Next morning, the term got off to an inauspicious start. Shortly before classes began, Harry flew into their quarters and began ransacking his room. “What on earth are you doing?” Snape demanded, coming to the door of the boy’s bedroom.
“I can’t find my homework!” Harry yelled from where he was half-under the bed. “Have you seen it down here? It’s gone! All the professors are gonna be furious at me!”
“This is what happens when you don't maintain an orderly room,” Snape scolded. “Why didn’t you put it in your bookbag?”
“I did!” Harry protested, emerging from under the bed. “I know I did, but it’s not there now. I checked my whole trunk and around my bed in the Tower an’ everything.”
Snape’s brows drew together. This was uncomfortably reminiscent of some of his childhood experiences. “Could your roommates have chosen to destroy or hide your work?” he asked suspiciously, remembering all too many days when exactly that had happened to him.
Harry stared at him in frank astonishment. “Why would they do that?”
Snape relaxed a bit; apparently Harry did not have the troubles with his Housemates that he himself had experienced. “Perhaps as a prank?”
Harry shook his head adamantly. “No, they were all helpin’ me look. I mean, Ron’s my best mate, an’ Neville just wouldn’t do something like that, an’ it’s not like Seamus or Dean are mad at me.” Harry grimaced. “Dudley used to rip up my homework all the time, so I used to hide it, but it’s never ever been a problem here. I just don’t know where it could be!” he finished with a wail, and Snape realized just how close to tears the boy was.
“Calm yourself,” he ordered brusquely, but the hand that reached out to rest on the boy’s shoulder was gentle. Harry sniffled and stopped rushing around. “There is one benefit to having a faculty member for your guardian. I am well aware of all your homework assignments and that you completed them, since I required you to submit them to me for review. I will write a note for you for each of your teachers, and while they may still choose to penalize you for your carelessness in misplacing your work,” he overrode the boy’s protests, “they are likely to give you at least partial credit for having done it.”
Harry drooped, but he knew it was the best he could hope for. “You think I’ll still get punished?” he asked unhappily.
“You can certainly expect a detention in Potions,” his guardian told him sternly. “Perhaps an evening spent recreating your essay will help remind you to be more organized.”
“But that’s not fair,” Harry argued hotly. “You saw me do it! You even read it!”
“The assignment is not only to complete the work, but to hand it in on its due date so that it can be evaluated. You therefore did not complete the assignment in full, and you will be punished for it.”
Harry gave his father an angry look. “ ‘S not fair!”
“Any more cheek from you, Mr Potter, and I will reconsider writing a note to your other professors,” Snape warned, and Harry unwillingly subsided.
Most of the other teachers that day were – unsurprisingly – more forgiving than Professor Snape, though most did require Harry to visit them during office hours so they could orally examine him on the material. Between his guardian’s attesting to his having done the work and his obvious familiarity with the material, though, he avoided any additional detentions. Even the one he did receive wasn’t that awful – Snape insisted he spend the first half tidying his ransacked room, but he then relented and rather than having Harry rewrite his old essay, something Harry regarded as equivalent to writing lines, he assigned a new one. The new topic was rather interesting, and Harry nearly forgot to sulk as he left the detention.
Still, he told himself, it wasn’t really fair that he did extra, just because he lost his homework. A little voice inside him argued that his teachers had to have heard that one before, but he retorted that this time they knew it was true. He supposed his da had a point about him being supposed to hand it in, but Harry was more in the mood to feel annoyed about it than to concede any possibility of validity to his father’s argument.
It’s not like he had tried to lose the homework or even that he had been particularly careless with it. He distinctly remembered placing it into his schoolbag… but then it had vanished. He bit his lip. There was no way Dudley was around, but what could have happened to the work? Hermione had suggested that maybe he had taken it out somewhere to double-check it, and Ron had laughed hysterically at that idea, much to Hermione’s annoyance. Ron had taken a more laidback approach, arguing that “Don’t worry, mate. It’s bound to turn up. Probably right after your detention.” Harry huffed. It was all right for Ron to be so relaxed about it. It wasn’t his homework that had mysteriously vanished.
Harry sighed. He was probably making a big deal out of nothing. Maybe the papers had slipped out of his bag while he was moving his things up to the Tower. Or Peeves might have nicked them when he wasn’t looking. Or… in a magical castle, there were plenty of options. Harry just hoped nothing else went missing.
