Summary: An accident in Potions class has some interesting effects on both
Harry and Professor Snape.
Rating: PG, may change later
Author's Notes: Now that I've been accused of plagiarism, and had this piece removed once, I am making know my intentions known as to this story. The inspiration for this piece came from MetroVampire's "The Fire and the Rose". I have no intention of any form of plagiarism. If anything, this fic is my poor attempt at tribute. Much thanks Abby and Anne for writing a truly marvelous piece.
Ten points to whoever can translate the title for me. AN: I know I held this little "contest" before, but the answers were deleted when the story was removed, so I'm giving everyone another shot.
__________
Non Compos Mentis
By OcelotKitten __________
On the whole, Potions class was proceeding as usual, which meant that it seemed like the final circle of Hell, and the students were desperate for the bell to ring and release them from their torment. Also as usual, Professor Severus Snape was being as unpleasant as it was possible to be, handing out detentions and house point deductions for the slightest mistake. Harry Potter rolled his eyes as yet another Gryffindor student fell victim to Snape's ever-watchful eye.
"I swear," Ron Weasley muttered next to him, "If nothing else, I'll be glad to graduate to get away from Snape." Harry whole-heartedly agreed. They were just past halfway in their seventh and last year at Hogwarts. Snape's scornful voice interrupted as yet another student made an apparently unforgivable blunder, "Did you even bother to read the directions? Obviously not. If you had, you would know that the acaphia is added after shredded wormwort, not before. Five points from Gryffindor for your inattention."
Ron hissed his displeasure, "If he took half as many points from his own damn house as he does from us, then we might have a chance of winning the cup this year. But no! He's got to be a stupid, greasy bastard, and . . ." Harry saw Snape a second before Ron felt his presence. The Potions master had a rather disturbing tendency to appear just when he was least wanted. As Ron turned to face him, Snape said silkily, "Mr. Weasley, that will be ten points. Perhaps you never considered that if your house could ever, as unlikely as it may be, do better than mediocrely in this class, I might not take so many points?" Harry stifled a snort and surreptitiously rolled his eyes as Hermione glared at him. The Gryffindors generally did exceptionally well in Potions, with the exception of Neville Longbottom. Snape was so incredibly biased towards his own house, that he probably wouldn't take points from the Slytherins if they burnt down the school.
Snape, unfortunately, noticed and snapped, "Mr. Potter, that will be another five points from Gryffindor. Now, get back to work, all of you!" The rest of the class passed without remarkable incident, and a palpable sense of relief began to grow as the end of the class drew nearer. The potions were nearing completion, and needed only to be brought to a high boil before the addition of the final ingredient. As Harry watched Neville, he reflected that it was remarkable that, for once, Longbottom had managed to get through class without causing a single accident.
He should have known better.
When it came time to add the final ingredient, Neville turned to his lab partner as he held the shredded dragonsbane over the bubbling cauldron. Unfortunately, this moved his hand from over the cauldron to over the fire beneath it, and Neville dropped the dragonsbane into the flames.
As the dragonsbane touched the fire, there was a series of tiny explosions as the bits were consumed. The students all dodged behind available cover at the noise, but Snape stalked over to Neville, obviously preparing to deduct an enough points to ensure that the Gryffindors wouldn't have a snowball's chance in Hell of winning the Cup. One particularly loud explosion sounded, and the combination of this, and Snape's menacing advance was enough to send Neville skittering backwards in fear . . . straight into a shelf of meticulously organized ingredients.
With a protesting creak, the case wobbled, and tipped ponderously forward. Neville managed to scramble out of the way before it crushed him as the class watched in fascinated horror. As vials and bottles began to fall off the shelf, some landed in Neville's still simmering cauldron. The viscous mass began to sputter alarmingly, and it was clear that something was building. Snape whipped his wand out, preparing to avert whatever was about to manifest itself, but he wasn't quite fast enough.
With a muffled whump, the cauldron exploded, shards flying in all directions. Fortunately, the charms placed on the room kept the shrapnel from going very far. With a cry of alarm, Snape threw his arms up to protect himself as the contents of the cauldron splattered across him. As he stumbled back, he fell across the table behind him, and tumbled off the other side, right onto Harry.
Harry's breath whooshed out of him as the Potions Master's full weight landed on his back. He felt a wet splatter, and a burning like cold fire began to spread up his arm. Glancing at it, he saw that the contents of the cauldron had splashed off of Snape. As soon as the grayish liquid was in contact with both of them, it soaked through their robes.
He heard the other students shouting, some in shock, others for Madam Pomfrey to be called, and others asking if he was ok. Strong hands pulled Snape off of him, and Harry rolled onto his back, grimacing as his ribs bitterly complained. Ron helped him to sit up, and his ribs complained more vehemently. Suddenly, the burning was spreading up his arm and into his chest, making it difficult to breathe.
Gasping for air, Harry looked over at Snape's pale face. The man was obviously out-cold. As Harry's vision began to go gray around the edges, he croaked out, "Ron! Can't breathe! Help . . ." Ron's and Hermione's frightened faces swam into his narrowing field of vision, and as if from a great distance, he heard an unrecognizable but worried sounding voice say, "Hold on, Harry. Help is coming." The last thought to flit across his mind before he passed out was to wonder why in the bloody hell someone was calling him Harry.
