Title: Seven (Reasons Why Evan Rosier Loved His Potions Class)
Disclaimer: Blah, blah, this is just fanfiction, blah.
Pairings: Unrequited Evan/Severus. I like to call it Sevan. Nothing explicitly romantic, since they're only 11 or 12 in this fic. You can pretend it's platonic admiration if that isn't your cup of tea.
Rating: K+
Warnings: None I can think of.
Summary: Evan Rosier loved Potions class because everything about it was easy-there were the easily bribed professor, the easily followed instructions, and the easily annoyed desk partner, to name a few.
Word Count: 2,449
Prompt: Write a story about Evan Rosier using one of the life event options. The one I chose was Favourite Class at Hogwarts.
Author's Note: This was written for Round 5 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, Season 2.
I will list my other teammates' fics in this A/N when all of them are published. If things go right, all the fics should kind of fit together to tell the story of the same man's life, within the same universe. If it's not quite seamless, oh well, we tried.
Also, I have fixed the dashes. My apologies for the horror. I'm on my sister's Chromebook, so I only have access to Google docs, which apparently does not change two hyphens into a dash like Microsoft Word does. So instead I tried to have two connected hyphens, but this site recognises that as only one hyphen, and god it's just a mess. Many thanks to asebi for sending me the proper symbol via Facebook.
.x.x.
I.
Professor Slughorn was Evan's favourite instructor.
He was talented—potions seemed to brew themselves around him—and he had a dignified flair for fashion—Evan sometimes wished he could get away with rust-coloured robes and a perfectly tailored checkered suit, not to mention that mortarboard hat—but if Evan were honest with himself, there was a fundamental trait Slughorn had which Evan valued more than anything else.
Professor Slughorn was easily bribed.
"My boy, what—what in the world is this?"
Evan had smiled gently at him that first day at Hogwarts, after the Sorting had been concluded and he was introduced to his Head of House. It had been a slight hassle to wait for all the other students to head to their dormitories and for that prying prefect to bugger off, but getting a moment's audience with Slughorn was worth it.
"Surely a man with your impeccable taste already knows what this is, Professor Slughorn."
Slughorn's thick hands barely tremored as he reached out to hold the bottle Evan was offering.
"This is an 1881 Pauillac wine, from Chateau Latour," he murmured as he held it up to the light. "I understand that part. What I do not understand is why you are giving this to me. It is against school rules for a minor to be in possession of alcohol, you know."
Evan resisted the urge to break out into a full-fledged grin. Slughorn's admonishment was lukewarm at best. The man was practically salivating at the thought of owning the bottle.
"I have only possessed it temporarily, sir. My father wanted me to deliver it to you rather than risk owling it. He says it's a token of appreciation for the invaluable knowledge you have imparted to him over the years."
Slughorn caressed the bottle for a few moments before murmuring, "And what was your father's name, child?"
"Modred Rosier, sir. I am his son, Evan."
Slughorn looked into Evan's eyes for the first time. "Well, Evan, I am flattered to hear that I have done that much for your father."
After that, Slughorn made sure to treat Evan kindly during class, often stopping by and giving brewing tips whenever Evan hesitated for even the briefest moment. In addition, if Evan messed up (which was really rare), Slughorn still gave him more points than he strictly deserved.
Evan felt satisfied after each class. He was going to earn passing marks, at the very least.
Father really did give the best advice. Present gifts to Slughorn, and everything would go smoothly. He still needed to do his work, of course, for the Potions knowledge was valuable in and of itself, but it didn't hurt to get some leeway from the professor in terms of marks.
No other professor was this reasonable, Evan concluded. Slughorn was the best.
II.
Magical Drafts and Potions was Evan's favourite textbook.
It was straightforward and only used images economically to clarify certain points. There were no frills, no pathetic attempts at humour, and no vague language. It was also timeless in its wisdom, and Evan could imagine generations of magical children taking advantage of its simplicity for centuries to come.
Honestly, one had to be a complete dunderhead to be confused by it.
In fact, Mulciber was one such dunderhead. Evan sneered at him whenever he leaned forward and bugged Snape for help "clarifying" an instruction.
Really, how hard was it to understand what it meant to "stir until the potion turns orange"? It just meant to stir until it turned orange! Orange was orange! Evan always had to bite his tongue before he ended up spewing tautologies at the imbecile.
