Bezoar

Just shove a bezoar down their throats.

Till last year, he could have made that little remark in an undertone to the fiery girl who used to sit next to him in every class.

But this wasn't last year - or the one before. This was here and now; she pretended he was invisible, and he wished she'd just throw her cauldron full of slimy yellow potion over him instead.

But person to share snide comments with or not, Libatius Borage's text was still filled with instructions thrice as old as Nicholas Flamel. Honestly, if someone were poisoned, it would be a miracle if they survived till their great saviour remembered Golpalott's third law - let alone hold their breath till they brewed the antidote.

Just as Snape finished brewing the nearly perfect antidote, Slughorn dismissed the class. It was a bright and sunny Friday evening - which of course meant that he had no business going outside and should quickly make his way back to the comfortably cool and dark Common Room.

And do what? Well, finish the essay on the Limitations of Devil's Snare for starters - and then perhaps review his Defence Against the Dark Arts paper on experimental curses. Or maybe he should finish the DADA paper before the others returned... Just as he sat down at 'his table' in the corner, an eagle owl swooped down and perched on a table nearby.

"That for me?" Severus untied the regal blue envelope from the owl's leg and broke off the silver seal. "Customised stationary," he muttered under his breath. "I wonder if he has customized underwear."

S,

Been reading the papers lately? I wonder - what do you think about the proposed Bill that suggests stricter implementation of the Statute of Secrecy? When Minister Williams says we should hide ourselves even more disgustingly than we already do - do you want to talk some sense into her, or do you perhaps want to hide her in a coffin till she understands how futile the exercise is?

Well your hour of reckoning is nearing mate! And I hope you've made up your mind on where your true loyalties lie.

If you do decide that you want to protect wizardkind from meaningless blood-treachery and propaganda, I'll expect you at the Manor on Halloween. That's still a month away - so no pressure, really.

L.M.

A month to decide if he'd take the mark and lose Lily forever - well that was a cheerful thought wasn't it?

Snape crushed Lucius's letter and opened his books. Now where was that piece of paper that he'd used for writing down the idea for a spell that had occurred to him in his dream last night? Or was that his potions textbook?

Severus was furiously scribbling in a blank piece of parchment and making necessary changes to the spell that he was working on for his Defence paper when another owl landed on his desk. She held out her leg and Severus retrieved what looked like a rolled up newspaper - the Muggle kind. The owl flew away as soon as he opened the sheet - it was the local crime page of some paper and an article in the top right corner of the page was marked in red.

DRUNK MAN KILLS WIFE?

Woman found dead with her throat slit; husband suspected, absconding

By Our Correspondent

Manchester: In a shocking case, a 40-year-old woman was found dead in her residence at Spinner's End. Her throat was slit and, according to the post mortem report, she has several wounds on her body that could have been caused by a sharp knife. The victim - identified as Eileen Snape - used to live here with her husband, Tobias - who is absconding. The police suspect that a drunken brawl could have led to the murder and are on the lookout for the absconding husband.

Severus didn't read the rest of it. His mother was dead. His father had killed her - tortured her till she bled to death by the looks of it. And she could have done nothing to stop him of course - he had snapped her wand in two years back, and she had promised to stop using magic altogether if he let her son - their son - go to school.

His head reeled. His mother was dead. Gone. Killed.

And he could do nothing.

He couldn't even cry.

He looked at the potions text open in front of him - and he scribbled furiously. His heart was beating so hard it threatened to burst out of his chest any moment now. His eyes were burning - and he berated himself because they were so dry. He wrote on, and on. And he finally finished.

For enemies.

He underlined the text. He felt no relief.

He picked up the crushed letter on the desk and read it again... still a month away...

His decision was made.