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Disclaimer: I don't own this. This is strictly OPP - that of Lady JK
and the WB. The only thing I own is Myra. She's my prison bitch. Please note this story works with canon AS OF GOF.
And now I present to you:
***
THE BOILER ROOM
In the late seventies, on a rather large and conspicuous hill outside of Hogsmeade lay, stretched like a drugged cat on a furry green dinner roll, the sprawling and ridiculously large estate of the Malfoy family. In the basement worked an industrious and high strung young man by the name of Severus Snape.
He bent over a cauldron, a green light emanating from its contents. Thick goggles protected his eyes, as he worked with rather nastier-than-normal stuff. The upper half of his long black hair was pulled away from his face with a silver clasp, leaving the rest trailing down his back in a fetching and bishounenesque manner.
He lit his cigarette with one hand and poured a vial of silvery liquid into a pressure slot with another. "I am an antichrist," he sang softly to himself, "and I am an anarchist, a doo-doo doo doo dah do..."
There was a knock at the door.
"What?" he barked through his cigarette-pursed lips as he filled a beaker, emptied a vial, filled a vial, cleaned a dish, and mixed a few things together.
A mousy woman with extremely thick circular glasses and gigantic puffy black curly hair by the name of Myra Psue entered. She wore a black robe over a curvy, stout body. She held a slip of yellow parchment, looking distressed.
"Severus, you're not supposed to smoke in the lab"
"My lab," he replied, not bothering to look up at her. "What've we got?"
She shook her head. "He's lost his mind, I swear. The guy studies the Dark Arts for what, twenty seven years or something, and he thinks we can get this for him in two days."
He took the parchment from her. "Infusion or distillation?"
"Infusion. With distilled helbagrout."
He paused. "Thats horseshit."
"Yes. It is." She sat at a table, resting her face in her hands. She rubbed her eyes, her temples. "I was hoping to sleep sometime this week."
"Wait. He wants THIS is two days? Are you quite sure?" He examined the parchment closer, as though he may have missed something.
"Yes."
"Thats horseshit."
"You said that."
" It will be repeated, I assure you." He grumbled and flicked his cigarette.
She jumped. "Severus, for fucks sake, don't ash on the product!"
"I'm not ashing on the product, Im ashing significantly away from the product."
"You should really stop smoking. You'll ruin your lungs."
"Myra, I work among sulfurous fumes all damn day. Why not help the process along?" He adjusted his goggles, pushing them up on his nose."Two days. This is a joke. It takes at least five." He took a drag off his cigarette and adjusted his goggles again. "Can you get Barty down here? Have him tell He Of The Ridiculous Time Limit we need some high grade kitchenware, and fast, or he's bloody fuckled." He fiddled with his goggles again, finally taking them off to adjust the headstrap. His eyes were red and tired. He shook his head. "This is horseshit."
"A man true to his word," Myra said with a flourish. "Issue number one, I don't think it's wise to go in and start demanding things of the Dark Lord He gets huffy. Issue number two, you've got rings around your eyes, lab rat. Those goggles make you look like a bug."
He lit another cigarette. "Issue number one, you're right, make a pit stop at Lord Malfoy. Issue number two, go fuck yourself. If you want to burn your eyes out with acidic vapor, be my guest." He took a drag and began setting up for the upcoming task, then gave her a piercing look.
Myra raised her eyebrows. "Fine, Scuba Snape, I'll see what I can do. I'm going to Knockturn. Would you like me to grab you an air tank and some fins while I'm topside?"
"Fuck off. Oh, and could you see about getting some Grindleweed? Were running low."
"Of course. Im going to McCaligula's too, you fancy anything?"
He gave a wayward glance. "You eat there? And you're telling me to quit smoking?"
She shrugged. "Its food."
"In a purely technical sense."
"Take it or leave it."
He thought for a moment. "Ill have a Hammy. With pickles." She gave a brief salute and headed out the door. "And some salt and vinegar chips!" he called after her. "And a pack of Devil's Owns!"
"Don't push your luck," she called back.
He looked at the parchment again. Shook his head.
"Horseshit."
Myra returned forty five minutes later and tossed a paper bag in Severus's direction. He caught it without looking up, reached in, removed the sandwich, extracted the cigarette from his mouth, took a bite, chewed, swallowed, and put the cigarette back in his mouth.
"You're welcome," Myra said, pulling on her gray lab robe.
He chewed thoughtfully. 'This is turkey.'
