Chapter 37: Déjà Vu
His students never failed to impress, it would seem—though never in any good way. Just how the blundering pair of first years had managed to so thoroughly botch what should have been a simple cure for boils, he had no idea. The frothing, black mess in their cauldron was about as far from the pale reddish-pink of the intended potion as could be conceived by mortal man.
It was truly an astonishing accomplishment.
He withdrew a small glass vial, planning to take some of the noxious concoction to test for any unexpected side effects it might have on the people or furniture onto which it had spilled. Just in case, say, it happened to be incredibly poisonous or acidic.
Before he could collect a sample, however, he heard a strangely familiar sentence: the phrase, the cadence, the voice. He recognized it from one dark night turning blinding white, months ago.
"that… might have been overkill."
Severus Snape froze.
The small glass vial—thankfully empty—slipped from suddenly slack fingers and cracked loudly against the floor, breaking into pieces. That unexpectedly loud noise quickly jarred him from his shock.
It took a second for him to actually identify the feeling as shock, though, purely because it happened so rarely. He was simply not used to being startled, stunned, spooked, surprised, or any similar sensation.
"oh snap," he heard that same impossibly familiar voice remark, recognizable now that he knew what to listen for. "that broke my concentration, how many times have i stirred this?"
"You're up to five, I think," another voice replied—that girl, Laura Madley. More quietly, she added, "And I don't think now's the time for puns."
A pause, then: "that was an accidental pun, i swear."
Snape turned his head very slightly, confirming with his eyes what he had already figured out but couldn't quite accept: the voice belonged to the white-haired first year, Sans Skelton.
"Sure it was."
The girl then noticed that not only was her professor still standing right behind them, he was looking their way. She poked her partner on the shoulder in warning, then hastily turned back to measuring out the stewed horned slugs. He gave her a slightly confused glance, realized the nudge had been because the professor was giving them a weird look for some reason… then his eyes widened ever-so-slightly.
Realization.
Some part of Snape took that as confirmation. That it really had been Skelton there, standing by the lake months ago.
Except, of course, that a conclusion like that made absolutely no sense. The boy is only a first year student, for Merlin's sake— and barely one at that!
As much as he wanted to investigate, however, he quickly became aware of a much more pressing issue. That being that the students with the catastrophic potion were looking pretty shocked, too; staring between the bits of glass and their typically-menacing professor in openly stunned astonishment.
Which could not be allowed to continue. He had an image to maintain, after all.
"Congratulations," Snape said, adding a disdainful sneer for good measure. His tone was positively dripping with sarcasm. "I am frankly astounded by your ability for failure. You have taken an incredibly simple assignment and managed to miss the objective so completely that you have, in fact, brewed an entirely different type of potion."
Any hint of shock on the students' faces was immediately set aside as their previous mix of terror and anxiety returned.
"Five points from Hufflepuff, each, for your inability to follow basic instructions. I assure you, even if you had been assigned a clumsiness draught, this concoction would still have earned you a failing grade."
A sharp flick of his wand banished the pitch-black potion: not all of it, of course, since he did still need a sample, but most of it was swallowed up by the spell. The students winced.
"You will be spending the remainder of this period copying down the instructions from the board, seeing as it would seem that I require proof that you do actually know how to read."
One of the students quickly scrambled to get out quill and parchment, but the other boy scowled. Luckily, before he could say anything he'd be sure to regret, his partner jabbed him in the side and his mouth snapped shut. Good to know his students have some brains, at least.
Another wave of his wand lifted their cauldron into the air with a bubble charm, and it followed along behind him when he swept back to the front of the room. He directed the cauldron—which would never be used for potions again, given what looked to be permanent black stains lining the interior—to sit on his desk.
Students chastised and potentially dangerous potion contained, Snape sent a considering glance over the rest of his classroom, as if checking that the group as a whole was staying focused. The entire time, though, one particular student remained in his peripheries.
And it would seem that Skelton was subtly keeping an eye on him, too, even as he busied himself taking his cauldron of watery potion off the fire.
Snape almost didn't recognize it at first, but the boy was watching him. If he wasn't so paranoid, he probably wouldn't have noticed at all. Unlike most children, the boy didn't jerk away if he was caught staring. Instead he would roll his eyes at something his partner said, or smoothly glance to the side, or even just squint at the board as if double checking the steps. Sometimes he didn't look away at all, unfocused gaze innocently looking off into the middle distance and only coincidentally pointed in his direction.
And Snape could have sworn that those dark eyes were rimmed with a soft glow, white in the dim light of the Potions classroom.
He shook his head slowly—such a thought was ridiculous. Maybe he really was just imagining things.
It's not as though one sentence and a similar voice made a particularly good case to claim that a short first year student who apparently struggles with potions was secretly some powerful warlock.
There was no way.
He was pulled from his musing as the bell rang, ending class. In that disorganized chaos of children rushing to wrap things up, eager for freedom, students began to quickly gather up their stuff. One member of each pair bottled a sample of their potion and dropped it off at his desk.
As he had noted earlier, Skelton's potion really wasn't very much of a potion at all: just the various ingredients drifting around in slightly pink water.
"it never really seemed to… mesh together," he remarked, handing over the bottle with an unconcerned shrug and then taking his leave.
The boy seemed generally indifferent to the idea of handing in what is clearly a failed assignment, which is fairly odd for a Ravenclaw. Actually, he didn't seem bothered by much of anything: including the menacing aura the strict potions professor put so much effort into maintaining. Snape couldn't quite decide whether to be impressed or annoyed.
The watery mixture swirled as Snape turned the small bottle around in his hands, thinking.
In his mind, he heard those five words again. It was almost eerie, how perfectly they synced up with his memory of that night. That voice…
Snape wouldn't mention this to the headmaster. Not yet, anyway. He couldn't, given that he didn't even fully believe it himself. It was just too ridiculous, and there had to be some other explanation. The notion that the powerful figure he had seen back then was actually an eleven-year-old student was simply nonsensical. He's only a boy, after all.
Still, perhaps it wouldn't hurt to keep tabs on him.
Just in case.
Author's Note:
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Undertale.
Woo, a bonus chapter! That's why it's so short.
It just felt odd to have this be a part of the next chapter, so I figured I'd post it separately. Plus, February is a short month so today is totally just the 29th of the month and posting tomorrow isn't technically late… that's my justification and I'm sticking to it!
Updates are on the first of the month. (And in this case, the second.)
Thank you so much for every review, favorite, follow, and even just taking the time to read this.
See ya on the flipside, everyone!