2.
Severus nodded subtly to Draco Malfoy, who was smiling hopefully, light leaping in his silver eyes. Be patient, boy, you'll get your chance.
Brandishing his wand, he turned on Potter, smiling inwardly as the Gryffindors cringed.
"Lumos," he said. He held the light up to Potter's eyes, nodding when the unnaturally large pupils contracted sharply. Potter was staring straight ahead, his jaw oddly slack, a bit of saliva collecting in the corner of his mouth.
Pansy Parkinson squealed and whispered something about "...actually drooling!" to her neighbor, and Severus' mouth quirked into a smile. If Lucius got his way, and the match went through, Draco was certainly going to have his hands full. He wondered if Draco knew that in a few years he would be expected to marry that shrill little cow.
And then his smile faltered. Lucius was a fugitive, and in no position to arrange his son's marriage. And Draco...
His eyes closed. Draco's future did not look promising...
He snapped his eyes open and suppressed his thoughts savagely. He had no business thinking of--these things. Not now.
Besides, this was a great day. Here was the "Boy Who Lived," sitting slack- jawed, empty-eyed, and helpless in front of the class. Finally, after what, almost six years of searing frustration, he had the arrogant child exactly where he wanted him.
He stayed with Potter a moment longer, making sure that the potion was affecting the boy normally, and taking advantage of the opportunity to stare at him with impunity. There was something fascinating about the human face under a truth serum, completely out of its owners' conscious control, soft and unguarded as in sleep. Oh, it would kill Potter to be seen like this. Severus smiled.
Potter's skin was breaking out in a light sheen of sweat, which was to be expected; copious sweating was a normal side effect of the potion. The boy was finally beginning to look his age this year: his jaw had begun to take on the square contours of a man's face, though it still had a certain softness of youth, and his chin showed an almost imperceptible shadow of stubble. The scar on his forehead was clear, vivid pink, slightly raised and shiny, peaking through tufts of messy black hair. His eyes were enormous black mirrors ringed in green under heavy lashes.
Very much like his mother's eyes. Lily Evans' eyes, peering out of his James Potter's face. It was unsettling. But this was unmistakably James Potter's son.
He stood abruptly and turned on the Gryffindor side of the classroom.
"You will not speak," he enunciated carefully, his eyes moving from Gryffindor to terrified Gryffindor, "unless you are called upon." He gave the warning a moment to sink in. He turned back to Potter.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Harry James Potter," Potter replied in a curiously flat voice.
"Harry James Potter," Draco mimicked, and the Slytherins snickered. Severus ignored them.
"When were you born?"
"July 31st, 1980." Sweat had begun to bead on Potter's brow.
"Good," Severus turned back to the class, trying not to grin too maniacally as his eyes met Malfoy's. "Mr. Malfoy, would you care to test the efficacy of Ms. Granger's potion?"
The Gryffindor side of the room erupted.
"10 points from Gryffindor!" Severus raised his voice over the din, and narrowed his eyes dangerously.
Draco smirked, tossing the hair out of his eyes with a shake of his head. Draco's hair had really gotten quite long over the summer. He was looking more like his father every day.
"Right, Potter," Draco paused theatrically. He'd always had a dramatic streak, another trait that came straight from Lucius. Severus gave a snort that was halfway between annoyance and admiration.
"So," Draco continued casually, "are you shagging Granger?"
Harry's quiet reply was drowned out by a roar of outraged Gryffindors. It took 40 points from Gryffindor and a full-fledged Slytherin Death Glare to calm them down. Severus was enjoying himself immensely. He briefly reminded Draco to watch his language, and then turned back to the Potter boy.
"Go on, Potter," Severus prompted, steepling his fingers.
"Hermione's not shagging anyone," Potter replied in that dull monotone.
Granger bit her lip and closed her eyes, looking close to tears. The Slytherins burst into peels of laughter, and the Weasley boy actually started to charge at Draco (a very satisfying 30 points from Gryffindor) before Granger recovered and dragged him back to his seat.
Draco was about to speak again, but Potter beat him to it.