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AN: I hope everyone's intrigued by the first chapter.
Rating: PG, may change later
Author's Notes: Now that I've been accused of plagiarism, and had this piece removed once, I am making know my intentions known as to this story. The inspiration for this piece came from MetroVampire's "The Fire and the Rose". I have no intention of any form of plagiarism. If anything, this fic is my poor attempt at tribute. Much thanks Abby and Anne for writing a truly marvelous piece.
Ten points to whoever can translate the title for me. AN: I know I held this little "contest" before, but the answers were deleted when the story was removed, so I'm giving everyone another shot.
__________
Non Compos Mentis
By OcelotKitten __________
On the whole, Potions class was proceeding as usual, which meant that it seemed like the final circle of Hell, and the students were desperate for the bell to ring and release them from their torment. Also as usual, Professor Severus Snape was being as unpleasant as it was possible to be, handing out detentions and house point deductions for the slightest mistake. Harry Potter rolled his eyes as yet another Gryffindor student fell victim to Snape's ever-watchful eye.
"I swear," Ron Weasley muttered next to him, "If nothing else, I'll be glad to graduate to get away from Snape." Harry whole-heartedly agreed. They were just past halfway in their seventh and last year at Hogwarts. Snape's scornful voice interrupted as yet another student made an apparently unforgivable blunder, "Did you even bother to read the directions? Obviously not. If you had, you would know that the acaphia is added after shredded wormwort, not before. Five points from Gryffindor for your inattention."
Ron hissed his displeasure, "If he took half as many points from his own damn house as he does from us, then we might have a chance of winning the cup this year. But no! He's got to be a stupid, greasy bastard, and . . ." Harry saw Snape a second before Ron felt his presence. The Potions master had a rather disturbing tendency to appear just when he was least wanted. As Ron turned to face him, Snape said silkily, "Mr. Weasley, that will be ten points. Perhaps you never considered that if your house could ever, as unlikely as it may be, do better than mediocrely in this class, I might not take so many points?" Harry stifled a snort and surreptitiously rolled his eyes as Hermione glared at him. The Gryffindors generally did exceptionally well in Potions, with the exception of Neville Longbottom. Snape was so incredibly biased towards his own house, that he probably wouldn't take points from the Slytherins if they burnt down the school.
Snape, unfortunately, noticed and snapped, "Mr. Potter, that will be another five points from Gryffindor. Now, get back to work, all of you!" The rest of the class passed without remarkable incident, and a palpable sense of relief began to grow as the end of the class drew nearer. The potions were nearing completion, and needed only to be brought to a high boil before the addition of the final ingredient. As Harry watched Neville, he reflected that it was remarkable that, for once, Longbottom had managed to get through class without causing a single accident.
He should have known better.
When it came time to add the final ingredient, Neville turned to his lab partner as he held the shredded dragonsbane over the bubbling cauldron. Unfortunately, this moved his hand from over the cauldron to over the fire beneath it, and Neville dropped the dragonsbane into the flames.
As the dragonsbane touched the fire, there was a series of tiny explosions as the bits were consumed. The students all dodged behind available cover at the noise, but Snape stalked over to Neville, obviously preparing to deduct an enough points to ensure that the Gryffindors wouldn't have a snowball's chance in Hell of winning the Cup. One particularly loud explosion sounded, and the combination of this, and Snape's menacing advance was enough to send Neville skittering backwards in fear . . . straight into a shelf of meticulously organized ingredients.
With a protesting creak, the case wobbled, and tipped ponderously forward. Neville managed to scramble out of the way before it crushed him as the class watched in fascinated horror. As vials and bottles began to fall off the shelf, some landed in Neville's still simmering cauldron. The viscous mass began to sputter alarmingly, and it was clear that something was building. Snape whipped his wand out, preparing to avert whatever was about to manifest itself, but he wasn't quite fast enough.
With a muffled whump, the cauldron exploded, shards flying in all directions. Fortunately, the charms placed on the room kept the shrapnel from going very far. With a cry of alarm, Snape threw his arms up to protect himself as the contents of the cauldron splattered across him. As he stumbled back, he fell across the table behind him, and tumbled off the other side, right onto Harry.
Harry's breath whooshed out of him as the Potions Master's full weight landed on his back. He felt a wet splatter, and a burning like cold fire began to spread up his arm. Glancing at it, he saw that the contents of the cauldron had splashed off of Snape. As soon as the grayish liquid was in contact with both of them, it soaked through their robes.
He heard the other students shouting, some in shock, others for Madam Pomfrey to be called, and others asking if he was ok. Strong hands pulled Snape off of him, and Harry rolled onto his back, grimacing as his ribs bitterly complained. Ron helped him to sit up, and his ribs complained more vehemently. Suddenly, the burning was spreading up his arm and into his chest, making it difficult to breathe.
Gasping for air, Harry looked over at Snape's pale face. The man was obviously out-cold. As Harry's vision began to go gray around the edges, he croaked out, "Ron! Can't breathe! Help . . ." Ron's and Hermione's frightened faces swam into his narrowing field of vision, and as if from a great distance, he heard an unrecognizable but worried sounding voice say, "Hold on, Harry. Help is coming." The last thought to flit across his mind before he passed out was to wonder why in the bloody hell someone was calling him Harry.
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AN: I hope everyone's intrigued by the first chapter.