Chapter Twelve
Thursday, the 22nd
Despite his determination, Harry wouldn't be able to talk to Snape until much later that day. Harry had classes the whole afternoon and -- thanks to the accidents that had already happened -- he barely had time to clean and fix the classroom before more students arrived, and to make matters that much more difficult, the Durmstrang's resident Potions Master hadn't shown up for dinner, either.
Harry would have started his search after Snape's whereabouts right after dinner, if he hadn't been accosted by Hugo, Scarlet and Franz Hausser. The three adolescents were asking after their friends but for complete different reasons; Halo wanted to know how Octavian was doing since Madam Inas still wouldn't allow Hugo into the hospital wing so he could visit the redhead, while Scarlet and Franz wanted to know why Ernest had been allowed to go back to class so early.
It was that bit that really gave Harry a pause, for he hadn't known that Ingrid had let Ernest out of her clutches so the boy could sit for his Potions class, and taking in Scarlet's frantic look-- one Harry filed away for later consideration-- and Franz' honest concern, the professor was certain that Ernest hadn't fully recovered.
When he questioned his students about Hamilton's whereabouts, since Harry hadn't seen the boy at his usual place at the Brontë's table, Franz told him that Ernest had said he would go back to the hospital wing and have dinner there. Re-assuring his students that their friends would be fine, and letting them know that he was going to check on them right away, Harry left to talk to Ingrid.
At the infirmary Harry had been communicated that Octavian Masson was coming along just fine and would be able to leave soon to enjoy the weekend with the rest of the alumni. As for Ernest, Ingrid had grumpily announced her annoyance at young Mr. Hamilton's blatant disregard of her express orders to stay put. At the first sign of slight, and fleeting, inattention of the ever-watchful nurse, the young man had dashed out of her infirmary -- not only once but twice.
Having heard every single disparaging word Ingrid had made him memorize so he could pass them on to Ernest, Harry found himself going back to the dungeons he had left not but two hours ago. If Ernest wasn't at the Brontë common room, or at his dormitory -- and he wasn't at neither or else his housemates wouldn't have asked after him -- then there was only one place where he could possibly be at that time of the evening.
It took him ten minutes of relentless knocking, which left his knuckles tad sore, but Harry was forced to accept the fact that it wasn't that no one was answering the door but that maybe there was no one inside Snape's office -- and it was about that time that Harry started to get rather worried. The only thing he had had in his mind until then was talking to Snape so they could find a way to hurry things along and make Ernest's potion work as soon as possible. He also suspected that the Potions professor would want to know details about the incident in Harry's class earlier that day and even if it wasn't past Snape to interrogate Ernest himself, Harry thought that the older wizard would probably have loads of questions for Harry to answer.
But all of that went down the drain now that Ernest seemed to have vanished in thin air. What gave Harry any amount of clarity of mind was the fact that apparently Ernest had made sure to be present at his last potions class of the week before he disappeared, and that meant that the last person to have seen Ernest Hamilton had been Severus Snape. Either way, Harry would only get his most pressing issues resolved once he found the older Slytherin.
The irony didn't go unnoticed and Harry had no idea if he should appreciate it or curse it.
Still, he had to find at least one of those two so he could find the other. Knowing that Snape's office was connected to his private chambers -- as so were Durmstrang's accommodations for every teacher – the fact that Snape hadn't stalked out of the door to eat Harry alive for bothering him was a dead give away that the older wizard hadn't gone extra earlier to bed. That being the Gryffindor had no other choice but to direct himself to the nearest classroom. If Harry didn't find Snape or Ernest there, then he would scream bloody murder until one of them showed up.
A dramatic course of action for sure, but it had worked in the past.
The dungeons were so naturally gloomy, and at Durmstrang the illumination was intentionally so scarce, that Harry was able to see the blast of light coming from inside the Potions classroom from quite a distance. It was enough to make him let out a breath of relief. So Snape was still working, good. Of course, it was quite unusual for any professor to work after hours at their classrooms; normally they would retire to their office for that, unless it was a matter that required practices in student disciplinary administration.
That meant detention, obviously.
But that was strange because Harry had been sure that he had seen both Johansson and Guberman during dinner, and usually they were the ones who had to stay after class serving detentions with Snape. It had already become such a routine that even the boys' housemates were surprised whenever they actually were allowed to join the rest of the students for dinner. Harry himself was forced to hold them back every now and again, so it was inevitable that they would develop such a habit when it came to Snape. Still, as far as Harry could tell, it wasn't as if those detentions really bothered those two students all that much.
