More Research

[subtle_simmer]

Date: Friday, 26 January
Time:
Place: Hogwarts, Snape's lab
Characters Involved: Severus Snape, Neville Longbottom
Rating: Better say PG to be safe, poor Neville!

Comments

[subtle_simmer]

Severus fumed, but held his tongue. His fear of Bellatrix was no less than what Longbottom's must surely have been - and very likely was more, since Longbottom was a Gryffindor and therefore could not see the sense and rationality which intelligent fear provided. It might have been mere paranoia on his part, but Severus had spent too many years living amongst Death Eaters not to know how they thought!

He was not quite so arrogant as to believe Bella would pursue Longbottom with the intent of coming after Severus, himself - but he was not so naive as to believe that if she found out any snippet of information about him, accidentally, while toying with the boy, that she would not use it to her advantage.

"My point was that had you given a fraction of this focus to your potions work," he reiterated through gritted teeth, "the rest might not have occurred."

Severus hadn't started out on Longbottom! Indeed - it would have delighted him had Potter possessed the all-thumbs fumbling and cauldron-melting idiocy, instead. It would have been far more to his secondary purpose to focus all his vitriol on the Boy Who Lived to Torment him!

Longbottom only gained his attention - and therefore a disproportionate amount of his rage for having been interrupted from his primary target - when he melted cauldrons or tried to whisper to Granger to get her to help him through his own work.

None of this was remotely productive, now. Severus couldn't explain himself, even if he had wanted to, with Bellatrix at-liberty and Lucius' motivations a complete mystery. Besides, he really didn't want to. He was what he was, regardless of - or because of - the horrid direction his life had taken as consequence of his own wretched choices. He, Severus, had learnt to accept those consequences. It was impossible to have any sympathy for those who did not.

"That which does not kill you makes you stronger," he said with a disgusted sneer. Turning back to the simmering samples with a flair of his robes, he selected a vial from a drawer and carefully placed one measured drop of the liquid within it, into each sample.

"Perhaps this is the point in which you now tell me what you are hoping to accomplish with your portion of this research, that I might be better equipped to advise you."

[living_boy]

"You think it was a lack of focus that held me back? that I might have been a different student had I just concentrated?" Neville gaped at his old teacher, shocked somehow that Snape could be so off the mark.

But he straightened, turned his eyes. He wasn't there for pointless arguments he would never score points in. He wasn't there to face his old demons - his old boggart, literally enough. He was there for work.

He spoke, level and soft, but proud. "I am stronger now. The very fact that I'm here, on my own, submitting my work to you of all people for judgement, that should prove it. And maybe I owe you a thanks for that. I don't know." It was almost like saying he owed Bellatrix Lestrange thanks. Going against her had made him undoubtedly stronger.

And Snape was closer to Bellatrix in Neville's mind than to...his gran, perhaps, or one of the countless others who tried to better him through harsh words and strict punishment.

Wasn't that a strange thing to realise? That despite Snape's place in the Order and his proven goodness, Neville still equated him with Bellatrix.

Probably because his gran at least loved him. McGonagall, with her disapproval and disappointment, cared for him as her student. Snape? Bellatrix? Their hostility had no such good feelings behind it.

He glanced at Snape, giving him a look that was - for him - oddly measuring. "What do I hope to accomplish?" He repeated the question thoughtfully.

I want to save the world.

"I want to know that if my parents had survived, I could have helped them. I want to be able to soothe every ache Bellatrix Lestrange ever caused. I want my sap to soothe distress, calm fever, reduce pain. I want to heal. To make up for..."

He stopped. That was far too personal to share with Snape. Snape, who no doubt had only hostile words for him, for his ambitions. As hostile as the mockery he faced at work.

[subtle_simmer]

"You owe me nothing, boy. Least of all gratitude," Severus retorted as he noted the colour-changes of each cauldron in his notes, measuring the pH of the substances within.

"Bloody Gryffindors," he muttered under his breath, appalled at how almost-fond his usual epithet had become! He had Remus Lupin to blame for that degree of softening, there could be no doubt.

