Darkness and Light 01: The Potions Master's Apprentice

"Are you ready?"

Her lips were dry, and her knees trembled. But the calmness in his voice, the absolute confidence in her abilities as well as his own, anchored her. They had researched this potion for weeks, adding and subtracting ingredients, starting over no less than five times before they were satisfied. If it failed, it failed, but at least it would not kill her.

"Yes," she said. Then she lifted the goblet, and drank.

Not surprisingly, the potion tasted vile: most potions did if they were any good at all. A shudder ran through her body as the hot liquid roiled within her. Then, slowly, she raised her head.

In the semidarkness of the dungeon she could see Snape's pallid, angular features as clearly as though it were noon -- which meant, ironically, that her sight had not returned. Whatever the potion had done to her, she was still looking at the world through Athena's eyes.

The little owl, sensing her mistress's disappointment, bobbed on Maud's shoulder and hooted mournfully. Snape spat out a curse and dropped the ladle back into the cauldron. "It should have worked."

"I must have had the proportions wrong," Maud told him, swallowing back the bitterness in her throat. "A little more extract of mandrake might have done it, or--"

"No." Her teacher's voice was flat. "I double-checked your recipe myself. There was nothing wrong with the regenerative ingredients."

"Then I'll have to go back to the library again, and research the combinations. Make sure I've eliminated all the potential antipathies."

He did not contradict her, but the hard line of his mouth betrayed his scepticism. Severus Snape was one of the best potion-makers in the wizarding world; if she'd overlooked anything in her recipe he would surely have found and corrected the error before this.

But what was the alternative? To give up, admit defeat, resign herself to permanent blindness and the death of her lifelong dream? That wasn't in her character, any more than it was in his. She'd worked too hard, suffered too much, to surrender her ambition now.

"It's late," she said at last. "I'd better get back to the dormitory." Numbly she turned to go, but Snape's hand came down on her shoulder -- the left shoulder, opposite Athena's habitual perch -- and she stopped.

"This is only the beginning, Miss Moody," he told her. There was no gentleness in his voice, and she was grateful for it: if he had spoken softly to her, she might have broken down. "There are other recipes, other ingredients, as yet untried, and I have every confidence that we will find the right one."

"Yes," she said, not moving, not looking back. "Thank you."

His long fingers tightened briefly, then let her go. She walked out of the dungeon into the flickering torchlight of the corridor, straightening her shoulders and lifting her head, assuming once again her habitual mantle of indifference. No one, seeing her, would imagine that anything of consequence had happened to her that evening, or that behind those green unseeing eyes lay a pool of tears.

* * *

* * *

"--can't just spend all year on the snackboxes, we need new ideas too."

"Hang on, I've got one -- Lobe-Lengthening Lozenges. A couple of sucks and your ears start growing--"

"Too much like the Ton-Tongue Toffee."

"So what? We never did get to try those out on anyone but Dudley."

"What about Scintillating Soda? Did we give up on that one?"

"Oh, yeah, I'd forgotten about that. Bet the girls'd love it--"

Maud pushed another stack of books between herself and the Weasley twins, trying to block out the murmur of their voices and the scratching of their quills, but it was no good. She couldn't concentrate.

"Would you mind keeping it down?" she said.

Fred looked at George. George looked at Fred. Then they both turned back to her and said in unison, "Yeah, we would, actually."

"Matter of fact," added George, "we are keeping it down. Your ears are too good, that's the problem."

"Which is why," said Fred, "you need our very own patented Deafening Delight Chewing Gum." He held up an imaginary package. "One chew, and all that annoying background noise simply vanishes away. Of course, so do all the sounds you might actually want to hear, but the effects only last for, oh, half an hour or so."

"Nah," interrupted George, "two hours. Enough to get through one of Professor Binns' classes. The first-years'll eat it up."

"Good one!" said Fred, and scribbled a note on his parchment.

Maud closed her book and pushed the heels of her hands against her eyes. She'd been studying for hours, and she could feel Athena's weariness as well as her own. "Abiungo," she whispered, and the little owl, freed from their magical bond, launched herself into the air with a hoot of gratitude. Athena wouldn't stay away long: but she needed the chance to stretch her wings, and would make the most of it.

"Hey," said George, "you're well up on your potions ingredients -- can I ask you something?"

As a Slytherin, she ought to have ignored him. In fact, she shouldn't be sitting here at all, because Slytherins in general didn't occupy the same space as Gryffindors if either could help it. On the other hand, she had only joined her House this year; and the Weasley twins were known rule-breakers and troublemakers of a sort that even a Slytherin might approve.

"Go ahead," she said.

"Do you know of a substitute for powdered basilisk scales?"

"Something cheaper, you mean?"

"Yeah. At two Galleons the gram, bang goes our profit margin."

Maud gave it a moment's thought. "Medusa root," she said at last. "But you'll have to use quite a bit to get the same result, and it's got a bad aftertaste. You'd need a strong flavour to counteract it. Like black liquorice."

"Oh, I like her," said George.