Johansson and Guberman had both announced more than once that they learned more about potions during detention than during class. It was something they had said about Harry's detentions, too, when he taught potions. They weren't bad kids, as some of the teachers thought them to be, and they were quite smart since their pranks used high levels of advanced magic and most of the time they either altered a potion or actually created a minor spell to take a piss out of someone. That humorous inattention and inherent -- if masked -- intelligence were what had always made Harry very fond of Johansson and Guberman and why they reminded him so much of Fred and George Weasley.
What the boys claimed to have liked the most about his detentions was the fact that Harry wouldn't just make them do unpleasant things (scrubbing) or lengthy work (inches and inches of parchments). The Gryffindor would usually go over the potion they had purposefully messed up with, or experimented with, until he was sure both boys understood exactly what had been done, what were the effects, how to change them and how to prevent the joke from getting out of control. Of course, after such a throughout lesson he always made them promise they wouldn't do it again, and Harry would reinforce their obedience with veiled threats of retribution if he ever found out they hadn't kept to their word, but Johansson and Guberman always did keep their word.
Now, for them to actually like Snape's detention... It was such a foreign concept to Harry that he couldn't even imagine a reason why his students would feel that way about the extra time they had to suffer in Snape's hands. The Dark Arts professor knew all too well that the experience had been rather traumatizing to him, and he couldn't think of anyone that had ever felt any different about it. Well, at least no one other than Neci maybe but she didn't count since she had always had a way to deal with Snape that Harry never really got.
Besides, he very much doubted Severus Snape would adopt the same method Harry had with Johansson and Guberman during detention. It wouldn't be possible that Snape would do something like that.
Right?
Although... Harry did remember that Fred and George had never seemed to like Snape during schooldays but that also had never stopped them from getting themselves into trouble with him and therefore serving detentions with him. On the contrary really, Harry was pretty sure that even when that happened, especially during the twins' sixth year, they didn't sound awfully disheartened about the prospect. And if you think about it, Fred and George never failed their Potions OWLs or NEWTs. Sure, they passed by the skin of their teeth but that couldn't be really taken in consideration since most of their products for Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes used high levels of not only Potions but also Transfiguration and Charms.
It couldn't possibly mean that Snape had actually...
No, Harry shook his head and chuckled at himself for the absurdity that had crossed his mind. There was no way Snape could do something like that. Harry knew there were deeper and more serious reasons for Snape to be after his head like a bloody hound during his school time, something other than just the hatred the former spy felt for Harry's father, but that certainly didn't mean he could suddenly believe that Snape had actually helped Fred and George at all.
It just wasn't like the older Slytherin to do something like that. Sure, Harry didn't know him all that well-- or at all, if you think about it-- but it just didn't make sense with the type of man Severus Snape was.
The closer Harry got to his former classroom, the more he got distracted with his thoughts… especially when an unbidden and rather unusual question popped up in his head "But do you know what type of man Severus Snape really is, mate?"
Harry had seen the man daily for 6 years and he had been around the older wizard under strenuous situations that would normally form unbreakable bonds or that would, at the very least, result in a certain amount of mutual knowledge. But then again, the man Harry had thought he had all figured out back then wound up not being Snape at all. Harry had wrongly believed he knew everything about a backstabbing traitor and murderer when in reality Snape was one of the good guys, one of the heroes -- Dumbledore's man, through and through.
That man -- that Snape -- wasn't one Harry had ever even got close of seeing a glimpse of, let alone knew well. After all, when Snape had saved Harry's life -- not only during the last battle but also all the times the older Slytherin had risked his neck to keep Harry's intact for 7 years -- Harry either had no idea that that was what the older man had really been doing, or he was too busy trying to keep himself, and those he loved alive, to really take notice.
It had always made him feel terrible, that lack of appreciation from his part. It wasn't that he was ever guilty that he had hated Snape's guts as a kid because the older man hadn't exactly cared much for him back then either but after Voldemort's demise Harry started to feel seriously ashamed of himself for never giving Sanpe the benefit of the doubt. Harry knew that would have been too much to ask of his younger self, or of any other child really, but the fact remained that despite hating his guts, Snape had done everything that had been in his power to keep Harry alive.
Sometimes, at the cost of his own Slytherin skin and sanity.
Harry wasn't naive enough to think that whatever the former spy had done; had been done for Harry's sake alone but did that really matter? The fact was that Snape had done it all, even though everything in his Slytherin cunning mind, heart, body and soul probably told him not to do anything at all -- and well, Gryffindor to the core that he was, that was all that mattered to Harry really.
Surely he wasn't about to like Snape because of that, Harry didn't agree with the older man in practically nothing and he doubted that would ever change. Harry was sure their personalities would forever clash and that even if, miraculously, one day all the resentment they deeply held for each went away, they would never be able to relate easily.