The next day was Harry’s first DADA class, and despite Snape’s note and Harry’s offer to be quizzed on the material, Professor Umbridge loudly tsked at him and ordered him to the front of the room. Then, as Harry squirmed with humiliation, she informed the class, with saccharine sweetness, that she was not only assigning Harry a double essay as punishment, but she was also taking off twenty points from Gryffindor. The rest of the students were wide eyed at this draconian penalty, and Harry had to bite his tongue to keep from yelling in outrage as she spent the next fifteen minutes alternately scolding him for laziness in not doing his work and pointing out to the rest of the class that she would not tolerate lying children. It was as if she were going out of his way to make Harry look bad in front of the other students, and Harry was crimson with mortification at being so publicly belittled.
Happily, she went in for such overkill that her plan backfired, and rather than giving Harry scornful looks, the rest of the class was overt in their sympathy when he was finally permitted to take his seat.
“Um-bitch!” Ron whispered as Harry slunk into his chair, fighting an intense desire to bury his head in his arms.
“What a toad,” Draco muttered on his other side. Hermione gave him a look of sympathy over her shoulder, and Harry began to feel a little better.
That night, he indignantly regaled his father with the story, but to his annoyance, Snape merely observed – with his usual coolness – that Harry could have expected that a new professor was likely to start her teaching career by making an example out of the first few students who misbehaved.
“But I didn’t misbehave,” Harry argued. “I didn’t even talk back to her. Even when she called me a liar and said I had obviously not bothered to do the work at all. She said I was lazy, and I was just lucky that she couldn’t send me to Filch to be caned!”
Snape’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but his voice remained even. “Unlike your other professors, Madame Umbridge does not know you, and pleading lost homework is a common ploy of lazy children. What is more, as a new professor, she naturally was relying upon your homework to give her an understanding of your level of competence. I suggest you attempt to redeem yourself with your essay.”
Harry resigned himself to following his da’s advice and headed to the Slytherin Common Room to study with his friends. Behind him, Snape hexed half the living room furniture to splinters. How dare that reptilian creature doubt his son’s word – not to mention the note he himself had written!
The next few weeks brought no thawing of relations between Harry and his new professor. If anything, Umbridge seemed intent on making Harry look as ridiculous and ignorant as possible, and she called on him with ever more pedantic questions. In the meantime, he – along with the other students – was rapidly finding DADA classes to be every bit as boring as Binns’ History of Magic. Umbridge refused even to demonstrate the spells, and most days merely had them either read their textbook or recopy pages from it.
She also played favorites so blatantly that the students were taken aback. She gushed over Draco and a few other students who had relatives in high Ministry positions and was nauseatingly unctuous to those whose families were wealthy or politically powerful. She was coldly dismissive towards Muggleborn students and any others with no connections to the rich and famous of the Wizarding world. Harry was the only exception to this rule.
“Merlin, Malfoy, is your robe soggy from all the sucking up Umbitch did to you in there?” Ron demanded as they walked along the corridor, leaving the DADA classroom behind them. The redhead was still smarting from a snide comment the professor had made about “families who will insist upon breeding despite having neither the finances nor the wit to do so”.
Draco shuddered. “You think I like having her lips imprinted on my arse, Weasley? I leave class wanting to climb into a hot shower. I mean, smarming up to a first year? How pathetic is that?” He sneered. “My father always says that there’s nothing more pitiful than people who bend over to kiss your feet when you don’t even have a stick to threaten them with. Spineless slugs – they deserve to be stepped on.”
“Nice, Draco. Are you planning to grow up to be a jackbooted fascist like your father?” Hermione demanded.
Draco blinked. He wasn’t sure what a ‘jackbooted fascist’ was – something Muggle, presumably – but the sense was clear from Hermione’s tone. “Now you’re defending her, Granger? You think she’s worth it?”
“I never said that,” Hermione retorted, tight lipped, as she marched down the corridor.
“Brainless scum like her are why we need a strong leader,” Draco continued, clearly quoting his father. “People like us need to keep people like her in their place.”
Hermione stopped and looked him right in the eye. “People like us, Draco?” she asked pointedly. “You’d let a Muggleborn into your little elite circle?”
The Slytherin had the grace to blush. “I never said anything about only purebloods being smart enough to govern,” he protested, a bit weakly.
“Doesn’t your father?” she pressed, while the others watched with interest.
