Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Chapter 6 Imbalance
“Ah, Severus, about time for you to join us.” Voldermort’s snake-like eyes stay at the crackling bonfire, his cobra familiar circling him at his feet, hissing at the arrived follower.

Severus kneels right next to his master, gently holds up his lifted hand, and kisses the deathly pale fingers. “I apologize for my delay, my Lord.” He straightens his robes after the Dark Lord gestured him to rise. “Lucius was…rather agitated.”

The spy immediately takes note of the surroundings, he’s quite certain they are outside the wards, lightness in his body and magic proves it. They are at a small clearing within the dense forest, sharp branches above stand ominously over them, like the closing jaw of a predator. A couple of others from the close circle have already arrived, faces hidden behind masks, the pearl sheen reflecting flickers of orange as the flames dance in front of them, standing at equal distance around the magically marked circle, fire at its center.

Voldermort’s eyes flash crimson at his follower’s word, he lowers his hand at the snake familiar as Nagani lifts her head to her master’s caress. “Useless swine.” he hisses, and the fire in front of him spikes up like rapiers. “I need you to assist me in this.” The serpentine man summons a thick leather journal, levitating toward Severus. The spy lifts the cover gently, the binds are barely held together, yellow stains on each page, the writing within are washed almost illegible by time.

With a brief look at the first paragraph, “My lord…this is–”

“I’m certain your abilities will prove it no challenge to you.” Voldermort walks over to the fire, his hands hovering above like he’s soothing some wild animal.

“The potion leeches both the user’s and the subject’s energy, this is a great risk, my lord.”

“I know my limits, Severus.”

“But -”

Before Severus can finish, his master turns and with a slashing motion like a blade, he sends a jet of fire towards him, burning his left cheek. Severus holds his breath and immediately kneels once more, preparing to endure more of the man’s ire. Then it hit, red light encompasses him like devil’s snare, ripping pain across every part of his body, the freshly burnt skin stretching in which Severus instinctively clenches his jaw to stop himself from making a sound, scrambling to raise his mind shields, his arm shaking badly as he supports himself from lying onto the grass. Beads of cold sweat travel down from the bridge of his nose, Severus could feel his insides twisting like a towel under the spell, ribs slightly cracking under the muscles’ pressure, he lets out a small hiss as blood starts to flow out from his nostrils.

“I wish my proclaim of true victory be flawless,” The crimson eyes peered down at the shaking man, “are you doubting my abilities, Severus?” he says, red light continues to flow out of his pale wand, like streams of venom injecting into the snake’s prey.

“No…My lord.”

Voldermort lifts the curse and looks up at the moon, “Make haste Severus, you have wasted us enough time.”

“Of course My lord, I apologize.” Severus steadies himself, head remains bowed.

“As you should.” with that, Severus treads back out into the dense forest, body spasming as he goes, he holds the journal hard against his chest, attempting to control his erratic breathing. His eyes hazed under the after-effects, moving branches under the evening wind certainly does not help with his dizziness. He does his best to go back to the manor through a hidden trek as fast as possible, apparition is not an option with the now increasingly painful cramps he’s experiencing.

Occlude.

And so he did.

The recipe in the journal, procedures to make the Draft of Transference. The concoction is a double-edged sword, allowing drinkers to replenish and subsequently enhance their magical energy, however, it only functions as such when both parties it, letting their energy transfer to the one in need with a connection spell. While it drains the giver’s energy, the receiver might also have the same reaction to maintain the transaction.

While the Draft sounds extremely beneficial if used in dire situations, especially in the emergency wards of St. Mungos, there are obvious reasons why the draft is classified a grade X, most of its components are poisonous, the 7 Belladonna berries within are enough to kill off a dozen of wizards, the concoction is only working due to the poisons fighting over each other within the bottle. The abuse of the draft once lead to wizards winning duels by dishonorable means, a cup of spiked tea, a quick “legillimens”, or even non-verbal spells with a handshake before the event can result in the desired effect. What would happen is the victim finding themselves unable to focus and weaker effects in spells, worse, their magical core being sucked dry, possibly destroying their magical core entirely, turning them into squibs.

