That Bloody Toad
Scotland. Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry. September 1993. First week of school, early Thursday morning. "95, 96, 97…" Tracy Davis, half-blood Slytherin, was counting as she brushed her dorm mate Pansy Parkinson's long dark hair. "A Witch's Hair is a Witch's Pride as much as a Wizard's Beard is", her mother was wont to say, and Pansy took that to heart. One hundred strokes morning and evening with a soft brush. Ever since she had come to Hogwarts she had roped in the mudblood to do it for her. Davis should be grateful: as a vassal of House Parkinson she had obtained better standing on the pureblood social ladder than as the child of a Wizard who -the shame of it! -had a bit of a fling with a Muggle. Of course it wasn't real vassalitude (was that even a word?), not as ancient Pureblood traditions would have it, but it was the spirit of the thing that counts.
"99, 100! There! Done," said Tracy giving the final stroke, "How would you like your hair, Pansy? Drawn back in a plait, or a ponytail?" First lesson that day was Potions, and Professor Snape had made it quite clear to his Slytherins that unkempt hair was a hazard in his class. A single stand falling into a brew could ruin it, or worse. So the girls kept their locks in check with clips and ribbons, the boys, at least those who folowed the old traditions and grew their hair long, managed somehow. Some wore the pointy hats that were part of the school uniform (though entirily optional except on festivals) with extra strong sticking charms. Malfoy kept his slicked back with gel. Supposedly Potioneers were exempt from the 'Wizards must have beards ' rule of tradition as the Potions Master went clean shaven all day -in fact the total absence of a stubble or even a five o'clock shadow the likes of which one would expect from such a dark haired man had given rise to the assumption he was incapable of growing one. Then again, if he had a beard like the Headmaster's, he would never be able to brew safely. Maybe he took a potion for it.
Pansy pursed her lips. She really would like to try out one of those elaborately elegant hairdo's Lady Malfoy so often sported within the pages of Witch's Weekly every time she was chosen as 'Most Fashionable Witch of the Year' which was just about as often as Gilderoy Lockhart was winner of the 'Most Charming Smile Award'. Pansy had done so, once, with the beautiful silver hair pins she received as her coming-of-age gift that were studded with flowers cut from green peridots (she would have preferred classier- and more expensive- jade, but Parkinsons were no Malfoys. Why, they only had one House-elf! Mother would never let her have it to do her hair, another reason why she had jumped on the occasion to take on Davis, snatching her right from under that snotty Greengrass's nose! Hah! ) however, Professor Snape had taken one look at it and informed her that if she were to take as much care of her schoolwork as she did of her appearance her marks would rise considerably.
"Not a net, " she decided, "Greengrass always wears one, what are we, twins? No, I will have plaits, done up in buns around the ears." Tracy hid her smile behind the brush. No-one could possibly see any form of kinship between small, chubby Pansy Parkinson and tall willowy blonde Daphne Greengrass. And Princess Leia she was not either. Not that she would ever get the reference, the stupind pureblood bint. She hated Pansy's condescending attitude and she hated acting like she was her servant, but beggars can't be choosers and a girl has to be practical. Especially a Halfblood girl in Slytherin. Tracy was nothing if not practical.
A few well practised hairdressing charms late and they were ready to go to Double Potions with the Griffindors. All Slytherins came in well on time, not difficult when the Potion's classroom was near to their common room, but even if it had been at the other end of the Castle in the topmost tower they would have been in class on the dot if not very much before. Draco Malfoy was the proverbial exception, cutting it fine very time. Professor Snape never told him off for this, but what would you expect? Not only was Draco's father a prominent (and wealthy) member of the school Board of Governors, but also the patron of the Potion's Master who during his own school days had been to Malfoy senior what Tracy was to Pansy. It was no secret in Slytherin that their Head of House was a Halfblood. Daphne Greengrass, who could cite everyone's parentage all the way back to the Deluge had sniffed a little contemptuously when Tracy had asked, back in their first year when she was still trying to find her place in the Wixen pecking order, "Snape is definitely not a Wixen name, but he managed to get into a fealty bond with the Malfoys, which is the best option for a Halfblood if they want to establish themselves and rise ….it's what the Malfoys themselves did , after all…they were originally continentals - French as you can guess from the name: de male foy. They managed to keep truth about their origins well hiddden, but they were probably banished to Britain for being of bad faith or something. For all their airs they are not truly a Most Ancient and Noble British House, unlike we Greengrasses. " They would both vehemently deny it, but Daphne and Pansy had a lot in common.
So there Draco was, sauntering idly in with the inevitable Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle looming by his side getting no more than a mild 'settle down' from the Potion's Master who was busy jotting instructions on the blackboard. The Griffindor's were still nowhere in sight. Even after two years under Professor Snape's rule, they had not gotten the message that if they wanted to avoid his ire they should not come in late. And with Snape, one minute was too late. Half a minute. 10 seconds even, on particularly bad days. Or maybe the Griffindors slouched in on purpose, just to wind him up.