“Just because I think my father’s right about some things doesn’t mean I agree with him on everything,” Draco said, giving a guilty look around as if Lucius might suddenly loom out of the shadows. “People like Umbridge need to be told what to think. Look what happens when they’re let into positions of authority.”
Hermione couldn’t argue with that, so she shrugged and started walking again. “She really is a dreadful teacher,” she agreed – Hermione’s ultimate epithet. “She doesn’t even try to help us learn the material, and she says some awful things.”
“How come she hates you so much?” Ron nudged Harry. “You’d think she’d be sucking up to you as much as Draco. I mean, yeah, his father’s good friends with the Minister, but you’re The Boy Who Lived.”
Harry shrugged. “I dunno. She’s just hated me since the first class.”
By the third week of classes, all of the Heads of Houses had heard loud complaints about the new professor. She was unfair, outrageously harsh in her punishments, and contributed nothing to the students’ education. Those who would be taking their OWLS and NEWTS were particularly upset, and impromptu study groups had sprung up everywhere to compliment the ones the Heads had organized.
Although Harry didn’t complain about Umbridge after that first night, her treatment of him did not go unremarked. Gryffindors and Slytherins alike reported how nasty Umbridge was to him to their respective Heads of House, who met to discuss the “Umbridge Situation”.
“Harry has not mentioned anything to me; has he spoken to you?” Minerva asked in concern, stirring her tea with rather more agitation that was her usual.
Snape shook his head, his features more than normally severe. “Not a word. But I have heard stories from other students. She seems to delight in pointing out his shortcomings.”
“Nor is he the only one, though he does seem to receive an unusually large dose of her vitriol. Many other students – in Filus’ and Pomona’s Houses as well – have been humiliated and mocked for no good reason.”
“While others are lavishly praised despite a similar lack of justification,” Snape nodded. “Draco Malfoy, Susan Bones, Cho Chang, Marcus Flint, Cedric Diggory, Germaine Scrimgeour…”
“All of whom have relatives with money or power or both,” Minerva pointed out. “I suppose we now know how that horrible woman achieved success at the Ministry.”
“Does she have any supporters? Even Trelawney has a few students every year who worship the ground she walks upon.”
McGonagall smirked. “Hardly. Even Hermione Granger thinks she’s horrid.”
“Miss Granger?” Snape’s eyebrows rose.
“Indeed. It appears that early last week Miss Granger asked That Woman about a counter to Duro. You will recall that the children witnessed its use against Poppy in the Infirmary.” Snape nodded warily. Minerva took a sip of tea and continued the story with uncharacteristic animation. “That Woman told Miss Granger to stop wasting class time by mentioning archaic spells that none of them would ever see, and further chastised her for being a mediocre little witch who tried to make herself look bright by bringing up irrelevant trivia.”
Snape’s eyebrows were now at record height. Whatever issues he might have with Hermione’s annoying habits, no one in their right mind could call the child mediocre. The young witch was already showing signs of being one of the smartest Hogwarts students in a century. “How did Miss Granger take the rebuke?”
“As you might imagine,” McGonagall’s tone was dry, “two of my other lions chose to intervene before Miss Granger could say anything.”
Snape rolled his eyes. “Weasley and Potter.”
“Mm. They pointed out that all three of them had in fact seen the spell used, and Mr Weasley used the opportunity to enumerate several of Professor Umbridge’s scholastic failings.”
“That could not have ended well.”
“No. A total of sixty points was subtracted from my House, and Mr Weasley received a week of detention with Mr Filch. I suspect that That Woman suggested to Argus that he might reprise a few of the older punishments, but I intervened and Mr Weasely is serving his detention with me. Harry received an extra essay for his effrontery in contradicting That Woman, and Hermione – “ Minerva paused dramatically “- received a zero for the day, and half-off all her scores for the entire week.”
Snape nearly dropped his teacup. “For asking a question?” He could only imagine the girl’s reaction to having her marks lowered so capriciously. Even he had never done anything that vicious. “Was she distraught?”
“I rather expected her to be,” Minerva admitted, “but it appears your Miss Jones has had quite the influence on her. Miss Granger decided to get angry instead.”
“Hmmm.” Snape forbore mentioning that Davidella Jones would not only get angry; she’d also get even. No point in alerting McGonagall to something she might feel compelled to prevent. If Hermione Granger chose to turn her impressive intellect to exacting revenge upon the Pink Toad, Severus Snape had no intention of getting in her way.
