Chapter Text
Florore
Chapter 8- Odourless Draught
“Frieren-sama! Wake up!”
“… Uhhh…”
A sound like a Dementor on a bad day gurgled from behind the Charms desk. Fern had walked into her office in a hurry, with an ease far exceeding the relationship of a teacher and student who supposedly didn’t know each other. She spent enough time here to feel comfortable walking in whenever she pleased.
The room didn’t resemble an office much- more so a library in disarray. Magical textbooks and history tomes lay all around, some half open on pages, some abandoned. The bookshelves were chock-full and the desk was a maelstrom of torn out pages.
Frieren herself couldn’t be seen at first, but Fern was used to her being asleep at this time in the afternoon and darted behind the desk with practiced ease.
The elf was lying with her back on the floor, her feet resting on the chair, her arms and hair sprawled out. No, she had not been stunned nor attacked- this was just her regular sleeping position.
Fern didn’t have time to scold her for posture. Harry didn't have that much time.
“Frieren-sama,” she repeated, forcing her master upright.
The elf stirred, tried to close her eyes again. “Wuh… what time is it? It must still be night-time-“
“Don’t be ridiculous, miss. It’s the afternoon.”
“Just a few more hours-“
“Miss. I need your help.”
The elf opened one jade green eye a peak. Fern’s expression of seriousness caught her attention. Her apprentice was quite an independent girl. She didn’t often come asking for help like this, especially since arriving at Hogwarts.
Frieren yawned still but tried to liven herself. “Alright. Is there a problem?”
“Remember the Triwizard Tournament?”
She wracked her brains. “Uh… yes?”
Fern wasn’t convinced and gave her a quick lowdown.
“I see. It does ring a bell. In fact, I think Severus might’ve mentioned that the ‘first task’ was coming up during our meeting yesterday. Something about wishing calamity on one of its contestants.”
Purple eyes narrowed. “He was talking about Harry, wasn't he?”
“Probably.”
Fern let out an exasperated sigh. “As a matter of fact, this is why I need your help.”
Her ‘quick lowdown’ expanded into an explanation of the first task particulars: dragons, and how Fern had agreed to help Harry with devising a strategy. After breakfast in the Great Hall, the three of them had sequestered themselves in the library, rooting through dragon books- Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them proved helpful above all.
Fern believed her and Hermione had, together, come up with a passable plan. Harry’s feedback revolved around keeping their plans realistic- in other words, making sure these two young witches of considerable talents realised that he didn’t necessarily match them.
What he did possess, however, according to Hermione (and Fern saw no reason to doubt her), was a propensity for staying calm under pressure and rising to the occasion.
Frieren thought things over for a moment. She nodded. “So that’s your idea? I suppose if Harry can’t just stun the dragon...”
“Most of the task's difficulty stems from his incompetence.”
The elf smiled at that. “From what I can tell, the dragons in this world are similar to the ones in our known. They have strong magical defences and impeccable senses, although their intelligence is lesser than some of the species we’re familiar with, like the Solar Dragon. In an enclosed space, this task would be difficult for us too. Not impossible, but difficult.”
Fern sighed. “Yes, I know. Incompetence was the wrong word. I suppose I’m just worried-“ She paused, her eyes flickering up and then down. “About the task.”
Her master noticed, and was very pleased, but didn’t call her out on it straight away. They had more pressing things to discuss.
“It seems you’ve already thought through this strategy with care. Hermione is teaching him the Summoning Charm, you say?”
“Yes. Harry's not allowed to enter the enclosure with anything but his wand, but there’s nothing to prevent him summoning an object afterwards. After I’ve added the Silencing Charm, we'll be ready.”
“So why do you need my help?”
“Like you said, dragons have impeccable senses. The best and safest way to get Harry through this task is to make it as easy as possible. If all goes as planned, the dragon will be redundant, and he’ll only have to learn a single new spell. But there's still one other sense-“
“Smell,” Frieren realised. “It will be able to smell him.”
The apprentice nodded. “The best way to cover that would be with an Odourless Draught. This wouldn’t be a problem if we had enough preparation time, but the potion takes a full week to prepare, and we only have a day.” A hesitation. “… There are stores here at Hogwarts.”