'What?"
He glared at her. "This is a turkey sandwich."
"Are you quite sure?"
"Myra, speaking from years of experience applying and identifying substances of various sorts, from a professional standpoint, I feel I can be relatively certain that this is a turkey goddam sandwich."
She shrugged. "I ordered ham."
He continued. "A turkey sandwich suffering from a lack of pickles, I believe, and the bag in which it came is utterly devoid of cigarettes."
She huffed. "I don't believe in assisted suicide."
He rolled his eyes.
She raised her eyebrows. "Didn't mean to ruin your day, Jesus."
He glanced at her. "Jesus? Thats a Muggle expression. How uncouth."
"Actually its a Muggle deity. Once you pick up using his name in vain its a really hard habit to break."
"You'd best break it. Lord Malfoy would come thundering down upon you if he heard you talking like a full-blown Mud."
She sighed. "Between you and me, Severus, Lord Malfoy can eat me."
Severus raised an eyebrow.
"Here's the extra Grindleweed you asked for." She threw another bag at him which he snatched expertly out of the air. "I asked him, very politely, about the new kitchenware and he promptly turned into a bitch. I wanted to say 'Look, you dried up old turd, we're the Potionmasters, okay? Don't go telling us what equipment we need, just shut your mouth and foot the bill.'"
Snape mixed the contents of two vials together. "You didn't say that."
"I said I wanted to say it."
"Said, wanted to say, same difference, get to work! We need a mixture of Commilingus and Detourche! Hurry, hurry!"
Myra rose from her seat and started digging inside a cabinet for the proper materials. "By the way, she said, whatever became of the turkey sandwich that so upset Severus Snape? Its gone! He ate it! Jesus, did you even breath?"
"I was so hungry I would have eaten a goat." He held a beaker up to the light and waved his wand at it, uttering a quiet incantation. It let out a brief huff of pink smoke.
"Or my sandwich, which you always seem to mistake for a chaser. A chaser very clearly marked 'Myra' and placed-"
"Later. We have to work. You did get the equipment, didn't you? We need a Cromley High Speed Distillator. There's no way were getting this done in anything near two days without one."
"I know, Severus. Malfoy ordered it. He's having it apparated this evening."
Snape let out a low whistle and rubbed his thumb and forefingers together. "You must have given him an above average suckling."
She gave him a look of utter disgust. "That's an awful thought."
"I just don't know any other way a woman manages to get such expensive things out of a man."
"I think it has more to do with the Dark Lord having his hand wrapped firmly around Malfoy's testicles than it does with me. Trust me, I barely managed it his time. I thought his head would to explode."
He turned, grinning at her.
"Oh, bloody you," she cried.
"You walked into that, my dear."
"I know, I know. Leave me with my pride. The old fart has the money. He may as well use it to buy us toys instead of that little prat Lucius."
"I hear that," Severus said.
"It's beautiful," Myra breathed, touching the chrome distillator that now hummed away in the corner. She ran her hand along the rim, bent down to have a look inside.
"It would be more beautiful with your head out of it," Severus snapped. "We've still got a ton of work to do. No matter how efficient that thing is, it's not going to get us our potion in two days."
She reluctantly removed herself from the machine. "Right. I know. What next?"
Severus cleared his throat. 'An infusion of Mariseed and Goldenwort, excuse me, Elmwort. No, Red elmwort extract." He tapped the butt of his cigarette to his temple.
She nodded and set up the proper tools, the reached behind her. "Could you hand me the saline solu- thanks. You might want to boost up the hood in a second, this stuff is rough."
"Mmm. Just tell me when,' He glanced at the hood, an airtight pump closet that sucked the poisonous fumes from especially smoky potions. He slipped the goggles back over his head and adjusted the lenses, then opened a book. He flipped through the pages, studied an entry, then went to the poison cabinet. He smirked at a coma inducing draught. "Wouldn't that be nice," he muttered sourly.
'What be nice?"
"Nothing," he said. 'Sleep."
Myra said a brief incantation over a serum. The liquid changed from a watery purple to a slimy, crawling black sludge. She gave it an approving nod and poured it in the cauldron. "Sleep," she said, "would be a delicious joy. But that's life under the Dark Lord. What do you do, we get great benefits in this industry."
Severus huffed. "If you're referring to the money and power, I haven't seen any. All I see, day in and day out, are these basement walls and your nitwit face."
''Hrm."
