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Warning: Sue. Mary. Bad.

Chapter Sixteen: Explosive Concequences

Ron's 16th Birthday Party went off without a hitch—well, except the one. We ended up celebrating well into the early morning and ended up sleeping through breakfast the following Sunday. I had to stifle several fits of laughter at Ron's expense who unfortunately had been slipped many a drink into his pumpkin juice courtesy of his twin brothers, Fred and George. There is nothing more amusing, pathetic, or disturbing than watching a 16-year-old with a quasi-hangover. Needless to say, Ron spent most of the afternoon and evening in the tower and Harry, Hermione, and I stayed for support and amusement (but in my case, more of the latter).

I'd tried to spend most of the weekend not thinking about the horror that awaited me on Monday—McGonagall's detention and Snape's punishment. Of course, the minute you tell yourself not to think about something is when you focus on it entirely and nothing else. Harry, Ron, and Hermione did their best to distract me with everything from homework (Hermione), to Quidditch (Harry), to holding heads over the toilet (Ron—which was the most god-awful experience), but by the time Monday evening rolled around I was already a wreck.

"Reggie, you have to eat something," Hermione pleaded, "You haven't eaten anything all day."

"That'll help when they're performing the autopsy once Snape's through with me," I muttered as I picked at my plate of chicken.

"Actually, wouldn't that help estimate a time of death?" Ron asked. He blushed quickly at the death stare from Harry and Hermione and went right back to looking at his plate.

I sighed, "I'm not even worried about McGonagall. Hell, she's old hat—I'll probably end up cleaning the room or filing scrolls or—"

"—Turned into ferret?" Harry laughed, trying to ease the tension. I smiled slightly. "Cheer up, Reg. Snape's a bastard, but he's not honestly going to kill you. Gut something unpleasant? Probably. Chop off your head and put it on a stake in front of the castle? No."

"He's right." Hermione piped up, staring down at me from across the table. "Reg, look at me." I glanced up, "You'll. Be. Fine."

"You're right…you're right," I said, "I just want to get it over with."

"Speaking of which, you'd probably better go," Ron said as food vanished from our plates, "Supper's over and McGonagall will be waiting for you." He smiled, "We'll wait up for you, Reg."

I smiled as I stood up, "Thanks, but you guys don't have to. I'll give you a full, excruciatingly detailed report in the morning." With that I gave a mock salute and marched from the hall. Out of the corner of my eye I caught Malfoy sneering at me and whispering to that cow Pansy who instantly started shrieking with laughter—no doubt about my fate in the dungeons.

After my shock-filled report to the partygoers on Friday night the word went out about Snape's little cream facial. By Monday morning the entire school knew and I was damn lucky I didn't have Potions that day. The only times I had seen Snape that day were when I was in the Great Hall and that was only because Hermione had to physically drag me inside. Snape didn't even look at me, but every so often when I would be looking away I could swear the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. He had to be glaring at me when I wasn't looking. I had even ducked into an empty classroom earlier that day to avoid bumping into him between classes like I normally did. It confused the hell out of Harry who kept walking down the hallway seemingly talking to himself.

Yep, I was definitely a goner.

I arrived at McGonagall's office at 7pm on the nose and after several deep, cleansing breaths I knocked on the door.

"Come in," she replied briskly.

I opened the door quietly and closed it behind me. I had been in McGonagall's office plenty of times by this point and knew the drill.

"So what am I doing?" I asked as I set my book bag aside, "Cleaning? Filing?"

"Neither," McGonagall said from her desk. She looked up from her pile of papers and stared down at me through her wire-rimmed spectacles. Her expression was as stern as ever—that alone made it near impossible to distinguish her mood at any given time. This time it was her voice that threw me because it didn't have the same strict tone as usual. "Professor Snape asked that you serve your detention with him tonight."

I couldn't tell if the tone was either amusement or pity and at that point I didn't care. Snape had asked for me—that had to mean he had spent the weekend specifically thinking of punishment. Right at that moment all warmth seemed to leave my body and I froze to that very spot.

"Um…can I…request…another presence?" I asked in an almost half whisper.

"What do you mean, Miss Bradshaw?" McGonagall asked as she raised an eyebrow.

"Another student present? A teacher? An armed security troll?" I pleaded, "Please?"

"Bradshaw, you're being absolutely ridiculous." McGonagall huffed, setting her quill aside and pushing back her chair. "Professor Snape is a Hogwarts teacher and would never ever harm a student. What on earth could you possibly be afraid of?"

