Snipper's End, Cokeworth
August 15, 1975
Severus Snape was deeply engrossed in the practice of the pictorial puzzle, a complex exercise designed by Aloysius Prince to sharpen mental focus, alongside a precise breathing technique delineated in the ancient tome. He was advancing at a pace that was remarkable even by the standards of a Prince, his fingers moving swiftly over the mental images, aligning them with an almost instinctive precision. Each breath he took was measured and deliberate, in perfect sync with the movements required to solve the puzzle. He was tantalizingly close to completing it, a feat that would allow him to enter the phase of accessing his "Energia Mentis" — the energy of the mind — in what felt like a mere breath of time. This accomplishment would pave the way for him to commence the establishment of his "Scutum Mentis," a rudimentary but essential mind shield.
As he neared the completion of the puzzle, Severus found himself reflecting on how this practice had become a sanctuary from his troubles, a rare pursuit that captivated him as much as potioneering, Dark Arts and spellcrafting did. Yet, amidst this newfound solace, he couldn't help but miss the sensation of casting magic through his wand, a finely crafted instrument of yew wood with a core of Bowtruckle hair. Despite the hostility that seemed to grow with each passing year at Hogwarts, he longed for the castle's stone walls and enchanted halls. To Severus, Hogwarts had become more of a home than the bleak and tumultuous environment of Spinner's End could ever offer. The anticipation of returning there, to immerse himself once again in the world of magic and learning, filled him with a sense of purpose and belonging that he scarcely felt elsewhere.
As Severus Snape was lost in his thoughts, the soft knock at his door jolted him back to the present. Quickly, with a practiced motion, he slid the tome under a stack of schoolbooks, its secrets momentarily concealed. The door creaked open, and Eileen Snape, née Prince, peeked inside. Her appearance spoke volumes of the life she had chosen; her face, once bright and animated, now bore the marks of exhaustion and years of living in a household far removed from the opulence and prestige of her pureblood lineage. Marrying Tobias Snape had been an act of love and defiance against her parents' stringent control, a decision that had seemingly led her family to sever ties, leaving Severus to wonder about the grandparents he had never met. From what little he knew, it seemed they had washed their hands of Eileen, unable to reconcile the idea of a pureblood daughter marrying a Muggle. Severus didn't need his Slytherin cunning to understand the magnitude of such a familial fallout.
Eileen's voice broke through the silence, gentle yet carrying an underlying fatigue, "Severus, dear, come down for lunch, won't you?" Her tone, though weary, held a warmth that the cold, damp walls of Spinner's End struggled to suppress.
Severus glanced up, momentarily locking eyes with his mother. "Yes, Mother, I'll be right there," he replied, his voice a mixture of respect and a hint of reluctance, knowing well the contrast between the world within these pages and the reality awaiting him beyond his room.
As Eileen nodded and retreated, closing the door behind her, Severus took a moment to observe the subtle strength in her posture, a reminder of the sacrifices she had made. Theirs was a world far removed from the grandeur of the Prince legacy, yet in her resilience, Severus found a different kind of nobility. Pushing aside the tome and the world it represented, he rose from his chair, the promise of Hogwarts and the magic it held flickering like a distant beacon as he prepared to join his mother for a simple lunch in their modest kitchen. Despite everything, this, too, was home.
Hog's Head Inn, Hogsmeade
August 17, 1975
In the dimly lit interior of the Hog's Head Inn, a place that, despite its somewhat seedy appearance, served as a bustling hub for those seeking discretion and the exchange of clandestine information, Professor Horace Slughorn found himself a cozy corner. The Inn, with its low ceilings, smoky air, and the subtle undercurrent of danger and intrigue, was the perfect backdrop for meetings that required a degree of privacy not afforded by more reputable establishments in Hogsmeade. Here, amidst the eclectic assortment of patrons, from grizzled adventurers to cloak-and-dagger types, Slughorn sipped on his Firewhiskey, a drink that warmed him against the chill that seemed to seep into the very bones of the place.
As he enjoyed his drink, a figure approached, thin with brown hair and a mousy face, unmistakably Eddie to anyone who knew him. Slughorn, spotting him, raised his glass in greeting, a broad smile spreading across his face. "Eddie, my boy, on time as always!" he boomed, his voice rich with warmth and amusement.
