"I'm telling you, Harry," said Ron the next morning in an unusually spirited voice. He reached over and speared a sausage before dropping it onto his plate. "There's one thought that gets me out of bed."
"The thought that breakfast is right down in the Great Hall?" Harry guessed, not quite in the same mood as Ron.
"Nope," he replied breezily. He took another sausage and took a large bite. "'Mo 'Nape," he said through a mouth full of food.
Hermione crinkled her nose and looked away from Ron.
Ron swallowed and repeated, "No Snape. It never gets old." A satisfied expression crossed his face, and Harry laughed.
Hermione simply rolled her eyes. "Aren't you worried about being in any of Malfoy's classes."
Ron groaned. "Stop trying to ruin my day." He sighed, picking up the remaining piece of sausage with his fork, then putting it down again. "What's on the schedule for today?"
"Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, and Charms I think," Harry said. "At least that's for me and Hermione."
"I have the same except Astronomy instead of Potions," Ron said, nodding. "Drawing constellations all day is a lot easier than sitting in the dungeons and listening to Snape for an hour." He paused for a moment and then continued, "So when are you planning our first D.A. meeting?"
"Wednesday, maybe," Harry said. "I'm not sure though."
"Good," said Ron, stuffing some egg in his mouth. "Water ee doon?" He swallowed, then repeated, "What're we doing?"
"Probably just going to refresh what we learned from last year," said Harry. "I don't want to jump into the advanced stuff this early." Something suddenly occurred to him. He turned to Hermione. "Are you going to be organizing S.P.E.W. this year?"
"Well I'm certainly not abandoning it!" Hermione said with conviction. "Not with such inequality running rampant."
Ron mumbled something under his breath, but Harry didn't hear.
"It's not a non-issue, Ron," snapped Hermione. "The balance of power won't always be like it is today. Voldemort knows this, and is moving to exploit it." Several people glanced curiously in her direction but she ignored them. "Why else do you think he'd be meeting with the goblins?"
"So, about S.P.E.W.," Harry said quickly, trying to change the subject before a row broke out. "When do you plan on starting the meetings?"
"As soon as I'm ready," she replied. "Which might be a while, especially with the projects I'm planning..."
By the end of breakfast Hermione was already detailing her ideas for the year, and Harry, doing his best to sound interested, asked a conversational question every now and then. More than once Harry glance towards Ron and saw him roll his eyes as if to say, "You should've known better than to get her started."
They left the table, heading towards a passageway that would take them to their first class. The themes of war seemed to spread through all areas of the school, Harry noticed. The crude iron weapons, the medieval banners - all of it was present, as though to make sure no one could forget the war, no matter where they were or what they were doing within the castle.
They climbed the staircase to the next floor, coming to a large crowd of students standing outside the door that led to their Defense Against the Dark Arts class.
"What's this about?" Ron asked, almost to himself. "You reckon its locked, Harry?"
"Let's find out," said Harry, easing his way through everyone as he made his way to the door. Behind him, he heard Ron asking someone why they were standing outside the class. Before they could answer, Harry reached for the handle.
Harry recoiled as he opened the door, his hand involuntarily going to his nose to stop the stench that flooded his senses. He looked towards Ron, seeing that he was covering his mouth and nose with his hand, while Hermione simply backed away from the door in disgust.
"What is that smell?" she said, seeming unable to believe that such a smell could be wafting out from the room.
Harry shook his head. The smell was like something had died a long while ago and had sat rotting since then. He could almost taste bile in the back of his throat.
Looking around, he saw that no one had entered the room yet, and instead stood waiting a good distance away looking at their schedule - perhaps hoping that they had simply gone to the wrong room. Harry did the same, confirming what he already knew to be true. This was the correct classroom.
At last Professor Glasser arrived, striding up in formal lavender robes fringed with Victorian lace - not at all similar to Ron's old dress robes. Unlike Ron's, the lace was much more sparse and tastefully done.
"Is something wrong?" Professor Glasser asked, glancing once over the group of students standing outside the room. He raised an eyebrow when he received no response.
Harry suddenly remembered the label Ron gave Professor Glasser: Necromancer.
"I am quite certain that I left the door unlocked," continued the professor, reaching for the handle and swinging open the door. A fresh wave of the stench washed over everyone, making Harry slightly nauseous.
"Professor," Seamus said through a cough. "It's the smell." He was practically gasping.
"Ah, of course," said Professor Glasser, completely unfazed by the smell. "I nearly forgot - some of my, err, equipment has been stored away for too long. I'm afraid it picked up an unusual odor. It takes some getting used to, but if you wish you can use a charm to mask the scent." He walked into the room, leaving the students in the hallway.
"First we're going to need something to mask it with," Ron said, pinching his nose. "Ideas?"
Harry's mind was blank. Before he could apply any sort of charm, he would need to find a scent to work with. The charm could not conjure a scent from thin air - but could only make it so that he would only smell one scent for a certain period of time. The scent, of course, was determined by what he could find.
"I reckon I'll find something back there," said Ron, waving his hand further down the hallway. "Just need to get away from that stench." Still covering his nose and mouth, he quickly strode away, releasing his hand once he was far enough away to breath in the odorless air.
Harry, however, had no idea of what he could use. Looking around, he saw his classmates conjuring flowers or even perfume bottles to use for the charm.