Um, let's see…being alone with a very irate Snape in close dungeon quarters unsupervised for an undisclosed period of time? The distinct possibility of being chopped into bits, set on fire, or boiled to be used in some sicko potion? HOW'S THAT YOU CRAZY CAT LADY!

"Nothing, ma'am." I muttered. I stared down at the floor—well aware that I wasn't exactly living up to the Gryffindor virtue of bravery. I knew I was blowing the whole situation well out of proportion, but by then it was too late to turn down the adrenaline.

By this time McGonagall was standing in front of me—her very presence seemed to command my head and gaze to rise against my will and face her. With an eyebrow still raised she managed something of a half-smirk. "We all have consequences we must face in life, Miss Bradshaw. Pleasant and unpleasant alike—but it's what we take away afterwards that affects us. Bravery, Miss Bradshaw isn't something that one is necessarily born with. For some, it must be earned---in some cases, earned many times over."

I nodded, finally understanding. "Yes, Professor." I had to own up to one of the biggest mistakes of my life. I knew I would live through it—well, physically anyways. My pride and dignity on the other hand might take a serious ass kicking. I took a deep breath, "His office, I presume?"

"The Potions classroom," McGonagall replied, nodding towards the door. I nodded back and spun on my heel, snatching up my book bag as I went. "And, Miss Bradshaw," she called. I turned my head, as I was halfway through the door, "Try to make it through this time without any of your usual antics."

"No explosions. I got it, Professor," and with that I made my way to the dungeons.

I kept running McGonagall's words through my mind as I made my way down to the Potions classroom. It kept me from falling back into a blind fear and focusing on the fact that I would come out of this whole ordeal a better person. I was a Gryffindor—just like my mom and dad—and that hat must have seen something brave and noble in me. Of course, by the time I was actually standing in front of the Potion classroom the blind fear won anyways and I was right back to the icy-veined, half-Gryffindor I was only minutes before in McGonagall's office.

I cracked open the door partway and peered inside. The classroom was very dimly lit—less so than when I was usually there for detention and there was no sign of Snape. I wondered if it might have been some kind of ploy to make me more anxious than I already was…

"Bradshaw?" a voice droned behind me.

I screamed and toppled into the door, crashing to the floor and sending my book bag flying across the room. As I felt the freezing stones against my face I knew exactly what had sent me into frenzy—and it wasn't going to help my situation that evening.

I rolled over and pushed myself up, trying to straighten my robes and readjust my ponytail, "Good evening, Professor." I said with as much dignity as I could muster.

"Bradshaw," he snapped, "Cauldron in front. Now." He brushed by me so quickly that I tripped over myself trying to follow him.

"W-what exactly will I be doing tonight, Professor?" I asked. I had purposely worn one of my rattier robes that day in case manual labor had come up that evening. Eh, one can never be too prepared…especially on a detention day.

Snape was in front of a large cauldron over a flame by his desk now—the desk itself was littered with papers, small bottles, and an array of different herbs, roots, and leaves. He stood over the cauldron looking at me in a way he hadn't before—amusement.

"Tonight, Bradshaw, you will be assisting me in the making of Wolfsbane Potion." He said coolly.

"Wolfsbane!" I exclaimed. He raised an eyebrow and I cleared my throat, "Sorry, Professor, but…Wolfsbane? Isn't that one of the most difficult potions on the planet?"

"Wolfsbane Potion is an extremely complex potion that requires an enormous amount of focus, concentration, and precision to be effective. Its ingredients must be mixed in an exact order, at an exact time, at a very precise temperature, and during a specific moon phase. I'm not moving too quickly, Bradshaw?" He asked dryly. I shook my head. "Very well. Your detention, Miss Bradshaw is to correctly brew a patch of Wolfsbane Potion that is to be administered on a werewolf one month from now."

I looked at the cauldron and back to Snape. "Just tonight?" I asked. There was no way I could master the most complex potion in the world in one night. Unless…

"Every night until it is brewed successfully." Snape replied.

Crap.

Three months of detention for a pie in the face. God, what if I tripped him?

"This is way beyond N.E.W.T level, Professor. What makes you think I can even come close to—" I began.

"You said you were adept at potions." Snape cut in, "Prove it."

We just stared at each other for a moment. It suddenly became clear—this wasn't about the pie. Snape was challenging me—and not like he normally challenged the Gryffindors. This was the challenge of a Potions Master. Half a year of my bickering, back talking, sneering, and cursing had for some godforsaken reason made Snape take an interest in me. He wasn't this way with his Slytherins—even with his little lap dog, Malfoy. Uncle Jack always said my mouth would get me into trouble one day. And boy, you weren't kidding, Jack.

