A Cloud Before the Moon

Chapter 17

"I learned that the book was written by an ancestor of mine named Rabotham Snape - a man of great brilliance and few scruples. It was his intention, he wrote, to develop a potion so potent, that the man who drank it would be capable of exerting the most irresistible influence on those who came near him - in his words - 'bewitching the mind and ensnaring the senses'. The man who took this potion would thenceforth and forever be able to bend the will of others to his own ends - be they political, financial or - " he glanced at her reproachfully, "seh...ssss....thhhh.....theh...."

"Sexual?" snapped Letha.

"Right," he responded abruptly. It appeared to Letha there was the slightest hint of a blush on his cheeks. Regaining his composure by wrapping himself in his robe, cocoon-like, he continued. "It appears that he was successful - - after a fashion."

"What do you mean?"

"My ancestor had a most successful business, procuring and selling potion ingredients, wand filaments and other magical items to merchants, as well as a certain select clientele who were primarily interested in Dark Magic. He had two partners, Ozymandias Black and William Malfoy.

"Rabotham told his partners about the remarkable elixir he had created, and they made a pact. At the same time, they would each drink a goblet of the potion - and when the potion took effect, they would become a formidable force. He had grandiose dreams - he envisioned that they could eventually control all commerce, law and political power in the Wizarding World.

"At the appointed time, the three men met in Black's study. As the clock struck midnight, they each quaffed a goblet of the steaming liquid. Immediately, Black began to scream in pain, and the other two watched in horror as his body ignited like a torch. After only a few moments, nothing remained of him but a small pile of smoking, blackened entrails. Snape and Malfoy trembled in fear, anticipating the same fate. But remarkably - on Rabotham Snape - it had no effect at all. He was at first relieved, and then bitterly disappointed. He believed his potion was a complete disaster - until he saw its effect on Malfoy. As he watched, William Malfoy was visibly wrapped in an aura of magical energy; the man practically glowed with the effect of the potion. As the two men stood there, while the potion's effects grew stronger, Black's eldest son entered the room. Without hesitation, Malfoy picked up Snape's wand and struck the young man dead with a curse. Rabotham was enraged beyond measure. He could not believe that fate should be so cruel to him - his potion was ineffectual on its creator, yet achieved the desired effect on Malfoy. Then, by killing Black's son with Snape's wand, Malfoy created a means, by which to blackmail his partner into acquiescence with his designs. Still, Rabotham was the only one who could produce the formula. Eventually, the two men came to a mutually beneficial understanding.

"My ancestor realized that he had placed an extremely formidable weapon at Malfoy's disposal. It endowed Malfoy with an irresistible influence on the minds of others, and Malfoy was very adept at wielding that influence. Unfortunately, the potion only had the desired effect on a select few - those with a certain predisposition. Malfoy, apparently, was so blessed, but Rabotham himself, was not. Snape and Malfoy continued the business partnership, which was run primarily in accordance with the dictates of William Malfoy."

"And what became of the potion?"

"Rabotham had made one cauldronful, which he bestowed on William, as part of their contractual agreement. He told Malfoy he had destroyed the formula, and could make no more of it. Malfoy was very angry, of course, but Snape only agreed to give him the potion as long as the contract contained a clause protecting Rabotham and his heirs from retribution by Malfoys. William transferred the remaining potion into dose vials, which he stored away carefully in a family vault. Each vial was to be administered to the first-born son of each generation of Malfoys; I assume that is what has, in fact, occurred."

"Then Lucius - "

"Yes. Lucius, like his forbears, had the predisposition. His remarkable influence on others derives in part from his own wealth and power and guile and his understanding of how to wield those weapons, but even more importantly, he can influence even many of those who might otherwise resist him. That influence, of course, derives from the ancient elixir."

"How does it work?"

"Its effect relies on proximity. It is in his exhalations, his sweat, his blood - it exudes from his very pores. It can cause others to do what they would not do, to believe what is clearly false, to lose hold of reason, to succumb to their most irrational fears and desires.

But there ARE those who, it seems, are born immune to the effect;

And there are those pure enough of heart not to be affected. -

And there are those strong enough to resist."

Letha pondered. "Why has Malfoy never himself attempted to achieve power, like Voldemort had?"

