Chapter 13: The Potion Master’s Plan

Life as a portrait was a dull and unfulfilling experience in the opinion of Severus Snape. He hated his surroundings – the Headmaster’s Office was much as it had been when Dumbledore was alive, full of curious instruments emitting small puffs of smoke and clicking and whizzing noises. And with Dumbledore next door, the constant reminder of his life, of his failure, was complete.

“What are you brooding about now, Severus?” the portrait asked, his blue eyes twinkling over half-moon spectacles as he turned toward the younger man’s portrait.

“Nothing that concerns you, sir. But I am quite sure that you will find a way to insert yourself anyway, so I might as well ask you this question,” Snape replied, bitterly recalling his last year of life. “Did Potter ever tell you how he defeated the Dark Lord?”

“Oh, my. He did indeed, Severus. Tom died by his own curse, because Harry was the master of the Elder Wand,” Albus said, his beard twitching slightly as he smiled. “A great irony, of course.”

“Then it was true. The legend, his possession of the wand, his reason for killing me...” Snape trailed off, blinking rapidly. “But how did Potter master the wand? I killed you; the mastery should have passed to me, should it not?”

“No, Severus. Draco defeated me before you killed me. He became the master of a wand he never touched. That you died because Tom did not know this, and then presumed you to be the master, is a shame,” Dumbledore began. “Harry bested Draco and mastered the wand. But yes, the legend of the Deathly Hallows did, in fact turn out to be true.”

“I guess I thought Minerva to be joking when she said he used the wand to create my portrait. Then, the Cloak and the Stone, they’re real too?” Snape asked, incredulous. Dumbledore had to be putting him on. The only ones who spoke seriously of the Deathly Hallows were insane, or taking the mickey out of their younger relations and colleagues.

“Severus, I have the distinct honour of being the only Quester to ever handle all three Hallows. You even had the honour of seeing all three. My wand, Harry’s cloak, and that ring that I’d cracked in my office a year before I died were the Deathly Hallows,” Dumbledore said, taking the time to explain to Snape in as much detail as was required to get the point across effectively.

“Potter’s cloak? The Cloak of Invisibility belonged to... to James Potter? It belonged to his son?”

“It did, and it does.”

“And the Stone, the Stone was in that ring? If it was your goal to unite the Hallows and you had the Stone, why did you try to destroy it?” Snape was drowning in confusion. Dumbledore was making no sense whatsoever.

“That is a wholly different matter, Severus. The Stone was still functional after that, though,” he smiled again. “I bequeathed it to Harry in my will, and he used it before he went to confront Tom. I’m afraid he had seen you die already, by the time that happened.”

“You gave it to him? In your will? The Dark Lord had the Ministry, and I was able to find out what was in your will,” Snape didn’t really know what to think now. “It wasn’t entirely necessary, as I found out about the Snitch and the sword from the Weasley girl when she tried to carry the sword off. There was no mention of a ring or a cracked stone in your will,” he concluded, somewhat lamely.

“Ah, but you have mentioned it. I hid the Stone in the Snitch.”

“And what happened to the Stone?”

“It is lost, in the forest,” Dumbledore simply said. “Why such curiosity over the Stone, Severus? You know that you cannot use it, and you know the Tale of the Three Brothers, so you know how foolish it would be to summon Lily if you could use it.”

“I know that, Headmaster.”

“Severus, I have told you many times over the years that on this wall, we are all equals. Call me Albus, and please answer my question.”

“I ask on behalf of the Black child.”

“There are no Black children, Severus. Sirius was the last,” Dumbledore responded, though his face now reflected deep thought. “I’ve heard that Bellatrix and Nymphadora are dead. Unless you speak of Draco’s son, I do not understand your meaning.”

“Bellatrix and Nymphadora had children as well, Albus.”

“Nymphadora?”

“She and Lupin had a child about a month or so before they died.”

“And of Bellatrix? Surely you jest. She married Rodolphus out of perceived duty, not of love or desire for children.”

“No, I do not. She gave birth to the Dark Lord’s child less than a week before he killed Grindelwald. He’s been raised by the Malfoys.”

“Tom had a son?” Dumbledore whispered the question, his eyes wide.

