Chapter 5

The blood pounded in Harry's ears as he watched the quill dance across the page and then saw the flash of gold.

15: Have you ever been involved - in any way - with the theft of boomslang skin from the potion master's private store room at Hogwarts?

The Gryffindor felt like all the air had been sucked out of the room, as if the potion professor's inquiry had somehow turned the space into an empty void intent on collapsing the teen's lungs.

How had he not expected this? Snape hated him. He should have predicted that the man would try something like this – that he would try to extract information that he could use to have Harry expelled.

Willing himself to actually breathe, the teenager looked up and locked eyes with the potions instructor.

Snape smirked, but didn't say anything to him. Instead, the greasy-haired wizard turned to the other adolescent in the room, who had been watching the two of them with piqued interest.

"Mr. Malfoy?" The man prompted, indicating for the teen to answer the question.

"No," The blond said slowly, clearly trying to piece together what Snape's inquiry was really about, "I've never stolen boomslang skin. I don't even really know what that is."

Harry held his breath and waited to see if Snape would go into full professor mode to explain the various uses of boomslang. That might buy Harry some time to figure out if there was any good way to answer this. Apparently not, though, because the next statement out of the man's mouth was his own response to the question.

"I can honestly say that even in my school days, long before I was the potion master, I did not steal anything from the private store room – much less boomslang skin. Therefore, my answer would also be 'No.' Mr. Potter?"

The Gryffindor's mind raced as the page flashed gold. He hadn't actually been the one to steal it. That had been Hermione. He had just provided the distraction. Maybe, just maybe, the book would take 'No' as his answer.

"No, I've never stolen boomslang skin." He said with much more confidence than he felt. The quill recorded his answer.

The teen held his breath.

And then the page flashed red.

Harry wanted to curse. Of course Snape had felt the need to specify whether he had been involved 'in any way.' And even if he hadn't, the raven-haired boy supposed, the book read intentions, and probably would have known what Snape had meant. This was not a situation he could overcome with a technicality. Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then opened them again. He found himself locking gazes with the potions master once more, only this time Snape wasn't smirking.

"Answer the question again, Potter." The man said, his voice quiet and dangerous. "Truthfully this time."

"Yes." Harry said, a definitive edge to his tone. The quill quickly wrote out the three letters and the page flashed gold. In the hall, there was the sound of falling bricks, but nobody moved.

Snape's eyes flashed. "What use, pray tell, could you possibly have had for boomslang skin at twelve years old?" He inquired in an icy tone.

The Gryffindor shook his head. "That wasn't part of the question."

He watched as the man tightly gripped the arms of his chair, as if he were preparing to leap across the small space to the couch and attack.

"There are very few uses for boomslang skin." Snape said, leaning forward. "Do not mistake me - if need be, I will continue asking yes or no questions until I arrive at the correct answer. However, it will save us both a great deal of time and energy if you would just answer the blasted question! Out with it, Potter!"

Harry flinched at the tone. This was going to be bad no matter how he approached it. "Fine," he said. "We – I mean, I - needed it to create Polyjuice Potion."

The potion master's eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise before his expression darkened considerably. And from his own armchair, Draco's eyebrows rose to his hairline.

"You were brewing Polyjuice Potion?" Snape slowly inquired, though it came out as more of a statement than a question. The man stood as he continued, moving to tower over the Gryffindor - who, in turn, sought to flatten himself into the back of the couch. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? How many things could go wrong? How many school rules you undoubtedly broke in doing so? Damn it, I'll have you expelled for this!"

"No, wait, Professor, you don't understand," Harry said, not caring that his voice was now taking on a pleading tone. He would do anything to keep from being expelling - from going back to the Dursleys full-time. "We didn't think we had a choice. We had to –" He cast a quick glance at Draco before locking eyes with the instructor again, "We had to find out who the heir of Slytherin was. There was the basilisk. It was hurting people and –"

"You shouldn't have been anywhere near that basilisk." Snape cut him off with a snarl. "Much less trying to find out who was controlling it and then fighting the blasted thing. You only survived that particular encounter through sheer dumb luck."

Harry thought about protesting that last statement, but the potions professor had already swept out of the room in a fit of anger, leaving the two adolescents alone.

The parlor lapsed into an eerie silence, as if all sound had been sucked into the void as well.

"Merlin, Potter, a basilisk? Are you bloody mad?" Draco asked, finally finding his voice.

The Boy-who-lived didn't answer, though. He was in no mood to endure the inevitable goading about him being expelled that he knew would appear soon.

He needed space. He needed to do something to clear his mind. Flying. Normally, he would take his broom and go flying, but that wasn't possible here.

Rising from the sofa, he quickly made his way toward the open doorway, ignoring the questions about where he was going from the Slytherin. He could see the door to the lavatory was shut, so he made his way straight across the hall to investigate the room that had most recently opened. Entering, he found himself in what appeared to be a fully-equipped kitchen and pantry.

Well, if he couldn't fly, he could at least do something useful.

He moved as if in a trance, his head a whirlwind of thoughts. Looking in the cabinets, he located a large pot. He filled it with water from the sink and then positioned it on the stovetop. It was an old-timey wood-burning stove, and for a few moments, he pondered how he was supposed to light it. There were no muggle inventions such as matches or lighters in the drawers, and his wand was useless at this point. Looking around, he spotted one of the lanterns that illuminated the room. Reaching up, he removed one of the candles from the lantern, and used its flame to light the wood in the bottom of the stove.

He had just crossed to the pantry shelves and started gathering ingredients when Draco entered the room.

