In a small, cluttered apothecary shop on a side street of Diagon Alley, Mr. Gilderoy Lockhart, a man with a boyish grin and a penchant for dramatic flair, was busy signing copies of his latest book. The shop smelled of ancient herbs and parchment, with a faint hint of dragon dung lingering in the air. He looked up from his quill and parchment as the bell jingled, signaling a new customer. In the doorway stood Severus Snape, his tall figure silhouetted by the dim alley light, his eyes fixed on a dusty bottle of Veritaserum on the shelf.
Lockhart couldn't help but feel a twinge of irritation at the sight of Snape. The man was a thorn in his side, always questioning his methods and casting doubt on his heroic tales. But he put on his best smile, eager to make a sale. "Ah, Professor Snape," he said with forced cheerfulness. "What brings you to my humble abode of enchantments today?"
Snape's gaze never left the bottle. "I require something... discreet," he murmured, his voice low and measured. The air grew thick with tension, as though the very fabric of the room was straining to hold his words. "I need a potion that can reveal one's true feelings, hidden beneath layers of deceit and enchantment."
Lockhart's smile faltered. This was no ordinary request. The potion Snape described was not one he sold openly. It was a rare and powerful concoction, the kind that could ruin lives if it fell into the wrong hands. "I'm afraid I don't stock that particular potion," he said carefully, hoping to steer the conversation towards a safer topic.
But Snape's eyes narrowed, and his gaze slid over to Lockhart. "Don't lie to me," he said, his voice like a whip crack. "I know you've got it. I've seen the recipe in your personal notes."
Lockhart's heart skipped a beat. He had indeed experimented with such a potion, hoping to write an even more compelling book about uncovering dark secrets. But the recipe was incomplete, and he had never dared to brew it. "I assure you, Professor, I have no such potion here. It's far too... unpredictable for general use."
Snape stepped closer, his eyes piercing. "I'm not asking for a love potion to be used on a student," he said, his voice cold as ice. "I need this for a matter of utmost importance." His hand reached for the bottle of Veritaserum, and Lockhart had the uncomfortable feeling that the man was reading his thoughts.
"Please," Lockhart said, his voice trembling slightly. "I can't just give it to you. It's against regulations."
Snape's hand hovered over the bottle, and for a moment, Lockhart thought the potions master might simply take it. But then, with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of the world, Snape leaned in closer, his breath hot against Lockhart's ear. "You will find it in your bestie interest to assist me," he whispered. "For the sake of Hogwarts."
Lockhart's eyes widened in shock. Snape had never spoken to him with such urgency, nor had he ever mentioned the greater good of the school. Something was definitely amiss. With trembling hands, he reached beneath the counter and pulled out a small, unlabeled vial filled with a shimmering liquid. "This is all I have," he said, placing it into Snape's outstretched palm. "It's an experimental draft, so I can't guarantee its efficacy."
Snape's eyes lit up with a mix of gratitude and determination as he closed his hand around the vial. "Thank you," he murmured. "You won't regret this." With that, he turned and swept out of the shop, leaving Lockhart to stare at the empty space where he had been standing. The bell jingled mournfully as the door closed behind him, and Lockhart was left alone with his racing thoughts.
Days passed, and the vial remained unspoken of between the two men. Snape carried himself with a newfound sense of purpose, his usually stoic demeanor occasionally cracking to reveal a hint of something... softer. Meanwhile, Lockhart couldn't shake the feeling that he had just handed over a piece of his soul to the very person who might use it against him. He watched Snape closely, searching for any sign of the potion's use or its effects.
