'Add these, Nev,' Harry told his friend, passing him the the porcupine quills and stepping around in between him and Snape, supposedly so he could retrieve the powdered unicorn horn.
The potions master gave Harry a piercing stare, but turned on his heel and swept off to the front of the class.
Their potion did not reach the anticipated glimmering white that the instructions described. It came to a thin, ivory hued liquid that, when Harry or Neville forgot to stir and it grew too hot, would thicken just enough to let off the merest hint of a shimmer.
Around them the rest of the class had either long since given up, or continued to add more porcupine quills in the hope it might prompt their potions to shift somewhere further along the spectrum from yellow to white.
'We did ok,' Harry decided, finding only a few comparable brewings. Malfoy had reached a similar sort of state as they had, though his potion was slightly less white and more glowing than glimmering, and Hermione had somehow managed to achieve a potion that was glimmering perfectly, but remained an odd silvery-grey. It rather reminded Harry of Bertha Jorkins conjured hand.
'If you are…. finished,' Snape's eyes swept contemptuously across the class, pausing only to rest on the three pairs that had come close to the desired outcome, 'bring a flask of your potion to my desk.'
'I'll do it, Nev,' Harry volunteered, 'you start tidying up.'
He very carefully filled one of the flasks, it wasn't quite basilisk venom, but he didn't want to spill it on himself and find out the difference. Neville had managed to make even the most inert potions dangerous previously, and Harry wasn't taking any chances with his draught of peace.
Snape slid the flask firmly across the surface of his desk using the back of his hand, moving it to join a handful of others, among which Hermione's and Malfoy's could be counted.
'Remain behind, Potter,' he called out as Harry turned away, 'I need to make sure your latest year of glory hasn't dragged your grade down past its usual level of mediocrity.'
It wouldn't be potions without detention or points lost, Harry supposed.
The rest of the class, once Harry smiled at a lingering Neville to show him it was fine to leave, quickly escaped the dungeons and headed for the next lesson. Defence Against the Dark Arts.
Harry leant against the corner of the bench nearest Snape's desk and waited for the sallow-faced man to begin.
'Why did you partner with Longbottom?' Snape demanded silkily.
'He's my friend,' Harry responded calmly, wearing a blank mask.
'Well, despite your choice of potions partner your brew is marginally better than the only other two I shall spend my time grading.' Snape's tone had changed from its normal, disgusted drawl. It was almost neutral. 'It seems you might have a chance of continuing to learn from me after this year, so long as you keep Longbottom from destroying your work.'
'Perhaps, sir,' Harry ventured, 'you might consider not standing over him as he works, he does not need to be intimidated.' Snape's eyes flashed fire, but the professor did not respond to Harry's bold suggestion.
'I have kept you behind, Potter, to inform you that you need to be more careful. The headmaster believes that you will somehow be very important in the coming war against the Dark Lord. I have warned him that he shouldn't expect too much from a child, but he was adamant. The headmaster insisted I gently remind you that apparating around your house and vanishing every other day is not a good idea.'
How did he know? And why tell Snape?
'I will tell you,' Snape continued softly, ' that not only is it not a good idea to risk the justice of the Ministry, but it is a terrible idea to act so irresponsibly in the face of the Dark Lord's return.'
He stalked round his desk and pulled out a thin parcel, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string.
'Black sends his love,' the potions professor sneered, 'he'd have got himself killed sneaking out to see you if we hadn't promised him a way of communicating, so take this. It's an enchanted mirror, two-way, speak Black's first name to activate it and if he's near the mirror, which I'm sure will be at all times, then you'll get an answer.' 'Thank you, sir.' Harry ignored Snape's disdain and took some joy from the devotion his godfather had to him. He hadn't been able to write to Sirius, courtesy of the Fidelius charm that concealed him, and missed his godfather greatly over the summer.
'And, Potter,' Snape suddenly assumed his neutral demeanour again, 'next time you want to distract the Dark Lord it would be best not to do it by claiming to have killed his more useful servants.'
Harry's eyes snapped up to the dark orbs of his professor, emptying his thoughts as had become habit upon making eye contact with the wizards, and turning his forearm ever so slightly, just in case.
'We both know that you lied to the Dark Lord, but he seems to believe you, despite any advice to the contrary.' Snape swooped round the desk to grab Harry's wrist, his fingers pressing painfully into the underside of his arm. 'Do you understand, Potter? He is taking you seriously now.'
'He wasn't before?' Harry asked, half-serious, half-joking.
'Get out, Potter,' Snape hissed, but none of his usual contempt accompanied his anger.
Harry happily complied. It was defence after double potions, and he was quite looking forward to seeing just what their new professor would be up to this year. He needed to remain out of sight, so he could continue to learn from Salazar and discover what the prophecy said about him, which meant that the Ministry, Dumbledore and Riddle's sycophants all needed to focus on each other instead of him. It wouldn't be easy to do that given the Ministry seemed utterly unwilling to accept the version of events Dumbledore had related to them. This new, horribly pink, teacher was his opportunity to get a glimpse of what the Ministry really thought.
He was, courtesy of Snape, already late, so he doubted he would be getting on the teacher's good side, but she was from the Ministry, so he hadn't really stood much of a chance to begin with.
The squat, pink-draped woman was lecturing the class on the syllabus for the year when he walked in and apologised for being late.
She didn't take it well.
'Mr Potter,' she simpered. 'Why are you late?'
'Professor Snape wished to speak with me,' Harry answered politely, closing the door quietly behind him.
'You have a note?' 'Sadly the professor neglected to burden me with one.' He smiled disarmingly and took a seat at the back beside Neville, as far from the former official as possible.
'That will be ten points from Gryffindor for lying, Potter,' she announced in her high, girlish voice. 'Lying is a terrible habit to get into.'
Harry suppressed a wry smile. Ten points was not a bad price for learning how Professor Umbridge would be trying to deal with him.
As I was saying before Mr Potter started creating stories, your education in this subject has been unacceptably broken up. A new teacher every year, all very poor choices, and jumping all over the curriculum, with no regard to what the Ministry knows you need to understand.' She tutted to herself, then pulled a short, thick wand from her handbag and gave it sharp flick. The stack of books on her desk rose and deposited themselves before every member of the class.
Defensive Magical Theory.
A cursory flick was enough to tell Harry that any students who couldn't get additional help from others were going to fail their OWLs.
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