Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Classes Begin

Monday morning, Harry had a difficult time pulling himself out of bed. The sixth-year Gryffindor boys had stayed up way past curfew, exchanging stories about their summers. Getting dressed, they were all groggy, not to mention a bit cranky.

"Harry! Ron!" They heard Hermione shouting outside their room. She entered and said, "We're going to be late for breakfast. Now get moving."

"Yes, mother," Harry heard Ron mutter.

"Hey, we might have been naked!" Dean scolded her as he, Neville, and Seamus left the room.

"At this hour!" Hermione shouted back to the now absent boy.

Catching Hermione's scowl, Harry couldn't help but tie his shoes faster. She had the same effect on Ron, who was now pulling on his robes. Harry quickly ran his fingers through his hair—as if it could make any difference—and they all sprinted out of the room.

When they reached the great hall, most of the other students had arrived and were nearly finished with their meals.

They were in their seats for less than a minute before Professor McGonagall handed them their class schedules.

"Ugh, no free periods," Ron whined. "Not one."

"What's 'Special Topics'? Thursday afternoons… do you guys have it?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Hermione replied. "Professor McGonagall told me about it. Each week we're going to have to pick a class from a list. They'll be on specific skills, open only to sixth and seventh years."

"Who teaches them?" Ron asked.

"Well, I think a lot of different teachers, each with their own class," Hermione replied.

"I'm not taking any classes from Snape!" said Ron.

"At least we only have potions twice a week," Hermione pointed out.

"I'm not taking Potions," Ron said quickly. "Are you mad? Why take it if you don't have too? Harry, you're not taking it are you?"

"Yes! Of course I am," Harry replied. "It's required for the Auror program. I guess you're not going into that, are you?"

"Nah, I decided not to," Ron explained. "No way was I going to take Potions from that nasty git again. I'm going to focus on Care of Magical Creatures."

"What!" Hermione gasped, nearly choking on her breakfast. "You've never said anything about that before."

"Well, Charlie said he could get me a job once I'm done with school. And besides, it’s an easy career to get into. You see, you don't have to get that great of marks for it."

"But, I thought you wanted to be an Auror," Harry said, with more of a whine in his voice than he intended.

"I won't have to be an Auror to fight against You-Know-Who," Ron pointed out. "And don't worry, I will always be there for you if you need me."

"Well, we better hurry up and get our books," Hermione said.

xxxxx

The first class of the day was Defense Against the Dark Arts. On their way down from Gryffindor Tower, they all joked about just who might be the new teacher—and how that person might try to kill Harry.

At first, that comment seemed funny, but as the reality of it sank in, the trio all stopped talking. Ron uttered a series of apologies and blushed a shade of red nearly the same color of his head.

Harry brushed it off, saying he was fine. But now, sitting at his desk, palms sweaty, he wasn't so sure.

The rest of the class appeared a bit more excited. Sixth-year defense was filled with students from all the houses, those who managed to pass their OWLs and chose to continue with them. Basically, the class was filled with DA members. Malfoy was in the class too, along with Nott, Bulstrode, and Parkinson. Death eaters in training, Harry thought.

Just before class began, the teacher entered the room. He was a tall, lean man, with brown hair parted to the side. There was nothing impressive about his appearance, nothing that stood out. He wore standard black robes and stood stiffly as he surveyed the room.

After a few moments, he walked calmly over to his desk and placed a stack of parchment on it. He then proceeded to make sure the pile was perfectly straight and orderly. Finally satisfied, he walked to the center of the room and turned to face the class. Seconds later, the bell rang.

Several students continued to whisper about the new teacher, apparently unaware of his stern glare. A couple of minutes were allowed to pass before he raised his wand and a loud crack was emitted from it.

"You will desist from speaking this instant," the Professor scowled. "Class has started and I demand your attention."

Instantly, the class was silent, each and every eye faced forward. Harry gulped. Yes he was going to die. This man was going to kill him.

"Everyone stand and walk to the back of the classroom," he ordered. Quickly, everyone did as he said. Ron and Harry exchanged some confused looks, but kept their mouths shut.

"You," the Professor said, pointing to Harry and then he motioned to a front seat in the first row, "sit here." He then continued placing each student into an assigned desk around the room. Everyone had been sorted by height, alternating between boys and girls.

Someone in the class whispered something that Harry didn't catch. But whatever it was—several of the students started snickering about it.

"You. Stand," the professor commanded. "What is your name?"

"Er… Terry… Terry Boot," the boy responded.

