October 19th, 1996
The winter months approached swiftly as did my concerns for Headmaster Dumbledore’s health. Upon his return from his summer quest many months ago, I witnessed first hand the mysterious curse that radiated through his fingers. I knew then nothing – no elixir, no counter curse – could postpone the inevitable. The best I could hope was to slow the process and give the man enough time to put his affairs in order. With luck, he would survive the rest of the school term and pass in dignity over the following summer.
After all these months, what concerns me even more than his health are his actions as of late. It is potentially months, weeks, perhaps even days from a most likely painful death, yet he spends nearly all waking hours either peering over his pensieve or in private conversation with Potter. Then, of course, there is the curious case of adding Professor Veritas and her Creative Arts course to Hogwarts curriculum. With the presence of Voldemort becoming more destructive and undaunted everyday, the need of such frivolous teachings seemed a careless decision for the wisest of headmasters.
It was early in the evening when Professor Dumbledore asked to see me in private. I assumed we would be discussing the welfare of the Hogwarts students and staff alike. With Draco becoming more and more reckless each day, we both sensed trying days were ahead.
“Severus, you may asking why I summoned you here.” Headmaster questioned me as I stood a respectable distance from the Pensieve he was utterly mesmirized by.
“Nothing surprises me these day Headmaster.” I replied.
“I must ask your word on something VERY important.
“Professor Dumbledore, pardon me for asking, but I fail to see the importance of Ms. Veritas’ course of study. Do you not think a wiser use of student’s time would be to improve their defensive studies?”
“Severus, indulge an old man in his final days. I know you have a difficult time accepting this, but L’apercil is teaching very useful skills – a talent that Voldemort knows nothing of.”
“Carving with mud and water? Slapping powdered pigments on canvas? How can this be of any value when the dark lord is upon us?’
The Headmaster simply turned again to his pensieve and uttered a few closing words. “You must trust me now as you have trusted me all these years my friend. The time will come when her innate cleverness and passion for muggle arts which she passes along to the students, and staff,” he turned to me, staring those great grey eyes into mine, “will be our greatest gifts.”
“Headmaster,” I began to inquire, “I see that she is dedicated to the students, but I also cannot help but sense a deep loss she has experienced which may cloud her judgment in times of crisis. Do you know anything about her past?”
“Ahh, I see you have attempted Legilimens on Ms. Veritals, Severus. You do know how much that displeases me?” One bristly white eyebrow rose while a frown set upon his aged face.
“I...have...done...no...such...thing!” My temper raged but out of respect for my mentor I did not raise my voice. “My thoughts are purely based on personal observation.”
“You two do have one thing in common. L’apercil has, as you have Severus, experienced the deepest loss a soul could bear. She was once married to her school sweetheart, Gregorian. He was a muggle, like her parents, but he was also a very successful writer whom she became attracted to for his well known generosity and wit. They had only been married a year when Gregorian was shamelessly killed by a death eater. Since then, L’apercil has traveled about the world trying to forget her pain and focus on her own personal artwork. She is skilled in all sorts of creative avenues including drawing, painting, and sculpture. Although her work is can be inferred to as soothing, it has also possesses an underlying longing for lost love. Her eyes and hands are her most magical possessions.”
“Can you not send her away? She has muggle blood in her! Don’t you see how much jeopardy you are putting her, not to mention the students, in by having her here?”
“She is not the only Professor on these grounds, Professor, who is a half blood wizard.” Dumbledore bestowed only a passing glance in my direction as he made his way to his desk.
It was clear to me this night, that our paths had crossed with purpose. L’Apercil and I shared an unspoken bond that would continue to be the basis of my vigilence to stay on task and protect the students and staff of Hogwarts – no matter the cost.
Chapter 3 – Sense of Fashion
September 14, 1996
Having no more convenient excuses from Headmaster Dumbledore, Potter finally attended his long overdue detention late this afternoon. It was quite satistfying to watch each flobberworm wriggle and screech as the boy sorted 562 of the greedy little slugs by weight and length. It had taken over 3 hours to complete the task which set the end of the evening somewhere near 9:30PM – too late to cavort in Hogsmead with Granger and the Weasley boy, and too early to retire on a Saturday night. I couldn’t have timed it better.
I had just stored the last of 12 marked wooden boxes of flobberworms in the coldest, dampest corner of the potion’s vault and secured the door when I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a wayward owl at the end of the dimly candlelit hall. I walked towards the curiosity which grew taller and more luminescent with each of my approaching steps.
“Ah, there you are Professor Snape.” The figure spoke. “I had hoped to find you this evening.” L’apercil’s smile broadened as the billowing folds of her silken attire became still just a few feet away.
“Difficulties with your strengthening solution Ms. Veritas?” I asked silently admiring the flickering torchlight warm the soft curves of her face.
