Chapter 2: A tough potion
"Bloody hell," Ron sighed for the hundreth time. "Bloody. Freaking. Hell."
"Ron," Hermione growled, "For Merlin's sake, get over it."
"Bloody hell."
"Ronald Weasley, get a grip! This is happening and you have nothing to say about it."
"How can you say that to me!"
Harry rolled his eyes, and helped himself with another portion of cheese omelet.
"Ron, even I have gotten over it," he said matter-of-factly. "It's not that bad."
"Are you mad?"
He swallowed the content of his glass in one sip.
"Bloody hell, I think I'm gonna be sick."
His face suddenly illuminated, as though he had suddenly seen something particularly beautiful.
"That's a good idea! Maybe I should get sick-"
The red-headed Gryffindor started to fill his golden plate with enormous quantities of food. Even for him, who was pretty famous for his large appetite, this seemed too much.
"Ron, grow up, will you," Hermione sighed. "We are having potions this morning."
"But this is unfair!" Weasley protested. "It's completely unfair! To have potions classes just after coming back from holidays! It's torture!"
Harry shrugged.
"Gotta start somewhere, I guess."
"But potions - with Snape! Isn't it a little harsh?"
"You'd say that even if we started with Herbology," Hermione noted.
"No, I wouldn't!" Ron replied, apparently very insulted that she thought that.
She rolled her eyes and got on her feet, grabbing her bag.
"Come on. We don't want to be late."
Ron sighed like a prisoner going to meet his death sentence, and put his bag on his shoulder.
"Right, we don't want to miss any minute with Snape."
Harry laughed very shortly, giving his friend a light tap to the back.
"You'll be all right. You fought Death Eaters last year, you can handle one creepy teacher."
As usual, every conversation died as soon as professor Snape entered the classroom and closed the door behind him. Some teachers had to actually ask the students to stop talking, but with the master of potions, this had always been futile. He had this curious thing about it, it was like a "shut up" aura.
It never failed.
"Today, I will give each and everyone of you a small quantity of a potion," he said, without greetings or any other form of civility, as usual. "You are to create a potion that will counter the effects of the sample potion. Each person will have a different potion, so there will be no sharing," he insisted on that word as he looked at Harry, "No helping," he stared at Hermione, "And no glances over the shoulder whatsoever," he finished, glaring at Ron.
"Blimey," Ronald muttered.
"Yes, Weasley, you will actually have to do it alone like a big boy," Snape's ice-cold voice snapped.
The teacher went to his desk to pick the vials as the Slytherins - that is to say, easily half of the students in the classroom - chuckled at the comment.
"Oh, and if you had any doubt," he added as he started his distribution of the potions, "I am taking twenty points away from Gryffindor for your attitude."
"What-"
Ron was about to say something, but Hermione's foot on his made him shut up, along with her glare. Really, after all these years, Ron couldn't take a hint. Everytime you said something bad in Snape's classroom, he heard it, and if you weren't Slytherin, he punished you. If you were Gryffindor, he punished you twice as much. Snape smirked.
"Saved by Miss Granger again," he said, handing the Gryffindor a vial filled with a potion that was as black as ink.
"Begin now," Snape said. "You are allowed to use your book as well as every ingredient in the closet behind me. You have two hours - and since it is individual, I expect to hear nothing but the sound of potions brewing."
Hermione's potion was bright red. She carefully opened the vial, and sniffed. She blinked, surprised by the strength of the smell. There was so little potion in the vial, she expected to be barely able to smell anything, but Merlin was she wrong! It smelled like cinamon, cherry, vanilla... it was very, very sweet - toosweet, and the smell was powerful enough that it almost made her feel nauseous. Well, at least it was extremely recognizable, and she immediately rushed to the closet to grab everything she needed to create a counter to that love potion. As she walked back to her desk, she glanced over her two friends. Harry was turning his book's pages frenetically, trying to spot the potion he was holding, and Ron, well, Ron... he looked pretty desperate. His book was opened, but he wasn't looking at it like Harry was: apparently, he thought that staring at the potion with a hateful leer was the best strategy. Shaking her head, Hermione began her work.
While his students displayed different stages of despair and hatred, Snape was taking a careful look at each and every one of them. The parents from the prophecy were maybe in that room, those who were supposed to cause the demise of the Dark Lord in one simple night. Enemies shall become lovers... Parkinson and Weasley. No, this was ridiculous, nothing "prophetic" could ever come out of Weasel. Parkinson and Potter. Even more ridiculous. Furthermore, Potter was already mentioned, and not as the father. Granger and Zabini.
