Chapter 36: The Other Afternoon Class

While the minute it took for the rest of the class to leave wasn't the most stressful in his life—not by a long shot—it was still pretty darn nerve wracking. As they left, many of the other students sent him looks that were curious, condoling, concerned, or some combination thereof; the ones in blue were likely worried he was going to lose them more house points. Sans didn't bother with any reassurances, caught up as he was with trying to figure out what his teacher may have seen.

The whole while, Professor McGonagall remained by his desk, still turning the transfigured needle over thoughtfully in her hands.

It was making him a tad uneasy, to be perfectly honest.

After the last cluster of students had finally made their way out, the door shut with a thud that nerves made seem much too loud. Sans mentally smacked himself for making such a big deal out of being held after class: it's not even like he'd done anything wrong.

He'd just… maybe accidentally outed himself as a really unusual definitely-not-faux eleven-year-old. For the second—or third—time in the day.

Everything is perfectly fine.

And lying to yourself is definitely a healthy coping mechanism—Sans should know.

"Mr. Skelton?" the professor asked, pulling him from his twisting thoughts. Seeing that she had his attention, she held up the transfigured needle. "Explain to me how you performed this spell."

With a shrug, he shoved aside any nervousness. He was good at that. It's simple: just grin, maybe crack a joke or two, and pretend like everything is fine. That last step can be tricky sometimes, but that's where practice comes in handy.

"the way you explained, i suppose," Sans answered, though he had paid more mind to the feel of the spell during her demonstration rather than her actual description of it.

Her expression was just a touch skeptical. Still, she seemed to accept his answer—for the moment—and moved on. "Though successful in transforming the matchstick, you made it much too large."

To make a point, she held up the needle. It did look big in her hands—had looked bigger in his, but he hadn't even registered that at the time—and even now it took Sans a moment to make the connection. Toriel was his only real reference for sewing needles, and they had always looked sized perfectly for her hands.

Which was, in this case, the whole issue: the needle he had made was too large for the average human.

Still, he still wasn't super sure where his professor was going with this.

McGonagall continued: "Be aware that rumors of what happened during Charms have already spread to most of the professors."

"oh, good," he said, totally not sarcastic at all.

She seemed amused by that, but did a good job of hiding it. When she continued, she simply pretended not to have heard his remark. "I was not expecting any of my students to perform such a successful transfiguration, and certainly not on their first try."

That wasn't good news for him. To himself, he quietly mumbled, "well, neither was i."

With a smile—slight, but there nonetheless—Professor McGonagall said simply, "I believe I can help."

That was not what he was expecting. Sans stared blankly at his professor for a moment, thrown for a bit of a loop and left to figure out where the conversation might head now.

"what?"

"In brief, Mr. Skelton, you may have something of a control problem."

His immediate response was an embarrassed annoyance, plus a grumbly frustration that he couldn't really dispute that point. He had to bite back a defensive reply, and instead just nodded.

"yeah, i've noticed," he confessed. Well, more like grouched.

"It is not an unusual problem for powerful young wizards to have trouble with their spells, and it is certainly nothing to be ashamed of."

Nothing to be ashamed of, sure. It's not as though he was actually an adult monster—and literally made of magic—who was used to having precise control over his power at all times.

He sighed. "yeah, alright."

The professor just considered him for a moment. Then, almost to herself, she mused, "Professor Flitwick is your Head of House, of course, so we would need to ask him. I'm sure he would want to be a part of it, regardless."

That made Sans immediately suspicious, though not sure of what. "…ask him?"

"I would like to hold extra lessons for you, to help you learn to better control your magic."

His eyes went wide—whatever he had been expecting, it hadn't been that. "you wanna what?"

"Only, say, twice a week," she continued, ignoring his open shock. "In the evenings, of course, once classes have finished for the day."

That seems like both a very good and very, very bad idea—especially given his own practice earlier during lunch had had rather destructive results. Before he could say anything, though, she had already continued to another unexpected announcement.

"Once you have a firmer control, perhaps we can look into moving you up a year."

That was one thrown loop too many.

"okay, seriously, what?" Sans held up a hand, needing to pause for a moment, "you're saying i might be able to move up a grade? why? i mean, i've only done the one spell."