“Oh, no. It is perfect. And I have come to extend my appreciation for your help.” She wrinkling her nose in a most unflattering manner for her otherwise flawless appearance. “What is that horrible smell?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.” I replied.
She twitched her nostrils inches from my shoulder while I caught the scent of vanilla and lilac she carried.
“It’s you!” She covered her mouth as if to prevent a dementor’s kiss.
“My, aren't we quite rude this evening.” I stepped away crossing my arms about my chest.
“I apologize for my candor Professor Snape. I came to invite you to join me for a visit to the Three Broomsticks. But I must be frank, with that foul odor about your person, I could not bear it. Where on earth have you been?”
The flobberworms, I remembered seconds before long buried memories echoed through my mind. Moments of endless taunting from 17 year old James Potter and Sirius Black as I was trapped upside down 10 feet in the air with my trousers drawn about my ankles.
“Ms. Veritas, I have many duties at this castle. Most of which would seem unpleasant, particularly for one with such a delicate disposition as yours.” I struck the words forcibly in her direction as if to thwart any further memories from escaping my mind and potentially being read by hers.
“My dear Professor Snape, I have tamed beasts which would undoubtedly turn that black hair of yours as white as our Headmaster’s. But this,” she covered her nose and mouth with her free hand, “is far too unbearable for me to contend with.” She slid past hugging her body as close to the stone wall as possible as if the scent could literally jump from my body to hers.
Before I could respond L’apercil disappeared around the corner leaving only the sound of her skirt shuffling down the hall and the pounding of my heart against my ribcage. Later that evening, my pulse still raced through my body as if I had consumed a vile of Felix Felicis – a sensation I had not felt in nearly twenty years – a time when Lily, and my all consuming desire for her, were both very much alive.
As it were, luck was on my side. Had I not the good fortune to avoid L’apercil’s invitation, I would have certainly jeopardized more than one life that evening. Although it appeared she had only the slightest skill of Legilimens, I was curiously weakened by her presence. My defenses clouded and withered each moment I looked into her eyes. I made a vow that night, that no matter how tempting it became and at all costs, I must never allow myself to loose control and feast upon her sparkling hypnotic orbs again.
Having no more convenient excuses from Headmaster Dumbledore, Potter finally attended his long overdue detention late this afternoon. It was quite satistfying to watch each flobberworm wriggle and screech as the boy sorted 562 of the greedy little slugs by weight and length. It had taken over 3 hours to complete the task which set the end of the evening somewhere near 9:30PM – too late to cavort in Hogsmead with Granger and the Weasley boy, and too early to retire on a Saturday night. I couldn’t have timed it better.
I had just stored the last of 12 marked wooden boxes of flobberworms in the coldest, dampest corner of the potion’s vault and secured the door when I caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a wayward owl at the end of the dimly candlelit hall. I walked towards the curiosity which grew taller and more luminescent with each of my approaching steps.
“Ah, there you are Professor Snape.” The figure spoke. “I had hoped to find you this evening.” L’apercil’s smile broadened as the billowing folds of her silken attire became still just a few feet away.
“Difficulties with your strengthening solution Ms. Veritas?” I asked silently admiring the flickering torchlight warm the soft curves of her face.
“Oh, no. It is perfect. And I have come to extend my appreciation for your help.” She wrinkling her nose in a most unflattering manner for her otherwise flawless appearance. “What is that horrible smell?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.” I replied.
She twitched her nostrils inches from my shoulder while I caught the scent of vanilla and lilac she carried.
“It’s you!” She covered her mouth as if to prevent a dementor’s kiss.
“My, aren't we quite rude this evening.” I stepped away crossing my arms about my chest.
“I apologize for my candor Professor Snape. I came to invite you to join me for a visit to the Three Broomsticks. But I must be frank, with that foul odor about your person, I could not bear it. Where on earth have you been?”
The flobberworms, I remembered seconds before long buried memories echoed through my mind. Moments of endless taunting from 17 year old James Potter and Sirius Black as I was trapped upside down 10 feet in the air with my trousers drawn about my ankles.
“James,” Sirious goaded, “do you think anything this side
of the Atlantic could get Snivellus’ drawers clean?”
James Potter clamped his nose tight with his pale little fingers
and squinted his eyes in the direction of where I hung.
“No. And I’ll wager nothing on earth could remove that awful stench either.”
of the Atlantic could get Snivellus’ drawers clean?”
James Potter clamped his nose tight with his pale little fingers
and squinted his eyes in the direction of where I hung.
“No. And I’ll wager nothing on earth could remove that awful stench either.”
“Ms. Veritas, I have many duties at this castle. Most of which would seem unpleasant, particularly for one with such a delicate disposition as yours.” I struck the words forcibly in her direction as if to thwart any further memories from escaping my mind and potentially being read by hers.
