Chapter 2: Exploding Potions
Once the Death Eater meeting ended, Snape shakily apparated to the boundaries of Hogwarts and hiked to the castle. After a few minutes' walk of rugged ground and harsh stone steps, Snape came to the doors and creaked them open. He sauntered up two crooked flights of stairs and one sweeping flight before he came to the entrance to Albus's office.
"Canary Creams," he spat, and the stone gargoyle respectfully stepped aside to let him pass up the winding stairs. Snape scowled at Albus's choice of passwords; this one, as always, was one of those candy ones. He didn't even recognise the candy. Probably some stupid new strain from Honeyduke's.
Snape knocked the griffin knocker three times when he arrived at the oak door of Albus's office. He entered as a jovial voice invited him in.
"Ah, Severus, I see you are back." Dumbledore smiled lightly and leaned back.
"Yes, Albus," said Snape said as he took a seat behind the great desk. "I bring the news of my first Death Eater rally."
Dumbledore frowned slightly. "I think you need to tell me exactly what happened," he said, casting an eye down at Snape's body, weak from the Cruciatius curse.
"There will be an atack on the Department of International Relations on the Tuesday of the second week of August," Snape said hurriedly.
"Yes, yes, thank you. I will alert the Minister. Now, can you tell me what went on at the meeting?"
Snape scowled. He did not fancy having to tell Dumbledore of his reinitiation. "You-Know-Who was quite surprised to see me. He called me up to the middle of the circle... He knew that I was the spy for you. He first made me explain, then tell him what I could do for him. And then... once I said that... he cast the Cruciatius and then doubled it. After that-"
"Double Cruciatius? Goodness... we must get you to the hospital wing immediately after this. Go on."
"And to prove loyalty, he asked me to- to..." Snape shuddered. What would Albus think of him when he said that he must kill Percy Weasley? Sure, he had been a nuisance in class, but Snape didn't want him dead... "He asked me to actively participate in the attack on the Ministry." His heart beat rapidly for Albus's answer.
"Hmm. Of course, it is to be expected that Voldemort would want proof of your loyalty... Well, you may participate, as he would surely suspect you if you didn't, but perhaps there is some way you can help disrupt it?"
"Ah... Yes, headmaster, I b-believe so..." Snape was a bit unsure of what he should do.
"Very well then! Now that we've got that sorted out, you should head up to the hospital wing. I will alert the Ministry of the attack."
"Yes. Thank you, Albus." Snape stood up and shakily made his way down the spiraling staircase and to the hospital wing.
Snape sincerely hoped that he would be able to just kill the Weasley boy and get over with it. No one except You-Know-Who would have to see him... Yet something inside him told him that Albus would not be approving of it. Ah, why could he not have anyone to fall back on? Why was his only trusting friend a wizened and respected old sorcerer to whom he was fearful to talk to? Snape reached into the depths of the gray Death Eater robes and brought out a square, crisp newspaper clipping. It was one of the many pictures of Harry Potter.
Why did the boy have to look so bloody like Potter?
Why couldn't Harry have been his, just as Lily had been his to care for during those awful times before You-Know-Who's fall?
The Dursley's had had a long, fun day celebrating Dudley's 15th birthday, and they all were too tired to stay awake past nine o'clock. As Harry lay on his bed, listening absent-mindedly to Uncle Vernon's slumberous snores, a thought came to him.
This was the night to do his Potions homework.
Unlike all the years before, this summer's holiday homework for Potions was to actually brew a potion. It was legal enough, as the students did not need to use their wands (and they were exempt from doing so over the summer). Harry's aunt and uncle, however, had locked his things up in their cupboard, so Harry couldn't do any of his homework, let alone get his huge cauldron out. And, as far as Harry knew, Dumbledore was not letting him return to the Burrow, due to Lord Voldemort's recent return. Harry knew his other professors would probably understand, but he did not fancy walking into Snape's class and trying to tell him that he couldn't do the homework.