The Potion Master's dark gaze scanned the dungeon menacingly before he spoke in his all but whispering tone that somehow managed to be understood by everyone down to the very end of the the aisle (except of course Griffindors who did not pay attention): "For you first lesson of the year you will be brewing a Vanishing Solution. I urge extreme caution. There will be no fooling about," -here he fixed the two greatest health and safety hazards in his class (unsurprisingly both on the Griffindor side) 'spontaneous combustion of what he claimed was plain water' Seamus Finnigan and 'melt a cauldron a year' Neville Longbottom- "While the solution is commonly applied as a cleaning method and will come in very handy for those of you who hand in essays that are more ink blotches than actual writing… " (now his look swivelled to Harry Potter who had no more managed the art of writing with a quill than he had that of exactitude)…"However, in its purest undiluted form it can vanish anything that is not mineral. Madam Pomfrey will not be happy having to regrow vanished appendages. Although…."and here his knife-slit mouth turned into his trademark sneer as he turned back to Neville, " In Longbottom's case if it is his brain that has to be regrown it might actually be an improvement. "
It was a joke, a cruel one, one of the many professor Snape made at his student's expense. He firmly believed that the fine and very British art of sarcastic wit was the best means of controlling them. Children might be very nice individually, but put them in a group in front of an isolated adult and they become like a horde of hyena's circling their prey, ready to pounce at a single opening in its defences. Regularly singling one or student more out with a few choice words kept them at bay. He did not particularly enjoy humiliating a kid like Longbottom, but it had its moments. And frankly, if the worst that could happen to the boy throughout his time at school was a tonguelashing from his professors, he should count himself lucky. The previous two years were a testament to the fact that there are far worse things to be feared in Hogwarts than the Potions Master.
The Slytherins sniggered, and some laughed outright. On the other side of the aisle, Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown suppressed a giggle. Griffindor solidarity only went so far, and Neville had never been popular. Those ten housepoints he had gained for their House to win the cup in first year were long forgotten.
The boy shrank in his seat, fighting back the tears that threatened. He was not Griffindor enough to shrug off the Potion Master's biting words the way his class-mates would. There was truth in them though: he was stupid. Dull. Slow. Slow to awaken to his magic. It had taken a second near-death experience at the hands of his great-uncle Algie for it to kick in. If his grandmother Augusta had wept for joy that her grandson had not turned out to be a Squib after all, she still often enough voiced her disappointment with him being such a failure as a Wizard. And that hurt more than all of Snape's sneers put together. He resolved to do better. Today, he would make a perfect potion.
Following the instructions written on the blackboard the students gathered their ingredients and diligently began chopping, cutting, shredding, weighing, pestling, brewing, stirring clockwise or counterclockwise as indicated. Professor Snape went up and down the aisle, inspecting their work, hovering here and there to reprimand sloppy work (on the Griffindor side) or give an appraising nod (on the Slytherin side) and occasionally vanishing a cauldron's contents with a snarled :"Abysmal attempt at rubbish! Start over."
Pansy knew herself to be a barely adequate Potioneer. An 'acceptable' from professor Snape would make her day. Coming from him 'not bad' would be high praise indeed but in her case too much to hope for; only Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy were likely to reach those dizzying heights. And the Griffindor Mudblood, she supposed, but surely the professor would rather bite off his own tongue than ever publicly acknowledge that? She did get high marks, though. Still Griffindors held on tot he deep-rooted belief in the Slytherin Head of House's partiality. One final stir anti-clockwise, and it should be done. Not perfect, but well enough. While she was dimming the fire beneath her cauldron with her wand in one hand, she reached over to set the stirring rod back in its racks only to miss; and the rod dropped to the ground with a soft clang. "Oh, rats!" she quietly cursed her own awkwardness. The rod had rolled all the way to the Griffindor side, to get lodged against Lavender Brown's school bag. Hurriedly Pansy went on her knees to recuperate it before the Professor would notice and berate her for being so clumsy.
One bench ahead of Lavender in the Grifindor aisle, Neville too was finishing off. The colour of his brew was almost the right sort of red. Maybe he should check? In his bag he kept a dictionary of potions complete with accurate pictures. It wasn't cheating, not really, it was being prepared. Professor Snape liked his students to be well-prepared, so good for him, right? He bent down to rummage in his bag.
"Croak?"
A shock went through Neville as he felt the familiar warty skin of his pet toad underneath his hand. Oh dear Merlin! He had completely forgotten that he had put Trevor in his bag! When he had gone to feed him that morning he had seen that yet again the toad had escaped from his terrarium. He had searched everywhere, twice, and eventually found the creature slowly hopping along the corridor from his dorm towards the common room. How it had managed that was anybody's guess. The search had taken so long that in his panic he had put Trevor in his school bag. He had not taken the time to go to the dorm and put it back in the terrarium, because Professor Snape would be so angry if he were late to class and take off house points and everyone would be upset about it and blame him yet again…
"Croak!"
With a giant leap, uncommon for an ordinary toad but not a semi magical creature and a veritable escape artist to boot, Trevor bounded squarely on Lavender Brown's workbench. Startled, the Griffindor girl who was just about to ladle her finished potion in a vial dropped everything, ladle, vial, potion and all. The liquid poured over the wooden bench, vanishing everything in its wake, until it reached the edge where in silent drops it poured down.
