Potions and Snitches
Snape and Harry Gen Fanfiction Archive

Week 21 continued

"Look here, Auror Bones," Severus said, summoning a large book off of one of Albus' shelves.

He opened it to the contents and scanned down the page before speaking again.

"This book is a physical record of everything that has to do with the magical properties of the castle itself."

Amelia leaned in, interested.

"In the summer prior to the 1983 school year, I suggested to Albus that an additional ward be added onto the existing ones. The purpose of this ward was to limit the source of poisonous plants brought into the castle by students. Following that summer, students were no longer able to gather known poisonous plants in the Forbidden Forest. Of course," He sneered, "They aren't allowed in there anyway, but many students often believe themselves to be above such petty things as rules."

He eyed Dumbledore, who in turn made a helpless motion with his hands.

"Some things we can control; others, we can only warn against," The old man said.

Severus scowled but didn't respond to the headmaster's comments. Instead, he turned back to the book and went forward a few more pages.

"During the winter holidays of the '86 school year, it was decided that all poisonous substances—barring those used exclusively in Potions' classes—would be banned from the possessions of students. The following year saw a decrease in the kinds of pets allowed by students, and by '88 it was narrowed to the now traditional three. The wards do not allow poisonous items to find their way into the castle unless in the trunks of students currently in my classes or apprenticing under me."

"And do you ever have any apprentices?" Kingsley asked with more than a little derision.

"I have in the past, but at present I do not," Severus sneered back, his black eyes flashing angrily in the other man's direction.

"What of the Greenhouses? Owl order? Hogsmeade?" Amelia shot back, seemingly ignoring the enmity between the two men.

"Anything that sets off the wards is redirected to a holding container in Professor McGonagall's office. However, the current Potions' students are put on a temporary access list during the year to allow them access to these ingredients," Albus answered in a placating tone.

"List?" Amelia asked.

"Lists, actually," Severus interjected. "There are seven lists, one for each year. The potions ingredients allowed are different per year, so the permissions can be keyed to those students specifically."

Kingsley made a sound of understanding as Amelia slumped back in her chair with an annoyed expression.

"So you're telling me that most of the students within the school could be responsible?"

"Now, let's not jump to any conclusions," Albus said, summoning Amelia's teacup and heating it with a flick of his hand. "Not all the years use Atropa belladonna in their potions. Correct, Severus?" He floated the teacup back to its owner and looked up at Severus with a benign twinkle in his eye.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the old man's cheeriness, Severus looked away and huffed out an irritated sigh. "Only the third years and up use any form of belladonna in their potions. And I only accept sixth and seventh years who have scored Outstanding on their O.W.L.s. Additionally, the truly horrific Potions students from fourth year are not allowed in my fifth year class. While Ms Murphy was in the minority of those who did not take it this year, she is not the only one. That limits your selection dramatically. Might I make a suggestion?" He looked back at Dumbledore briefly before sliding his eyes over to the head of the DMLE.

"Of course you may," Albus answered with a cheery tone.

"I would suggest looking at her dorm mates still in my class, as well as their friends within Gryffindor."

"That . . . could narrow it down," Kingsley admitted slowly.

"Then if that is all, I am needed at the other end of the castle."

. . .

Hermes listened to Professor McGonagall in quiet horror as she gave a bare bones explanation for why one of their number was now in the infirmary. The words, "critically ill" did much to hush the noise levels around him, but he doubted it would last for long. He wondered if Snape was already in the infirmary and if so, was Harry aware?

Vincent Crabbe chose that moment to turn toward him and ask, "Have you seen Harry today?"

Wordlessly, he shook his head 'no.'

Vincent frowned and then asked in a hushed tone, "You don't think Harry's involved, do you?"

"He better not be," Hermes replied with a scowl. Throwing his napkin onto the table, he clambered up on his bench and grabbed his bag with more force than was needed. Harry better not be involved. He'd make certain of it.

Using several hidden passages to get to the Infirmary undetected, Hermes made record time. More importantly, he didn't run across anyone on the way. For a moment, he found himself wishing that there was more than one way into the Infirmary, but he ruthlessly squashed the thought down.

If wishes were horses, he thought more than a little bitterly.