He paused, looking at her. "Your nitwit face and your gigantic head."
She cast him a brief glance.
"Your head," he began, leaning upon the table and lighting a cigarette, "defies gravity by the very fact that it stays perched atop your neck. It's huge. It's like looking at a grapefruit on a toothpick."
Myra's face reddened. She vigorously shook a vial and mixed it with another.
He took a drag. "Quite a remarkable phenomenon, really, this head of yours. Floating there like a...a..." he made a summoning gesture with his hand, as though looking for the correct word. "A great fuzzy black Snitch, yes."
She glared at him but said nothing. He took a step closer.
"Or, perhaps, like the independently mobile pubic hair of a giant - "
"Shut it, you fucking git, before I jam this vial rack up your ass," she growled.
A look of satisfaction crossed his face.
A little while later, after she had cooled, Myra asked Severus what he supposed The Dark Lord would do with the potion.
He was looking at a bottle of a milkish liquid., flicking it with a long fingernail. Particles moved at the bottom. The solution had gone over. "Fuck my cock," he muttered.
"Excuse me?"
"The dogweed serum has gone over. We'll have to send Barty to get some more."
"Did you say 'fuck my cock'?" she asked incredulously.
He paused at the expression on her face. 'No."
"Yes you did. Just now."
"I said no such thing." He turned partially away from her to check a dial.
"You said 'fuck my cock.'"
"So what? Shut up and work, will you, we're wasting time."
She laughed. "Who says that?"
"Quiet! Work!' he snapped, thrusting a pair of potions at her.
She snickered and took them, shaking her head. 'What a prat you are." She sighed. After a moment, 'You never answered my question. What do you think he's using this for?"
Severus shrugged. 'Assassination. It kills in larger doses, though administered a bit at a time it's quite effective for torture...causes a most unpleasant burning and cracking of the skin. Given with a clover-based balm it makes peeling back fingernails fifty times more painful. Mixed with carrionweed and given in a dropper it'll dissolve the eyeball into a white, veiny foam. Saw it done once, actually, amazing to watch. Yet it's so versatile, add some vodka and you have a very effective decongestant. Lovely thing." He shook his head in amazement, his eyes alight.
She smiled at him. "Fuck my cock."
"God, I always walk in at the best moment," came a voice from the door. They looked up so see young Barty Crouch Jr., arms folded, looking stern. He wore his robe open to reveal tiny orange gym shorts, sport socks pulled up to his knees, and a white t-shirt bearing a picture of an ice cream sundae that revealed a thin line of midriff. He tucked his blonde hair behind his ear. "Lord Malfoy sent me to check your progress. He wants to know if the dist-ill...e...thing...that thing, whatever that is - " he pointed to the Distillator in the corner "-if it was working well for you."
Severus crossed his arms, giving Barty a sour look. "Yes, it's fine, give Lord Malfoy our thanks."
Myra sighed. 'Barty, you'll catch your death of cold running around in that little outfit. Severus, could you turn on the hood, we're going to need it in a minute."
"This?" Barty pointed at his shirt. 'Isn't this great? I saw it and I was just like, ice cream, yay!" He wiggled a bit. "Everyone likes ice cream."
Severus snorted.
"It's a cute shirt," Myra admitted.
"Oh, it would look better on you, though, you have those sweet boobies. It's yours if you ever want to borrow it."
Severus snorted again, louder. Myra threw him a cross look.
"Thanks sweetie, I'll keep that in mind," Myra said from behind Severus, who was staring coldly at Barty. There was a sizzling sound. "Severus, any time now with the hood. I'm almost at peak reaction, here"
"Right," he grunted.
Barty clucked his tongue once at Severus. "What are you looking at?"
"Nothing. We need you to fetch a new bottle of dogweed."
Barty bit his lip and smiled.
"Severus," Myra repeated.
"That all ?" Barty asked coquettishly, twisting his hair around his pinky.
A barely restrained look of disgust flashed over Severus's face. 'Quite all, thanks."
"'Kay. Oh, um..." Barty paused at the door, looking a bit forlorn. "If you see Lucius, could you, um, tell him I'm looking for him?"
He glared at Barty.
"Severus!" Myra exclaimed as the sizzle grew louder "I'm peaking here!"
Barty pouted at Severus, running his thumb along the elastic band of his shorts. "Please?"
"Get out of my lab, you filthy little pouf!" Severus exploded.
'SEVERUS!" Myra yelled.