Ron had come to his rescue and owled him ingredients and instructions for ageing potions, and Harry assumed that he could probably get a big pot nad brew it on Aunt Petunia's stove. If he was to do it, then this was the night to.
So Harry took the ingredients and instructions and sidled downstairs to kitchen, where he located Aunt Petunia's largest pot.
Harry carefully measured out the ingredients, but had to guess for most of the measurements since Aunt Petunia's measuring cups had muggle measurements.
"One dren is... about... a third of a litre, so half a dren... about a sixth of a litre? Oh, I don't know!" Harry dumped what looked like half a dren of dragon oil into the pot. "Oops..."
The potion, which Ron's letter said should have been green-blue, turned a fizzy orange. "Hmm... okay, it's probably not that big of a mistake... just a little too much dragon oil... now turn on the heat and stir it..." Harry turned the knob on the stove and a ring of blue flames alit beneath the makeshift cauldron. "Here goes..." The potion quivered slightly as Harry dipped a wooden cooking spoon into the potion.
As Harry slowly stirred it, the potion quickly bubbled with heat. He stirred a bit quicker, as the instructions said to, and the potion. boiled furiously. Harry stopped stirring for a moment...
BOOM!
The orange potion exploded into Harry's face, drenching anything within three feet of the stove. Harry blanched, and, feeling extremely like Neville (to whom this kind of thing was a regular occasion), quickly rushed to get the paper towels.
He splashed some water from the sink on his face, but it looked like the potion had already sunk into his skin and coated his hair. If he could get the counter and floor cleaned up before the Dursleys found him, then they probably wouldn't suspect that he was doing any magic, but they were sure to be displeased by it.
As he wiped up the oily potion from the floor (I definitely put too much dragon oil in, he thought), Uncle Vernon swung open the kitchen door and staqred at him.
"WHAT IN HEAVEN'S NAME ARE YOU DOING, BOY??" Harry was silent. "WELL? JUST THOUGHT YOU COULD COME IN IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT AND RUIN OUR KITCHEN?" Uncle Vernon sounded like a Howler just flew in.
"Um, no, Uncle Vernon, I was, er, cooking," Harry said hurriedly.
"Cooking? Just what are you cooking at 11 pm, and WHY IS IT ALL OVER MY KITCHEN?"
"Um..." Harry thought quickly and looked down at the potion. "Tomato soup. I thought I could-"
"I don't care what you thought you were doing, boy! Just look at my kitchen! Its- it's- your concoction is eating away at our pot!"
Harry stared at Aunt Petunia's pot. Sure enough, there was a small, black- rimmed hole on the bottom of it. "It- it spilled, and stove blew up- that was the boom- and it burned the pot a little, see." He took it to the sink and started to wash it of so that Uncle Vernon wouldn't see the hole growing bigger and bigger.
"Well, I got news for you, boy," Uncle Vernon said vindictively, "Come morning, after you clean up that mess (which you will), you're leaving and not coming back this time!" Uncle Vernon thundered out of the room.
Harry sighed as he wiped up the oily globs from the the floor. Uncle Vernon had already tried to kick him out two times this summer, but Mrs. Figg had found him and brought him back. Uncle Vernon would have turned him away, of course, but he didn't want Mrs. Figg to think he really was doing anything bad.
When he had gotten the last of the potion of the floor and stove, he took a towel and rubbed the oily potion out of his hair, leaving his hair quite oily itself. He tiptoed back up to his room and climbed into his bed. He pulled his hair back into a loose ponytail; since his hair had been too messy to handle, he had grown it to shoulder-length early that summer. He fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
The next morning, Harry woke up to a loud banging on the door.