“My dear Professor Snape, I have tamed beasts which would undoubtedly turn that black hair of yours as white as our Headmaster’s. But this,” she covered her nose and mouth with her free hand, “is far too unbearable for me to contend with.” She slid past hugging her body as close to the stone wall as possible as if the scent could literally jump from my body to hers.
Before I could respond L’apercil disappeared around the corner leaving only the sound of her skirt shuffling down the hall and the pounding of my heart against my ribcage. Later that evening, my pulse still raced through my body as if I had consumed a vile of Felix Felicis – a sensation I had not felt in nearly twenty years – a time when Lily, and my all consuming desire for her, were both very much alive.
As it were, luck was on my side. Had I not the good fortune to avoid L’apercil’s invitation, I would have certainly jeopardized more than one life that evening. Although it appeared she had only the slightest skill of Legilimens, I was curiously weakened by her presence. My defenses clouded and withered each moment I looked into her eyes. I made a vow that night, that no matter how tempting it became and at all costs, I must never allow myself to loose control and feast upon her sparkling hypnotic orbs again.
Chapter 2 – The Proper Elixir
September 2, 1996
It’s well known that for the last five years each professor assigned to Defense Against the Dark Arts has survived in the position for only a single term. This year, be it the failure of Potter to acquire skills of Occlumency – of which I can no longer personally instruct for fear that the Dark Lord’s mind is accessing or influencing Potter’s – or perhaps my persistence over the past few years, Headmaster finally insisted I take charge of the course. I accepted knowing it would likely be as short term as my predecessors.
For years I prepared a most thorough lesson plan of the dark arts focusing mostly on curses and hexes. These spells cast upon another without their free are by far the bleakest of all dark arts, and in light of recent events it is even more critical than ever to effectively train students in counter curses & defensive spells. Professor Dumbledore insisted I be the one to accomplish the results so many of the previous professors had failed to do. If a student possessed a truly gifted mind, the task should be as simple as concocting a mixture of boil cure potion.
It was on this first day of class that Potter had already proven he could not control his own mouth let alone his easily penetrated mind. That self absorbed boy once again tested my tolerance and I saw fit to once again assign him detention. When I eventually dismissed the class I had to turn away to stop myself from projecting a dog eared copy of Defensive Magical Theory in the direction of Potter’s backside.
“Excuse me professor Snape. May I trouble you for a moment?” A woman’s voice unexpectidly echoed across the empty classroom.
I knew even before turning around that L’apercil had entered the room with her flowery layered dressing and intoxicating scent.
“Yes.” I answered, hoping her visit would be as brief as my answer. She had unnerved me enough during the feast and I had no time for frivolity.
I watched as her form carried her across the room like an exquisite peacock. Her billowing golden hair rolling across her shoulders like liquid gold as she glided down the aisle between rows of desks and effortlessly hexing each window shade to open as she passed.
“You know Professor, just because the subject is named “Dark Arts” doesn't mean it must be instructed in darkness.” She said satisfyingly as the last window was cast open.
In spite of daylight streaking into the classroom, every step closer she took made the space smaller and even more uncomfortably silent. I felt a sudden and inexplicable desire to inch closer to her pure, ivory skin like the irresistible cry of a siren's song. I could sense her eyes bearing into me, perhaps even reading my thoughts. Could she be a master of Legilimens herself? Perhaps a she was a temptation or spy sent by Voldemort.
“Professor Veritas, I do not appreciate” SLAM “ you redecorating” SLAM, “my classroom” SLAM. I flipped the last of the shades closed again. “What exactly do you need assistance with? I am very busy.”
“I wanted to apologize for my behavior this morning at the feast. I’m normally not that clumsy.” She paced somewhat nervously a few yards from me. “At least not outside of the Three Broomsticks.”
“Really?” I asked. “And is frequenting this establishment something you are proud of?”
“Come now, we all need time to unwind Professor Snape. I am quite fond of Madam Rosmerta’s red currant rum.” She stopped and turned towards my podium. Her expression actually showing no sign of tension whatsoever. “Have you tried it Severus? C'ést trés délicieux!”
She stepped closer, too close for comfort as I was entranced by the trés délicieux manner my name fell from her lips. Discipline your mind, Severus! The Dark Lord is at hand. I instinctively stepped behind the black rustic trunk.
“Excuse me professor, have I done something to offend you?” She asked as she slid one step away from the trunk.
“The last woman to step inside these four walls was not quite what she seemed. Let's just assume I have my reservations.”
L’apercil pierced her vibrant blue eyes through two narrow slits as her mouth began to bear her perfect teeth.“I assure you I am NOT Professor Umbridge.”
“Yes, well...” I began.
“Professor,” she interupted, “I have not come to engage in some will of the ways with you, I have simply come to ask for your help on with an elixer.”
She sat on the lid of the bogart trunk and reached into a small laced pocket located on the breast plate of her bodice. “I am having difficulty successfully brewing the proper mixture for this strengthening solution.”