Barty jumped up and slammed the door behind him as yellow smoke began to fill the room. Severus coughed. "What the-?"
"The HOOD!" she shrieked. 'Turn on the hood! We'll be poisoned!" she dashed across the room with the fuming potion as Severus grabbed for his wand, aiming an activation charm at the pump closet. From the other side of the room he heard a sputtering. He could just barely make out Myra shoving the potion behind the glass door. She was hacking.
"Merlin's blood!" she coughed, "you fucking *hack hack* amateur. If I had known you found *hack* Barty *hack* that distracting..." She felt around for the vent latch. "Are you trying to *hack* kill us?"
Severus tried to reply but choked on the foul air. Myra managed to open a vent and he heard the first few words of a clearing charm. The sputtering from the corner grew even louder. Myra finished the charm and the room was clear of smoke, leaving only a sulfurous odor behind. Severus lit a cigarette.
"Did the infusion survive?" he asked cooly.
She was hunched over a table, both palms flay upon it. Her eyes watered. "Are you smoking?" she asked, aghast.
"Did the infusion survive?"
"I can't believe you." Yet another sputter from the corner of the room.
"I asked you a question, Myra."
She narrowed her eyes at him, coughing. "Go check it yourself."
He stared at her for a moment, then lowered his cigarette. "I think you should," he said softly. 'You could use the experience."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
He took a few quick steps until he was right in Myra's face. He looked livid. 'I have more experience with Potions, and the Dark Arts in general, than you do or ever will have. Don't you ever, ever, call me an amateur, or I'll show you just what an amateur is. Try to keep in mind, Myra Psue, that you are my assistant."
"Oh, that is such horseshit Severus, you know as well as I do-"
"-that you are my assistant. You are Assistant Potionmaster. Vice. Potiomaster."
Their noses were nearly touching, the smoke from Severus's cigarette curling like a decaying hand above their heads.
"Technically," she spat.
Severus opened his mouth to reply, give a cutting last remark, when the sputtering became obtrusively loud. "What the bloody hell is that?"
As if on cue, the Cromley High Speed Distillator emitted a low moan, coughed, and shut down.
Myra and Severus blinked.
"No..." they said in unison.
"Can you fix it?"
Severus slid himself out from underneath the Distillator. He sat on the floor, leaning against a cabinet, brushing his hair out of his eyes. "No, we need a new one. The fumes from the infusion must have damaged it somehow."
Myra shook her head. "This is not good. Lord Malfoy nearly had an aneurism when I told him how much the first one would cost. This'll get us blackmarked as liabilities."
Severus snorted. 'I wish it were as simple as just the Distillator. The last of the helbargrout was in there. It only blooms every six years. We have to make a synthetic helbargout, that'll take about seven hours, and then you have to sweet-talk Lord Malfoy into getting us a new Distillator - "
"-why do I always have to do do the sweet talking?"
"Because he wants to fuck you. All in all this is going to put us fifteen, sixteen hours behind schedule. We're buggered." He gave Myra a salute. "Nice knowing you."
She began to bite her nails. Severus winced, watching her. "Maybe...maybe we can talk to the Dark Lord...tell him the situation...I mean, shit happens, right?"
Severus looked at her for a moment and burst out laughing. "Do you remember the Arithmancy Guy who was late with those charts? I heard the Dark Lord ate his testicles." He gave a grim snort. "Give me a cigarette, will you?"
"No. We need to think."
"I need a cigarette to think."
She gave an exasperated sigh and threw the pack at him. They were silent for a moment, Severus smoking, Myra biting her nails, Severus wincing at Myra biting her nails.
His eyes suddenly cleared. When he looked up his expression was not one of relief.
'What?" Myra asked. "Have you got something?"
"Lucius," he replied.
Lucius Malfoy sat on the green couch in the far left corner of the lab. The couch was usually reserved for either Severus or Myra's eventual collapse. Severus had awaken many a morning with the lines from the corduroy embedded in his cheek. But now a smug blonde boy in his young twenties lounged upon it as though it were a throne of the highest order. His arm was slung across the back. A creak emitted from his alligator skin pants as he crossed his legs.
Lucius licked his lips and smirked at Severus. 'So," he said, "what's so urgent that I have to be called from whip practice?"
Myra was across the room pretending to work. Severus saw her tilt her head slightly to better listen to the conversation.
"I need your help," Severus finally said. It was a hard admission for him.
Lucius grinned. "Imagine that. I heard you had a bit of an accident down here."
