Brewing

Elya Tesla Vavilov awoke with a start, beads of cold sweat dripping down her forehead and back. Her light eyes were wide as she sat upright, a hand shooting out to the nightstand next to her bed and grappling for a bottle she knew was there waiting for her. Relief flooded her body as soon as her fingers closed around the neck of the flask of Calming Draught, even more so when she actually took a large swig of it. The girl had always been good at making potions, but many would say that she was especially gifted with this particular draught, as she had been making it since age eleven in a vain attempt to rid herself of her nightmares. It never worked, as she still dreamt of the same man, the same claws and teeth, the same pain, but it worked well to relax her once she finally woke up from the ordeal.

Sinking back into the mattress, Elya sighed, running a hand through her long, dark hair before shoving the heels of her palms into her eyes, enjoying the temporary reprieve from the ache that seemed to reside there 24/7. The day's stress had only just begun, the muggle clock next to her reading out 5:55 AM. In fifteen minutes, her father, Nicolai Vavilov would swing open the door and curtly say, "Get up. That blasted train won't wait forever."

The seventeen-year-old's trunk was already packed, sitting in the corner of the room with her tawny owl, Rowan, perched on top of it, large eyes staring at Elya in an unnerving manner.

It was the first day of her seventh and final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and a miracle that she had even gotten this close to graduating considering how many times her father threatened to pull her out and send her off to Durmstrang. "Dumbledore is even more of a bloody nutter than he was in my days at school," Nicolai would mutter darkly.

Elya knew that he wasn't exactly a full supporter of the school, not with the quirky, white- haired wizard as Headmaster, and definitely not after everything that Elya's older brother Luka experienced while attending. He had been treated like a criminal up until he graduated two years ago, tailed almost everywhere he went. Dumbledore kept a careful watch on him, and it offended Nicholai to no end.

"Dad, you and I both know that Luka isn't the best student. He's a bit of a bully, too," Elya tried to reason with him in a quiet voice.

"That doesn't mean that he requires a high security entourage everywhere he goes! That barmy old man just has it out for him!"

"Our family has a reputation. Dumbledore knows, just like everybody else, that Luka is going to take the Mark once he graduates. He just wants one less dark wizard."

As she remembered the countless arguments and tried to imagine just how many others would take place this school year, Elya slipped off of the mattress and walked to her closet, taking out a muggle outfit consisting of tight blue jeans, a gray sweatshirt that was rolled up to her elbows, and a pair of combat boots. Her every day jewelry was put on, a gold chain with a tiger charm hanging off of it around her neck, and a simple black beaded bracelet on her thin wrist. She brushed her hair before braiding it sloppily then left the room for the bathroom, passing by her father, who had been ready to barge into her bedroom.

"Morning," she uttered quietly, knowing well that he was not going to be in the best of moods.

There had been hope that the Hogwarts' name would be raised to meet Nicolai's standards once again with Elya's attendance. When she was an eleven-year-old witch, first stepping foot in the school, he had been convinced that she would be sorted into the house of Slytherin, not only what he and Luka had been sorted into but also those of the company that Mr. Vavilov kept. Elya was already very experienced with hexes and darker magic due to her upbringing, and she was sly and ambitious, though it wasn't as pronounced as in others from the house.

The Sorting Hat had had other ideas, however, and as a first- year, sitting on the stool with the old material covering her eyes, Elya felt ice coat the lining of her stomach when the hat called out cheerfully, "Ravenclaw!" She was not the only person in The Great Hall who was surprised.

Nicolai had been furious at the time, apparating as close to the school as possible with the wards in place, then stomped the rest of the way to the castle and, eventually, Dumbledore's office where he raved about Elya being a true Slytherin.

The office was soon occupied by more than just Mr. Vavilov and Dumbledore. Professor McGonagall joined, as she was Deputy Headmistress, and was followed by Professor Flitwick, Ravenclaw's head of house, and one Severus Snape, Slytherin's head, who Nicolai and Elya were both very familiar with.

"I assure you, Mr. Vavilov, Ravenclaw is a very respectable house to be sorted into! We value intelligence and creativity, provide the best of learning settings, and-..."

"I don't give one fuck about learning settings or bloody creativity! She belongs in Slytherin!" He bellowed, arms thrown into the air as his graying hair began to fall out of place.

Elya, still young at the time, sat in a large chair in front of Professor Dumbledore's desk, eyes unblinking and trained on the floor. She was far too used to this kind of fury coming from her father.

After much more yelling from the man and many attempts to calm him down, Dumbledore left the final decision of which house she'd like to be a part of up to Elya herself. His blue eyes had twinkled, as usual, behind half-moon spectacles, and a small smile played at the corners of his lips.

She could remember feeling her stomach muscles clench in fear, knowing well that there was no right answer. If she was being honest, she really couldn't see herself feeling comfortable as a Slytherin, even with Snape as her head of house. Choosing Ravenclaw, though, would upset her father even further. He'd view her as a traitor, as a disappointment.