"What's it for?" Maud asked. "Petrifying Pops?"

"That's it!" More scratching as Fred's quill raced across the parchment. "Thanks, we'd been stuck for a name for those things..."

"Better not ask her any more," warned George. "We're going to have to start paying her."

"You forget," said Maud, "I'm a Slytherin. Mischief is its own reward."

"Oh, I really like her." She could feel the warmth of George's breath as he leaned across the table toward her. "Where have you been all my life, Maud Moody? Aside from somewhere in northern Europe studying the Dark Arts, I mean."

"Hey," said Fred, "I saw her first."

"Did not."

Neither one of them was serious, of course: the Weasley twins almost never were. And Maud knew better than to imagine her looks were anything outstanding. Still, being fought over, even in jest, was a new and flattering experience. "Now, now, boys," she said with mock severity. "What makes you think either one of you is good enough for me?"

"You're right." George's chair creaked as he sat back with a theatrical sigh. "How could we possibly hope to compete with the suave, the debonair, the ever-charming and beguiling Professor Snape? The romance of the smoking cauldron, days of wand-light and bats' noses--"

Maud choked. "What exactly," she said with an effort, "is that supposed to mean?"

George drew breath to reply, but his twin was quicker. "Nah, it's nothing," he told her. "You're Snape's prize student, that's all."

"That," added George, "and those extra hours you've been spending in the dungeon--"

"Shut up, you git," hissed Fred.

Maud waved his concern aside. She'd regained her composure, and felt only a little light-headed. "You've been cheating," she said. "You were supposed to wait until they published my confession in Witch Weekly. 'Oh Severus,' I cried, swooning into his manly arms, etc. But you're too late, it's over."

"Oh?" said George.

"I'm afraid so." She assumed a tragic expression. "I was just the latest in a long string of broken hearts--"

Fred sputtered. "All right, lay off, you win."

"I thought that one pretty much took the prize for Stupidest Hogwarts Rumour," admitted George.

"You'd be pretty much right," said Maud.

She had barely finished speaking when she heard the soft whirr of Athena's wings, felt the prick of claws as the owl landed on her shoulder. "Iungo," she murmured, invoking the spell that harnessed Athena's vision to hers, and the Weasley twins lurched back into her vision.

And so, to her sickening dismay, did someone else.

He stood several paces behind the Weasleys, his dark eyes regarding her coldly, his face expressionless. How long had he been there? She opened her mouth, but he turned in a swirl of black and melted into the shadows before she could speak.

"What?" asked Fred. "You look like you've just seen the Bloody Baron."

George grinned. "Or even worse, Snape."

"I have to go," Maud said abruptly. She pushed back her chair, gathered an armful of books at random, and hurried out of the library, leaving the Weasley twins staring in her wake.

* * *

* * *

She found Muriel in the common room, absorbed in a battered volume whose painted cover featured a muscular wizard embracing a swooning witch, their robes fluttering in the breeze and threatening to fall off. It was the sort of thing Muriel usually read.

"So," said Maud, sitting down in the chair opposite her and keeping her voice level with an effort. "Which was it, spite or jealousy?"

Muriel gave an exaggerated sigh and snapped the book closed. Passion's Wild Spell, flashed the letters on its spine, before fading away. "Now what are you babbling about?"

"Only you, Lucinda, and Annie knew I was working with Snape after classes. With those two around, I wouldn't be surprised if the other Slytherins knew as well. But only you would deliberately spread the rumour outside our House, and make it sound like something more than an independent project--"

"Well, isn't it?" Muriel sneered. "I've seen the way he looks at you, the way he treats you in class. And then there's you, with your prissy little, Yes, Professor Snape, and No, Professor Snape, and Can I help you, Professor Snape? You just think you're special, don't you? Coming from Durmstrang, showing off, trying to make the rest of us Slytherins look stupid. And now you're hanging around with the Weasleys -- who do you think you are?"

Either Muriel had just come from the library herself, or she had a remarkably good spy network. "I talked to the twins for all of five minutes," said Maud flatly. "Are you going to start a rumour I'm having an affair with one of them too? Be serious, Muriel. The Weasleys are pure-blood; I can have a conversation with them if I want to."

"They're Gryffindors! Blood traitors and Muggle-lovers! No self-respecting Slytherin--"

"Oh, I see," said Maud, as though light had just dawned. "Is it Fred or George you're jealous about? Give me a chance, I might put in a word--"

Muriel made a strangled sound, dropped the book and sprang for her throat.

As they crashed to the floor, Athena launched herself off Maud's shoulder and circled the two girls, flapping and hooting anxiously. Maud couldn't blame her for getting out of the way: Muriel was more enraged than she'd have believed possible. Even as she fought to hold the other girl back, her mind was racing. Had she inadvertently touched a nerve? Was Muriel really carrying a torch for Fred or George -- or Snape?