Pansy rose to her feet, stirring rod in hand, wondering what the commotion was all about and why everyone was suddenly staring at her. Was it so odd that she had picked something up? She had heard the croak, of course, and the sound of something dropped, but had not bothered about it. Afterwards, she would count herself lucky that she hadn't, but that was long afterwards, when she had time to quieten down and think about what could have happened that was worse than what did happen, if she had looked up to see. Ron Weasley was the first to break the appalled silence " Merlin's soggy pants, Parkinson, you look even more like a pug now than you did before!" and he began to laugh. That was when she realised. Her hair. Her beautiful hair had vanished. She screamed. She fell back to her knees cradling her barren head in her arms and screamed and screamed and screamed.
With the rapidity born of being the Potion's Master in a school full of boisterous Griffindors prone to play pranks with little regard to the the physical integrity and well-being of others, Professor Snape leaped to the distraught girl's side, unclipping a small container from the utility belt he wore slung around his bony hips, laden with all sorts of canisters and vials containing antidotes and healing potions for every contingency, a safety measure that, too, was born from long experience, not only as a Professor of a hazardous class but also as emergency healer in battle during his Deatheater days. " Everybody dowse your fires and do not move an inch!" the Professor's voice, usually no more than a commanding whisper, now boomed to the farthest reaches of the classroom, brooking no objections; and everyone obeyed. "Miss Parkinson, listen to me. I have a balm that will counter the effects of the solution but it is absolutely that I apply it immediately…miss Parkinson, let go of your head. Now, miss Parkinson."
Despite the urgency in his voice Pansy did not let go, rocking back and forth as she wailed " Everyone will see…the shame…oh, I am lost, lost my hair, my honour…lost…." From the Slytherin side of the aisle, Millicent Bulstrode stepped in to help. She did not do it for Pansy; she did not like Pansy, but she did like her Head of House, admired him even, and she knew he was not going to get through to Pansy with mere words alone. Yet it was an unspoken law that Professors could not, must not, touch a student, ever; particularly not male professors female students although the other way round had happened according to Draco Malfoy who had whined for days on end how Professor McGonagal had dragged him by the ear through the Hogwarts corridors; but since there were no actual adult witnesses she had never been called out on that. However, Professor Snape who had never shied from showing his anger with a student never laid a finger on anyone. Millicent could see his reticence despite the urgency. So she grabbed Pansy's arms, forcefully dislodging them as she hissed in her class-mate's ear "Do you want your brains to vanish as well Panse? Or has it already happened because you are sure acting stupid."
It worked. Now sobbing rather than wailing, Pansy uncovered her sad, bald head and let the professor smear the balm all over. The Potion Master's long, thin fingers were callused and cold to touch, but surprisingly gentle as he rubbed it in. "The follicles were untouched" his voice , back to its customary whisper, reassured her, "Go to the hospital ward and ask madam Pomfrey for a hair-growing draught. There will be no lasting harm. "
Pansy swallowed another sob, " I…I can't go…not like this….I don't have my hat!" Something soft, in plain white cotton was folded over her head. " No one will see anything. I engorgio- ed my hanky. Don't worry, it is clean" said Millicent. "Good thinking, prompt action, commendable, Miss Bulstrode, " said Snape, rising to his feet, " You may accompany Miss Parkinson. Miss Davis will take along both your belongings to your next class. As for Miss Brown…" His voice trailed as he swirled round to face her, drawing himself to his full height, "As for you, Miss Brown…explain."
"Jalousy!" Pansy snarled on her way out, " She has always been jealous of my stylish hair!" It was not a lie either: there was an unspoken rivalry gong on between her and the Griffindor girl as to who was the most fashionable but since the Lavender fabvoured gaudy fuchsiai and bright scarlet polkadotted kerchiefs to tie up her honey blond locks there was no comparison really.
"Is this true, Miss Brown?"
Lavender swallowed. Though not a particularly tall, muscular or broadshouldered man, Professor Snape managed to impose. She had once seen a couple of seventh years a head taller and twice his size in sheer bulk cower before him. But she was a Griffindor so she had to stand her ground.
"I am ever so sorry , sir, but a toad landed on top of my desk, I could not help myself!"
"A toad?" Professor Snape's sneer could have cut hard metal, "A toad?! Of all the idiotic excuses you could come up with…I have my dungeons well-warded against all possible unwanted intruders down to the most minuscule kind of vermin, there is no chance whatsoever that a toad just hopped in! Not a single creature will pass these doors except in seperate parts as ingredients…. and I refuse to believe anyone would be so unconscionably stupid to bring an animal in a room full of volatile products…unless…" He paused, his countenance darkening even further, as his voice rose, a sure sign he was about to explode; and again he swirled, this time to loom over Ron Weasley, " Unless someone decided to follow family tradition and play a prank? "
Ron turned as red as his hair at the unfair accusation, " Wot? Why pick on me? I never did nothing! Nor would the twins do anything that could harm an innocent animal…" he stopped, reddening even more as he remembered how his brothers had once used the family pet Puffskein for Bludger practice, and how scared the salamander that dwelled in the fireplace had looked when last year they had fed it fireworks which caused it to rocket around the room, emitting tangerine stars.