Why Snape put up with this idiocy, Evan would never understand. Maybe he was patiently ingratiating himself with the other Slytherins to make up for his unfortunate Muggle father.
He shook his head and turned back to his own textbook whenever this thought crossed his mind. Potions making relied not only on following the instructions perfectly, but also on timing. He could not waste time pitying Snape or despising Mulciber.
III.
The dungeons were Evan's favourite classroom setting.
He loved working by candlelight and shutting out the sun. Sunlight was variable, dependant on the weather. Sometimes it burned brightly and sometimes it was so dim as to be ephemeral. One could not trust it to help with one's work.
He only trusted candles, for they were tangible and predictable, and if he ever ran out of wick and wax, he could always use his wand.
Another nice thing about the dungeons were that they maintained a controlled environment for his potions. The fewer variables, the better. He had enough on his plate, trying to minimise human errors.
Such as occasionally getting distracted by the dark-haired boy next to him.
IV.
Showing off his superiority was Evan's favourite part of class.
After carefully following all the instructions in the textbook and pouring all his focus into his work, Evan more often than not produced a perfect potion, worthy of praise. Slughorn usually beamed whenever he saw Evan's finished work, sometimes even holding it up for the class to see.
Evan was decent at Charms and Transfiguration, and he was getting the hang of duelling, but it was Potions where he could truly shine. Many people were jealous and awed at his ability, he felt, and if he could keep it up, maybe Slughorn would even invite him into his exclusive club and write him recommendation letters in the future.
There were few students who could match his ability, though Snape was perhaps one of them. Then again, Snape was usually distracted, trying to explain things to Mulciber and others of his ilk, so his work wasn't quite up to snuff.
Also, though Evan would never report it to Slughorn, he occasionally noticed Snape disobeying the textbook instructions on purpose. It baffled him the first time he noticed Snape stirring anticlockwise and scribbling notes in the margins, but after a while he grew to understand.
Snape...Snape saw something that Evan didn't. Somehow, he delved deeper into the theory than the straightforward instructions of the textbook, and there were moments when he succeeded in creating an even better finished product than Evan.
Evan wasn't too upset about this, though, despite the twinge of jealousy he felt whenever Snape succeeded. After all, this experimentation often failed and caused Slughorn to cluck his tongue, thinking Snape was just another inept student. Evan understood what Snape was doing, but no one else paid attention to Snape like he did.
So Evan continued to come off as one of the most brilliant potions students in class, and that was all he really cared about.
Genius was nice in theory, but it only ostracised one in reality.
Real success came from following the right set of rules and fitting in, and Evan was the best at doing just that.
V.
The Girding Potion was Evan's favourite potion so far.
It was technically third year work, but Slughorn encouraged him to attempt it after seeing him produce many well-brewed potions over time.
"You have a natural aptitude for potions, my boy! It would be a shame to let it go to waste, especially since you've already finished all your assignments in advance. Go ahead, try this one and challenge yourself a little. If you do it right, you may even keep it for yourself—though I must warn you, the maximum dosage is no more than two of these vials."
"What does it do, Professor?" Evan could have looked it up in the textbook, but he found that giving Slughorn a chance to talk and show off his knowledge usually put him in an even better mood.
"Exactly what the name implies! It girds your body and gives it the strength to endure! The effect lasts for several weeks if you do it right."
"I look forward to making it, then."
Evan immediately owled his parents to send over some of the ingredients, explaining that he was doing an extra-credit project to showcase his abilities.
His father sent a missive back along with the requested materials, expressing his pleasure but also hoping Evan would show some ability in his other classes, too. He grimaced at the thought of his struggles with Herbology, but he could not find it in himself to focus on that class right now.
In the dungeons, under Slughorn's approving supervision, Evan concentrated and followed the instructions to the letter. He was also pleased to realise that his timing had gotten better due to practice and careful observation.
He tried his best not to gag at the foul odour of the finished product; it was simply a sign that he had brewed it correctly.
Slughorn must have seen his expression as he bottled the potion, though, for he chuckled.
"Excellent, my boy. Bonus marks for you, and twenty points to Slytherin. Don't fret about the smell. If you can endure it long enough to drink it, it will help you endure anything else that comes your way."
"May I really keep it, Professor?"
"Yes. Keep it at room temperature, preferably in the dark. Perhaps your trunk is a good option. Then it will never expire."
