Potioneer potter

Ch7

For the next couple of Saturdays, Harry would turn up at 8AM precisely, with his thermos, and brew one of the easier potions that required an hour or less, with Malfoy throwing pointers when Harry would get stuck, under the guise of "well, I don't want you to blow up the whole classroom, just because you don't know how to make a simple third year potion." He accepted the assistance all the same. On the fourth week, Harry decided to arrive with a second thermos of coffee and placed it with a not-so-subtle thud, in Malfoy's direct eyeline.

"What the hell is this?"

"It's coffee. If you take it any other way than black, then forget it. I'm not your house elf." After a pause he decided to tell the slytherin a bit more of the truth, "I appreciate the potions tips, okay? Take it or leave it."

The both of them moved their attention back to their respective cauldrons, although would periodically take a sip from their thermoses and Harry felt a strange swell of satisfaction that he did not fully understand.

Over the weeks, Harry had taken care of the cut on the back of his hand, the appearance of which had greatly improved since the continuous application of some of the potions he made, in particular, the murtlap essence. As well as this, his time in the chamber of secrets had become far more focused on the likes of healing charms although he had, at most, reached the level of relieving a headache, a spell that he had come to need nearly every morning after even the least horrifying of his nightmares.

"Oh, Merlin's saggy tits she cannot be serious!"

For once, as the trio looked on in disbelief at Umbridge, sat in the corner of their morning transfiguration class, Hermione did not berate Ron for his language and instead, fervently agreed. They had all, along with the rest of the school, seen the promotion to high inquisitor that Filch had hammered obnoxiously loudly into the wall outside the great hall, along with the notice that all teachers are to be inspected and assessed throughout the next few weeks.  

"Does she seriously think she can just 'hem hem' her way through Professor McGonagall and come out alive?" Ron continued as they took their seats.

Umbridge was sat in a dark corner, on a very small, uncomfortable looking stool, dressed in her usual visual assault of pink clothing, this time, topped off with a pink clipboard and a pink quill with a sparkly ball of fluff sat at the top.

"Oh, this is gonna be good, I'm actually looking forward to this lesson now."

Professor McGonagall marched into the room, giving no indication that she was aware of the new presence, and her mere arrival settled the class into silence.

"Miss Brown, if you would kindly hand out a mouse to each student, no don't be silly they won't hurt you, and I shall explain the objective of todays lesson."

"Hem, hem"

"Now last lesson the majority of you successfully vanished your snail, or at least gathered the gist of the spell."

"Hem, hem"

"However, using the vanishing spell on a far more complex animal such as a mouse requires a level of concentration which will not be possible unless-"

"Hem. Hem."

"-unless I have the opportunity to finish my sentence without further interruption. Yes, Dolores?"

"I was just curious, Professor, as to whether you had received my note telling you of the date and time of your inspec—"

"Obviously, I received it, or I would have questioned your presence in my classroom" McGonagall said icily, before turning back to her class. "Now, as I mentioned, the nature and complexity of the animal will contribute to the complexity of the spell itself, I should think you'll all agree that vanishing a fly is far simpler than vanishing a Hungarian horntail, the latter being near impossible, else I have no doubt that our very own Mr Potter would have done so."