"Repeat what you said," the professor requested.

Terry looked unsure, "Um… repeat my name or… well, what I said earlier?"

"What you said," the professor clarified, his voice dripping with contempt.

"Er…" Terry's face became a dark crimson color. His voice was so quiet it was barely audible, "I…I said, 'a bit mental, this one.'"

"And to whom were you referring?"

Suddenly the boy looked down at the ground, apparently contemplating how to go about digging his grave. "Toyousir," he said quickly.

"Excuse me?"

Couldn't you just give the poor guy a break? Harry thought. Take points and get it over with.

"You, Sir," Terry repeated. "I was referring to you."

The Professor glared at him for a while, letting the boy squirm. Finally, he said, "Ten points from Ravenclaw for this disruption, and detention for your disrespect. Now, sit."

The professor continued to stare at the classroom, with a disgusted look on his face. Some time passed before he took a sheet of parchment off his desk and read, "Abbott, Hannah." He scanned the classroom, waiting for a response. Harry spotted Hannah. The poor Hufflepuff appeared ready to cry, and she didn't know what to do.

After an awkward silence, she quietly responded, "Um… I'm here."
"Sloppy," the Professor scolded. "You will address me with respect. Here, Sir."

He glared at the poor girl till she realized he expected her to repeat him. "Here, Sir," she said, her voice still quavering.

"Blustrode, Millicent," the professor continued.

"Here, Sir," she replied confidently.

The professor finished the list of students. Harry had expected him to pause at his name, to gawk at his forehead perhaps, or maybe to glare more strongly. But the man had proceeded like Harry was nothing more than another student.

"I am Professor Bastian Quinn," he spoke sternly. "This is NEWT level Defense Against the Dark Arts. You have all managed to receive a sufficient grade on your OWLs, despite this institution's lack of proper training. Regardless, you will be required to pass my test. Otherwise, you can be dropped down to Remedial Defense."

"Ugh, a test on the first day," Ron muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Mr. Weasley, stand," Professor Quinn demanded. Blushing, Ron rose to his feet. "Did you have permission to speak?"

Ron stared back, a bit dumbfounded. When it became obvious the question was not rhetorical, Ron answered, "Er, no sir."

"Ten points from Gryffindor," the Professor commanded. "Another outburst, Mr. Weasley, and you will find yourself in detention. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir," Ron replied through a clenched jaw. Obviously, he was having difficulty holding in yet more complaints. But by Professor Quinn's demeanor, everyone knew he would not tolerate further talking.

"You may sit," he said to Ron. And then he commanded, "Mr. Macmillian, come." Ernie was in the desk closest to the professor, and got up quickly to obey. "Pass these out," Professor Quinn said as he handed the boy a large stack of parchment. Addressing the rest of the class, he continued, "You will have a written examination. I will also be calling each of you individually for a practical." He glanced around the class briefly, to wait for questions. Then he called, "Miss Abbott."

Suddenly, Harry found himself feeling sorry for Hannah. She always came first for everything. Potter seemed like such a good name at the moment—not first, nor last.

With a quiet whap, his test was set before him, and he wasted no time at all starting it. The test was long, detailed, and would most likely take more time than the class period allowed. Most of the questions covered similar topics to the OWLs, but there were questions on topics he didn't recognize. He looked up and scanned the other students; they looked just as confused as he was.

Due to the lack of time, he didn't pay much attention to those being tested. When Hermione was called up, he paused momentarily to give her an encouraging nod. He did the same for Neville. After a few others, it was his turn.

Professor Quinn started off simply, with things any first year would know. And then, Harry was dismissed. Perplexed, he didn't move to return to his chair.

"Sir, I know a lot more than that," Harry said. "Surely you'd like to—"

"I said you were dismissed," Professor Quinn scolded. "Ten points from Gryffindor. Now return to your seat."

"But sir—" Harry continued.

"Detention, for insolence. Now return to your seat."

Harry opened his mouth again to speak. The man was being so unreasonable. He had barely paid attention during the other practicals, but he knew none had been as short as his.

He watched Dean Thomas' practical. The boy was asked to show advanced blocks, even ones only covered in DA. Ron's was the same way. This aggravated Harry to no end, and he was hardly able to concentrate on the rest of the written examination.

"Professor Quinn is the worst git I have ever seen," Ron complained on their way to Transfiguration. "He's worse than Snape!"

"Well, Ronald, you shouldn't have been talking in class," Hermione scolded. "It's not like a new rule or anything! Honestly!"

