Harry hated potions. More specifically, he hated potions class. Potions themselves were quite useful, seeing as how they typically healed the injuries he sustained from quidditch and his annual rendezvous with death. The class itself wasn’t too terribly hard, except for the potions professor, so he could even amend his dislike for potions as a dislike for Professor Snape.

He was fairly certain that the professor hated fifth year potions classes as much as he and his classmates hated attending them. Since the first time the dark-haired professor had set eyes on the young Gryffindor it had been clear that there would be hostility between the two of them. As a result, Harry hated potions classes, he hated going to the dungeons and he hated the Slytherins, although the last wasn’t Snape’s fault as much as it was the obnoxious Draco Malfoy and his cronies’ faults.

This is why Harry sat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, procrastinating as long as possible before he and his two best friends made their way down to the potions classroom. He had been tutored, no, tortured, in occulmency lessons the previous night and had left Snape in a hideously foul mood, so much to where Harry was quite certain class this morning would be both traumatic and painful for him. Like that would really make any difference in his ability to occlude.

“It won’t be that bad, Harry.” Hermione said reassuringly, patting his hand, “You look like you’re about to be executed.”

“I may be.” Harry muttered, taking a sip of his pumpkin juice, “Ron, do you have any of Fred and George’s skiving sweets?”

“Fresh out, mate.” Ron replied, his voice laced with sympathy, “I can check with some of the others, or even see if they have any on hand.”

“No!” Hermione scolded in a scandalized tone, “Harry, you will not skive off potions! Can you imagine what Professor Snape would do if he found out you weren’t actually ill?”

Harry blanched, then wearily stood and slung his bag over his shoulder, “I can’t even imagine what he’s going to do to me today.” he glanced at the head table, where the head of Slytherin had already exited, “I guess we should get down there before he decides to start class early and then give us detention for being late.”

Ron rolled his eyes, “Or we walk in the door and he takes 100 points from Gryffindor for our mere existence.”

“He’s not that bad!” Hermione exclaimed, but both boys noticed that she wouldn’t meet their gaze as she spoke.

“Yes he is,” Ron moaned, “He’s going to kill Harry and then kill us because we’re his friends.”

“I’m sorry mate.” Harry replied with a grimace, “Maybe he’ll have forgotten by now.”

“Yeah, like he ever forgets anything.” Ron muttered, always looking for someone to commiserate with about the general dislike of the stern professor.

Harry took a deep breath as they entered the classroom, exhaling slowly as the professor’s obsidian eyes passed over him without as much as a glare. Maybe Hermione was right and his latest failure would smoothly pass over without a double potion’s lesson’s worth of insults. The moment that the professor closed the door and class began, though, Harry became convinced that the older man was definitely out to make him miserable.

It was one thing to be paired with Neville in class, they got along quite well and they worked together nicely, but it was a completely different story to be paired with Neville on a day they were working with a highly combustible substance that ‘most 7th years aren’t even able to properly brew’. Indeed, it would seem that Snape was still a bit resentful over yet another failed evening of lessons. As if the sour man actually needed a reason to be hateful towards the young Gryffindor. He could find an irregularly shaped piece of breakfast cereal and convince himself that Harry planted it there just to start the day off on a sour note.

With a resigned sigh, Harry dropped his bag on the floor next to his stool and looked at Neville with a wry smile, “I think he plans on us killing ourselves today.”

“He usually makes me work on the more volatile potions alone.” Neville responded worriedly, wringing his hands slightly as he glanced down at his potions book, “There’s less of a chance of me hurting anyone, he says.”

“I think he’s counting on you hurting me,” Harry teased, then turned serious, “But we’re not going to give him the satisfaction, we’re going to work on this very carefully and make the best potion in the entire class.”

“Did you hit your head or something?” Neville asked skeptically, “We’re pants at potions, both of us. Even if we did manage to brew it right, Snape would just dump our cauldron on the floor or ‘accidentally’ drop our sample.”

