Appassionata

In the afternoon, Snape and Hermione finally left his bed and headed to her apartment. Hermione wanted a shower and a change of clothes, and Severus proposed they go out to dinner after. They’d put the cart before the horse a bit, spending 12 hours in bed before the first date, but considering the quality of those 12 hours, he felt compelled to observe a few of the traditional courtship markers in the interest of getting more hours in bed with her, preferably on a recurring and regular basis.

She side-along apparated him through her wards and into her library, and he settled into a comfortable chair with an unfamiliar book while she took off for the shower. As he left the library some indeterminate time later, half-way through the book but distracted by the thought of food, Severus heard noises coming from the kitchen. His eyes narrowed as he recognized Mr. Weasley’s voice. Stiffening his posture and shaping his features into his most cool and intimidating expression, he moved stealthily down the hall, stopping when he reached the kitchen to lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, quietly watching the scene unfold before him. Both Weasley and Hermione were turned away from him; she was facing the counter, busying her hands with glasses and ice while Ron stood a few feet behind her, loudly trying to get her attention.

“I have a right to know where you were!” Ron demanded angrily. “You were gone ALL NIGHT and most of today! I’ve been worried sick about you!”

“Good.” The unfamiliar steel in Hermione’s voice caused Severus’s eyebrow to quirk in mild surprise. He’d heard her use that tone on Malfoy but hadn’t imagined she could pull it out for one of the trio. “You wouldn’t have HAD to worry about me if you hadn’t DRUGGED me!”

“Oh bloody hell, Hermione. Don’t be so melodramatic! I was only trying to get you to relax a little!” Frustrated, Ron moved closer to her, grabbing her by the arms and turning her around.

Severus reached for his wand at the sight of Hermione flinching and struggling in Ron’s arms. “Don’t touch me!”

Ron tightened his hold and shook her slightly. “Hermione, damn it, listen to me…”

Severus had moved across the room quickly and silently. “I suggest you let go of her immediately, Mr. Weasley,” he uttered quietly, his tone pointed and icy, “before I do irreparable damage to your arms.”

Ron let go, turning to find the Potions Master’s ebony wand aimed at his throat. Snape’s posture was deceptively casual, but he saw Ron swallow nonetheless and restrained from smirking. The members of the Order had seen him in action enough times not to underestimate him. Ron stepped away from Hermione, and Severus lowered his wand.

“What the hell are you doing here, Snape?” The hot-headed boy’s momentary fear was quickly replaced by anger.

“I believe I am having a drink with Miss Granger before dinner.” He moved to her side, pulling the cork from the bottle of firewhiskey and splashing some of the amber liquid over the ice cubes, then handing her the glass and nudging her toward the living room with pressure from a comforting hand in the small of her back. “And as I was invited, perhaps I should be asking what you are doing here, Mr. Weasley.”

“I need to talk to Hermione.” He glared at the potions master. “Alone.”

Noticing that Hermione was no longer in the room, Snape assumed his most intimidating posture and fixed Ron with his chilliest stare. “I don’t think so, Mr. Weasley.” Snape crossed his arms and leaned against the counter. “For Hermione’s sake, I am giving you a chance to explain before I call in the Aurors and have you hauled off to Azkaban…”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Ron interjected angrily. “I haven’t done anything.”

“No?” murmured the Potions Master. “The Appassionata potion is a controlled substance, Mr. Weasley.” The confused expression he had been expecting slowly started to appear on Ron’s face. “You are very fortunate that Hermione is the sort to know what she ingested, or her situation tonight could be very dire indeed.”

“What are you talking about, Snape?” Ron’s face was white. “All I gave her was a relaxation potion.”

“Where did you get it, Mr. Weasley?” Snape’s voice was measured and cold and Ron began to realize that something was seriously wrong.

“At the Apothecary in Diagon Alley,” Ron nearly exclaimed, pacing. “They said it would relax her inhibitions, help her enjoy herself.”

Now that was a surprise.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Weasley, that was not a relaxation potion. That was Appassionata. A very Dark and extremely dangerous potion that can have severe physiological consequences.” Severus sighed, leaning up against the counter and rubbing his neck. Clearly Ronald Weasley was as much a victim as a villain in this piece. He should have suspected stupidity over malice.

Ron had stumbled into a chair and was gaping at the potions master. “Are you saying I gave Hermione a DARK potion?”

“That is precisely what I am saying, Mr. Weasley,” Snape’s mouth twisted with distaste. “Your ignorance does not excuse your giving Miss Granger any potion without her consent, but it helps your case that you were unaware just how seriously she could have been hurt had she not recognized what she had swallowed.”

Ron’s face was ashen, and he looked like he might become ill. “There are very few brewers in the world, Mr. Weasley, who could make that potion to the quality of the sample you had. I need you to remember—precisely who at the Apothecary sold you the vail? What did he look like? How did he describe it to you?”

“Wasn’t a him.” Ron shook his head, whether in negation or to clear it. “It was a woman, with long grey hair, in purple robes.” His brow furrowed. “I think she had streaks in her hair, purple or black. I thought it was her way of being stylish, dyeing her hair to match her robes.”

Severus was scowling. That was probably a glamour, and completely unhelpful.

“What could it do to her, Professor?” Ron’s voice was small. “How seriously could she have been hurt?”

“The Appasionata potion stimulates the body’s panic responses, triggering fear and paranoia. It raises the blood pressure, higher and higher, until blood vessels in the brain and all over the body begin to explode.” Ron was leaning over the sink now, swallowing heavily to stop his gag reflex. “There is no medicine that will stop the effects, and the potion is not detectable by any known spell. The victim has to know what she has taken and what steps she must take to counteract it.”

“Oh Gods,” Ron looked up at him, his eyes wild. “What did she have to do? She had to do some awful thing to stop it, didn’t she? Kill a unicorn or something…”

Snape smirked. “Not so bad as all that, Mr. Weasley.” Ron took a deep breath, returning to his seat. “The counter action to the Appasionata is actually quite simple – the darkness of the potion comes from the fact that the act it takes to counter the potion is the very last act the person is likely to feel like doing while in the grip of the fear and paranoia the potion produces. For this reason, anyone dosed with it – but not aware she is dosed with it – is very likely to die, painfully and with great suffering, within 24 hours.”

Ron’s relief was palpable, warring with his dismay at what might have happened. “I’ve never been so grateful in my life for Hermione’s obsession with information.” He smiled faintly, “At least she didn’t have to do anything dark – she’d never forgive me if she had. But what did she have to do, Professor?”

Snape smirked at the expectant look on Ron’s face. He’d been waiting for this.

“She had to have sex, Mr. Weasley.” His smirk intensified at the shocked look on Ron’s face. “And she chose to have sex with me.”