Sighing wearily, he straightened from his notes and set the quill aside. He'd done all the testing he could do for the present - everything else required too much focus and volatility to be done with Longbottom in the room.

"Small steps, Longbottom, or you will flounder," he said in more reasonable tones. "I have long wondered if the sort of potions which make up Pensieves might be modified somehow to be useful in treatment of various states of mental-illness.

"As to the other things - it is not only ridiculous but arrogant to expect ONE plant, no matter how remarkable, to accomplish everything on your list, let alone one man, no matter how gifted. I would at least drop fever and broad-'healing' off your list. Fever is more than adequately dealt with in existing remedies, and 'healing' is too broad in scope and ignores the input of your ancillary colleagues - the trained Healers and Medi-staff.

"Distress, pain, mental illness - those are at least narrow-enough in focus to provide direction."

Whether or not the boy would heed this freely given advice, any more than he had seemed to pay attention to Severus' business advice, was entirely up to him.

"I will direct more intensive focus, then, on suitability of each sample for these more specific aims."

[living_boy]

Neville nodded his rather neutral thanks at the small words of advice. He wouldn't have expected any more - in fact, had come expecting much less. Compared to his fears, this meeting was practically chatty and amiable.

He had to hide a bristle at what he thought were rather patronising words. He didn't bother reiterating that the Mimbletonia was just a start, that his dreams reached far beyond that one plant, as useful as it was.

"I would appreciate your opinion of them, sir. Thank you." His dreams were bigger than the Mimbletonia, but these samples were his project. His pet. He wouldn't consider himself done with them until he knew what they could do and could send them to the potions makers and healers with full confidence.

He could sense that the meeting was drawing to a close, and he moved back to the table, to his small pot and green, healthy sample. He'd brought the plant for more reason than just to show it off - the lab at St. Mungo's had proven bad for the samples, and it wasn't until he brought them home to his flat that they lost the last of the dull sheen he'd been worried about.

He examined the plant silently, pleased to see that none of the luster was gone after this short time in the dungeon.

The leftover tension of their brief argument still hung in the air, though, and he was never one who could leave things unsettled. He did appreciate Snape's help, after all, and the money he sent.

"I'm not sure if it will be of any interest to you," he said slowly, taking up his plant, "but one of my projects at work revolves around potions. We were assigned the task of making sleeping draughts easier to brew. The Draught of Living Death, I'm sure you know, gets used more often than it should since the overcrowding in the hospital since the war. I'm fairly certain we've found a way to replace the valerian in the draught with simple daisy roots, and it seems to cut the preparation time in half without diminishing the strength of the potion. Of course, the healers are still testing it, but I thought you'd be interested. I'm told valerian root mixed with nearly any complicated draught makes the brewing ten times harder. If you had a mind, since some potions...the one you brew for Professor Lupin, I think? It takes valerian root. And...I thought..."

He stopped, blowing out a small sigh and turning back to face his professor. "I thought you'd be interested," he finished rather lamely. It was a peace offering of sorts, if a small one.

[subtle_simmer]

If Neville bristled at Snape's not-too-gentle admonishment, Severus himself all but arched his back, bared teeth and claws, and hissed like an angry cat!

He did not do these things, of course, but his already ramrod-straight spine seemed to shoot up even higher as his brows dipped and eyes flashed.

There were some things which Severus considered sacrosanct, untouchable, and the Wolfsbane Potion was right there at the top of the list! First of all, there wasn't a Healer or Potions Master in Britain, outside of himself and Ginevra Weasley, who even bothered to brew the thing on a regular basis, let alone try to research improvements to it! His understanding from the experience of those in his household and information obtained during the war was that St. Mungo's brewers could brew it, of course, but never did unless there was a newly bitten patient in the hospital at the time. The average werewolf, if such a thing existed, had to buy the potion from the various apothecaries in Diagon or Knockturn at exorbitant prices which most of them couldn't hope to afford.

That Neville Longbottom had the bollocks to try to offer him advice in regards to that potion, specifically, roused his ire afresh.

