Sticks and Stones
by Phantom
Chapter Two
"You only see what your eyes want to
see
How can life be what you want it to be?
You're frozen when your
heart's not open.
You're so consumed with how much you get
You waste your
time with hate and regret
You're broken when you're heart's not open"
--
Frozen -- Madonna
Professor Snape beheld his last class's worth of students departing, a scowl
firmly affixed on his face. Unbidden, his mind cast back to last night's
discussion with Dumbledore. They had rehashed the unpleasant fight, naturally,
and Severus was gratified to note that Black would be in for quite an unpleasant
dressing-down from the Headmaster. However, the old wizard had other things to
discuss, and in fact had presented him with a request -- an order, really, but
Dumbledore had a way of making the harshest demand sound like a polite entreaty.
Snape had argued with him, grumbled and growled and even yelled a few times, but
both of them had known that he would do it. His little display of temper was
just to keep the status quo, so the Headmaster would not think that his will
could be bent so easily.
"Tutor the Potter boy," he growled. Tutor him indeed! And teach him what?
The many ways the Death Eaters liked to kill? How they relished every scream of
their victims?
"Teach him, Severus," the shrewd old wizard had told him. "Arm him with the
knowledge of what he is about to face. Steel his resolve for the coming battle.
And, above all, teach him how to fight back. There is no better man for the job
than you."
And it was thus that, despite his better judgment, he had cornered Potter
after class and told him, in clipped tones, to meet him at eight o'clock in the
classroom. Potter, having already spoken to Dumbledore, did not question, merely
nodding a bit in resignation. The boy obviously could not bear the thought of
being with him for a whole extra hour. The feeling was wholeheartedly
mutual.
As much as he dreaded the eighth hour, the time seemed to simply fly by.
After dinner, he busied himself concocting a mixture, letting the familiar
routine soothe his nerves. And, before he even realized what time it was, a
timid knock sounded. Snape briefly consulted his pocket watch and uttered a soft
curse. Already? "Come in," he snapped, and the door creaked open just enough to
allow a young teenage boy with glasses and slightly unkempt hair entered. He
brushed away an errant lock from before his eye and said in a voice that wasn't
quite as steady as he hoped, "I'm here, Professor."
"So I see." Snape left his bubbling concoction and turned to face the
intruder. He gestured to one of the classroom chairs, and Harry fell into it
gratefully, as he positioned himself to lean against the large desk. "I can tell
that you are less than thrilled to be here. I myself can think of about a
hundred other things I'd rather do, swallowing ground glass being amongst them."
He sighed and ran his hand through his dark, eternally greasy-looking hair. "But
we cannot turn from the face of duty. I will teach you what you need to know,
and you will learn and not ask too many questions. As for the rest of the time,
you stay out of my way and I'll stay out of yours. Agreed?" The nod of an
ink-colored head was good enough for him. "Very well. Just so we understand each
other. Now, if you are prepared--"
Suddenly Potter jumped to his feet, mouth open, finger pointing. "Professor!
Your potion!" he exclaimed. Snape turned just in time to see his painstaking
efforts of the past few hours roiling in its cauldron, then surging upward in a
spectacular eruption, showering the surrounding area with smoking whitish
liquid. He looked at it for a moment, speechless, then uttered an extremely
vulgar curse and dove at the mess, trying to salvage the remnants of the
mixture. "Dammit! A total waste," he growled. Glaring at the mess, he pulled out
his infrequently-used wand and cast a cleansing spell. That took care of the
spattering, but the cauldron still sat smoking and burnt. "My favorite cauldron,
too," he lamented, setting it aside.
He swiftly turned his head and pinned Harry with a venomous look. The young
man forced his mouth to work, then managed to choke out, "I-I'm sorry,
Professor. It was my fault." It hurt his pride to say it, but the furious glint
went out of the Potion Master's eyes. Snape knew that it was really his own
fault for allowing himself to become distracted, but he would certainly never
admit that to that rotten Gryffindor whose head was far too swollen already.
"Very well," he said grudgingly. "I fear our first lesson will be slightly
delayed. I'd best get started on a new potion straight away. Your precious
werewolf is depending on it." The last few words were practically spat from his
mouth. Harry stiffened at the tone but wisely held his tongue. This mixture
would help his dear friend, who had returned to Hogwarts as well at Dumbedore's
request. He knew how Lupin depended on the Wolfsbane Potion to keep his sanity
during the full moon.
Harry shifted from foot to foot, then blurted out, "Can I help? It might go
faster if the both of us worked on it."
The professor's face formed a sneer, then relaxed as he genuinely considered
the offer. "I won't let you help create the actual potion. It is extremely
complex and requires precise doses. However, you can assist in passing me the
ingredients I require." He stalked around the room, gathering a clean cauldron
and a large spoon to stir with. Without looking up, he began to call out
ingredients. Harry had no trouble finding them -- Snape kept his supplies very
neatly ordered, alphabetized and sorted by potency. He watched in reluctant awe
as Snape poured the ingredients from each bottle directly into the cauldron
without bothering to measure them. There was no doubt that, if the amounts had
been placed on a scale, they would exactly equal the required amount.
"Wormwood," the other man called out, hunched intently over the cauldron.
Harry dutifully turned to fetch the ingredient. He looked on the shelf on which
he expected it to be, but it was nowhere in sight. He even peeked behind the
other bottles to see if it had gotten pushed aside somehow. No such
luck.
"Umm… it's not there."
