Potent

Severus Snape was pacing. It wasn't common that he became agitated over a potion, whether rare and fantastically fickle or not. He neither enjoyed brewing potions, nor despised it. He accepted his gift, he acquiesced to it. They were strange bedfellows; potion making was an entity to which he felt distinctly merged yet somehow separate. He rarely spared conscious thought on the process itself. Rather, his calloused fingers, precise and methodical, chopped and weighed and stirred and stoppered. Potion-making's one saving grace was the mental respite it bestowed. The mechanical nature of the entire process allowed his psyche to subdue slightly, for just those few hours.

This potion was different. It represented an adaptation of a common enough potion, an Intensifying Solution. A well-brewed Intensifying Solution would noticeably enhance the results of any potion into which it was added. A few drops could elongate the effectiveness of any anti-pain potion, or even augment the Polyjuice Potion so dramatically that the drinker would not only take on the desired appearance, but have insight into the subject's mind as well.

Severus had intended to extract the chemical components of the Intensifying Solution that adhered to the secondary potion, thus allowing for an enhanced outcome. Upon extracting these components, he anticipated a way in which to devise an incantation with similar results- an incantation which would increase the breadth and scope of one's spells and charms. His research thus far represented months of calculations and painstaking observations along with numerous failures and successes. A discovery of this magnitude, he imagined, would be of immeasurable importance to both those fighting for and against the Light.

Yet Severus was tired. As usual, the incompetence of the dunderheads that he was responsible for educating was wearing on his patience. This, combined with Albus' insurmountable tasks, had him increasingly aggravated. He was sharper than ever towards his students, and his biting comments had sent many a first year fleeing from the dungeons in tears. He couldn't recount the number of angry admonishments that Minerva had sent his way. Even his own House was wary of his presence. The last time he had stepped foot into the Slytherin common room, a nitwit second year had actually wet himself.

Severus stalked over to his desk and began to sift restlessly through the stack of un-graded scrolls on his desk. All "Poor" marks, no doubt. From the rubbish he had been receiving from his O.W.L. students, he imagined that he would see few of their faces in his N.E.W.T. level class. The proverbial silver lining, he thought with a sigh- although Albus would most certainly not be pleased. He had as much as mandated a three-quarter pass rate from the Potion Master's classes. When Severus had pointed improbability of this goal, as only a handful of his students were even performing at an Acceptable level, Albus had smiled mischievously and suggested offering extra credit. Severus grimaced as he imagined spending his weekends supervising students scrubbing out cauldrons and disemboweling toads.

Yet his stagnating research was not the only troublesome worry on his mind. Albus had summoned him into his office a fortnight past. Semi-delirious from wafting in potion fumes half the previous night, he had had stumbled into the circular office, half-expecting to be relieved of his duties. Albus had sat there sanctimoniously, in his plush purple armchair, and given Severus a horrific task. Disappointed with the minimal progress in the potion, Albus had gently impressed upon the urgency of such a discovery, and 'suggested' that Severus take on an assistant of sorts. After an angry retort, Severus had stormed out of the office, appalled at the old man's audacity. Now, however, though it pained him to lend credence to the suggestion, Severus realized much of the mundane research tasks like documenting hourly changes in the potion's consistency could be handled by a N.E.W.T. level student. This would free him up to engage in the delicate precision tasks the potion required, as well as catch up on his grading. Yet a strong penchant for working alone and certain contempt for associating with students beyond class hours was making him hesitant.

He spun his quill listlessly between his fingers, and held it poised over a jar of blood-red ink. But he could not quite bring himself to begin doling out spiky red "D's" and "T's". Instead, he slid open a small, battered desk drawer and removed a sheet of aged parchment, embossed with the colorful Hogwarts crest.

***

"He's looking for a what?!?"

"An apprentice, I s'pose. It's what the posting read; someone to help with the brewing of an experimental potion."

"An apprentice? Snape? Like anyone'd wanna spend extra time with that greasy 'ol git."

***

"An apprentice? Most certainly not. 'Apprentice' implies a certain level or skill and respectability. I, am looking for a laborer."

"Now Severus," Dumbledore chuckled. "Call it what you will, but I must commend you in your decision to accept my advice. Now I must say, there are several bright young students in your 7^th year N.E.W.T. class. Ernie Macmillan, smart and diligent boy; and I believe several of your own House have shown promise? A certain Blaise Zabini?" The Headmaster tone became slightly wistful. "I did know the lads mother...and we can't forget Miss Granger, of course. Top of her class, indeed."

Severus stood quickly, knocking over a tin of caramels on the Headmaster's desk. "By gods, Albus! That incipient Hufflepuff? The insufferable know-it-all Granger? Or worse yet, the aloof and entirely conceited Zabini, whose head has grown so large he will soon have trouble fitting through the door of my classroom?"

Dumbledore sighed. "Severus, do be reasonable. I merely mentioned the most talented of our young potion makers. Be mindful of the reason for this conversation in the first place. I see the ache in your eyes, my friend, and the tension in every pore. Was it unjust of me to attempt to alleviate the strain in your soul?"

"Albus..." Severus gritted, fighting to keep control of his thinning temper, "Spare me...I will acquiesce to your desires, as always. I will review the submitted applications, and keep your recommendations at the forefront of my mind."

"Well then!" Dumbledore clapped his hands together. "Terrific. I must say I am pleased, Severus. Do carry on! Come to me by week's end with your choice. Oh, and on another note, be sure to turn in early tonight. It is Valentine's Day, and I believe the students deserve to let loose a bit without, er, harsh consequences." With that, Dumbledore lowered his glasses and gave Severus a pointed look. "Madam Hooch will be in charge of patrolling the corridors tonight."

"But of course." Severus inclined his head politely, an ingratiating smirk stuck on his face, and spun out of the room cloak billowing behind him.