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teddy_radiatorI was bribed (thank you, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mywitch, you old seducer you!) and since tomorrow's going to be a long day, I thought I'd squeeze in this long-ish chapter in case I don't make it tomorrow. Thank you for all your kind comments, and gifts, and love. It is your Gift to me.
Title: Take These Stars Down To The World
Rating: R
(Highlight to View) Warning(s): Substance Abuse.
(Highlight to View) Prompt: Hermione creates a potion just for Severus, one which he doesn't believe he wants or needs (SS/HG or SS & HG).
Note: Special thanks tostgulik, not only for the delicious prompt, but for her Herculean effort to pull this together. Thank you for putting up with me. Great thanks to both nocturnus33 and hechicera for help with my Spanish.
This story is inspired by the film Chocolat, which in turn was based on the novel Chocolat by Joanne Harris. This fanfic is based on characters and situations created by J. K. Rowling, and owned by J. K. Rowling and various publishers, including but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended by the posting of this fanfic.
Summary: Severus' business, Potions Potentes, is not doing very well. In fact, he plans to shut his doors for good. Just when all seems lost, Hermione Granger arrives in town to open her own apothecary, bringing with her a very special brew. What exactly is she up to, and what exactly is this cure-all potion of hers? If there is one thing Severus knows more than most, it is that nothing is ever given without a price.
Chorus
“The Gift,” explained Master Castillo, “is more than Legilimency, more than Divination. It is simply the ability to look beyond a person's thoughts, to read the instinctive knowledge of the heart.”
In the early part of her apprenticeship, all that guff about The Gift struck Hermione as very woolly and unreliable, on a par with Sybil Trelawney’s natterings about 'The Inner Eye’. When her mentor spoke in hushed reverence about ‘the sacred flowering of The Gift’ she could practically hear her former professor’s sepulchral voice intoning, “Embrace your inner Gift, children!” At one point, every time it was mentioned, she had to stifle the urge to laugh, but stifle it she did. To the followers of the Criollo, The Gift was serious business.
Besides, it would have hurt his feelings ever so much.
Chapter Five: Medicura Apothecaria
Hermione's first week in business was, by her estimation, a raging success. She mostly sold herbs, basic potions and ointments; those items were any potioneer's bread and butter. She also dispersed cups of tea and advice, served customers slices of cake and listened to worried and weary patients going to and from their appointments at St Mungo's. She even patched up a young wizard's puppy after a sudden fight with one of the many strays that roamed the alleys of Wizarding London. And with every package, every purchase, she included a sample of The Potion. It had no name and no definable purpose, other than being her gift to the world.
Hermione had originally quit England with the desire to put aside the painful memories of the war and her isolation from her friends and family. While in Australia, she met a young Potions student on a gap year. It was a classic case of who-seduced-who, and subsequently the torrid affair led her on a two-month, whirlwind adventure in South America. Later, sequestered in the mountains of Guatemala, learning new brews and harvesting ingredients under the watchful eye of Master Castillo, she would be reminded that nothing was true coincidence.
Compared to Snape, Master Castillo could not have been more different. He was patient and placid, and if his lack of passion sometimes left Hermione feeling a little underwhelmed by his tutelage, he did help her achieve the confidence to throw her memorised textbooks to the wind and cast herself onto the trickier waters of intuition.
Her final test as his apprentice was the most baffling of her entire academic career. Her objective: to prepare a special Potion. If she succeeded, it would ensure her membership into the Fellowship of the Criollo, a secret society of potioneers who sought and harnessed the power of magical cacao. Indeed, one of the reasons the Criollo was such a prestigious enclave was their dedication to the jealously guarded secrets of using these rare and fine grade cacao seeds in their potions.
When asked what this potion was supposed to do, Castillo had laughed at her until he was breathless. "Why, it will do what it needs to do, my dear," he wheezed good-naturedly. "It is like The Gift, young Hermione. We do not tell The Gift what we want; it tells us what we need."
Two years of her life were spent searching for and researching the perfect ingredients. A further nine months were spent perfecting the delicate balance between herb and suspension; the mystical union of ingredient and intent.
The night of her final stage of induction into the Criollo, Hermione and her sponsors met in a small Wizarding Mayan village deep in the mountains. As the evening fell, they sat around a fire, and the village elder created Tripoćion, a traditional brew blending Forastera, Trinitario and Criollo cacao. This mixture would be added to her potion to temper it. The Criollo believed Tripoćion to be the gods' manifestation on earth; if it accepted her potion, her efforts would be deemed worthy of their favour.
