Disclaimer: Nothing in the Harry Potter universe is mine.

AN: So, finally, the next chapter. I am immensely sorry that it took me so long and I am beyond grateful for all your patience. Circumstance as they are, I am not sure when the next one will be out. Life is a demanding b**** and doesn't let me slouch lazily at home, writing fanfiction.

And, of course, a huge thank you to all of you who are favouring, following and reviewing.

I hope wherever you are, you and your loved ones are healthy and safe. Don't let the Muggles get to you.

This is unbeta'ed, so all mistakes are my own.

Have fun reading.

On with the story.

Chapter 11: Potions

Harry wanted to rush out of the classroom the moment transfiguration was over, hoping to catch Hermione on her way to the dungeons. Not having classes with the Gryffindor, just made it clearer to him how much he missed her. It wasn't the same just seeing her outside of class.

But McGonagall called him to the front.

"Mr Potter, I wanted to personally tell you that Mr McLaggen and his friends are thoroughly punished for what they did on the weekend. I'm horrified and ashamed that a Gryffindor would behave like that - and especially towards a former house member." She told him with a grim expression.

Harry just nodded, not knowing what else he should say. He thought McLaggen wasn't the only one thinking that Harry was a liar and a traitor, and he was sure this wouldn't be the last confrontation.

The opinion of the general Hogwarts public was fickle and turned against him every year. Everyone seemed to have an opinion about who he was, his character and his behaviour and if something happened that didn't fit into their view, well… Harry remembered the last year and second year vividly.

He could tell by her pinched expression that the professor was aware of this. She regarded him for a moment longer before her gaze became inquiring.

Harry suppressed the urge to fidget under her gaze and sighed, he knew what she would ask before she spoke.

"And how is Slytherin treating you, Mr Potter?"

"Fine…" Harry mumbled.

Professor McGonagall looked like she wanted to say more, but she hesitated and her eyes softened instead. "My door is always open, Mr Potter."

Harry nodded again, it was nice to hear, but Harry also knew himself well enough and therefore it was unlikely that he would ever take her up on the offer. He tried to remember if he ever had tried to go to her with a problem after the debacle that was the end of his first year, but couldn't remember.

"Thank you, Professor." Leaving the classroom, he discovered that not only somehow a snack box had found its way into his bag – sneaky house-elves - but also that Zabini, Malfoy, Nott and surprisingly Parkinson, had waited for him.

Zabini leaned against the wall across from the classroom door and sent him a questioning look. "Did Professor McGonagall try to convince you that she has an elaborate but unsuccessful plan to get you back into Gryffindor?"

Harry just stared for a moment before he shook his head.

Why should she? The hat had made its decision and there was apparently no reversing it (and he certainly didn't want to relive the circumstances from the summer).

"Just as well, now that we have you, we are not giving you back." He winked at Harry. "The moment we sink our fangs into someone – metaphorically speaking naturally" He grinned, wide and with a lot of teeth" – we are never going to let go again."

Deciding that he wouldn't even try to decipher what Zabini was implying – and the other Slytherins, because they all nodded and grinned, too – Harry trailed behind a bickering Malfoy and Parkinson, nibbling on an apple slice.

As in the morning, stares and whispers followed him as they walked down to the dungeons. It was only the first day of class, he hoped - really really hoped - that it would get better, that the majority of the school's habitants would get used to him being in Slytherin.

The Gryffindor's were already standing in the hallway in front of Snape's classroom as they arrived, as were the other Slytherins.

"How was Transfiguration?" Hermione appeared beside him, but before Harry could answer the classroom door opened with its usual ominous creak.

Hermione squeezed his arm shortly and Harry, after steeling himself, followed her into the classroom. Harry moved automatically to their usual table at the back, which was already occupied by Ron. He was not looking in Harry's direction, but his body language was loud and clear; his back rigid and his shoulder hunched.

For a moment Harry stood stock still, not knowing what to do.

"Mr Potter, do you need a special invitation?" Snape's voice cut through his paralysis. He looked expectantly at Harry with a raised eyebrow and pointed slightly to the front, where a seat was unoccupied next to Zabini. The gesture was unmistakable, there was no way Harry would be sitting with Hermione or any other Gryffindor.