"Oh, don't you go defending him!" Ron yelled. "Detention on the first day of class! That's totally unfair to Harry. And he didn't even do anything. He's a lot like Umbridge."

Harry shuddered at that thought. He already had detention with the man. But Professor Quinn had his own quarks. "It was so weird," Harry pointed out. "He only tested me on easy stuff. Why would he do that?"

Hermione and Ron shrugged.

xxxxx

By dinner, any excitement about the new school year had completely faded away. Professor McGonagall announced in class that sixth-year transfiguration marked the beginning of the real difficult work. But when hadn't transfiguration been difficult? Herbology wasn't any better. After potting a particularly troublesome group of Bacctus Plants, Harry’s arms were incredibly sore.

Hermione had Arithmancy instead of Herbology. Apparently, her class had already been assigned an incredibly large project. But instead of complaining along with Harry and Ron, she practically skipped around the school—clearly she was excited about all the extra work. Harry had the unbearable urge to lash out and knock her over. And judging by the look on Ron's face, the boy was having similar thoughts.

On cue, just to make my day so much better, Harry thought, a note appeared in front of him. It read, "Detention, 7 a.m., Saturday. My office. Professor Bastian Quinn." Groaning, Harry crumpled the note up and tossed it into his bag.

"Is that from our new Defense Git?" Ron asked.

"Yeah," Harry moaned. "I have detention at seven in the morning, on Saturday!"

"Ugh, that's horrible," Ron grimaced. "That's so early in the morning. What is he thinking?"

"I don't know, but I’ve got a bad feeling about him," Harry answered.

"I know," Ron replied. "Me, too. I mean, he's the defense teacher. That's reason enough to suspect him—considering the past."

"I suppose I can drop by to ask him a question," Hermione suggested. "Just to check on you."

"Yeah, I'll come with her," Ron added.

"We better go and get started on our homework," Hermione said. "Who knows how long detention will take."

xxxxx

It seemed as though in no time at all, 8 p.m. rolled around and Harry was standing nervously outside of the Potions classroom, Ginny at his side. She opened the door tentatively, and they both walked in.

From the look of the desks, their task was obvious. Dirty cauldrons were stacked haphazardly on the desks. There seemed to be a lot more than Snape had brought along with him to Grimmauld Place.

Harry smiled to himself; somehow this seemed fitting. Perhaps he didn't deserve detention for the incident on the train, but surely he did for nearly killing the man. To bad my friends have to suffer too, he thought.

"You will wash these wandless," Snape commanded. "Everything you need is there." He pointed towards the floor where two buckets of soapy water waited, along with some scrub brushes and two pairs of gloves. Then he sat down at his desk to start grading students’ essays.

Ginny rolled up her sleeves and reached out to the nearest cauldron.

"Wait," Harry said, pulling her back from the pile. "We need to put on a pair of gloves. We don't know what sort of potions are on these. They may be harmful."

"Oh, right!" Ginny grabbed a pair of gloves for herself and handed a set to Harry.

At first, the work was grueling and monotonous, but eventually Ginny and Harry found themselves making it a game. Whoever finished cleaning their cauldron first was allowed to pick out the next ones to clean. They would look for the most disgusting one possible for each other.

So far, Ginny had found the worst. Harry had to scrub it, and he was sure he recognized the remains of some salamander eyes. He pretended to double over and vomit on the floor, making Ginny laugh.

Snape didn't pay any attention to them, which Harry found odd. Although they didn't speak, surely their laughing disturbed the Potions Master.

"That will be all for today," Snape announced. "You are excused." Both Gryffindors jumped at his voice. They had almost forgotten the man was even there.

"Wow, it's ten o'clock," Ginny said as they started to climb the stairs.

"Yeah, I barely noticed the time going by," said Harry.

"Detention wasn't half bad," Ginny pointed out.

Both Harry and Ginny blushed when they realized why detention was almost fun. They remained silent for the rest of the trek up to the tower.

xxxxx

The next day's classes weren't any better; again, Harry had Defense Against the Dark Arts. Professor Quinn had already graded all of their tests and had written out long comments that described areas the students needed to improve. After reading his test, Harry was surprised to admit to himself that for once—besides Remus—he had a defense teacher who might actually be able to teach them something. Perhaps this new Professor wasn't so bad after all.

However, Harry's mood changed abruptly after Professor Quinn announced the assignment. Each student was to write a thorough essay covering each topic they had been marked down on. They had till Friday to complete the task. Several students complained, earning themselves a detention. The Professor curtly reminded them all that they were expected to know the material, and could switch to Remedial DADA if they wanted.

