That evening he had arrived at Dumbledore's office early, armed with fabricated urgency and carefully rehearsed nonchalance. He believed his mask was flawless. All he needed was a plausible excuse to visit the headmaster—then perhaps, when he emerged, fate might arrange a chance encounter with her in the corridor.
Listen to yourself. What pathetic delusions were infesting his mind? His consciousness felt cleaved in two: one half preening over its supposed cleverness, the other sneering at him for becoming no better than the hormone-addled trolls that populated the student body.
He cycled through excuse after excuse, desperate to project normalcy—ideally his usual brand of caustic indifference. But Dumbledore had dissected his pretense with surgical precision the moment he crossed the threshold.
"Severus?" Those blue eyes twinkled with dangerous perception. "I don't recall scheduling a meeting." A pause, weighted with meaning. "Though I do remember asking you to notify Orli."
"I informed her," Snape replied, his voice desert-dry.
"Severus." The headmaster's gaze sharpened to a blade's edge. "You've been... uncharacteristically volatile lately."
Snape summoned his Occlumency shields, forcing steel into his spine. "I wished to discuss the Horcrux situation. You mentioned Waters provided you with a potion?"
"Ah, yes..." Dumbledore's fingers drummed thoughtfully against his desk before retrieving a small crystal vial. "Without this remarkable elixir, you would likely be planning my funeral arrangements. Even if I had somehow survived the cave's defenses, it would have been mere postponement of the inevitable."
Snape accepted the vial with steady hands, examining the delicate craftsmanship before drawing the cork. Though empty, traces of the potion's essence lingered—complex, layered, powerful. This wasn't any formula from his extensive knowledge, yet its potency practically hummed through the crystal. Even the ancient Prince family vaults contained nothing comparable, and the brewing signatures suggested recent creation—six months at most.
Questions burned on his tongue, but he swallowed them whole. Orli remained an enigma wrapped in contradictions, but regardless of this potion's origins, its value was incalculable. If Dumbledore assumed it came from some dusty Waters family heirloom collection, so much the better.
"This appears to be a lost formula," Snape said with practiced detachment. "I cannot even identify the base ingredients."
"Such treasures are beyond price." Dumbledore shook his silver head. "Using it once was fortune beyond measure. Don't concern yourself, Severus—I have no designs on the Waters family's resources."
"If there's nothing else..." Snape rose, his gaze flickering to the wall clock frozen at seven twenty-five. Time crawled like wounded prey. Leaving now meant missing any chance of seeing her, but he'd exhausted all reasonable pretenses for lingering.
"Severus." Dumbledore's voice followed his retreat like a gentle snare. "Courage manifests in many forms. We require exceptional bravery to face our enemies, true—but confronting the truths within our own hearts demands equal valor. Numbing pain temporarily only ensures it will return with compound interest."
The words struck like physical blows. Snape's shoulders went rigid, but stubborn pride sealed his lips.
Then Fawkes released a soft, melodic trill.
"Ah," Dumbledore smiled with infuriating omniscience. "It appears Orli has arrived."
Snape's mind went utterly, catastrophically blank. Before rational thought could reassert control, his traitorous feet had carried him behind the towering bookshelf in the office's shadowed corner.
What in Merlin's name was he doing?
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