Sighing, Harry sat down where Snape had indicated, which put him in the first row, directly in front of Snape's desk, the whole class behind him. The Slytherins had, as always, settled down at the tables in the front rows, whereas the Gryffindors were sitting in the back of the room.

"Before we begin today's lesson", Snape said, staring around at them, "I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination."

What followed was essentially the same speech about O.W.L.s McGonagall had already given them, but in typical Snape manner.

"Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an 'Acceptable' or suffer my … displeasure." His gaze stopped on something – or someone – behind Harry, who risked a glance back and saw Neville hunching into himself and his never-far-away anger rose in him.

He glared at Snape, who didn't even look into his direction.

What right had Snape to torment Neville? The other boy never had done anything to anger the man, apart from failing his class. Had Snape ever shown interest in seeing his students thrive - which he never had so far - Harry would understand his irritation.

He did understand to a certain degree the hate the man had for Harry. He wasn't blind to his tendency to disregard rules and he certainly had antagonized the man more than once in the last four years. Harry never had hidden that he had no respect for Snape, or most authority figures actually.

But Neville?

Harry clenched his hands into tight fists, driving his blunt nails into the soft skin on the inside, the slight sting a welcome distraction from his rising temper.

Taking a deep breath Harry wrestled his emotions under control. Where was this anger coming from?

Yes, he had a temper. Harry knew this. It had more than once caused him trouble, especially with authority figures.

But this – this hot, burning, seemingly endless and ever-present well of rage?

It was unfamiliar but familiar at the same time and totally confused him.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Harry tried to concentrate on Snape.

"After this year, many of you will cease studying with me. I take only the best into my N.E.W.T. Potions class. Therefore, some of us will certainly be saying goodbye." Snape gaze went over the class again, settling briefly on different students. The way Snape was deliberately not looking at Harry at all was telling.

The thought of being able to give up Potions after fifth year, and therefore reducing his exposure to Snape, left Harry with a grim pleasure. No way would he voluntarily take two more years of Potions.

Finishing his speech, Snape set them on brewing the Draught of Peace for today's lecture. And while listening to Snape's explanation and reading the instructions on the board, Harry knew that this was bound to be an absolute catastrophe. Snape couldn't have set them to brew a more difficult, fiddly potion.

Sighing, Harry looked over the ingredients, but before he could even get up from his seat, Zabini was placing double the amount needed for one potion in the middle of their desk.

He shrugged when he saw Harry stare at him. "Why should we both go." Then he sorted his ingredients and started preparing them.

Still a little baffled, Harry briefly glanced around. Everyone was concentrating on their ingredients, even Goyle and Crabbe. Sighing, and hoping that, perhaps for the first time, he wouldn't have to fear someone throwing something in his cauldron, Harry picked up his knife and started to cut the roots in front of him in even slides. Harry lost himself in cutting, dicing and overall preparing the ingredients before him.

A sharp sound beside him made him nearly jump out of his seat. Zabini, who had brought his knife down a little hard, sent him a questioning glance, before resuming cutting.

Harry let out a steady breath and went on cutting his own ingredients, while trying to ignore the dark figure of the professor making his usual rounds around the room. Normally Harry would have been able to keep track of the professor.

The feeling of Snape somewhere behind him in the classroom – making cold remarks about someone's cutting techniques – Harry didn't like at all.

And with the Slytherins on all sides, he felt a little caged in.

Yes, the weekend had been fine, but Harry still did feel the tension in the air and in his new house. He was sure that at one point something would be happening, they were just waiting, observing, planning, Harry was sure of it. Waiting for the excitement around his sorting to go down.

It didn't mean that he thought that the moment everything was a little quieter the guys in his dorm would turn on him or something. But Harry still was unable to relax and put his guard down. It was the same feeling he had in the summers at Privet Drive. He had never felt really at ease with the Dursleys, especially not since coming back from his first year at Hogwarts, not even since they left him alone in fear of his mass-murderer of a godfather. The obvious dislike and apprehension always were palpable.

A hiss from his potion and a glance from Zabini brought Harry back to where he was.

Trying to relax his tense shoulders, Harry concentrated on his potion again. The ingredients needed to be added in precisely the right order and quantities; it needed to be first stirred clockwise, then anticlockwise in exactly the right number of times. At the end the heat of the flames needed to be lowered to exactly the right level for a specific number of minutes – not more or less – before adding the final ingredient.

