I Don't Want to be a Hero - Ch. 9

Rescued!

Harry awoke to the sound of flames crackling, a soft surface beneath him, and a very thick, very warm, very soft blanket. Harry snuggled into the dream, for it must be a dream. Right?

"Mr. Potter, I know that you are awake."

The familiar voice of Professor Snape seeped into all of Harry's warmth and pushed away at the dreaminess of his sleep. Harry turned slightly to open his eyes, and to blink blearily at the dark smudge of his teacher.

"Sir?" asked Harry muzzily.

"Sit up, Mr. Potter..."

"How come you're not calling me Harry anymore, sir?" he asked. He had gotten used to his teacher calling him by name in the Infirmary. He did not like being 'Mr. Potter' again.

"Harry. Do sit up, please. You need to take your potion," Professor Snape conceded and held out the dark brown bottle that held his Cruciatus After-Effects Relief Potion.

Harry shifted until he was sitting up, and found himself on an old green velvet sofa before the fire of a cosy sitting room. Looking around he saw that the fire cast warm light in front of it, and this light was picked up by oil lanterns interspersed around the sitting room in strategic places.

"This is nice," said Harry as he took the potion from Snape.

"I am pleased you approve, Harry," smirked the wizard with a gentleness Harry had only seen in the Hogwarts Infirmary. "Now." He nodded at the potion. "Drink up."

Harry nodded slowly. He knew that mint had been brewed into the potion for flavour but he was still hesitant. He took a deep breath, plugged his nostrils with his left hand, and as fast as he could he downed the potion.

He coughed. The mint was like a flood of flavour to his tongue and seemed to sparkle up, and through his forehead. He closed his eyes and flopped back against the arm of the couch just as the mint was followed by a taste he could only describe as 'chalky, dead squirrel'.

"Ick!" complained Harry.

Professor Snape chuckled, and took the potion bottle from the boy's hand. "Just imagine what it would have tasted like had I not added the mint."

Harry, who was feeling a touch dizzy, did not open his eyes as he asked, "Sir, I think I should have asked you sooner but what is going to happen now?"

Professor Snape sat down in his chair, and with a wave of his hand the oil lamps all dimmed. "The potion is a 'forceful expurgative' meaning..." He put a pair of dark copper-framed spectacles on the end of his nose, and opened the latest edition of Ars Alchemica. "...the potion will cause any and all after-effects to be expelled from your body. As this is a tiring process, for you, the procedure is three minor doses just before bedtime."

"Why am I here, sir?" asked Harry. A sudden frisson of fear heated his blood, and chilled his spine. His fingers wrapped tightly around the folds of the blanket. He felt a cool hand lower upon one of his.

"I am here because this is not only hard upon your body but frightening. I am here..." Harry, eyes still closed, could hear the slight hesitation in the man's words. He held his own breath. "... for you." Harry felt the professor's hand slip away from his and he heard what he had not before: the rustle of the man's robes, and the squeak of the worn leather of his chair as he settled into it. "Try to sleep, Harry, for now. The rest of our night will be terribly busy."

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"Terribly busy...!" Harry muttered at the two over easy eggs, and three slices of bacon that sat on a table in Professor Snape's quarters before him. Insteading of indulging he let his head drop to his arms.

"Eat, Harry. You need your strength."

"I wanna sleep," Harry's voice mumbled from his arms.

"You are welcome to sleep on my sofa but you will be missing the first day of your classes. Which do you wish, Mr. Potter?" asked Snape. He was not unsympathetic. He was very aware that the expurgation process was an arduous one; Harry had twitched and trembled nearly all night. He had caught him when the trembling had become so rough it tossed the child from the sofa. By six in the morning he fell into an exhausted sleep that only lasted an hour since both had to ready themselves for school. Harry had the additional sense of a hangover-like feeling and there was naught to do but to eat. "Whatever you decide, eat your breakfast."

Harry slowly lifted his head, his fork, and stuck it leadenly into one of the eggs. He took a few bites, and ate a piece of bacon, and felt markedly better. "I'll go to classes, sir. I didn't bring my books, and stuff, though..." Professor Snape merely pointed to a brand new bookbag that sat in the corner by the fireplace. Harry smiled with a shake of his head, and ate another piece of bacon.

