A/N: Harry Potter is not mine. The series and characters all belong to JK Rowling. I am not making any sort of profit from this fanfiction piece.
---
Fast-paced footsteps echoed in the dungeons of Hogwarts. A shadow of a too-skinny figure scurried along the stone walls.
'What a great day to be late,' Harry thought to himself. 'I wonder what Snape will do this time.' Harry reached the door, sighed, and breathed deeply. He twisted the doorknob and slowly pushed open the door, making a face at the shrieking hinges.
"For the fools that cannot read proper penmanship, that is one pinch of—" Snape paused and stared at the opening door. His mouth developed a sour tinge when he saw the Golden Boy of Gryffindor slip into the classroom. His jaw tightened, a dimple forming at his left cheek.
Harry's face heated with embarrassment, a rosy blush traveling from his cheeks down to his neck. The edges of Snape's lips twitched as he watched the rising discomfort in the Boy-Who-Lived.
"Sorry I'm late Professor. I lost track of time."
"Mr. Potter, your excuses are almost as lame as your marks at this age of term. I suggest you start making it to class on time if you want to improve, though I doubt such an astounding occurrence would actually occur. Fifty points from Gryffindor and a day's worth of detention. Take your seat, Mr. Potter."
"Yes, Professor." Harry's blush returned with a renewed vigor as he heard the students, mainly Slytherin, snickering amongst themselves.
Harry settled into the seat beside Ron and mouthed a greeting to his red-haired friend. Ron nodded and returned his attention to Snape; he needed to pay attention, as his mother sent him a Howler yesterday. Ron almost burned a fellow Gryffindor with his exploding cauldron just last week.
The dungeon door creaked open once more. A blond-haired youth waltzed into the threshold with his textbooks, parchment, and quills in hand. He glanced at his Head of House as he strode into the classroom, a smirk etched into his elegant features. He looked at Potter with his nose upturned.
"I must commend you, Potter. I didn't know you had it in you, skipping half of a class and all. But, it's a start. Finally accepting the right path?" Malfoy chuckled and looked to his fellow snakes for support. They laughed and sent glares toward the Golden Boy.
Harry glowered at the Slytherin, inadvertently giving the blond the satisfaction of knowing that he'd bothered him. Averting his gaze, Harry removed a quill from his bag and attempted to ignore the Malfoy heir.
Snape rapped his wand against his desk and cleared his throat. "One more interruption like that and the entire class will serve a detention!"
The class adjusted their eyes to the irate professor and waited until he started his lecture over. The class remained stoic until Snape turned to place the remaining potion ingredients on the blackboard.
Harry's emerald-colored eyes shifted to the now-seated blond. The sensation of prodding eyes flared at Malfoy's left side. He turned his head left and scowled when he caught the eyes of the Boy-Who-Lived. They shared a brief moment of heartless disdain as the class moved onward.
Towards the end of class, the students' potions all simmered in their cauldrons. Next to Harry, Ron not-so-carefully added ingredients to the green concoction. The cauldron, Harry noted, was the only one around him that was not bubbling slightly.
Before he could warn Ron, the ingredients were already in the mixture, and the potion had turned the color of a murky lake. It proceeded to boil over the tapered edges of the cauldron, frothy and steaming. Ron and Harry stepped back from their seats as fast as two Hungarian Horntails in heat.
The concoction seethed, retching from the iron pot. It snaked down the vessel and burned holes through the table. Wriggling down to the floor, it began to eat away at the wooden planks.
Snape muttered under his breath and glided to the malfunctioning cauldron. Both a cleansing spell for the mess and a restorative spell for the mutilated wood were sounded.
"Mr. Weasley, your pathetic skills have earned you a week's worth of detention. See me after class."
"I'm sorry, Professor," Ron stammered. "I'll try to get it right."
"Trying isn't good enough, Mr. Weasley. Perhaps, if you actually paid attention in class, you would not be such an utter disgrace."
"But Professor, I—" Ron bit his tongue.
"Well, Mr. Weasley, perhaps you should pay a visit to the infirmary. It seems you need to have your filthy mouth cleansed. Twenty points for your insolence. Take your seat, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter."
The class barely contained their hushed laughter before it swelled into an uproar.
"Silence!" Snape bellowed.
The students jumped in their seats and focused their attention to the red-faced Potion's Professor.
"Tomorrow's task will be a simple potion for curing common allergies. I expect everyone to be able to make it — without any foul ups." Snape's eyes traveled to Ron as he spoke. "Class dismissed."
Everyone bustled from the classroom. Well, everyone except Ron Weasley. He was left to suffer alone with Snape.
---
The Great Hall buzzed with activity as everyone began to fill their plates and gossip about the latest rumors.
"Where's Ron?" Ginny asked, leaning forward to look for her red-haired brother.
Harry began to fill his plate with beef casserole and mashed potatoes. "He had to stay back with Snape."
"What did he do this time?" Ginny smirked, knowing that Ron was no master at potions.
"Oh, you know, the usual. He burnt holes through the table… again." Harry chuckled, picturing Ron's potion-making misfortunes.
"Oh, Harry, you really shouldn't laugh. What if you were the one to be stuck with Snape?" Hermione frowned, slight wrinkles forming around her mouth.
Harry bit his lip, thinking for a moment before responding. "Well, first of all 'Mione, I have the intelligence to read ingredients out of a book and replicate the steps."
Hermione stared at him, a look of shock plastered on her face. "What suddenly made you the expert at potions, Harry? I can certainly remember many times that you've fowled up and made quite a fool of yourself! I can't believe you, Harry. It isn't like you to be so... Malfoy-like."
"Malfoy? Why the hell do I get compared to that arse?!"
"Harry, please, I'm not trying to upset you or anything. It's just—well, I'm worried about you. You haven't been yourself lately." Hermione looked at the Boy-Who-Lived, her eyebrows furrowed.
"Hermione, I- I'm fine. I just haven't been sleeping well." Harry sucked in his breath and hoped that his lame excuse would satisfy the muggle-born witch.
Hermione gasped; a look of horror graced her visage. "Are you having nightmares about You-Know—"
Harry cringed. "No, Hermione, I'm not. But, I really have to go. I need to study for Charms."
Harry stood up, stretching his legs. He glanced over at the Slytherin table as he maneuvered to the doors of the Great Hall, noting that the self-dubbed 'Slytherin Sex God' was missing from his usual seat. As the door shut behind him, he sighed in relief. Silence.
"Hermione, since when did Harry actually study for anything?" Ginny said, prodding the bushy-haired Know-It-All.
"Never, at least not on his own accord. I've always been the one to remind him of his studies." Hermione sighed. "I think something's up, Ginny. There's something that he just isn't telling us."