Chapter Eight
Not many things could indeed surprise Harry Potter anymore.
He had seen many things during the course of his young life and most of those things had been beyond extraordinary. Sometimes he caught himself thinking that everything he had lived had been a succession of impressive and over the top experiences.
Every feeling, every moment had been intense, be them good or bad. He had been forced to grow up too early, even though everything in him rebelled against that sudden precociousness. In ways, Harry could be labeled as jaded.
Harry knew that it was a trait people normally associated with him but he honestly didn't care. In Harry's opinion, he was far from being naïve, but he wasn't as callously detached as some people perceived him to be. There weren't many things that could aghast him, or stump him, but that didn't mean nothing could.
Still if you took the sudden but slight change on his breathing pattern, as well as the subtle speed of his heartbeat, in consideration it was safe to say that Harry James Potter had been caught off guard. That was surprising in itself since it hadn't happened in a rather long time, for life at Durmstrang wasn't as turbulent as some would think.
Surely there were the occasional rule breaking, and Harry's gruesome; or merely exhausting, detentions as retribution but that was it. He was more than used to finding a student unconscious on his way to the library. He had confiscated more than 10 Invisible Cloaks and more often than not Harry had to ignore the rather graphic growled suggestions that sometimes he heard from his students – all of them very creative about Harry's private use of his wand or broomstick.
Ron had once told him that Harry was the worse type of professor ever, mostly because he knew when to be friendly and when to be strict. "It's bloody evil what you do to these kids, mate", the redhead always sported a grin when he said such a thing "You confuse the midgets. Why, with you being the first to offer a hand and also the first to hand out detentions."
Harry figured his friend had a point. Back at their school days there weren't many teachers like that, McGonagall had tried but the act was a bit ruined because she always looked severe. Harry didn't, and if anything he was always open to any kind of conversation, something that hadn't been all that easy to do with his former Head of House.
Harry gathered that Minerva had a way to make one feel guilty before he or she even actually did anything wrong. Not that that had put everyone off. He had been one to conveniently forget about the guilt whenever he wanted, or as he saw at the time needed, to break the rules. The guilt for Harry was slow to come but it did every time, as soon as the adrenaline rush was over.
Of course, feel guilty never really changed the fact that he had screwed up and that his whole House was going to pay for it. McGonagall always felt the need to make that very clear but to her everlasting chagrin, it didn't hit home most of the times.
Despite his childish dos and don'ts and its consequences, the bottom line was that Harry had also been through a war, and had to deal with death and pain from a very close range at a very early age. That sort of thing jaded you more than any disciplinary method any of his professors had ever seen fit to bestow him as punishment and it most certainly was nothing compared to the task of plucking out frogs' eyes for over thirty minutes, although Harry knew that -- just like he had when he was a kid -- his students believed the task to be one of the cruelest things that they could experience.
The whole saving the world and kilometric detention record aside, Harry had had to deal with the incredible ever since he had found out that he was a wizard. It was quite inevitable that his life only got more and more outrageous with each passing year, as if being the obsession of a psychotic madman wasn't more than enough to give him a headache.
Hell, the Dursleys were unbelievable enough and surviving them sane and whole was one of Harry's greatest feats and one of the very few he was actually truly proud of.
So really, it was just mind-boggling that he found himself completely speechless over a rather insignificant, and not at all enlightening, scribbled piece of parchment.
Harry had been overreacting, for he knew that was exactly what he was doing, ever since Anastasia Baranskaya interrupted his class right before lunch to give him a note from one of the other professors. The short seventh-year Campe had been quite respectful as always, only showing signs of slight trepidation when she insisted on handing out the parchment immediately, instead of waiting for Harry to stop admonishing a first-year that kept on using his newly acquired wand to poke his classmates instead of attempting anything magical with it. Ever since Durmstrang had been re-opened the Dark Arts classes were used to encourage the students to improve their magical abilities, in a united effort with classes such as Transfiguration and Charms, especially with the first and second years.
The reasons for such a decision were rather obvious: first, the students couldn't be expected to identify any kind of magic, let alone protect themselves against it, if they couldn't even manage a decent Summoning Charm; second, the faster the youngest ones got the hang of the simplest spells, the easier it'd be to instruct them in a couple of years through much more complex incantations such as Expelliarmus or even the Protego.
The older students knew these things practically, and if there was a house in that school that valued any educational plan that would strengthen their pupils it was the Campe House. That was why it was so unusual for a member of that house to interrupt any class at all, let alone interrupt a professor in the middle of his lecture.