With the solemn eyes of the entire village watching from the shadows, Hermione slowly stirred her potion into the simmering pot of Tripoćion. Master Castillo chanted the powerful incantation to invoke the gods, begging them to bestow upon her The Gift, the child born of the mating of these two elements.
As the rich, silky chocolate absorbed the potion, its aroma changed, and a cloud of deep purple steam curled from the pot in graceful, hypnotic waves. A chant rose, as if bourne up by the vapour: "¡Beban a los dioses! ¡Beban a los dioses!"
Hermione’s hands shook as she offered the bowl to Master Castillo. He drank deeply, then passed it around to all the elders seated by the fire.
Finally it returned to her. "You must drink without fear. Fear," warned Castillo, "will bar your passage to The Gift."
Hermione brought the bowl to her lips. The aroma filled her nostrils, and without hesitation, she drank. It was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted; her mouth was coated with the velvety chocolate of the Tripoćion. Dancing beneath and through and around it was the bright citrusy notes of her potion. It was all she could do not to gulp down every last drop. She was only peripherally aware of her surroundings; her entire body grew heavy as stone and light as a feather. She tried to stay focused in the moment, but she was falling into the irresistible undertow of the potion.
All she could later say with any certainty was that she had experienced something that could only be described as 'out of body.' In her most pragmatic moments she told herself she had been tripping on her own, high-potency cocktail, but her heart told her it was The Gift, struggling to be born in her still-uncertain mind.
Hearing the stars tumbling through the heavens, seeing the music as it ducked and swooped around her, she felt safe, and powerful, and insignificant all at once, and when she let go of her doubts and her fears, her losses and her guilt, she was buoyed upon a tide of rich dreams and sacred visions, dripping with the delicious taste of chocolate and oranges. The brew filled her and emptied her at the same time, leaving her satisfied and craving all at once. She would never be hungry again; she would never be full.
Like dawn breaking over the mountains, her vision cleared. She was standing in the very space her body now occupied, this tiny little knock-about shop, in England. As her spirit-self walked through the shop, admiring the blue walls and the mosaic floor, she took in every detail, from its name to its décor to its purpose. In her mind, phantoms walked by and through her: an old crone with a toothless smile; a bitter witch, old before her time; an uncertain wizard, needing more than he could bring himself to ask for; a young mother with a protective arm around her son. They lined up one behind the other, like cards waiting to be dealt. And standing among them, arms crossed, his eyes blazing in challenge, her old potions professor, needier than the rest put together…
After receiving her accreditation, Hermione returned to London, because she knew she was supposed to be here, that The Gift had told her this was the time and place. It hadn't told her, however, that she would be in direct competition with her former professor, or that his apothecary would be situated on the street opposite.
And while she never really thought of Severus Snape as being pertinent to her decision to pursue potions, there was still enough of the Hogwarts student in her that wanted to prove herself. During her time at school she had been naïve enough to think that if she just did more, if she could show off more knowledge, if she could impress him just one time, that would be enough.
It was only much later that she realised her goal was unobtainable. She would never impress her professor because he refused to allow himself to be impressed. Once that card was off the table, Hermione stopped worrying so much and started getting down to the serious business of being a Potions master.
Potions Potentes
Severus watched as Lavender Brown made her slow way into the depths of the shop, toward his counter. He would not have recognised her, had Hannah Longbottom not pointed her out to him one night in the Leaky Cauldron. "Poor Lavender," she had whispered. "Acromantula attack, and right as the battle was practically over as well." She had served Miss Brown, then shook her head sadly as the veiled figure hobbled away. "It's bad enough to look that way, but to spend your war pension on the booze…"
Severus, who knew something about self-medicating, had found his landlady's words more patronising than pitying. But, as Miss Brown had never so much as glanced toward his shop on her way to the pub every day, he had never been in any position to investigate her assessment. "Good morning, Miss Brown," he said pleasantly, placing his hands behind his back.
She looked first startled, then suspicious. "Alright. Here I am," she said bluntly.
"Yes, you are," Severus agreed, observing her more carefully. It crossed his mind that her intoxicated state might mask a more serious mental issue. "And since that is the case, how may I assist you?"
"So polite," she said, a trace of wonder in her voice. "If I had known you could be that nice, I would've come here sooner." Her tone was both bemused and impatient. "So… what kind of miracle cure do you have for me today?"
Severus peered into the heavily glamoured face. "Excuse me?"