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Classes were difficult but nothing that Hermione had not prepared Harry for. He was a month off schedule but every teacher had prepared quizzes and practicals for him to work on when he was not in class. The only class he was woefully unprepared for was Potions.

Harry arrived promptly with his friends, and settled between Hermione and Ron before Potions began. Harry looked around so he could see what the classroom looked like.

The Potions Classroom was dim, lit by a series of sconces that held oil lamps that glowed orange or yellow through their thin, amber shades. All surfaces were clean as though they had been scrubbed to within an inch of their lives. Shelves along nearly all the walls held cauldrons, pipettes, stirrers, and knives, and more that were needed in a classroom situation for brewing potions. There were charts on the walls that were copies of ones that Harry had seen in Professor Snape's private lab.

There was a lecture dais that was ascended by two stone steps that led up to a large, worn desk, and next to that was a tall, wide blackboard filled with script that Harry was already learning to identify as his teacher's.

"Quiet!" the dour, firm voice was underlined by the door to the classroom shutting with an echoing thud. Any low babbling amongst the students vanished.

Professor Snape strode swiftly up towards his desk, and then stopped. With cool malice he turned a quarter so that he could look down the row that held Harry and his friends.

"Ah," sneered Professor Snape as his glittering, black gaze held the emerald innocence of Harry's eyes. "Our. New. Celebrity. Harry Potter." Professor Snape dramatically strolled up the aisle to stop so he could tower over the small boy. His intimidation was met by smug tittering from the Slytherins.

Harry did not smile up at his teacher but the sheer hatred he saw in the man's eyes confused him and worried him. When Professor Snape leaned down over him Harry did his best to shrink down towards the bench.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter, what will I get if I add Powdered Root of Asphodel to an infusion of Wormwood?"

"I don't know, sir," replied Harry softly.

Professor Snape irritatedly motioned for Ron to move away, and he sat down beside the small boy. Harry gulped but faced his teacher, and scanned his eyes hoping for... for what? The Potions Master snapped, "Where would you look if I tell you to find me a Bezoar?"

Harry hesitated, then replied, "I-I don't know."

Professor Snape leaned in even closer causing Harry to push back against Hermione in an attempt to escape. "What is the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?"

Harry shook his head. He was now, officially, completely flummoxed, and scared of his teacher.

"I know the answers, Professor Snape!" cried Hermione. She did know. She really did.

Professor Snape glared at the girl, lifted himself from the bench, and strode up to his desk. "Put your hand down you silly, little girl.” He ordered Hermione. Professor Snape then gazed derisively around his classroom. “No one knows? One month of classes, and no one knows the answer?" He turned sharply, and his glare cowed every student in his class including his Slytherins. He raised an eyebrow, sighed, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Powdered root of asphodel infused in Wormwood will create a sleeping potion so powerful that it is known as the Draught of Sleeping Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat. As for Monkshood and Wolfsbane, they are the same and are also known as... aconite." As his dark glare deepened there came a shuffling as all the students bent to their journals to record what their teacher had just told them.

Harry made no move to do anything. He felt frozen. It was only when Hermione pinched his forearm, and hissed at him to get to work, that he pulled out his journal, and began to write his notes.

At the end of a long lecture where Harry heard little as he made plans, once again, to leave Hogwarts, Professor Snape assigned essays on those three questions he asked. He then dismissed his class.

All the students, including the Slytherins, were anxious to leave Potions and to end their day by racing to the Great Hall for dinner. Harry was slow, though, and Ron and Hermione did not hurry him, but tried to wait.

"Leave Miss Granger, and Mr. Weasley. Mr. Potter, sit down. You will not be leaving just yet," order Professor Snape from his desk.

"We'll see you at supper, mate," Ron said quickly to Harry before being yanked out of the classroom by Hermione.

Harry nodded to Ron but only after his friend left. He stayed on his bench and stared at his desk. He was only vaguely aware of the classroom door thudding shut.

"Mr. Potter."

Harry said nothing.

A shadow fell over Harry.

"Harry?"

Harry looked up, and exploded, "YOU HATE ME!"