As Harry made his way into the dungeon that was the Potions classroom, he thought he was ready to handle whatever came his way. Not in the sense that he thought it would be easy, but he was convinced that the work the teachers put the students to was meant to challenge but not break them, and so it would be within their abilities to handle. As he felt the chill in the dungeon, however, a different worry touched his mind. As he arranged his papers, he whispered in as quiet a hiss as he could manage, "Are you going to be okay in this cold?"

Kevin chuckled softly in response. "Harry, even if I would have trouble with as mild a cold as this - which would get in the way of my duties to protect the castle, think about what winters are like up here - there's a reason I'm spending most of my time curled around your arm with my tail around your neck. Do you have any idea how much body heat a prepubescent wizard puts out? And it'll only get warmer once puberty kicks in..."

Unsure what that last part was supposed to mean, Harry arranged his quill and ink pot to be ready to take notes. He wished he could use a pencil or even just a pen, but for some reason quills and inkpots were what was required. He supposed he'd get used to it eventually.

Before he could gather his thoughts beyond that, Professor Snape swept into the dungeon with a cold, "Take your seats," his monotone managing to sound both dominant and cruel at the same time. He glanced over the class with seeming disdain before sweeping up to his desk with his robes billowing dramatically around him.

"Well, someone is enjoying himself a little too much," Kevin observed dryly. "If that was any more practiced, I'd be holding up score cards." Harry did his best not to show his amusement at Kevin's comment.

Professor Snape proceeded to take roll, pausing as he got to a name. "Ah yes, Mr. Potter. Our new...celebrity." He carefully sounded out the word with a distasteful smirk, as though doing his best to turn the word into a deadly insult and enjoying every moment of it.

"And here I was hoping he'd have outgrown this," Kevin grumbled under his breath. "So he and your pops butted heads while they were here over your mom and your pops friends played a few pranks he got even for. Is he ever going to outgrow his victim mentality?" Feeling Harry tense in surprise at that, Kevin chuckled softly. "I did tell you I've been watching classes for 900 years. Some things stuck out. Though he really never had a chance with your mom. Before their friendship fell apart because of some heated words, I overheard your mom telling the others to 'leave her little brother alone'. Yeah, that's how she saw him. Pity he never got the memo." Kevin shifted oddly against Harry's arm. "Then again, it was shortly after that interchange when most of the pranks aimed his way stopped, leaving only the more harmless ones coming. Maybe someone should have told him..."

Harry did his best to take notes on what Professor Snape had been saying while also listening to Kevin's rambles. While what Kevin was saying was definitely interesting, he was doing his best to copy down about 'bottling fame', 'brewing glory', and 'putting a stopper in death', and the last thing he wanted was to accidentally write 'Uncle Snape' somewhere in his notes.

"Potter!" Snape suddenly snapped out, making Harry jump in shock as he lifted his head, nearly dropping his quill. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"Well well, he definitely is enjoying this," Kevin mused darkly. "That's a second year potion, not even in your first year textbook. Hmm...let's throw it right back at him. Ask him what was brewed in the cauldron previously."

Blinking uncertainly, Harry swallowed convulsively. "M-might I know what was made in the cauldron before this mixture?" he asked diffidently.

Snape frowned darkly, glaring over his lower eyelids at Harry. "And why would that matter?" he demanded darkly, looking like he was about to haul off and smack - or curse - Harry for insolence.

Harry listened to Kevin's whispers a bit more, then spoke up. "W-well, if there's been any poppy used in the cauldron in the month prior, even the slightest trace will turn the Draught of Living Death that mixture is supposed to be into the Devil's Draught, which is identical in all visual analysis and in apparent effect...but while slumbering, the victim's mind is 'opened to the voices of the fey', with them being driven mad being the best case scenario for the outcome."

Snape had frozen, the sneer falling off his face, the moment Harry mentioned the Devil's Draught. "And where did you come across this information?" he pressed firmly.

Another whisper from Kevin guided Harry. "It was a book called 'Misbrewed Maladies' that I stumbled across in a second-hand bookstore in Diagon Alley."

Snape frowned ruefully. "Hectares of Books?" he asked grimly.

"Wow, that's still there?" Kevin mused in surprise.

"Y-yes sir," Harry confirmed quickly.

"I don't suppose you purchased it?" Snape pressed dolefully.

"I'm afraid not, sir," Harry offered apologetically. "I was browsing, but didn't have the spare money on me...and it wouldn't have fit in my trunk..."

"A pity," Snape allowed as he rubbed his brow. "The recipe for Devil's Draught has been lost for generations, and it is highly unlikely you'll ever find that book in that store again, assuming someone else hasn't purchased it." He straightened himself. "Still, you are correct in that the mixture I presented makes the Draught of Living Death, an exceptionally potent sleeping potion." He frowned down at Harry, seeming to shake himself a bit. "And where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"Ooh, technically a third year question," Kevin purred smugly. "That's when you actually talk about harvesting your own ingredients. You have some in your supplies, however. In with the antidotes."