Harry scowled at the long-haired teacher before turning to Neville, his book in hand, “Then we’ll put unbreakable charms on the vial and one of us will keep watch for him and any of his tricks. Look, I’ll prepare the cauldron and our work area if you go collect the ingredients we need.”

Neville disappeared in the group of classmates that were standing near the storage cabinets, leaving Harry to align their cauldron and necessary supplies in an orderly fashion similar to how Hermione would prepare her work area.

When Neville returned, Harry read through the instructions, having Neville place the ingredients in the order that they would be used. There should be no reason why this potion should go wrong. Carefully, Harry lit a fire under their cauldron, adjusting it until the flame glowed blue with no orange tips. He turned to Neville, pushing the textbook towards him, “We have to bring water to a boil before we can add any of the ingredients, so I want you to go through the list and start telling me how we need to prepare the ingredients, by the time we have everything prepared, it should be time to start adding them in.”

The two worked in silence, Neville grinding a badger toe into a fine powder while Harry carefully measured and cut the herbs that would be needed. Steam began to rise from their cauldron after about 5 minutes and Harry took the powder from Neville and carefully tilted it into the cauldron, motioning for Neville to stir. After the potion turned a silvery color, Harry nodded towards the book, “Okay, now you read the instructions and I’ll add everything in. We’re off to a good start already.”

“We’re only on the first step.” Neville replied dryly, but took the book and began to quietly read the steps to Harry. After adding a drop of aloe extract, Harry stirred precisely 13 times, sighed with relief when it turned a pale blue, and then laid his stirrer on the table. They had to wait four minutes before they’d be able to add in the mustard seeds, but Harry was eager for the break.

Sitting heavily on the stool behind him, Harry began to scratch his left hand, which had been itching terribly for the last few minutes. Looking down as the desire to scratch greatly intensified, he was shocked to see that his hand was swollen and inflamed, with large welts covering his palm. His breath caught in his throat and he rubbed his hand eagerly against his robes, the material helping the itch more than his fingernails had been able to. How odd, he had never had his hand swell up like that before. He hoped he hadn’t been bitten by a spider, he had seen a program once while cooking dinner for the Dursleys about certain spiders whose bite could cause you to lose a finger, toe or even a hand or foot if not treated. Glancing at the simmering liquid in the cauldron, he decided that if it was still itchy by the end of class he’d make a trip to the hospital wing, just in case.

Four minutes had passed by rather quickly, as time often did when Harry was absorbed in his thoughts, and with a sigh he rose and positioned himself in front of the cauldron once more, trying to ignore his hand, which was now burning and tingling in addition to itching. If he weren’t so reluctant to face the wrath of Snape, he’d ask to be excused to get his hand looked at, it was really beginning to concern him, especially after he glanced down and saw the welts were now covering his arm as well.

“All we have to do is add the mustard seed and stir it 20 times counter-clockwise.” Neville said with a relieved smile, “It looks just like the book says it should. We’re going to get a great grade on this!”

As Harry dropped 6 brown seeds into the mixture, however, he wasn’t entirely as confident in their grade as Neville was. Smoke began to billow from the cauldron, and a quick glance to his left and right told Harry that theirs was the only one with this particular problem. Harry leaned forward, stirring rapidly in an attempt to finish the step in case the smoke was normal, but after the 20th stir, the potion began to bubble ominously and sparks began to shoot out of the top of the thickening goo.

“I think we made a mistake somewhere, Neville.” Harry murmured, “Grab your bag and move, I’m going to try to neutralize it.”

Before Harry could make a decision on what to do next, black robes billowed towards them and Snape sneered at the two boys, “Are you completely incompetent? The instructions clearly state that you are to use yellow mustard seeds, not brown. If you had completed this step, the potion would inevitably—“

The professor was interrupted when the cauldron shattered, coating the two Gryffindor boys and the irate potions master in a thick green sludge.

“—explode.” Snape finished dryly, “Why am I not surprised that you two imbeciles managed to ruin another potion…and cauldron…You will stay after class to clean, begin.”