"Interesting how you managed to identify which particular family members I was alluding to , " professor Snape smirked, " I trust you did not bring your non-reglementary rat along a well…"
Ron started. Trust Snape to know about Scabbers! The man seemed to have his eyes and ears everywhere, he'd probably make a good spy like the one in the Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle comics. He suddenly felt very glad that Scabbers had made himself scarce ever since that damn cat of Hermione's had tried to attack him on the trainride to Hogwarts, or else he'd be snoozing in his robe pocket like usual right now and Snape would have his hide, the git.
Said git meanwhile looked up rather dramatically, regarding the dungeon ceiling as if he expected to find something un-reglementary there: " No owls fluttering about to shed feathers or cough up their pellets either? There is a relief, for once Potter seems to have practised common sense. Perhaps I should check Miss Granger's bush to see if her Kneazle is hiding out in there to be on the safe side? No? Then I will assume that the toad is a figment of Miss Brown's imagination. Who would have thought she has one."
The Slytherins roared with laughter. Lavender Brown felt like something that had crawled out from under a stone, been scorched as with harsh sunlight by the savagery of the Potins Master's scorn and ready to crawl back right under. "I am a Griffindor," she told herself, "I can see this through"
"There wàs a toad! I would swear a Witch's Oath on it " she blurted out.
Professor Snape held up his hand and there was immediate silence. He had trained his Snakes well. "Would you now? '" he all but purred, " A Witch's Oath is no light thing to swear… the consequences would be… very uncomfortable. Are you quite sure about going to such lengths, hmmm?" The girl withered in front of him , but repeated in a shaky voice: "There wàs a toad! There was!"
The Potion Master was almost impressed. Lavender Brown hitherto had appeared to him as a rather vapid girl whose main interests seemed to be clothes and, more recently, boys; yet here she was , chin up and defiant against the most fearsome professor of all Hogwarts bar Minerva McGonagall. And even without legillimency he could see she was not lying. Or at least, that she was convinced she had seen a toad, which was not quite the same thing. A Confundus Charm could have made her believe anything, but these were third years. None were capable of such advanced spells, not even those among his Slytherins who learned Dark Magic at home. "Very well. In which case I expect the prankster to own up. Otherwise I would be forced to take one hundred points from Griffindor…" he pauze to allow the collective groan on the Lion's side to subside and continued , somewhat maliciously: "…for each Griffindor student present in this class. "
The expected explosion came, surprisingly, from Lavender herself: "Not fair! I am the victim here, too! Because of that bloody toad I lost my potion!" and she added, smugly: "My perfectly made potion!"
"Language, miss Brown. One point from Griffindor. Oh, and lest I forget, one for mister Weasley as well, for ungrammatical language. "
"Wot?!"
"Eloquent as ever, mister Weasley. I urge you to further hold your tongue lest you lose more points. Unless you want to confess?" Again, the dark gaze of the Potions Master swept the rooom "Anyone? No? What a shame, " he clicked his tongue, "So much for Griffindor courage. "
The threatening tears finally broke through, turning Neville into a snotty wreck" Please professor don't …don't take points, it my toad, Trevor…. I forgot I had him in my bag and he escaped …it is my fault…. don't punish the entire house, give me detentions, as many as you like, every day for the rest of the year ….just don't…please…don't…" the rest was lost in blubbering incoherence.
"Detention?! "Draco Malfoy, who had hitherto sat quietly back thoroughly enjoying the show of Griffindors getting themselves deeper and deeper into trouble, jumped forward, " You should be expelled after what you did to Pansy! Why, in the Olden Days when Pureblood Wizards still valued their traditions you would have been challenged to a duel by a Parkinson for the shame you brought on a Maiden of their House!"
"I..I did not mean to …it was an accident!" wailed Neville
Anger and contempt struggled for prominence on Draco's pointy face. Pansy was often a pain, with all her coo-ing and acting like she was his affianced bride-to-be (they were only 13, for Merlin's sake, Pureblood traditions did not go that far!) but she was a friend (of sort) and a Slytherin; and as the self-declared 'prince' of that House he had to show his noble intent. " So much for Griffindor being the House of Honour and Chivalry," he spat, mimicking his Head of House earlier words.
"Thank you, mister Malfoy, for reminding everyone what the Lion house should stand for, " said Professor Snape silkily, "as for expulsion, alas, that happy decision does not rest with me; and we all know that students of a certain favoured House can get away with anything…" he cast a meaningfull glance in he direction of Ron and Harry Potter before continuing: "At least some students, up to and including exposing out world to the Muggles."