As soon as Baranskaya told him who the note was from, Harry understood the young woman's anxiety to do what she had been told to and why she rushed back to her own classroom down the dungeon's corridor. In her haste Anastasia didn't notice the way her DA professor frowned in confusing and surprise, yes surprise, at the neatly folded note that carried his very own name printed in a prim, barely intelligential, handwriting.
Harry prided himself of the fact that he had been able to stomp over his gnawing curiosity and only actually read the note once he was alone, sat on his chair, and after sending the younglings for their second meal of the day.
He read the words about twice, his confusion growing and deepening his frown. It was stupid on his part, and Harry decided that he would roll his eyes at himself later. When he got up and walked to the hall, Harry Potter was focused on trying to decode the message, as well as ignore the unmistakable order underlying the curt words he had just read:
My office
Seven PM.
SS.
Severus was having a trying day. The moment he woke up he knew that wasn't going to be a good day. The fact that this certainty was ingrained in his subconscious since he was 11 was completely irrelevant, what really mattered was the fact that he was rarely ever wrong about it.
Naturally, the intensity of the wrongness in the 24 hours to come usually changed: mildly annoying on normal days, seriously life threatening on others and maddening-headache inducing on general. It might sound awfully morbid and pessimist to some but anyone who had led a life such as the one Severus had been forced or maneuvered to lead would understand that he showed an unusually lack of resent towards the world in that particular morning.
He was busy for sure; he had more than his shares of essays to grade down at his dungeons and about 3 detentions to minister before dinner. Only three detentions and it was already one in the afternoon, it was a record really.
Even with his admittedly bland emotional state at the moment, or at least as bland as someone with Snape's temperament could ever be emotionally, he was absolutely not inclined to talk to anyone while having his lunch. It had been a while since he deigned his presence necessary at the staff table for breakfast and lunch, and more likely than not he'd skip dinner as well. That obviously didn't mean he didn't eat, he usually got a visit from the Headmaster after hours and they had what Piotr insisted on calling supper.
Severus didn't say anything, merely indulged without a real complain but never giving up his habitual ugly scowl. To acknowledge the similarities between Antokolsky's behavior and that of Dumbledore's from the many years Severus had been at Hogwarts would only allow the memories to surface and Snape couldn't afford to do that now, so he indulged, ignored and kept up his schedule.
After a rather busy first week, Severus found himself a new routine. In his adamant decision to forsake as much of the past as he could, he avoided anything that could eventually invoke his ghosts. He only organized his class program while he tutored Mr. Hamilton, the paperwork he had to work on he only looked before going to bed and his research on mandragora's proprieties was currently on hold because he had other more pressing matters to devote his attention to.
His photography had been neglected but never really left his thoughts. Not that anyone bothered to look but Severus could be seen at the break of dawn walking around Durmstrang's ground, registering, imagining and studying all the pictures he hadn't yet taken. He planned to leave for at least a day and a night during the holidays to simply photograph every single thing he had seen. Severus appreciated the cold, the grey and the shadows that seemed to cover or affect everything and everyone in that location. It was a different way to capture what had made him considerably well-known in the muggle world.
Snape had never tried to be famous; he had never cared for the spotlight and for as long as he remembered all Severus had ever done was hide as far away from it as he could. In fact, were the very moments when Severus was the center of everyone's attention that he had grown to fear, then later abhor.
As a child, it meant anxiety and apprehension, as an adolescent attention only brought humiliation and hatred and for all his adult life, it only resulted in pain, failure and more times than not what Snape hated the most: guilt.
That was why he tried to focus on anything but those feelings. As it happened, irritation won most days because apparently the students had got remarkably stupider in the last decade and he definitely had grown less patient. That was why he really did enjoy the ample punishment possibilities provided by dunderheads such as the three second-years who had dared to mistake powdered fleas with chalk dust and covered half of their classmates with a ruined Hair Growing Potion.
Severus could still hear Madam Inas' disbelieving shrieks as the mediwitch saw the angrily protruded state of 14 students. And people said he was good with insults. Ingrid Inas was a damn right queen of belittling when she was angry. No overzealous, slightly rough, treatment like he had witnessed from Poppy Pomfrey, Inas was the type of nurse who would make you get out of your way not to need her services at all. Not because she was bad, mind, she was probably the one with the best Diagnosis Charm he had ever seen but she was sure to degrade your intelligence for every inch of you she had to fix or cure.