“It seems that you are not as omniscient as it was once believed, Albus,” Snape observed. “He is a curious child. He is nothing at all like his parents. Where they were bloodthirsty and cruel, he is compassionate and kind. He has friends, a family that cares about him and his happiness. He seems drawn to snakes, and Lucius tells me that Narcissa actually went as far as to purchase two wands for the boy, and hid the one that chose him, telling him that the wandmaker was mistaken. She told him that the wand was actually made from honeysuckle.”

“Why ever would she do that?” Albus asked. It was his belief that one should never be tricked into accepting a wand that did not choose the wizard.

“The wand was elder and presumably phoenix feather. No one has ever weighed the wand, though, so it can’t be said for sure. If it has been weighed, it was a long time ago. She didn’t want him getting any ideas from that, so the wand he currently uses, which he seems to have mastered by sheer will, whether he knows it or not, is a falsification. He doesn’t even know. She transfigured the second wand to appear as the one that chose him,” Snape told him. The superstitions about elder wands could not have helped matters, and neither could the connection of the real thing to the boy’s father.

“‘Wand of elder, never prosper’. How curious it is that people still follow such silly superstitions. And this ties into your questions about the Stone how?”

“He doesn’t know who his parents were, and I promised Lucius that I would lead him to the answer over a gradual period of time. I hope to have done so by the end of his third year, if I can lead him in some way to the Stone. I think he and Lupin would both stand to benefit from finding out.”

“You have grown sentimental in your death, Severus,” the older man laughed. “I can’t do much to help, of course, but I can provide you any information you might need regarding the Stone. What will be your first step, though?”

“I plan to let him bond with his pet runespoor for as long as it takes for him to come back to the question of his heritage. At that point, I will talk to Lucius about switching the wands, giving him the one that chose him, and possibly giving him lessons in the lore of the Deathly Hallows. Giving him his real wand, I think would serve him better than continuing this sham,” Snape explained. A mastered wand would work almost identically when compared to the wand that chose the wizard, but the original wand would still be better – unless of course it was the Elder Wand. “Perhaps you could assist there, as you would know the story better than any other,” he suggested.

“I could, I could,” Dumbledore mused. “You’re sure of this? I told Harry that it was for the best that none knew exactly where the Stone fell.”

“This is possibly the best way, Albus,” Snape urged. “It would be best if the boy found out about his parents from his parents, not his aunt or uncle. They would try to break it lightly to him, and that is simply impossible in this situation.”

“Alas, another conversation that could have applied to Harry. I failed in that regard, of providing a good home for the boy, one that would allow him to understand himself and his family,” the old former Headmaster sighed. If anything could make him rethink his position, it was bringing up a failure he had made in a similar situation. “If it must be done, then I suppose.”

“Thank you, Albus. I shall be in the Gryffindor Common Room until such a time as the boy finds renewed interest in his parents. If Lucius comes here to look for me, please tell him to wait and then come fetch me,” Severus said. It was less of a request than a command. “I will then return to explain things to him.”

Lucius Malfoy stood in his bedroom, alone, looking down at a small bedside cabinet. With a slight movement of his wand, the man opened a concealed drawer. There was a long, thin box inside, and it seemed as if there was a faint blue glow to it. That could not be, however, as boxes did not glow under ordinary circumstances.

He opened the box, pulling a long shaft of wood from it. He held the wand to the light, seeing its pristine condition. It was clearly very old, but it looked as if it had been newly crafted. Ollivander had said that this particular wand was older than Hogwarts itself, and that he wondered indeed why it had taken so long to choose its wizard. The wand was absolutely flawless in appearance, with age lines showing distinctly in the elder, adding to the wand’s beauty. It had a glossy sheen to it, and the wand visibly emanated power. Perhaps it had been used in the past; perhaps not.

He pocketed the wand. It would eventually be necessary to return the wand to its true owner, and it would be best to have it on hand. They had lied to their nephew, convinced him that the wand he had been using was the one that had selected him at the shop. It was the worst thing that they had ever done to the boy, and he knew that eventually he would have to explain himself. It was considered a violation to hold another’s wand hostage. He only hoped that, when he did explain, Rastaban would understand.