(Severus Snape - PoV)

Throwing the door open, I sweep into the room exactly as the class is scheduled to begin.

All eyes turn towards me and I begin my usual spiel, turning to survey the students as I reach the front.

Young Draco sits near the front, with his own pair of minions.

Nott. Bulstrode. Parkinson. Greengrass.

Slytherin is rather busy this year.

Longbottom and the latest Weasly skulk in the back, boding ill. I suspect I know exactly where the first disaster of the class will occur. Unless, of course...

"...stopper in death."

Finally, I turn my attention to them.

Potter.

...Iris.

And the Blacks.

Our first class.

I have not been looking forward to it.

The fact that it is a shared Gryffindor/Slytherin class does not help matters. They never go well.

Given their actions so far, I am just hoping to make it through the year without any...With as few bodies as possible.

"Potter!" I snap out, causing her to jump slightly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

She blinks at me for a moment while Coeus frowns heavily.

"That...Wormwood and as-asphodel? Err...Weren't those used to make the Living Death potion?"

"The Draught of Living Death," I correct, with a begrudging nod. "One point to Slytherin."

That she could answer at all is a good sign, especially as, essentially, a Muggleborn. While the draught is mentioned in Magical Drafts and Potions, the ingredients are not, which meant she had to look it up on her own. Learn beyond the bare minimum.

Lily would approve.

"Brown!"

The girl startles harder than Iris.

"Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"Uh...S-Slug and Jiggers?"

I give her a look to show exactly what I think of her all too common 'smart' answer.

"Minus one point from Gryffindor," I eventually continue once she has sufficiently wilted.

"Longbottom!"

I sigh internally as he nearly knocks his entire table over. Is Gryffindor's sole positive trait not supposed to be "bravery"? What did that girl do to the Hat?

"What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Eyes wide, looking anywhere but at me, he mutters so quietly I am uncertain even Weasly, sitting next to him, can hear.

"...There isn't one."

"What was that, Longbottom? Speak up, if you have something worth saying."

He locks up completely, not even breathing until Weasly elbows him, muttering into his ear.

"...T-"

Coughing, he clears his throat.

"Th-They're the...same plant, si-sir." He hesitates. "It's...also commonly called aconite. S-Sir."

The pudgy boy is all but shaking as I stare at him.

"...One point to Gryffindor," I manage to force out with a begrudging nod.

How irritating. Students aren't supposed to get these questions right.

Now I have to keep going.

"Thomas!" the boy winces, before straightening up warily.

"Why do we use pewter cauldrons and not gold?"

Blinking, he looks over at his cauldron before looking back at me and shrugging.

"Dunno."

I watch him carefully for several moments.

"You don't know?"

"No sir."

He shakes his head.

I nod.

"One point, to Gryffindor."

This entire class appears insistent on being as much of a headache as possible.

I set that question up so most Gryffindors would have guessed wrong. This result still works, but...

"Did the recipe call for salamander blood or iguana blood? Was the infusion of wormwood one part per cauldron or one part per dose? Do we stir before or after we take it off the fire?" I ask rhetorically, sweeping my gaze over the room.

"Earlier, I briefly mentioned some of the potential potions are capable of. That, is when they are made correctly. Perfectly. When made incorrectly?"

Pulling out a bottle filled with indigo liquid, I place it on my desk.

"A simple pepper-up potion becomes a chilling potion, turning the blood in your veins to slush. If you are not within meters of a healer, you die."

A vial of dark, dark green joins the first.

"An invigoration draught becomes a deathly lethal poison. Collapsing where you stand, you will never rise again."

I drop a handful of shards onto the table.

"A cauldron explodes. Pewter cauldrons are used instead of gold due to its lack of reactivity with most potions, but your friends will not enjoy experiencing pewter shards being driven into their lungs."

Many small faces wince or grimace as I watch.

"If you do not know, do not guess. Potions is not the place for it."

Not with amateurs. Experimenting is for those who have some idea of what they are doing.


Stalking around the room, I run a critical eye over each student's work, watching to see who shall be causing me the most headaches in the future.

"Hands completely away the scale, Runcorn."

"You have gloves on, Miss Brown. Prepare your slugs."