She was most certainly a model to be followed.
'All you had to do was tell me you wanted to meet me after dinner, Snape.'
He was so caught up with his reminiscence of everything that had already gone wrong that day that Severus almost jumped at the sudden comment thrown his way. That was strange in its own, for Snape had a rather developed sixth sense. Why, with the whole being part of a murderous and highly illegal organization and later turning into a down-right liar and traitor to the most dangerous Dark Wizard in centuries and all, he just had to learn how to be constantly alert. Not many people managed to surprise him, however slightly or for an insignificant amount of time.
Snape truly had believed that those who could do it, had already died -- all three of them. Apparently he was wrong. As he saw a glimpse of an equally black robe brushing ghostly his right arm Severus was suddenly reminded of his ghastly headache and his morning premonition. I knew it'd be a trying day, he groaned inwardly.
'I do believe that was the information my note carried, Potter' Severus conceded not really knowing why he even bothered to vocalize the obvious. But then again, that seemed to be a constant with Potter, ever since the Gryffindor was a toddler.
It didn't really come as a surprise to Severus that the younger man would purposefully ignore the irritated snarky quality of his answer. The Slytherin realized that was something the green-eyed wizard seemed to do an awful a lot ever since Severus first exchanged words with Potter back at London.
Surely, Potter wasn't as impervious to Severus' blunt dislike as the Golden Boy appeared to be but there had not been a time when Potter indeed let his temper get the best of him. Despite Severus constant biting, or merely sarcastic remarks.
Always with that insufferable, and infuriating, grin on his face, Severus' former student didn't even get out of his way to approach the older man. There was no forced civility, not attempt of intimacy or even the desire for polite acquaintance. Snape didn't bother to talk to Potter, and Potter got the message to stay where he was, and remain as silent as he possibly could.
The only time when that silent accord was broken had been the week before, when Boy-Turned-Man-Who-Lived had the gall to stalk Severus down at classroom and make unreasonable demands for explanation or any such nonsense.
Even though, Potter had made sure that that wouldn't happen again any time soon. As far as Severus cared to know, Ernest Hamilton had followed his instructions and Potter didn't go berserk about it. The Potions Master had to admit, if only to himself, that he had been expecting his former student to embarrass himself further but apparently Potter wasn't willing to indulge him.
Severus had known that Hamilton's daily life would change because of the apprenticeship. The boy would sleep less no doubt, he'd study even more than he ever had, and he most certainly wouldn't be able to keep up with any foolishness he previously allowed himself but as the weeks progressed Snape realized that Ernest's habits were far too strict to someone his age.
The perfectionism he had witnessed before didn't lessen, in fact it worsened. It was obvious that the student wasn't organizing himself as he should and was overdoing even for Snape's standards. Severus supported devotion and even obsession when it came to potions but he also valued precision and quick-thinking. Ernest Hamilton was constantly second-guessing himself in everything he did. He also did everything at least twice: essays, researches, potions and even cleaning tools and cauldrons. It a habit Severus had to discourage and eradicate.
And really, the fact that the boy was missing far too many nights of sleep and even meals didn't worry Severus in the least, he was only trying to lapidate a talent. Snape barely noticed any of it, like darkening circle around the boy's eyes, his constantly tired expression, the perpetual wrinkled state of Ernest's robes, or his endless yawning. Really, Severus didn't care enough to notice anything at all in that regard.
A slight invasion of his personal space brought Severus back from his musing, fast enough for him to pine the young professor next to him with a glare. Did Potter really have to lean over him to reach for the jar of pumpkin juice?
The fact that they both knew that if the younger professor had indeed asked him to pass the jar Snape would probably play deaf, wasn't really relevant and didn't change the fact that Severus sneered at the unwanted nearness.
'I said all you had to do was tell me,' Potter replied with an amount of patience so grand that Severus was sure it justified his sudden urge to strangle the brat '... not write me that you wanted to meet me after dinner.'
'It did have the same effect, did it not?'
The Savior took two deep breaths before daring to answer a rather rhetoric question. Severus had a feeling that his bored inflection had actually affected Potter; even if the other man's calm expression didn't let it on.
'Yes,' the younger wizard shrugged lightly before focusing on his plate again '... but we are still sitting side by side now and talking about your note.'
The timbre his former student used was far too reasonable to Severus' tastes. It made him feel like a particularly stubborn and dense sixth-year, mostly because only one other wizard had ever used that tone with him.
