draught of Living Death caused people to fall into a death-like slumber. He’d looked it over before and remembered his interest; it was a useful potion. Perhaps it would be the right time to test out his theory.

He began preparing the infusion of asphodel and wormwood, finding some amusement in the fact that asphodel was part of the lily family. He might have even turned to Lily and inquired whether or not she was aware of that minor fact, had Rabastan and Florence not been present. Instead, he focused on his infusion, nostrils flaring at the scent of the wormwood, which was similar to menthol.

“Blasted thing,” Rabastan grumbled. Severus gave him a sidelong glance. Lestrange continued to curse under his breath, struggling to cut his sopophorous bean into tiny, equal pieces. His potion was a deep, rich purple colour, just as the text said it would, but extracting juice from the sopophorous bean seemed to giving him difficulties.

Severus turned his attention back to the infusion, carefully adding it to the other ingredients in his cauldron. His potion turned a dark, rich shade of purple, similar to Rabastan's, and it immediately began to emit the thick, bluish vapour that was already moving about the classroom in a haze. Good, he thought, and nodded at his work with satisfaction. He turned to his potions kit and pulled out a vial containing the shrivelled sopophorous beans, tapping one out onto his cutting slate. Surely cutting the little bean wouldn’t be that difficult.

Unfortunately, he soon realized, it was quite difficult. In fact, he only managed to cut his bean once, and its slices produced nowhere near the amount of juice the draught required. It was infuriating. He had no desire to struggle with the blasted bean for the rest of the class period, and wondered if anyone had managed to juice it correctly. As he glanced around the classroom, he noticed that most of the students seemed to be tied up on this particular step. Wary glances and haggard glares were exchanged, and there was a long queue gathering behind the sharpening stone. Most students seemed to attribute their difficulties to a dull knife blade, Florence included.

He snuck a look at Evans, who was biting her lip in concentration. The blade of her silver dagger kept glancing off the rounded edge of the hard, shrivelled bean. She gave a dissatisfied grunt, flipped her dagger around to the flat end, and squashed the bean. An astonishing amount of juice was secreted, and Snape narrowed his eyes at her.

“How did you know to do that?” he demanded in a hoarse whisper.

She blinked up at him, eyes wide with surprise. “I didn’t,” she whispered back. “I was simply frustrated…” She shrugged and tapped her dagger on her slate. “Bloody thing. I can’t believe that crushing it worked so well.”

Severus couldn’t either, and it bothered him quite a bit. He was tempted to crush his own bean, but he didn’t fancy copying Evans. Potions was competitive, and if he were to keep his spot on the top, he’d do it on his own accord. He didn’t want to hear her announcing later that he’d copied her work.

And so, he continued to struggle with the bean, trying not to look fiercely jealous when Lily’s potion turned the correct shade of lilac upon her addition of the sopophorous juice.

He froze five minutes later, when she elbowed him gently and nudged her silver dagger in his direction. He stared at it for a moment, comprehending the meaning behind its invitation. Did this mean she didn’t mind if he used her idea? he wondered. Had the situation been reversed, Severus most certainly wouldn’t have thought to let someone else have a chance at mastering the potion, even if he had made the discovery on accident. Then again, Evans was a strange witch.

Brushing his thoughts aside, he discreetly picked up her knife and crushed his bean. Rabastan and Florence were so involved with their own potion that they didn’t even notice. He hoped that no one else did, either. He placed it on the table between them, and made an obligatory noise in his throat, not wanting to be too obvious.

They continued to work side-by-side, potions identical to one another. Lestrange and Florence’s potions were still darker shades of purple, and Snape was well aware of the dark looks they were giving both him and Lily. In fact, Florence and Lestrange had now taken to providing each other tips and going over what they had done thus far, making no attempts to offer any of that information to Snape. They didn’t ask him how he managed to successfully turn his potion lilac, either.

Severus wasn’t worried that they’d noticed his interaction with Lily, being certain that they hadn’t, and knew their behaviour was likely due to jealousy. He didn’t exactly mind when they turned their backs to him, anyhow. Besides, everyone’s cauldrons were exuding so much blue steam that it was becoming difficult to see through the haze.

The instructions in his potions book directed him to stir the potion counter-clockwise. This was the step he’d been waiting for. The thing that made brewing potions different from concocting herbal remedies was the magic involved. This, of course, wasn’t limited to ingredients derived from magical plant life and animals, but the fact that various other magical principles could be involved. He’d discussed it with his mother, occasionally. Things like the lunar cycle, time of year, numerology, and location often affected the way a potion would turn out.

He merely hoped that after his next little experiment, his potion would not be ruined. Upon surveillance of everyone else’s potions, however, he wasn’t exactly worried about how it would stand in comparison-with the exception of Evans’. He paused, weighing his options.

He could chance his theory. If he were correct, he’d likely have the most effective potion in the class. If not, Evans would take all of the glory. A crease formed between his brows-he couldn’t have that; he would not take second place to Evans in Potions. This, of course, led him to another option; he could share the experiment with Evans and hope she went for it. She might even see it as reciprocation for the sopophorous bean, which would also prove to be beneficial. If he was wrong, then both potions would be ruined and there would be no real loss. If he wasn’t, well, then they’d both share the credit for the day. He’d pull ahead of her as term wore on.

Yes, he decided, sharing his theory with Evans would definitely be to his benefit. He turned his back to Lestrange and Florence, who still refused to acknowledge him, and tapped a finger on Evans’ textbook. She started and looked at him expectantly.

He spoke to her in a low voice. “What can you tell me about the number seven?” he asked.