Harry disliked such precise and meticulous work – he didn't have the patience for it - and he wasn't surprised that, when Snape called out to them that there should be a light silver vapour rising from their potion now, his was issuing copious amounts of dark grey steam. Sweating profoundly Harry prodded the flames under his cauldron with his wand to change them to the required temperature. Zabini had his side, looking a little stressed himself, did the same, but at least his potion was a little silvery instead of grey.

Harry tensed as Snape started in the front row, nodding as he looked into Zabini's cauldron and stopped at Harry's. Refusing to look directly at the professor, Harry still saw the slightly pinched expression, the lips pressed together tightly that they nearly formed one straight white line.

"Potter, what is this supposed to be?" Snape asked in a flat voice. Harry knew that voice. That was the voice Snape was using when he was on the edge of ridiculing and belittling Harry, when he was preparing himself, normally with a certain amount of pleasure, for cutting his least favourite student down.

From the corner of his eye, Harry saw Zabini frowning and sitting up a little straighter at those words. The classroom was dead silent, only the occasional hiss and bubble from a potion was heard. Sweat trickled down Harry's back. That was it, Snape would finally show that nothing was different. The enmity between Harry and Snape had been absolute from the moment Harry had set foot in Hogwarts, now being a Slytherin wouldn't change that – couldn't change that.

"The Draught of Peace," Harry answered.

"Tell me, Potter," Snape continued softly, "what does the third line of the instruction say? I'm assuming that you are proficient in reading."

Someone behind him snickered. Harry's stomach clenched painfully, that had sounded like it was coming from the Gryffindors.

He clenched his fingers tightly around his wand and squinted at the blackboard, which was not easy to make out through the haze now filling the dungeon. His heart sank.

"I forgot the hellebore."

"Obviously." Snape's gaze narrowed and after a few seconds continued. "Next time, I advise you to read the whole instructions, if you possess the ability, and not skip parts of it. As it is, this potion is worthless."

For a moment Harry thought the man would vanish his potion, as he had done so many times before. It would mean that Harry wouldn't have a sample vial to hand in, and that would have meant no mark for him for the whole lecture.

Harry was sure he saw Snape's finger twitch.

But he only glared shortly at Harry again, before stepping back from Harry's cauldron and continued on his round through the classroom without another comment.

That was…

What?

That was it? No shredding Harry to pieces? No further taunting that he couldn't even read the instructions correctly sitting in the front row? No threats or comments he wasn't worth the house emblem on his robes? Nothing?

Harry felt… he didn't know how he felt, didn't know what to make of the whole situation, but it seemed that Snape's wish to not sabotage his own house won over his hatred of everything Potter.

How unexpected.

For a few moments Harry just stood there, then he slumped down onto his seat and stuffed his wand back into his pocket. He wasn't sure if he actually wished that Snape had vanished his potion, but that would have been normal, would have been expected in a way and Harry had counted on something to be unchanged.

He wasn't sure what he should think about this Snape and that made him uncertain. Uncertain what he should - could - expect from the professor. And Harry hated feeling uncertain, hated not being able to predict adult behaviour.

The smell of rotten eggs came from somewhere behind him, Harry couldn't determine from which cauldron it came without turning around.

By the scalding remarks from Snape about idiotic Gryffindors and stupid Weasleys in particular, it was Ron. Harry didn't dare to turn around to see how his friend reacted. It didn't sound like he was flying off the handle and Snape only took twenty points from Gryffindor.

"Those of you who managed to brew something not deadly, fill one flagon with a sample, label it clearly with your name and bring it up to my desk for testing." Snape addressed them all. "For homework, write twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday."

With a sigh Harry filled a flagon. At least his potion wasn't the worst potion today.

Still feeling unsettled when the ball rang, Harry made his way to lunch. That had been strange and perhaps the friendliest Snape ever had been to him, he hadn't even been mean, hadn't really ridiculed him.

He was so in thought, that he didn't realize Hermione walking beside him, till she spoke.

"That was… different."

"Yes, it was."

"He was – okay not friendly – but even I can admit that Snape had been carefully neutral instead of his usual self with you. Do you think that is because he is your Head of House now or because he…" she carefully looked around to be sure that nobody was listening, "he is in the Order and everything?"