The witch laughed humourlessly, burnishing the air with alcohol fumes. She had been drinking—a lot. She indicated the apothecary across the street with a sharp jerk of her head. "Hermione's been pestering me to come over here. I got tired of her nagging."
"Why? Is she incapable of providing what you require?" The moment the words were out of his mouth, Severus felt the heat of a blush darken his cheeks.
"No. I go there for high-grade Dittany and Octopus Aloe. Apparently, though, she thinks you have something I need."
Something was happening here, something significant. Every time someone went into Hermione Granger's shop, she immediately sent them to him. The truth of it danced just out of reach. Severus frowned; he had gone soft; what was that wild-haired minx across the street up to?
"No idea," Miss Brown replied blithely, and he realise with even more chagrin he had muttered his thoughts aloud. She was now looking at him as if he was the one with the lapsed mental faculties.
For a moment, witch and wizard glared at one another. Miss Brown was damaged, no doubt. But something beyond Acromantula poisoning was killing her, and both he and Hermione knew what it was. Hermione either didn't want to insult her old school friend by pointing out the obvious, or thought that Severus was beyond caring if he offended Miss Brown or not. Granger knew he would treat the witch without clouding his judgement with sentiment.
Suddenly, he knew the answer to his question: What kind of potioneer gives you a bottle without anything written on it? One who believes you already know what the bottle contains. He held up his hand. "Stay here," he said.
In the corner of his lab stood a large, warded cupboard. Within it were some of his most powerful and successful experiments. Several were awaiting patents; just as many were awaiting his courage to apply for them. He opened the cupboard with a word and selected a small glass vial and a needle-thin pipette.
Miss Brown was still waiting when he returned to the shop front. As he placed the items in a box, he explained, "Use the pipette. Three drops in a full glass of water, before every meal and right before bed. No more or less. The potion is anise-flavoured, but shouldn't be unpleasantly so in that much suspension."
She looked at the box suspiciously, but took it nonetheless. "And what will it do?"
"It'll get you off the booze, Lavender," he said quietly.
"Wh-what? I don't—"
"I know what they did to you. At St. Mungo's, after the war. They drowned you in pain potions. And they work, Merlin knows, but the ones they use are addictive as hell. Now you need to wean yourself off of them, and the alcohol too, or all the Dittany and Aloe in the world won't help you get better."
The witch's eyes turned angry. "Get better? If all the healers at St Mungo's can't help, how in the hell are you supposed to help me 'get better'? You don't know anything about me!"
"Yes I do," Severus replied softly. "I lived with the effects of alcohol most of my life. You deserve better, Miss Brown. Now this is an experimental potion, but it will work if you do it right." To her surprise, and a bit to his own, he added, "You're far from stupid, girl. There's a life out there. Give yourself a chance to live it. Don't rot from the inside out."
She looked at him for a long time. Severus did not need Occlumency to read the conflict in her face. Resentment, humiliation, frustration. But deeper still, where the tiniest of light filtered through the rocky outcropping of fate and choice, hope struggled to find purchase. "Okay," she replied, and uttered a short bark of a laugh. "Well, if this isn't a day for the books. Two apothecaries across the street from one another, and both of them are using me as a guinea pig."
"Let me guess. Miss Granger gave you an unnamed potion."
"She did," Lavender replied, as she tucked the package into her coat. With a hint of a smile, she added, "And whatever it is, it's working."
"In what way?"
She laughed. "You always were a contrary one, Snape. Why don't you try it and see for yourself?"
She nodded toward the small, blue bottle. It was sitting on his desk where anybody could see it. Gods, he was soft. To cover his discomfort, he said, "You will keep me abreast of your progress with the─"
"Yes, of course I will, Professor." She shot him a wry glance as she opened the door. "A guinea pig's work is never done."
As soon as she was out of sight, Severus strode out the door, hastily arranging the letters on the shop sign to read, "Back in 5 mins."
Chapter Six
mywitch, you old seducer you!) and since tomorrow's going to be a long day, I thought I'd squeeze in this long-ish chapter in case I don't make it tomorrow. Thank you for all your kind comments, and gifts, and love. It is your Gift to me.Title: Take These Stars Down To The World
Rating: R
(Highlight to View) Warning(s): Substance Abuse.
(Highlight to View) Prompt: Hermione creates a potion just for Severus, one which he doesn't believe he wants or needs (SS/HG or SS & HG).