All eyes were trained on her, intensity flickering in her father's, concern in McGonagall's, indifference in Snape's, and a certain glimmer of knowing in Dumbledore's.

"I- um, I think that, even with m- my family," there was no point in trying to hide the fact that her relatives were all supporters of the Dark Lord. It wasn't a well- kept secret by any means. "And, my experience with, um, dark magic, I would rather be in R- Ravenclaw, no offense, 'Se- er, Professor Snape."

It was a clumsy confession, and Elya refused to look at anyone in the room for some time, feeling her cheeks burning and sensing her father's harsh glare.

"Hm, well then, that settles that," Dumbledore chirped out, the smile evident just by the sound of his voice. "Anyone care for a lemon drop?"

Nicolai didn't talk to his daughter for a solid three weeks after the sorting, and he would have stayed silent for longer had it not been for an angry Snape pulling him aside at a Death Eater meeting still toward the beginning of the school year and insisting he act his age. "This is not some school yard feud, Nicolai. This is your daughter. She is a talented witch, Slytherin, or not. Now, stop this petty torture and accept it. Merlin knows she has enough to deal with as is."

The man did accept it, though he remained unhappy about it. Elya exceled in all of her subjects, especially Defense Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, and Potions. She studied like a true Ravenclaw, and her professors liked her enough. Even Snape paid her a backhanded compliment every now and again (maybe once every six months), which was apparently very rare at Hogwarts. It wasn't surprising in the least, as Elya, having basically grown up around the man, knew him to be a rather quiet individual. The off occasion that he did open his mouth, nothing but sarcasm rolled off of his tongue, insults aimed at students cowering behind their cauldrons. Elya wasn't treated in any special ways. The only perks of her knowing him as a child meant that when ranting about how moronic his students were, she was conveniently looked over, never singled out.

Outside of classes, Elya's life was basically non- existent. She had two friends, though that was a loose term, as Elya could go days without talking to them, or really caring about them for that matter. She didn't talk to many of the other students in her house. She didn't talk to many people at all. Receiving post was uncommon, and when she did, it was either her father or brother checking on her, more out of obligation than genuine curiosity. It wasn't that they didn't care about her. Members of the Vavilov family were just very independent. Elya had her father's full attention as a small child, was nurtured and entertained, even if it all occurred in a rather dark environment. Death Eaters or not, she was still taken care of.

Once finished getting ready and reflecting on the previous six years, Elya made her way downstairs and to the kitchen, which was a ways from her wing of the house. Only her father sat there, Luka being gone on yet another search mission with Barty Crouch, Jr. It wasn't out of the ordinary, and after making a breakfast bagel and reading some of the top stories in The Daily Prophet, Elya went back upstairs and retrieved her trunk and Rowan, apparating to King's Cross Station with the graying man once she was positive she had everything. They were early, but there was no harm in that, and surely, Nicolai would run into someone he knew who could amuse him for the time while Elya sat and read.



Saying goodbye wasn't hard anymore. It had been Elya's first year, but as she grew older and more confident, she could easily give her father a very short, impersonal hug and walk onto the train. She sat in her compartment alone for only a few minutes before the door slid open and two familiar faces were revealed: Dervish Hayford and Annabella McCroy, both seventh years like Elya.

Both sat down on the seat across from the pale girl, smiling, ready to ask how the break was, but before they could even utter a word, Elya held her hand up, a very small smirk of her own turning her lips upward. "My break was great. Very lazy. I had a lot of reading time."

Dervish rolled his eyes, reaching out to smack Elya's knee, then leaned back, long blonde hair covering part of his face and brushing his shoulders. "Good to know you're still the same, emotionless girl we left you as, Elly," he chuckled, Scottish accent thickening each of his words.

The boy was a somewhat broad and tan Hufflepuff. He seemed to always be happy, grin never leaving his boyish face. Teachers admonished him more than once a day about his shaggy hair, McGonagall especially, but the boy just couldn't part with it. Still, it suited his laid back nature and the few girlfriends he'd had over the years at Hogwarts often had a good time carding their fingers through it.

"I'm not emotionless," Elya said quietly. "I'm just stoic. Apparently, I get it from my mother." She had to considering her father had the temper of a giant.

Shaking his head, Dervish looked to Annabella, nudging her with his elbow. "Well, Bell here had a grand summer, didn't she?" The mousy brunette didn't reply but still rolled her eyes. "Come on, tell her what you did all break."

Elya lifted an eyebrow and regarded her friend with something close to interest.

The tiny girl shrugged her shoulders and looked at her friend with large green eyes. "I spent the time in Serbia with my cousins," she said simply.

Dervish sighed in an exasperated manner. "Cousins who happen to be vampires! How cool is that?"

