Snape stalked towards his classroom, the beginning of a headache starting behind his eyes. It was Friday, and the previous four days of miserably stupid dunderheads exploding or melting things in his classroom made him wish for a strong drink.

Friday meant it was a double class with Gryffindor and Slytherin first years.

Snape grimaced at the thought, his headache becoming more pronounced. He was definitely going to need a drink after today.

Throwing open the classroom door, he marched to the front of the room and appraised the students. Over the years, he had perfected the entrance and knew he made a dramatic and alarming sight that, when coupled with the stories about him the students had already been told by upperclassmen, sent the fear of god into the first years. It was an effective method of classroom management, and commanded immediate, absolute attention.

Usually.

As his eyes glanced over the classroom he knew he would be having trouble with this group. While most of the students were staring at him with wide eyes, a small group of Gryffindors and---he was displeased to see---Slytherins were huddled conspiratorially together in the back of the classroom, with small wolfish grins plastered on their face as though they were sharing an inside joke. And they probably were. Members of his own house, even! This just would not do, not in his classroom.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape started in a deadly quiet voice. The entire classroom tensed and he was pleased to see he had managed to startle the troublemakers who, for their part, managed to look reasonably chagrined and guilty.

“What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Snape glared at Malfoy, issuing a nonverbal challenge when Malfoy dared give him a reproachful look. As though Snape was going to allow his house to disrespect him in his own classroom no matter who his father was. Malfoy backed down and shrugged.

“No? Let’s try again. Mr. Finnigan,” he said, addressing the Gryffindor closest to Malfoy. “Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”

At least the Gryffindor managed to blush and slouch down in his seat before shaking his head. Snape doubted he would be disrupting his class again. The rest of the group of boys managed to avoid Snape’s wrath only because a small voice near the front of the classroom had interrupted Snape’s train of thought. Harry Potter.

“Sir, the first one is the Drought of Living Death, a powerful sleeping potion. But I don’t understand why they call it that because it doesn’t kill you, does it? It just puts you to sleep. And the second one, you find it in a goat stomach, and it acts as an antidote for almost every poison. But on that one, I don’t know why it works that way. It’s fascinating, really, isn’t it, that a rock from a goat’s stomach can do all of that.”

The classroom got very quiet and everyone tensed up, waiting to see Snape’s response. Even the idiot Gryffindor, Finnegan, looked up to see what would happen. Snape was silent for a few moments. He didn’t like to be interrupted, but at the same time, the information provided was accurate. He decided to address the lack of classroom etiquette later.

“Correct, Mr. Potter.” He was pleased to see Harry sit up a little bit straighter in his seat. From what he had heard from the boy’s other professors earlier in the week, Harry was probably more used to being reprimanded in class rather than praised.

“Well, why isn’t everyone writing that down?” Snape challenged, and the room was filled with the rustling of parchment and quills as terrified students started taking notes.

“As Mr. Potter pointed out,” said Snape, once again in his element. “it is fascinating. You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic.”

Snape looked at Harry, who had his eyes half closed. If he hadn’t known better, Snape would have thought the boy was being rude. As it was, he knew Harry was listening with rapt attention to every word, his eyes closed as a way of filtering out visual stimuli. As for taking notes, he knew the boy had been given a dicti-quill, charmed to record his professors’ voices and automatically transcribe their lectures. The staff decided that it was less intrusive for Harry to use the quill rather than have an older student sit in each class and take notes for him. Snape took in the boy’s messy hair and wondered, somewhat uncharitably, if the boy’s trouble with motor skills extended to using a comb.

“I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses.... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death -- if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”

Snape looked pointedly at Malfoy, who had the decency to sit a little lower in his chair. Snape took note of the offenders. The smug little cretins would all be getting detention this evening. And his Slytherins, well, they would be getting a verbal dressing down that would make You-Know-Who quiver in his boots. He would find out what was going on. It was far too suspicious to have Gryffindors and Slytherins acting so chummy.

He split the class up into pairs for the practical portion, making sure to match Harry with the Weasley boy. He knew that Harry preferred working alone, but he hoped that pairing him with a friend would make him less likely to get frustrated. He also thought that Harry’s natural ability in the subject would make it easier to handle dealing with another person. A vision of the Weasley twins in years past popped into Snape’s head. Hopefully, Harry would prevent this particular Weasley from exploding anything.

He swept around the classroom, his long black robes adding a certain menace to his countenance that he quite enjoyed, correcting students who were doing things wrong---there was quite a lot of that, actually. He grimaced. This was a very simple potion and the students were already mucking it up. He made his way to Harry’s table and peered into the cauldron, unsurprised to see a perfect boil-curing potion.

“Well done, Mr. Potter.” Snape began, only to be interrupted by a loud hissing noise. He barely registered Harry’s hands covering his ears before he realized that the idiot Gryffindors, Neville Longbottom and Seamus Finnigan, had managed to melt their cauldron, sending acid green smoke billowing throughout the classroom as their potion seeped along the floor. The two boys were covered in red boils where their skin came in contact with whatever they had managed to create before it exploded all over them, and were moaning in pain.

“Ms. Granger,” Snape snapped. “Please escort these two to the hospital wing.”

He banished the potion with a flick of his wand and returned the cauldron to it’s pre-Neville state.

“Oh, and Mr. Finnigan,” he said as the boy limped out of the classroom. “Detention this weekend. You, too, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Nott, and Mr. Thomas.”

Snape smirked at the boys’ visible outrage.

“Class dismissed.”

He went back to his desk and wrote up a report of the detentions to give to McGonagall, not paying attention to the students leaving his classroom. It took a few minutes to register that the classroom was not as empty or as quiet as it should be, and he looked up. There was Harry, silently rocking with his eyes screwed shut and his hands over his ears, and next to him was Ron, looking slightly awkward, but quietly waiting for Harry. To his credit, he seemed to understand that Harry was just upset and wasn’t going to push the issue.

Snape made his way over to the pair. He had an idea of what caused Harry’s reaction, but wasn’t about to make the moment more uncomfortable by discussing Harry in front of his friend. If Harry wanted to talk about things to Ron, that was Harry’s prerogative, not Snape’s.

“Mr. Weasley, get to class.”

He raised his eyebrows in warning as Ron was about to argue with him.

“I will make sure Harry gets to where he needs to go.” Snape amended.

Still unsure, but unwilling to argue with a professor, especially his feared potions professor, Ron left.

Snape pinched his nose, his headache coming back at full force. This was not how he had intended the day to begin.