Chapter 173. Plans.
Shortly before eight in the evening, in a small, dimly lit room lined with bookshelves and potion ingredients, Severus stood at the center in front of a cauldron, watching a gray liquid simmer inside it, stirring it occasionally while reading. Not far from him, Slughorn sat at a desk working through fourth-year assignments.
"Professor, the Burn-Healing Paste is nearly finished." He drew his wand, waved it twice over the cauldron, then added the final ingredient. The mixture slowly began to turn red. "Three minutes and ten seconds, and it will be ready."
"Good." Slughorn didn't look up from the parchment, judging the result by smell alone. "By the way, have you decided what you'll be demonstrating for your O.W.L.s?"
"Isn't it a little early to ask?" Severus closed his book and glanced at the professor with mild confusion. The exams were still more than half a year away.
"The O.W.L.s won't be the most important step, but they are one of the steps toward earning the Black Cauldron Award, and how you perform will be taken into account." The Head of House looked up at his student, who seemed lost in thought at that point.
"I'm not entirely certain." Severus slowly lowered the flame beneath the cauldron and tilted his head. "I was thinking of trying to complete the cure for Dragon Pox. The published portions of Gunhild's work on the Dragon Pox Antidote are available, and I know where to find the rest." He smiled slightly at the professor's surprised expression. "I want to raise the success rate from seventy percent to at least ninety percent, and ideally to one hundred percent. After that, once I'm out of school, I intend to start work on an anti-lycanthropy potion, which would then serve as the project for earning the Black Cauldron."
"You've astonished me, Severus. Was this the plan from the very beginning? Is that why you chose to study Healing?" Slughorn set down his quill with a quiet smile.
"No." Severus finally extinguished the flame and covered the cauldron, letting the paste settle for a few minutes. "I started studying Healing primarily to be prepared for anything, and secondly for the books." He crossed the room and sat down across from the professor. "As for the potions work, it's to build a name for myself." He saw no reason to hide his self-interest. "Do you remember telling me about the Guild of Educators and the assembly scheduled for seventy-nine?"
"I see. Though I believe your existing accomplishments alone would be more than enough for that purpose."
"It won't be sufficient. I want to secure membership in the Guild, and even the Black Cauldron won't be enough on its own. Something more is needed. And beyond that, I genuinely want to help the wizarding population, which has already grown far too small."
"Is that so? That's an admirable goal." A light came into Slughorn's eyes, and he gave the young man a nod. "If you ever have questions, I'll always be glad to answer them."
"Thank you, Professor. I'll do everything within my power."
The choice of these two areas was not arbitrary. In Severus's world, lycanthropy had long been treatable, though the method was harsh.
It had been developed by an elderly Archmage whose grandson had been attacked by a werewolf. The werewolf settlement responsible hadn't survived the aftermath, but that was another story.
The treatment involved a Polarity Convergence Potion, designed to let the human side absorb the wolf. Beyond the extreme pain, it had one major drawback: only a seventy-five percent success rate.
A wizard of that caliber certainly wouldn't have let his grandson die, so the potion was paired with a ritual that raised the success rate to ninety-five percent by giving a second person full control over the merging process. During the ordeal, the infected person could barely suppress the wolf's half amid the pain, let alone think clearly.
Severus was not ready to demonstrate that ritual. For one thing, it was extremely difficult to control and required extraordinary mental and magical strength, at minimum, the lower end of the Archimagus rank. For another, the required ritual components were largely without an equivalent in this world, though they were not especially rare in his own world.
Dragon Pox was considerably simpler. It was a magical virus of sorts, fairly manageable: a standard course of potions taken over one week was enough, provided the infection had not reached its final stage, when the green-and-purple rash covered the whole body and every sneeze came with sparks from the nostrils. That stage required close to a month of treatment. As a side benefit, it generally produced immunity, which was why many in his world who worked with or raised dragons deliberately went through the illness.
Around nine, half an hour earlier than usual, Severus left the Head of House's office and turned not toward the Slytherin common room as he normally would, but toward the staircase leading down to the first floor.
A few minutes later he stood on the eighth floor before a large stone gargoyle.
"Fizzing Whizbees," Severus said without expression, having long since made peace with the peculiar passwords Dumbledore favored.
The statue moved aside, and he mounted the spiral staircase, which carried him upward into the Headmaster's office. The room had barely changed since his last visit, aside from the papers on the desk, which had roughly doubled in number.
"Good evening, Headmaster." He gave a slight nod to the elderly wizard seated behind the desk. A moment later, a happily trilling phoenix flew over and settled on his arm. "Hello to you as well." He stroked the bird's head with an easy smile, under the fond gaze of the room's owner.
"Good evening, Severus. Fawkes has missed you very much."
"I can see that. I won't take long. I just came to let you know that my teacher is prepared to meet with you tomorrow after lunch, and he sends his thanks for the ingredient you found."
"Wonderful. Thank you for passing that along." Albus gave a gentle nod. He had been eagerly looking forward to meeting ihiros, especially after seeing what happened the previous week through Moody's eye. "And how are you feeling?"
"Much better, thank you for asking." Severus continued playing with the phoenix. He had a genuine fondness for the bird, even if the only truly phoenix-like thing about it was its name and color. "I also have one more request."
"Go ahead, don't be shy."
"It concerns Gunhild's research. I couldn't find a single book on the subject in the library."
"I understand." A shadow of weariness crossed the old man's face. "They were removed from the school library on orders from the Ministry of Magic."
"Why?" Severus asked, genuinely puzzled.
Certain aristocrats took offense at Gunhild for citing Muggle sources in her research, and there were passages they felt were too sympathetic toward dark magic. The second point was the real deciding factor.
"I see." Severus let a thoughtful pause stretch between them, watching Dumbledore with a look that left little room for misinterpretation, one that the Headmaster understood perfectly.
"First, I'd like to know what you need them for."
"I want to try to build on her work, or develop a new potion for Dragon Pox using that foundation, and use it for my O.W.L. presentation." At that answer, Albus was mildly surprised. More than a few people had attempted exactly that over the past three centuries, and none had succeeded. But seeing the certainty and resolve in the young man's eyes, something stirred in the old wizard: a spark of nostalgia for a time when he, too, had thrown himself into countless projects like this, driven purely by determination.
"All right. You've convinced me." Dumbledore's expression warmed once more. "I'll ask a house-elf to bring the books to you tomorrow."
"Thank you, Headmaster! I won't keep you any longer, then, since it's almost ten anyway." Severus rattled this off with obvious eagerness and a clear impatience for the coming day, which made the old man smile quietly to himself.
"Of course. Good night, my boy."
"Good night, Headmaster."
He left the office and started toward the staircase.
"Have you ever considered acting? You'd be absolutely magnificent." Nagini's voice carried a sharp edge of sarcasm as she commented on his performance in the office.
"I have, but no role worthy of someone of my standing has been written yet." He tapped her on the nose with a shameless smile.
"What do you mean, not written?! You're the spitting image of Vlad Dracula!" At that, his eye twitched. Thinking she had finally struck a nerve, she bared her teeth in triumph.
"I can't be bothered to argue about that." He yawned broadly and continued down the stairs. I do wonder what that old man wants to talk about.
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