That realization and the suspicion that Potter was deliberately using that shared memory of Albus only to spite Severus made the older man's previous intentions to completely ignore Potter disappear.
'What only proves your incapacity to understand that sometimes spoken words are unnecessary, if not absolutely avoidable.'
'What is it you want to talk about?'
Apparently the Slytherin had finally hit a button because Potter's earlier nice mask was quickly discarded after Severus' ruthless comment. The younger man wasn't rude in any stretch of the word, but his eyes didn't hold any sign of mirth as they had a few seconds before. It wasn't also the animosity Severus was so willing to project around the Gryffindor; it was actually a hardened glimpse of maturity that was still very new for the Potions Master.
Potter was clearly intrigued, and rightfully suspicious if the slight narrow of his eyes as well as the light strain in his voice were any indication. Severus was pretty aware of the fact that he could end that whole unnecessary display at any moment, all he had to do was give in for once in his life. He knew that very well but Severus Snape was a predictable man in many aspects and his unwillingness to give in any tiny inch was one of those particularities of his being. He doubted that would change any time soon, least of all for the benefit of James Potter's son.
'Later, Potter' was all he was willing to say.
'Snape-'
Not really interested in anything that could be said any longer, as his wavering hunger had already dissipated – although not really abated – Severus pushed his chair back noisily enough to get his point across. He didn't want to have that conversation, he had far too many things to think about and endure a whole meal with inane chatter was most definitely not at the top of his list of priorities.
'Later,' he hissed tossing his napkin onto his half-full plate 'Potter.'
Without another word left, reassuring himself that his dramatic departure could in no way be compared to that of a sulking teenager.
He took a deep breath as he prepared himself to knock but if there was something that years as a teacher in a boarding school had taught him was caution. Surely he had faced more dangers than people had ever even dared to conjure up in their wildest nightmares but Harry had learned that hazard happened when you least expected.
And hazard was the least you could expect when you were summoned – inexplicably so at that – by none other than Severus Snape. The last time such thing had happened Harry had to relieve the most embarrassing and degrading moments of his life. He was an adult now, standing at a door that didn't resemble in the least the wooden door that led to the Potions classroom of his youth but one could never fault at being careful.
Besides which, Harry never really got the handle of Occlumency anyway.
Taking a deep breath, squaring his shoulder to the flood of undoubtfuly creative pejoratives he was about to subject himself to, he knocked. As he expected an answer was promptly given, but he really was caught off guard by the fact that Snape wasn't the one who opened the door for him.
'Ernest?'
To his everlasting grace, Harry realized immediately that his student was as surprise to see him there at the threshold as he was to see young Hamilton answering the door of Snape's office.
'Prof. Potter?'
Abruptly the door was pulled opened father away and the towering vision of Snape suddenly appeared at Ernest's side.
'Keep stirring Mr. Hamilton, you know better than neglecting such an important step', was all the older wizard said without looking at Harry and tilting his head imperceptibly towards the bubbling cauldron Harry could have a glimpse over Ernest's head.
The blond Brontë didn't hesitate to give Harry questioning look and a polite nod in form of greeting before he scurried inside and promptly followed the orders masked as professorial instruction.
Only after that did Snape see fit to grudgingly acknowledge his guest, being Snape he did it in the politest way Harry believed his former professor could ever force himself to acknowledge Harry's very presence.
'Potter' Snape stated dryly.
'Snape', he replied in a neutral tone before adding 'What is it?'
Again, the former Death Eater merely cocked his head to the side slightly and already started to close the door, forcing Harry to swiftly move inside the room to avoid having it slammed on his face.
'Follow me.'
Harry did just that, giving Ernest a reassuring smile as he was lead to the entrance of the private lab that had once belonged to him. The door that appeared from solid stone wall was already opened and Harry was sure it wasn't just a fluke. He doubted very much that Snape would ever allow anyone to know the password, even if it was trigged by a silent spell, least of all around someone the Slytherin didn't trust and Harry was very aware of the fact that he fit that category quite neatly.
As he walked inside the enchanted room, he couldn't help but notice how different and yet similar it was to the version it had conjured up to him and that weirdly enough it didn't look in the least like Snape's old laboratory from Hogwarts.
This one was bigger and not as cold, the endless flasks of samples and ingredients were still there but at the back of the lab, while Harry had kept it at the wall on the right of those who walked in. The stool and workable had re-arranged themselves to Harry's left, while before it had been at the back. The utensils were neatly organized against the wall on his left aswell, taking the place of the door to that had once led to Harry's private storage.