“In case you missed the announcement at feast, Professor Slughorn is the Hogwarts Potions Professor now.” I corrected her.
“Yes, yes, I’m aware of that. But Headmaster Dumbledore insisted that you are by far the more brilliant mind and would be generous enough with your time to assist in this task.”
Once again Professor Dumbledore asks too much. “I’m sure Professor Slughorn is more than capable of such a simple feat.”
“Please Severus, I must insist. This is a delicate matter which cannot be trusted to just anyone.” She hesitated for a moment holding the flask in front of her before opening her mouth to sing my name again. “My apologies. May I call you Severus?”
I found my hand unconsciously reaching for the flask as if it had a mind of it’s own. “What could possible be so important about creating a batch of strengthening solution Ms. Veritas?”
“I’m sorry. I cannot say. But I promise to return the favor, somehow, some way. Will you please help me?” She asked opening her eyes as large as the house elves.
“Yes, yes, alright. But only this once. I have far too many duties to be distracted by such remedial tasks.” I had hoped that by assisting L’apercil this one time it would diffuse the feminine charm she exuded. I had no idea this was just the beginning.
“What seems to be the trouble with the solution Ms. Veritas? Your ingredients seem in order.” I asked after scanning the list tied to her pouch.
“I believe it’s the salamander blood. Every new batch becomes contaminated.”
I examined the thin bottle she retrieved from the pocket on her bodice only to discover bubbling green boils coating the inner edge of the vile.
“Ms. Veritas, where did you obtain this?” I asked taking a brief sniff of the infected fluid.
“It comes from the Southern coast of France.”
“Is this of the Pyrenean Euproct variety?” The bitter smell made it clearly obvious that it was.
“I’m afraid I cannot answer that. Is it bad?”
“Is it bad? My dear Ms. Veritas, ingredients are like the veins of a leaf, the swells of an ocean, the snowflakes of a storm, no two are exactly alike. If you mix the incorrect variety, amount or timing you can quickly create a disaster. Follow me and I'll correct this gross negligence.”
As we walked the halls towards the potions vault I attempted to uncover the secrecy behind her unexpected quest for strengthening solution, but to no avail.
“Are you going to divulge the purpose of this elixier Ms. Veritas? From my understanding, you have been brought here to Hogwarts to enlighten students on the worth of beauty and art. A strengthening solution seems like an unrelated necessity.”
“I covet my lesson plans Professor Snape, but you are more than welcome to join our class on the day we see first hand the effects of this potion.”
“No thank you.” I said. “Don’t you think Creative Arts is quite meaningless and inconsequential with the Dark Lord approaching?”
She stopped her pace as I was forced to stop mine and look back at her.
“Professor Snape, now more than ever we must recognize and nourish a world filled with beauty, love and art.” She said with the conviction of a poet.
“I am quite familiar with the Bohemian mantra L’apercil, but it’s absurd to focus the mind away from what matters most in these dark times.”
“But don’t you see? This does matter most!”
She stepped towards me and raised her tone to the point it echoed off the stone wall behind me.
“You cannot fight the darkness without the light! You cannot win without cause to protect.” Beauty. Love. Life. These are the man’s most treasured gifts. They must be served and preserved at all cost!”
“Are all French this...passionate?” I asked beginning to set my pace again towards the door which secured all potion ingredients for the school.
“Absolutment!” She insisted and caught up with my pace.
It took only a moment to identify the correct grade of Salamander Blood in the potions vault. I carefully placed three drops into the second vile L’apercil carried on her person, spun the mixture in the air for 10 seconds until it reached a deep shade of aquamarine with tiny gold fibers swimming about.
I held the elixer in front of my chest, creating a reasonable proximity from her person. “I believe this will suffice Ms. Veritas.”
She examined it again squinting her eyelids as if the power of the action caused her to see further than one’s natural eye. She looked up to me and smiled, a slight dimple appeared along each cheek.
“Professor Snape, you are truly a prince of potions. I can’t thank you enough. I must treat you to a visit to Madam Rosmerta’s?”
“No thank you. I will have no part of such nonsense,” I insisted. “You’ve already expressed your gratitude, now I must insist I return to my duties and you, yours.”
I couldn’t resist watching as she graciously slid the newly completed vile back into her bodice. She revealed her dimples again when she caught my gaze upon her. “I see,” she said.
And in the moment all I could think of is yes, she did. She did see. I felt unprotected, unguarded and quickly turned to return back to the dungeons.
“I do promise to return this favor Severus.” She called to me as I resisted the overwhelming urge to view one last glimpse of her graceful feminine figure.
It’s well known that for the last five years each professor assigned to Defense Against the Dark Arts has survived in the position for only a single term. This year, be it the failure of Potter to acquire skills of Occlumency – of which I can no longer personally instruct for fear that the Dark Lord’s mind is accessing or influencing Potter’s – or perhaps my persistence over the past few years, Headmaster finally insisted I take charge of the course. I accepted knowing it would likely be as short term as my predecessors.