"Hey Malfoy," Potter slumped forward in his chair, his monotone slightly slurred, and underscored by honest curiosity, "are you shagging Parkinson? Because we all wondered--"
Pansy Parkinson squeaked, and Potter's voice was drowned out by outraged Slytherin shouts and hearty Gryffindor applause. Severus shot a penetrating glance at the Potter boy, who seemed unaware of the disorder he had caused. The boy's pupils were still dilated and he was still perspiring.
"That will be all," Severus silenced the room with a glare. "Mr. Potter, we are here to observe the effects of Semiveritaserum, not to satisfy your prurient curiosity. 10 points from Gryffindor." He paused. The students knew better than to object. "And five points for language. Mr. Malfoy, please continue."
In the next ten minutes, the class was privy to Potter's potions score (barely passing), a frank (and highly unflattering) assessment of Weasley's quidditch skills, and Potter's preferred brand of underpants. The Gryffindors had never looked so relieved to hear the bell ring. All in all, the class had been a triumph.
"Go on," Snape snapped at the last students lingering in the doorway, "Potter will need to take an antidote to neutralize the potion. Not," he glanced derisively Potter's blank expression, "that anyone would be able to tell the difference if he didn't. Go!"
They left, hesitantly. He closed the door behind them.
Severus meant to give Potter the antidote immediately. Really, he meant to. He had it in his hand, and he was unstoppering it as he approached the boy.
But then he stopped short.
What if he did keep the boy under truth serum for a few more minutes? Didn't Potter deserve it, after all the brazen rule-breaking and the flagrant contempt for his authority? And didn't Severus deserve a chance to make Potter answer for his behavior?
And, if he was being honest with himself, wasn't this what he'd really had in mind when he added Semiveritaserum to the NEWT syllabus this year, after Albus insisted that he accept Potter despite the boy's obvious incompetence? He and Potter, alone in a classroom, and finally--finally!-- Potter wouldn't have anyone to hide behind.
He wet his lips, set the antidote deliberately on his desk, and cast a locking charm on the door. Then he held his wand up to Potter's face to check the boy's pupils. They contracted sharply at his Lumos spell.
Severus smiled grimly. He summoned a chair with a flick of his wand and set it across from Potter. He sat.
"Well, Potter."
Potter made no response. His eyes remained unnaturally dilated. His hair was plastered to his forhead, hiding the scar altogether, and drops of perspiration dripped steadily from his chin, forming a growing wet patch on the front of his robes.
Severus held his hands still with some effort He fought an uncharacteristic urge to wring them, clutch at the fabric of his robes, do something to relieve the tense excitement prickling through his body like a solid dose of his own, fortified pepper-up potion.
"Unlike Veritaserum, Semiveritaserum is not controlled by the Ministry," Severus explained. He was Potter's professor, after all. The boy might as well know what was happening to him. "Veritaserum completely bypasses the mind, forging a direct link between memory and speech. Semiveritaserum disconnects the mind from the emotions. Under Semiveritaserum," he grinned, "you will see no reason not to lie to me."
He considered what to ask the boy about first. There were so many choices! The midnight excursions under the invisibility cloak--the unauthorized Hogsmeade visits during Potter's third year--the gillyweed and boomslang skin that went missing from his office during the Triwizard Tournament--and Black--what really happened on the night Black escaped? Even now, with Black dead, the thought still made his throat close with rage. He would make Potter admit to everything: the obscene craving for attention, the pranks, the rule-breaking--everything.
But when he opened his mouth to begin, something entirely different came out.
"I suppose you're pleased with your precious father and his friends now--" Severus heard himself say.
He was so surprised that he stopped, mid-sentence, his mouth hanging gracelessly open.
Why had he said that?
But even as he asked, he knew the answer. Last year. The Occlumency lessons. What Potter had seen in the Pensieve.
Severus closed his mouth with an audible snap, then opened it again to curse loudly. Was there no limit to his capacity for self-delusion? He rubbed at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, an old nervous gesture, inhaling the sharp traces of potion ingredients that had collected on his hands. He recognized scarab powder, concentrated extract of feverfew, the copper smell of spotted toad skin, powdered dragon's blood- -
"No."
Severus looked up, eyes narrowing sharply.
"I'm not pleased," Potter continued expressionlessly.
And something inside Severus Snape snapped.