Neville used his sleeve to wipe the concoction off of his face, then went to the sink in the back of the room to get a few towels to mop up their mess. Harry, on the other hand, took a step towards the back of the classroom, then gripped his desk as a painful cramp shot through his abdomen. He grinded his teeth as the unexpected pain brought on a surge of nausea, and he willed himself not to throw up in front of his classmates. The next cramp was even more painful, and he was vaguely aware of the fact that he was profusely sweating as he swallowed down surging bile.

“Hey mate, I know you wanted a passing grade today, but at least we didn’t get hurt.” Neville said gently as he pushed a towel into Harry’s hand, “There’s always next time, right? We almost did it perfectly, next time we’ll surprise the bat with the best potion in the class.”

Harry tried to listen to what his friend was saying, but he couldn’t concentrate over the sudden pain that exploded throughout his body. His face, arms and hands began to burn from the pasty goo, and the nausea was threatening to overcome him every time another painful cramp ripped through him. The room faded in and out and he shivered violently as he fought to overcome the sudden dizziness. He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling his heartbeat resonating through his head and ears almost painfully.

The next thing he knew, he was being forced to sit by a large, pale hand that he knew did not belong to his nervous classmate, and the incensed voice of his professor was commanding him to breathe. It was only then that he realized he couldn’t breathe, his throat felt tight and his lungs burned with their desire for oxygen. The last thing he remembered before losing consciousness was that his professor was looking at him with something akin to concern as he barked out orders to his classmates, and that concern for Harry could only mean he was in seriously bad shape.

~*~

Severus pulled out his wand and vanished the failed potion from his face and clothing, seething over the incompetence of stupid Gryffindors. He had been relieved to see all of the students finishing up their potions without a single accident or incident, and just as he had begun to relax, he smelled the stench of fouled potion, which he was able to easily trace back to the two idiots he had assumed would be troublesome, Longbottom and Potter.

After snapping at them to clean their mess and cleaning himself up, he walked to the tables surrounding the two failing students to see if their potions had been compromised in any way. The professor was relieved that no one else seemed to be having any trouble.

Stupid mistakes such as these were the most grievous annoyance in Severus Snape’s teaching career. The bloody imbeciles only had to read a few lines of direction, follow the steps and produce a passable potion. It was not difficult, nor was it something they should struggle to do. Every step was written out in black and white, but the fools were too incompetent to even follow a few simple instructions without a disaster. Sometimes he wondered if they did it on purpose, because certainly two 15 year old boys knew what would happen if you added the wrong ingredient in a volatile mixture.

Of course, both boys were barely passing with an acceptable grade in his class, so perhaps they didn’t know.

The potions master felt like something was wrong, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was. No one’s potions had been compromised, the explosion hadn’t hurt anyone and the boys were cleaning their mess. Still, the general sense of uneasiness persisted to a severity that the professor began to make another circle around the class to look for a potentially problematic situation.

He stopped in his tracks when he heard the sound of a glass stirrer hitting the floor and shattering, and he spun around, several scathing remarks ready for the offender. Instead, he saw a pale, unsteady Potter gripping the edge of the table as if it were his lifeline. What now? Severus wondered bitterly, taking several quick paces towards the boy.

The idiot Longbottom was rambling on and on about their grade, oblivious to the distress his partner was experiencing, and he quickly pushed the boy out of the way, “Can’t you see he’s in pain?” he hissed to the awkward teen before leading Harry a few steps over to a stool. The child was trembling and sweating profusely, his skin a cross between sickly green and translucent pale. What was more worrysome, though, was that he hadn’t seen the child inhale since he had arrived at their table. Shaking him lightly, Severus hissed, “Breathe you idiot child, breathe.”

Wide green eyes, slightly unfocused, met his and he felt the boy struggle to inhale under his grip, panic lining his face. Not taking his eyes off of the bane of his existence, he snapped, “Draco, fetch the Headmaster. Granger, Weasley, hurry to the hospital wing and let Madame Pomfrey know I will be escorting Mr. Potter momentarily.”

The troubled green eyes, though, had begun to roll back and the boy went slack in his arms, beginning to convulse.