Severus jumped. "How did you know?"
"A little Barty told me," Lucius replied with a flip of his hand. He leaned forward, all creaking pants and black silk shirt, balancing his elbows against his knees. There was a sparkle about his hand - a single serpent's eye diamond engagement ring. He shook his platinum locks out of his eyes with a brief movement of his head. He was striking.
"So what do you need fixed, Snapey-loo?"
Severus's jaw locked at the name. Lucius knew he hated it. It was borne of a rather embarrasing incident at Hogwarts many years previous.
"Let's try to keep this short, I don't have a lot of time. I need a some helbargrout - "
"Not very easily obtained right now. It's going to cost you."
Snape took a breath to steady himself. 'Some helbagrout, and a new Distillator."
There was a pause. Lucius's eyebrows rose. He smiled and sat back, stroking his chin. Severus never allowed his black, glittering eyes to leave Lucius's watery blue ones, hoping to intimidate the young prince into giving him a reasonable deal. This was not to be achieved. They both knew who had the better hand.
"Well well well," Lucius said smoothly, "We do have ourselves in a pinch, don't we?"
Severus didn't reply.
Lucius made a great show of considering the deal, his eyes raised to the ceiling in "thought". Severus knew Lucius already had the price in mind.
Finally Lucius spoke. "I can get you these things, but I have a request to make of you. Or rather, a proposal."
Severus crossed his arms, waiting.
"Actually it's something I've wanted to discuss with you for quite some time now. How fortunate that I finally have an opportunity." A look of earnestness came over him. It was chilling. 'Severus, I want you to go back into business with me."
He started. Blinked. 'Business?"
"Don't be coy. We ran quite a racket back in our Hogwarts days. You made it, I sold it."
Across the room, Myra cocked her head.
"Lucius-"
"You produced some of the best metamorphine I've ever had the pleasure of putting in my arm," Lucius whispered savagely. "Don't you remember the night I swore I knew what it felt like to be the roof? That, my dear Severus, is what we call good shit."
Myra looked over her shoulder at Severus, amazed.
A sour look crossed Lucius's beautiful face. "What are you gawking at, you stupid fat cow? This is private business."
"Leave her be," Severus snapped. Lucius rose a perfect blonde eyebrow. "I'm glad you enjoyed my...handiwork, but I can't do that anymore. You have to realize that working for the Dark Lord takes up all of my time - I can barely sleep, much less make shipments for you on a regular basis." He lit a cigarette.
Lucius gestured to the wrecked Distillator in the corner. "That pile of junk over there seems to be saying you can. Listen. You can hear it." Lucius leaned forward, putting his hand on Severus's shoulder. The other hand he formed into a beak with his finger and thumb, which he made "talk". "Hi, Snapey-loo. This is the Distillator. I'm a fucked up piece of junk that's going to cost you your job, your life even, so I think you had better get off your ass and make Lucius some drugs. Comprende?"'
Lucius smiled at his hand. "You're a persuasive little bastard."
"Why thank you," the hand replied.
"No no, thank you, gorgeous," Lucius said back. "There, see. That's how it is. We'll split the take, say, thirty seventy until such time as I deem fit."
"I'm not doing it for any less than forty," Severus balked, eyes flashing.
"I hardly think you're in a position to argue," Lucius's hand said.
"Lucius-" Severus began.
"I can get you what you need within the hour. Or you can rot. Do we have a deal?"
Severus was silent, too tired to fight him. "Fine. Fine, we have a deal. Just give me some time for the first batch, I have to finish this potion in a day and nine hours."
"Of course," Lucius said, extending his hand. Severus reluctantly shook it. "A pleasure, my friend. Glad to have you back on the team." He smiled. "I don't know about you, but I'm going to get some new boots."
"With the cut I'm getting I won't be able to afford new boots," Severus spat.
Lucius laughed and patted Severus on cheek. "You're funny. Always were a charmer."
The door burst open to reveal a panting Barty Crouch. His sport socks had fallen down to his ankles. He held up a vial. 'Here's your dogweed! I brought it as fast as I - Lucius."
"Hi Barty." Lucius got up to leave, giving Severus a parting nod. "Come now, let's go upstairs, you can make me smoothie."
Barty's expression brightened as he handed Severus the dogweed and followed Lucius out.
Myra turned to Severus and began to speak. 'Metamorphine? That's-"
"Not a word, Myra" he said. "Not a word."