Blinking repeatedly before exposing himself to the full blast of the light coming from inside the classroom, a great contrast to the dimness that had surrounded him until then, Harry shook his head yet again but this time it wasn't to clear his thought, or dispel them, it actually was to mock himself a bit.
As if it was possible for Snape and Harry to ever get over their turbulent past enough to get to a stage where they could relate at all, Harry chuckled at himself again. It would take a bloody natural disaster, certain painful death and completely leave of senses for Severus Snape to ever look at Harry and see anything but James and the misguided notion he had of Harry himself.
Besides, it wasn't as if Harry cared to get to know Snape enough to stop disliking the man. Even if the Potions Master was surprising him more and more each day ever since they met again back in London.
Amused now by his preposterous thoughts, Harry was caught absolutely off-guard, and therefore was shocked, by the sight before him.
Not wearing his robes and with his shirt and sweater folded up to his elbows-- a brush in his right hand and one of the filthiest cauldrons Harry had ever seen supported by the left -- was Ernest Hamilton. If the slight perspiration dotting his forehead and the flush from strain that tinged the flesh over his cheekbones were any indication, the fifth-year Brontë had been working hard for quite some time. The neat pile made of 5 clean cauldrons at the boy's side only attested to that.
'Ernest?' Harry couldn't help but gasp out, startling the blonde boy enough to make him jump '…what are you doing?'
At once Ernest's eyes snapped down at the cauldron and the brush, before he blushed furiously and looked decidedly uncomfortable. All the possibilities that crossed Harry's mind made more sense than the dragged out words the boy ashamedly breathed out as answer.
'Serving detention.'
'Serving detention?' Harry said the word as if the very concept of it was completely unknown to him 'With whom? Snape?'
The shock was so tremendous that Harry didn't even notice that he hadn't used the older man's honorific in front of their student. But that wasn't really something he was worried about at the moment, because there was no way Ernest was serving detention.
Ernest had never served detention.
Ever.
Then why the hell was he there scrubbing cauldrons and looking as any wayward student might after bringing Snape's sadistic tendencies upon himself?
Ernest, if possible, turned a deeper shade of red and ducked his head so much that he was practically hiding behind the cauldron. He hadn't lifted his eyes to meet Harry's again, but he still answered his professor. Even if apparently he had chosen to communicate monosyllabically for the moment and his voice croaked slightly.
'Yes.'
That was enough to make Harry's eyes wide to the size of saucers, but it wasn't like Ernest would catch such an idiotic expression on his face. Why, with the boy refusing to look anywhere but inside the cauldron in front of him and all. It was then that Harry realized that he was turning a rather embarrassing situation into a debacle of epic proportions, for Ernest was clearly very ashamed of not only earning detention but also with Harry catching him at it.
Taking a deep breath, Harry tried to smile encouragingly at his student, even if the boy wouldn't see it. As blandly as he could and aware that his surprise was still discernable in his voice-- though not as much as it had been before-- Harry asked. 'What happened?'
All of Harry's caution seemed to be completely useless because Ernest disappeared further into the cauldron. The blonde young man coughed to cover up his discomfort as he clearly forced himself to answer.
'I blew up a cauldron.' The blonde said, overlapping one word over the other in such a way that Harry almost didn't catch it. When he finally untangled the puzzle, he started.
'You', the green-eyed wizard repeated it slowly, as if he had never heard such words before '...blew up--a cauldron.'
Harry knew it was stupid. The boy had just said it and he really didn't have to put such long pauses between the words. It wouldn't make what Ernest had said stop being true and it would only make the young man feel that much more ashamed of the incident but Harry really couldn't help it.
To hear something like that, for Harry, was the same as hearing that Albus Dumbledore had not only been gay but that he had also had an affair with Grindelwald -- mind, that all of that was true but the very idea that Dumbledore had ever had any kind of sex life was so shocking to Harry that he still consciously made an effort to delete that piece of information that his former Headmaster's portrait had deliberated rubbed in his face a few years back. Harry was sure that the bloody thing had only done it to stump him into a catatonic state -- and it had succeeded.
The fact was that the very idea of Ernest being responsible for any potions accident, especially one Neville Longbottom was an unwilling master at, was so preposterous that Harry couldn't even fathom a reaction, much in the fashion of what had happened to him before a smiling and twinkling Albus Dumbledore replica.