Snape really got out of his way to change things; was the first preposterous thought that crossed Harry's mind before he chastened himself. He knew very well that working under the same magic that of the Room of Requirement; the laboratory at Durmstrang followed the Potions professors' unconscious choice of comfort and organization. Snape hadn't deliberately re-decorated the room just to get a rise at Harry. Berating himself for being paranoid, yet again, he decided to get the matter over with.
'You wanted to talk to me?'
Obviously, Snape ignored his question and glared at him before crossing his arms with that expression that told everyone that Severus Snape was not pleased with your thickness when it came to guess whatever it was he wanted from you. Even if the Potions Master hadn't said anything while he only glared at you.
'What day is it?'
'I beg your pardon?'
He just had to ask. Harry hadn't expected that after all. That's was why Snape had made that scene at lunch? Because he wanted to keep Harry from all the work he had to get done and go out of his way to ask Harry what bloody day it was?
He's either joking or senile, Harry thought dumbfounded. Snape though, only let out one of his trademark long suffering sighs. The type that made you want to hex him.
'I asked' the dangerously silkily voice was strained with annoyance 'what day is it today, Potter?'
'You're serious', Harry stated after the few seconds he wasted watching Snape to gauge the other's mood and being unsuccessful at reading between the lines. Talking to Snape was a gamble, the man never said what he really wanted to say, and if he was the one making the questions then it was more likely than not that there was a deeper meaning in it, regardless of how obvious the question would seem at first.
The comment earned him a full-on glowering look, down to narrowing eyes and evil sneer.
'Do I look like I'm jesting, Potter?'
Good point there, Harry conceded. So there was a reason he was there then, a good one if Snape overpowered his loathe and actually sent Harry a message. It had to be a very good reason because Snape was neglecting Ernest's mastering to have this unfriendly chat with him.
What had the ex-spy asked? What difference could it possibly make if Harry knew what day it was? He knew it was a Tuesday, he had had first-years first period, sixth-years second period and no class before supper. Harry knew he had about 100 inches worth of parchment to read from all the essays on Mermaids he had to hadn-out the next day to third-years prefects so the second-years would have time to prepare for the surprise quiz they knew nothing about and that he'd administer on Friday, the 23rd.
'The 20th, as you well know' Harry stated matter-of-factly, frowning slightly as he realized that there was something important about Friday that he couldn't really remember in the moment. Not with the martyr superiority that was so obnoxiously plastered on Snape's face.
'Very good', the older man made sure he sounded anything but pleased '... and what does that mean, Potter?' Snape didn't give Harry the chance to open his mouth before continuing his monologue 'It means that I must start working on the adaptations on Mr. Hamilton's Wolfsbane Potion at once.'
Then it hit him and Harry slapped himself mentally.
'It'll be full moon in three days' he supplied needlessly, ignoring what suspiciously looked like a roll of eyes from Snape.
'Exactly, I'm glad you have finally got yourself around the obvious.'
For one dull moment Harry suspected that his former professor would clap sardonically but apparently this kind of childish behavior was below the Slytherin. As he had done so many times since he had seen Snape again, Harry focused on the problem and decided to get annoyed at the other man's personality later.
'What will we do?' he looked over his shoulder self-consciously and could see Ernest hunched over the still bubbling cauldron as the boy gingerly dropped a brown-ish powder inside it 'I thought we wouldn't tell Ernest about any of-'
'Mr. Hamilton is now rather busy and focused, so I don't see why we should bother him', Snape said imperiously as he gestured briefly towards Ernest's general vicinity 'What I called you here for, Potter, was to brew Mr. Hamilton's potion for me.'
Harry frowned in confusion. Surely Snape knew, better than anyone else, that there was no way they could brew a brand new version of the potion until Friday. Hell, they wouldn't even be able to get the version Harry had developed for Ernest ready until then.
'But it wouldn't suffice, it takes-'
It didn't take much for Harry to see that he had commited a very grave faux pas. The growling undertone was unmistakable as Snape rudely interrupted him.
'I am very aware of the intrinsic technicalities that involve the making and brewing of a Wolfsbane Potion, Potter. Still, I want to see the changes you did in my original recipe so I can begin to work on my new version of it for Mr. Hamilton.'
Oh.
Well, that did make sense after all.
'I see', was all Harry said as he looked around, feeling a bit out of sorts for being in such a familiar and yet completely foreign room. He localized the worktable again and the door that let to what could only be Snape's private storage and gestured towards the rows of cauldrons on the wall 'There?'
