Snape strode into the headmaster's office after muttering the ridiculous candy password at the gargoyle. Black robes swept around him, his expression as cold and closed-off as ever.
No wizard hat this time. His thick, glossy black hair hung loose over his shoulders again, full and untouched.
Dumbledore sat alone, sipping tea and working through what was left of the snacks with obvious enjoyment. He didn't look the least bit surprised when Snape crossed the room without a word and dropped into the chair across from him.
Dumbledore's eyes flicked to the bare head, and the corner of his mouth twitched. So the man had finally brewed something that actually worked on hair. Impressive. He wondered if it would ever see the light of day outside private use.
He said nothing about it. A flick of his fingers brought a fresh cup of hot tea into existence in front of Snape.
"Sorry, Severus," Dumbledore said, nodding at the nearly empty plates. "I've already cleared out most of the treats. I won't insult you by offering the scraps. You don't mind, do you?"
Snape glanced at what remained. Nothing like the usual sugar bombs Dumbledore favored. Not that it mattered. Even if the headmaster had offered, Snape wouldn't have touched them. He'd long since developed a reflex against anything that sweet. One bite and your teeth ached for an hour.
Tea was tolerable.
He ignored the plates and set the small case he'd carried in onto the desk with a dull thud.
"Strong Veritaserum," he said, voice flat. "One drop and they'll spill every secret they've ever kept. Down to how many toads they cut open as children."
Dumbledore lifted the case, opened it, and studied the neat rows of crystal vials. The liquid inside was a faint, almost transparent blue that caught the light with a soft shimmer.
"Effects this potent," he said, closing the case again. "Will it damage the brain?"
Snape gave a short, cold laugh. "Anyone still breathing who knows the Dark Lord's history isn't worth fretting over."
The message was clear enough. Dumbledore shook his head, half-exasperated. Snape hadn't just insulted one or two people with that remark.
Still, he spoke. "Could you brew some of the standard-strength version as well? A few of these people are innocent. They simply had the misfortune of learning Tom's past… and the good fortune of never being caught by him."
Snape's lip curled, barely.
Dumbledore and his endless insistence on rules and principles, even when it complicated everything. Brewing ordinary Veritaserum was tedious but well within Dumbledore's own skill. The man was simply too busy these days, chasing leads on Voldemort and the Horcruxes.
Snape turned the problem over once. He could make the regular batch himself. Or… he could hand it to Lucien.
A perfectly reasonable way to check the boy's current level in Potions. Professor assigns student work. Student proves he can handle it. Simple.
In his head, Snape quietly added the task to Lucien's growing list.
He reached into his robes and pulled out a thin rectangular plate of silver. Tiny black flecks dotted the surface. The edges were smooth and rounded, catching the light with a quiet metallic gleam. He slid it across the desk.
"By the way," he said, tone unchanged. "Lucien made this for me. You might find it useful."