“What are we going to do, Severus? In addition to everything else, she really is a horrendous teacher. Even Quirrel was better at communicating basic Defense concepts.”
Snape glared at his tea, but was compelled to answer, “We must wait. Surely she will overreach herself, and then we will be able to remove her. But for now… we wait.”
McGonagall sighed. She knew intellectually that Snape was right, but her protective streak had been roused, and though her animagus form was a mere tabby cat, her devotion to her students was truly leonine. Her instincts called for bloody revenge, but if even a former Death Eater was urging patience… She sighed again and forced her usual stern demeanor to assert itself. She was the Deputy Headmistress, after all. It was unseemly for her to be having fantasies about staking Umbrige out for the Acromantulas. Just because That Woman was interfering with the scholastic career of untold numbers of students, making a travesty of the teaching profession… Minerva ruthlessly squelched that line of thought. Wait and watch. That’s what she had to do. She imagined her feline form sitting beside a mouse hole, waiting for a pink, toadlike mouse to emerge, and that mental image soothed her sufficiently to allow her to take her leave.
It only took another two weeks for the crisis to unfold.
It began as Harry and his friends were unhappily heading to their DADA class. “I hate this class even more this term – an’ last term Voldesnort used to make my scar hurt!” Harry complained.
“Oi, you clumsy oaf! Watch it!” Draco abruptly yelled at Vince as the larger boy accidentally trod upon the hem of his robe.
“Oops,” Vince said sheepishly. “Sorry, Draco.”
Hermione peered at the hem. “Oh no, it’s ripped, Draco.”
The others waited, expecting Pansy to swoop down with her usual shrieks and smothering attention, but to their surprise, the girl didn’t appear. Draco looked around, half-relieved and half-offended. “Parkinson – I’ve got a problem here!” he said rather huffily, spotting the dark haired girl standing off by herself.
Pansy shrugged listlessly. “I’m sure you can fix it,” she said quietly, then ducked into the classroom before he could respond.
The other children stared after her. “What did you say to her?” Hermione demanded suspiciously. “Did you hurt her feelings again?”
“No!” Draco defended himself. “She’s been acting weird for a few weeks now. She’s all withdrawn and won’t talk to anyone. It’s been kinda nice actually, not having her around all the time, acting like we’re practically married.”
Hermione glanced worriedly after the girl, but then she was busy trying to repair Draco’s hem with a half-learned spell, while the rest of the boys hurried into the classroom so as to avoid attracting the ire of Professor Umbitch, as Ron had christened her.
Hermione finally managed to fix it, but when they entered the room – the last two to do so – Professor Umbridge fixed her with a disapproving eye. “Well, well, Miss Granger, I see your prodigious intelligence has yet to learn the intricacies of telling time. Ten points from Gryffindor for your tardiness.”
“She was helping me, Professor,” Draco spoke up, his chin tilted arrogantly. “And the bell’s not even rung yet.”
“Oh, isn’t that noble of you, Mr Malfoy?” the toadying little witch said admiringly. “Ten points to Slytherin for trying to protect an undeserving acquaintance.”
Draco glared at her. Calling a Slytherin “noble” was hardly a compliment, but it was clear that even with his intervention, Hermione was not about to be let off without punishment. Although he was seething at his inability to force Umbridge’s compliance, Draco gave Hermione a look that was as apologetic as a Malfoy could manage. The Gryffindor just shrugged wearily. She had expected no less from Umbridge.
“Today we shall have a quiz,” Umbridge announced happily, and the class groaned aloud. “If you studied pages 160-190 of your text, I’m sure you will do very well indeed.” She glanced around her desktop, her brows drawing together. “Where are my notes?”
At first the students paid little attention, as they were busy pulling parchment and quills from their own bags, but as Umbridge’s searching became increasingly frantic, their attention was caught.
“My notes!” the toad was exclaiming shrilly, looking under her collection of china kittens and lace doilies. “Where are my notes?”
“Uh, Draco,” Greg Goyle whispered loudly, “why doesn’t she just use an accio?”
Draco rolled his eyes. Even the class lummox was smarter than Umbitch. “Because she’s an –“
Before he could finish the sentence, Professor Umbridge – obviously inspired by Gregory’s question – shouted, “Accio Professor Umbridge’s test notes!”
To everyone’s astonishment, a scroll whisked out of Harry’s bookbag and flew to the witch’s outstretched hand. A moment of dead silence resulted, finally broken by Ron’s whispering, “Good prank, mate, but maybe not one of your smartest.”
