Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Madrigal	By : Rotisserie_Cassowary Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 7982 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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She popped into view at 7:55, precisely five minutes early as per usual. She gave me a business-like nod, then stared resolutely at a spot three inches below my chin. Smirking at her attempt at obsequiousness, I turned in a swirl of robes and abruptly set off down the dungeon hall. She had to jog to keep up with my much longer strides, which I’m ashamed to say I found quite amusing. I paused in front of a singularly gruesome painting, The Degloving by Garrote Shiv.
“What the…?? What am I looking at?!” Miss Granger exclaimed in disgust. With a dark laugh that made her give me some serious side-eye, I replied, “This is a quite remarkable work by one Garrote Shiv, a favored artist of Salazar Slytherin. See how vibrant the reds are? He used his own blood, combined with certain thickening and preserving spells, to make the paint. He was inspired by the time he saw a man drop his stirring rod into a boiling potion and reflexively reached into his cauldron to retrieve it. I like to think of it as a daily reminder to not brew exhausted or drunk.” She shuddered and looked slightly ill, but made no comment.
“This is the entrance to my private laboratory and study. The knowledge of its location belongs to only 4 other people, and you’ve become number 5. Please don’t give me a reason to regret this decision. I will key the wards to allow you entry, as long as you’re ALONE,” I said pointedly. “I expect no more Boomslang shenanigans, Miss Granger. Yes, I know about the Polyjuice. Who do you think brewed the antidote to de-cat you? Honestly, it’s the principal reason you’re standing here tonight. Any student who can teach themselves to make a passable Polyjuice at 13 is clearly an exceptional talent.”
She flushed and gave me a radiant smile. Even her neck and the tips of her ears were pink! I rolled my eyes derisively. “Take it down a notch, Miss Granger. You turned yourself into a remarkable imitation of an Egyptian god so I wouldn’t get too prideful just yet.” Her face turned an intense scarlet, and she turned away. For about the millionth time, I wondered if I enjoy humiliating students a little TOO much.
I placed my right hand against its gruesome, sickeningly meaty counterpart in the painting. The section of wall before us dissolved, allowing us to stroll down the short passageway into my laboratory. Miss Granger gasped, and gazed around in awe. Seeing my personal space through the eyes of another, I can admit it’s pretty impressive. Intricately carved, highly-polished mahogany lines the walls. The handsome granite floors are polished to a lustrous gleam. My workbench is a priceless antique, handed down to every potions master since the 1600’s. The surface of the table is a solid slab of wood from an immensely powerful Whomping Willow that was over 500 years old at the time it was felled.
I have dozens of cauldrons of varying shapes and sizes on display, everything from enormous black cast-iron cauldrons a grown man could curl up inside, to tiny, delicate crystal vessels no bigger than a toddler’s fist. I leave my most attractive ingredients out: from the rich wooden ceiling beams hang enormous bundles of dried flowers and herbs, the shelves are lined with colorful terrariums containing the rare insects, plants, and small animals that I need fresh at hand. Even my “lounge” in the corner, where I end up passing out from exhaustion most nights, is richly appointed. The cushy and immense dark green brocade couch contrasts nicely with the severe ebony wood and black velvet of the reading chair that I keep by the fireplace. Even the ottoman is a fucking antique from the actual Ottoman Empire.
I had been colossally relieved when Professor Slughorn had demurred from taking over the workspace. He thankfully didn’t do much brewing in his personal time, so he felt that it was more appropriate for me to keep it.
“If you’re done gawping at my lab, I’d like to get to work sometime this century. For now, you’re going to be existing in a purely observational capacity, understand? I use unspeakably dangerous and expensive ingredients, and I’m not going to waste them on the mistakes of an air-headed little girl.”
“I understand, sir. Am I allowed to ask questions?”
“You may ask a bare minimum of questions. If you have further inquiries, submit them in writing and I will respond when I find the time. I expect you to use some actual logical thought processes here, get it? I’m not going to spoon feed you like a flipping charms professor,” I spat, making my disdain for the softer magicks a little bit too obvious. I usually try to maintain some sense of deference for my colleagues in front of the students. Ah well, you can’t un-toast bread, as they say.
The tips of her ears were slightly pink as she pulled out a small spiral notebook and cheap ball-point pen. “What the hell is that?” I asked with what I’m assuming was an expression of horrified disbelief on my face.
“Umm, it’s a notebook and pen.”
“I bloody well know what it is. What’s it doing here?”
“Well, sir, parchment is really inconvenient if you think about it. Like, who wants to deal with a four-foot roll of paper going every which way when they’re trying to take notes? Plus, you know, it’s hard to keep from poking holes through the parchment when you’re trying to write while standing up. And having to constantly dip a quill into a stupid inkwell? It slows down my note-taking by at least 15 percent!” This rant seemed to explode out of her independent of any conscious thought. She blushed, but looked at me resolutely. Clearly she’d been annoyed by this whole parchment business for a long time.
“You make good arguments, Miss Granger, though they could have been stated rather more eloquently. You may proceed.”
The first potion she ever watched me brew is one of my favorites. It’s an invention of my own: a mild hallucinogen, a calming draught, and a powerful pain killer. I created it quite early in my Death Eater career as a palliative to survive those wretched few hours immediately following Cruciatus torture. Your body is continually wracked by aftershocks of pain. Every nerve feels as if it’s on fire. Nothing will stay in your stomach (or your bowels for that matter). “Magic Carpet Ride”, as I embarrassingly named it in my youth, gives you five to seven hours (depending on body weight and dosage) of complete escape from your own body. Your mind floats far above everything, dispassionately observing yourself writhing in pain. Quite effective, if I do say so myself.
I was immediately impressed that Miss Granger largely managed to restrain her natural inclination towards endless inquiries. I don’t think she spoke more than two dozen times during the four hours it took to produce the potion. She strategically timed her questions, waiting until I wasn’t counting, or cutting, or handling sensitive materials.
She actually made observations that I myself had made during the initial conception of the potion. “Wouldn’t using the mortar and pestle for the Prancing Pine nuts be more effective?” Nope, they’re too lipid-rich and simply gum up in the bottom. “Why the Flagged Toadstools instead of Wisp Shrooms? Wouldn’t they give more of a dissociative experience?” They did indeed, but it apparently resulted in the mind never quite making it all the way back into the body. I ended up with a rather absent-minded, but quite friendly, lab rat from that experiment.
She performed her apprentice duties efficiently and with no complaints. She cleaned every last knife, stirring rod, cutting board, piece of glassware, and even the cauldron by hand after doubting that her cleansing charms were effective enough. I couldn’t help but admire her attention to detail. That’s a skill that’s innate; it can’t be taught. And you can’t be a truly great potions master without it. Despite my doubts about her maturity level and ability to handle the emotional aspects that come along with the job, I found myself being very nearly optimistic about the future of this endeavor.
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Madrigal