"The Dark Lord was a great wizard with powers unequaled by anyone - almost anyone, I should say," he said, his eyes flickering towards Dumbledore's desk. "The Malfoys are clever, cunning and unscrupulous, but even with the potion flowing through their veins, have never been able to achieve that level of greatness. This, I might add, has always suited their purposes. You know how Lucius is very adept at slipping in and out of his professed allegiances with remarkable ease."

"Yes, I know." Letha sighed. "And the potion - "

Snape grinned at her - a frightening, cunning grin that caused her to shudder slightly. "The potion - ah, yes, the potion. There is no more. Lucius was given the very last vial on his first birthday. Now, he has a young son of his own, who reached his first birthday about the same time the Dark Lord disappeared. Lucius is most anxious to acquire more of the potion, so that his son can continue in the family tradition."

"But there is no more, is there? Isn't that what you said?"

"True, but - Rabotham's book contains the formula. It is very complicated, but I believe I could make it myself. Although Lucius does not know where I found the formula, he does know that I have it."

"How does he know that?" she asked in alarm.

"I told him."

"Are you insane, Severus?"

"Not at all. It is a form of insurance. He is my greatest protector, at least as long as he does not have the formula in his possession."

"Are you positive he can't persuade you to give it to him?"

"I could not even if I wanted to. It is in very safe hands, I assure you. And it is far too complicated for me to make from memory." He added, "Lucius thought I would give it to the boy as a gift on his first birthday. I would not, of course."

"How did he react to that news?"

Snape's lips curled into a thin smile. "Oh, he respected me for it. He concluded that I was holding out for something of great value in return. He is convinced that he only needs to determine my price, and provide a quid pro quo."

"He's wrong, isn't he?" she asked softly.

"There is nothing I want from Lucius Malfoy."

"What do you want, Severus?"

He seemed to consider the question for a few moments, but instead of answering, asked her, "What is it that YOU want, Miss Faraday?

"I want things to make sense. I want good things to happen to good people and bad things to happen to bad people. That is what I want"

"Really? You are deluded, if you believe that might happen. You are a fool to work for the Ministry. You will never get anywhere, and no one will listen to you, because of what you lack."

"And what is that, Mr. Snape?"

"The necessary prerequisites for success in the Ministry are the same as everywhere else. Politics is everything. Success requires power. Power requires influence. Wealth. A liberal application of Dark Magic, dressed up in the trappings of respectability. Surely you realize that. Just look at Malfoy. He hasn't spent a day in Azkaban - - yet. But, who knows?" His eyes glittered malevolently. "I look forward to testifying at his trial."

Letha shook her head. "There isn't going to be a trial. He was acquitted because - well, because he's a Malfoy, I suppose. Record completely expunged."

Snape stared at her in shock for several seconds. Then he began to turn red, gradually achieving a bright plum shade. A vein on his temple throbbed as he shouted at her, "Damn you! How could you allow this to happen?!"

To his astonishment, she began to laugh. "Oh, yes, Severus, you're absolutely right. It's all my fault. I spent six months building a solid case against him, so I could watch him slip away. I think I'll go out and celebrate. I'll have a party! Would you care to join me?"

Snape stood, mouth agape, watching her gasp with laughter. He had to wonder if she had lost her mind. When her laughter turned to tears, he coldly advised her to sit down. He conjured a handkerchief and tossed it at her irritably. "If you had been doing your job, this would not have happened!" As she sat drying her eyes, the door opened, and Hagrid's frame filled the doorway. Upon seeing Letha's red tear-streaked face, he glared at Snape angrily. "What'd ye do ta her?" he growled.

Letha smiled at Hagrid reassuringly. "It's alright; it's not his fault." Actually, I should let Hagrid give him a good thrashing, she thought.

"Professor Dumbledore asked me ter take ya downstairs, before he brings up Mr. Fudge," said Hagrid. Snape and Letha both looked at him in surprise. To Snape, he said, "The Headmaster will be up to see yer. He's trying' ta talk Fudge into lettin' ya stay here." Snape turned a whiter shade of pale and nodded, his long fingers clenching and unclenching.

