Mist and Vapors

Down the table, Hannah, still deep in conversation with Filius, studiously avoided looking in Severus' direction.

"...and I can't tell you how grateful I am that you submitted my résumé. I would have never gotten the job without your recommendation."

The Charms master lowered his head bashfully. "It was nothing," he muttered.

"That's what you think - I could've been stuck teaching in Muggle schools for the rest of my life. Not much room for a bookworm and word-a-holic in the magical world, now is there? This may be one of the best things that ever happened to me." The fact that Hannah's voice wobbled slightly as she said this did nothing to alleviate his discomfiture.

His cheeks turned pink. "Really, it was nothing at all," he mumbled.

Hannah smiled down at him affectionately. "How long have you been teaching here now?"

Flitwick brightened considerably at the change of topic. "Oh, let me see - this is my twenty-ninth year now, is it not? Yes, sounds about right. "

She looked duly impressed at that number. "Any words of wisdom?"

He shook his mane of white hair. "I'm just old, not wise," he said with a chuckle. When she opened her mouth to protest, he held up his hand. "You will muddle through just fine."

"I just hope I don't muddle it up," Hannah said wistfully. "I'm sailing uncharted waters here. English in a Magic school."

"Don't you worry," he said, patting her arm reassuringly. "I'm sure they'll love you."

"I wish I had your confidence," she said soberly, daring to look up the table for the first time just to meet the disapproving glare of the Deputy Headmistress.

"Don't mind her," Flitwick said, following her gaze. "She'll get used to you. She's a dear, really. It's just that..."

"...my father is not exactly a welcome figure here," Hannah finished the sentence for him. "Yes, I got that impression. Do they really think I'll run to Daddy at the drop of a hat and report any dastardly deeds?" There was bitterness in her voice. "You know that he is every bit as happy that I am here as they are, don't you? He and Dumbledore haven't seen eye to eye on a single thing in over twenty years."

Flitwick shrugged apologetically. "Well, we've had some trouble with the Ministry in the last few years. They don't know what to expect yet. It may just take a bit of time for them to come around."

"I hope you're right." Hannah took a sip of her coffee and leaned back, cradling the warm cup in her hands. "In the meantime, I need to figure out the best way to teach the lower years how to write a decent essay. I'm sure they will be thrilled to get more work added to their load."

Absentmindedly drumming his fingers on the table, Filius sat deep in thought for a moment. Then he turned to her, his face suddenly beaming. "I just had an idea. Let me think it over for a bit, and we can talk tomorrow." His deep blue eyes peered up at her from under bushy white eyebrows with a twinkle of excitement. "It might just work."

"I can't wait," Hannah said with a grin. "Any help you can give will be much appreciated." She stood up as Flitwick hopped down from his chair to get back to work. "See you at lunch?"

Flitwick shook his head. "Probably not, dear. If I don't see you before then - come to my quarters after dinner tomorrow, and we'll talk things over."

---

Meanwhile, Severus stood up, surreptitiously pulled the package out from under his chair, and made his way down to the dungeon classroom. He placed the package on the flagstone floor and, walking around it with slow steps, considered his options. Finally making a decision, he walked to the far end of the dungeon. His wand drawing a slow, invisible circle in front of him, Severus watched as the twine obeyed his command and smoothly unraveled itself. Then, the brown wrapping paper unfolded slowly and fell off, revealing a plain white box. He lowered his wand and waited.

Nothing.

No explosion, nothing strange. Cautiously, he moved closer to the box. There were still no markings that would have given a clue to its origins. With a soft wave of his wand, the lid gently slid off the box and floated down to the side. A square envelope on top still hid the contents from sight.

Another barely perceptible wand motion, and the envelope lifted up and started floating towards him in the flickering light of the torches.

"Practicing hover charms?" a mild voice said from behind him.

The envelope fell to the ground as Severus closed his eyes for a moment, lowered his wand, and exhaled in exasperation. He at the same time hated and admired the Headmaster's talent for always showing up exactly when and where he was least wanted.

"Just opening my mail," said Severus tersely. "Can I help you with anything?"

"Oh no, carry on." Dumbledore sat down at one of the student desks. "You know, it has been a long time since I have been behind one of these." He chuckled.

"Really, Headmaster, you must be quite busy..."

"Open it, Severus." The twinkle had gone out of his eyes.

Slowly and resentfully, the Potions master turned back around. A moment later, the envelope was in his hand. Sliding the tip of his wand under the flap, he forced it open, and withdrew the piece of paper inside.

The handwriting on it was rounded, almost childlike.

You work and plan and labor, and just when you think things are going the way they are supposed to go, this creature shows up. You don't know it is there; it tunnels and digs below the surface and destroys all you have worked for. One day, you turn around and everything is gone. Everything.

The only good mole is a dead mole, wouldn't you agree?

There was no signature.

He put down the missive and walked over to the box. A dead mole lay on top of a bed of shredded newspapers. Another muttered charm, and the small black animal hovered grotesquely, suspended in mid-air, slowly turning. Severus dispassionately examined it with narrowed eyes.

It hadn't been dead for too long, still stiff with rigor mortis. No discernable wound or cause of death. The killing curse, maybe? At least this solved the mystery of the identity of the creature he had found on his bed.

Dumbledore had summoned the letter, and was reading it with a frown. "Death Eaters, then?"

"Death Eaters, other Dark wizards that followed Voldemort, or anyone who wants to make it look like one of the above," Severus agreed dryly, still eying the content of the box. "There is nothing conclusive here. My work as a spy is not exactly a state secret any more, is it now?"