Snape closed his eyes for a very brief moment. Why am I inflicting such visions to myself? He began walking around the class, taking a look at every potion. Some people had troubles with their potions, and he was being generous. Snape scowled. How in Merlin's name had all of them managed to obtain the Optimal necessary to enter his NEWT-level class? He had eleven students, and only two of them were half competent! The first one was Granger, of course. Ah, Granger. Never in his career had he seen such an annoying Know-it-All. Why did she even bother raising her hand at each question he asked? Yes. She knew the answer. She always knew the answer, no need to rub it to everybody's face. But she was brilliant, all right - brilliant at potions making, brilliant in Transfiguration, brilliant at casting spells. There was one reason Harry Potter had survived everything he had went through in this school, and that reason's name was Hermione Jean Granger. It was relieving that when he spoke, at least one person knew what the hell he was saying. Sometimes, he went onto unnecessarly complicated notions on purpose - nobody understood anything anyway - just to see if she could keep up. Well Merlin be damned, she always understood every word he said, that bloody Gryffindor.
If only she could shut up once in a while, she would be the perfect student.
And the second, of course, was Draco Malfoy. Of course, Snape was somewhat biaised. He had been friends with his parents for many years, and he was the boy's godfather. And, of course, Draco was a Slytherin, and a proeminent one with that! Prefect and captain of the Quidditch team. But, godson or not, he was brilliant. Perhaps not as interested as Granger, but equally talented - as far as potions making went, anyway. It was no surprise for Snape that he had been able to make it to the NEWTs, and most of his potions were successful, like the one he was currently br-
Snape stopped moving altogether, right in the middle of the class. Amber will meet iron under the silver light...
"Excuse me, professor," a feminine voice politely said behind him. "I need to go get a phoenix feather..."
Without saying a word, Snape moved to the side, allowing Pansy Parkinson to get to the closet. Snape went to sit behind his desk, his dark eyes going from Draco to Hermione, back to Draco, back to Hermione, over and over again. This seemed so unlikely, so ridiculously unlikely! Either he was wrong, or Trelawney had drunk too much wine before making the prophecy. Or perhaps... destiny just needed a little help...
Hermione stirred her potion very carefully: it was dark blue, like it was supposed to be at that point, but it was also extremely delicate. Even Snape, who had just walked by her cauldron, had given a subtle nod of appreciation, although she was pretty sure he didn't intend her to see it. At the last minute, add the unicorn hair, and keep stirring until the potion is snow-white, the book said. As she took the hair between her fingers, she heard a loud BANG coming from the back of the classroom. Curious, she turned around, only to see that Draco Malfoy's cauldron had litterally exploded. Really? Since when did Draco Malfoy failed a potion this much? The explosion had caused Draco to fall off his chair, but he didn't seem hurt, except maybe his pride. Nonetheless, Parkinson jumped at his side, and everyone - including Draco - rolled their eyes. Here we go, future Pansy Malfoy's show.
"Oh my goodness, Drackie!" Pansy cooed, "Are you all right, honey?"
Draco merely grunted, apparently unhappy to be called "Drackie" and "honey" in front of everyone.
"Miss Parkinson," Snape coldly said, "I think it is quite clear that he will be all right."
"Hermione, your potion!" Ron's panicking voice raised, and the young witch turned her attention back on her potion.
"Oh no!"
The dark-blue potion had boiled for far too long now, and it was running down the cauldron. Swiftly, Hermione saved her book from the flood. Sighing heavily, Snape removed the cauldron from the fire with a flick of his wand, immediately ending the disaster before it took bigger proportions.
"Well it seemed we have two T over here. I'll be examining the other potions now. Malfoy, Granger, you will stay after the class.
Of course, every other potion was mediocre. The two students who could usually do anything productive in this bloody class had failed pretty impressively. Half of them weren't even trying to make the right counter potion, for the love of Merlin!
"Class is over," his slow voice said.
Everybody left quickly - everybody always left quickly, trying to get away from Snape as fast as they could - except for Draco and Hermione. Hermione was mortified - how had she failed her potion? How? She knew how, of course. Draco's explosion had distracted her, the potion had waited for too long for the unicorn hair, and that was it. Damn ferret! she mentally growled. Draco, on the other hand, looked completely pissed. Whether it was because he had failed his potion or because Pansy had called him Drackie in front of the others - really, it was horrifying enough that she did it when they were alone! - was unclear.
"Mister Malfoy," he started, "You added too many rose thorns, this is why your potion exploded. Miss Granger, you-"
"Waited too long for the unicorn hair, yes sir," Hermione said very quickly, as though recognizing her mistake would change anything.
"Five points from Gryffindor for cutting me in the middle of my sentence. As I was saying, you waited too long before adding your unicorn hair. Both of your inattentions caused quite a mess, so I think you need to learn to pay attention to things. Be more meticulous, you see, making potions is all about taking care of every little detail. Friday night, you will both go into the forest, and you will bring me back two bouquets of hawthorn flowers, one each. I will need them for potions, so it's a very important task. I want them to be perfect, no broken leaves, no missing petal. Two. Perfect. Bouquets."
He took a pause, looking at both of them. Now, they both looked equally mortified.
"Are we clear?"
"Yes, professor," the two students mumbled.
"Good. Leave now."
He stared at them in silence as they left the classroom, each of them heading to their respective common room. If he was right, the prophecy could very well accomplish itself Friday - the first part, at least. If he was wrong, well... he'd probably have to retrieve the corpses in the forest, as they were very likely to kill each others.