As soon as these cases were brought up to the Ministry and the Wizengamot by the 60s, the draft was banned and remains one of the darkest of Potioneering arts, along with the creation of its nickname “Wizard’s leech”.

When the gates of Riddle manor atop the hill is starting to show through the gaps of spruce trees, Severus picks up his pace. His mind sorts through every combination antidote he could come up with, and more importantly, how to administer it to Potter and find the perfect time to escape. His thoughts are abruptly halted by almost getting tripped over from another sharp pain spreading at his calves, he raises his hand against the rough surface of the tree to support himself, he straightens himself while noticing a rubbery texture in his palms. A string of deep amber on the tree bark glinting under the moonlight.

Spruce gum.

Eureka.

Severus immediately takes out his small harvesting dagger from the side straps of his boots and swiftly cuts down a portion of the resin, shoving them into his pocket before breaking into a dash towards the manor.

As soon as he walks back into the laboratory, he quickly summons all the things he needs, cauldrons, flasks, different poisons, and their respective cures. Finally, with the journal on the right and his notebook floating next to him, the potion master begins to work.

#

To create a base that holds the world’s deadliest poisons, pour 10 fl. oz of water along with 0.5 oz of salt extracted from the blood of a frost salamander into a large cauldron. Stir widdershins under medium fire until the potion is light cyan, extinguish the fire as it starts to steam, and immediately stir 3 times deisul. Once the mixture is cooled, start adding the following in order.

1 6 fl. oz Venom of V. Tentacula

2 3 diced Valerian roots

3 6 fl. oz Juice of Aconite flower stems

Once added, ignite a small fire and stir widdershins continuously until it starts to boil, the potion should have a thicker consistency and be mud-yellow in color.


#

He lets the stirring rod do its work, takes out the collected spruce gum, and puts it on a crystal dish, heating it next to the fire. The floating quill next to him moves widely as it jots down the potion master's ideas for the antidote on the notebook. He moves the used flasks out of the way and sets up the distillers. His hands trembling at the thrill of brewing a banned potion, not without fearing for the possible failure in developing an antidote. There’s no going back now, he must get Harry Potter out, keep her son safe.

The potions master returns to the old journal once more the moment when bubbling noise starts to come out from the cauldron, filled with mud-yellow, soup-like liquid.

#

Keep the potion boiling and drop 7 Belladonna berries in one by one, each after the potion turns into a darker shade. When finished, the liquid should be in deep indigo. Extinguish the flame and allow the potion to cool off.

After cooling, put in 1.5 oz of Snargaluff thorn powder, stir 3 times deisul, sediments would start to appear, when the sedimentation cease, strain out the liquid into a crystal flask.


To cure as to poison, to give as to take.

Thus is the Draft of Transference.


#

Severus looks at the indigo droplets slowly falling through the silver strainer, while the flask is slowly being filled, he turns back to the distiller, putting a round-bottom flask at the end of the condenser after putting in a portion of the sediments. He turns to his notebook and starts to recall everything he has learned, writing down each possibility.

#

Respective Antidotes:

Poppy seeds

African Calabar bean

Salamander blood


#

If the base requires the salt out of the salamander’s blood, it would be because of the other elements within it that could disrupt the potion’s function. Opium in poppy seeds can somewhat ease the pain from aconite poisoning, Calabar bean treats spasms in small amounts.


Looking at the draft’s ingredients, his brows furrow as he notices a peculiar pattern. In separation, all five ingredients of “wizard’s leech” are lethal poisons, each of its components has at least one property that counters the others’ effects, so does the antidotes, perhaps it works by fighting poison with itself?

Self-counteracting.

“To give as to take.”

Balance is the key.

The man mentally smacks himself in the head, Severus Snape you absolute idiot.

The draft itself creates a “void” by self-counteraction, hence it pulls in whatever energy it is linked to. If the 3 separate antidotes work in a similar fashion, then the solution isn’t to fill the void back up, it is to create a larger “void” to take more than the other…

The imbalance is the cure.

Severus promptly darts towards the shelves and snatches the required, right when he prepares to extract the needed parts from the raw ingredients, he halts and lets out a frustrated grunt.