'I overused the murtlap in class', Ernest replied muffled by the cauldron after the uncomfortable silence that fell over them as Harry tried to regain control of his reeling shock. Young Hamilton sighed dejectedly unaware of his professor's thoughts, '...it was stupid really. Just because my hands–' Ernest shook his head, straightening a bit so the top of his head was visible. '...well, I destroyed both Scarlet's cauldron and mine. Not to mention our desk and almost peeled Fyodor Hudgen's entire scalp off.'
Harry ran his hands over his hair and tried to focus on what had been said. He still couldn't grasp the idea that Ernest had made such a crass mistake in a potion -- it wasn't that Harry believed Ernest above any error but the fact was that Harry knew that his student hadn't made any while working with a cauldron ever since the boy was 10 years old. Ernest was so very methodic and neurotically organized that even if he did screw anything up while brewing -- something he rarely did -- he was always quick to counteract the mistake so that any disaster would be avoided.
'What were you concocting?' Harry finally inquired, thinking that maybe Snape had asked for the one potion that Ernest had never heard about before -- as hard as such thing was to believe, it was the only explanation Harry could come up to.
'...Felix Felicis' was Ernest's subdued answer after a slight hesitation.
'But that's–' Harry couldn't even finish because he didn't even know what to say to communicate his confusion. He had supervised Ernest's first brewing of the Felix Felicis when the blonde had been a third year and Hamilton had assisted him on Johansson and Guberman's detention when Harry had taught the potion the year before and the two boys had again missed most of the class -- immersed as they had been on the potion they had developed to make a classmate's hair turn bright orange.
Ernest sighed again and finally raised his head, though he still kept his face mostly down. He was still blushing something fierce but now the blonde looked and sounded more resigned about Harry's reaction. The professor was sure that his student was bracing himself for his disappointment.
'I had already got it right several times, I know... it was stupid', the blonde boy groaned softly and steadily under his breath but Harry was sure Ernest was unaware of such a thing, '...I disappointed Prof. Snape and he was right to get mad at me. I mean, you had already taught me and I brewed a flawless one just yesterday! I am the one who should help Prof Snape with the others, not the one to embarrass him in front of everyone. Masson was bloody ecstatic.'
It wasn't unexpected but Harry really wasn't prepared to hear the amount of chagrin and self-admonishment that were so clear in Ernest Hamilton's voice. That was the very first time that Harry was so unavoidably certain of the respect and admiration Ernest felt towards Snape. Of course, it was something he had counted on, and it was quite inevitable really, but Harry hadn't realized until now that the feelings were so very deep and strong already. After all, the Slytherin was teaching at Durmstrang for less than a month now.
Even though the blonde boy was clearly bothered by what had happened, Harry noticed that Ernest was even more concerned about what would be Snape's opinion of him now. To witness something like that was such a strange thing to Harry... Yes, he was now close to people who cared, inexplicably so, about Snape ever since they were kids but he had never heard Blaise or Piotr talk about the man like that. Sure, whenever his Slytherin friends talked about their former Head of House, there was unmistakable fondness and respect, even admiration, but not to the degree Harry heard now in Ernest's voice.
He had never been close to anyone who cared about what Severus Snape thought of them enough to actually dread to fall from the Potions Master's good graces. Suddenly an unbidden thought crossed his mind, and Harry wouldn't be able to say why he had thought it at all but there it was.
Maybe that's how Malfoy felt about him... maybe; Malfoy really did look up to Snape.
'It's the trembling?' Harry asked at length, knowing that he wouldn't be able to find an answer for his musings about Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape's dynamics right in that moment -- or ever, really.
'Yes', Ernest stopped pretending he was scrubbing and looked down at his slightly shaking hands. He shrugged but Harry knew better than to think Ernest was anywhere near used to such a thing, '...it comes and goes at the most inappropriate times but I'm all right, sir. Don't worry.'
'I'll talk to Prof. Snape', the Gryffindor assured his student, already aware that Ernest would never bring it to Snape's attention. And if it meant so much to Ernest, though Harry couldn't understand it really, he would help the young man back to Snape's good graces, '...I'll explain to him that –'
'No, please, don't.' Ernest shook his head and Harry would have pressed the issue if the boy hadn't finally met his eyes, the hazel pair shinning with obvious plead, '...like I said, he was right.'
Nodding in resignation, and smiling understandingly, Harry decided to ask after the source of his problems. Even if Ernest still looked a bit too worse for wear, Harry was sure that the boy wouldn't leave until his Potions professor thought he had been punished enough. Hamilton was probably the only young man in the whole of the world who would sneak out of a hospital wing to scrub cauldrons for Severus Snape. Even Harry, who had spent enough of his time with Madam Pomfrey back in the days, would never trade her fussing -- or a good dose of Skele-gro -- for Snape's sneer but then again he figured Ernest probably didn't have to hear half of the things Harry had been forced to put up with from Snape.