Harry didn't wait for an answer as he instinctively reached for the thickest cauldron, grabbed the largest wooden ladle he found and grabbed a few of the biggest recipients he found at one of the lower shelves in Snape's storage. One didn't wait for Severus Snape to answer an obvious question, or else one might as well spend the eternity waiting.
It hadn't been a very long time since he had brewed anything but still Harry could easily identify the first signs of that level concentration and meditation he only had when he was working on a particular difficult spell or when he was chopping, slicing, stirring and brewing. It was in that exact moment that he realized just how much he had actually missed potions.
So focused he was, drowned in a perfectionism he had never employed in the craft as a student, that Harry had all but forgotten there as someone else in the room. Or at least he did, until this someone made his presence known again.
'Potter.'
'Humm?'
'I need to know what you're doing and why.'
Harry looked up, and after a staring contest that lasted no more than a couple of seconds, he realized that the second-years wouldn't have a surprise quiz that week.
'Very well', he said resigned to what would definitely be a very long night 'I'm measuring the wolfsbane because it is an ingredient of this potion and we won't have a Wolfsbane Potion without it.'
'The change of catnip for balm leaves was quite dangerous but as it seems necessary', Severus drawled, making sure that a certain amount of unnecessary skepticism loaded what would otherwise pass as a praise 'So Mr. Hamilton has problems with the amount of adrenaline his body produces.'
'You know about adrenaline?'
Severus courageously refrained from rolling his eyes for the nth time in at least 4 hours. He'd never understand Potter's predisposition to redundancy. Not for the first time he thought of sending Potter away and go to bed. He had already sent Mr. Hamilton to his dorm without homework for the first time since they started the boy's tutoring and that only shortened Severus' rather slim patience.
'Must I really answer your question?'
'I just –' Potter caught himself and let out an exaggerated, deep and noisy breath 'Never mind.'
'I'm a wizard, Potter, not alienated' Severus stated in the same monotone he had used all night whenever Potter said something remarkably stupid, which was rather often '… you increased the willow.'
'Yes' the younger wizard said airily, blatantly ignoring Severus' jarring tone 'His transformation is rather quick; some of his muscles get sore.'
'Still, Mr. Hamilton shows an incredible flexibility on his members.'
'How do you-Yes, he is rather flexible.'
Snape continued to watch the cauldron, pretending he didn't catch Potter's abrupt halt in mid sentence. That had happened more times than Severus had bothered to count, normally whenever he said something that was meant to stump, shock or just incite questioning. It was refreshing to see that Golden Boy had finally learned to keep his thoughts to himself, well at least most of them.
Whenever Potter caught one of his tricky questions and statements he edited whatever brazen Gryffindor stupidity that was about to leave his mouth and offered an equally bland and aloof reply of his own.
'I see. The passion fruit seeds?'
'He does remain minimally logic and highly analytic. His attacks follow a pattern, he doesn't launch head on in hungry desperation or just for the sake of being violent. He's rather patient and spends most of the night watching, studying and waiting before attacking.'
That was another thing Severus had suspected it'd be a problem but Potter was being able to manage rather well, Golden Boy rarely let any emotion crawl onto his voice as he gave Snape his professional insight on their current case. It was better to think of the potion they had to brew rather than thinking about the person they were making it for. Any kind of attachment would only get in the way.
Potter seemed to know this marginally well, and for the most part he kept his report as clinical as possible. He had his occasional slips; it was Potter after all, but nothing that Severus couldn't simply dismiss with a belittling sniff.
'So you decided to preserve this particular trade of his by numbing the others.'
'The sleeping draughts stopped working' Potter shrugged as he added a tad bit one of the crushed aforementioned seeds before adding it into the mix '… and so did sleeping pills.'
The careless comment was enough to make Severus feel suddenly ill, the vein on his left temple that throbbed incessantly when he was on the verge of having a blinding migraine was practically humming and he was almost certain it'd explode at any moment now.
'You' he managed through tightly clenched teeth '… mixed muggle medicine with an ancient recipe of-'
'It worked', Potter stated with his everlasting, skin-crawling arrogance '… for six months straight. I only stopped using it when his body started to demand more than necessary. I wanted to help him, not turn him in a junkie.'
Severus pinched the tip of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and tried to loose a bit of the iron tension on his neck.
'Pray tell, what changes did you make to do such a monstrosity?'