"That Professor is such a git!" Ron exclaimed. "He's almost worse than Snape! And he's weird and twitchy…"

"Oh, Ronald," Hermione scolded.

"No, really," Ron defended himself. "Did you see the way he arranged the material on his desk? Took ten bloody minutes!"

"You're exaggerating," Hermione corrected. "He's just organized. And he's right. We need to know all the material before continuing on to NEWT defense."

"Yeah," Harry said, "but he should at least teach us the other material. I mean it's not our fault we had crummy professors in the past."

"Well, you heard him," Hermione defended. "He's offering a Remedial Defense class after all."

"Oh, that's a load of rubbish!" Ron shouted.

"No, it's not," Neville piped in. "A lot of students wanted to continue on with Defense, but didn't get high enough OWLS."

"Really?" Harry asked, "When do they meet?"

"You don't honestly want to join that do you?" Ron asked, after dropping his spoon.

"No, I'm just curious," Harry replied.

Neville continued, "You know Megan Jones?" The others shook their heads. "She's a Hufflepuff. I sit next to her in Herbology. Anyway, she's in the Remedial Defense class. She said they meet Monday afternoons."

"Megan Jones, huh?" Ron said in a slightly teasing manner. Neville's cheeks pinked, but he didn't say anything.

"We better hurry up, guys," Hermione interrupted. "Lunch is almost over. We don't want to be late for our first Potions class of the year."

As Harry, Hermione, and Neville got up quickly to leave, Ron taunted, "Oh, I don't envy you guys at all. Have fun in Potions!"

They left the great hall and started to walk down to the dungeons.

"Oh, no!" Harry said, stopping in mid stride. "I forgot my book!"

"Harry, you can't get it now. You'll be late," Hermione pointed out.

"But you can't go to class without it," Neville added.

"You guys go on ahead," Harry said. "I'll just run!"

He took off sprinting up the stairs without waiting for a response, making it back to the Gryffindor common room in no time at all. He went over to his trunk, retrieved his book, and ran out of the room. He made it down to the dungeons in record time. Checking his watch, he sighed in relief, knowing that he wouldn't be late. He decided to walk the last few corridors in order to catch his breath.

"Oh, look, if it isn't a pint-sized Potty," Malfoy's voice drawled.

Harry turned to meet his enemy, flanked on either side by his usual goons, Crabbe and Goyle.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry sneered.

"I'm just trying to help out a lost little boy," Malfoy mocked.

"Shove off, Malfoy," Harry spat as he turned away and continued to walk to class.

With his back to the others, Harry heard a small scuffle, and then a clumsy set of legs bound forward. He had his hand tightly wrapped around his wand. Let them come, he said to himself. Let's see if the little Slytherins have the guts to attack me just outside of Snape's class.

A hand caught his right forearm and spun him around. Okay, so they have the guts… but no matter.

Harry had his wand out, fixed on Malfoy's nose. The boy flinched, but in no time Harry found his own hands pinned around his back. Goyle was way too strong for an eleven-year-old Harry. His wand was pried from his fingers and handed over to Malfoy.

"Give that back!" Harry shouted. He pulled away from Goyle, but that only caused a shooting pain in his shoulders.

"Oh, let the poor boy go," Malfoy said. "Can't you see you're hurting him?"

Laughing, Goyle released Harry's arms and then pushed him to the ground.

Harry barely had any time to react and smacked down onto the hard stone floor. He wasted little time contemplating the pain on his brow, and the ache of his ribcage, but stood back up and glared at Malfoy. "Give that back," he commanded.

"Why don't you just take it away from me?" Malfoy said, holding Harry's wand up in the air.

Having an eleven-year-old body, Harry knew no amount of jumping would allow him to reach up and take the wand. He tried to work out a plan in his head, but couldn't come up with anything.

Just then, the bell rang. For a moment, a look panic crossed Malfoy face, only to be replaced with a sneer.

"Looks like I've run out of time," Malfoy carried on casually, although he had started walking quickly to the classroom. "I'll just leave your wand here." He placed Harry's wand on a small ledge of rock, well out of the boy's reach, and then sprinted down to the classroom.

Surprisingly, his goons didn't follow, but instead continued on to their common room. After more thought, Harry realized it was unlikely they'd be in NEWT level potions anyway.

Glad that the bigger boys didn't stay to torment him, Harry looked up the wall at his wand. It was way too high. He kicked the wall in frustration and then yelled out a series of profanities.