Harry sighed, and realized he did that rather excessively since being back at Hogwarts. "I have no clue, but I would say mostly because he doesn't want to damage his own House. They have this whole 'your house is your family' and 'Slytherins look after their own' going on. Apparently if your behaviour warrants a punishment it isn't done in public, or something like this. I'm sure I will find out sooner than later."

Hermione did send him one of her looks.

"Hey, you know how it is." Harry defended himself. "Snape will find something to punish me for. I don't believe one second that this will change only because I'm a Slytherin now. The only thing that changed is that he can now punish me how he sees fit, without the whole school knowing." Harry shuddered.

That actually sounded worse.

"Let's wait and see." Hermione just sighed and patted his arm. "What do you have in the afternoon?"

"First History and then Herbology with the Ravenclaws."

"Let's meet in the library afterwards."

"Sure." With a longing look at the Gryffindor table, Harry made his way across the Hall. Most of his classmates were already there, and Harry took the empty seat between Nott and Zabini. He knew he should be hungry and the food appearing before him looked appetizing, but he couldn't bring himself to eat. Pushing the food from one side of the plate to the other Harry ignored the conversations around him, his thoughts circling around Snape and potions class.

Nothing made sense anymore.

Somehow everything had been easier last year, when he only had to try to survive dragons and Grindylows, Acromantulas and Blast-Ended Screwts, when he had the feeling that everything and everyone wanted to kill him.

Harry felt unsettled for the rest of the day. After an uneventful lunch, he struggled to stay awake in History of Magic, Professor Binn's dull voice and the little sleep he had in the last nights didn't help in his attempt to stay awake.

Thankfully he was not the only one and the Slytherin's looked equally bored.

Zabini, who was sitting next to Harry again, was drawing something on his parchment. Malfoy, sitting in front of him, was definitely sleeping, as was Nott. Davis was scribbling Merlin-knew-what and what Bulstrode was doing with one of the snails from Transfiguration, Harry didn't want to know.

The only one Harry thought was listening to the ghost, was Greengrass. She had the same expression on her face as Hermione had in history, determination to stay awake and learn something. How they did that was beyond him.

Despite his chaotic thoughts and trying to make sense of Snape, the Slytherins and the whole situation, despite the unsettling feelings, which made his stomach clench, he fell asleep.

Someone poking him woke him up.

"Lesson is finished." Zabini mumbled, stretched and looked expectantly at Harry. He looked unfairly rested, while Harry, despite sleeping for most of the lecture, felt like something a Hippogriff dragged in.

Harry rubbed his eyes, nearly knocking his glasses from his nose, and looked to the front. Binn's was still droning on, which didn't mean anything. Grabbing his bag, he followed the rest of the class, only remembering that they had herbology next, when he found himself outside and walking the greenhouses. Zabini held a monologue beside him the whole time, seemingly not bothered that Harry didn't contribute one word.

The fresh air helped a little to dissipate the fog of tiredness and by the time they settled on the workbenches, Zabini again beside him, which didn't surprise Harry anymore, he felt better. A little more awake.

They had Herbology with the Ravenclaws. It wasn't his favourite class but he liked it well enough and he liked Professor Sprout, so he was more than happy to ignore some of the stares and concentrate on the lesson.

To nobody's surprise, Professor Sprout began the lesson by lecturing them about the importance of O.W.L.s. Harry sighed while listening, if the trend continued, they would hear a variation of this from all the teachers throughout the whole week. If they wanted them to get anxious and stressed, they certainly succeeded with Harry. Thinking about the homework Snape and McGonagall had given them today, he feared they would be neck deep till tomorrow evening.

When Professor Sprout also gave them a long essay to write at the end of the class, Harry's stomach felt completely twisted. And he didn't even have Hermione to give him pointers, the Gryffindors had Herbology tomorrow and who knew if Professor Sprout would give them the same homework.

Tired and smelling strongly of dragon dung, Professor Sprouts preferred fertiliser, the Ravenclaws and Slytherins made their way back to the castle. Harry found himself in the middle of his housemates, Zabini again chatting without any real input from Harry. Registering the hostile stares from some of the Ravenclaws – Harry's relationship with the Patil sisters had turned sour after the Yule ball, but Padma had never glared that murderous at him – he felt a little thankful towards Malfoy and the others. He wasn't sure if it had happened intentionally, but he relaxed, nonetheless. At least like this, no one could just come up to him.

