October 1994
Looking back, George thought, agreeing to this was a terrible idea.
He shivered in the chill of the dungeon; the cold was the only thing keeping his eyes open. It was getting so late… Focus! He alternated between stirring frantically and, when he remembered that stirring too quickly would ruin the potion, trying to make up for it by stirring slowly. Get it done before Snape gets back, he repeated like a mantra. Like so many times before, he wished Fred was there for moral support.
His mind drifted to his brother and the knife thinly slicing the Valerian sprig slipped. He swore under his breath; he wasn't cut, but the root was ruined. "Grab some from storage," he muttered to himself. "Hope Snape doesn't notice…"
With the addition of the replacement valerian, the bubbling potion turned a deep purple and - Bugger! - George felt the color drain from his face. While it was a beautiful color and smelled wonderful, the revised potion should have been lavender. "Bloody plum." He rested his face in his hands to keep from beating them against the table.
The door swung open and George looked up to meet the eyes of a (typical) sneering Snape. He entered the potions lab regally, robes billowing behind him as usual, and walked directly to George's cauldron.
The professor looked down his nose at the potion. "Pity you had to step away for valerian. It seems that you've left it unattended for too long." His gaze flicked up to meet George's. "Ruined."
George threw his hands up in frustration, then cast a quick stasis spell over the damned cauldron. "How'd you even know I had to walk away?" How'd he know what went wrong? He let his eyes flit to the store cabinet. Had Snape put some new monitoring spell on it? That could get embarrassing for students (himself included), with how many ingredients were regularly ruined in a given class.
"Your cutting board is far too stained to have been a single sprig of valerian." George groaned internally. Of course he'd notice something like that. "What went wrong?"
This time, George groaned out loud. "I diced too fine. I forgot to do them until the cauldron was already on the heat, and I rushed it."
"A beginner's mistake," said Snape derisively.
He knew this; he was a sixth-year, not some blithering firstie. He glared up at his torturer-mentor before burying his head in his hands. "I know! It's getting late, cut me a bit of slack, yeah?"
"Cutting you slack will not aid you in your studies whatsoever. You should have started earlier," Snape admonished. "You can read how long each potion should take. Clean that up," he ordered, even as George was already vanishing what could have been a very interesting riff on the Draught of Living Death if he'd just done the steps in order. "And next time?" Snape paused until George looked up. "Don't try to cut corners. I do hate shoddy work."
George just rolled his eyes. He'd made that clear enough when he first took George on. To create anything interesting, you must be proficient in the fundamentals. You must not cut corners. From day one: I will not accept shoddy work from you.
"Weasley?" George held a groan in and waited for the next snip. Snape was in the doorway, and he wasn't in the mood to entertain him by turning around. "Ingenious technique, crushing the sopophorous bean instead of cutting it. What made you think of it?" Something in his tone told George that this question was more than it seemed; perhaps it was a test, but he would pass.
I deserve to brew, George reminded himself with a small smile. I'm going to learn everything I can, and then I'm going to create the hell potions no one else has even thought of. He turned around to explain his thought process and it was like he was in he and Fred's room at the Burrow, scrawling notes and piecing together what's what, except he had someone who understood to bounce all of his ideas off of.
September 1993
As it had been every year before, Potions was boring to the point of being grating. As a fifth year, George knew that he should probably be paying attention, but it was honestly difficult. He and Fred's years of illicit experimenting had driven a keen interest in potions. Well… it had driven an interest for George. Fred was more than happy to let him handle the potions end of things, both theoretical and practical. He'd given him hell all summer for "having your nose in a book - did you suddenly realize you're related to Percy?"
But it was all worth it for the results. Even Fred knew that. Potions could cause anything: dancing lights in your eyes, uncontrollable laughter, and pustules the size of a Galleon! None of it was stable yet, but just having the prototypes gave the boys an undeniable high. They could really succeed at something.
He shook his head, forcing himself back to Snape's droning and sneering. It would be a good idea to stay in the class through his NEWTs, if he could manage it.
The problem came during the practical portion of class, when George took it on himself to do some experimenting. He and Fred sat together in class, and there was no way his twin would notice if the ingredients were sliced instead of chopped, or grated instead of pulverized. Even if he did notice, he wouldn't care. Potions were George's thing, after all.
It was a basic growth serum, essentially glorified plant fertilizer. Sure, it had obvious applications at people's homes or in Herbology, but it was a good introduction to the interaction of acidic plants with basic filler agents (which was of course different from the interaction of basic plants with acidic filter agents).
Everyone's potions were tested on tiny individual plants at the front of class. (Fred had amused himself earlier by imagining out loud the conversation he had to have had with Sprout; his bet was that he had to steal the plants because Sprout wouldn't let them go. "Severus, you're just not that good of a professor!") Some of the potions caused their plants to shoot up a few inches, and others did nothing. George's favorites were those that caused the plant to shrink, especially when Lee's managed to make it shorter but have the leaves droop down the sides of the pot.
Finally, his potion was up. He watched with interest. He had some idea of what his experiments would do, but he was excited to see actual results.