Never mind, at all, that the boy was just passing a long a bit of new knowledge that Severus would, indeed, find useful when he had cooled down his temper. Never mind, at all, that it was with this precise potion in mind that Severus was continuing the research with Neville even now that June's vision was restored.

Severus did not care to be on guard against personal hypocrisy when 'his' work was being questioned!

"Longbottom," he said in the dangerous, low, silken tones he used when angry almost beyond words. "Surely - surely you are not attempting to tell me how to brew POTIONS??"

Far from being grateful for the useful information, he was unreasonably furious.

"Since you can have little idea of precisely what potions I brew, and for whom, and even less idea of the composition and complexity of the Wolfsbane Potion, I suggest you keep your expertise - and your opinions where they belong!"

Clearly he was nearing the end of his patience. Bodily throwing the boy out of his lab was unlikely to be beneficial in attempting to keep their business arrangement tolerably civil. He restrained his temper with an enormous exertion of will and shoved a very thick envelope across his work-table toward Longbottom.

"There is the agreed upon documentation of all the samples you left in my possession on our last visit. I will again require a full two litres of each sample to have enough volume to test thoroughly. I will contact you when my testing is complete."

Longbottom wasn't the only one who could sense - and perhaps wish for the upcoming closure of this meeting.

[living_boy]

It had been a long time since anyone had looked at him with that particular level of fury.

The last person had been Bellatrix, when she realised she was beaten. She had glared at him as though she could push the killing curse out through her eyes.

And a strange thing had happened to him then. The sweaty hand holding the wand on her had stilled its constant shaking. His fear had cooled. His eyes had met hers, faced the anger there, and in match to it he had become still and calm.

He had done his job.

Maybe it was that steeliness, so new to him and never again repeated, that showed itself just then, with Snape's furious reaction to a thing Neville had meant to be useful. To Snape's complete lack of understanding about him, his job. His words. Anything.

Snape was furious. And so, in response, Neville grew calm.

He reached out and took the envelope that Snape shoved to him. He lifted it. "Thank you."

He met Snape's eyes, as brave as if it were Bellatrix again and he was the victor in a battle. "I will owl your samples to you, and expect a report back. I will send any news I have of a belladonna hybrid when I have news to send." Envelope in one hand, plant safely tucked against him in his other arm, he stepped back.

Regarded Snape. "You say things to be cruel and condescending, to tell everyone what's best. I'm not you. My words were intended for things besides pettiness. And this," he said a moment later, feeling as cool a satisfaction as he had bringing Bellatrix in, "is not an apology. Good afternoon, Professor."

[subtle_simmer]

And so it was Neville Longbottom who made the dramatic, dignified exit, leaving Severus Snape all but gaping like a fish after him, stewing in his own bitterness and vitriol with no ready-target upon which to vent it!

Severus glared, for a very long time, at the closed door, nostrils flaring with each breath, chest heaving like an enraged bull.

Neville Longbottom had gotten the better of him in this encounter!!

Slowly, however, the anger cooled, as it must do. Severus did not loathe Longbottom, no matter what he's had to feign during the years the Dark Lord was on the rise - though he was enough of a self-righteous bastard to feel his disgust of the boy's classwork was more than justified!

On the other hand, Longbottom's comparison of him with Bellatrix, had Severus known of it, was no less justified - and would have given him just as much painful distress as Severus' belittling of Longbottom gave to the younger man!

He was not like Bellatrix Lestrange! He was NOT!

Thankfully, it was impossible for Severus to know of the internal comparisons Longbottom had been making, or rather, it was impossible using any methods Severus was willing to use. In spite of complete-bastardness, there were some things even he would not do without justifiable provocation, and random Legilimency was one of them.

At this particular moment, he felt more than not-loathing toward Longbottom. He felt a tiny spark of exceedingly grudging respect for the dunderhead-who was not quite such a dunderhead, anymore.

He snorted softly and returned his focus to the still-simmering cauldron samples.

"Touché, boy," he said softly to the empty room, allowing himself a slight smirk. "Well done."