Deciding to just wait and play guard, Harry sat down below his wand. Despite the fact he had class, he just couldn't leave his wand behind. Hopefully, Hermione or Neville would come out first and get it for him. As he contemplated just how horrible it was to be deaged, a memory occurred to him. The floo powder, he thought. I accioed the floo powder… wandless. Maybe I can do this—

He jumped up to his feet, held out his hand and commanded, "Accio wand!" Nothing happened. He tried again, still nothing. He was glad the corridor was empty, because he probably looked like an idiot.

He knew he could do it. I did it before… In his head, he retraced the steps he went through before as a baby. I held up my hand and… well I couldn't talk then, so I just thought it. In another attempt, Harry held up his arm. Thinking hard, he commanded, "Accio wand!"

To his surprise, the wand flew off the ledge and was caught easily. He did a sort of dance in celebration and instantly had the desire to tell someone. He ran down to the Potions classroom, with a silly grin plastered on his face and strode into the room.

Snape was in the middle of one of his lectures, which Harry boldly interrupted. "Snape, I—"

The glare from the man shut him up, and completely brought Harry back to his senses. He blushed a deep shade of red, and quickly glanced around for a hole to crawl into.

"You're ten minutes late!" Snape scowled. "Twenty points from Gryffindor. Now find a seat!"

Harry scrambled quickly to sit besides Hermione. In the process, he managed to trip over his own feet and fell into Neville's desk. Thankfully, he only knocked the boy's book off the desk—in a Potions class there could be worse things to knock over. Finally, he was in his seat, with almost the whole class laughing at him.

"Are you done disrupting my classroom, Potter?" Snape snapped.

Harry nodded in response, and tried to sink deeper into his chair.

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," Snape continued, "each student must select their own potion. You have one week in which to submit your proposal. Earlier submissions will be approved. If there are duplicate submissions, then the later student will be required to research a new potion. Are there any questions?"

Harry had a million questions. He had no idea what Snape was talking about. But he kept them to himself, to ask Hermione later. No one else asked any questions, so Snape moved on.

"Open your books to page eighteen," he commanded. The classroom filled with the noise of books opening and pages being turned. When the room quieted, Snape continued, "What are the three important properties of the Fluxweed when used with frog parts?"

Harry thought hard. He remembered reading something about this over the summer, but it seemed like ages and ages ago. Like years, when I was a baby… Harry was too busy hoping Snape wouldn't call on him to hear his name.

"Potter," Snape spat—the man was only a few paces away now. "POTTER!"

Harry was snapped back to reality. "Uh… er…" the boy stuttered. He almost remembered the answer; it was on the edge of his memory… just out of reach. Fluxweed has something to do with changing forms, but the frog parts…

"Clearly my tutoring meant nothing Potter," Snape taunted. Several Slytherins started giggling.

A part of Harry felt mad; he wanted nothing more then to shout back in defense. But mostly, he felt betrayed. He looked up at the Potions Master, eyes pleading—if only things could go back to the way they were.

"A complete waste of my time," Snape mercilessly continued.

Such a simple comment, but the words hit Harry hard. He didn't know what to say. He looked away from Snape; he couldn't maintain the eye contact. "Snape… I—"

"Ten points from Gryffindor," Snape interrupted, "for disrespect. Now does anyone know the answer to my question? Save me from the agony of stupidity."

Hermione's hand shot up like a light.

Harry couldn't pay attention enough to even hear her reply. He felt bad for being such an idiot—of course he should have addressed Snape as Professor. They were in class after all. And he should have known the answer; he spent hours reading the books, yet it seemed like so long ago. But the worst thing of all was Snape's comment, "a complete waste of my time." That really hit home. He had always been a nuisance, at least as far as the Dursleys were concerned.

He thought Snape was different. Of course not! Of all the stupid things to think! Harry mentally scolded himself. Well, I won't waste his time anymore!

After a while, the lecture stopped and the brewing began. Glancing at the instructions, Harry started to work. He spent most of his time trying not to think, only sparing as little brain activity as necessary to make a passable potion. He totally ignored all the insults Snape threw his way—and there were many.

An eternity passed before it was time for Harry to clean up his workspace and pack to go. He was almost free until a voice held him back. "Stay behind Potter."

Swallowing hard, Harry sat back down in his chair. He waited nervously as the room emptied. A part of him prayed, please Snape, please. Tell me it's just an act… to fool the death eaters…

"You think you can waltz into my class ten minutes late?" Snape spat after they were alone.