For years I prepared a most thorough lesson plan of the dark arts focusing mostly on curses and hexes. These spells cast upon another without their free are by far the bleakest of all dark arts, and in light of recent events it is even more critical than ever to effectively train students in counter curses & defensive spells. Professor Dumbledore insisted I be the one to accomplish the results so many of the previous professors had failed to do. If a student possessed a truly gifted mind, the task should be as simple as concocting a mixture of boil cure potion.
It was on this first day of class that Potter had already proven he could not control his own mouth let alone his easily penetrated mind. That self absorbed boy once again tested my tolerance and I saw fit to once again assign him detention. When I eventually dismissed the class I had to turn away to stop myself from projecting a dog eared copy of Defensive Magical Theory in the direction of Potter’s backside.
“Excuse me professor Snape. May I trouble you for a moment?” A woman’s voice unexpectidly echoed across the empty classroom.
I knew even before turning around that L’apercil had entered the room with her flowery layered dressing and intoxicating scent.
“Yes.” I answered, hoping her visit would be as brief as my answer. She had unnerved me enough during the feast and I had no time for frivolity.
I watched as her form carried her across the room like an exquisite peacock. Her billowing golden hair rolling across her shoulders like liquid gold as she glided down the aisle between rows of desks and effortlessly hexing each window shade to open as she passed.
“You know Professor, just because the subject is named “Dark Arts” doesn't mean it must be instructed in darkness.” She said satisfyingly as the last window was cast open.
In spite of daylight streaking into the classroom, every step closer she took made the space smaller and even more uncomfortably silent. I felt a sudden and inexplicable desire to inch closer to her pure, ivory skin like the irresistible cry of a siren's song. I could sense her eyes bearing into me, perhaps even reading my thoughts. Could she be a master of Legilimens herself? Perhaps a she was a temptation or spy sent by Voldemort.
“Professor Veritas, I do not appreciate” SLAM “ you redecorating” SLAM, “my classroom” SLAM. I flipped the last of the shades closed again. “What exactly do you need assistance with? I am very busy.”
“I wanted to apologize for my behavior this morning at the feast. I’m normally not that clumsy.” She paced somewhat nervously a few yards from me. “At least not outside of the Three Broomsticks.”
“Really?” I asked. “And is frequenting this establishment something you are proud of?”
“Come now, we all need time to unwind Professor Snape. I am quite fond of Madam Rosmerta’s red currant rum.” She stopped and turned towards my podium. Her expression actually showing no sign of tension whatsoever. “Have you tried it Severus? C'ést trés délicieux!”
She stepped closer, too close for comfort as I was entranced by the trés délicieux manner my name fell from her lips. Discipline your mind, Severus! The Dark Lord is at hand. I instinctively stepped behind the black rustic trunk.
“Excuse me professor, have I done something to offend you?” She asked as she slid one step away from the trunk.
“The last woman to step inside these four walls was not quite what she seemed. Let's just assume I have my reservations.”
L’apercil pierced her vibrant blue eyes through two narrow slits as her mouth began to bear her perfect teeth.“I assure you I am NOT Professor Umbridge.”
“Yes, well...” I began.
“Professor,” she interupted, “I have not come to engage in some will of the ways with you, I have simply come to ask for your help on with an elixer.”
She sat on the lid of the bogart trunk and reached into a small laced pocket located on the breast plate of her bodice. “I am having difficulty successfully brewing the proper mixture for this strengthening solution.”
“In case you missed the announcement at feast, Professor Slughorn is the Hogwarts Potions Professor now.” I corrected her.
“Yes, yes, I’m aware of that. But Headmaster Dumbledore insisted that you are by far the more brilliant mind and would be generous enough with your time to assist in this task.”
Once again Professor Dumbledore asks too much. “I’m sure Professor Slughorn is more than capable of such a simple feat.”
“Please Severus, I must insist. This is a delicate matter which cannot be trusted to just anyone.” She hesitated for a moment holding the flask in front of her before opening her mouth to sing my name again. “My apologies. May I call you Severus?”
I found my hand unconsciously reaching for the flask as if it had a mind of it’s own. “What could possible be so important about creating a batch of strengthening solution Ms. Veritas?”
“I’m sorry. I cannot say. But I promise to return the favor, somehow, some way. Will you please help me?” She asked opening her eyes as large as the house elves.
“Yes, yes, alright. But only this once. I have far too many duties to be distracted by such remedial tasks.” I had hoped that by assisting L’apercil this one time it would diffuse the feminine charm she exuded. I had no idea this was just the beginning.
“What seems to be the trouble with the solution Ms. Veritas? Your ingredients seem in order.” I asked after scanning the list tied to her pouch.
“I believe it’s the salamander blood. Every new batch becomes contaminated.”