"What do you mean it's not there? Are you looking in the right
place?"
Harry bristled but managed to keep his temper in check. "Positive. I see
witch hazel, wolfsbane, but no wormwood."
Snape stalked past him, finger outstretched and ready to point at the
blatantly obvious bottle… which wasn't there. There was nothing but an open
space. His finger wavered in the air, and Harry felt a surge of defiant triumph.
"Where could that blasted bottle have gone to? I had it this morning!" Grumbling
under his breath, he made a brief circuit of the room, dark eyes roaming in
search of the bottle. Finally he uttered a locating charm, and his wand tugged
in his hand, pointing downward at the far corner of the room. He stomped over to
the area and bent down, practically lying down on the cold stone floor, craning
his head to see. There! It was there, underneath the desk, lying in the shadows.
He strained and managed to snag it, dragging it out, and he straightened, nearly
cracking his head on the desk. "Blasted first years!" he ranted. "Can't be
trusted to treat anything with respect!" In this respect, Harry had to agree. It
was rather careless of whichever student had been sitting there. For a brief
moment, he understood Snape's anger toward those who did not take potions
seriously, then it faded. Who would actually be interested in mixing together a
bunch of smelly chemicals anyway?
The glowering professor returned his attention to the cauldron, adding the
infusion of wormwood. He called out a few more ingredients, then demanded
dragon-hide gloves. Harry handed them to him wordlessly, a question in his eyes.
Ignoring his curiosity, Snape headed for the furthermost rack and selected a
thin decanter. "Stand back," he snapped as he approached. "I don't want you
getting in the way of this." Harry was only too happy to back away as the
sallow-faced man uncorked the bottle, noting how its contents fizzled and
bubbled ominously. Snape took a large amount of care as he poured its contents
into the cauldron, and even wiped the bottle after capping it once more. He
busied himself with replacing the ingredient as Harry idly thought that that
particular item would surely never find itself on the list of classroom
potions.
The boy watched his professor working away at the mixture bubbling merrily
before him, rather interested to see that Snape muttered to himself occasionally
as he stirred it, making random notes on its consistency and hue. As he worked
on the potion, his normal abrasiveness seemed to fade, leaving him to appear
almost content. Potion-making was a subtle and unappreciated art, and it seemed
to pacify the taciturn man. Harry blinked in surprise. He had never seen Snape
so calm and relaxed in his presence. Finally the man stepped back, allowing the
spoon to stir on its own in a circular rhythm. Their gazes locked, and Snape
seemed a bit startled, as if he had forgotten that he had company. "All right,
Potter," he muttered. "I suppose we have a bit of work to do."
"But what about the potion?" he asked nervously, certainly not wanting a
repeat of the episode from earlier.
"It will be fine for an hour as long as it is constantly stirred. After
that, I will work on the second phase."
"Second phase?!" Harry goggled. Just how long did this thing take to brew
anyway? It must kill Snape to waste so much energy for someone he
despised.
Snape allowed himself a smirk. "I told you that it was a very complex
potion. It contains three stages and must be handled very delicately." That fact
seemed to please him to no end. Harry quickly revised his previous thought. The
Potions Master clearly enjoyed the challenge that such a complex task
presented.
He suddenly clapped his hands together in one brisk movement. "We have
precious little time left. We had better begin the lesson while we still have
the opportunity. Today we will practice avoiding hexes and curses. I know that
Moody -- or rather, the one who was impersonating him -- has introduced you to
the Unforgivable Curses. I also know for a fact that you have well-mastered the
disarming spell." His eyes narrowed, and Harry flinched guiltily. He, in
conjunction with Hermione and Ron, had used the Expelliarmus Charm with enough
force to knock Snape unconscious two years ago. He really was hoping that Snape
wouldn't bring that up. He realized that Snape was still speaking and dragged
his mind back to the lecture at hand. "…I may cover some of the same ground, but
I want to make sure that your training is thorough. The first spell we are going
to work on is the reflecting spell. This will allow you to turn an opponent's
curse back on himself." Harry nodded, wishing he had learned this one a lot
sooner. It would have protected him a lot better than ducking and running! "The
command is reflectus. The trick is to execute it at the proper moment to
redirect the incoming curse. Ready?"
Before Harry could even nod, Snape whipped out his wand and shouted
"Cerinus!" His skin promptly turned a shunshine-yellow color. Again Snape
moved and called out. Harry yelped "Reflectus!", but the spell was a bit
late, and he was suddenly seized with a nasty crawling sensation. Snape looked
rather irritated, shifting back and forth slightly, and Harry bit back a nasty
grin. He had been able to reflect at least a portion of that one. The next
twenty minutes passed in very much the same manner, Harry reflecting each curse
and spell as it came hurtling toward him, until he could turn back each and
every one. Snape was a rather interesting sight, skin a mottled red and blue,
covered in alternating scales and boils. "Finite incantatem!" With that,
the both of them were restored. After that they moved onto several other similar
methods of deflecting, dissipating, and dodging dangerous curses.
After some time, the Potions Master surveyed him with a critical eye. "I
think we've done enough for today. Return at the same tomorrow night. We have
much to accomplish." He then turned his back on the young man, checking on his
bubbling potion, leaving Harry to scowl crossly. He'd done a good job, and Snape
knew it! Would it kill the man to say a kind word to him? It wasn't as if Harry
was enjoying this any more than he was. He stomped off, unconsciously doing a
very good imitation of Snape as he stalked back to the Gryffindor
tower.