'Where is Prof. Snape?' Harry finally ruffled the top of the boy's head and was relieved when the blonde wrinkled his nose lightly but blushed as he always did at the treatment -- therefore relieving some of the tension that had built up the moment Harry had arrived.
'At his laboratory, sir.' Ernest answered, smiling back slightly and going back to work.
'Don't overdo it.' Harry teased kindly and winked at his student.
'I won't', Ernest assured him with a slight chuckle that wasn't very heartfelt but that Harry could tell wasn't insincere -- and for the moment the Gryffindor was sure it was the best his student would have to offer.
'Snape?' Harry called quietly as he knocked at the door that led to the private laboratory.
When he had been the Potions professor -- and therefore that classroom and laboratory had been his -- the connection between the two rooms had never been left open like that. But then again, Harry had never taken a pupil and had never seen the need to leave his students to their own device during detention. You never knew what the little hellions would do when left alone near cauldrons and in a room full of potions ingredients. It was one of the many things over the years that he had had to admit that Snape had actually been right about.
There was no answer to his inquiry though, and even with the passage open, Harry hesitated to walk into the laboratory. After all, the last time he had intruded without permission into Snape's laboratory he had peaked at something he shouldn't have even touched and the Slytherin had very nearly, and rightfully, hexed Harry into the next century. To avoid such a potentially dangerous deja vú, Harry insisted some more.
'Snape?'
When there was no answer still, Harry decided to risk and walked inside. He doubted he'd come across a Pensieve there but just in case he made sure his hands were clasped behind his back, promising himself that he wouldn't do something like that again. No matter how curious he could get.
In the end, it wasn't really necessary since as he looked around, he realized that there was no Pensieve lying about. That was good, the problem was that there was no Snape to be seen either. But Harry knew he couldn't be too far away since there was a simmering cauldron on the work table. Deciding that a fuming cauldron couldn't possibly hold any private memories, Harry went to check out what it was that Snape was brewing that the older man couldn't possibly do it while supervising Ernest's detention.
Leaning forward slightly, keeping a safe distance from the cauldron, Harry took a slightly deep breath and picked on the exotic and faintly sweet scent that was coming from the bubbling potion, cautious for he was aware that it could be a poisonous fume. Harry frowned when he couldn't identify the potion and looked inside the cauldron, only to deepen his frown when he couldn't pinpoint what that substance could possibly be. Although he could pick on the smell of a few known ingredients such as Kindler Tree's roots, the magical signature he could sense from the potion wasn't one he recognized at all.
'What are you doing, Snape?' he asked quietly to himself only intake a sharp breath when someone hissed in his ear.
'Quiet, Potter.'
The words were spoken calmly and quietly but the undercurrent of annoyance was quite clear, even if the silken tone was such that it made Harry frown and grit his teeth. His head spun around; looking out of the cauldron he had been inspecting and finding the looming figure of none other than Severus Snape standing right behind him. Moving away guiltily from the potion he had been studying without success, Harry glared fiercely at the Potions Master -- still disconcerted by Snape's the sudden appearance.
'What the–how can you creep on people like that?' He hissed back, caught off-guard for the nth time that day.
As usual, Snape kept on as if Harry hadn't said a thing. In fact, the older man only made a shooing movement with his hand as if Harry was an insect that was currently in his way and that he didn't have the time or inclination to deal with at the moment. It naturally made Harry bristle, even if he did stepped out of the Slytherin's way.
'This is a very unstable mix, Potter; the magic around it will affect it directly', Snape continued as if Harry hadn't said anything but he was speaking so softly that Harry actually had to strain to hear him. 'By that, I mean that the magic level in the room must be harmonic and constant, the focus can't lapse and the emotions must be reined for they are connected with the magic that surround us. You're one breath away from disturbing three days worth of work', he paused significantly before ensnaring Harry in a trademark "I promise you pain, if you disobey me" glare before continuing, '...don't.'
Harry rolled his eyes as Snape began to stir the potion. Immediately, all of Snape's annoyance seemed to be forgotten for even the older man's stance relaxed before Harry's very eyes. The Slytherin's expression took on a concentrated expression that made it obvious that all of his attention was focused on the cauldron he was working on.
Harry had never really had the opportunity to witness such a thing. Normally, when he had been at Hogwarts, Snape wouldn't really divide his focus on a potion during class or detention, preferring to dedicate himself solemnly to belittle Harry and offend his father and godfather. Even after they both became part of Durmstrang's staff, they hadn't exactly got together to share academic interests. The only time they had been in a laboratory together Snape had made Harry do all the work while he just took notes and was a complete jerk.