Harry balled his fists. The git! The rotten, greasy, spiteful git! Again Snape was singling him out for scorn. Reminding him of what he had done last year stupid as it was but it had seemed the only thing to do at the time…yes it was…here the bastard was picking on him like always, just to humiliate him! Always and always and always….How he hated the man, how he longed to plunge his fist right into that sneering mouth , how satisfying it wold be to feel those crooked teeth crush beneath his blows, again and again and again…. The icy hollow eyes of the Potion Master bored deep into his green ones, and not fot he first time Harry felt as if the man could somehow read his thoughts, for the eyes grew hollower, like cold dark tunnels, the sneer deepened, and the voice once more became a mere whisper: " To make expulsion of our Golden Boy remotely possible one needs irrefutable evidence…such as that damned elusive toad!"
Professor Snape rarely was seen doing magic. Every first year was reminded that there would be no silly wand-waving in his class. The third years - some, not all- had only ever seen him actively cast a spell -two even- last year acting as Gilderoy Lockhart's "helper" in his Duelling Club disarming the inept DADA teacher with an 'Expelliarmus' and silently disintegrating a snake conjured by Draco Malfoy to attack Harry Potter. Length, core, even the wood it was made of -though those who had seen it testified that it was jet-black- was all matter of speculation. His classroom must have been heavily warded not just against vermin but also with protective spells to keep the students from injury. They had all heard tales from their parents and grandparents about accidents in Potions resulting in loss of limb and, in the most dire cases, life. Not so with Professor Snape. On rare occasions he had been forced to take out his wand to perform emergency healing spells, yet despite Finnigan's and Longbottoms combined propensity to cause disaster, that had not happened in their class yet. It was therefore with some amazement that the third years saw their Professor draw forth a rather short, thin and indeed very dark stick to softly cast with an unprepossesing flourish : "Accio Neville Longbottom's toad named Trevor!"
"Croak!"
All the way from the door at the far end of the classroom a fat and rather annoyed-looking toad came zooming up. Professor Snape snatched it from the air wit hall the dexterity of a Quidditch Seeker catching the Snitch. "A usefull little spell, "he said with his customary smirk, gleefully eying the wriggling Trevor in his hand as he stuck his wand back into his belt, "Though naturally one has to be precise in one's wording to avoid summoning every toad within magic range…or every toad in possession of mister Longbottom! So…not so mythical a toad, then. Now then …what to do with Master Trevor, hmmm?" By the way he was looking at the creature it was clear he was seizing the poor thing up for possible potions ingredients.
Neville broke out in a new flood of tears, " Oh please sir, don't cut him up" "Excellent suggestion, Longbottom, one I may follow up on, but it seems rather a waste of a fresh source of venom… yes, Longbottom, venom! This, if you were not aware, is an American species, the Bufo Alvarius, the Colorado River toad to be precise, a creature that uses toxic secretions to ward off predators. They are highly prized for…various reasons which I shall not go into. Extraction known as "milking" is done by rubbing the toads under the chin to cause it to secrete the poison…don't faint, Longbottom!"
Neville, green around the gills was swaying on his feet. Professor Snape clicked his tongue and shook his head, "It would explain a lot if you have been fondling your Trevor without taking basic hygienic precautions such as washing your hands after handling …. and I would certainly advise against kissing it…"
"Uuuughh! " cried out all girls in class in unison, and the boys sniggered making vomiting motions,
" Quite so, " continued Snape with and enigmatic smile, "Muggle Fairy Tales will have itthat kissing a toad results in turning it into some Prince Charming, which …" he looked sternly at Patil and Lavender Brown, who had perked up at this, " which most assuredly it will not in real life. "
Neville hung his head "But what about Trevor?"
"Since you can not be relied upon to look after it properly the prudent action on my part will be to confiscate it. You will bring me its terrarium, and you will write me an essay enumerating the various potions necessitating toad body parts and excretions, of all known species, as well as their methods of extraction and conservation. " said Professor Snape grimly , "and I am sure I will find use for master Trevor here. "
The very next lesson, he did.
The class was set to make a Shrinking Solution and Neville was in trouble. His potion, which was supposed to be a bright, acid green had turned… "Orange, Longbottom," said professor Snape, ladling some up and allowing it to splash back into the caulkdron so that everyone could see; "Orange. Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Didn't you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one rat spleen was needed? Didn't I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?"
Neville was pink and trembling. He looked as though he was on the verge of tears, again.
"Please sir, " said Hermione Granger, "please, I could help Neville put it right.."
"I don't remember asking you to show off, Miss Granger, " said Snape coldly and Hermione went as pink as Neville. "Longbottom, at the end of this lesson we will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly. " he moved away leaving Neville breathless with fear. "Help me!" the boy quietly moaned to Hermione. But he was not quiet enough. The Potion's Master whirled around and spat: "Granger! If you so much as dare hiss instructions into his ear I will put you in detention. Longbottom has to learn to do it by himself, the hard way. In fact, since I see your own Potion has the right colour and consitency, it will be best you move away from it entirily to leave it stew untill it is ready to be drunk. You may employ yourself usefully arranging the ingredients cupboard, far away enough from Longbottom for you not to fall into temptation of helping him. "
Redfaced and with an apologetic glace at Neville Hermione did as instructed. The rest of the class resumed their brewing, with Malfoy continuing to pester Potter, untill Professor Snape called "You should have finished adding your ingredients by now. As I have said before, this potion needs to stew before it can be drunk; clear away while it simmers and the we'll test Longbottom's. "
Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle laughed openly watching Neville sweat as he stirred his potion feverishly. If the dark looks Potter cast at them could kill they would have died on the spot.