Taking a steadying breath, he poked his head through the double doors of the Infirmary and looked around carefully. Maybe he could kill two birds with one stone this way. It certainly wouldn't hurt to have a healer's opinion on some of his plans, and if he could glean more information about the Gryffindor girl, more power to him.

Pushing the door open silently, he hesitantly stepped forward into the Infirmary. The smell of disinfectant and bitter potions assaulted his senses, and he wrinkled his nose up at the harsh scents. Peeking around the corner of the first bed, he noted the existence of a closed off section of the room, and slowly crept toward it.

Pulling at the corner of the heavy curtain, he sucked in a breath at the sight of the pale faced girl lying unconscious on the bed in front of him. Her chest moved up and down in a barely perceptible fashion, and suddenly he felt as though he were intruding on something he ought not to. Closing the curtain hastily, he backed away and started jogging back toward the double doors.

Halfway across the room, the magic in the air shifted and he cursed under his breath. Unknowingly, he had apparently set off some sort of alarm or ward, and it wasn't long before he heard the distinctive clicking of Madame Pomfrey's footfalls behind him.

"I'd stop right there if I were you," Her voice pierced the heavy silence around his head.

He felt—more than saw—the wave of her wand, and was unsurprised at the sight of the doors shutting suddenly and locking with a loud click.

His breath abruptly pushed out of his chest in a harsh sounding gasp, and he tried to school his face before turning around to face his captor. Mentally cursing himself for his lack of awareness, jutted out his chin stubbornly and scowled at the diminutive woman across from him.

"I have lost count of the number of students who have tried to sneak past my wards. Don't think for a second that you are anything special, young lady. Sneaking a look just for something to spread to your friends to feed the nasty rumour mill this school has is hardly remarkable in my book."

His scowl deepened at the phrase, 'young lady,' but otherwise his face remained impassive.

"Oh, and don't even try that indignant look. You've been caught by someone more than sixty years your senior. I have socks older than you."

"I don't sneak for anyone," Hermes bit out just above a growl.

"Personal curiosity is hardly admirable either," Was her dismissive retort.

"It's a good thing I'm not a Gryffindor then, isn't it?"

"I suppose we'll have to let Professor Snape decide that, won't we?"

Something about the small feisty woman in front of him was setting his nerves on edge. He had met her once or twice before, but always in passing and never in direct confrontation.

"Not woman enough to mete out a punishment yourself?" He spat out the word, 'woman,' as though it was poisonous.

"You're lucky that Professor Snape has mandated that all punishments to his house be meted out personally."

"Is that supposed to scare me?" Hermes stepped forward, his fingers already wrapped around his wand. Formidable or not, he wasn't going to be scared of anyone—never again.

"And you think your not so subtle attempt to curse me is going to inflict fear into my not so elderly heart?" Madame Pomfrey's laugh tinkled softly through the room. "First year or seventh year," Her laughter cut off with a dark glare, "No one pulls a wand on me without regretting it. Rethink your hostility young lady. The only one to blame here is yourself."

"Stop calling me that!" Hermes hissed aloud, surprising himself.

Sparks spat from his wand in his agitation and he stepped backward in shock. He had never intended to tell anyone out of Snape, especially not a near stranger!

"Calling you what?" Pomfrey's face softened slightly and Hermes hated it.

He would not be pitied. He would not. Unsettled hostility undermined his normal control of himself.

"I'm not a young lady! You see me as a girl, just like the rest of the world!" He shouted, brandishing his wand at last, but not at her. "You can talk about telling Professor Snape all you want, but his words don't scare me. He knows what I am. He knows, and he doesn't scare me and neither do you."

His lips were trembling with the force of his words. He didn't know why his filter didn't seem to be working and he didn't care. He was tired of keeping it inside, keeping his silence, keeping his desperation to himself. Of all the people who could potentially help him, Madame Pomfrey couldn't even see him, couldn't even see who he was. How was anyone supposed to be able to help if they couldn't even see!?

All thoughts of finding Harry, of learning what had happened were pushed out of his mind. Being caught wasn't a surprise either; everyone got caught eventually. The only thing that mattered was making someone—anyone—see him. Not her.

