His love for Potions I ✔

Chapter 15: Harry's essay

The first potion's class of term included Draco "Lizard" Malfoy earning his nickname by getting Ron and Harry to cut up his daisy roots, peel his shrivelfig, and topping it off with the whispered observation, "Watch my timing, Potter. You might learn something."

Harry wished Buckbeak had shredded both his arms.

"Try to wrap up this year's mass murderer out to kill you before the end of term, would you, Potter?" Draco continued in an undertone, as Harry watched him add his caterpillars on a four-count and tried to help Ron salvage his daisy roots.

Hermione, in the background, was whispering frantically to Neville to clear his mind and pretend he was in the greenhouse revising. It seemed to be working - Neville added his caterpillars with a mix of clockwise and counterclockwise stirs and then fumbled in his potions kit purposefully. His orange (supposed to be green) potion turned an awful grey color that at least didn't look quite so lurid.

"Hey, Harry," said Seamus Finnigan, leaning over to borrow Harry's brass scales, "have you heard? Daily Prophet this morning -- they reckon Sirius Black's been sighted."

"Where?" said Harry and Ron quickly. On the other side of the table, Malfoy looked up, listening closely.

"Not too far from here," said Seamus, who looked excited. "It was a Muggle who saw him. 'Course, she didn't really understand. The Muggles think he's just an ordinary criminal, don't they? So she phoned the telephone hot line. By the time the Ministry of Magic got there, he was gone."

"Not too far from here ..." Ron repeated, looking significantly at Harry. He turned around and saw Malfoy watching closely. "What, Malfoy? Need something else skinned?"

But Malfoy's eyes were fixed Harry. He leaned across the table.

"I'm surprised you're not more enthusiastic, Potter. If it was me, I'd be out there hunting him down already."

"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" said Ron roughly.

"Don't you know, Potter?" breathed Malfoy, his pale eyes narrowed.

"Know what?"

"You don't," Malfoy said, looking like Christmas had come early. "Let me be there when someone tells you, I want to see your face," he breathed.

"What are you talking about?" said Harry angrily, but at that moment Snape called, "You should have finished adding your ingredients by now; this potion needs to stew before it can be drunk, so clear away while it simmers and then we'll test Longbottom's..."

Neville's grey potion, which made Hermione look like she might cry, was dutifully tested on his toad Trevor.

Everyone waited. Snape eyed it narrowly, seeming displeased.

"Is Trevor poisoned?" Neville asked in a tiny voice.

"You, boy, have managed to produce a potion with absolutely no effects. What did you do?"

"I added, um, powdered clover leaves and shredded horseradish. To counteract...."

Snape stared at Neville for a very long moment, the entire class holding its breath. Snape's nostrils flared.

"A point to Gryffindor for having learned how to not kill anyone by accident," Snape said. He smiled thinly. "You have just made the mistake of raising my expectations, Longbottom." Neville went even paler, and Harry moved to surreptitiously keep him from falling out of his chair in a dead faint. "Class dismissed. Potter, stay."

Malfoy jeered something about servants, which Harry tuned out with long practice. Malfoy was far too happy today.

It would have been nice if it had been a pretense for a chat, but it was mostly a pretense to make Harry deal with spatters of leech juice and putting leftover cat spleens back in their jars, which was precisely as nice as it sounded.

"Am I likely to be impressed by your summer essay?"

"Are you ever?"

"I will take points for cheek, Potter."

"I don't know," Harry said, trying not to breathe. "It's not two feet longer than you want and it's not wrong, but I think I'm missing something."

"No problems with your relations, then?"

"We didn't get around to killing each other, if that's what you mean."

"Charmingly put. Any other near-death experiences to report so far this term?"

Harry paused, trying to figure out if the Dementors on the train counted, and was startled to find that his professor could make a noise like an angry teakettle.

"Has anyone checked you for curses that attract ill luck, Potter?" Snape asked abruptly. "For I cannot think of another explanation, I am simply agog."

Harry touched his scarred forehead and eyed his professor through his fringe. Snape seemed to let out a very long breath.

"Yes, perhaps that would qualify. Very well."

"Um. Professor Snape, you've already probably saved my life a bunch of times in first year. You really don't have to keep helping. Really."

Please don't.

"Whatever dramatic history you have ascribed to me, you seem to forget that I am a teacher at this school and so have a responsibility to protect its students."

Darn it, Harry couldn't actually argue with that one.

"Counterclockwise to clear, Potter," his professor snapped, and Harry, startled, switched the direct of his scrubbing. It helped.

"I don't see why," Harry commented, happy to change the subject.

"Because potions are a form of ritual magic, and all ritual magic has common elements."

"Should I look up ritual magic, then?"

"No more than an amateur muggle cook should look up biochemistry. You would do well to learn to follow simple instructions and maintain a basic awareness of your surroundings, without spending the entire class period gossiping."

That was drastically unfair. Harry scrubbed vengefully, and ran out of table to scrub.

"Go. I have formed a clear impression of what this year is going to be like, and you will be late for lunch."

Harry didn't see why it mattered if he was a little late for lunch, but he was hungry. And since when did Professor Snape know anything about Muggles, anyway?