But that would not help Neville. Harry wished he was as smart as Hermione in Potions, she'd know what to do! That gave him an idea. Packing away his unused ingredients he moved towards the cupboard where the bushy haired girl was standing listlessly shoving glass containers with newt eyes and tongues of what he hoped were not dogs back and forth on the shelf. There really was no need of rearrangement of the cupboard, Snape kept it well-stocked and in perfect order himself, evidently the git just used it as an excuse to keep her away from Neville.
"Hey, Hermione, " he whispered, " any ideas on how to salvage Neville's potion? It is sort of dull green and not runny enough…"
"A pinch of shrivelfig and stir counterclockwise might do it" she whispered back.
Harry hurried back to his desk, where Ron was ladling in their own Potion into the awaiting voals.
"Any luck?" he mouthed. Harry nodded affirmatively as he bend over to Neville and muttered out of the corner of his mouth so that Snape wouldn't see, "Pssst…Nev! Hermione says a pinch of shrivelfig and stir clock…no…counterclockwise!"
"Five points from Griffindor, " said Professor Snape, who had eyes on his back and ears that could hear a pin drop, "No one was to help. Not even Famous Harry Potter who thinks explicit orders are not for him. Though given his own dismal record in the subject, his help might very well have caused another cauldron meltdown. Lucky for the school's finances that I intervened in time. Or did Famous Harry Potter perhaps think we have a special fund for Potion's Disasters?" he over to Neville who was cowering by his cauldro, as Crabbe and Goyle laughed even harder with the rest of the Slyherins joining in, "Everyone gather round, " he said, his black eyes glittering, " and watch what happens to Longbottom's toad. If he has managed to produce a Shrinking Solution it will shrink to a tadpole; if, as I don't doubt, he has done it wrong his toad is likely to be poisoned."
The Griffindors watched fearfully. The Slytherins looked excited. Snap retrieved Trevor from his terrarium. Holding him in his left hand he dipped a small spoon into Neville's potion, and trickled a few drops down Trevor's throat.
There was a moment of hushed silence, in which Trevor gulped. Then with a sad croak, he flopped on his side.
Neville's shriek of dismay made Harry see red. all the hatred he felt for the Potions Master came flooding back, doubling, triplling, quadrupling in size, making his blood boil and his thoughts centred on one thing only: to smash the bastard's face in. The same anger he had felt against aunt Marge raced through him and out, out in a surge of magic like a tidal wave lunging forward, and like a wave it banged into Snape who let out a surprised 'oof' , stumbled and fell backwards his head hitting the side of his desk.
For a moment the Potion's Master blacked out from the pain of impact. He was vaguely aware of his students crying out in shock and outrage and perhaps even in glee. Somehow, when he had sensed rather than seen the boys magic lash out the sight of burning hatred in Potter's eyes had momentarily paralysed him and the self-loathing part of him had welcomed the coming pain. Lily's eyes they were ; green and almond shaped, like hers had been… He knew the boy loathed him -a feeling that was entirily mutual he had to admit, and something he had worked very hard to obtain; God forbid that the Dark Lord when he returned would ever legilimise within him any positive feeling towards Potter! No bond of trust could ever exist between them. Or anyone. He was close to no-one, for their own protection. Anyone he so much as looked at with anything akin to caring could be used as a hostage against him ...by both his masters. He felt something trickle down his face and instinctively his hand went up, coming away warm and wet: blood. Clutching the desk he tried to maintain his composure, but failed. Memories he had struggled so hard to suppress (and inevitably failed, how could he not when the face of his former tormentor haunted him from acros the classroom) came flooding back, memories of Potter -James Potte- assaulting him with magic, never alone, man to man in a fair duel, but always with Black at his side and Pettigrew egging them on, Lupîn looking away as always…never stopping short of anything, not even the worst: publicly stripping him….his head reeled and his knees buckled, and he slowly sank to the cold stone floor.
Harry held his breath, his mind awhirl. This was like with aunt Marge all over again, and this was Snape; his teacher… he had attacked a teacher, he would be expelled for this! No, it had been accidental magic, just like blowing up his aunt had been and the Minister himself had laughed it away. Besides, it wasn't like he had used his wand, no-one could prove it was him, it could have been anyone, Neville even… this was Snape who making other people's life a living hell, he deserved it.
"It was him! It was Potter! He did it! he hurt the Professor! 'Petrificus totalus!'
With a thud, the frozen body of Harry potter fell next to Professor Snape's.