"BOY!" The door busted open. "You're coming with me!" Harry found himself being dragged out of bed, down the stairs, out the door and into the car. Harry sleepily fastened the seatbelt as Uncle Vernon zoomed off. About five minutes later, they arrived at an old bench in front of the park. "Well, get out, boy, and don't come back this time! Tell Mrs. Figg that you're taking a walk or something!" He opened the door, nudged Harry out, and sped away.
Harry sat down the on the bench and laughed. This was the exact same place that he had dropped him off the last two times, and he knew the way home well (not that he wanted to go back and face Uncle Vernon's temper). Mrs. Figg probably took walks by here, too; otherwise, how could she have made such a prompt appearance each time?
Harry was just wondering what he should do, especially if Mrs. Figg or someone else he knew turned up, when a voice addressed him from behind.
"Ah, Professor Snape! Fancy seeing you here. I was looking for-"
Harry whipped his head around. A short wizard in dark blue robes stood behind him. Harry narrowed his eyes and said, "What did you call me?"
"Ah, Mr. Potter, excuse me," said the short wizard paled a bit, but smiled jovially. "I mistook you for an old schoolmate of mine- I daresay you know Professor Snape?" Harry nodded, and the wizard straighened himself up professionally. "Anyway, I am a represenative from the Ministry of Magic. It seems that your relatives have proven themselves unsuitable gaurdians, so I am here to take you to the Ministry until we can find more suitable family members for you to live with."
"Okay..." Harry wondered about why this wizard would have thought that he was Snape. In the end he concluded that the little wizard seemed a bit out of anyway, and probably thought that anything walking with black hair was his old best friend, Severus Snape.
Noticing an uneasy look on Harry's face, the wizard said, "I'm sorry about your leaving the Dursleys. I'm sure that you'll be able to visit them-"
Harry laughed. "Oh, no, I'm happy to get away from them," he replied.
"Right then... Here's a portkey to the Ministry..." He took a piece of wrinkled parchment from his pocket and held it out. Harry, who had had not- so- pleasant experiences with portkeys before, hesitantly reached out to it and waited for the familiar portkey sensation. It came a couple seconds later, like a hook pulling him down.
The wizard and Harry landed on the edge of a bustling circular hall. The wizard took him through one of the many doors to a long hallway, and through various other doors and hallways until they came to what looked like an office to Harry. Inside, Fudge sat behind a desk, talking to Dumbledore. They were apparently conversing about a rather serious subject
"-And when is that date again?"
"Second Tuesday in August- the ninth, I believe." Dumbledore turned his head to Harry and the other wizard. "Ah, Brevland, you've found him. Hello, Harry." Dumbldore's eyes twinkled at Harry.
"Thank you again, Albus. This will be very helpful." Fudge waved the parchment he had been jotting on.
The wizard, apparently called Brevland, said, "Have you found any more relatives, Minister?"
"Alas, no, there are few records of Harry's mother's family, and James didn't have any living relatives at the time of his death. It may be a while before we find someone willing to take Harry in," said Fudge.
"But I'm am sure there are some." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, if possible, even more. "In the meantime, is there any specific place you might want to stay, Harry? I'm sure you would not like to stand there for however long it will take us.:"
Harry's eyes widened. Could he....? "Can I stay anywhere?"
"Certainly. But it probably won't be for long. Do you want me to contct the Weasleys?"
Mind reader, Harry thought. He smiled. "If- If they don't mind, sir, that would be fine with me!"
Dumbledore smiled. "Very well. You and Brevland should go back and get Harry's things at the Dursley's, while I go talk to Molly and Arthur."
"Thank you, sir,' Harry said happily.
He and Brevland left the office and started down the hallway.
"Technically, we should go by floo or portkey, but I don't think it'll hurt- " Brevland grabbed Harry's hand- "To apparate a little..."
Harry suddenly found himself outside on the Dursley's front lawn. Brevland walked up to the door and knocked three times.
Uncle Vernon did answer it, muttering about people not seeing the doorbell, and turned a shade of angry green at the sight of Harry.