"Poor Potter. I wonder how the wizarding world will react when they find out you've been expelled." Ah, there was the goading.

"Shut up Malfoy." Harry said as he selected several potatoes.

But Draco just leaned back against the shelf and smirked. "I wonder how it must feel to find out you're not really that special after all. You had all the other teachers at Hogwarts wrapped around your finger, but Snape saw right through you."

The Boy-Who-Lived glowered at the blond but didn't respond.

"But I suppose Dumbledore might feel sorry for you. Maybe he'll let you stay on as that stupid half-giant's assistant. That is, if my father doesn't have him fired for incompetency."

The reminder of Lucius Malfoy's crusade against Hagrid coupled with the threat of his own looming expulsion was too much for Harry at that moment, and before he knew it, he had snapped open a large jar of molasses that had been sitting on the shelf in front of him and poured the entire thing over the blond's head.

Draco, who had not seen the attack coming - due to having his eyes closed and laughing at his own remarks - sputtered as he swiped at his face, attempting to remove the sticky substance from his mouth and eyes. "I'm going to murder you, Potter." He said after a moment.

"To the contrary, Mr. Malfoy." Snape said as he swept into the room. "You are going to go take a shower before you end up smearing molasses all over the floor and walls."

As the younger Slytherin protested and argued with his Head of House, Harry ignored them and instead made his way back over the counter to begin preparing ingredients.

After Draco had left (after being threatened with detention for not complying immediately), the potions professor moved across the kitchen toward the Gryffindor. He stood a few paces away, leaning with his hip against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest, intently watching the boy's actions.

"What are you doing, Potter?"

Harry thought it was quite obvious what he was doing, but since he was already in trouble with the man, he bit back any sarcastic comments.

"Cooking, sir."

A pause. Then: "Do you enjoy cooking?"

Why is he asking me this? Harry wondered as he grabbed a carrot and began cutting it. "It's alright, sir. My aunt sometimes has me help her with it."

Snape watched him finish the carrot and then move on to peeling potatoes before speaking again. "So tell me, Potter. Did you actually steal the boomslang skin or were you just the one who threw the firework into Mr. Goyle's cauldron?"

The raven-haired boy glanced up at the man and swallowed. This was a dangerous conversation to have. "I didn't steal it." He said finally.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Since Weasley does not have the finesse to pull off such a maneuver, that only leaves Granger."

Harry felt his heartrate increase. "I didn't say anything about them."

The potions professor rolled his eyes as he unfolded his arms and rested a single hand on the counter, palm down. "Don't worry, Potter. I harbored no illusions that you would betray your accomplices. Though, I must say, it is rather obvious who was behind your little scheme. Granger has always been an insufferable know-it-all. Only she would be so naively overconfident to try to successfully brew Polyjuice Potion in her second year."

The young teen didn't say anything, the only sign that he had heard Snape's cutting remarks being how forcefully he began chopping up the potatoes.

"Did she succeed?" The man asked suddenly. He waited a moment, but when Harry didn't respond, he sighed. "Fine, let me rephrase. Did you succeed?"

The Gryffindor flicked his eyes to the instructor. He supposed really didn't have anything to lose at this point by admitting it, so long as he didn't take Ron and Hermione down with him. "Yes, sir."

If the potions professor was surprised, he didn't show it. "You said that you felt like you had to go through with this ridiculous scheme in order to uncover the heir of Slytherin. I'm assuming this means that you disguised yourself in order to extract information from someone. Tell me, who was your target?"

Harry inwardly cringed. Maybe he did have something to lose, after all. He doubted Snape would take kindly to the fact that he and Ron had broken into the Slytherin common room to interrogate Malfoy.

At the thought of the blond, Harry glanced quickly at the open doorway, looking for any sign of the other boy. He relaxed a bit when he realized he could still hear the water running for the shower. Looking up, he realized the professor had caught his movements.

"I see." The man said, raising an eyebrow. "How idiotic."

The teen returned his attention to the ingredients in front of him, opting now to start chopping an onion. "Yes, well, it was the best guess we had at the time. And no," He said, before the potions instructor could get a snide remark in, "It wasn't worth being expelled."

In his peripheral vision, he saw Snape lift a hand and worry the bridge of his nose. "I'm going to regret this," The man said, apparently to himself.

Harry froze, his knife held still over the part of the onion he was cutting. What did that mean?

The professor sighed. "Two months detention for your blatant dismissal of school rules."

The Gryffindor didn't dare to breathe. This had to be some sort of trick.

"In addition," The man continued, his hand dropping to his side, "you will compose two essays – one about the hazards of throwing a lit firework into an unstable potion –" He paused to give Harry a look. "—and another about the dangers of brewing Polyjuice Potion. I will expect at least five feet for the first and twelve for the second."

"Twelve feet!" Harry gawked. Not that he wouldn't do it – he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth – but twelve was much, much longer than any essay he'd ever had to write.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Trust me, Potter, you'll need the space. Now, hand me the remainder of that onion so that I can dice it properly."

The teenager did as instructed, and then began preparing the meat while the potions instructor diced the onion. And as he started cutting the beef into bite-size pieces for the stew, Harry couldn't help but smile. He had never been so happy to receive a detention in his life.

That smile was wiped off his face a moment later when the professor spoke again. "Oh, and Potter?"

The raven-haired boy closed his eyes. Here comes the catch. "Yes, sir?"

"Look at me." Harry looked up and locked eyes with the Slytherin. Snape slid a bowl of perfectly diced onion pieces toward him. "Rest assured that should you ever steal from me again, there won't be any part left of you to expel."

And with that, the potions professor moved away toward the pantry shelves, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.