Theodore Nott usually kept his head down and tried to stay out of Slytherin- Griffindor confrontations, neither siding with Draco's gang nor attempting to rein him in like Blaise Zabini sometimes did. But he had seen the blazing look on Potter's face, and there had been no doubt in his mind who was responsible for the magical assault against his Head of House, though no wand was drawn nor any spell cast. He had whipped out his wand and cast the curse before he'd even thought of what the Professor himself would say. The Slytherin Head of House had hammered it in with all his Snakes: do not draw your wand on another student, ever. Least of all a Griffindor. If you do, no matter how great the provocation, you will lose. No-one will ever back a Slytherin against another house. No-one, except Professor Snape. And that was why Nott had drawn wand, because who would defend the professor if not one of his Slytherins?
Blaise stepped up to stand beside Nott, his own wand raised: " No-body moves or they'll end up llike Potter," he snapped, the Italian lillt creeping into his voice as it always did when he got emotional or angry. Daphne Greengass copied him with a grim expression on her face.
"Now you are for it, Potter, wait till my father hears of this!" screeched Draco Malfoy, his entire countenance a picture of malevolent excitement, "You will pay for this!"
Vincent Crabbe took this as his cue to crack his knuckles He might not be very good at spell-casting but he rather enjoyed the looks of fear on their faces when he made threatening motions of pure physical violence against other kids. The Perfessor might disapprove but hell, Potter had done it first , if he could so could he. That thought came up as a bit of a puzzler, and stopped him as he tried to sort it out figure what he meant, really.
Gregory Goyle, ever at Crabbe's side, was equally puzzled. Normally Malfoy gave the orders. But now everybody was at it with their wands and Malfoy had not told them to hit somebody yet but Zabini said not to move so what was it he must do? Anyway they were not supposd to fight where a professor could see them; then again professor Snape had been attacked so should he he hit Potter for it or let his Head of House deal with it but he was down so what should he do? He was starting to feel a little scared and normally they, him and Vince, were the ones who did the scaring, this wasn't like normal anymore….looking down he saw Millicent Bulstrode kneeling next to the prone figure with his black robes sprawled all around him; a bare bit of leg showing and wasn't that a strange thing, how come he had never noticed before that the professor did not even wear socks, just low ankleboots, wouldn't he be getting blisters from that… maybe he took a potion aganst it but then feet prob'lbly got cold in winter oh but wasn't there a spell for that too, wow, the professor really was the bestest and he should hit Potter, yes, for what he had done tot heir Head of House he deserved it! Ready to lunge forth Gregory Goyle stopped in his tracks seeing Millie sobbing she pressed a hanky against the Potions Master's forehead.. That really wasn't like Millie, the sobbing that is, not the hanky, she was ever so good with those and clean ones at that. He always lost his, which was prob'bly why he never got anything else but handkerchiefs for his Christmas, but the did have the Goyle Crest on them so that was something. He bend down to help hoist their Head of House back on his feet, then he would sort it out.
"Expell…" rasped Professor Snape, and for a moment everyone thought he was gong to say "Expelled, Potter! " but to their surprise came out was "Expelliarmus!" loud and firm and brooking no objections…and everyone's wand went clattering to the ground like a wooden rainfall.
Hermione Granger gasped. That was really, really very advanced magic. There the professor stood, blood running down his face, one hand clutching a rapidly scarlet turning handkerchief pressed against his headwound, the other on Gregory Goyle's shoulder for support, and he had wandlessly disarmed the entire class! Of course it was awful that he had poisoned poor Neville's toad and Harry was understandanbly incensed, but oh dear, he was going to be in so much trouble! Then again, so would Nott be, far more really, because Harry 's magic had been accidental hadn't it? But would Snape see it that way? He would never forgive and only a full obliviate could make him forget, she had read all bout those memory charms so in theory she could do them, but then she would have to obliviate everyone, …oh dear oh dear what could she do to get Harry out of this mess, if only she could turn back time… Involuntary her hands went tot he small Time Turner that hung on a silver chain round her neck. She had been entrusted with it to allow her take all her chosen subjects when classes overlapped and she had been cautioned against overuse but surely this was an emergency …no no, that would be misusingthe power and a breach of confidence besides McGonagall would be so angry and expell her if she found out and also terrible things could happen if she tried changing the couyrse of history McGonagal had said…
"Finite Incantatem!" The Potons Master whispered, with a swift motion of his still wandless hand over the prone body at his feet, and instantly the petrification curse was lifted from Harry, who jumped up, scowling, reaching for a wand that wasn't there.
"No, no Potter, no wandwaving from any in my class, Potter, unless I am called upon to do it" said professor Snape, taking something from the pocket of his robe, and Harry braced himself against whatever it was the man was going to cast at him. Instead, it was not his wand but a brown lump of stone he produced.
"Can you tell me, Potter what this is?"
"Just a stupid piece of rock!" Harry spat, not wanting to give the man the satisfaction of him having to admit he had no idea. He barely registred Hermione's soft "Oh, Harry…"
"No Potter, it is not your brain. Perhaps our resident know-it-all can answer for you?"
Hermione cast a apologetic look at her riend. She knew the answer of course and she knew that Snape knew she knew. She had to answer.