I examined the thin bottle she retrieved from the pocket on her bodice only to discover bubbling green boils coating the inner edge of the vile.
“Ms. Veritas, where did you obtain this?” I asked taking a brief sniff of the infected fluid.
“It comes from the Southern coast of France.”
“Is this of the Pyrenean Euproct variety?” The bitter smell made it clearly obvious that it was.
“I’m afraid I cannot answer that. Is it bad?”
“Is it bad? My dear Ms. Veritas, ingredients are like the veins of a leaf, the swells of an ocean, the snowflakes of a storm, no two are exactly alike. If you mix the incorrect variety, amount or timing you can quickly create a disaster. Follow me and I'll correct this gross negligence.”
As we walked the halls towards the potions vault I attempted to uncover the secrecy behind her unexpected quest for strengthening solution, but to no avail.
“Are you going to divulge the purpose of this elixier Ms. Veritas? From my understanding, you have been brought here to Hogwarts to enlighten students on the worth of beauty and art. A strengthening solution seems like an unrelated necessity.”
“I covet my lesson plans Professor Snape, but you are more than welcome to join our class on the day we see first hand the effects of this potion.”
“No thank you.” I said. “Don’t you think Creative Arts is quite meaningless and inconsequential with the Dark Lord approaching?”
She stopped her pace as I was forced to stop mine and look back at her.
“Professor Snape, now more than ever we must recognize and nourish a world filled with beauty, love and art.” She said with the conviction of a poet.
“I am quite familiar with the Bohemian mantra L’apercil, but it’s absurd to focus the mind away from what matters most in these dark times.”
“But don’t you see? This does matter most!”
She stepped towards me and raised her tone to the point it echoed off the stone wall behind me.
“You cannot fight the darkness without the light! You cannot win without cause to protect.” Beauty. Love. Life. These are the man’s most treasured gifts. They must be served and preserved at all cost!”
“Are all French this...passionate?” I asked beginning to set my pace again towards the door which secured all potion ingredients for the school.
“Absolutment!” She insisted and caught up with my pace.
It took only a moment to identify the correct grade of Salamander Blood in the potions vault. I carefully placed three drops into the second vile L’apercil carried on her person, spun the mixture in the air for 10 seconds until it reached a deep shade of aquamarine with tiny gold fibers swimming about.
I held the elixer in front of my chest, creating a reasonable proximity from her person. “I believe this will suffice Ms. Veritas.”
She examined it again squinting her eyelids as if the power of the action caused her to see further than one’s natural eye. She looked up to me and smiled, a slight dimple appeared along each cheek.
“Professor Snape, you are truly a prince of potions. I can’t thank you enough. I must treat you to a visit to Madam Rosmerta’s?”
“No thank you. I will have no part of such nonsense,” I insisted. “You’ve already expressed your gratitude, now I must insist I return to my duties and you, yours.”
I couldn’t resist watching as she graciously slid the newly completed vile back into her bodice. She revealed her dimples again when she caught my gaze upon her. “I see,” she said.
And in the moment all I could think of is yes, she did. She did see. I felt unprotected, unguarded and quickly turned to return back to the dungeons.
“I do promise to return this favor Severus.” She called to me as I resisted the overwhelming urge to view one last glimpse of her graceful feminine figure.
Chapter 1 – A Feast for the Eyes
September 1, 1996
As has been tradition for over 100 years at Hogwart’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, hundreds of charmed candles flickered high above four lengthy tables within the great hall. This first night of school term always began in the same manner. The sorting hat, placed upon the heads of often eager and sometimes petrified 11-year-olds, announced which house they would be chosen. Predictably, each of the houses – Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin – were each granted a comfortable balance of first year students.
Normally, I care not who, nor how many, students were sorted amongst the other three houses. As the head of Slytherin, my attention was focused on those who possessed exceptional talent for logic and less to those who let brawn define their skill with a wand. Tonight however, the bantering of that ragged cone of leather was not my concern. A certain, arrogant, attention seeking Gryffindor was not in his seat. Apparently the “chosen one” didn’t feel his attendance was required this evening. I assumed our Headmaster was aware of Potter’s absence since he frequently granted secret missions for the boy.
Dumbledore began his start of term announcements completely avoiding the conflicts with the Ministry. I knew from private conversations he did not want to trouble students with such matters. I kept watch on the far doors, anticipating Potter to enter and slip onto the Gryffindor bench, when the scent of moonstone powder and parchment enveloped the space to my left. I turned expecting to find the diminutive Professor Flitwick, instead sat a presence I had not known before.
“And may I inquire exactly who you are?” I asked of the witch wearing a most vividly colored robe of purples and golds.
“Good evening Professor Snape. I am Professor L’apercil Veritas from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. It appears Headmaster has not announced my company this term.” The witch extended a porcelain hand in my direction, too fragile to touch.