Elya snorted to herself. She'd come in contact with many vampires thanks to her father, travelers from other countries who wished to aid in the search for the missing Dark Lord. All of the fanged creatures who she had met were rather unfriendly--very blunt and a little on the arrogant side. Of course, she would never tell either of her friends this, as they had no idea how loyal of a follower Mr. Vavilov truly was. The Vavilov name had been associated with dark wizards for some time, now, and practically everybody at Hogwarts knew that Elya was well oriented with Death Eaters, some of Voldemort's most trusted servants, even. It may have played into her not having many friends.

After eyeing the two students across from her for a moment, Elya humored Dervish with a toneless, "Riveting," ignoring the put out look that he gave her afterward.

The conversation was sparse after that, or it was on Elya's end. Dervish and Annabella stayed well enough amused with each other, telling summer stories, teasing one another, and eating candy from the trolly all the way.

Elya stayed interested in her new Potions book, knowing well that she was going to have to work hard in that particular subject this year in order to keep some shred of the familiar professor's respect.

"Might as well put the book down, Elly," Dervish commented, smiling crookedly. "I hear seventh year potions is basically impossible. The git ends up having to grade on effort rather than accuracy every year. 'S what me older sister says, anyway."

The girl only raised her eyes to look at her friend for a moment or two before returning to it. She had received the warning before, at the beginning of the break, from the git himself.

They had stood in one of the many hallways of Malfoy Manor, one of Elya's least favorite places as she really couldn't stand any of the Malfoys, including the little one. It was during one of the few Death Eater meetings held over the summer break. The teenager didn't attend many, but Nicolai had insisted on his daughter's presence as all of the members were mapping out plans for the year of where to search for their missing master and what to do when they found him. Elya had excused herself to get a drink from the kitchen, ignoring the loud bangs coming from upstairs, no doubt a bi- product of young Draco Malfoy practicing some spells under the supervision of the house elf.

On her way, she spotted the familiar black clad figure of her potions master speaking in a low hiss to the ever- so irritating Peter Pettigrew (most just called him Wormtail). His words weren't clear, and Elya truly had no desire to stick around and see what venom was pouring from Snape's lips, so she kept toward the kitchen, not stopping even when she heard mimicking footfall behind her own. She retrieved a glass and filled it with water, ignoring the looming presence that had joined her in the kitchen.

The teenager kept her eyes downcast, something she had learned having grown up in a house with a loyal servant of the Dark Lord, and sipped her drink quietly as Severus paced about the kitchen, pushing his black hair from his face. She was surprised when she heard him speak.

"Have you finished your summer assignments?" He was somewhat relaxed in posture, but he was using his teacher voice, and Elya knew that he was really asking if she had finished the painfully long essay over the different brews of Wolfsbane and their effectiveness.

Feeling cheeky, the pale girl pulled her lips into a small smile and answered, "All except for Potions," before taking another sip of water, watching the man over her glass.

She heard him sniff, but his mouth twitched ever so slightly. "Is that so?" She could tell he was aware of her bluff.

Still, she nodded. "I've been putting it off, not too fond of my professor, you see. He's a bit nasty at times, and I've been studying up on ways I can charm the parchment paper to curse the git when he reads it."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Any luck?"

She pursed her lips to keep from grinning. "None at all."

They held their gazes for a moment or two before Elya gave in and shook her head. "It's done. Wolfsbane, honestly?" She smirked at his amused expression. "Easiest essay I've ever written."

She felt more than saw his black eyes flit over the light scars that still remained on her face, neck, and exposed arms. The largest was hidden by her jeans but seemed to tingle as they both thought of it.

"I expect perfection, then," he uttered, "Considering your experience."

The girl forced a smile, remembering the several different anti-venom potions that had been forced down her throat as a young girl but refused to delve any deeper into her memories. "I'd turn in nothing less." And, just like that, they were back to being student and professor.

"The course this year will not be easy," he warned her.

"I never thought it would be."

"You'll have to study often if you wish to pass."

"That won't be a problem. I don't have much of a social life."

He snorted quietly. "You'll more than likely botch the majority of the potions made in class."

Elya crossed her arms and leaned more on one leg, her left hip sticking out a bit. "Are you trying to dissuade me from taking your class? Do you seriously think that I'm not capable of putting forth effort? Honestly, Sev, I'm a little offended."

His eye twitched at the nickname, as it always did, but it wasn't worth scolding her for it. He never did anymore. As long as she didn't use it at Hogwarts, he would let it slide.

"I never said that. I'm only informing you of what's in store. Most years, I end up grading by effort rather than quality of potion."

The girl made a face then downed the rest of her drink, setting it in the sink. "Sounds lovely." She showed a sarcastic smile and walked out of the kitchen, patting the man's arm awkwardly as she went.

Back on the train, Elya smiled to herself, brushing her bangs out of her face and muttering more to herself and her mental image of Snape than to her friends, "I think I'll be fine."