Not even Potions could put a damper on Neville's good mood. After working out with Grey and Spike, he finally felt like he might actually acquire a useful skill. Rather than berate his mistakes, they had explained the reasons for them. It made him feel less like an idiot and more like a beginner. He could learn enough to graduate from beginner level. Idiots were stuck.
He also had spent a long time replaying Grey's comments about his parents in his mind. He would not soon forget those. The former auror (Neville wondered if he was now a Jedi, whatever that was) had made sense. He knew his parents would be proud of his actions at Halloween, and he vowed never to forget it. If it never happened again, he had done the right thing once, and succeeded.
The Gryffindors, mercifully, had Potions with the Hufflepuffs rather than the Slytherins this year. Snape tended to be less difficult without his house around, but he still managed to malign Neville for something each day.
Tara walked in to the dungeon atmosphere of Snape's classroom and felt the butterflies dancing around her abdomen. She had been helping different classes since her arrival, but this would be her first attempt at Potions. Willow had put it in perspective at dinner the night before, though Tara had been more calm then than now.
"Look, it's like this. If scowl-puss Snape doesn't like you, you never have to go back. If he does, he'll at least not be unfriendly. It's not like you can get fired. We begged you to come."
She set her books down at a desk in the front row, and looked around. Hermione smiled at her from the next seat.
"How are you, Professor?" In private, Hermione had consented to call her Tara only because she was Willow's close friend.
"O-okay. A little nervous."
"Willow says you're great at this kind of thing. You mustn't let anything anyone says get to you."
"Thanks, Hermione." Tara smiled.
"Miss Maclay?" His voice sounded like the booming of an evil grandfather clock. She turned around to face him.
"P-P-Professor S-S-Snape, hi. I guess I-I'm with you today."
"Indeed. Retrieve these items from the supply closet. A map of the contents is just inside the door." He handed her a list and watched her walk to the back room.
Because of Dumbledore's request, he had decided to give her a small chance, though her stutter annoyed him. He could certainly use a competent assistant. He stepped to the front of the class to begin.
"Today, we begin our discussion of a difficult and potentially dangerous type of potions. If mixed improperly, healing potions can do more harm than good. Longbottom, for obvious reasons, I suggest you pay very close attention."
Neville didn't flinch, surprising Snape. All he did was respond with a quiet "Yes, Professor." Snape couldn't even accuse him of a mocking tone. How odd.
"Now can anyone tell me the ingredients for the healing ointment Clew?" Hands shot up around the room.
From the door of the supply closet, Tara watched Snape teach. While he clearly had knowledge of potions, he was a horrendous educator. She had hoped Neville could evade the barb, which he had, but she could not believe a teacher would act that way. She grabbed the last of the supplies and went forward to arrange them.
"Now, Miss Maclay, if you would please mix the first three items on that list into the small cauldron on my desk. Following that, please heat it until it boils, add the final ingredients and allow it to cool. At that point it should be mashed into a paste."
As she was doing it, he lectured on about the healing properties of the ointment. Neville watched with interest as Tara worked. She seemed to know exactly when to add ingredients or change the temperature of the mixture. Neville realized Snape had neglected to provide complete instructions; the homework had been very clear about the dangers of incorrectly timing the ministrations. Lost in that thought, Neville ignored Snape's question.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Longbottom, what was your answer?"
"Huh?" Neville realized immediately he was in deep trouble.
"I said, what was your answer?"
"I-I don't know?"
"Do you know what the question was, Mr. Longbottom, or are you not required to pay attention in my class any longer?"
"S-sorry, Professor. I d-don't know what the question was." Now the fear returned full force to Neville's stomach.
"I see. Ten points from Gryffindor for Mr. Longbottom's daydreams. The question was, does Clew have to be applied to a new wound, or can it be used on an old one? Well, Mr. Longbottom?"
"A-any wound, Professor." Snape looked at him silently for a long second.
"Correct. I see you have a scrape on your right cheek, fairly fresh, is that also correct?" Two rows away, Hermione began to pray that Tara knew what she was doing.