As close as Dumbledore and I have been throughout these past few years, I know there are many events he chose not to apprise me of. But with Hogwarts under the strictest of security and an impossibility to apparate within school grounds, I could not explain how the woman mysteriously appeared to my side.
The witch pulled at the length of her skirt and looked below to her black toed heals. “Do you mind?”
I looked down to find my boot resting atop the hem of one of her many layers of pearlescent silk and lifted my heel enough to free the fabric.
“Aren’t you a little, ah, short for Beauxbatons?” I asked in an attempt to ignore the inexplicable sense of serenity which seemed to accompany a pleasurable aroma of moonpowder and parchment.
She leaned over and whispered in the crispest of words. “Professor, only our Headmistriss is a giant. I can assure you Beauxbatons Academy is quite suitable for witches and wizards of all shapes and sizes.”
“And your accent Professor Veritas? I hear no hint of the Beaubatons flair for the melodrama.” I asked.
“Oh, zees one? You zee I ’ave traveled across ze world and can easily adapt to any dialect ’nd accent. But if it makes you more, ’ow you say, comfortable, I can ’appily speak zis way if you like.” Her mouth created a most cunning and attractive smile.
The world seemed to become a little less dark, a little less foreboding as my pupils dove into the clearest, bluest eyes I had ever seen. I could not read into her mind, but in that moment I painfully relived the murdered betrayal of my dearest Lily all over again. Although Lily had looked upon me with the deepest of green eyes, they had had a similar effect on my actions, or in this case lack of them. I could not pierce through L’apercil’s blue orbs to discover any hidden truths. I only found myself drawn closer to them. It was only for an instant that I let my thoughts wander away from my mission, and in that split second, her sleeve had snagged against one of the jewels of her goblet. Before I could chant Locomoto to stop the fall, her tea had spilled across my cloak.
“Oh Professor, I am deeply sorry!” She apologized reaching for a most ornately carved wand. “Allow me.” She said as a great jet of air burst from her wand to dry to combat a spill with a spell.
“Ah, Severus, I see you have met the lovely Professor Veritas.” Headmaster Dumbledore announced from behind my chair.
“Obviously.” I replied as I raised my hand to block futher use of her wand.
Dumbledore reached for L’apercil’s wandless hand and kissed it lightly along the milky white skin. I watched the moment with the upmost curiosity and felt my own pulse race as he touched her flesh.
“L’apercil, you are as lovely as Madame Maxime described. Thank you for accepting my invitation.”
“It is my pleasure Headmaster. Madame Maxime has told me so much about your fine school. I feel as if I have already been here.” L’apercil said and smiled softly.
“I trust Professor McGonagall has shown you to your quarters.”
“Oh, yes, thank you. They are quite impressive.”
Dumbledore once again caught her hand with another kiss and turned back in my direction. I'm sure my expression was not what he had expected as I couldn’t help but leer back at he who had just placed his lips on that most delicate flesh.
“Severus, I know this will be difficult, but I must pull you away from the divine company of Professor Veritas in order to survey the grounds.” He turned his back to L’apercil and whispered over my shoulder. “It appears our missing student has arrived at the gate.
“At once,” I said and dragged my thoughts away from the fanciful images inside my head and the fluttering beneath my chest.
As has been tradition for over 100 years at Hogwart’s School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, hundreds of charmed candles flickered high above four lengthy tables within the great hall. This first night of school term always began in the same manner. The sorting hat, placed upon the heads of often eager and sometimes petrified 11-year-olds, announced which house they would be chosen. Predictably, each of the houses – Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin – were each granted a comfortable balance of first year students.
Normally, I care not who, nor how many, students were sorted amongst the other three houses. As the head of Slytherin, my attention was focused on those who possessed exceptional talent for logic and less to those who let brawn define their skill with a wand. Tonight however, the bantering of that ragged cone of leather was not my concern. A certain, arrogant, attention seeking Gryffindor was not in his seat. Apparently the “chosen one” didn’t feel his attendance was required this evening. I assumed our Headmaster was aware of Potter’s absence since he frequently granted secret missions for the boy.
Dumbledore began his start of term announcements completely avoiding the conflicts with the Ministry. I knew from private conversations he did not want to trouble students with such matters. I kept watch on the far doors, anticipating Potter to enter and slip onto the Gryffindor bench, when the scent of moonstone powder and parchment enveloped the space to my left. I turned expecting to find the diminutive Professor Flitwick, instead sat a presence I had not known before.
“And may I inquire exactly who you are?” I asked of the witch wearing a most vividly colored robe of purples and golds.
“Good evening Professor Snape. I am Professor L’apercil Veritas from Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. It appears Headmaster has not announced my company this term.” The witch extended a porcelain hand in my direction, too fragile to touch.
As close as Dumbledore and I have been throughout these past few years, I know there are many events he chose not to apprise me of. But with Hogwarts under the strictest of security and an impossibility to apparate within school grounds, I could not explain how the woman mysteriously appeared to my side.