If she was confused by his sudden query, she didn’t show it. “Seven is a magical number,” she replied in an equally soft voice. “It holds an important significance in most cultures and is referenced in just about every system of antiquity.”

He nodded appreciatively at her knowledge. Evans had managed to impress him. “The perfect number,” he murmured. “Have you ever read about the Hippocratic notes in relation to the number seven?”

“No.”

“They say that the number seven brings all things into being,” he informed her. “The dispenser of life, the source of all change. A primary influence in things Muggles call occult.”

She arched an eyebrow. “What does this have to do with the Draught of Living Death?”

“It gives life, Evans,” he replied, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Wouldn’t it make sense for a potion giving life from near-death to involve the number seven?”

“I suppose so,” she replied hesitantly. “What are you getting at?”

“When you cook,” he asked her, “how concerned are you with following the recipe precisely?”

“Not very, I suppose, but I don’t necessarily think tampering with a potion is a good ide-“

“-Which is exactly why you won’t advance any further,” he interrupted with a snap. Realizing that he might be attracting attention, he lowered his voice again. “Potions is an art, not an exact science.”

She looked bemused by his comment, but shook her head and glanced at the text expectantly. “Well?” she whispered, “what are we doing, then?”

Severus allowed himself a small smile, and then he divulged his theory. Together, they agreed on adding a clockwise stir after seven counter-clockwise ones. They stood side by side, each staring at their potions expectantly, and Evans gasped. Much to Snape’s pleasure, the potion turned a shade of pale pink directly after the clockwise stir. He held back the ‘I told you so’ that was on the tip of his tongue.

Evans’ eyes were shining as she continued to methodically stir the draught. “Brilliant,” she murmured, “that was simply brilliant.” Snape felt a bubble of pride in his chest. He wasn’t sure if Evans was talking about his idea or the fact that they’d been successful, but it didn’t matter. He smiled to himself.

“Oho!” Professor Slughorn had been walking around inspecting everyone’s results, and when he reached their table, he’d stopped in his tracks. “I don’t believe it! As long as I’ve been teaching, only a handful of students have had success with this potion.” He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet and rubbed his eyes disbelievingly. “And here I have two students who mastered it. Two!”

Neither Severus nor Lily said anything. The rest of the class, however, seemed unsurprised. Florence made a humphing noise.

“I’ll be buggered how you both managed it,” Slughorn continued. “Most students end up with something like,” his eyes slid over to Rabastan’s potion, “like that,” he finished, pointing at the purple goop that was slowly solidifying in Rabastan’s cauldron. “Gunk.”

Rabastan didn’t look very happy about his work being called gunk, and Severus didn’t make eye contact with him.

“Did you help each other out?” Slughorn wanted to know.

“No,” they said in unison, and Severus’ opinion of Lily raised another notch.

“Really?” he mused. “Well, in any case, you each have earned thirty points for your house. Congratulations.” He turned to survey the rest of the class. “You may clean up, now. Please don’t rinse your attempts at this draught down the sink, at risk of clogging the pipes.”

Rabastan made a disgruntled growl in the back of his throat.

Professor Slughorn turned back to address the Slytherin table. “Lily, Severus, please bottle up your potions. I’d like to inspect them.” He gave them each a toothy grin before walking back to his chair, muttering things like “astounding” and “excellent.”

Severus and Lily did as they were asked, placing identical bottles on the table for Slughorn. Then Lily gathered her things, draped her bag over her shoulder, and turned to go. Before she left, she managed to catch Severus’ eye and give him a wink. Potter, Black, and Pettigrew, who were too busy chatting with each other to notice, trailed after her, offering congratulatory remarks.

“Wish you would’ve gotten one over on Snape, though,” Black lamented.

Severus’ lips clamped together, but it wasn’t because of Black’s remark. That was expected. It was because he felt strangely embarrassed by her gesture, even if it was minute. He gathered up his things and pulled his textbook close. Not wanting to forget anything, he took out a quill and began to write down the modified steps to the Draught of Living death, including Lily’s discovery with the dagger and the sopophorous bean.

In his peripheral vision he could see Florence and Rabastan leaving. They didn’t bother to say anything to him.

A few minutes later he finished scribbling in the margins, shut the book with a snap, and gathered his things to go. He made one final sweep of the table with his eyes to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything, and noticed a small scrap of parchment lying next to the bottles on the table. He picked it up, read it, and tucked it into his pocket.

Perhaps experimentation isn’t so bad, it read. This was fun.

And perhaps all Gryffindors aren’t so bad, he amended, exiting the classroom. He’d intended on going to the library, having a strong urge to visit it after smelling it for so long, but decided on returning to the Common Room to drop off his things. Most of the students from Potions class had already cleared off, so he was left to his thoughts as he ambled through the dungeon corridors. Surprisingly, most of his thoughts centred on his surreptitious collaboration with Evans.

As he turned a corner and approached the entrance to the common room, someone grabbed him and pulled him into a shadowed alcove. They’d moved so swiftly that he hadn’t had any time to react. All he could manage was a strangled “What the hell?” before he was shoved into the stone wall behind him. His skull hit the wall with a nauseating crack and he began to see stars.

A figure loomed over him, though he couldn’t make out who it was because his vision was still blurry.

“We need to have a chat,” the figure said, and Severus swore as he saw the figure flick a wand in his direction. “Accio wand.”

A/N: I know, it's an evil cliffhanger, but I hadn't had one yet and I have to keep people wanting more. And no, I probably won't give you a hint as to who it is. I might tell you if you're close, though. ...maybe.