Harry stared wildly at Ron, then at his bookbag, and then at the professor, who had a smile of immense satisfaction slowly spreading across her face. “Well, well, Mr Potter,” she said softly. “Now we all see you revealed as a liar and a cheat.”
“Professor!” Harry said, panicking, “I swear I didn’t take your notes. I never saw them before in my life!”
“Yes. They just magically appeared in your bookbag,” she smirked. “I wonder what the Headmaster will say about this. Your fame will not be able to shield you from a proper punishment this time.”
Harry gulped. If there was one person at Hogwarts he truly feared, it was the Headmaster. The man had put him with the Dursleys once; who was to say he wouldn’t do it again? While the old wizard always appeared pleasant and offered Harry a lolly whenever they met, Harry knew perfectly well that such behavior could mask a multitude of sins.
He must have heard Aunt Petunia tell Dudley, “Never take candy from strangers!” a million times, probably because she knew it would be a cold day in Hell when Dudley turned down a sweetie. Petunia had tried to convince Dudley of the dangers associated with candy-waving strangers with exceptionally graphic cautionary tales; these had the effect of convincing her nephew to avoid any and all strangers like the plague but did nothing to persuade her son. In the end, she resorted to bribes, promising Dudley that if he did as she instructed, she would give him twice as many lollies as the stranger had offered the instant he got home.
Unfortunately for his waistline, while Dudley wasn’t bright, he did have a certain animal cunning, especially where treats were concerned. For the next two years, Petunia was convinced that her Duddykins was the number one target of Britain’s pedophiles, as Dudley happily invented dozens of mythical strangers, all trying to lure him into their caravans with bags and bags of lollies. It was around that time that Harry had begun to realize just how stupid his relatives were.
As a result, and coupled with Dumbldore’s track record thus far, it would take more than a few lemon drops to convince Harry of the Headmaster’s kindly nature.
“Since Professor Dumbledore has seen fit to abolish corporal punishment – a sad misjudgment in my opinion – I believe the only appropriate penalty for cheaters is expulsion,” Umbridge purred, sounding like one of the kittens in the numerous pictures that hung on her classroom walls. “Dear me, how the mighty have fallen.”
Expulsion! The word rang in Harry’s ears. He clutched the desktop, feeling the blood drain from his face. Umbridge smiled even more maliciously at the child’s obvious terror.
“Oh, yes, Mr Potter. You have outdone yourself this time. I’m afraid this offense is too severe for mere points and detention. You will have to be removed from Hogwarts before you can contaminate the other students with your nasty little Muggle habits. I suppose this is what happens when you allow undesirables into institutions of higher wizardry education,” she sighed.
“Please, Professor. Really, I didn’t,” Harry begged. “I swear…”
Umbridge waved a dismissive hand. “Gather your things, Mr Potter, and remove yourself from my classroom. I will meet you at the Headmaster’s office after class is over. You have already taken enough time away from the other students who are here to learn the material, not to cheat and lie their way through life.”
As if in a dream, Harry blindly stuffed his things into his bookbag and stumbled out of the room, oblivious to the anxious looks of his friends. Expulsion! He would have to leave Hogwarts! Even if the Headmaster only suspended him for a while, he’d still have to go back to the Dursleys in the meantime, and suddenly Harry knew with an absolute cold certainty that he would do anything to avoid going back to Privet Drive.
It wasn’t just the smackings and the Harry-hunting and the chores and the stingy rations and the thin mattress, grudgingly given. It was the disdain and the dislike and the daily reminders that they all wished he’d never been born. It had been hard enough to bear when he knew no other life, but now… No. He couldn’t do it.
But what choice did he have? Once he was expelled, he would have to leave the school and his da – maybe forever – and the Headmaster would probably take him straight back to the Dursleys as if the last six months had never happened. After all, the Headmaster hadn’t wasted any time in removing those four expelled Ravenclaws from school grounds.
Harry tried to think, but it was hard when every instinct was screaming at him to get out, get away before the Headmaster caught him.
He didn’t have much money – a few galleons left over from the shopping trip Hagrid had taken him on – and even if he did, what could he do? No one was likely to rent a room to a kid his age, whether he tried the Muggle world or the Wizarding. He was stuck in the middle of Scotland, in a castle that the Headmaster must know intimately, with no means of escape. He could retrieve his broom, but in the winter weather he’d be frozen before he got ten miles.