"Fight! Fight!" cried a chorus of voices, followed by the sounds of running feet as the other Slytherins in the dormitory rushed to see the spectacle. Muriel had a double handful of Maud's hair and seemed to be trying to pull it out by the roots: Maud, disoriented by the whirling vision of herself that came through Athena's eyes above, struggled futilely to get her wand free of her robes. Students were not supposed to duel, but when it came to self-defence --

With a sudden wrench she twisted free of Muriel's grip, levelled her wand, and shouted the first spell that came into her head:

Instantly Muriel dropped away from her, screaming and covering her face with her hands. Maud scrambled to her feet, ready to speak the counter-spell, but a voice came, cold and harsh, from behind her:

"What is the meaning of this?"

"Sir," gasped Maud, turning to him. "She--"

"Silence," he snapped at her. Ignoring for the moment Muriel's high-pitched wails, he turned to the other Slytherins gathered around. "What happened?"

"I saw it all, Professor," said a drawling voice, and Draco Malfoy shouldered his way to the front of the crowd. "Groggins was reading a book, minding her own business, and Moody here came in and deliberately provoked her, trying to start a fight--"

Maud stared at him, breathing hard. "That's not true."

"Thank you, Draco," said Snape. "All of you, you are dismissed to your rooms. I will deal with this... incident... myself."

Reluctantly, the other Slytherins filed out. Still, they would be listening to whatever happened next, and Maud had no hope that this matter would truly be dealt with in private.

"I am extremely disappointed in you, Miss Moody," said Snape. His voice was soft, but there was no gentleness in it, no hope of mercy. He waved his wand at Muriel, said "Fortitudo!" and she collapsed to the floor, panting.

"Go to your room, Miss Groggins," he told her. "Rest assured I will address Miss Moody's conduct as it deserves."

"Professor," said Maud desperately. "You can't possibly believe --"

He cut her off. "Draco Malfoy has been an outstanding member of Slytherin House for the past four years. I would trust his judgement even had I not seen your--" his lip curled-- "misbehaviour-- for myself. I see, Miss Moody, that I have been much mistaken in you. It seems that I will have to lower my standards where you are concerned, since you have proven so unequal to them."

Maud stared at him, unable to believe what she was hearing.

"Indeed," Snape continued icily, "I begin to question whether you belong in this House at all. Since you seem unable to form friendships here, or conduct yourself in a manner that befits a Slytherin, I am considering putting in a request to the Headmaster to have you re-Sorted. Publicly."

She had never been Sorted in the first place, and they both knew it, but the threat was real. The Sorting Hat was as likely to put her in Ravenclaw -- or worse, Gryffindor -- as anything else, and then all her work would be ruined.

No sooner had she spoken those flippant words in the library than she had regretted them; but she had never imagined that they could have made such a difference in Snape's attitude toward her. It was as though everything they had shared -- the trust, the friendship, the common cause -- had disintegrated in an instant. Was his pride that fragile? After all he had done and endured, she could hardly believe it, and yet there seemed no other explanation.

"Report immediately to Mr. Filch for your detention," he told her. "I will notify him to expect you, and he will no doubt find something appropriately unpleasant for you to do." With a swift gesture he lifted Athena from her shoulder. "And I shall return your owl when Mr. Filch notifies me that you have finished."

Seeing through Athena's eyes when the little owl was in a different location would be so disorienting, it would be even worse than being blind: and Snape must have known it. Blinking against the threatening tears, she murmured, "Abiungo," and let the darkness swallow her.

"You will find your own way to Mr. Filch's office," said the beautiful, pitiless voice of her mentor. "You can do that much without Athena, I trust?"

It would take her hours, unless she found someone to help her. But he must know that, too.

"Yes, Professor Snape," she whispered.

* * *

* * *

As she stumbled down the corridor, feeling her way blindly along the cold, dank stone, her uncle's words re-echoed in her ears. Never let them make you cruel...

Why Formido, of all the spells she could have chosen? Maud had always avoided using the Dark Arts: thanks to her time at Durmstrang the knowledge was there, but she had determined never to take advantage of it. Still, casting the Shapeless Dread against a fellow human was very close to the line... and it had been the first spell that came to her.

Or what about the library, where she had mocked Snape in front of the Weasleys, letting them think she respected and cared for him as little as they did? His reputation had been at stake as well as her own, of course; but to be honest, she had thought only of herself. For the same selfish reason, she had sat through Snape's classes day after day, watching him taunting and mistreating the Gryffindors with every appearance of relish, all the while saying nothing.

In her mind she had made excuses for both of them, telling herself Snape's vindictiveness was an act, that he needed to appear cruel in order to maintain his reputation, just as she had to remain aloof in order to maintain hers. After all, he had saved her life when she was a child, at enormous risk to himself; and he had worked hard since her transfer to Hogwarts to give her the help and support she needed. She had good reason to believe in him, in spite of all appearances to the contrary. But now that he had turned against her, she could not help but wonder if she had put her faith in an illusion, given her trust to a lie...

She was just feeling her way through the archway that would take her to the stairs when a deep, warm voice spoke out of the blackness, and she froze.

"Miss Moody. May I offer you my arm?"

It was Albus Dumbledore.