Welcome back to potions.' Snape's drawl was the only thing really capable of penetrating the gloom of the dungeons and Harry repressed the urge to sigh. No doubt the insufferable professor would be continuing his best efforts to make this class the worst it possibly could be for him.
'This,' Snape continued, 'is the year before OWLs and thus the year in which those who truly have the talent for potions begin to separate themselves from those too lazy to apply themselves to such a delicate art.' Harry didn't need to look up to know that the eyes of his professor were fixed on him.
Where does he get his impression of me from?
Harry had barely set foot in the castle before Snape was trying to make his life miserable. Presumably the man just had severe personal issues. Harry couldn't imagine all the time in the dark or the constant exposure to toxic ingredients was good for anyone's health, mental or otherwise.
'The instructions are on the board,' Snape flourished his wand over dramatically to dispel the illusion there. 'Begin,' he sneered.
Harry sighed and reached for his new, more expensive, silver-plated knife. He had learned over the summer that buying potions equipment of inert metals of high quality was every bit as important as cleaning them properly afterwards. He suspected many of his poorer efforts were due to leaving early in disgust with Snape rather than staying to clean. His new set of materials would find themselves looked after far more carefully.
Ron was slaving over his cauldron on the closest bench with all the delicacy of a confounded troll. His neatly diced toad liver had gone in misshapen chunks and Harry was fairly sure he had added almost twice as much sneezewort as necessary.
It might be a good idea to finish before that explodes, he decided.
Leeches were the key to this potion. They tended to either be too quick to dissolve or too slow, and the size and shape in which they were added had to be next to perfect. They were also very easily contaminated by anything they touched. This was something that Malfoy, in all his pure-blooded perfection had seemed to grasp, as he was attempting to cut his in mid air while poor Pansy Parkinson held them and flinched away from the ornately engraved knife he wielded. Harry had heard somewhere that the two were eventually supposed to be engaged as many pure-blooded families arranged and thought Malfoy might have been a little more concerned about his future fiancé's looks if not her well being.
Harry grinned at Malfoy's ridiculous efforts and returned to his own potion. He had two knives and the older would work as a makeshift chopping board. Carefully he sliced his leeches, trying his best to avoid letting any of the slimy creature touch the desk, or anything else, before adding them.
To his delight the potion gradually changed colour, slowly shifting towards the described shimmering turquoise. Taking a sneak peak at Hermione's as he carefully prepared a vial he fancied that he had done just as well as she had. Her's was a little closer to the exact shade of turquoise yes, but he fancied his had had more of a shimmer to it.
Stoppering his flask and noting with some glee that he was the first to finish, something that would definitely annoy Snape, he made his way to the front of the class.
Professor Snape gave only a dismissive sneer as he placed his vial in the rack, but Harry was certain he could feel his eyes tracking him on his way back to his desk.
When he turned around, however, he found Snape had moved on to lurk ominously over Neville's attempts. Hovering over Neville was something Snape seemed to enjoy and the poor boy immediately cracked under his teacher's oppressive scrutiny. The potion went from a passable deep blue to a shade of yellow so sickly and bright it attracted the attention of most of the class.
'Longbottom,' Snape tutted. 'It was going passably well, but your utterly inescapable ineptitude has proven itself... again.' He swept back past Harry to his gloom shrouded desk, passing an oddly curious eye over his attempt to leave his cauldron immaculately clean.
Hermione finished next, then Malfoy and soon most of the class were making some half-hearted attempt to clean their cauldrons while Neville desperately tried to rescue whatever concoction he had produced this time.
It was a sort of bright, lime green when he eventually gave up, better, admittedly, than yellow, but nowhere close to the required turquoise. The colour reminded him of the scales of the basilisk still lying in the Chamber of Secrets and he was suddenly struck by the desire to go and see it. Partially out of curiosity because he couldn't remember what it had looked like after all the adrenaline and venom, but mostly because he wanted to compare it to how he remembered the serpent he had summoned from the ash.
Most of the potions on Snape's rack of vials for submission were some sort of blue-green variant, but only a handful came close to his own. Hermione's, Malfoy's and Greengrass' to name a few. He took a little bit of pride in such an improvement from so little effort over the summer. It wouldn't help him with the essays, however.
'If that is everyone you may leave,' Snape drawled from a particularly dark corner. Somehow he had crossed the classroom without anyone noticing and Harry wondered if he didn't sneak along the line of heavy, black curtains beneath his cloak when nobody was paying attention. He suppressed a snort of humour at the image.
'I won't bother assessing your work, Longbottom, don't worry.'
Harry winced as he made his way towards the door, he'd come away relatively unscathed from Snape, but Neville seemed to have taken his place instead.
'Potter, remain behind if you'd be so kind.'
I knew it was too good to be true.
Snape was looming over the rack of vials when he turned back.
'What do you think this is, Potter?' he sneered.
'My inevitably ungradeable attempt at potions making,' he tried, unable to fully quell the humour of before.
'This,' Snape gave him a surprisingly neutral stare, 'is a passable attempt. Not the standard I expect from students looking to continue after OWLs, but close enough that I might begin to hope of keeping the school's most prominent celebrity a little longer.'
That sounded almost like a backhanded compliment.
'Thank you, sir,' he responded uncertainly.
'My teaching has nothing to do with your improvement, Potter,' Snape snapped. 'You finally deciding to apply what I've been fruitlessly filling your head with is promising, but no less than the wizarding world demands from someone of your elated stature. Do not slip back into your previous levels of mediocrity.'
'I'll try my best, sir,' Harry replied, eager to be on his way to Transfiguration. Professor Mcgonagall was unsympathetic to late students and Snape was never going to provide him with a excusing note.
'See that you do.' His potions professor disappeared into his office in an unnecessary if impressive swirl of cloak and robes.
Right.
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