The witch’s brow furrowed, it was an interesting trio she had received from the Potions Master, himself. Inhaling a slow breath of air, Hermione looked up at the dark wizard.
“Sir, I see you as my best friend. As crazy that may sound, I do. You’re loyal, intelligent which is great for conversing with one another. Not only that, you are a very caring person to those you care about. As for Lucius Malfoy, well we have an interesting history and I highly doubt he would want a wife with my bloodline. So I would put him as my brother. So that would leave Remus to be my husband. Yes, I know he is a werewolf but I don’t mind that one bit. He is quite smart, loyal and I truly believe he would make a great husband for me.”
{{Since Hermione doesn’t have a relationship with your Severus she didn’t pick him to be her husband. (though she would have picked him to be her husband). I hope that is perfectly fine. She and I know you are happily married to Poppy.
(( This was an RP between myself and @masterseverussnape done in Google Documents & reposted here with permission. ))
“Papa, is Mr. Bricriu nice?” asked Abigail as she held her father, Severus Snape’s hand and skipped up the path to The Library entrance.
Abigail had picked out her favourite dress of white crinoline with yellow daisies embroidered on the hem and the puffed sleeves. She had told her mother, Poppy Pomfrey-Snape earlier that she had picked the dress out specifically for “Mr. Bricriu”.
“Calleo Bricriu is a fine fellow, Abigail. I believe you shall like him,” assured Severus.
“I hope he likes me,” smiled Abigail. “Do you think he likes yellow, Papa? It’s the flavour of the sun. Lemon, you know?”
Severus rolled his eyes heavenward and silently cursed the ghost of Albus Dumbledore for giving his child a taste for lemon, yellow, and most especially, lemon sherbet sweets.
“So I have heard, my dear,” Severus replied patiently. “Do you remember what I told you about The Library?”
“It’s full of priceless books and I don’t touch anything unless I am given permission.”
Severus smiled softly and brushed the raven curls that fell to Abigail’s shoulders. “Very good, my girl.” He then knocked upon the door that inexplicably was the only part of The Library to be seen.
Calleo re-read the short letter he had received by owl that morning as he took his breakfast.
Calleo,
I have analysed the “residue”. The analysis went quite smoothly, and it was further telling. Rather fascinating! I shall explain when my daughter and I visit this afternoon.
Severus
…and then came a polite knock upon the hidden door that was seldom ever used.
Calleo smiled.
This should be interesting.
He’d spent time around younger cousins before, but none quite as young as Severus’ daughter.
It would either go smashingly well, or somewhat awkwardly sideways, but no use thinking about that now; it wasn’t as if he were going to be left alone to fend for himself with a small child. He only had to keep her out of her father’s hair while he did a bit of reading, and that couldn’t be that hard.
“Hullo there!” Calleo bent down a bit to hold his hand out to Abigail, remembering that his mother had long since drilled into him that you greet the ladies first, “You must be Abigail, yes? That’s a very pretty dress you’ve got.”
Glancing up at Severus, Calleo gave a nod toward the door behind him, “Suppose we ought to go inside and let your father get to work.”
He straightened after giving Abigail time to properly greet him, “I look forward to the analysis of whatever was in that vial, Severus; as I mentioned, whenever the Department of Mysteries adamantly doesn’t want something, it raises several little internal alarms. They always have a reason, even if it occasionally turns out to be ‘it’s nothing useful’.”
“The way of government whether one is wizard or Muggle.” He could feel his daughter practically vibrating with excitement. “Perhaps we should get Abigail settled, Calleo, and then we might speak.”
“Papa?” asked Abigail as she crooked her finger to whisper at him. Severus sighed but bent down to lend an ear. After a moment he nodded. He then straightened and faced Calleo. “A ladies room, first, it seems.”
Calleo pointed and then waited as his guests were taken care of. When they emerged…
“I’m all better now,” announced Abigail. “Papa told me you have sea monsters, Mr. Bricriu!”
Severus glared. “I never…!”
Calleo snorted back a laugh, “I have Braxford, but he’s a bit too fat and not-scaly enough to be a sea monster. I do have numerous books about sea monsters, though; some of them even have pictures,” he added.
“They’re really only called monsters in Muggle books, though, since they don’t really understand them or are frightened of them.” Calleo stopped himself and gave a silent reminder that Abigail was only four and probably not interested in that sort of discussion, “Would you like to see some of the books that have pictures in them while your father and I talk?”
“I trust that you’ll be careful with them.” He stepped over to a shelf and carefully removed a couple of books that had more than enough illustrations in them to keep a small child occupied, “We wouldn’t want them to end up unreadable by anyone else, after all. Do feel free to ask any questions you might have.”
That—might have been a mistake, but the words were out, and it was too late to take them back now.