Harry was having a very hard time keeping his eyes open. In retrospect, he didn't know why he even bothered to keep himself awake and functioning while Snape loomed over him and the cauldron before him.
In the end, he figure it was for the best because if he was indeed up and aware, he would be wasting an inexorable amount of energy to keep himself from throttling Snape.
'That's the final product then?'
Harry promptly ignored the hint of disgust and the heavy portion of sarcasm his former teacher managed to compact in such a small and innocuous question.
'Yes.'
Another minute of disbelieving study. Snape managed to make anyone feel like an idiot even when he didn't say anything at all. Harry's tired brain and body were prompting hallucinations. Not for the first time that night, he expected the Slytherin to deduct house points.
'Are you sure you told me everything, Potter?'
That was the question that actually made a spark of life shimmer inside Harry. He had been forced to detail every single thing he did in the potion and had had to endure Snape mocking comments all night long– "You call that chopping, Potter?", "If that's how you select your ingredients, it's no wonder your students are incapable of producing a simple Burning Salve", "You already stirred 15 times counter-clockwise, Potter. I must rectify six years of criticism on your technique; I believed you didn't know how to read; now I see you never learned how to count."
One would think that with age and the influence of really late hours the other wizard would get sloppy but apparently Snape's sarcasm only bettered as the hours passed by. Enough was enough and Harry had had enough.
'I am sure, Snape', Harry forced himself to relax his jaw so not to give Snape the pleasure of knowing that his ceaseless provocations were getting at Harry 'It's 6 in the bloody morning, so yes, I'm pretty sure we've been throughout here.'
Snape stared at Harry, his face unreadable but the younger man could see a glimpse of something in those black eyes that looked suspiciously like a mocking laughter. With one last glance at the still cooling cauldron, and with an annoying rise of eyebrow, the Potions Master imperiously walked to the door.
'Very well', Snape replied without bothering to look over at Harry 'You may leave.'
'What?'
Again that tiny sparkle of anger was able to pierce Harry's sleepy numbness. He pushed back from the stool he had been using, almost knocking it over and soon was at Snape's heels.
'I have class in a few and I've got work to do', was the dry answer he got as the Slytherin waved dismissively towards his office's door 'You can show yourself out.'
Just like that, Snape warded the door to the laboratory again, locking himself in and Harry out. The younger professor stared at where the stone door had been in astonishment before he shook his head, too tired to actually feel anything but mild indignation. With a roll of eyes no one was there to see, Harry indulged in the only part of himself who was willing to put his foot down against Snape in that moment, the juvenile part.
'Bloody greasy git.'
In the years he directed Durmstrang, Headmaster Piotr Antokolsky was sure he had never seen such a sad picture. Messy hair, red-rimmed puffy eyes, owlish blinks and a couple of wrinkles inches on the robe's collar. It wasn't anything alarming for sure, there had been professors who had arrived at meals in a worse state. After all, it wasn't all that rare for Ivanov to arrive at the dinner table with bloody robes because he had to wrestle a vicious Cerberus during one of his classes.
Also, at least once a year, Arctic Hilstrong showed up at lunch with burned robes because a couple of third-years had managed to put the class, and their professor, on fire when they were introduced to a lighter – it didn't really matter how many times the Muggle Studies teacher warned them to be careful, or was careful to keep anything inflammable out of reach, these accidents always happened.
Even with all the inevitable mishaps, there was one class that was absolute when it came to disasters but not even when he tutored children and adolescents on Potions, with all the daily explosions and collateral affects of a draught gone wrong, had Harry Potter ever looked so miserably put out as he did that morning.
The most famous wizard in the world could barely hide an indecent yawn as he slumped on his chair. Piotr watched as the usually quiet, but undoubtedly alert, young teacher sat motionless for a few second before jumping slightly on his seat as if someone had just poked him into motion.
The dark-haired young man groaned in retaliation at his invisible abuser and reached blindly to the large mug that suddenly appeared before him. What really gave Piotr a start was the fact that Harry didn't even stop to check what he was drinking before he downed most of the dark liquid in one go.
Something was really off if Harry Potter stomped over his morning paranoia just for the sake of drinking coffee.
'Merlin, Harry' Piotr prodded with his usual crude honesty '…you look bloody awful.'
Harry didn't even bother to answer the jest accordingly; he merely shrugged with his face still firmly attached to the porcelain he was clutching as if it was his very sanity.
'Good Morning, Piotr', Harry said after a long swallow, or at least that was what Piotr figured the unintelligible sound that left his friend's mouth had meant.