"It is a Bezoar, sir. "
"A Bezoar. " professor Snape confirmed, "And what is a Bezoar's function, Potter? Hmmm? Let me help you: I came to mention it in your very first Potions lesson."
"How the fuck can you expect me to remember something from two years ago?!" Harry snarled. He was already in at the deep end, he might as well go all the way and not bother about minding his tongue anymore.
A tired, allmost resigned look came over the Potions Master's thin face and he closed his eyes briefly before opening his mouth to answer, but whatever scathing remark he had been about to formulate was cut short by an enraged Parvati Patil, of all people. She was the Theodore Nott of Griffndor, keeping a low profile, only noticed when she giggled a bit too loud over Witches' Weekly with Lavender Brown. People usually referred to her as 'The Other Twin' to distinguish her from her sister Padma, who was sorted in Ravenclaw and was generally called 'The Smart One' even by her own family whose attitude was one of 'well, never mind, you will just marry and have lots and lots of children anyway, you like children, don't you?' no matter how hard she worked to prove them wrong. She never managed to achieve more than a dismal 'exceeds expectations', though, and the looks she got for that told her that expectations of her were low anyway. There was a simmering anger at the unfairness of it all deep within within her waiting to erupt and erupt it did.
"Yes of course how can anyone expect Harry bleeding Potter to actually pay attention in class. It is not like he hasn't got his fame and tons of money to fall back upon, not like the rest of us who need to work for a living and have to actually study and obtain good grades in order to make it in life". Potter blinked, and looked at her stupidly, and Parvati was suddenly so very, very sure that he did not even know her name that she lost her last bit of selfcontrol and spat, she literally spat a full gob of phlegm right in Harry's face. " A Bezaor is a stone-like mass taken from the stomach of a goat, that acts as an antidote to most poisons, Potter! Got someone poisoned? Just shove a Bezoar down their throats! "
"That stone is too big to shove down a toad's throat" Potter dully objected as he slowly wiped the wet from his cheek. The Indian girl's outburst had taken all the fight out of him. Why was she against him? She was Griffindor too! He had stood up for Neville! Didn't she realise how mean Snape was, defending him like that, was she sweet on him or something like Hermione had been on that idiot Lockhart last year? Ugh! What was wrong with girls? Snape was an ugly lying git who probably came up with that Bezoar thingy to get himself off the hook; he should be fired for what he had done and he was a lousy teacher anyway.
"Accio piece of Bezoar that I cut off to fit down Trevor the Toad's throath and dropped when I was assaulted," said Professor Snape in a voice as tired as the look on his face, holding his hand flat in front of Harry's face, and there it came: an infinitismally small bit flying in to land on the Potions' Masters palm.
A terrible silence fell. All yes were on Harry: triumphant, accusatory, angry, disbelieving…but none with sympathy.
Finally, Seamus Finnigan gave voice to what everyone was thinking: "Bloody hell, Potter, you well and truly fucked up!"
And Neville Longbottom burst into tears.
AUTHORS NOTES:
Of course Harry got off the hook, it was accidental magic after all. He had already gotten off for accidentally blowing up his aunt and though she was a mere Muggle, Snape ranks little higher; after all he has already been set on fire (wrongfully and never been apologised to either) and stolen from, and at the end of the year the Trio will get away with actually drawing wand on him.
This story was intially intended as a short reaction tot he everpresent whining about how mean Snape is to poison Neville's toad. I imagined all sorts of mishaps (including fatal ones)to happen with that bloody toad hopping about in potion's class. I might write and post them as well.
During writing I went and checked the book and was very surprised to find that in the relevant chapter of PoA Snape simply said he was gong to test the obviously lousy potion of Neville's on his toad. How did he know the boy had a toad, how come the toad was present in class since he did not sent Neville out to fetch it and how come Snape was not angry because the boy had brought in his toad which is a clear and present health and safety hazard? So I imagined the toad was there because Snape had confiscated it earlier.
Then the story rather got away with me. I managed to give everyone a bit part and I believe I got the children's characterisations right. They are all 13 year olds. In case of protest from the' Harry is a Saint full of love and empathy for his fellowmen who would never hate or resort to violence ' brigade…please read the books. Most of the time Harry is a nasty little boy and given what he is going through that is perfectly understandable.
One last thing: to visualise please scourgify from your mind the movie interpretations. Especially vestimentary . And, of course, Rickman's Snape. I am probably a minority of one but I believe casting Rickman did the character a huge disservice. For some reason people seem tot hink that Rickman's interpretation puts Snape in a better light but on me he had the opposite effect. Even 20 years younger and 20 kilos thinner Rickman could not have pulled it off as long as he stuck to the emotionally controlled, constipatedly bored persona he turned Snape into when written Snape is a super-nervy man with as volatile a temper as a potion brewed by Finnigan and as near to meltdown as a cauldron in the hands of Longbottom. Hardly surprising in someone living on a knife's edge in a place that constantly reminds him of his worst experiences in life, being pushed in a job he dislikes with quite possible torture and slow agonising death to look forward to. And some people expect him to have a friendly cheerful disposition 24/24? In real life most people in his situation would have snapped halfway and torched the place.