Harry blinked in surprise. He remembered buying those, though he hadn't recalled the name. "I have a few in my supplies," he spoke up diffidently. "The salesman said they were near-universal antidotes, in that if a poison gave you enough time to take an antidote before killing you, a bezoar would cure it." Kevin's backing helped him to be a little more confident, and he was glad to manage to speak up this much.

"Good forward planning," Snape observed dryly. "But let us assume you did not have any in your supplies. Where would you seek it?"

Harry frowned at that. "Umm..."

"Ask if you can examine one to try and figure it out," Kevin offered with a smug purr.

"...I don't know off the top of my head," Harry apologized, "but may I examine one to try and figure it out?"

Snape's smirk returned, but this time it seemed somewhere between smug and pleased. "Be my guest," he allowed, his tone still almost - but not quite - cruel as he gestured to Harry's bags.

Harry quickly reached into his bags, pulling out one of the bezoars. It was a small stone, small enough to fit in his closed hand, and unnaturally smooth save for odd pitting around the outside, and an odd, glossy sheen. He set it down on his desk as he took a close look at it.

"I won't give you the answers here, since you're supposed to be figuring it out," Kevin offered dryly, "but I'll point you in the right direction. What can you tell so far?"

"It's mineral," Harry murmured, unaware he was still speaking English rather than having slipped into snake language, plainly audible to Professor Snape. "But...this smoothness doesn't look like a stone you'd pick up off the ground or a riverbed...and this pitting..."

Sensing Harry's hesitation, Kevin provided, "That sort of pitting is from acidic erosion, but not a very strong one. At least, not strong enough to completely overcome the stone's structure." He chuckled softly. "Which is why the stone was in the acid to begin with."

Harry blinked at that. "Some animals swallow stones to help with their digestion, especially the ones that do a lot of chewing since they need the extra help..." Harry mused thoughtfully.

"Good, good," Kevin purred encouragingly. "Now, given you know it's a broad spectrum antidote, what creature do you think would expose such a stone in their gut to a wide enough variety of things to have that sort of effect?"

Harry turned that over in his mind as he turned the stone over on his desk. He then looked up at Professor Snape. "Did this come from a goat's stomach, Professor?"

Snape blinked a few times, and his grin widened. "Indeed, Mr. Potter. Well deduced." He strode around Harry for a time as though lost in thought. "And what, pray tell, is the difference between monkshod and wolfsbane?"

"Oho!" Kevin cried in a mix of shock and delight. "Going straight for the NEWT level questions, is he? Either he really hates you, or he really likes you...or possibly both, he's odd like that. They're the same species of plant, but the names come from different regions...and that leads to different trace elements in the plant, though that's negligible until NEWT level potions or beyond.

Harry dutifully relayed that information, managing not to stammer over it, and Snape smirked. "And where did you come across that tidbit?" he asked dryly.

"The same place as the bezoar information," Harry managed to get out with only minor prompting from Kevin. "I noticed two bins with two names and prices, but looked like the same plant. I asked about it, and that was the answer."

Professor Snape stared down at Harry for a time...and then smirked. "Indeed," he stated calmly as he swept up to his desk. "Two points to Gryffindor for each well answered question, Mr. Potter...and two more for an inquiring mind and cool logic, both distressingly rare in most students I'm forced to teach."

Harry did his best not to be too obvious in his sigh of relief as Snape's attention turned away from him...and also tried not to smirk too much at the look of awe Ron was sending his way.

It wasn't long after that when everyone was set to mix a boil removing potion in pairs, the Professor watching them as they worked. Harry managed to relax into this somewhat, as Snape's gaze wasn't hostile when directed his way, and this was more or less cooking which he was well practiced in. When he picked up some of the nettles to weigh, however, Kevin spoke up. "Hang on a moment. That handful...give it a sniff."

Curious, Harry brought the handful to his nose, wincing at the sudden bitter scent that - for some reason - put him in mind of rotting vegetables despite smelling nothing like it. "Has this gone bad?" he asked quietly.

"You caught that, did you?" Kevin purred smugly. "That's right. Not too bad, mind. It's still technically usable, but the resulting potion would definitely be subpar-" Kevin tensed up. "Harry, stop Neville!" He tugged on Harry's arm to the left.

Turning that way, Harry saw Neville about to put his porcupine quills into his bubbling cauldron. Without thinking about it, he lunged over and pushed Neville's hand away from the cauldron. "You need to take it off the fire first!" he warned the boy urgently.

"Indeed, Mr. Potter," Snape observed dryly from behind. "Though there was no need for manhandling. A point from Gryffindor for bad conduct."

Harry wilted under the stare, moving back to his cauldron as Neville and Seamus moved their cauldron off the fire.

"And one point for Gryffindor for catching that near disaster," Snape observed dryly. "You have good instincts. Expect to hone them." With that, he swept back towards the front of the class.

Harry let out a sigh of relief as he returned to his potion work. That was a little rough, but not the worst it could have been.

Idly, he wondered what would have happened if he hadn't stopped Neville. What would come of putting the porcupine quills in while the cauldron was on the fire?