"And how should I see you?" Gone was the softness in her face, and for that he was thankful.

He would take Professor Snape's calculating harshness over sympathy any day.

"I'm Hermes John Granger, first year Slytherin and all around son-of-a-bitch bastard to anyone and everyone. No one takes advantage of me. No one hurts me or mine. I fear nothing and no one here. You can't hurt me. You can't stop me. You can't make me do anything I don't want to do. No one has power over me that I have not allowed them to have. No one gets away with scaring me. I am a boy. I am a man. I will find a way to make that happen, and you of all people won't be stopping me!"

His breathing was harsh when he stopped, but there was a sudden lightness in his heart for all of about thirty seconds before crippling terror took over instead.

Merlin's sweaty bollocks! Why did I say all of that?

"If you're going to punish me, do it," He said with more confidence than he felt. "If not, you're going to have to open the doors, because I want out."

. . .

Monday 10:30 am, January 13, 1992 – Gryffindor Common room

"What do you mean McGonagall wants to see our potions kits?" Justine Gevries hissed furiously to an apparently unconcerned Percy Weasley.

"Don't kill the messenger, Justine," Percy answered back in a snippy tone. "Liz was poisoned, you know."

Justine's eyes grew round and her breath faltered.

"Poisoned?" She whispered. "Where did you hear that?"

"Prefect, remember?" Percy's haughty tone was undercut by the tightness in his jaw and the turmoil in his expression.

"As if you'd let us ever forget!" Justine retorted, flipping her long brown hair back over her shoulder in her agitation.

Justine wasn't impressed by Percy's perfect prefect act. In fact, it was often something she ribbed on him about—sometimes mercilessly so. However, cracks in that façade were obvious this morning, and it was hardly any mystery as to why.

"Come on 'Tine," Oliver Wood piped up from where he had been standing quietly to the side. "Let's just do what the cat wants and get it over with. Maybe you could ask your sister if she's heard any more from her side of things?"

Justine bristled at Oliver's words. It was a poorly kept secret that her twin sister was in Slytherin, but very few students ever bothered to say it to her face.

"I doubt my sister knows anything more than we do. Potions wasn't an option for her any more than it was for Elizabeth!"

"That's not what I—."

"Shut it, Oliver," Justine interrupted in a dangerous whisper.

"Squabble later, you two," Percy said, physically stepping in between the two arguing fifth years. "Answer McGonagall's call first, before she sends the aurors instead."

Percy's words did much to sober them, and they returned to their dorm rooms without another word.

. . .

10:42 am – Ravenclaw's Common Room

"Steve, can you tell Duncan to come down here for a moment?" Penelope Clearwater asked her fellow fifth year sweetly.

"Sure, Pen," Steve answered, turning around and heading back up the way he'd come.

"What's going on, Penelope?" Duncan asked a few minutes later, his dorm mate Steve passing them with a nod.

"I've already talked to Mal' about this, but I couldn't find you after breakfast ended. Flitwick wants to see all of our Potions kits immediately."

Duncan's eyebrows lowered thoughtfully.

"This have to do with Liz?" He asked in a cracking voice.

"Yeah," Penelope answered before dropping her voice a bit. "She's been poisoned."

Duncan's breath pushed from his lungs in a startled whoosh. Grabbing her arm, he pulled Penelope over to a more sheltered alcove away from the common room proper.

"And they think that one of us is responsible!?"

Penelope shrugged helplessly. Duncan was surprised to see her so honest in her emotions. Ever since she had become prefect and started dating that Weasley ponce, her behaviour had become nearly unbearable.

"You know I'd never hurt her, Pen! She's special!" Duncan's voice sounded strangled as he admitted his feelings for the dark haired girl.

"Well, they don't know that! And if I were you, I wouldn't mention it. This seems too much like a Salem witch hunt to me. You don't want to give off the wrong impression, Duncan!"

"Are they just focusing on our year still?" He asked, seemingly changing the subject from the more emotionally fraught one.

"You think they ought to be looking at another one?"

Duncan shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets, not caring if he looked ridiculous.

"That bloke she always hangs around. He's in what, seventh?" His voice was harsh.