"Would you describe that as a fine powder, Mister Finnegan? Yes? Two feet on why you are wrong by next week. Include the definition."

"Parkinson! Why have you not even started your slugs yet?"

As usual, half of the girls are reluctant to so much as touch the slugs, while the boys have no idea how to handle or prepare anything. Finnigan in particular is going to be a problem, I suspect. Nearly as much as the duo in the back, who I have written off as this years demonstration.

There are exceptions, thankfully. The Slytherins with experience or prior instruction, like Draco.

Crabbe would have been a mess on his own, but under Draco's careful direction they find themselves the first with a cauldron producing pink smoke.

Good smoke.

And the potion?

Color, consistency, smell...yes.

An excellent showing. Not that I would expect (or demand) any less, given the time I spent tutoring him.

Of course it is in the middle of praising his potion that the duo in the back screw up, managing to melt their cauldron entirely.

Vanishing the billowing green smoke and spreading liquid, I make my way to their desk.

"A boil cure potion, becomes a caustic, boil causing potion. And despite appearances, it is the smoke, not the liquid, that is the most dangerous. While less potent, in sufficient doses it can cause boils to form inside your lungs."

Glancing over the boys, writhing and moaning on the ground, I confirm that neither one is in any true danger before shaking my head and looking to the rest of the room.

"An, unfortunate, way to go, I assure you."

One that I have used a time or three, especially early in the war, before the aurors and hit wizards learned to always filter their air.

And of course Bellatrix enjoyed the idea so much it inspired her to try replicating it with a curse.

"Draco, what are you waiting for?" I chide drawing a questioning look.

I wave a hand at the dunces.

"It seems we have an opportunity to test your potion."

Brightening, he quickly scoops up several doses and rushes over to apply them.

"I do hope that the rest of you are keeping track of your own potions," I mention while waiting for them to recover.

The sudden scuffle of activity suggests otherwise.

I expect I will be handing out more than a few T's today.

Every yea-

"Finnigan!"

He jumps in surprise.

"Y-Yeah?"

"What, are you doing?"

"...Adding the quills," he responds stiffly, not moving a muscle.

His partner, who had been turned away, cleaning up the horned slug leftovers, twitches.

"...Mister Thomas. You have something to say?"

He quickly glances at the board for confirmation before returning his gaze to me.

"The fire. We need to take it off the fire first, right? Err, sir?"

"Correct..."I slowly intone, dragging the word out. "And what happens if you do not?"

He blinks.

"I...don't know?"

He hesitates, eyes flickering towards the dunces.

"Something bad?"

"Something bad indeed."

I hold his gaze for a moment.

"Hmph. At least one of you isn't completely useless. Finish your potion, Mister Thomas."

Nodding, he quickly gets to work.

"Err-"

"Out!" I interrupt Finnigan when he starts to speak up, glaring at this year's worst dunces. "All three of you, unable to finish the simplest of potions, to follow the most basic direction, without disaster. Out! This classroom is for wizards, not trolls!"


Pink smoke rises from another cauldron, and I can avoid it no longer.

Sweeping over to their table, I eye the concoction critically.

It is...excellent. Every bit as good as Draco's.

I am certain Greengrass has some experience, her family would make certain of it, but Iris... She was too confident, too sure of herself. She has done this before.

A single nod, and I move o-

"Err, Professor?" of course she speaks up.

Stopping in place, I take a breath.

"Yes, Miss Potter?" I reply, not turning back around.

"Why does putting the quills in before or after make such a big difference?"

I suppress a twitch.

"The effect, I mean. Ruin it, make it hot, or blow up, yeah, but do the opposite of what it is supposed to?"

Just like her mother.

The wording isn't even close, but...

"That is beyond the scope of this lesson, Miss Potter, " I reply.

"...The library has books on the topic. See me after class, I will recommend a few. You may look them up, or not, on your own time."


"Homework," I announce to a chorus of groans after the bell rings, "Twelve inches on bezoars. Description, properties...harvesting methods," my gaze lingers on Miss Brown, slowly sinking into herself as the glares fall on her when her classmates realize who is responsible for the entire class receiving homework.

The usual bustle of packing bags and shuffling feet as students rush out of the room as quickly as possible fades to background noise as the trio approach my desk.