Severus nodded subtly to Draco Malfoy, who was smiling hopefully, light leaping in his silver eyes. Be patient, boy, you'll get your chance.
Brandishing his wand, he turned on Potter, smiling inwardly as the Gryffindors cringed.
"Lumos," he said. He held the light up to Potter's eyes, nodding when the unnaturally large pupils contracted sharply. Potter was staring straight ahead, his jaw oddly slack, a bit of saliva collecting in the corner of his mouth.
Pansy Parkinson squealed and whispered something about "...actually drooling!" to her neighbor, and Severus' mouth quirked into a smile. If Lucius got his way, and the match went through, Draco was certainly going to have his hands full. He wondered if Draco knew that in a few years he would be expected to marry that shrill little cow.
And then his smile faltered. Lucius was a fugitive, and in no position to arrange his son's marriage. And Draco...
His eyes closed. Draco's future did not look promising...
He snapped his eyes open and suppressed his thoughts savagely. He had no business thinking of--these things. Not now.
Besides, this was a great day. Here was the "Boy Who Lived," sitting slack- jawed, empty-eyed, and helpless in front of the class. Finally, after what, almost six years of searing frustration, he had the arrogant child exactly where he wanted him.
He stayed with Potter a moment longer, making sure that the potion was affecting the boy normally, and taking advantage of the opportunity to stare at him with impunity. There was something fascinating about the human face under a truth serum, completely out of its owners' conscious control, soft and unguarded as in sleep. Oh, it would kill Potter to be seen like this. Severus smiled.
Potter's skin was breaking out in a light sheen of sweat, which was to be expected; copious sweating was a normal side effect of the potion. The boy was finally beginning to look his age this year: his jaw had begun to take on the square contours of a man's face, though it still had a certain softness of youth, and his chin showed an almost imperceptible shadow of stubble. The scar on his forehead was clear, vivid pink, slightly raised and shiny, peaking through tufts of messy black hair. His eyes were enormous black mirrors ringed in green under heavy lashes.
Very much like his mother's eyes. Lily Evans' eyes, peering out of his James Potter's face. It was unsettling. But this was unmistakably James Potter's son.
He stood abruptly and turned on the Gryffindor side of the classroom.
"You will not speak," he enunciated carefully, his eyes moving from Gryffindor to terrified Gryffindor, "unless you are called upon." He gave the warning a moment to sink in. He turned back to Potter.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Harry James Potter," Potter replied in a curiously flat voice.
"Harry James Potter," Draco mimicked, and the Slytherins snickered. Severus ignored them.
"When were you born?"
"July 31st, 1980." Sweat had begun to bead on Potter's brow.
"Good," Severus turned back to the class, trying not to grin too maniacally as his eyes met Malfoy's. "Mr. Malfoy, would you care to test the efficacy of Ms. Granger's potion?"
The Gryffindor side of the room erupted.
"10 points from Gryffindor!" Severus raised his voice over the din, and narrowed his eyes dangerously.
Draco smirked, tossing the hair out of his eyes with a shake of his head. Draco's hair had really gotten quite long over the summer. He was looking more like his father every day.
"Right, Potter," Draco paused theatrically. He'd always had a dramatic streak, another trait that came straight from Lucius. Severus gave a snort that was halfway between annoyance and admiration.
"So," Draco continued casually, "are you shagging Granger?"
Harry's quiet reply was drowned out by a roar of outraged Gryffindors. It took 40 points from Gryffindor and a full-fledged Slytherin Death Glare to calm them down. Severus was enjoying himself immensely. He briefly reminded Draco to watch his language, and then turned back to the Potter boy.
"Go on, Potter," Severus prompted, steepling his fingers.
"Hermione's not shagging anyone," Potter replied in that dull monotone.
Granger bit her lip and closed her eyes, looking close to tears. The Slytherins burst into peels of laughter, and the Weasley boy actually started to charge at Draco (a very satisfying 30 points from Gryffindor) before Granger recovered and dragged him back to his seat.
Draco was about to speak again, but Potter beat him to it.