"Indeed." Professor McGonagall nodded, unbothered, "but you cast that spell nearly perfectly on your first try. It seems plain to me that you have a remarkable gift for transfiguration."

"one spell," he emphasized.

"One spell most of my students take several days to learn," the professor countered. Then, glancing to the clock, she changed the subject before he could argue more. "Your next class will be starting shortly. I'll speak with your Head of House, and we'll see what we can arrange."

Sans still very much had other things he wanted to say, but, for the first time in years, he found himself struggling to put words together.

With a wave of her wand, she conjured a slip of parchment from thin air. "This note should excuse your late arrival."

Right, and the school day wasn't even over yet.

As for where his next class actually was, the tardy slip wasn't much help: the only thing written on the note was just to give him permission to be in the halls. Some of the other students had mentioned something about dungeons, which were usually underground, so he could at least assume it was somewhere below him.

Still, no point guessing when he could just ask.

"hey, prof?"

She frowned at the casual abbreviation of her title. "Do call me 'Professor', please. What do you need, Mr. Skelton?"

"directions would be nice, too."

The slight upturn to her eyebrows told him that she had forgotten that this was still only the first day of classes; most first year students would only get to the right classrooms by virtue of following the crowd and working it out collectively. She gave him detailed directions to the Potions classroom, even going so far as to include a few alternative routes if a staircase decided to give him trouble.

Odd that that was a possibility.

"Oh, and Mr. Skelton?" she called, just when he had one foot out the door.

"yeah?"

"Prodigy you may be, but you'd do well to remember that sleeping in my class will not be tolerated." Her tone was stern, and brooked no argument. It was actually a little intimidating.

Just a little.

"heh." Sans grinned, every bone carefully nonchalant. "gotcha'."

So, still processing the whole interaction, he walked out of the classroom and the door clicked shut behind him. The hall was empty.

Just as he was about to set off, however, Sans abruptly hopped a half-step to the left, foot just an inch shy of the ghostly hand that phased through the ground an instant later. His funny little skip apparently confused the spirit who had just taken a swipe at him, since the transparent hand waved around for a moment as it tried to find where he had gone.

It was simultaneously amusing and annoying.

When one of the gestures got close to his foot again, he did another small hop away. "could you not?"

The hand froze, startled, then quickly pulled back through the floor: like slurping up a noodle, except with an immaterial appendage and a solid stone floor.

Again: amusing, yet annoying.

Deciding it would be in his best interest to just take a shortcut, he aimed below his feet and cast out his magic. He traced out the route he would have taken, cutting a few corners since he didn't need to wait for any uncooperative staircases. The room he ended up at seemed to be the right one, given both the various potions stuff and that he recognized some of the students in there from earlier classes.

His shortcut window actually opened right as Professor Nose—or rather, Professor Snape—swept into the classroom with a whirl of black robes and a chill glare that had most of the students cowering at their seats. Sans frowned to himself, wondering what the apparent hostility was all about, then settled back against the wall to wait for his chance to stealthily pop in.

From the front of the classroom, the teacher cast a disdainful gaze over his students: the expression of somebody who didn't expect much of them, yet already knew he was going to be disappointed. The thin line of his mouth held only scorn, and perhaps a touch of irritation.

And his eyes, as glowering and annoyed as they might seem, told Sans just how much of a half-truth that was. Which is to say that, while it was true that he probably wasn't looking forward to the upcoming semester, it wasn't entirely because of his students.

It helped that his first impression of the man had been at the lakeside, months ago. This clearly purposeful belligerence was an odd disconnect from the grouchy and snarky but still very plainly worried man Sans had seen back then.

Strange.

Still, regardless of expectations or maybe-not-as-bad-as-he-seems possibilities, if the professor was going to act like a jerk to his students, well. That would need correcting.

As the professor began to take roll, Sans turned his attention to the rest of the class. All the uniforms had either blue or yellow crests, split largely by color to each side of the room. Each desk had two students sharing one cauldron, and only one desk had a spare seat.

His name—a little under one tenth pseudonym—was called out: "Skelton, Sans."

Taking the brief moment when the professor looked down at his parchment to read the name, Sans stepped through his shortcut to the one empty seat in the classroom.

"present."