When they walked through the castle entrance, Harry tried to leave the group to go to the Library, but Zabini grabbing his arm stopped him.

"Granger certainly wouldn't have a problem with waiting because you took a shower."

Realising that the others had stopped with him Harry turned to Zabini, who grinned at him. "I'm sure she would actually prefer it if you wouldn't go to the library immediately. You have dragon dung in your hair."

Harry hurried into the library, relieved to see that Hermione was still sitting on their usual table. Her head came up from behind the massive book she had probed against a huge stack of books in front of her, when Harry practically fell into the chair beside her.

Her gaze sharpened and then smiled. "Dragon Dung?" She commented with a gesture to his still tripping hair.

Harry nodded. "What's all this?" He gestured to the huge amount of books occupying the table.

"Research".

He rolled his eyes. "Obviously."

A smack to his arm made him laugh. "Don't get smart with me, Harry Potter."

Holding his hand up in surrender Harry eyed the book Hermione had opened before her critically. "So, what's up with this? Why are you reading about the employment laws of Hogwarts?"

Hermione's expression turned furious. "Because this foul woman won't teach us anything in Defence."

"What?"

"That terrible woman had us read from the book and said that we won't try any actual spells during class. How can Dumbledore have let this happen? How can he let that woman teach us? And in our O.W.L. year, too!"

"She… what?"

"She refuses to let us do magic during class and when we asked, she said that with a firm understanding of the theory we will be able to cast the spell successfully for the first time at our examinations." Hermione whispered furiously.

"Well, we never had great Defence against the Dark Arts teacher, have we?" Harry said. "You know what it's like, nobody wants the job, they say it's jinxed."

"Yes, but to employ someone who's actually refusing to let us do magic? She said that there is no reason why we should need to defend ourselves, as we are in school and perfectly safe." Hermione spat out disgustingly. "As if the troll in first year or the basilisk in second year or detentions in the Dark Forest never happened. And she actually wants us to spy for her."

"What?"

"Yes, she told us that she wants us to come to her and tell her if we hear anyone saying You-Know-Who is back."

Harry felt like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water over him. "What?" He croaked out.

"Yes! It is clear that the ministry doesn't want to believe that You-Know-Who is back and Umbridge is here on Fudge's order to spy on all of us but especially on Dumbledore."

"And me."

Hermione's gaze focused on him and her eyes softened. "Yes, and you."

"And why are you now reading that book?" He didn't want to think what Umbridge being here meant for him. Didn't want to think that he would have Defence the next morning.

"I don't want to wait for the curse of the Defence position to get rid of Umbridge for us. I'm reading up if there is a faster and legal way of getting her out of Hogwarts and perhaps smear her reputation forever."

Harry stared at her.

"If needed I will even use our favourite little beetle. She will definitely find something or make something up. I want Umbridge to be unable to ever show her face in public again."

"That's… " He wasn't sure what exactly that was, but Hermione was only half listening to him.

"I know and if that doesn't function there is still the Chamber of Secrets." She smiled at him, all teeth and a dangerous glint in her eyes. "Nobody, who isn't a Parselmouth, could ever find her body there and I don't think that Voldemort would care - or even notice - if he would visit the Chamber again, which is unlikely for the foreseeable future."

"You are scary Hermione, brilliant but scary."

"Obviously." And with that Hermione dove behind her book again.

If he didn't know her as well as he did he certainly would be afraid of her, as it was he was in awe - and a little afraid.

And he knew that if she ever aspired to be a Dark Lady, she would kick Voldemort's ass and take over the world before afternoon tea and then she would put the world to order with logic, determination and so efficiently that they wouldn't know what hit them. And Harry would follow her, loyally.

But for the moment she was just his utterly brilliant and fierce best friend. And she had a grudge, nobody prevented Hermione Granger from learning. Umbridge wouldn't have a chance.

AN: I tried to stay as close as canon regarding how the potions class proceeded, which funny enough made it harder to write. I hope you like it. Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think.

First published: 20th of September 2021