If you think about it, it was nothing too out of their comfort zone.
But this right here, this was definitely not what one would consider part of their interaction pattern. Sure, Snape was ignoring Harry completely -- and that kind of did ring true to their past -- but the fact that he wasn't glaring, sneering at his former student wasn't a very common occurrence. Not to disturb such a peaceful anomaly, Harry watched silently as the older man worked. At least he did for 20 full minutes when his curiosity got the best of him.
'What is the base of this potion? I could detect Kindler Tree's roots', Harry made sure he spoke as quietly as Snape had, before he took a deep breath, closing his eyes, '...and Angelica Archangelica but what else?'
Harry honestly didn't expect his former professor to answer him at all but the older man surprised him by obliging him.
'Star fruit's leafs.' Snape replied succinctly but quietly, his hand expertly working over the cauldron.
'Star fruit?'
'Leafs.'
Noticing even in the strangely subdued tone a hint of challenge, Harry racked his brain after any information he might have thrown in there about that particular fruit. It was highly frustrating when he still came out short.
'Isn't that', he wrinkled his nose in thought, '...an Asian fruit?'
'Yes.'
'I didn't know it had magical properties.'
That unsurprisingly earned him a snort. Harry couldn't understand how Snape was able to put so much derision into a sound that always made him, and almost everyone he knew, sound either merely rude or plainly stupid. It was rather fascinating really but that didn't stop it from pissing Harry off.
'It doesn't, its medicinal properties are normally used to slow cardiac pressure', the older man stopped his stirring and then picked up his wand and controled the height of the flames, before adding in seemingly afterthought '...moderately so, of course.'
By then, the fumes that had been leaving the cauldron had ceased and the potion adopted a brown color that made Harry think immediately about peanut butter. He remembered a few other potions that could get to that shade after much brewing. The Strong Will Potion was one of them but it didn't affect one's blood circulation or else Harry would surely know, for no one had studied that potion as he had. It had been only during the second, and last, war against Voldemort that the potion started to be used to bring people under the Imperius Curse and back to awareness enough so they could fight to get out of the spell's influence. Since he had been the one to find this out, Harry based his Potions Specialization on proving such a thing so he could patent his discovery and now that bit of information was included in every potions book ever published -- what was possible only because most of the ancient tomes were self-updated.
Even though he had been very proud of himself for being asked to give seminars for something other than defeating Voldemort, Harry had always failed to mention that the discovery had really been an accident. At the time he had had no idea of what he was doing when he had made Ron drink the potion and the redhead had had no other choice but to swallow it since he had been tied up to a chair.
Even though Harry really had thought that his best friend had been in great need of a tad stronger will at that moment -- so he wouldn't kill Harry and hurt Hermione-- the green-eyed wizard had had no idea what the outcome of his little experience would be. And despite of the fact that she had not come up with any better plan of action to counter the Imperius Macnair had cast on Ron, Hermione almost flayed Harry alive, saying he could have killed the redhead or something.
Harry would claim to the rest of his days that it was then and there that his natural inclinations for Potions re-surfaced after years of Snape-induced repression... while Hermione would forever scowl him for not even thinking it all through before shoving potions indiscriminately down people's throat.
But still, what matter was that it had worked and that now that his curiosity was peaked, Harry wanted to know what potion or draught Snape was preparing. Even thought the Strong Will Potion adopted that colour when finished, mainly because of Angelica Achangelica and Harry could tell the plant was the basic ingredient for both potions, there was no concoction he knew that would stay in that colour after over 10 minutes of simmering.
'Are you changing any recipe?' he asked dubiously, 'I'm not aware of any potion that has those ingredients as base.'
When the flame was all but blue little flickers under the cauldron, Snape cast a status charm on it and turned to the sink so he could wash his utensils and hands. Potions utensils couldn't be cleaned magically or else they could carry residual magic and therefore change or completely ruin a potion. Neville, and everyone in his First Year at Hogwarts, had learned that the hard way.
'I'd be surprised if you were', Snape replied after a while, his voice dripping with a smugness that Harry allowed to roll right over him as he again clinically studied the potion, '...this is a recipe I developed on my own.'
'What is it for?' Yep, it looked jut like peanut butter, Harry thought, so much so that he was beginning to feel a sudden craving for it.