Letha and Hagrid left Snape by himself. As they descended the stairs, she asked Hagrid if she would be leaving now.

"No, Miss. He's afraid you could run into Fudge or someone else from the Ministry. Then you'd haveta explain what you're doin' here. He wants you ta stay here tonight" He led her down several flights of stairs.

"Why are we headed to the dungeons?"

"Least likely to run into anyone. The room's a bit chilly, but I set a nice cozy fire before I came to get ya."

"What about Snape?"

"I di'n't want to be the one to tell him, but even if Fudge lets him stay 'ere tonight, he's back to Azkaban tomorrow, 'til they hold a hearing." Hagrid added "He always was a prickly sort of lad, but I don' reckon he deserves that place."

Letha smiled. "Prickly?"

"That boy was not the sort you'd'a wanted to associate with - I s'pose you never had nothin' to wit' him while ya were here?"

"No," she answered truthfully; at Hogwarts, they'd never spoken a word between them, until tonight.

"Sneaky, bad-tempered sort, but far as I know, never did any real harm. Not like some of 'em he cast in his lot with. Maybe if 'e'd had a decent friend like you, it would've set him straight."

Letha smiled ruefully. "Thanks, Hagrid."

When Hagrid left, Letha looked around. The room was spare and simple, but comfortable. She took off her robe and lay down on the bed. Sleep would be welcome, but it refused to come. She tossed and turned, thinking about everything Snape had told her. At some point, she heard footsteps outside her room, and Hagrid's voice; he must have been taking Snape to his room.

Letha wondered what he must be thinking; by now he had to know he was going back to Azkaban in the morning, unless Dumbledore had changed Fudge's mind. As she lay there, she thought there was a great deal more she should like to ask him about, she had so many questions. Why had he joined the Death Eaters? He must have left them of his own accord - why? After a while, she got out of bed and slipped her robe back on. She opened the door cautiously. Seeing no one in the corridor, she walked along until she saw a room where the shadow of a fire played on the door. Letha hesitated outside the room, then knocked softly. There was no answer, and she decided she should return to her own chamber. As she turned, the door opened and Snape stood scowling at her.

She took a deep breath. "May I come in and talk to you?" she asked. He said nothing, but did not object as she stepped into the room. It was nearly identical to her own. "I wanted to ask you some more questions, if you don't mind." He still said nothing. What did he know about her grandmother's death? That was the first thing. "Did you know...?" she began. "Did you realize...?"

He came over to her and tenderly took her face in his hands. She began to tremble as he stood silently, studying her face. She did not dare to move a muscle. Finally, he spoke, murmuring in her ear, a rumble that vibrated down to her core. "Might I but moor tonight in thee?"*

Letha gasped, her eyes welling up with tears. "Oh, any port in a storm, I suppose?" she joked feebly.

He shook his head. "No, only one," he whispered, wiping away her tears.

She closed her eyes and raised her face to his, trembling slightly. This wasn't what had brought her to him, was it? She just wanted some answers, that was all. Wasn't it? But as their lips touched, her questions were forgotten. None of that mattered; nothing else mattered The rest of the world ceased to exist.

Except for one thing - some single thing that nagged at her. Time had stopped, it seemed. The universe had evaporated. But a fragment of a memory remained behind, prickling at her. His eyes, look in his eyes. She had to be certain. Open your eyes. She had to know that those were his unfathomable jet-black eyes gazing back at her. She had to be sure.

She opened her eyes- but no eyes at all met hers, only the flickering flames dancing in the fireplace. She opened her eyes and she found herself lying alone in the room where Hagrid had left her. Oh, you are an idiot, aren't you? She closed her eyes.

Wistfully, she put her hand up to her neck to touch the necklace he had once given her.

It wasn't there. She jumped out of bed, in a panic, picked up her wand, and began sending pillows, blankets and bedsheets sailing across the room.

After she'd searched the room thoroughly, she decided to approach the matter more rationally. She retraced her steps from the last time she remembered having the necklace. The inescapable conclusion was that it had to have come off her neck when she was in the Muggle policeman's flat.

She would have to retrieve it - another complication. In the meantime, she decided she'd better get whatever sleep she could. Maybe she could retrieve her dream. Or perhaps it was best if she could not.