That was when it all went sideways.
The plant - only three inches at the start, with a narrow stem and two leaves - shot up a foot, sprouting new leaves and new stems with new leaves and stems off of those stems and… The class ooh-ed and ahh-d, a fortunate combination of entertained Gryffindors and intrigued Ravenclaws.
"Weasley," Snape said coldly, and the room went silent. "Stay after class." There was no doubt which brother he was talking to.
His classmates seemed to turn to him as one. "Yes, sir," he mumbled. One had to be gentle with Snape sometimes. Anything less could set him off even more.
The rest of class passed in monotony as Snape gave his usual scathing review of their performance and wrote out the readings for next class. Time was ticking, and Fred and Lee had started to mime at each other how many points they thought George was going to lose. The smart bet seemed to be eighty.
Finally, class was dismissed. Snape's eyes were boring straight into George's, though, so he couldn't sneak out with the excuse that he forgot. With a heavy sigh, he slowly packed his belongings and waited for the rest of the class to trickle out.
"Come here," Snape demanded. His voice was dangerously calm, and while George followed his directive, he also prepared himself to argue down however many points he was about to lose. He'd rather have detention. "Oh, calm down, Mr. Weasley, you're not going to lose any points today."
He felt his eyes widen in bewilderment. That was… unexpected. Unprecedented, really. "I don't understand. Why am I here then?"
That was when Snape offered him a deal. The deal that would upend his life. Either he worked with Snape as some kind of underling, with the opportunity to become a research assistant and even potentially an apprentice, or George would have detention five days a week for the rest of the year for "incredibly dangerous and intentional experimentation."
"You can't be serious," George tried to argue, but apparently there was precedent.
"You are more intelligent than you look. I will not allow you to waste it," said Snape, glaring down his large nose at George but lacking his typical sneer-become-snarl.
The work would only be twice a week, and not "so grueling as I guarantee your detentions would be."
George stumbled over his words as he - regretting the choice even as he made it, detention wouldn't have been so bad, would it? - accepted the proposal. He could just stay an underling and keep the time minimal, he reckoned. It wasn't like he wanted to be a potions apprentice, especially not bloody Snape's.
"You will, of course, be paid a stipend," said Snape smoothly. Well, that helps, doesn't it? "You will meet me on Thursday morning during your free period. You will begin by grading first years and reviewing the formalities of brewing. When I am convinced you are proficient…"
George quickly zoned out, finding himself stuck in his head. What had he gotten himself into? How long was he going to have to do this work?
"If you want the freedom to explore your own creations, you must convince me to trust you." A change in tone brought him back to the potions lab. "I will not accept any shoddy work from you," Snape warned, and George was pretty sure he could've guessed that.
September 1995
George woke earlier than usual and was still groggy at breakfast, which was unfortunate since he knew Snape would have him working hard for the first day back. He'd sent him a letter, shoved in alongside his usual Hogwarts letter. He had a copy of Merlin-forsaken A Collection of Above Three Hundred Receipts in Cookery, Physick, and Surger in front of him and was intermittently reading recipes of
You have already chosen a thesis potion, he had written. George snorted thinking of it; more like Snape had chosen for him. It felt like he was constantly trailing after whatever research his mentor was doing. This is the year that you will brew it and create your own contribution to human knowledge. He knew that this was actually the year he should attempt to brew it, then write up an entire paper on why it never worked. Essentially nobody got their thesis potion actually brewed, but Snape seemed to expect nothing less. No shoddy work, George remembered. We will begin the evening of the first day of classes. We will also discuss your grading and tutoring obligations. Tutoring obligations! As if George didn't have enough to deal with!
George came to with his head buried in his hands. "You there?" came a voice beyond the darkness of his palms, surrounded by a cacophony of other voices. He picked his head up and blinked the sleep from his eyes. Right, the Great Hall… breakfast…
Lee was leaning forward, waving his hand in front of his face. "You alright, mate?"
"Yeah, of course," he said. "Sorry, what did I miss?"
Lee rolled his eyes. "We're placing bets on how long the Defense lady is going to last." He peered up at the High Table, where Umbridge sat in the same sickening shade of pink as last night. She was the picture of prim, daintily eating her bacon with a fork. "I think she'll be gone by February, like Ormiston first year."
"I give her 'til April,'' Fred offered. "Curse seems to be letting us get most of a year lately."
"June," George said firmly. "She seems annoying, so I think she'll last until the very end."
His friends groaned.
His youngest brother and the misfits he called friends settled in across from them. "What are you lot so upset about?" Ron asked while piling food onto his plate.
"How George is going to be out of sight this whole year," Fred whined. He spun his head to look at his brother. What? "Snape's going to have him in the dungeons using firsties as ingredients in the very potion that's going to take Umbridge out." He threw a hand over his forehead and feigned swooning.
"He plans to do it in June," Lee played along. "Apparently he already thinks she's annoying. Surprised he's going to wait that long!"
"Old Georgie learning from Snape?" Fred scoffed. "Nothing surprises me anymore."