He knew there was a Wizarding village nearby – he’d heard the older kids talk about it – but that wouldn’t be big enough to hide in. No, he needed to reach London. He’d heard about runaways living on their own there. Thanks to the Dursleys, he knew how to do a lot of things and could probably earn some money doing odd jobs. Certainly no one would be able to find him among all those millions of people.
But how to get there? He couldn’t just stroll aboard the Hogwarts Express – he didn’t even know if the train came to Hogwarts when it wasn’t picking up or delivering students for the holidays. Harry shook himself. He couldn’t stand here dithering. He was wasting time. The first thing he had to do was get away. He could hide in the Forbidden Forest until he figured how to get to London, and once there he’d be safe.
Harry ran up to his dormitory. He knew he’d need to pack lightly. There wasn’t much point in lugging many things along with him. Once he got to London, anything nice would probably be stolen. He dressed in his warmest clothes (including the jumper Auntie Molly had knitted for him) and pulled on the winter boots his da had bought him, sniffling at the thought of having to leave his da behind, along with the rest of the Wizarding world.
He put his few remaining Galleons in his pocket and scribbled a quick note to Ron to please look after Hedwig for him. Eventually maybe he’d find a way to send for her, but for now, it would be safer to leave her here. And Ron needed a new familiar, so it seemed only fair that he should get her. Then Harry tucked his favorite pictures of his parents and Professor Snape into his heaviest cloak, wishing it was a bit more Muggle in design, and tugged on a knit cap. He left his Gryffindor scarf behind. He guessed he wasn’t a Gryffindor anymore, or wouldn’t be as soon as Professor Umbridge talked to the Headmaster. He stuck his wand in its holster. He knew from stories about Hagrid that when you were expelled, they snapped your wand, and he wasn’t about to give up his without a fight.
He checked the time. Only about 15 more minutes of class. He needed to hurry if he was going to be safely within the Forest by the time the Headmaster started to search for him, but he knew he wouldn’t get far without food. He figured he’d be pretty safe if he sneaked into the kitchens and begged the house elves for some snacks. It wasn’t like the Headmaster was likely to ask their help in finding him.
####
Meanwhile, Ron was getting progressively more worried about Harry. The look of utter desolation on his mate’s face as he turned to leave the room had been frightening, even worse than the stark terror he’d shown when Umbitch first mentioned expulsion. He finally threw down his quill and waved his hand frantically. “Please, Professor, I need to go to the loo!” he blurted. “Really bad!”
Ignoring the professor’s disgusted look and the giggles from some of the class, Ron bolted from the room and hurried out to the corridor to find Harry. He thought the other boy might be hanging around nearby, hoping to plead his case further once class was over, but there was no sign of him. Ron chewed his lip. Where would Harry go? Ron knew that if it had been him in that position, he would have run straight to his brothers and parents, but would Harry? He was used to taking care of himself, not having adults fix things for him, and Ron had a sneaking suspicion that Harry hadn’t headed to the dungeons.
He couldn’t see Harry meekly heading up to the Headmaster’s office either, no matter what Umbitch had told him to do, but where would he go? Scared, alone, terrified of his upcoming punishment…? Ron decided to head to the Tower. If Harry wasn’t in their room, then he’d find his brothers. They’d know what to do.
Upon his arrival at the dormitory, Ron let out a curse that would likely have led to his introduction to the wooden spoon if his mother had heard him. Harry wasn’t there! He turned to go, intent upon seeking out the twins and Percy, when a piece of parchment on his bed caught his eye. He grabbed it and seconds later was streaking to the dungeons. There was no time to find his brothers – he needed his Uncle!
####
Snape was wearily contemplating suicide as he watched yet another class of fourth years mangle a simple potion. If the students weren’t ogling each other, they were ignoring his very clear instructions and doing their best to explode their cauldrons, themselves, and his dungeons.
Abruptly the door flew open and a red haired blur burst in. Students yelped in surprise and dropped ingredients and stirring rods at the intrusion, and Snape rose from his desk, determined to eviscerate the little wretch for his sheer effrontery.
“Uncle Sev!” Ron panted. “Read this!” He thrust a crumpled parchment at the Potion Master and, too surprised to object, Snape complied. An instant later he had evanesco’d every brewing potion in the classroom. “You’re dismissed!” he snapped over his shoulder as he rushed out the doorway, leaving behind an astonished class and a breathless first year.