"Listen, Snape, I can explain—" Harry replied, but he was cut off.

"Ten more points from Gryffindor!" Snape snapped. "You will learn to address me with respect. Now you will sit there for ten minutes to make up for you truancy. If I hear a word out of you, I will add another week to your detention."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, to protest… but Snape's scowl kept him quiet. The man went back to his desk and started to examine the vials of potion.

What did I do? Harry thought desperately. Why does he hate me again? I thought things had changed…

The ten minutes passed slowly, and finally Snape said, "You're dismissed, Potter."

Harry got up to leave, but stopped just before the door. "Professor?" The man remained silent, Harry continued anyway. "What did I do?" Please tell me, please—I'll make up for it…I'll change. "I thought things had changed."

The man didn't reply other than to snort. After a long awkward silence, Harry darted out of the room.

xxxxx

Harry ran blindly down the corridor, hoping to get as far away as possible in case he broke down and cried. He didn't notice Ron until he ran right into him. Being small, it was Harry who fell backwards.

"Are you okay, Harry?" Ron asked as he extended an arm to help the boy up.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Harry replied, brushing himself off.

"No, I meant about…" Ron hesitated. "With Snape," he finally blurted out. "Hermione told me Snape was a real git and I know…"

"I said I was fine!" Harry shouted, with more anger than he intended. Ron's face looked hurt, so Harry said, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, mate," Ron shrugged it off. "I know you're upset."

"He's acting like nothing happened," Harry whispered, hoping not to reveal exactly how hurt he really was. "He's acting like he hates me, just like he did before. And I don't know why… if he'd just tell me what I did. Maybe I could make things better…"

"Harry," Ron said seriously. He placed his hands on Harry's shoulders and stooped down to look the boy in the eye. "You haven't done anything wrong. I'm sure of it. I don't know what's up with Snape. I'm sorry he's such an evil bat."

Thankfully, Ron had the decency not to say, "I told you so." And Harry was actually feeling a bit better… a tiny bit. They walked quietly up to the library to find Hermione.

"So, how was Care of Magical Creatures?" Harry asked, breaking the silence.

"Er…" Ron blushed. "It wasn't bad. I, um…" The redhead's body language changed dramatically to show he wanted to hide something embarrassing.

Suddenly very curious, Harry stopped walking. "Tell me what happened!" he demanded, with a smile on his face.

"Iwastheonlyoneintheclass," Ron said in one breath.

"What?"

"I was the only one it the class," Ron admitted. "The only sixth year student stupid enough to continue with Care of Magical Creatures, okay?"

Harry smiled and tried not to laugh, but found himself giggling despite it. "That is, um… interesting."

Ron growled and continued to walk to the library. Harry sprinted to catch up. "At least it brightened your mood," Ron commented.

Once in the library, Hermione briefed Harry on the Potions assignment. "We're supposed to pick a Potion that takes a long time to brew, one that undergoes several stages. We have to write a proposal to brew the potion, detailing where we'll get our ingredients, what the potion can be used for, and how to brew it."

"Oh, let me guess," Harry interrupted. "Then we're going to have to brew the potion, right?"

"Yeah, but only if our proposal is approved," Hermione corrected. "Otherwise, we have to pick a different potion. Oh, and we're going to have to work on it out of class, too."

"Great," Harry sighed. "More time in the dungeons!" Harry noticed that Ron looked quite pleased with himself—he wouldn't have to suffer through potions. He quickly wiped the smirk off the redhead's face by saying, "At least I'm not alone in the class."

The group grew quite as they all started working on their homework. NEWT level classes seemed to pile on the homework, and they were only two days into the term! Harry didn't know if he could make it. As 8 p.m. drew closer, Harry couldn't help but let his thoughts wander back to the dungeons.

Despite what Ron had said, Harry knew something had happened to make Snape angry with him. He decided he would work much harder in the class. He would read the assignments ahead of time and give the man proper respect. He hoped his efforts would be enough.

But a nagging feeling kept his hope at bay. How could he be so deluded as to think that another adult might care for him. It would never happen… not after I killed Sirius… Harry mentally cursed himself for being stupid, lame… weak. He wanted so badly to have someone love him, like a father or a mother.

He watched his friends studying—laughing… Did they realize how much they had? Feelings of jealously and longing crept into him, forming a lump in his throat. Again, he thought he would cry…

He suppressed those feelings deep inside him. It was time to find Ginny and head to detention.


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