Abigail was about to open her mouth with questions but a warning glance from her father told her to hold the questions. As Abigail settled herself with the books -- The Pequod, A Reminiscence of Fact by Ishmael, True Sightings of Nessie - A Glorious Dragon by C. Weasley, and A Story of Under-The-Sea Ships by Prof. Aronax, illus. by Ned Land -- the two wizards moved over to a worktable as Calleo examined a parchment that contained the Potions Master’s detailed analysis of “The Residue”.
“As you might be able to decipher, Calleo, the residue was very thorough in providing its constituent components for analysis. Hyoscyamus niger is the main ingredient and is one seldom seen in the modern potions.” Severus elaborated, “Stinking Nightshade as it was once termed and named Henbane by our very own Merlin. The henbane served as a base for the addition of usually innocuous ingredients such as lacewing, Nubian Slug, and the rather beguiling Sallow Wort - the root of the Daucus Carota - Queen Anne’s Lace. It is the Sallow Wort that gave “The Residue” its pearlescent shimmer.”
“Well, if nothing else, I at least recognise the plant names that were in that list!” Calleo laughed and shook his head, “I’m not entirely sure what it does though, or that it would have done if there was more of it present.”
“‘Usually innocuous’ tells me that in that base they’re not so innocuous any longer.” He drummed his fingers on the table absently, “and I know that henbane can cause loss of sensation and sometimes hallucinations—and that it’s nothing to do with hens at all, but that’s about all I can recall.”
“If you were giving me marks on this, I’d imagine right now I’d be earning somewhere around a T level,” he added playfully, “but to my credit, I’ve not melted anything and didn’t try touching it or, worse, tasting it first.”
Calleo glanced back at Abigail, likely just to make sure she was still engaged in the books and not quietly painting anything, “I’ll also guess that that list of ingredients means you know exactly what it was meant to do when it was more than just residue, yes?”
“Iuncturam Doloris Remedium,” intoned Severus just a tiny bit smugly. “Joint Pain Reliever,” he translated. “It worked quite well when it was first devised back in 1673 by Healer Anno Duvalis. Nearly all the witches and wizards of senior age were using the cream with some degree of relief. The problem was that the henbane was absorbed by the skin and accumulated over time. Patients using the potion began to hallucinate. Not long after their internal organs began to shut down. Death, of course, followed.” Severus peered at the tiny bit of leftover residue from a dangerous pain reliever. “I do not know what happened to Healer Duvalis… “ he handed the warded tube to Calleo. “Out of curiosity you might wish to research that. I found no other potions created by the Healer so I can only surmise that his end was not a good one.”
Severus glanced towards his daughter as he heard distinct sounds of ocean waves and crewmen shouting in small voices. Abigail was mesmerised by a tale of a many tentacled sea monster encountered by an Under-the-Sea wizarding ship from the 1700s.
“Francis Bacon, Calleo?” asked Severus.
“HA—!” Calleo nearly choked, trying not to laugh—the death part, of course, not being humorous in the slightest. “I—that was for the mundane thing that it is, not for the outcome that overuse of it would cause, of course.”
He took the vial and tucked it away in a pocket, “Good to know it’s relatively harmless, at least in small quantities; I swear, the people in that department just don’t like having to deal with the paperwork to throw anything away sometimes. It’s a nice bottle, though; I may keep it for that alone.”
“And,” he continued, “I can certainly look into what might have happened to—what did you say the name was? Duvalis? Could be interesting to know; I’m sure it’s buried somewhere in a dusty old history book. Ah!” Calleo flashed a brilliant smile, “Speaking of, you wanted to have a look at the Scrolls of Francis Bacon, correct? Of course it is—anything else is just written about him and, while interesting, likely not of interest in this case. It’s over on my desk, and I’ll venture a guess that this is where I go about entertaining while you do a bit of reading.”
Severus was delighted with the scrolls -- rolls of aged papyrus written in the hand of Francis Bacon himself. To the Muggle he was an English philosopher, statesman, scientist, jurist, orator, essayist and author. To the wizarding world he was a wizard of some note, with an illustrious career as a Potions Master. Severus admired the man and wizard and Potions Master and was soon pulled into the magic of the handwritten works of Master Bacon.
Abigail was very happy when Calleo conjured a chair and sat down beside her. He listened attentively as the little girl related a story from A Story of Under-The-Sea Ships by Prof. Aronax. Calleo ‘ooh’d and aah’d’ in all the right places and when Abigail finished and clapped her hands, he did, too. The Archivist then settled in for a series of questions from Abigail. He thought she might get bored at some point but Abigail was very attentive to every answer the older wizard had for her.
Two hours passed easily for all three and soon Severus left the Scrolls of Francis Bacon with a promise to himself to return another day. As he turned and walked over to the small area he had left his daughter to read her books he found Abigail deeply asleep in the lap and arms of an equally asleep Calleo.
Severus woke Calleo and took his daughter, who did not wake as she wrapped around her warm father, and thanked the gentleman for the visit.