Eddie, with a grin that spoke of years of acquaintance and shared secrets, took the seat beside Slughorn. "Horace, you haven't changed a bit. Still finding the coziest corners in the seediest of places, I see," he jested, settling comfortably.
The two exchanged pleasantries, reminiscing briefly about their younger days, which inevitably led to a few lighthearted jokes about their advancing age. "I tell you, Eddie, these bones aren't what they used to be. Why, I nearly conjured myself a cushion just to sit down tonight!" Slughorn chuckled, patting his side as if to emphasize the point.
Eddie laughed, the sound mingling easily with the low hum of conversation around them. "And here I was, thinking I was the only one feeling the years. Perhaps I should start looking into potions for joint pain, eh? Got any recommendations?"
The conversation then shifted towards more current affairs, with Eddie's curiosity piqued about Slughorn's teaching and the famously exclusive Slug Club. "So, Horace, how's the teaching life treating you? And that club of yours... still gathering the brightest and the best, I assume?"
Slughorn, ever the proud mentor, took a sip of his Firewhiskey before responding. "Ah, the teaching is as rewarding as ever, Eddie. And the Slug Club? Flourishing, my dear boy, flourishing! You'd be amazed at the talent walking the halls of Hogwarts these days. Why, I dare say some of them show promise that rivals even the most esteemed members from our days!"
Their laughter and conversation continued, a pleasant blend of nostalgia and camaraderie, as they sat in the dimly lit inn, surrounded by whispers of secrets and the clinking of glasses, a testament to the enduring nature of old friendships and shared memories.
As their small talk meandered through less sensitive topics, Eddie's demeanor shifted subtly. Glancing around the dimly lit interior of the Hog's Head Inn with a practiced caution, he discreetly withdrew his wand and cast a series of privacy wards, a shimmering veil of silence enveloping their corner of the room. This act alone was enough to pique Slughorn's interest, his jovial expression giving way to one of keen attention.
Leaning closer, Eddie's voice dropped to a whisper, "I've received a... delicate order." The gravity in his tone was unmistakable, and Slughorn's eyes narrowed in intrigue. "How delicate are we talking about?" Slughorn inquired, his curiosity now fully aroused.
Eddie's response was a silent mouthing of the word "them," accompanied by a twisting gesture of his fingers, a sign imbued with meaning known only to the two of them. Slughorn straightened up immediately, his joviality replaced by a serious, calculating demeanor. "What is the order?" he pressed, his voice barely above a whisper.
"They need the Scent Veil Elixir," Eddie revealed, the name of the potion itself carrying a weight of implication. Slughorn's eyebrows furrowed deeply in response, a mix of concern and incredulity marking his features. "The ingredients needed are quite unique, and more often than not, this is not something which is brewed by a single potioneer, however skilled he might be," Slughorn cautioned, the academic in him surfacing despite the intrigue.
Eddie assured him, "Ingredients are not the problem," his voice firm, yet there was an undercurrent of urgency that Slughorn couldn't ignore. "But," Eddie continued, "we need someone to help who can be discreet."
Slughorn snorted dismissively, "With 'them' being involved, discretion is the least of our worries." The seriousness of their conversation was palpable, the privacy wards around them feeling all the more necessary.
Eddie then leaned in even closer, his voice a mere breath as he divulged the price 'they' were willing to pay. Slughorn's eyes widened in astonishment, a rare sight that brought a grim sort of satisfaction to Eddie's face. "This order is required by 'them' urgently, almost frantically. And we are not the only parties where this request has gone through," Eddie added, hinting at the desperation and the high stakes involved.
After a moment of contemplation, marked by the flickering candlelight reflecting in his thoughtful eyes, Slughorn finally asked, "When are they expecting the potion?" Eddie replied, the seriousness of his tone matching the gravity of their undertaking, "By the end of November."
Slughorn paused, his mind racing through the possibilities and challenges of such a task. Finally, he responded, "Give me until the end of the first week of September." Eddie nodded, understanding the importance of meticulous preparation for a potion of such rarity and significance. The agreement reached, both men recognized the oppurtunity at hand, aware of the challenges ahead but confident in their ability to navigate them successfully.