Note: Special thanks to
stgulik, not only for the delicious prompt, but for her Herculean effort to pull this together. Thank you for putting up with me. Great thanks to both nocturnus33 and hechicera for help with my Spanish.This story is inspired by the film Chocolat, which in turn was based on the novel Chocolat by Joanne Harris. This fanfic is based on characters and situations created by J. K. Rowling, and owned by J. K. Rowling and various publishers, including but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended by the posting of this fanfic.
Summary: Severus' business, Potions Potentes, is not doing very well. In fact, he plans to shut his doors for good. Just when all seems lost, Hermione Granger arrives in town to open her own apothecary, bringing with her a very special brew. What exactly is she up to, and what exactly is this cure-all potion of hers? If there is one thing Severus knows more than most, it is that nothing is ever given without a price.
Chorus
“The Gift,” explained Master Castillo, “is more than Legilimency, more than Divination. It is simply the ability to look beyond a person's thoughts, to read the instinctive knowledge of the heart.”
In the early part of her apprenticeship, all that guff about The Gift struck Hermione as very woolly and unreliable, on a par with Sybil Trelawney’s natterings about 'The Inner Eye’. When her mentor spoke in hushed reverence about ‘the sacred flowering of The Gift’ she could practically hear her former professor’s sepulchral voice intoning, “Embrace your inner Gift, children!” At one point, every time it was mentioned, she had to stifle the urge to laugh, but stifle it she did. To the followers of the Criollo, The Gift was serious business.
Besides, it would have hurt his feelings ever so much.
Chapter Five: Medicura Apothecaria
Hermione's first week in business was, by her estimation, a raging success. She mostly sold herbs, basic potions and ointments; those items were any potioneer's bread and butter. She also dispersed cups of tea and advice, served customers slices of cake and listened to worried and weary patients going to and from their appointments at St Mungo's. She even patched up a young wizard's puppy after a sudden fight with one of the many strays that roamed the alleys of Wizarding London. And with every package, every purchase, she included a sample of The Potion. It had no name and no definable purpose, other than being her gift to the world.
Hermione had originally quit England with the desire to put aside the painful memories of the war and her isolation from her friends and family. While in Australia, she met a young Potions student on a gap year. It was a classic case of who-seduced-who, and subsequently the torrid affair led her on a two-month, whirlwind adventure in South America. Later, sequestered in the mountains of Guatemala, learning new brews and harvesting ingredients under the watchful eye of Master Castillo, she would be reminded that nothing was true coincidence.
Compared to Snape, Master Castillo could not have been more different. He was patient and placid, and if his lack of passion sometimes left Hermione feeling a little underwhelmed by his tutelage, he did help her achieve the confidence to throw her memorised textbooks to the wind and cast herself onto the trickier waters of intuition.
Her final test as his apprentice was the most baffling of her entire academic career. Her objective: to prepare a special Potion. If she succeeded, it would ensure her membership into the Fellowship of the Criollo, a secret society of potioneers who sought and harnessed the power of magical cacao. Indeed, one of the reasons the Criollo was such a prestigious enclave was their dedication to the jealously guarded secrets of using these rare and fine grade cacao seeds in their potions.
When asked what this potion was supposed to do, Castillo had laughed at her until he was breathless. "Why, it will do what it needs to do, my dear," he wheezed good-naturedly. "It is like The Gift, young Hermione. We do not tell The Gift what we want; it tells us what we need."
Two years of her life were spent searching for and researching the perfect ingredients. A further nine months were spent perfecting the delicate balance between herb and suspension; the mystical union of ingredient and intent.
The night of her final stage of induction into the Criollo, Hermione and her sponsors met in a small Wizarding Mayan village deep in the mountains. As the evening fell, they sat around a fire, and the village elder created Tripoćion, a traditional brew blending Forastera, Trinitario and Criollo cacao. This mixture would be added to her potion to temper it. The Criollo believed Tripoćion to be the gods' manifestation on earth; if it accepted her potion, her efforts would be deemed worthy of their favour.
With the solemn eyes of the entire village watching from the shadows, Hermione slowly stirred her potion into the simmering pot of Tripoćion. Master Castillo chanted the powerful incantation to invoke the gods, begging them to bestow upon her The Gift, the child born of the mating of these two elements.
As the rich, silky chocolate absorbed the potion, its aroma changed, and a cloud of deep purple steam curled from the pot in graceful, hypnotic waves. A chant rose, as if bourne up by the vapour: "¡Beban a los dioses! ¡Beban a los dioses!"
Hermione’s hands shook as she offered the bowl to Master Castillo. He drank deeply, then passed it around to all the elders seated by the fire.