'What is it? Having problems sleeping again?'
Piotr was the only one in Durmstrang that knew about Harry's nightmares. Of course, after a war, Potter wasn't the only one who was plagued with things he wished he could forget but he was probably one of the very few who had been dealing with them on an almost nightly basis for over 15 years.
'No', Potter groaned 'I just didn't sleep at all, that's what.'
'Insomnia?'
Harry shook his head as he rubbed his eyes, not even bothering to take off his glasses. Swiftly Antokolsky did that for him, knowing how terrible it would be if one of the students saw their professor in such a vulnerable state.
So worried he was to remain inconspicuous about what he was doing that Piotr almost didn't catch the answer.
'Snape.'
'What?'
Why, that should be interesting, thought Piotr. The whole staff had a wager going on to see who was going to lose it first, Harry or Severus. Everyone knew that those two had a very shaky relationship at the best of times; that was why Potter testimony at Snape's trial had shocked everyone.
Who would have thought that the Boy-Who-Lived would actually be magnanimous enough to fight for his hated Potions professor's life against the Ministry?
The real reasons behind Harry's actions on that regard were still unknown. Piotr had seldom talked to his former schoolmate about the war, every single one of them had their own woes and ghosts to deal with and of them all Potter was definitely the one who carried most of the weight.
Well, maybe not the only one, for Severus Snape had survived two wars and it was stupid to think that the prices he had paid for his survival had been small. Sometimes Antokolsky looked at his once Head of House and realized he couldn't even fathom the depth and number of the scars the older man carried and would carry for the rest of his existence.
They are more similar than they think, the Headmaster caught himself thinking, and maybe that's why they dislike each other so much.
Harry obviously took his time to elaborate an answer and dutifully Piotr waited until his friend emerged from his second mug of black, strong and unsweetened energetic.
'He made me stay with him,' Piotr could clearly hear the unsaid swearing here '... making and discussing potions, all night long.'
The young Headmaster's face bloomed with the aloof and vaguely amused smirk he sometimes had and that he knew Potter hated deeply. It wasn't something Piotr really controlled but he figured it was a reminiscence of his seventh-year at Hogwarts and that would explain why Harry disliked that particular expression so much. After all, it was a slightly different version but Antokolsky had indeed picked it up from a certain silver-haired fellow Slytherin.
'Intellectual debate, I see', he commented airily waiting for the expected rebuke.
'Shut up, Piotr.'
'Don't tell me you didn't appreciate it, Harry', Antokolsky smirked as he watched his friend fighting to keep his eyes open, drink as much coffee as he could and try to breath all at the very same time 'You always were desperate to find someone to talk to you about chopping roots and scrubbing cauldrons.'
Harry snorted in a much undignified way, running his hands through his hair. That gesture was enough to show Piotr just how completely exhausted his DA professor really was. Potter had given up doing anything whatsoever about his hair years before and that was the reason why he had let it grow somewhat. Nowadays he rarely did anything to disturb the dubious truce he had finally conquered with his temperamental mane.
'You just summarized my five years of Potions classes and detentions with Snape', Harry commented in a sleepy but clearly mocking tone.
'Exactly' the Headmaster covered an almost imperceptible chuckle with a discreet cough '... and look at you now.'
'Yeah,' Harry grunted after he downed his third mug of coffee 'Look at me now.'
This time Piotr didn't even bother to mask his laughter.
Author's Note:
I had a lot of trouble with this chapter so I apologize if it isn't as good as it could have possibly been. I've been working on it on-and-off for quite a while and even thought I'm still not really pleased with the outcome, I decided to post it anyway. Life has been chaotic lately and a writer's block -- that just wouldn't go away -- didn't make it any easier for me to sit down and write whenever I had time to do it. Just know that I haven't and won't abandon this fic any time soon. Snapesfavorite again is to blame for this chapter, for all her support, ideas and for putting up with my endless whining. Please do check her beautiful fic, "In this world for you". That's what good fiction is all about.
General useless information:
Catnip: It has anodyne, antispasmodic, aromatic, carminative, and diaphoretic properties.
Balm: Its properties are antispasmodic, calmative, carminative, diaphoretic, emmenagogue, and stomachic.
Willow: The properties are anodyne, anti-spasmodic, and febrifuge. Its magical powers are flexibility, wisdom, intuition, dreams, emotions, and rebirth.
Passion fruit: In Brasil some say that eating too many seeds make one sleepy because of its calming properties.