"Any suspicions?"

Severus shrugged. "I have some ideas, yes. Nothing concrete at this point."

A look of concern on his face, Dumbledore got up from behind the desk. "Anything you want me to do?"

"No. I can handle this myself." He walked to the entrance and held the heavy door open with a slightly exaggerated gesture. "I do need to get started on the Wolfsbane potion if Lupin is to get his first dose today, so if you will excuse me?"

The Headmaster took the hint, and walked through the door. "If you are sure..."

Three steps into the corridor, he turned around again and took off his glasses. "Oh, one more thing," he said casually, looking down while cleaning the half-moon shaped lenses on the purple fabric of his robe. "Nice girl, that Miss Hannigan. You know her, of course?"

"We have met," Severus said non-committally.

"Is that so?" Dumbledore held his glasses up to the light to check for remaining smudges.

"Headmaster, I really have work to do..."

"Oh yes, that's right." The Headmaster put his glasses back on, and peered at him over the rim. "Well, I better go then."

Severus was just about to close the door, when Dumbledore turned yet again, the look of concern back on his face.

"Take care of yourself, Severus."

---

The Potions master exasperatedly returned to his classroom when the tall old wizard finally disappeared around the corner. About time. Really, what was it with all of them getting bent out of shape over some small dead mammals? First Minerva, then Dumbledore. Take care. Watch out for yourself. Next thing it would be the Fat Friar telling him to keep constant vigilance. As if he hadn't always been perfectly capable of taking care of himself.

Still frowning, he started to gather the ingredients he would need for the Wolfsbane potion.

Who had sent the package? He took down the jar of dried yellow flowers of Aconite and weighed out the required amount on the brass scale. Rubbing the flowers between his fingers, he tested for the right consistency before starting to grind them in the mortar with rhythmic, practiced motions.

Which of the Death Eaters were unaccounted for? Setting aside the fine yellow powder, he removed a bundle of leaves from the water-filled glass bowl in which they had been biding time since he had cut them earlier that morning. Leaves of Aconite - in the winter, he would have to make do with dried, but fresh green leaves definitely produced a superior product. He picked through the large, hand-shaped leaves to find one that was undamaged and unblemished, and proceeded to cut it into hair-thin strips. A quarter-ounce of Luna Moth wings was the next thing to join the line-up on the work table.

There was that idiot Crabbe, who, to Snape's very great surprise, seemed to have had enough mental wherewithal to defect to foreign shores before the end.
No, this didn't seem like something Crabbe would to do. For one thing, he couldn't spell well enough to have produced that note.

Smirking, Severus layered the moth wings in a porcelain bowl, covered them with essence of witch hazel, and set them to soak.

Mulciber, Rookwood, the Lestranges, Goyle, Macnair, - all dead, most of them fallen in the last three months of the war. Most of the rest were in Azkaban.
Dolohov. He had escaped, and had not been heard from since. But Dolohov's mode of operation was brute force. No, not Dolohov.

Next, a small, sky-blue vial of dew gathered during a New Moon and a dropper. He double-checked the dropper carefully to make sure it was perfectly clean. Any contamination would be disastrous.

Pettigrew. It had to be Pettigrew. He lined up the next three ingredients - a small pile of slippery elm bark, two rheum palmatum roots, and concentrated armadillo bile - yellow-green paste in a small jar. Dipping a glass rod into the bile, he brought it to the tip of his tongue - the only way to reliably check for freshness. He grimaced. Definitely fresh enough.

After expertly cutting the bark and root into pea-sized pieces, he walked to the cupboard that held his private stores, and unlocked it.

It would be just like Pettigrew to do something like this. Sneaky, insinuating...that simpering little sycophant. To actually follow through on the threat - now that would be a different story. Did he have the gumption?

From the top shelf, he removed a small brown paper bag. Topcoat hair from a werewolf - it had been the most expensive ingredient at one point. Since Lupin had regained control of his mind during the transformation thanks to the Wolfsbane, he had been more than happy to pull out some of his hairs to contribute to next month' batch. At least that way the werewolf saved the school a knut or two. Severus sneered at the thought as he carefully removed fifteen hairs from the bag, making sure they were of the same thickness and length.

He placed the cauldron on the fire, regulating the flames carefully. Time to start.

For the next six hours, any thoughts not related to potion making were driven from his mind as all his concentration and skill were required during the brewing of the tricky potion. There was no room for error here - one tiny slip, and he could start over again.

When he finally strained the finished potion into a crystal decanter (the last step of the process), he straightened up and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. His back was aching slightly after standing almost motionless for so long, bent over the steaming cauldron. He stretched lightly, first one way, then the other. A growling noise from his midsection reminded him that lunch had come and gone hours ago. Lupin better be grateful.

Pettigrew... He had overheard the Animagus tell Avery, his closest 'friend' among Voldemort's inner circle, how disappointed he had been when after his first transformation he realized he was - a rat. His friends' animal alter egos were impressive - a huge dog, a magnificent stag. And he - a rat. A common gray household pest. Not what he had hoped.

Severus poured some of the murky liquid into a large copper goblet. For a moment, grey-blue smoke hovered over the surface, then dissipated.

Pettigrew had found out later that it came in handy, being a rat. Being able to crawl into the smallest of spaces, going where no one else could go, disappearing quickly even where spells made Apparition impossible. Yes, quite handy.

He took the goblet and with determined steps walked out the door towards the office of the Defense master. Today, there might be something Lupin could do for him for a change.