Finally it returned to her. "You must drink without fear. Fear," warned Castillo, "will bar your passage to The Gift."
Hermione brought the bowl to her lips. The aroma filled her nostrils, and without hesitation, she drank. It was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted; her mouth was coated with the velvety chocolate of the Tripoćion. Dancing beneath and through and around it was the bright citrusy notes of her potion. It was all she could do not to gulp down every last drop. She was only peripherally aware of her surroundings; her entire body grew heavy as stone and light as a feather. She tried to stay focused in the moment, but she was falling into the irresistible undertow of the potion.
All she could later say with any certainty was that she had experienced something that could only be described as 'out of body.' In her most pragmatic moments she told herself she had been tripping on her own, high-potency cocktail, but her heart told her it was The Gift, struggling to be born in her still-uncertain mind.
Hearing the stars tumbling through the heavens, seeing the music as it ducked and swooped around her, she felt safe, and powerful, and insignificant all at once, and when she let go of her doubts and her fears, her losses and her guilt, she was buoyed upon a tide of rich dreams and sacred visions, dripping with the delicious taste of chocolate and oranges. The brew filled her and emptied her at the same time, leaving her satisfied and craving all at once. She would never be hungry again; she would never be full.
Like dawn breaking over the mountains, her vision cleared. She was standing in the very space her body now occupied, this tiny little knock-about shop, in England. As her spirit-self walked through the shop, admiring the blue walls and the mosaic floor, she took in every detail, from its name to its décor to its purpose. In her mind, phantoms walked by and through her: an old crone with a toothless smile; a bitter witch, old before her time; an uncertain wizard, needing more than he could bring himself to ask for; a young mother with a protective arm around her son. They lined up one behind the other, like cards waiting to be dealt. And standing among them, arms crossed, his eyes blazing in challenge, her old potions professor, needier than the rest put together…
After receiving her accreditation, Hermione returned to London, because she knew she was supposed to be here, that The Gift had told her this was the time and place. It hadn't told her, however, that she would be in direct competition with her former professor, or that his apothecary would be situated on the street opposite.
And while she never really thought of Severus Snape as being pertinent to her decision to pursue potions, there was still enough of the Hogwarts student in her that wanted to prove herself. During her time at school she had been naïve enough to think that if she just did more, if she could show off more knowledge, if she could impress him just one time, that would be enough.
It was only much later that she realised her goal was unobtainable. She would never impress her professor because he refused to allow himself to be impressed. Once that card was off the table, Hermione stopped worrying so much and started getting down to the serious business of being a Potions master.
Potions Potentes
Severus watched as Lavender Brown made her slow way into the depths of the shop, toward his counter. He would not have recognised her, had Hannah Longbottom not pointed her out to him one night in the Leaky Cauldron. "Poor Lavender," she had whispered. "Acromantula attack, and right as the battle was practically over as well." She had served Miss Brown, then shook her head sadly as the veiled figure hobbled away. "It's bad enough to look that way, but to spend your war pension on the booze…"
Severus, who knew something about self-medicating, had found his landlady's words more patronising than pitying. But, as Miss Brown had never so much as glanced toward his shop on her way to the pub every day, he had never been in any position to investigate her assessment. "Good morning, Miss Brown," he said pleasantly, placing his hands behind his back.
She looked first startled, then suspicious. "Alright. Here I am," she said bluntly.
"Yes, you are," Severus agreed, observing her more carefully. It crossed his mind that her intoxicated state might mask a more serious mental issue. "And since that is the case, how may I assist you?"
"So polite," she said, a trace of wonder in her voice. "If I had known you could be that nice, I would've come here sooner." Her tone was both bemused and impatient. "So… what kind of miracle cure do you have for me today?"
Severus peered into the heavily glamoured face. "Excuse me?"
The witch laughed humourlessly, burnishing the air with alcohol fumes. She had been drinking—a lot. She indicated the apothecary across the street with a sharp jerk of her head. "Hermione's been pestering me to come over here. I got tired of her nagging."
"Why? Is she incapable of providing what you require?" The moment the words were out of his mouth, Severus felt the heat of a blush darken his cheeks.
"No. I go there for high-grade Dittany and Octopus Aloe. Apparently, though, she thinks you have something I need."
Something was happening here, something significant. Every time someone went into Hermione Granger's shop, she immediately sent them to him. The truth of it danced just out of reach. Severus frowned; he had gone soft; what was that wild-haired minx across the street up to?
"No idea," Miss Brown replied blithely, and he realise with even more chagrin he had muttered his thoughts aloud. She was now looking at him as if he was the one with the lapsed mental faculties.