Grunting, I shove a parchment in her direction before she can open her mouth.

"Give that to Madam Pince," I instruct.

"Ah," Drawing back slightly, she takes the list, nodding as she puts it away. "Thank you."

...

She is still here.

Hesitating, she awkwardly lingers in front of my desk.

I still have two more classes today, have barely made a dent in my paperwork, and do not want to deal with whatever this is bound to be. Just tell her to be on her w-

"Was there something else, Miss Potter?"

Damnit!

"Umm...Sorry. Thanks for the list? Andy mentioned my mom liked potions, so I looked into them, and there are lots of books but it's hard to know what books are good, you know? Coeus already talked to me about how many books are completely worthless, and...yeah."

"We never did replace our bed, did we?" Coeus mutters to himself.

What?

...What books were they reading, exactly?

Rolling her eyes, Phoebe hits Coeus on the shoulder.

"This idiot gave Iris a copy of the Girl-Who-Lived Adventures Series. She blew through the flame suppression wards and set everything on fire."

"...I see."

The girl flushes with embarrassment.

Again, with the fire.

Given the circumstances, however...yes. Living the life she did, growing up in that place, only to discover those books, making such fantastical claims...

...

"Grandfather is taking care of it," Phoebe adds.

Again, I have to resist a sigh.

Master Occlumens, experienced spy, and double agent...Am I truly so easy to read?

Iris spares her a glance.

"Right. Umm, anyway..."

She shakes her head.

"You knew my mom, right?"

Damnit...

"No one else seems to really know her, or is able or willing to talk about her. So..." she gives a shrug. "It's either you or Sirius."

Absolutely no-

...

It's easy to forget, but Iris is in my house. She is a Slytherin.

I am being played.

"I daresay the dog could tell you all about your own sperm donor as well," I throw out, watching her carefully.

The surprise on her face gives her away.

Stepping forward, Phoebe wraps her arms around Iris, rests her head on her shoulder, and looks at me.

"You are really good at playing games where everyone loses, Professor."

!

...

That...has been my life, yes.

...

And despite all my promises and intentions to be better, here I am doing it again. Fighting with a child, one that I am supposed to be supporting and protecting, for the most petty of reasons.

Nodding, I concede her point before turning my attention to Iris.

"...Not now. Later," I promise. "I really am too busy at the moment."

Iris nods, but it is Phoebe that speaks up.

"More busy than you think," she pronounces ominously.

Fishing about her robes, she pulls out a spine and drops it on my desk.

A Sea Urchin spine.

"Mixed in with the porcupine quills. I pulled it out before class."

"...It would have been used?"

She shrugs.

"Depends on who picks it up. Some know better, it is pretty obviously not the same. You catch most who don't. But sometimes..."

I carefully trace a single finger along the smooth surface.

Added at the proper time for the quills, it would utterly ruin the potion, turning it into a bubbling, toxic sludge. Added at the wrong time, before taking it off the fire...

Hn. Just like with Flitwick, our very first class with them.

At the wrong time, it massively amplifies the effects. The fire and water boil over into far more, and far more potent smoke. There is virtually no delay between inhalation or skin contact and the formation of boils.

Dropping a spine into a potion at the wrong time can easily lead to a dead team of Aurors.

Or a room full of dead students.

Vanishing the smoke is not easy when you have already been engulfed, your body consumed by the effects.

"I see. Thank you for informing me. I will go over the stores carefully to check for any more, mistakes."

Mistakes, I muse as they finally take their leave.

I allow my fists to clench.

Blatant attempts to murder Iris.

...

Dumbledore, interestingly, does not believe the Dark Lord to be the cause. He believes the source of the attacks to be more, esoteric.

Exactly what he has no idea, of course. But something else.

I remain unconvinced.

No, for all they "matched minds" he was always, removed, from the Dark Lord.

These methods are strange, indirect, inefficient, and illogical.

All fit the Dark Lord's plans and actions as the war dragged on.

Near the end, it was often impossible to tell what their goals were with any particular action.

...

If not for everything else, it could have been a (massive) mistake. A misplacement from a NEWT student. But that sort of coincidence...

I am uncertain which is more terrifying. Subtle probability and manipulation magic on that scale, or the idea of the Dark Lord personally interfering in my stores.