"Y-yes, Professor." Spike accidentally dropped him to the pavement harder than intended the night before. Neville could see where Snape was headed.
"Good. Miss Maclay, is the ointment ready?"
"Y-yes, Professor." Tara knew it, too. "I really don't think we sh-should use it until you've been able to t-test it, though."
"Well, we shall test it right now. Longbottom, come forward."
Neville stood and walked to the front of the class. He thought of Halloween to steady himself. If the potion had been prepared incorrectly, the pain would be intense.
"P-professor, this is not a good idea. I've never done this before. H-he could be hurt."
"Nonsense," Snape said. His sneer turned almost gleeful. "They tell me you're quite talented. I'm sure a healing ointment is well within your means."
Tara looked at Neville, who nodded.
"J-just do it, Professor Maclay. I'm sure it will be fine."
She handed him the bowl of ointment she had prepared. Bracing for the pain, he tentatively applied it to the cut on his face.
Willow caught up with Tara in the hall afterwards.
"So, how'd it go? Banned for life?"
"Actually, he a-asked me to come back tomorrow," Tara replied. She recalled being as surprised as Willow looked. Neville's cut had healed instantly, earning her a raised eyebrow and nod. She could feel Snape's disappointment, but Hermione indicated this was the highest praise he gave.
"Whoa. You must have been super."
"I guess. I don't like him, though. He actually hates his students."
"Yeah, well, he'll get his. Are you going to work with him more?"
"Not unless he cleans up his act. I think he actually wanted to hurt Neville today." Willow frowned, and then remembered the other reason she had found Tara.
"So are you around tonight?" Tara nodded, happy to change the subject. "I have a magic lesson. I was kinda hoping you'd come watch, so I could show off. Grey will be there, and Giles. How about it?"
"I'd like that."
"See you at 8, then."
"You wanted to see me?" Grey said as he strode into Snape's empty classroom.
"Indeed, I did."
"Let me guess," Grey said, immediately taking the offensive. He had no use for Snape, and only had shown up to put the Potions Master in his place. "You're going to tell me that we should let her go, that she is a danger to herself and others, and that we should focus our efforts on killing her."
"That is correct," Snape said coldly, looking unfazed by the auror's outburst.
"I'm sorry, Professor," Grey spat, "but that is not an option."
"You foolish boy!" Snape suddenly darted across the room and grabbed Grey's shirt with both hands. "Do you have any idea of the forces you are mucking about with?"
Grey shoved Snape off of him and pulled his shirt off, revealing his scars.
"I think the answer is yes, Severus."
"Those are nothing." Snape rolled up his sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark. "Do you see this? I have seen her. I have seen what the Dark Lord has her do. Those marks on your skin are kisses compared to that. Imagine a man pinned to a tree branch ten feet in the air. Now imagine that, over the course of 24 hours, his skin is peeled off, like that of a grape. Or another man, this one tied to a wooden table, his ribs removed at one hour intervals and salt poured in their place." Sickened, Grey turned away as he replaced his shirt. "That is the kind of evil you are thinking of bringing here. That is what you are so desperately trying to save."
"That's not her," Grey said, fighting back his rage. He had never had such a desire to hit anyone in his life. "That's the magic."
"I'm afraid I do not care," Snape said coldly. "That is the reality. Whether she once was something else does not concern me. Ending the threat she poses is my only priority."
Grey snapped. Spinning around, he drew the lightsaber. The hum filled the room.
"You son of a bitch. If you do anything to stop us, to slow us down, I will do things to you that you can't possibly imagine. You think she makes people hurt? How long would you like me to wait between fingers, Severus? Which ear would you prefer to keep? What shape should I make the cuts on your cheeks?" The auror vibrated with anger. Snape backed away, realizing that he had erred badly. "As of now, unless you see or hear something useful, you are uninvolved. Are we clear about that?"
Snape nodded, unsure why this man frightened him so badly. Some of the Death Eaters made similar threats with equal conviction upon his return. He had been arrogant enough not to believe them. He believed Grey.
"Say it."
"Yes."
Grey closed the lightsaber and left the room.