Blasted Golpalott’s third law.

In Severus Snape’s eye, the one and only saving grace of Horace Slughorn was that one lesson on the matter in antidote creation, "The antidote for a blended poison will be equal to more than the sum of the antidotes for each of the separate components." Lily Evans once rattled out the law with ease when Slughorn enquired the class, awarded with points and the usual “Ah Miss Evans you never disappoint me!”, she sent the brightest smile to the Slytherin boy next to her, the mid-day sun dimmed a considerable lot that day, as he vividly recalls.

Stop it. His heart clenches, sometimes he hates his eidetic memory.

To create the synergy requires the matters to be alchemically combined, while he is not a master in alchemy, he proficient enough to use it with ease. He had used it when making potions and the remedies, he conjured his first focus stone, a piece of quartz out of a pile of salt when he was experimenting as a teen, assuming it was accidental magic, which he later discovered to be the alchemical process of transmutation, as told by his mother. Her eyes shone with something positive for the first time in years when she explained, mentioning her alchemist relative, something good from her past life, something she was truly fond of.

Her eyes returned to the usual bitterness and fear when the front door slammed open.

Severus takes out a square slate from his hidden drawer next to the ingredient shelves, texts from the Emerald tablet chiseled at four corners, a kabbalistic tree of life at the center of the philosopher’s stone’s circle, intricately engraved onto the surface. A family motto is inscribed at two sides, Severus is aware of whose it belongs to, but the table is too beneficial for his work to be blasted in half that his pride told him to do when he received it as “a gift”.

Reaching into his pocket for the focus stone, his brows rise when his hand is greeted by an empty space.

Great, I left it with Potter. He had given him the piece of silver as a temporary wand.

He looks at the ingredients, laying on the slate silently. His arm involuntarily twitches at the missing tool, but time is his enemy, and hesitancy is not an option.

Severus presses his hands onto the slate, ebony wand pointing at the materials above, and starts to focus.



“Oh, itty bitty Potter!”

Harry wakes to the voice of Bellatrix, he blinks his eyes rapidly to focus on her figure in the dark, and almost shouted when he realizes the woman’s face is inches away from his, her unruly teeth flashing as she grins maniacally.

“Be a good boy and follow me to the party, our lord is waiting!” She hops around, bent wand swishing as she goes, small crackling noise litters across the room, like a string of exploding snaps. Then he sees it, spiderweb-like threads encompassing around him, they glisten under the streams of moonlight, breaking as the death eater hooks the warding apart, a spider breaking its’ trap, setting the prey free, just to land in a bigger one.

Bellatrix summons the ends of the chains linked to metallic cuffs, yanking Harry forward. The boy’s face falls straight onto the floor outside the cell as the iron bars disappeared into thin air. “Come now puppy dog,” her eyes peer down on him like a hawk, “time for our little walk.” Harry feels his legs stands up on his own, the more he tries to fight it, the more his body screams at him to submit, his face contorts in anger and pain, whereas the woman’s sick grin continues to widen with glee at the pathetic sight of their prisoner, she turns towards the door and drags the boy out.

Each step his legs staggers forward, is a step closer to his death, Harry finds his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, his body paralyzes each time he wills himself to kick, to scream, to retaliate, and each time Bellatrix will slap him in the face, her grin twisting into something more wicked, eyes more unhinged, twisting her wand between the bony fingers erratically. Harry could feel part of the soles of his loose shoes are being torn off little by little at the friction between the stone path and his resistance.

His heart pumps at a desperate tempo when they reach the edge of a forest, the moon hangs high above the cloudless sky, yet darkness mercilessly floods the woods, a narrow path that slices through the trees call to them, to walk on it, walk to somewhere within the never-ending abyss, and march towards death. The wind brushed against the grey grass, needle-like leaves on the trees waves, branches bending back and forth like a disorderly dance, the cool breeze brought back an earthy scent, that of soil after a summer shower, or the newly disturbed loam, dug up to encase an ice-cold coffin.