“You have infinite patience, my friend,” said Severus. “No doubt tomorrow I and Poppy shall be regaled with the wonder that is ‘Mr. Bricriu’.” He nodded his head since he could not effect a decent bow while he held Abigail.
masterseverussnape (continuation of this ask thread)
A slight cold recently but taken care of with rest and stories read to me by Abigail. Poppy has immortalised the moment of our daughter reading to me from Winnie-the-Pooh whilst I consume chicken soup in bed.
Darling wife.
Abigail is convinced she cured me. She believes she will be a Healer now.
Darling child.
~Severus
That--is one hell of an image, I have to admit.
I’ve been lucky so far in avoiding colds or other various diseases, though I did accidentally mildly curse my right hand yesterday afternoon via not getting out of the way of someone else’s mistake fast enough.
Still one spot that’s not quite gone just yet, but it is fading.
Other than that, I’ve been shuffled form the Archives to the Department of Mysteries on a--so I’m told--temporary basis, and talked them into letting @braxford take over my position; one of a very select few I’d trust not to completely cock it up, pardon my language.
Then, there’s that Hit Wizard, @r-preachanlann , that they’ve attached to me at the behest of a barmy old Auror who’s still convinced I’ll do I’m not exactly sure what. I don’t even know what @r-preachanlann does aside from nap in the chair by my temporary office’s door and occasionally get her wand out from in front of my face.
I suppose I ought to clarify that I’m not actually complaining; it’s all been quite interesting, if nothing else, and I imagine a bit of change keeps me from falling into a comfortable rut.
What tome or scroll could you not face life without?
Tricky; most of the ones I adore on a personal level I also have memorised so losing the physical copies wouldn't send me into a spiral.
I think, at the moment, if I lost my access to the first edition of Æterna Discruciare I might come as close as I ever do to not wanting to face life for awhile, but only for the reason that I’m three fourths completed with transcribing it.
And the transcription is accurate (not meaning to come off as arrogant, of course, it’s more that I’m capable of copying word for word), unlike the existing translations, without having all of the nastiness of the curses, wards, and various hexes woven into the original text’s words and pages.
I’m not certain if I’d be upset by the lack of completion or the loss of access to the resource, but I suspect it’d be a bit of both.
In the realm of something less horrible, I do have an early reprint of Monas Hieroglyphica that has lovely binding. My parents let me take it from their library when I moved out.
(The owl itself, after having delivered the letter, will move to a safe, out of arm’s reach distance until it is either dismissed or given a reply to carry back.
Should anyone attempt to pet it or feed it, it will hiss, back up further, and likely bite if the attempts continue.
The letter it carries is subtly, if not a bit heavily, warded.
If intercepted or opened improperly, it will simply disintegrate.
Clearly, the sender made the assumption that masterseverussnape would have no trouble figuring out how to get it open.
The letter, of course, not the owl.)
Severus,
I’d apologise for the owl, but you’ve dealt with him before, I think.
If not, my apologies.
He has the personality of a severely hungover Scotsman.
But, I didn’t owl you to talk about my owl.
I would ask that you pardon the use of an actual owl, though.
I couldn’t find a way to make the request short enough to be crammed into the little ‘ask’ without sounding terse.
Brevity never was one of my stronger qualities.
As it turns out, during my very likely futile attempt to organise the disorganised, paper filled monstrosity that is the area on and around my desk at home, I came across some research notes on the analysis of the residue left by Nihilus that you’d done at my request.
The residue came, in no particular order, from an inanimate, organic object, and a common rat; you had analysed it using magical means, and sent it off to a Muggle acquaintance who had experience in their field of physics for his analysis on the material as well.
Three blasted years ago.
I know, I know, I’ve already given myself that lecture on keeping my work in order multiple times over the past week and a half.
I also noticed that I forgot to include those results as an addendum or, at the very least, set of margin or footnotes, on my own writings on the curse.
Given the nature of the writing, not to mention the subject matter, I would not wish to include your name, or even initials as they’d be very easily guessed, without explicit permission to so do.
If you would prefer I not, I can either leave it unattributed, taking the credit myself by implication (which, from an academic standpoint, made me cringe even as an idea), or use a pseudonym in place of your name or initials.
One of those dodgy areas of “Do I want my name attached to this?” and all.
Feel free to publish this particular correspondence, if you wish.
Once the warding is undone it’s all normal paper and ink again, after all.
I thought it best to contact you in private in case it wasn’t something to which you’d want your name publicly attached.
I had a dream I was at residency with an awful burning stomach. I don’t remember much, just that I was trying to find Professor Snape for a potion. The dream switched and I was in the audience of a great theatre, and I was terrified because I was so far up and I’m afraid of heights. Again I was trying to find Professor Snape for a potion to soothe my stomach. At one point I started coughing up blood. The dream switched again and I was in this dark room and I was nearly blind but men and women were touching me all over and all I could think of was trying to get out of there.