His sudden appearance startled a squeak from the girl who had already been sitting at the table. She was the same girl from the boat ride: Laura, if he recalled correctly. She was wearing Hufflepuff colors and a bright smile—if still a bit spooked.

"Hello again!" she quietly greeted. "Sans, right?"

He grinned. "that's my name, don't wear it out."

Laura looked like she might have had something more to say, but, since roll call had just finished, Professor Snape was already beginning on his lecture.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making." His cadence was deliberately paced, practiced, and held the attention of the whole class with ease. "There will be little foolish wand-waving here."

"some good news, at least," Sans whispered to himself.

Or rather, he whispered to the entire class; the professor timed a dramatic pause right at that moment, so his remark wasn't nearly as quiet as he had expected. Though the sentiment was genuine, Sans winked and played it off as sarcasm.

The gloomy professor shot him a dark look for his trouble, but didn't otherwise respond. "As such, I am sure many of you will not be able to understand the magic in a softly simmering cauldron," he continued, "nor the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins."

Sans glanced down at his illusory skin, amused.

"I can teach you to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death."

He frowned: that's less amusing. Hopefully it just meant 'healed from near-death' and not 'completely unkillable'. Unkillable was dangerous.

Then the professor sneered, and finished, "That is, assuming you have more brains in your skulls than the simpletons I usually have to teach."

And back to being amused.

"Tell me, Mr. Ackerley," Snape asked suddenly, causing the boy in question to jolt up in his seat, "what potion can be brewed using powdered moonstone and syrup of hellebore?"

Put on the spot, the student stuttered, "Uhm, well… a… calming draught, maybe?"

"One point to Ravenclaw." The award sounded somewhat grudging. "The Draught of Peace is, indeed, a variety of potion used to sooth nerves and ease anxiety."

There was a brief pause as the answer was magically written on the blackboard, and the air was filled with the sound of quills scratching across parchment taking notes.

"Mr. Whitby." The professor looked to the student in question—it seemed that he had already memorized at least some of his students. "Where would you be able to find the herb dittany?"

This student clearly had no idea, and could only shake his head and mumble, "I don't know, sir."

As before, Snape provided the answer and it appeared on the board. "Dittany, or origanum dictamnus, can only be found in the wild on the mountainsides of Crete. Wild dittany is best for brewing potions, but has become difficult to find in recent years."

After a few more questions—some answered successfully, others less so—the professor moved on to actual brewing. The notes on the blackboard vanished, replaced by instructions for a potion that could apparently cure boils. All the students were paired with those seated at the same desk.

"I've never made a potion," Laura sounded pretty nervous, "but I've burnt hot cocoa before so I doubt that this is going to go well. Just thought I'd warn you."

As for Sans, he wasn't expecting much trouble with following a recipe. He had handled his fair share of sequential experiments back in the laboratory, after all, and had even set up some on his own time after having been removed from that position.

Plus, though not nearly as enthusiastic about spending time in the kitchen as his brother, he had tried his hand at baking once or twice with not-catastrophic results so, technically, producing a not-catastrophic potion should be doable.

Hopefully.

His only real concern was that—when it came to cooking, at least—monsters and humans go about things differently. Not to mention what differences there might be between the magic-based cooking techniques he knew and potion brewing methods of human mages. Given that the instructions said nothing about magic infusions (and just to be on the safe side), Sans decided that it might be a good idea to keep his magic from interfering with anything.

"i've cooked before, but it turns out i wasn't ready for the responsibility." At her puzzled look, he just grinned. "well, it's best not to brew on it."

Laura waited for the crowd of students bunching up at the ingredients cabinet to clear out, then went to gather the materials listed on the board. At their station, Sans set out the tools they'd need to actually prepare the potion: mortar and pestle, the cauldron itself, and knives.

He didn't like knives.

"It should be easy to split up the work," she said, returning with her arms full of a variety of jars and small boxes. "All we need to do is each prepare half of the ingredients we need."

"sounds good to me."

After divvying up the ingredients so they each had half, Laura began grinding up her three of the six required snake fangs. Sans took his half, dropped them into his mortar, and crushed them into a fine powder.

As they worked their way through the brewing steps, they slowly realized that something was wrong.

He had been carefully keeping his magic separate from the bubbling cauldron, for fear that it might spontaneously vaporize or slowly degrade or corrupt into sludge or something. It would seem that may not have been the correct choice.