Swimming through the sea of shadows, Harry’s lungs beg for more air, chest contracting harshly as he tries to control his breathing, instead of wheezing. His fever must have somewhat died down, as he feels sweat plastering all across his back, soaking the worn t-shirt. He took a moment to look up at the clear sky for distraction, the stars are barely visible despite them being in the countryside, flickering as the night progresses slow, and stops when he tries to focus on them, they turn away from him, revolted as if he’s a rotting carcass of an animal.

An inhuman croak boom across the canopy and the boy’s heart practically broke into a run. Bellatrix snaps her wand up and, “WHO’S THERE!” she screeched, the chains in her hands clangs at her violent lurch.

A bird, clad in black perched at the tip of one of the tree branches high above, silently regarding the two below, like they were the ones who broke his reverie, he straightens his silky wings, with a reflective sheen on its feathers, like he’s glowing in the dark, blessed by the moonlight, bathing in its glory, like a judge, ready to hammer a verdict down to the scum. He watches the woman and the boy, like a butcher at cattle, that who is blind to fate, and that who is born to die.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!” the jet of green light hits the bird, surrounding woods burst into that of the eerie neon green, as the light fades, the forest once again, became lifeless, despite how hard Bellatrix is cracking up.

Hundreds, no, thousands of black birds rose above the canopy, wings that carry them across the harsh wind, or the other way around, yet the night remains silent as if the birds are only ghosts or hallucinations. Bellatrix pauses at that, she grumbles in distaste, before resuming to drag the boy towards the clearing.

“Bella.” Lord Voldermort stood emotionless next to a bonfire, he points the wooden stake at the opposite side of the flames.

“Yes, my Lord.” Bellatrix bows, just when Harry is wondering what’s going to happen, he’s thrown and tied tight against the pillar, barely allowing any room for him to breathe.

“Harry Potter…” the serpentine man drawls, “glad that you can join us.” he savors each word that rolls off his tongue.

The death eaters laugh at the struggling boy, as no words came out of his silent scream, body thrashing helplessly. A hooded figure walks out behind the leader, holding a large crystal vial filled with deep indigo liquid, he mutters something, in which Voldermort gestured him to stand at the circle near the fire.

“Time is upon us, my faithful followers,” Voldermort raises his arms, and the death eaters stepped close, dozens of masks float into view as they surround the fire like a wall.

“With the boy dead, we shall tip the scale, and the dark shall overrule the light tonight, let us embrace our victory.” He proceeds to take the vial from the man, like picking a flower and takes a sip, followed by the others around the circle, sharing the potion.

Voldermort takes a deep breath, eyes flashing crimson as he stares straight into the boy’s soul, a shockwave of pain radiates from Harry’s scar, desperate to claw at his forehead, he screams at the sensation of a knife stabbing and turning in his head, yet his vocal cords sleep on. He clenches his hands against the wooden stake, splinters sticking into his palms. The Dark lord gives a satisfied hum.

“Excellent work, Severus.” and gestured the hooded man to continue.

Harry’s eyes stare at the man, pleadingly, and tears threaten to drop when the spy grips his jaw roughly, forcing the boy’s mouth to open. Harry tries to shake his hand off

“Respect your professor for once, Potter.” Snape’s finger stabs his chin harder, as he uncorks the vial. The indifference in his tone sends a ripple of laughter across the death eater.

Why? Harry looks back at the masked man. How could you? I trusted you, they all trusted you. Tears continue to swell at the corners of his eyes, his tongue unmoving despite all the curses he’s trying to throw at the man.

[ Potter. ]

Harry’s eyes widen, focuses back on the onyx pupils, behind the dark holes in his mask, and finds the tunneling eyes meeting his.

[ I’ll get you out, soon. ]

Tears finally fall across his cheek. And Snape abruptly pours down the hot liquid, causing the boy to flinch as the vial’s heat burns against his lips. A flowery taste dances at his tongue, followed by a mild bitterness, like the expired store-bought cookies aunt Petunia used to dump him for his “birthday gift”, as he feels the liquid travels down, a syrupy substance coats his throat.

