DISCLAIMER: I am making no money off of this, and this site isn't either. This is purely fan-fiction written by a weird person who has absolutely nothing better to do than write this stuff. I don't own Harry Potter, Hogwarts, Snape, etc. J.K.R. does. I don't own Erik the Opera Ghost either—Gaston Leroux created him (or simply wrote about him, I don't know…)

The Opera Ghost and the Potions Master

Snape sat, absently, stirring a lilac-orchid colored potion that smelt of burnt brussel-sprouts and vinegar.

"Not quite right yet," he murmured slowly, contemplating the sparkling liquid before him. His long fingers ran through his long, greasy, dark hair and disarranged it. After a moment's reflection, his hand floated up to a cabinet above the counter he was working at, where his assorted ingredients were stored. He wavered between a glass jar of newt's toes and the jelly of frog intestines, but he eventually chose adder's fork. He picked up the Mason jar that contained those, and opened it. There seemed, when he did so, that there was nothing in it. He shook it and turned it upside down. One single adder's fork fell into the brew.

"Dmn!" muttered Snape. He had forgotten to pick up a fresh supply last time he had gone to Diagon Alley. He looked at the clock. It was 12:20 in the morning. Far too late to go out and get a jar, much less go around and bother anyone about obtaining some. And this potion would go to waste if he waited until the day to add the adder's fork…Desperately, he began to rummage around the shadowy shelves, searching for a forgotten jar somewhere with just a few adder's forks in it.

He eventually had to get out a shelf ladder in order to reach the top shelves of the potions ingredient cabinet. It was, by that time, already 12:59, and the potion below was beginning to simmer into oblivion. Snape began to get frantic; he had worked on this potion for a week, and he wasn't about to lose all of that work without a proper fight. Suddenly, when he thought all hope was lost, a worn, faded label caught his eye. He wrenched the jar from where it had so peacefully lay for so many years. Sure enough, on closer inspection, the jar proved to bear the label 'Adder's Forks.'

Seizing his prize tightly, Snape jumped with the lightness and agility of a cat from the ladder to the floor. From there, he proceeded to try and open the jar, gripping the lid forcefully and attempting to pry it off. At first, the top would not yield, but then, the metal cap squeaking with rust and age, began to unscrew. Triumphant, Snape twisted the cap more quickly. As a result, the lid jammed and stuck. With a grimace, Snape roughly and very impatiently yanked the cap off. The previously unbroken seal made a popping noise as the jar took its first breath of the cold, dank air. A horrible smell at once began to pervade the room.

"Ugh, that's no adder's fork," Snape said aloud, "Not even ROTTED adder's fork." His eyes watered with the stench. Gingerly, he pinched his large nose and marched to the sink across the room to wash whatever this was down the drain. As he dumped out the green-brown dingy substance, he accidentally splattered some of it on his hand. It wasn't much, just a slight drop.

"Oh blast," Snape noted angrily, grabbing a hand-towel from the counter. "Now the smell's probably not even going to wash off soon, it's so strong. But he didn't notice that even as he said this, his surroundings were changing and swirling around him. He looked up again from vigorously scrubbing his hand to find himself in a completely different place.

To Be Continued!

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