Professor Slughorn then patted him on the shoulder, and Evan smiled before taking the vials with him.
He never planned to use it, of course. A Rosier's constitution could already endure anything. Yet it was nice to be able to keep his own product. Maybe he could sell it to someone. Or gift it to Snape in exchange for knowledge of a Dark spell.
VI.
The Ravenclaws were Evan's favourite non-Slytherin classmates.
They behaved well, listened intently to the lectures, and never caused any distractions by foolishly blowing up their cauldrons. Some of them even provided Evan with competition for the honour of being the top student, though he did find that some of them seemed to be unable to get the timing just right for their potions. Whenever one of them failed, they just sighed quietly and tried again, with no drama at all.
All in all, they were classmates whose existence he tended to forget, and those were the best to have.
He wished all his classes would consist of just Slytherins and Ravenclaws, but alas.
He most dreaded sharing classes with the Gryffindors. Potter and Black were rowdy nuisances who always disrupted lectures, and then there was that redheaded Mudblood, whose surname was much too close to Evan's first name for comfort.
Evan hated the sight of her. It always grated on his nerves whenever Snape's eyes would drift over to her. Surely the boy should have better taste than that. He blamed his Muggle heritage.
VII.
Snape was Evan's favourite person in class.
He had been avoiding the thought of Snape for this entire list of favourites, but in the end it was inevitable.
If Evan were honest with himself, he would admit that Snape was the entire reason he tried so hard to create perfect potions, instead of just putting in minimal effort and trusting that his bribes to Slughorn were enough.
By some accident, Evan had ended up sitting next to Snape on the first day of class, since Avery abandoned him in favour of Mulciber, the traitor. Then they continued to sit next to each other ever since.
He had disliked it at first, for he was unfamiliar with this sallow-faced boy with the greasy black hair, but ever since they shared a train ride home for the holidays during their first year, he began to understand him a bit more.
Snape was a half-blood. His mother was from the esteemed Prince family, but she had been disowned. He did get the benefit of her Dark arts training, but he also had to suffer abuse at the hands of his ignorant Muggle father.
Snape was sarcastic and had very little patience for the whims and inconsistencies of other people, but he also knew his place. As a half-blood, he was less valuable than the rest of them, and he tread carefully, hoping to cultivate allies.
He was a genius at potions. It seemed to be the one subject that brought light in his eyes, the one subject where he put in extra effort and tried to understand the material. Slughorn had had to answer many, many questions from him during lectures, which made many ignorant fools snigger at the thought of Snape's apparent ineptitude, but Evan knew better.
There, in the dungeons, Evan got to watch Snape work, his face illuminated by the candlelight. Evan found him almost handsome in the limited light, his dark eyes focussed on the work in front of him. Although Evan would never, ever stray from the textbook instructions, he had been tempted to copy Snape's movements more than once, entranced by his long, thin fingers.
Potions was Evan's favourite class because it was the only one in which Snape bared his soul, however inadvertently. How could one not enjoy watching the boy work, when he touched the instruments reverently yet confidently?
Evan closed his eyes and breathed carefully before opening them again. He knew he was in the presence of a genius, and although Snape was misunderstood and at odds with the people around him today, there might be a day in the future when he was somebody. Evan wanted to be right there to see his rise to fame.
Father had always told him to keep his eyes open for potential.
"Stop staring at my hands and pass me the wormwood, Rosier. I haven't got all day," Snape snapped suddenly.
Evan blinked. He had noticed?
He quickly shook off the surprise and did as requested. "My apologies, Snape. Sometimes I get mesmerised by the abysmal state of your nails. Do you ever wash your hands?"
"More often than you wash your face," he sneered, as he added the wormwood to the potion.
Evan smiled and turned back to his own work. "Perhaps you should wash your face, too. Then you'll wash off the film of slime on your eyes that deludes you into thinking that vile Mudblood is the least bit attractive."
Snape visibly clenched his jaw and fist, but he made no move to respond.
Evan shrugged and turned the page in his textbook, vaguely disappointed, though he soon ceased to feel even that.
What had he expected, anyway?
Snape may be a genius, but he would never be anything more than a half-blood, diminished in worth.
He knew his place. Perhaps Evan should remember his own place, too.
Evan smiled at Slughorn the next time he came around, and Slughorn smiled back.
He would humour Snape for today. After all, he could afford to show his inferiors some sympathy.