'Mr. Hamilton's blood pressure increases exponentially during his transformation'; Snape replied a bit louder than before but quite neutrally. It wasn't that he was being nice, only that he was indulging Harry because Snape probably didn't want to allow Harry to irritate him overly so and risk disturbing the magic inside the laboratory much. 'I don't have enough time to make effective alterations in his Wolfsbane Potion now. I'm working solemnly with speculations about what might be causing the failure of the current recipe and, as it is, the best course of action is to find a mean to assist the boy for the next full moon.'
Before his eyes Harry saw the now boiling substance inside the cauldron suddenly change and look completely transparent and if he wasn't wrong, he was sure it's density seemed to have been altered, too. He really loved when things like that happened, Harry'd have to ask Snape for the recipe later. Or maybe now, since the older man was unusually solicitous.
'I see... but won't it affect his Wolfsbane Potion?'
'Yes, Potter', and with only those two words Harry knew he wouldn't get away with asking anything from Snape anymore that night. With s swirl of black robes, the Slytherin was sneering at Harry and with a wave of his wand extinguishing the flames from under the cauldron he had been working on, '...I spent the last three days wasting my precious time in a draught that will null your already incompetent work.'
Automatically Harry frowned, glaring, and he knew he looked torn. For a second, Harry didn't know if he bristled in annoyance or indignation but then Harry remember that he had promised himself that he wouldn't lose his temper with Snape again -- after all, Harry knew exactly what to expect from the other man where he, Harry, was concerned -- it should be easy to just shrug off the former Death Eater's sarcasm.
Yeah, right... easier said than done, but Harry hadn't been put in Gryffindor for nothing so he could grit his teeth and just do the job.
Most of the time, anyway.
'I didn't mean it that way', his voice was only ever so slightly strained when he replied and Harry was really proud of himself for that. Snape for his part only took the time to sneer before turning his back on Harry again so he could inspect the potion.
'No, it won't affect his Wolfsbane in the least'; the tone bellied the struggle it was for Snape to put up with Harry's presumed imbecility. It was a good thing the older man couldn't see Harry tense in response at the provocation, '...the idea is put Mr. Hamilton into a more relaxed condition, soothing him physically so he can have more control over himself emotionally and therefore over his magic.'
'It's a great way to prove your theory, too', Harry replied conversationally, forcing himself to relax and offering the polite smile that he knew irked Snape deeply, '...I was talking to Piotr and I think you're right.'
'Be still my beating heart.'
Ha, bloody, ha. Rolling his eyes Harry let the joke slide and got to the matter that had taken him there in the first place.
'I think there's something about Ernest's magic that might be weakening his response to the potion but still we must find what exactly is spurting it on.'
Silence, for only a heartbeat, maybe two but it gave Harry a pause all the same. After all, you never know what to expect from one Severus Snape and Harry had learned that constant vigilance was always the best course of action, especially if you really wanted to have any control over the situation and keep yourself from throttling the git. Knowing the reprieve would only mean the bite would sting that much more, Harry waited for the inevitable cutting remark. He wasn't disappointed.
'Is there a reason for you to be here, Potter?' Snape managed to even look put out as he said it, '...or you were just waiting for an opportunity to ruin my work and bother me?'
'Actually', the Gryffindor took a deep calming breath and only then continued, '...I'd like to take you somewhere.'
Harry could honestly say that he had never even hoped to ever catch that expression on Severus Snape, Hogwarts' Greasy Git, Voldemort's Traitor Spy and Dumbledore's Loyal Soldier -- or pawn depends on your point of view, really -- but there it was. If he had known that it would only take him a mildly ambiguous phrase to get the older Slytherin to stare at him like that, he would have said something sooner. As it happened, he was just trying to keep his lips from visibly twitching as Snape raised a questioning eyebrow.
'I am sure you know that you'll have to elaborate, Potter.'
Harry coughed into his right fist to cover up an irresistible chuckle and, only to amuse himself further, waved his hand about gently and tilted his head to the side, motioning the door. 'Will Ernest's detention last much longer?'
Snape's eyebrows couldn't possibly rise any higher than that but Harry could see the older man was beginning to get irritated as he noticed the mirth dancing in Harry's eyes. 'That depends only on his scrubbing skills.'
Nodding and deciding that that was not the most appropriate moment to ruffle Snape's feathers, Harry sobered up and set his jaw as he finally said what he had taken the whole afternoon to steel himself to say. 'I want to show you where Ernest and I go during the full moon.'
Harry would never do something like this under any other circumstance, not without Ernest's knowledge -- let alone without the boy's approval -- but they were running out of time and the longer they took to help Hamilton, the more the blonde boy suffered. He had wasted enough time as it was and Harry was now determined to give Snape any bit of information, no matter how insignificant it might seem, that could assist the Potions Master in his task.