For a moment, witch and wizard glared at one another. Miss Brown was damaged, no doubt. But something beyond Acromantula poisoning was killing her, and both he and Hermione knew what it was. Hermione either didn't want to insult her old school friend by pointing out the obvious, or thought that Severus was beyond caring if he offended Miss Brown or not. Granger knew he would treat the witch without clouding his judgement with sentiment.
Suddenly, he knew the answer to his question: What kind of potioneer gives you a bottle without anything written on it? One who believes you already know what the bottle contains. He held up his hand. "Stay here," he said.
In the corner of his lab stood a large, warded cupboard. Within it were some of his most powerful and successful experiments. Several were awaiting patents; just as many were awaiting his courage to apply for them. He opened the cupboard with a word and selected a small glass vial and a needle-thin pipette.
Miss Brown was still waiting when he returned to the shop front. As he placed the items in a box, he explained, "Use the pipette. Three drops in a full glass of water, before every meal and right before bed. No more or less. The potion is anise-flavoured, but shouldn't be unpleasantly so in that much suspension."
She looked at the box suspiciously, but took it nonetheless. "And what will it do?"
"It'll get you off the booze, Lavender," he said quietly.
"Wh-what? I don't—"
"I know what they did to you. At St. Mungo's, after the war. They drowned you in pain potions. And they work, Merlin knows, but the ones they use are addictive as hell. Now you need to wean yourself off of them, and the alcohol too, or all the Dittany and Aloe in the world won't help you get better."
The witch's eyes turned angry. "Get better? If all the healers at St Mungo's can't help, how in the hell are you supposed to help me 'get better'? You don't know anything about me!"
"Yes I do," Severus replied softly. "I lived with the effects of alcohol most of my life. You deserve better, Miss Brown. Now this is an experimental potion, but it will work if you do it right." To her surprise, and a bit to his own, he added, "You're far from stupid, girl. There's a life out there. Give yourself a chance to live it. Don't rot from the inside out."
She looked at him for a long time. Severus did not need Occlumency to read the conflict in her face. Resentment, humiliation, frustration. But deeper still, where the tiniest of light filtered through the rocky outcropping of fate and choice, hope struggled to find purchase. "Okay," she replied, and uttered a short bark of a laugh. "Well, if this isn't a day for the books. Two apothecaries across the street from one another, and both of them are using me as a guinea pig."
"Let me guess. Miss Granger gave you an unnamed potion."
"She did," Lavender replied, as she tucked the package into her coat. With a hint of a smile, she added, "And whatever it is, it's working."
"In what way?"
She laughed. "You always were a contrary one, Snape. Why don't you try it and see for yourself?"
She nodded toward the small, blue bottle. It was sitting on his desk where anybody could see it. Gods, he was soft. To cover his discomfort, he said, "You will keep me abreast of your progress with the─"
"Yes, of course I will, Professor." She shot him a wry glance as she opened the door. "A guinea pig's work is never done."
As soon as she was out of sight, Severus strode out the door, hastily arranging the letters on the shop sign to read, "Back in 5 mins."
Chapter Six
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2016-06-08 03:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-06-08 11:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-06-08 03:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-06-08 11:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-06-08 04:40 am (UTC)A Guinea pig's work is never done.
I love your Lavender!
I love Jungle!Hermione !
I love this story!
I love Teddy Radiator!
no subject
Date: 2016-06-08 11:33 am (UTC)Thank you so much for being the best cheerleader on earth, you saucy minx.
no subject
Date: 2016-06-08 08:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-06-08 11:34 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-06-09 09:46 am (UTC)Thank you for sharing this wonderful story with us!!! The-fest-that-shall-not-be-named is really missing out. Your story is a blast!
no subject
Date: 2016-06-11 03:13 am (UTC)¡Qué beban a los dioses!, ¡Qué beban a los dioses! ( or more exactly, ¡Brinden por los dioses!)
no subject
Date: 2016-06-11 03:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-06-11 03:29 am (UTC)I am really enjoying this fic, so I'll toast for you.
no subject
Date: 2016-06-11 03:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-06-11 03:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-06-11 03:51 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-06-11 03:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-06-11 03:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-06-11 06:20 pm (UTC)If occurred to me as I was reading about Hermione's adventures in Central America - THAT's why they are always handing out chocolate at Hogwarts! That cacao - it works magic.
no subject
Date: 2016-06-15 02:31 am (UTC)Loving this story! ❤️