Frieren was starting to realise where this was going. “Severus has all sorts of rare Potions in his office. He showed them to me once, after nagging him enough.”
“Harry and Hermione both insist that Professor Snape despises them. They say he would never give them one of his Odourless Draughts if they asked. You, however, are one of the only people he talks to.” There was a shuffling sound, and all of a sudden, Fern was bowing low before her master. “Please, Frieren-sama. Would you ask him, on our behalf?”
“Hmm…” The elf scratched her chin, thinking it over. “Asking might be a stretch. From what I’ve seen, Severus really does dislike Harry, but I don’t think he’s an ill-natured man. A little grumpy, but not cruel.”
“A ‘little grumpy’?”
Fern’s voice was deeply sceptical. She’d seen enough students whacked with textbooks since coming to Hogwarts to doubt her master’s assessment. She’d only escaped his ire by being too exceptional to criticise, which Fern thought annoyed the Potions master just as much as Neville’s mistakes.
“I’ll ask him and see what happens. We’re friends, you know.”
Fern also doubted that assessment; she could only hope Snape regarded her with even half the fondness Frieren seemed to think. “If you say so.”
“And if all else fails, well, I suppose I can just sneak in and take it. Were you planning on doing that yourself?”
“I thought it might be best if we try the more diplomatic approach first.”
“Alright. Tell Harry not to fear. His favourite teacher is on the case!”
“I don’t think you’re his favourite teacher, miss..."
Fern's complaint fell on deaf (and pointed) ears. The Charms teacher had, quite unexpectedly, reached onto her tiptoes and started patting the Ravenclaw on the head.
The teenager let out a little gasp of surprise.
“Well done, Fern,” she praised. “That’s my apprentice.”
“W-what's that for?”
“You’re doing what I hoped you would do. You’re making friends with Harry.”
Fern crossed her arms and stepped out of reach of the headpats. “You’ve got it all wrong, Frieren-sama. We’re not friends.”
“But you said you were worried about him-“
“I said I was worried about the task.”
“Also, you wouldn’t be helping him if you didn’t-“
“We’re partners for the project, that's all. The first task of the Triwizard Tournament is now part of the project.”
Frieren gazed at her long and hard. Now it was her turn to be sceptical. Fern, who didn’t really understand her urge to help the Gryffindor boy either, was avoiding her gaze.
It was Harry’s fault, that much she knew, for being a stalker and a pest. They’d had that conversation by the Black Lake and somehow, somehow, he'd blustered himself into a higher estimation. That wasn’t saying much- Fern’s estimation of her peers at Hogwarts was about as low as Frieren’s estimation of demons- but it was an achievement, nonetheless.
“Does Harry consider you his friend, then?” the elf asked.
“... I think he’d like to be.”
“Then it will happen.” Frieren nodded. “That’s how friendship works. One of you decides you’re going to be friends, and the other eventually accepts it.”
“That sounds an awful lot like harassment.”
“No, it’s different than that. It’s more like…” She tried her best to put it into words. “It’s like slowly warming up with your party members by the fire. Yes, that’s better. Himmel decided that I was going to be his friend. At first, I denied it, and kept denying it, until one day I woke up and realised that's exactly what we were.”
Fern’s eyes dilated in shock.
“This is the same. One day, you’ll wake up and realise Harry is your friend. He’ll be your Himmel-“
“Don’t say that! You’re so embarrassing!”
The Ravenclaw, turning red, pounded her fists lightly against Frieren’s back. The elf made a face and muttered something like, ‘so moody’, under her breath, but the words went without retraction.
She knew her master had made the comparison in oblivious innocence, but in this context, it really wasn’t helpful. From what she’d gleaned of Frieren and Himmel’s relationship, the hero’s affections were plain. Heiter had all but admitted Himmel loved her master over the course of their time together, and Frieren’s reminiscences did nothing to dispel that opinion.
The notion of ‘Harry being her Himmel’ thus carried an uncomfortable connotation that Frieren neither intended nor realised was mortifying.
“Can we please stop talking about this?" She pushed some purple hair out her face, avoiding eye-contact. "We don’t have much time, and the Odourless Draught is crucial to our plan.”