"We begin now." Snape snapped. With a quick flick of his wand the insane list of ingredients appeared on the board.

For the next two hours I bent over the cauldron making sure I added the right ingredients and continued to check the temperature. Snape made very little comments, but was watching me very carefully—I had to keep reminding myself to not say something about him hovering thinking it probably had to do with the possibility of me blowing myself up. When I first started I was hesitant—hovering over the cauldron with the ingredients before adding them, but the further along I got the more my confidence began to grow. Every minute I was still there was another minute I hadn't blown us to kingdom come so that had to be a good sign.

"Now it has to simmer for ten minutes before I can lower the heat and add the last part." I said—partly to myself and partly to see Snape's reaction. He nodded and I was finally able to exhale. He turned over a small hourglass on his desk as I started to arrange the bottles and scraps left on the desk.

Now that my mind wasn't focused to the boiling point anymore I was able to let it wander to the question that had been nagging me for two hours. Just who was this Wolfsbane potion for? Lupin, I wondered. Harry had told me about Professor Remus Lupin and his—er—condition. Snape had made his potion before, so Harry had said, so it made sense that he would be making it now. Oh hell, you're already in detention. What's the worst that can happen if you ask?

"Professor, who is this potion for?" I asked.

Snape stared down at me, "Why the concern, Bradshaw?" he said.

"Not concern. Just curious. I mean, it's not exactly something you brew everyday. And it doesn't store well—it has to be fresh so this would have to be for someone to use in the near future, right?" I kept clinking the glass vials so hurriedly I thought they would shatter in my hands.

Snape, however, didn't react as biting as I expected. "Yes. This potion is to be used on a live subject."

"Professor Lupin?" I asked quietly.

Snape's gaze immediately narrowed. Danger! Danger! Harry told me about Snape's feeling towards Harry's dad and his friends, but I'd forgotten until just that moment.

"Never mind, sir." I quickly said and made myself busy again.

"Not that is any of your or Mr. Potter's concern," Snape said coolly, "But yes, this potion is intended for Lupin."

The knot in my chest loosened somewhat. At least I'd be able to tell Harry that Lupin was getting the potion he needed to not become a crazed werewolf again—then again the fact that I was actually brewing it might not easy his worries. I glanced at the timer. Only a minute or two.

"Mr. Lupin is very lucky," I commented.

Snape snorted and rolled his eyes. "Buttering up the professors now, Bradshaw? Believe me, I don't make this potion for my health—I do it by the request of the Headmaster and nothing more."

"Firstly," I said, the edge coming back to my voice, "I've never sucked up to teachers. Secondly, you're not brewing it. I am." I stared up at him, trying not to reflect the stupidity, fear, and aggravation I felt in my eyes. "I-I only meant that Mr. Lupin is lucky that a potion like this exists now. It would make life very difficult for him if he didn't." I turned back to the desk and kept cleaning.

Snape was quiet and didn't retaliate to me at all. Maybe he thought I was just contradicting him—then again, maybe he just though I was being my usual smart-ass self. Whatever the case, I was far to focused on what I had just said and not on—

"The Potion!" I exclaimed.

I was on the opposite side of the desk, but watched as the last few grains of sand fell through the hourglass. Snape jerked his head across the desk and saw me reach out towards the cauldron, then down at the hourglass, then back at me with a look of horror.

"DOWN!" He roared.

I hit the ground so fast the room went spinning—then I actually went spinning across the room when the cauldron exploded. The desk splintered and a large chunk of it forced me back into one of the sidewalls. The explosion was almost deafening and I covered my ears with my hands as the entire classroom shook. Various jars containing preserved creatures of all shapes and sizes shattered and I found myself covered in goo with some strange semi-dissected lizard like creature wriggling by my feet. I shrieked and jumped away as I tried to wipe the goo off my robes. Smoke billowed from the front of the room. I coughed as I fanned the smoke away from my face.

"P-professor," I choked, "Are you still there?"

There was no answer. I stumbled over part of the shattered desk and where the cauldron used to be. There was still a small flame flickering where the burner was.

"Professor?" I asked again, this time with more panic.

I stopped cold. The fear I had felt earlier now was a warming sensation compared to how I felt. My mouth went dry and I felt the urge to hurl as my hands went cold.

There, sprawled out in his entire potion-covered splendor, was Snape.

Dead to the world.

Then I hurled.