Slytherclaw/Dovielr: some of the ingredients in 'The Potions Mistress' are read here - in the story in general -as well. I hope you don't mind, it's just that at times I get terribly unimaginative and all my names sound silly.

Chapter Three.

Neville entered the dungeon with a resigned aura about him that was so normal, no one cared anymore. Once again, he would be taunted and his low intelligence highlighted.

The worse thing was that he really did try in Potions. He knew what each ingredient's affect was. It was simply hard for him to put it into practise. Everything was done in theory. They had to follow recipes, or at least, that was the impression given off by Snape. And Neville was too scared to try anything different.

He stood at his cauldron apprehensively. Then, looking up to the board, he began to prepare the ingredients.

Slowly, he made his way through measuring and seiving the Armadillo bile. Powdering the Unicorn horn was done meticulously as well: the plan was that if he was so slow, he wouldn't have time to actually attempt the potion. It never worked, though.

He barely heard Snape whenever he would bully Harry and Ron. He knew that Harry didn't really care, so there was nothing to worry about.

Yet, whenever Snape turned on him, it sounded as if the man had used an amplifying charm on his voice. Each word cut hard and deep in the most sensitive of places. His fingers would lose their grip, he would begin to fidget - the last time he had done it, he had tipped his cauldron over - he would add too many of one particular ingredient. It was horrible.

He let the amythest dust crackle at the bottom of the cauldron and watched it combine with the oxygen to form small, shiny globules. He tipped in the Armadillo bile. Much too quickly.

It splattered.

Biting his lip, he tried to ignore the sharp sensations on his arms and continue attempting the potion. Snape, however, was near enough to see it.

Risking a glance at the professor, Neville noticed that Snape was giving him the same weary look that McGonagall would: It seemed that now, like all the other teachers, the Potions Master had given up hope. There was simply no point in bullying him anymore.

That was all the proof Neville needed that he really was pathetic.

"May I go to the medical wing, professor?" He asked weakly.

"Tch." Snape turned away. With an airy wave of a hand, he replied, "yes... of course you may." There was no expression whatsoever in that voice.

With that, Neville practically ran out of the classroom, forgetting that the fire beneath his cauldron was still lit. He ran up the stairs, past the staffroom, only to bump into a man who was just coming out of it.

It was Lupin.

"What on earth--? Neville? Are you alright?" The grey eyes were frantic. "Why aren't you in your lessons?"

"I'm going to the... the medical wing," he muttered miserably, trying to dodge past.

Lupin would have none of it.

"This isn't the way to the medical wing." He said gently. "What *is* the matter?"

"Nothing!" Neville gasped: he hadn't meant to be so rude. Not to his favourte teacher, either. "I only... hurt myself... that's all!"

"Well..." Lupin began, "I'm going down to the dungeons anyway... maybe it's best if you came as well... so we can go down together and I can ask Snape for some ointment and so we won't have to bother Madam Pomfrey, right?"

"I-I..." Neville began to stutter. "Alright," he said defeated by the powerful affect of grey eyes.

"Good." Was the firm reply. "Down we go, then..."

Feeling even more miserable, Neville followed Lupin back dowsntairs to the dungeons. When they got there, Lupin knocked sharply on the door to the classroom of which Neville had just walked out. Neville could feel his soft cheeks burn.

"Severus?" Lupin called.

Almost instantly, Snape appeared. Then he saw Neville. With a slight frown and a raised eyebrow, he shut the door behind him. "Yes, Remus?"

"You remember that conversation we had... some time ago...?" Lupin began, his voice sounding almost hopeful. Snape arched the eyebrow even higher. "Yes, well, I have someone I was thinking of bringing forward to you." Neville froze; what was Lupin trying to say? Gripping him by the shoulders, only slightly less firmly than before, Lupin went on, "will you consider Neville?"

Snape's face didn't move. His shoulders hunched quickly as if he was letting out a derisive snort.

"Neville."

"Yes, Severus."

Snape's eyes scanned the boy in front of him. Neville wanted to die. "That shivering, puling, witless, dunce of a boy?"

Lupin made no answer.

"Oh alright." Snape said impatiently. To Neville, he snapped, "come in here, boy. You need ointment."

*

Neville didn't know how to begin the letter. However, it wouldn't matter because then at least his Grandmother would be happy with something else to critisise him about.

Dear Gran (he started),

I am writing to tell you that one of my professors has considered me to be his apprentice. He is the Potions master at our school. His name is Professor S. Snape.

It means that I will not be able to come back home for some of the Christmas, Easter and Summer holidays. I might also be coming home at different occasions from the other students. Professor Snape wanted me to tell you this now, so that you wouldn't worry.

He also says that he will pay for the extra expenses of an apprentice: I will need new robes, you see, and certain assecories to show that I am not only an apprentice, but he is my apprentice-master. He wants me to tell you that apprentices get an allowance first from their masters and second from the Ministry of Magic via their schools. Therefore, you do not have to worry yourself over my finances.

I love you all and thank you for eveything you've done for me.

Remembering you always,

Neville.

"That's it?" Snape demanded. "Nothing about how your schoolwork is and how your friends are and how you've manged--to--fly--a--broom, perhaps?"

Neville trembled slightly. "No sir--master..."

"Sir," Snape replied tersely. He tapped a fingernail against the yellowed parchment. "Very well... something needs to be done about your handwriting... I'll need you to be able to write clearly for the labels and profesionally for certain documents." Snape scanned the letter again. "However... it is clear, polite and concise... no spelling mistakes.. Satisfactory." He put the letter down and turned away to his teacher's desk.

Neville blushed in pleasure: something he had done was satisfactory!

"You can go now," Snape said, without looking up from whatever it was that he was writing.

Scrambling to put away his things quickly, Neville grinned a 'thank you, sir' and ran out again, for the second time that day.

*

He knew he was being watched by Harry, but he didn't care. Neville didn't realise that he had had a little weight taken off his heart, he was only thinking about his apprenticeship.

When he went to bed that night, all he ever dreamt of were ravens and talking trees. And him. Standing in the middle of it all in apprentice robes, bare feet turning into roots, his body turning into a tree trunk, his arms, shoulders, hands, fingers and hair turning into branches that brought forth leaves.

And out of a whole forest of trees, he was the only one with any leaves.

~

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