Everyone laughed, George included. They had no idea how annoying this one was going to be.
December 1995, Friday the 1st
It had been a week since he'd seen his friends or family outside of class for more than a few minutes. Kenneth Towler, of all people, approached him with concern. They'd almost passed each other in a dungeon chamber, but Ken had turned about-face and jogged back to him. "You should really eat more," he said, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
"What?" Of all the things he could imagine Ken cornering him over, this was not on the list. Maybe revenge for the whole boils incident, but really that was Fred's fault.
The blonde looked exceptionally pale, and he kept making eye contact then looking away. "You haven't been at any meals in three days. Fred's worried, but he was afraid to bring it up."
George felt his head spin, and not because he was missing meals. "Fred? Afraid?"
Ken started to look nervous. "You're working really hard, he said, and he didn't want to upset you and ruin it because he knows it's important to you. But…"
"But?" he asked faintly.
"He just seems really worried, and all your other friends are worried, and they talk, so now I'm worried, so I brought you these," Ken said all in one breath, looking down at the floor, and then thrust out a considerably-sized bag of licorice wands. "I was keeping these for a pick-me-up, but I think you need one more than me."
"Oh." He paused. "Oh!" The licorice wands were still hanging in the air between them. "Thank you!" He took the bag and held it with two hands. "Well, er…"
"I hope you like licorice wands," Ken added awkwardly. "I'm just gonna… head back up the tower, then."
"Alright." George felt like he had no idea what was going on. There wasn't room in his bag for the candy (stuffed with bloody books, it was), so he fiddled with his robe pocket for a moment to fit the bag in. "Well, I'll see you around. Thanks for the, well, thanks." He turned away, only to be hit with a hem, hem from behind. He almost walked away, but leaving Ken alone with that toad seemed like a rude way to thank him for the licorice.
"Mr. Weasley," Umbridge started sweetly. "I presume you are aware of the contents of Educational Decree Thirty-Seven?"
He glanced at Ken, but the other boy just shrugged. "Er, it's slipped my mind, sorry."
"Boys must be seen to keep their hands on the outside of their school capes." She sounded like she was reading something out of a book in front of her, just like in class with her prim voice and condescending tone and - "I will need you to turn out your pockets."
He rolled his eyes, but did so. Thanks to the awkward angle, the bag was stuck in his robe, and he pulled out fistfulls of candy. When they were too much to hold, he handed them to a wide-eyed Ken and started pulling out more. Finally, hands full, he said to Umbridge, "Well, that's all I've got."
She raised a brow. "There is more. I can see the outline of something in your pocket. Retrieve it."
Take me to dinner first, he thought, but even he was cautious enough to not say it out loud. "It's stuck." It was the truth, too. "You're welcome to reach in and try to get it out."
Stupid enough to say that part out loud, though. Umbridge frowned severely. "Detention. Monday night."
Of course she skipped the weekend. Horrible bint had to know Monday was the one night a week he didn't spend the potions lab. She clearly wasn't going to let him get out of detention.
December 1995, Monday the 4th
I must show respect
Fuck that woman, and fuck her literal bloody quill, too.
I must show respect
December 1995, Tuesday the 5th
George tried to brew, but the pain shooting through his hand meant he couldn't prepare ingredients or stir with any precision. "Choosing" his thesis potion meant an offhand comment to Snape about imbuing a potion with a jinx, so of course the professor had started him off reading about and brewing every potion that incorporated a spell, caused jinx-like effects, or simply would "make for good practice." It had been small talk, just something he'd thought about working on with Fred! Merlin knew he needed something to keep him and Fred in each other's worlds… Ken had said Fred was concerned, but he knew it had to be more than that.
If he was going to create something unique, he was going to involve his twin in the process as much as possible. George knew that, fundamentally, he was a creative person who really did love potions, and that his deepest ambition may have veered a little from their joke shop, but Fred would still stand by him (he hoped). Fred had been there with him through everything else; this wasn't any different.
Or was it? Over the last year, George had discovered that he was actually very interested in potions. In the academic sense. Fred, of course, thought it was utter tosh and joked that Snape was "invading" his mind and was going to have him wearing all black with unwashed hair by the time they graduated. Lee and all of their other friends had eventually come around to him working with Snape - the only one who'd ever complained was Wood, but he was gone now, of course, and Quidditch practice was more sanely scheduled. His siblings and their friends thought his working relationship with the dungeon bat was bizarre, to say the least, though. Even Granger!
They all thought Snape was a tosser, and on some level they were right.
But the Snape that noticed the words scarred across George's hand, that demanded he tell him what had happened, the Snape that had given him murtlap essence and told him how long to hold the rag against his skin between dips and why soaking skin in the bowl was a terrible idea, you should know why, don't you try it you stupid boy… that Snape was alright.
And the Snape that stormed out and came back what felt like hours later with the remains of a predatory smile across his face? That Snape was great.
TBC. This is a two-shot that is already mostly written. Next chapter, expect thinly veiled griping about my grad school experience. ;)