There was a little more protestation and unintentional teasing; soon enough, Frieren did as she was told and headed off towards the Potions office.
She really didn’t know if Severus would agree to give her the draught. Maybe if she lied that it was for her? Then again, he would probably see through such an excuse instantly. The Potions master was sharp as a tac.
It was worth a try before resorting to theft.
Or, she could just throw a tantrum until she got her way. Either way would work.
The Charms teacher in training knew the route to the dungeon well. The only route she knew better in the castle was the one to her own office; Frieren’s sense of direction, while not terrible, wasn’t very precise. She often found herself getting lost.
That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. There were an awful lot of adventures and side-quests to be had at Hogwarts. Himmel would have loved it, completionist that he was. Several times, Frieren had stumbled upon secret passageways on the way to class and ended up at Hogsmeade, much to the chagrin of her confused, teacher-less students.
On this occasion, however, she suppressed her tangential ways and descended to the dungeons. The cold air, like walking into the arctic, rose. She was beginning to think Ron Weasley had a point when he suggested Snape was a vampire, or at least a torturous magical creature in disguise.
At the foot of the stairs, the office came in view. Frieren was surprised to find the door hanging ajar. In her experience, Snape kept his door closed even when he was inside, waiting for their meetings. If he wasn’t there, the door would have an advanced Locking Charm on it. Not something that could be dispelled with a simple Alohomora.
Severus was a careful man- leaving the door open seemed an implausible oversight.
She was just about to step inside when a large figure barrelled out of the office from within. They almost strode right into her. The elf backed away, looking up at the figure.
It was Alastor Moody, the newly appointed Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. His magical eye was squirming around as if there were a fly trapped behind it.
Frieren hadn’t spoken much with the latest professor since he arrived. Dumbledore had told her he was an ex dark wizard catcher- an Auror, he called it- and Alastor certainly gave the impression of having seen too much. Or too little, depending on the eye.
Whenever they spoke, the ex-Auror had shown some interest in her, asking where she came from, what kind of species she was. She’d only ever told him their agreed cover story and directed him to Dumbledore.
“Hello there, Professor Moody,” Frieren greeted, though her voice was questioning.
Moody’s eye circled all the more. Unless he thought Snape was one of those ‘dark wizards’, Frieren couldn’t see much reason for him to be in the Potions office.
“Professor Frieren,” he grunted. “Didn’t ‘ear you coming.”
“I can be quite stealthy when I need to be,” she said, her voice mild. Her gaze drifted past him, to the door. “So can you, it seems.”
“Door was open. Wanted to speak to Snape.”
“Enough to break the Locking Charm on his door?”
“It was urgent,” Moody replied, his grunt becoming all the more guttural. “I know someone confunded the goblet to pick out Harry’s name. Snape agrees with me.”
Frieren tilted her head. “You couldn’t wait for him to come back?”
Moody’s mouth twisted into what might have been a smile. “Dark wizards don’t wait, Professor Frieren. Neither do I.”
Well, in fairness, I was half-planning to break the Locking Charm myself, but that was to steal from Snape’s office… The elf glanced at the ex-Auror’s deep coat pockets. She wondered if his real intention had been similar to her own.
Alastor seemed to sense that was what she was thinking. “Got something to say, professor?”
She frowned and met his glare. He must have seen an awful lot of chaos and destruction during his time, enough to produce such a paranoid look.
It was deeper than that, though. There was a clear note of danger within. Something cold and black and heartless.
“You have the eye of a killer,” Frieren observed, not a trace of fear in her voice.
“A real killer took the other one,” he growled back. “Besides… so do you.”
Alastor didn’t give her the chance to answer. He swept away as fast as his limp would allow, and soon, the clicking sound of a prosthetic leg on stone steps could be heard. Once more, the dungeon grew quiet.
Frieren stood there for a few seconds, listening to his footsteps fade. Only when the silence fully returned did she turn back to the door. She made a note to mention Mad-Eye’s odd intrusion to Severus- albeit at a later date, if preferable.
Her original purpose reasserted itself. The Odourless Draught. Asking had been the plan—but Severus wasn’t here, and time was not on their side.