The Distillator and the helbargrout were delivered within the hour as promised. Severus didn't allow himself to think of the price had paid for it. Metamorphine was such a good drug because it was extremely difficult and time-consuming to produce. It was now guaranteed he would never see the sun again.
Seven hours of solid work. He felt the hours tick by like a blade nicking at his neck. There was too much to do and not enough being done. He was exhausted, wired, so on edge that Myra had all but stopped speaking to him for the sharpness of his retorts. He tried to steady his shaking hand as he filled a vial Mentally sifted through a baffling number of computations. Couldn't keep anything straight. A sour ache of frustration throbbed in his chest.
There was a tug at his robe.
Severus jumped. Before him was Dobby. "Don't startle me like that, you rodent!" he spat.
Myra glanced over. 'Oh look, it's the Bludger," she said coldly, with eyes undone by stress.
Dobby cowered, his thin arms covered his huge head. "Not again, Miss Psue! Oh no, me is not Bludger, Miss Psue, no no no. Me is Dobby. Me is a good house-elf. Me is-."
"We know what you is," Severus spat. 'What the hell do you want? Make it fast."
"Such language! You is a bad Snape - "
"Wrap it up, fuckwit," Myra said.
"The Taskmasters is telling me to give Mr. Snape this, sir." He handed Severus a slip of parchment and quickly left.
He opened it.
"Oh god. You're kidding. What've we got?" Myra asked, rubbing her eyes.
Severus crumpled the parchment and stormed out of the lab, slamming the door behind him.
He burst into a horribly lit room where black robed witches and wizards moved silently but efficiently, filing and sorting task requests for each of the Death Eaters. A long line of rather bored looking people standing outside Processing waited to fill out request forms. Across the one moldy window was a string of black and white letters that read "HAPPY H LLOWE N".
It was May.
He had entered the Taskmasters Office.
"Who ordered the sleep draught?" he demanded loudly. Conversation stopped as about thirty heads turned his way. He focused on the Woman Behind The Counter. Everyone knew who she was but no one seemed to know her name. She always lined her lips just outside of their natural limit, unknowingly creating the illusion of a very thin mustache. She had jowls.
She gave him a bored look. "What was that, hon?"
"I want to know who sent down the order for the goddam sleep draught."
"Just now?"
"Yes, just now."
"Let me check." She shifted through a stack of parchment. "Hmm. Says here it was a Mr. Grindow Holland." Her eyes suddenly flew to the back of the line. Instinctively he tracked her line of sight. A figure was pushing through the line, trying to leave the room. Severus's eyes glinted, suddenly feral.
He charged up to the man, seized him by the collar, and slammed him against the wall.
"Are you Grindow Holland?" he hissed. Spittle landed on the small, bald man's cheek.
"Y-yes."
"Did you order the sleep draught?"
"Y-es, yes, I did. I can explain."
"Please."
"It's for my - my wife. She's having trouble-"
Severus pulled against the man's collar and shoved him back against the wall."Listen to me, you useless, pion piece of shit," he growled, "you go back home and tell your wife that I have a deadline. I have things to do. I won't be interrupted because some simpering bitch can't get her beauty sleep. Tell her to drink some warm fucking milk, I'm. BUSY."
Holland's jaw bobbed wordlessly.
"Can you HEAR ME?" Severus shrieked. "Am I making myself PERFECTLY. FUCKING. CRYSTAL. CLEAR?" He shoved the man against the wall with each word.
"Y-e-y-y-es!"
Severus glared at him for a moment, then released him. Just as the man took a breath of relief Severus raised his hand in a sudden motion, as though he were about to backhand Holland across the face. The bald man flinched.
Severus gave a single nod.
He looked up at the silent crowd of people in the Taskmaster's office, staring at him.
"What?"
Not waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and swept out of the room.
"Where the hell did you run off to so fast?" Myra snapped upon Severus's return. She was stirring two cauldrons at once while watching a mixture that threatened to boil over. "What was that?"
"Nothing, I took care of it," he replied, pulling his goggles back on with a savage jerk and reducing the heat on the boiling mixture. He took over one of Myra's cauldrons, which she gladly gave up. "Did you skim this for yeast residue?"
"Of course, what do I look like to you?" She rolled her eyes.
"Don't start. Just don't bloody start."
She started to reply, but someone opened the door to the lab. The creak made both of them jump.
Ready for more? Click HERE for Episode 1: The Boiler Room, Part 2.