“We don’t have time for that. Use the floo in my office and have her come through immediately. Let her know it is likely a reaction to a potion. The rest of you get out.” Severus barked, laying Harry on the floor as gently as the boy’s spasms would allow, turning his head to the side in case he vomited. His own heart raced as he undid Harry’s tie and the top button of the Gryffindor’s shirt, his hand on the child’s chest in hopes that he’d begin to breathe correctly.

What the bloody hell was taking the mediwitch so long?

The child’s convulsions stopped as abruptly as they had begun and Severus quickly pressed his fingers against Harry’s neck to make sure he was still alive. His own heart raced as he glanced around the empty classroom, waiting for help to arrive. This was the most serious injury that had ever occurred in one of his classes, he couldn’t believe that he had an unconscious student on his dungeon floor, one who was quite near to death if something wasn’t done about his airway obstruction first.

He then noticed the welts and tight red skin on Harry’s left hand and arm, and the rash that had spread to his face and right limbs. This was definitely an allergic reaction…but to what? They had worked with many of these substances before, with the exception of selenetrope. But selenetrope was rarely an allergen…leave it to Potter to be the one in a million who would have a reaction from it.

The mediwitch finally arrived and, her face tight visibly with worry, she knelt beside the boy, “Oh, definitely an allergic reaction, anaphylactic shock, how long as he been unconscious?”

“Less than two minutes. He isn’t breathing.”

“Do you have a resuscitation potion handy?” Madame Pomfrey asked as she jabbed a needle into Harry’s pale skin, “I don’t think he’ll make it to my office without one.”

Severus dashed into his office, returning seconds later with the requested potion. He watched in a mixture of awe and worry as she began to work on the boy, and finally released the breath he wasn’t even aware he was holding as Harry gasped, filling his lungs with air. After several deep breaths, the child rolled over onto his side, coughing several times before beginning to loudly retch.

“Hold his head.” The mediwitch ordered, waving her wand over the pale boy, “Do you have any idea what this was caused by?”

“The only new ingredient we introduced today was selenetrope.” Severus replied, kneeling by the boy’s head and firmly grasping him to hold him still, “I’m assuming that is what caused his reaction. There are welts on his hands, which could have been from handling the selenetrope, and then there was an explosion that doused him with the potion he was working on, and his condition deteriorated rapidly from that point on.”

The potions professor watched as Pomfrey muttered a few incantations while keeping her fingers on Harry’s wrist to measure his pulse and he finally let himself begin to relax. The boy was beginning to regain some color in his cheeks and he was no longer struggling to breathe, although he remained unconscious.

Feeling relieved now that the situation was under control, Severus released Harry’s head and stood, his legs tight and aching, indicating just how tense the situation had made him. He decided not to acknowledge that he had been more than a bit concerned about Harry, after all, the boy had caused him more stress in the 5 years he had been at Hogwarts than all of the other students in his entire teaching career combined.

Instead, he looked around his classroom, which was now in complete disarray from the work stations that had been abandoned when he had ordered everyone out and the explosion that had begun the entire crisis. Some unlucky student, most likely a Gryffindor, would have their work cut out for them during detention. Glancing at the messy-haired boy who was being levitated by the mediwitch, he frowned. It definitely wouldn’t be that Gryffindor.

“How long will you keep him?” He asked, hoping his tone came off as nonchalant despite the lingering anxiety he was feeling.

“Overnight, at least. Possibly tomorrow as well.”

“And how long will he remain unconscious?” Severus asked, handing Harry’s bag to his colleague as he spoke.

“A few hours, maybe more. His body needs rest to recover.”

“And is he allowed visitors during this time?”

He hated the way her arched eyebrow made him feel, especially as her lips curled into a slight smile, “Planning on keeping him company?”

“Hardly.” Severus replied snidely, although as she flicked her wand and followed Harry’s levitating form from the room, he didn’t hesitate to follow.

Three hours later, as Harry’s eyes slowly blinked open, the first thing he saw were black robes silently billowing away from his bed and out the door.