A mischievous smile was creeping onto her face. Well, if Professor Moody has already broken the Locking Charm… That means I won’t have to lie if Severus asks who broke it. Maybe I could even accuse Professor Moody of taking the draught! It’s the perfect alibi.
The mischievous smile became a smirk. You know, sometimes my genius, it’s almost frightening.
She tiptoed into the Potions office like a child entering a room their parents, or perhaps Fern, had forbidden. There was a storage closet behind the desk where Snape kept his finished potions and more volatile ingredients. The magical defences here were subtle but dense; Frieren had noticed them on her previous chats with Snape and looked them up out of curiosity. Lucky: that meant she also knew how to dispel and re-cast them.
Inside, rows of bottles greeted her, each labelled in Severus’ handwriting. Draughts of all kinds- strengthening, calming, things with names that implied pain if mishandled. In fact, the majority seemed to imply some kind of pain. The Draught of Living Death… couldn’t they just have called it The Super Strong Sleeping Potion?
She scanned the shelves with patience. Odourless Draughts were challenging and time-consuming to brew…
“Ah hah!”
There it was, right on the bottom shelf. She got down and her hands and knees, her fingers closing around a small, unassuming vial filled with a clear, transparent liquid.
Odourless Draughts. A whole line of them.
Frieren’s lips curved into a small, satisfied smile. “Found you.” Her mage’s staff appeared in her hands. “Gemino.”
Just like that, an exact replica of the bottle she’d selected popped into existence. The Doubling Charm had a myriad of applications. Frieren thought that the Ministry of Magic must be sick to death of dealing with duplicated objects.
This would do until she could replace it with the real bottle once more. Gemino duplicates tarnished more quickly than the original, so Snape would notice eventually. If he did end up noticing before switching the vial back, then it was time to blame Professor Moody.
She made to stand up-
Unfortunately, Frieren never made it. Not by herself, that is.
Bony fingers fixed around her collar. She yelped in surprise but could do nothing as she was yanked clean off the floor, back into a standing position. The vial slipped from her grasp, caught deftly by another hand before it could shatter.
“Well well well,” a familiar voice tutted. “It would seem a goblin has crept into my storeroom.”
“… Good afternoon, Severus.”
“Explain.”
She pulled a face. The elf may have been caught red-handed, but that didn’t mean she was happy about being insulted. “F-first of all, you should apologise for calling me a goblin.”
“But it’s such an accurate description, Professor Frieren,” he said, drawing out each word. “Let’s see. Small? Check. Ugly? Check. A jealous little pincher of other’s possessions? Check-“
“Hey! I’m not ugly!”
“Interesting how you didn’t deny the other two.”
“I mean it Severus,” she warned. “If you don’t say sorry, I’ll throw a tantrum. My tantrums are really scary. Braver men than you have trembled in fear-“
Still holding her by the collar, Snape knelt down to her height and shoved his face in hers. His eyes were poisonous. “I’m sure my tantrums would be scary too, not that I’ve ever been pathetic enough to throw one. Care to find out?”
Frieren genuinely considered it. It would have unfortunate consequences, though. Harry needed the Odourless Draught right away, and if she started throwing a tantrum, they lasted an average of three days and nights.
It had taken Fern over a year at Hogwarts to make something resembling a friend. If would be shame if those efforts went to waste on account of said friend becoming a dragon’s dinner.
Snape marched her out of the storeroom and back into the office, still holding her by the collar. She squirmed and protested against the grip, threatening no end of obscure enchantments, before he finally did so.
The Potions master put the Draught vial on the table in front of them.
“The Odourless Draught… a rather curious choice, Professor Frieren. Created by Libatius Borage to cure his wife’s unfortunate case of body odour, though many potioneers, including myself, doubt the story’s veracity.” His lip curled up. “Should I add ‘body odour’ to your list of personal flaws?”
She could feel the tantrum welling up in the back of her throat. Harry was in serious danger of becoming The Boy Who Lived, Before the Barbecue.
“I d-don’t smell,” she insisted, only just holding back the wail.
He snorted. “Please. It would be better if you did. Otherwise, I’ll have to assume the more obvious theory is true.”