[ Petunia? You live with Petunia? ]

The boy looks at the professor, confused at the disgust in the projected voice. His thoughts are suddenly interrupted by another wave of pain at his scar, worse than the one at the graveyard, Voldermort looks at his trapped enemy, as he gloats over the tortured body. “Oh, Potter,” he hissed, “Perhaps Dumbledore hasn’t disciplined his students enough, we shall stand dignified and bow before a wizard’s duel.” The yew wand points and lowers, commanding the young body to bend against the constraints, the ropes burying deeper into the boy’s flesh, gritting his teeth, he feels the ribs are about to be snapped under the pressure

It hurts. His body convulsed at the pain

“Kneel before me, Harry Potter.” The Lord commands, and so the body obliges, toppling down along the loosened ropes, eyes meeting the twisted smile which thrives in schadenfreude.

[ Hang on. ]

Both fate and the light’s nemesis must be playing a cruel joke on him, as Voldermort drags his unkempt fingernail straight across the inflamed scar, people staring down at him like a jester in a circus, laughter filling the air at his antics, mirroring the events during the tournament.

Please.

[ Not yet, almost. Hang on Potter. ]

The loud crack at his ribs only invigorates the mad man, the laughter became even more demented as Voldermort kicks him in the chest, bile forces its way up to Harry’s throat.

Please

[ A little longer. ]

Black pupils forces themselves to focus on the emerald green, as he hears the pleads of the son of his best friend.

Please professor.

“Please, Sev”

[ Almost there. ]

“CRUCIO!”

[ Potter, I’m sorry ]

The emeralds continue to plead.

The black tunnels continue to watch.

Amidst the hysterics at the clearing, a thundering croak disrupts the scene once more, Voldermort turns his head away from the boy towards the sound, and then…

“Romandre Oscuro.”

The roaring flames die, not even a piece of cinder, like those who were hit under the killing curse at the Dark Lord’s wand, the clearing plunged into the same sea of darkness at the spruce forest, even the last shimmers of moonlight vanished.

The crowd was suddenly pushed back by a surge of magic, the air surrounding them flows towards the center of the abyss, before it shoots up into the sky, a trail of ribbon-like dense black smoke twisting above the forest, shock, to those who witness it as the light seeps back into the field, and of betrayal, to the Dark Lord, whom personally taught the ability he trusted the most, he raises his wand to command the traitor's death, rallying the men, yet not one spark comes out of their wands.



[ Potter! ] a familiar voice ring in his head, laced with urgency.

The first thing Harry could feel after what seems like hours of torture, is wind hitting against his face, and an arm hugging his waist tightly, another shielding his head. Harry almost pushed away whatever is holding him when he sees lights of different colors shooting at them below the sea of trees.

They are flying.

Snape is bloody flying.

Without a broom.


They twist and turn as they dodge each attack from, probably the death eaters and a very angry Voldermort, the trees under them are moving like waterfalls, as they continue to fly at high speed. Just as they reach the end of the dense canopy, Harry feels a sudden jolt and the man’s arms tightening around him.

“Professor?” he shouts, something starts to seep through his T-shirt, like small spurts of water.

[ Hold on ]

Harry feels a tug in the navel, just before they disappear into the night, he hears the same thunderous croak that rings across the air.
Chapter End Notes:
Disclaimer, the potion and the spell are created by me, tho the potion's ingredients are either from canon herbology or IRL plants.

Potion creation and theory are now my favorite things :), I actually quite enjoy writing that part, it was kinda like solving a puzzle in reverse. I'm not a science student at all, but it was fun creating a potion of my own.

Chapter illustrations can be found on my tumblr page @momochi_owo and as per usual, comments, criticisms, advice are much appreciated. Thank you all very much for reading and see you next chapter! :D

*Feel free to make a guess why spruce gum was used :), it has nothing to do with the potion itself.

You must login (register) to review.
[Report This]


Disclaimer Charm: Harry Potter and all related works including movie stills belong to J.K. Rowling, Scholastic, Warner Bros, and Bloomsbury. Used without permission. No copyright infringement is intended. No money is being made off of this site. All fanfiction and fanart are the property of the individual writers and artists represented on this site and do not represent the views and opinions of the Webmistress.

Powered by eFiction 3.5