His love for Potions I ✔

Chapter 7: Weasleys and a Houseelf

Harry did a lot of cooking over the summer. With his textbooks locked away, cooking was really the only thing he could do that didn't start an argument. Aunt Petunia even graced him with something that vaguely resembled a smile, before warning him not to go trying to make anything foreign. Harry took a moment to think about absolutely nothing, and made four different cakes at slightly different temperatures. They all came out edible, and Dudley actually nodded at him in a vaguely nonthreatening manner. Harry had a slice of the best one, and went to the library to check out another book on muggle botany. It didn't include any plant uses or magical plants, but there were some useful things in there somewhere about growing conditions and folklore. It beat staring at the wall waiting for a letter to come from his friends.

When botany failed to hold his attention (which was almost all the time, outside of moments of sheer stubbornness), Harry attempted to daydream about Quidditch, which was faintly depressing, tried not to think about his dreams, and did drills where he imagined his potions professor turning up and reading his mind and having to think about something he wouldn't mind Professor Snape knowing about.

Thinking about Professor Snape's opinion of yet another argument with his uncle made Harry snort.

"Something funny about your infernal racket disrupting my sleep, boy?"

"Sorry, uncle. I had something in my throat."

At least someone would be happy if Professor Snape saw how Harry's life was with the Dursleys. Professor Snape could get together with Uncle Vernon to find new ways to call him an idiot.

For lack of anything better to try, Harry did his best to start thinking about pink elephants whenever it occurred to him that someone might be reading his mind. Pink elephants were hard to stop thinking about, he'd heard. Pink elephants dancing. Pink elephants playing the tuba. Pink elephants in pink tutus. Baby pink elephants, and mama pink elephants. Baby pink elephants locked in an owl cage-

Harry shook his head sharply.

Dancing pink elephants. A pink elephant playing a drum.

Hermione would probably have a better idea about how to deal with mind reading, but it hadn't occurred to him to talk to her about it before break and now, well. There just hadn't been the chance, what with the complete lack of letters.

If Draco had been there, he'd have recruited Dudley as his minion within the first week. Probably played some trick on him to get Dudley to get his books for him, and lived it up all summer. Harry tried to comfort himself with the thought that at the very least, he still wasn't Draco Malfoy. Even if Draco would have his potions homework done on time, and not get Professor Snape's Look 52, 'disapproval with a side of you should have been drowned at birth.'

Harry had had way too much time this summer to brood about Professor Snape's many and various ways of expressing hatred.

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Harry really didn't like Dobby. Harry really loved Ronald Weasley.

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The Burrow was absolutely wonderful, and meeting Draco's eyes while his father got into a fistfight was something glorious - all Harry had to do was raise his eyebrows like Snape would have and Draco looked away. It was Harry's job, as his rival, to prick Draco's huge ego, right? Right.

At least that was the defense Harry was going with. It felt almost as good as getting Dudley back for all the many and various tortures of childhood had, this summer, though that really could have ended better.

He had a chance to finish his summer homework, and practice for Quidditch. Weeks of peace, and absolutely-no-quiet-at-all.

Then they missed the train. Then they flew the car into the Whomping Willow.

"Hang on," Harry muttered to Ron. "There's an empty chair at the staff table... where's Snape?"

Professor Severus Snape was the worst teacher in the school, and Harry was his least favorite student. He was also Harry's favorite professor, which just made the whole thing worse somehow. He was cruel, sarcastic, horribly disliked, and absolutely brilliant.

"Maybe he's ill!" said Ron hopefully.

"Maybe he's left," Harry said, trying to figure out if he was feeling joy or despair, "Because he missed out on the Defense Against the Dark Arts job again."

"Or he might have been sacked!" Ron said enthusiastically, shooting Harry a half-apologetic look. "Do you think-"

"Or maybe," said a very cold voice behind them, "He's waiting to hear why you two didn't arrive on the school train."

Harry spun around, wishing he and Ron had had Neville with them on this adventure. There was Snape, smiling at them, and Neville was the best in their group at remembering that speaking about Snape could summon him somehow.

In any other circumstance, being in Snape's office would have been a dream come true. Harry pinched himself surreptitiously, just in case this was another nightmare.

Harry sat quiet and white-faced through Snape's interrogation, and then through McGonagall's demands for an explanation, and Dumbledore's gentle but horrible chiding. And throughout, Snape was so happy, and then the happiness slid off him as if it had never been there.

At least his dorm mates still thought it was brilliant.