Frieren wasn’t the best liar at the best of times, and her pride was already hurt enough without having to fake poor personal hygiene. Snape knew that, of course.
“The more obvious theory it is, then. An Odourless Draught of this strength would hide a person’s scent from a great number of beasts. Even a dragon, I expect. Tell Mr Potter that, if he wishes to steal from my stores, he should at least have the self-respect to do it in person.”
The Charms teacher in training did her best to re-compose. She’d promised Fern she would procure the draught.
“Won’t you consider misplacing one? There’s a whole shelf of Odourless Draughts in that cupboard-“
“All of which took an awful lot of time to brew and would take yet more time to replace. You think I would waste such effort on that peerless pighead?”
“He’s only fourteen, Severus. You'll never replace me as his favourite teacher if you keep this up.”
"Are you suggesting that I 'have a heart'?"
"Yes."
“Oh, I have one. It’s Mr Potter’s fault for not having a brain.”
Frieren flattened her ears and turned her back on him with a huff. If a tantrum was off the table, sulking would have to do. She’d known Fern long enough to be well-versed.
“You’re being mean for no reason again.”
“It was you who saw fit to break into my office-“
“Actually, I didn’t. Professor Moody was the one who broke the Locking Charm on your door.”
“Excuse me?” Snape was taken back. “Why?”
“He said he wanted to talk to you about the Goblet of Fire.”
“We’ve already exhausted that topic. What else could there possibly be left to stay?”
She let out another exaggerated huff, feeling petty. “Maybe he wanted an Odourless Draught too. He smells much worse than me.”
“It takes a thief to know a thief. I’ll deal with the other one later.” Snape adjusted his cloak. There was an exasperated look on his face, though he didn’t look too concerned. “For the time being, crawl back to the Charms office. Or Gringotts, with the rest of your kind.”
That did it.
Frieren stamped her foot, once, twice, the wail rising in her throat-
“You didn’t seem to hear me, Professor Frieren.”
She was cut off just before the tears started to flow. “What?”
“I said, crawl back to the Charms office. Make sure not to forget anything.”
Huh?
The elf looked at him, too confused to cry. Snape seemed even more annoyed at her obliviousness.
“Always so slow on the uptake. Let’s go over the situation once more. You came down to the dungeons, only to find the door to my office ajar. You decided to take advantage of the situation, slipping an Odourless Draught into your pocket. I came in just as you were leaving and noticed the missing potion. You lied and told me that Professor Moody took it, which I inexplicably believed.”
By now, the emergent tears had fully returned to their ducts. Snape was standing there stiff as a board; his arms were crossed like a tall black portrait. Frieren thought she knew what the Potions master was implying, but after all the insults, couldn’t quite believe it.
“You mean-”
“A jealous little thief would take whatever they lied their eyes on. But, Professor Frieren, and let me make this very, very clear…” He stepped forward and suddenly he was at her level again.
“If Mr Potter were to think for even a moment that this draught was relinquished, not stolen, then I would cease to inexplicably believe that Professor Moody had taken it. I would treat this intrusion with the malice it deserves.”
He was letting her take it. Frieren couldn’t quite believe her luck- though she didn’t really think it was luck at all. A dose of Felix Felicis might not have made any difference.
No. As soon as Severus deduced the purpose of the Odourless Draught, it was as good as hers; the threat of a tantrum did nothing. She hadn’t sensed an ounce of care in that regard.
He was doing it again, looking long into her vivid, green eyes. It was a little like when Himmel used to stare at her. Somehow, she felt as if the Potions master were staring right through her, at something only he could see.
Then, whatever he was seeing disappeared.
“Go," he muttered.
A swish of the cloak, and Snape was sat at his desk. A collection of student papers were yanked from one of the drawers, in need of marking. He didn’t pay the potion vial the slightest attention.
Frieren wasn’t about to ruin her good luck. She shoved the draught into her pocket and walked back to the door, smoothing over her ruffled robes.
“Thank you, Severus.”
Not a word of acknowledgement, as if this were his duty.
The elf had arrived with the half-hearted intention to steal. Instead, the Potions master handed it over under a veil of secrecy, of help indirect. That, she would never have expected.
Severus Snape hated Harry Potter. That was undeniably true.
And yet…