Laura poured in the Flobberworm mucus, stirred vigorously, and then frowned when the potion did not change color as the instructions claimed it would. In fact, their potion was looking less like a magical liquid and more like a thick stew of the separate ingredients they had added so far. Compared to the potions simmering in some of the other cauldrons, the color of theirs was only at most half as saturated.

Crossing his arms, Sans considered the bubbling mixture. He knew that he had to be the reason it wasn't working, but at this point he wasn't sure mingling his magic in the potion would result in any positive change or if it would just undo their work.

"That is the worst attempt at a potion that I have ever seen," assessed Professor Snape, arms crossed as he looked down on their cauldron.

Laura tensed, clearly nervous about have the menacing professor suddenly right there. Unbothered, Sans added a sprinkle of ginger root and stirred the concoction for a few seconds as specified. There was no noticeable change to the not-very-potion-y potion.

"I was worried you might cause havoc in my class, Mr. Skelton." With plain contempt, the professor gestured to their pitiful mixture. "It appears I was concerned for the wrong reasons."

"better a bad potion than a potion splattered on your ceiling though, right?" Sans shrugged, fiddling with the lid for the jar of pickled Shrake spines. "that'd be a little jar-ring, i'd think."

Not expecting such relaxed humor from one of his students—and from a Ravenclaw, no less—Snape paused: considering whether or not to take points, no doubt. He silently watched him struggle with the jar, eyes narrowed slightly. Then, without another word, he simply turned his attention to the another pair of students whose potion had just started loudly frothing and was threatening to spill its questionable contents all over the floor.

"Sweet Merlin's cane," Laura breathed, nearly silent and wide-eyed. "I can't believe that didn't just bankrupt Ravenclaw house."

Sans, frustrated that his bony fingers couldn't get a good grip on the lid, just handed the jar off to her. "a combination of good luck and pity, i'd say."

"That would make sense."

She was able to open the jar with enviable ease, of course, given that her hands weren't just bone. The recipe called for two pickled Shrake spines, so she reached in and grabbed one before handing it back to him. Her face was a grimace of disgust, and she carefully dropped it into their cauldron as quickly as possible.

Sans reached for one as well, but paused just as his fingertips touched the slimy ingredient. There was a distinct magic-made-physical sense to the spine, though unmistakably more on the physical side.

It reminded him of dust.

Only vaguely, yes… but still enough to be unsettling.

He ignored his discomfort, following his partner's lead and adding it to the cauldron quickly. While he mixed the brew gently—the instructions warned about 'exciting the spines', whatever that meant—Laura set to work measuring out a glug of horned slugs.

"Hey, so," she began, hesitated, then tried again. "Were you the one who launched that book into the ceiling in Charms? How'd you manage that?"

"ah, well…" Sans gave the side of the cauldron a thoughtful tap, momentarily forgetting that he currently appeared to be a flesh-and-blood human who probably wouldn't touch a scalding metal surface without at least some negative reaction. "that… might have been overkill."

From behind them, glass shattered on the stone floor as someone—stunned—dropped what they were holding.

Author's Note:

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Undertale.

Do you recognize that last line? Because somebody sure did.
Poor Sans, this day really just keeps going. And how about that, finally he's the one being surprised!

Hey guys, guess what? Creator29029, InformalRain01, A voice 0K, and MusicLover190 (and maybe others, or maybe some of those are the same person, I'm inferring from various reviews) are making some fan animation (fanimation?) of this story! Also, if you're interested in helping, I think they might be open to that.
Thank you all so much! If you want to watch, you can find it at the YouTube channel Creator 290. The video starts proper at about 30 seconds in.

I hope all you guys dealing with the icy polar vortex stay safe. I've heard that dripping cold water through your faucets helps keep the pipes from freezing. Don't know if that applies with this level of cold, but thought I'd mention it.

Man, January has felt like such a long month, for some reason. Updates are on the first of the month.
Thanks for all of the reviews, favorites, and follows! I'm glad you've all been enjoying the story, and I hope you continue to do so as it goes on.

WeirdGuyOne: Not sure how this chapter will help you take over the world, but more power to ya!

NO: Uh, how am I supposed to interpret that?

See ya on the flipside, everyone!