"Hey Malfoy," Potter slumped forward in his chair, his monotone slightly slurred, and underscored by honest curiosity, "are you shagging Parkinson? Because we all wondered--"
Pansy Parkinson squeaked, and Potter's voice was drowned out by outraged Slytherin shouts and hearty Gryffindor applause. Severus shot a penetrating glance at the Potter boy, who seemed unaware of the disorder he had caused. The boy's pupils were still dilated and he was still perspiring.
"That will be all," Severus silenced the room with a glare. "Mr. Potter, we are here to observe the effects of Semiveritaserum, not to satisfy your prurient curiosity. 10 points from Gryffindor." He paused. The students knew better than to object. "And five points for language. Mr. Malfoy, please continue."
In the next ten minutes, the class was privy to Potter's potions score (barely passing), a frank (and highly unflattering) assessment of Weasley's quidditch skills, and Potter's preferred brand of underpants. The Gryffindors had never looked so relieved to hear the bell ring. All in all, the class had been a triumph.
"Go on," Snape snapped at the last students lingering in the doorway, "Potter will need to take an antidote to neutralize the potion. Not," he glanced derisively Potter's blank expression, "that anyone would be able to tell the difference if he didn't. Go!"
They left, hesitantly. He closed the door behind them.
Severus meant to give Potter the antidote immediately. Really, he meant to. He had it in his hand, and he was unstoppering it as he approached the boy.
But then he stopped short.
What if he did keep the boy under truth serum for a few more minutes? Didn't Potter deserve it, after all the brazen rule-breaking and the flagrant contempt for his authority? And didn't Severus deserve a chance to make Potter answer for his behavior?
And, if he was being honest with himself, wasn't this what he'd really had in mind when he added Semiveritaserum to the NEWT syllabus this year, after Albus insisted that he accept Potter despite the boy's obvious incompetence? He and Potter, alone in a classroom, and finally--finally!-- Potter wouldn't have anyone to hide behind.
He wet his lips, set the antidote deliberately on his desk, and cast a locking charm on the door. Then he held his wand up to Potter's face to check the boy's pupils. They contracted sharply at his Lumos spell.
Severus smiled grimly. He summoned a chair with a flick of his wand and set it across from Potter. He sat.
"Well, Potter."
Potter made no response. His eyes remained unnaturally dilated. His hair was plastered to his forhead, hiding the scar altogether, and drops of perspiration dripped steadily from his chin, forming a growing wet patch on the front of his robes.
Severus held his hands still with some effort He fought an uncharacteristic urge to wring them, clutch at the fabric of his robes, do something to relieve the tense excitement prickling through his body like a solid dose of his own, fortified pepper-up potion.
"Unlike Veritaserum, Semiveritaserum is not controlled by the Ministry," Severus explained. He was Potter's professor, after all. The boy might as well know what was happening to him. "Veritaserum completely bypasses the mind, forging a direct link between memory and speech. Semiveritaserum disconnects the mind from the emotions. Under Semiveritaserum," he grinned, "you will see no reason not to lie to me."
He considered what to ask the boy about first. There were so many choices! The midnight excursions under the invisibility cloak--the unauthorized Hogsmeade visits during Potter's third year--the gillyweed and boomslang skin that went missing from his office during the Triwizard Tournament--and Black--what really happened on the night Black escaped? Even now, with Black dead, the thought still made his throat close with rage. He would make Potter admit to everything: the obscene craving for attention, the pranks, the rule-breaking--everything.
But when he opened his mouth to begin, something entirely different came out.
"I suppose you're pleased with your precious father and his friends now--" Severus heard himself say.
He was so surprised that he stopped, mid-sentence, his mouth hanging gracelessly open.
Why had he said that?
But even as he asked, he knew the answer. Last year. The Occlumency lessons. What Potter had seen in the Pensieve.
Severus closed his mouth with an audible snap, then opened it again to curse loudly. Was there no limit to his capacity for self-delusion? He rubbed at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, an old nervous gesture, inhaling the sharp traces of potion ingredients that had collected on his hands. He recognized scarab powder, concentrated extract of feverfew, the copper smell of spotted toad skin, powdered dragon's blood- -
"No."
Severus looked up, eyes narrowing sharply.
"I'm not pleased," Potter continued expressionlessly.
And something inside Severus Snape snapped.