"You mean Tarquin McTavish? The Slytherin? I thought you told him off?" Penelope's voice was questioning.

"He's stupider than he looks. And that's saying something," Duncan scowled suddenly, and kicked his heel into the wall. "He hangs out with Flint and Torvi."

Penelope shuddered. Flint was bad news, but Torvi was just creepy.

"Maybe I can drop an anonymous note to Flitwick?" Duncan mused aloud.

"Maybe scribble some notes about it in your potions kit when you hand it in? Forget about them like?" Penelope suggested as she idly cast Tempus. "Listen, whatever you're going to do, you need to do it now. Flitwick said no later than eleven."

Seeing that it was only ten 'til, Duncan rushed off without another word, leaving Penelope to fret in the shadows of the common room.

. . .

10:45 am – Slytherin Common room

"After speaking with Professor Snape, it seems that the aurors currently are pursuing the belief that Elizabeth Murphy was poisoned by someone close to her. Currently, he's asking that all potion kits of students fifth year and up be brought to his office before eleven today," Mary Towers announced in front of the Slytherin common room.

"As is?" Terence Higgs called out from across the room.

His question caused a few of the older years to burst out in laughter. Most of them knew how haphazard he was with his kits, and they were amused to imagine what his looked like now, halfway through the year.

Rolling her eyes, Mary responded sternly, "Yes. As is. And believe you me, he'll know—and I'll know—if you attempt to right them before you turn them in. So that means you turn in the bird's nest you call a potions kit."

"This isn't for a grade, is it?" Another fifth year named Melvin Shingleton asked nervously.

"Honestly, Melvin, why didn't you just let the Hat put you in Ravenclaw?" Mary huffed, far too used to Melvin's constant worries over his academic progress.

"So that's a no?" Melvin asked, still serious.

"Melvin," Mary sent him a strict glare and the other boy slunk down in his seat in a near sulk. "Might I remind you all that failure to turn in your potions kit will result in a personal visit by our esteemed head of house to your living quarters?"

Grumbles broke out across the room.

"Better get with it then," Sixth year Ananda Torvi shouted out, overly cheerful grin belying the cold look in her eyes.

Mary watched in approval as she and the others scurried off to get their tasks done. She was happy that Marcus Flint was no longer in Potions class, as she could avoid talking to him about the issue at hand. Flint was a creep, no two ways about it. She couldn't wait until he was expelled or graduated—whichever happened first.

. . .

10:30 am, An abandoned classroom in the dungeons near the Slytherin dorms

"Tarq?" Flint called out as he stepped across a pile of debris with a sour look on his face.

He headed toward the corner where a cloud of smoke surrounded his mate.

"Tarq?" Flint asked again. "Thought you stopped?" He said, referring to cigarette butts that littered the floor around the older boy.

"Hear about Liz?" Tarq growled, tipping a mostly empty bottle of firewhisky back and taking a long gulp.

"In the infirmary, yeah? Sick, real sick," Flint grunted obediently.

"Yeah," Tarq growled again, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the old stone wall behind him.

"I heard it was poison," Flint offered.

Tarq only grunted in response.

"You think—you think she did it on purpose?"

Tarquin gave a colourless laugh.

"Told me we was gonna be a family," He whispered.

Flint's normally dull eyes widened in surprise.

"Told her ta get rid of it," Tarq added in a soft voice. "Don't know what happened. Maybe she did like you said. I dunno." He threw back what was left in the bottle and staggered to his feet. "I gotta take a walk. Do some thinkin'. You didn't see me, yeah?" Blearily, he turned cold blue eyes on Flint's deep set dark ones.

Flint shrugged. "Didn't see no one. Took a walk me own self."

Tarq nodded and they parted ways.

. . .

10:49 am, Hufflepuff Common room

"Sprout said our potion kits need to be in her office by eleven," Prefect Damien Edgecombe told his fellow fifth years.

"Will do, boss!" Erik Blane said with a grin, snapping off a sloppy salute and turning on his heel to head back to his dorm room.

"What he said," Jonice Rogers added.

Alberta Anderson ignored the antics of her year mates. She wasn't in Potions this year. And why would she even want to be?


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