Snarry One Shots

Cat-astrophe!

Summary: The adventures of Harry and Snape as cats after an unfortunate potion accident.

Ships: SeverusSnapexHarryPotter

All credit goes to Anonymous on Ao3

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"Now add three drops of rose oil."

Harry grabbed the small bottle of oil, unscrewed the top, and filled the pipette. He moved closer to the bubbling cauldron, wiping at the sweat on his brow with the back of his hand. It was blisteringly hot inside Snape's private lab, and he felt as if he were slowly being cooked alive.

"Three drops, Potter. Not two, not four. Three."

"I know how to count to three," Harry said, sending an annoyed glare in Snape's direction.

He'd been following the instructions perfectly so far. It was the fourth afternoon in a row he spent here, sequestered in a small room with Snape, working on the potion. That reluctant team-up was McGonagall's idea. Harry would be teaching Defense under Snape's supervision come September, and the Headmistress wanted to ensure they could cooperate without butting heads.

"You'll be helping Severus with his potion," she had told him, without leaving him much of a choice.

Snape hadn't gotten a choice either, which explained his foul mood. Harry had overheard him arguing with McGonagall, with increasing volume, until she had snapped at him that it was either that, or she would send them to meet the Muggle parents of the new first-years, to give them the "magic is real and your child is a witch/wizard" speech. Snape had chosen the potion. Harry would have preferred the kids.

One, two, three drops of rose oil. The surface of the potion became smooth, the bubbles settling, while the liquid went from blue to a deep purple.

"Good," Snape said. "Now add two ounces of moondew nectar."

Harry picked up another small bottle, carefully measured the dose, and poured it into the cauldron. Meanwhile, Snape was stirring continuously. The potion wasn't terribly complicated, and of course, Snape could probably have brewed it with his eyes closed, but Harry appreciated that Snape had given him the task of adding ingredients instead of stirring. He hated stirring.

They'd been civil to each other so far. Yeah, Snape was sneering, but when wasn't he sneering? And he had only called Harry a dunderhead once or twice, which was a definite improvement. In return, Harry exercised patience, tried to listen to and follow Snape's instructions to the letter. They could work together—he would prove it to McGonagall.

"Next, the pickled slugs," Snape said.

Harry grimaced as he opened the large jar. A few slugs floated in a congealed liquid that looked like blood.

"Two," Snape reminded him, which was a good thing because even though they had gone over the recipe at the start, Harry had forgotten that part.

"He's gonna drink this?" he said, dropping first one slug into the potion, then the second.

"He will, unless he'd rather stay stuck as a cat for the rest of his life."

"I didn't even know Animagi could get stuck."

"There's a great deal of things you don't know, Potter. If you start listing them, we'll be here until next year."

Harry generously ignored the jab. He watched Snape stir, wondering how come the man was barely sweating. Harry had discarded his robes and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, and he was still well on his way to liquefaction, while Snape remained in his full teaching robes, buttoned up to his throat, cool as a cucumber.