'I already know about the cell.' Snape drawled, looking as if he was very close to rolling his eyes.
What goes around comes around, alright. Now it was Harry's turn to start and watch Snape look infinitely pleased with himself. The younger man was so very baffled that the only thing he thought of replying was an instinctive, 'It's not a cell, it's a cellar.'
'Semantics', Snape waved a dismissive hand as he stirred the potion once clockwise and twice counterclockwise. The carelessness in that one word made Harry close his hands into fists but he was still too surprised to actually get as annoyed as he normally would over such a thing.
'How do you know about it?'
Snape gave him a flat look that clearly questioned Harry's intelligence but answered all the same, 'Mr. Hamilton took me there.'
'He...did?'
'I see you haven't lost your absurd incapacity to comprehend the obvious', Snape commented mildly as if that didn't surprise him in the least.
Harry felt like punching him.
'Is that all, Mr. Potter?' Snape asked, making sure he sounded as if it damn well better be and also as if he knew it was -- and felt pleased as hell about it.
No, it's not you bloody bastard, was what went through Harry's mind but he was aware of how well such an answer would go with the older wizard so he just let out a slightly groaned, 'Yes.'
'Then leave, Potter, you have disturbed me enough already', when Harry opened his mouth to say something quite nasty in response Snape stumped him yet again, '...on your way out, inform Mr. Hamilton that he's dismissed of his detention for tonight.'
Honestly, Harry thought as he growled softly under his breath, what a hellish day.
Friday, the 23rd
'Something's bothering you.'
Early in the morning in already with a headache making his head throb -- a residual affect from the other day's events -- Harry thought that was what one could probably qualify as a royal understatement but since he valued Piotr's friendship very much -- and he really did love his job -- he refrained from pointing it out.
Instead, he only glowered at his strong black cup of coffee before questioning his friend on something that had kept him awake for most of the previous night.
'Did you know Ernest took Snape to the cellar?'
To his credit, Piotr looked slightly out of his depth by Harry's bluntness. The young Headmaster took his time to answer the question, mostly because he was trying to figure out what exactly was his friend's problem since the answer to that question was rather simple.
'Yes, Severus mentioned it to me.'
'And then Snape gave him detention for blowing up his cauldron,' Harry said it with a strangely clinical voice, despite his obvious exhaustion and bad mood.
As usual, Piotr decided to take the comment at face value and chuckled softly, 'Wouldn't be the first. Mr. Johansson and Mr. Guberman go through the same thing almost every evening.'
'But they don't do it because their hands are trembling uncontrollably.'
'Not if shaking with laughter doesn't fit in that description,' Antokolsky granted off-handedly and he knew he had reached Harry's limit when the younger wizard shot him an ugly warning look.
'I don't understand', Potter shook his head as he focused all his attention on the black liquid before him, '...Ernest has never taken anyone there.'
Piotr nodded slowly, looking fleetingly at the Potions Master's empty seat. Severus hadn't shown for breakfast as he hadn't been present for dinner last night. Piotr would have to send for the house-elves so they would prepare something for the older Slytherin to munch on between classes -- though not before firecalling Snape and warning him off hexing or verbally abusing the elves, of course. Looking back at his still glowering Dark Arts professor, Antokolsky sighed before he replied.
'As far as I know, Mr. Hamilton has never openly admitted his condition to anyone, too.'
'Yes, and yet', Harry set his jaw stubbornly, his eyes narrowing and his lips pursuing slightly. He was the very mask of frustration and annoyed confusion, '... Ernest did both.'
Piotr hadn't figured out the whole problem yet but he didn't really dwell on it since he was pretty sure not even Harry knew why such things were bothering him so. But then again, just because he didn't fully comprehended what was going on, it didn't mean Antokolsky couldn't say anything about it. As the last students began to get up from their seats and started to gather their books and bags, rushing to finish homework -- or hurrying up the copying of answers -- Piotr decided to give his friend something to think about.
'What is it that really bothers you, Harry?' he began kindly and patiently, making sure he phrased the question carefully, '...the fact that you don't trust Severus or the fact that Ernest does?'
By the look of Harry Potter's glower as he got up and found his way to his classroom, Piotr was pretty sure the Gryffindor wouldn't rest until he found the answer.
Author's Note:
I know, I know! It took me long enough...I'm really sorry but 2007 was a real biatch to me. You can be sure I tried my damn hardest to post new chapters more often but it just couldn't be done.
I'd like to thank everyone who kept having faith, especially the ones who got out of their way to poke me and let me know they really love this fic as much as I do. Thank you!
Now, if you'll exuse me...I have to get my hands dirty on Chapter 13.