The witch pulled at the length of her skirt and looked below to her black toed heals. “Do you mind?”
I looked down to find my boot resting atop the hem of one of her many layers of pearlescent silk and lifted my heel enough to free the fabric.
“Aren’t you a little, ah, short for Beauxbatons?” I asked in an attempt to ignore the inexplicable sense of serenity which seemed to accompany a pleasurable aroma of moonpowder and parchment.
She leaned over and whispered in the crispest of words. “Professor, only our Headmistriss is a giant. I can assure you Beauxbatons Academy is quite suitable for witches and wizards of all shapes and sizes.”
“And your accent Professor Veritas? I hear no hint of the Beaubatons flair for the melodrama.” I asked.
“Oh, zees one? You zee I ’ave traveled across ze world and can easily adapt to any dialect ’nd accent. But if it makes you more, ’ow you say, comfortable, I can ’appily speak zis way if you like.” Her mouth created a most cunning and attractive smile.
The world seemed to become a little less dark, a little less foreboding as my pupils dove into the clearest, bluest eyes I had ever seen. I could not read into her mind, but in that moment I painfully relived the murdered betrayal of my dearest Lily all over again. Although Lily had looked upon me with the deepest of green eyes, they had had a similar effect on my actions, or in this case lack of them. I could not pierce through L’apercil’s blue orbs to discover any hidden truths. I only found myself drawn closer to them. It was only for an instant that I let my thoughts wander away from my mission, and in that split second, her sleeve had snagged against one of the jewels of her goblet. Before I could chant Locomoto to stop the fall, her tea had spilled across my cloak.
“Oh Professor, I am deeply sorry!” She apologized reaching for a most ornately carved wand. “Allow me.” She said as a great jet of air burst from her wand to dry to combat a spill with a spell.
“Ah, Severus, I see you have met the lovely Professor Veritas.” Headmaster Dumbledore announced from behind my chair.
“Obviously.” I replied as I raised my hand to block futher use of her wand.
Dumbledore reached for L’apercil’s wandless hand and kissed it lightly along the milky white skin. I watched the moment with the upmost curiosity and felt my own pulse race as he touched her flesh.
“L’apercil, you are as lovely as Madame Maxime described. Thank you for accepting my invitation.”
“It is my pleasure Headmaster. Madame Maxime has told me so much about your fine school. I feel as if I have already been here.” L’apercil said and smiled softly.
“I trust Professor McGonagall has shown you to your quarters.”
“Oh, yes, thank you. They are quite impressive.”
Dumbledore once again caught her hand with another kiss and turned back in my direction. I'm sure my expression was not what he had expected as I couldn’t help but leer back at he who had just placed his lips on that most delicate flesh.
“Severus, I know this will be difficult, but I must pull you away from the divine company of Professor Veritas in order to survey the grounds.” He turned his back to L’apercil and whispered over my shoulder. “It appears our missing student has arrived at the gate.
“At once,” I said and dragged my thoughts away from the fanciful images inside my head and the fluttering beneath my chest.
A Potions Master Speaks
April 9, 1997
As each word forms and falls upon this page, I find myself consoled by their physical being. This written account is certainly not my most single-mindedly selfish exploit – that belongs to the excruciating betrayal I made of my dearest Lily. But, as my days become increasingly more difficult to bear, I find my focus and sanity dependent on extricating these moments, people and emotions from my mind. In not doing so, I fear I will once again jeopardize the safety of the ones whom I love. My days have become darker and colder with the passing of each blindingly full moon.
Since I do not possess the privilege of Headmaster Dumbledore’s pensieve, I have chosen to scribe these events in the order in which they occurred beginning with this year’s start of term. Preserved and described with as much clarity and detail as my memory serves, I do not ask forgiveness, for my actions will prove shocking and often times objectionable. Nor do I search for validation or acceptance for any decision which I have made. What is done, is done. I only request that you reader, are aware that the events, conversations and sensations did occur in conjunction with my existence.
Severus Snape
As each word forms and falls upon this page, I find myself consoled by their physical being. This written account is certainly not my most single-mindedly selfish exploit – that belongs to the excruciating betrayal I made of my dearest Lily. But, as my days become increasingly more difficult to bear, I find my focus and sanity dependent on extricating these moments, people and emotions from my mind. In not doing so, I fear I will once again jeopardize the safety of the ones whom I love. My days have become darker and colder with the passing of each blindingly full moon.
Since I do not possess the privilege of Headmaster Dumbledore’s pensieve, I have chosen to scribe these events in the order in which they occurred beginning with this year’s start of term. Preserved and described with as much clarity and detail as my memory serves, I do not ask forgiveness, for my actions will prove shocking and often times objectionable. Nor do I search for validation or acceptance for any decision which I have made. What is done, is done. I only request that you reader, are aware that the events, conversations and sensations did occur in conjunction with my existence.
Severus Snape
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