Suddenly, he had an idea. He quietly walked behind Hermione, drawing his wand and lightly tapping her hair with its tip.
Hermione turned around. "Harry what-" She stopped when she saw him repeat an incantation and then tap his nose with his wand. Heat entered her cheeks and she looked away, smiling.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Dean nudge Seamus with his elbow and then point at Hermione and then at Harry. Seamus nodded and whispered something to Dean, who then nodded with understanding.
Hermione must have seen as well, because she leaned towards and Harry and said in a low voice, "People are starting to see."
"We haven't been making it a secret, Hermione."
"So that's fine with you? I know- I mean I realize that-"
"Of course," said Harry. "People can talk all they want, it won't bother me." A second passed where Harry realized something. He met here eyes. "Is it bothering you?"
"No, of course not," she said quickly. "That's not what I meant. I just know that a lot of things are said about you and I don't want to be adding to it."
"This is our last year in Hogwarts," said Harry with a wisp of a grin. "I don't care what people think."
Professor Glasser reappeared in the doorway, looking impatient if not slightly irritated. "You all had ample time to prepare you charms - class was supposed to begin several minutes ago and I will delay it no longer. Please take your seats - quietly."
In a jumbled line they began to file into the room, some still flinching under the stench from not having a strong enough masking scent. Professor Glasser watched them casually, sometimes bringing his hands together to crack his joints. He seemed altogether bored.
"Oh, and Harry," added Hermione, her cheeks reddening. "My hair does not smell that good."
Harry half-smiled, about to respond, but stopped as the professor gave Hermione a sharp glance and said, "I would like to repeat that I asked you to come in quietly. Please refrain from talking."
Hermione, looking slightly embarrassed, took a seat at the front, while Harry took a seat next to her. Ron, who was the last to enter, sat just to his left. Harry gazed around the room, seeing that, despite the change in professors, the room looked very much the same. Boxes were stacked high in the back of the room along with empty glass containers and dusty file cabinets that appeared to have not been touched since his fifth year. Crumpled papers and manilla folders lay scattered around on unused tables and desks - leftovers from Professor Whams, Harry was sure. The only real difference was the addition of several wooden cases that looked suspiciously like coffins at the back of the room. They leaned against the wall in a neat row, their surfaces unmarred, looking impeccably cared for.
"So, this is my seventh year class, is it?" said Professor Glasser, once again bringing his hands together, cracking each and every knuckle in his left hand. He picked up the roster and glanced over it once. "Well, let us begin by-"
The door opened and Malfoy stepped through, looking supremely unhurried. Without a word, he casually walked down the aisle, pausing once to smirk at Harry.
"Mr. Malfoy," called Professor Glasser as it became apparent that Draco wasn't going to explain his tardiness on his own. "Do you care to explain why you are late?"
"Professor Snape held me back," Malfoy said, and with a smirk sat down.
"Hm," said Professor Glasser indifferently, then, after making a short mark on his roster, continued, "As I was saying before I was interrupted, I will begin this class by stating precisely how I am going to teach this course, and what I will be expecting of each of you."
"First of all, there will be no tests. At all." He paused. "Neither will there be homework. Ever."
Hermione widened her eyes in surprise while the rest of the class simply stared at their professor in disbelief. A few students exchanged furtive glances, as though thinking this too good to be true.
Hermione raised a tentative hand, and when Professor Glasser pointed at her she asked, "But how will we be graded?" Several people stared daggers at her.
"You will receive what I believe you should receive," said Professor Glasser at length. "If it is clear to me that you are trying to improve yourself, you will receive a grade that reflects that. I will say this, however, that you will not be able to sit back and relax during class no matter how much you think you know." He glanced once at Harry, and then continued. "The times are changing, and this class is not only relevant to your future employment, but to your very survival. If you don't feel that is enough of an initiative, I very much doubt a mark on a list will be, either."
"So," he continued in a business-like tone. "Anyone have any questions?"
A moment passed where it was evident that everyone in the room had a question but no one dared to ask. Finally, Ron slowly raised his hand, and Professor Glasser motioned towards him. "Name?" the professor asked.
"Ronald Weasley."
"And what is your question?"
"Are you a Necromancer or not, professor?" Ron asked conversationally, as though he were discussing Quidditch or maybe the daily news.
Professor Glasser hardly moved. "I will not pretend that I did not expect your question, Mr. Weasley," he said carefully. "Everyone here knows very well that the practice of Necromancy is banned under Ministry law."
"Isn't that why you were arrested?" Ron asked, a hint of defiance in his voice.
Harry and Hermione exchanged nervous glances. Ron could be unbearable at times, but how far would this new professor let himself be pushed?
Glasser faintly smiled, as though he found Ron's question amusing. "Arrest and conviction are two very different things. I will not deny that I studied Necromancy for a period. Indeed, the studying of Necromancy is very common for wizards in my field."
"But Aurors arrested you," insisted Ron. "They wouldn't do that without hard evidence."
Professor Glasser stayed silent for a short while, as though stuck. "I admit that the only reason I am humoring these questions is because I suspected many of you would see me as guilty because of a mere arrest," he said, sounding annoyed. He paused for a moment. "However, whether or not I practiced Necromancy is irrelevant to this class and to this school. The Wizengamot dismissed my case, and beyond that it is not your place to decide whether the charges against me were true."
"Any other questions?" he asked, almost as an afterthought.
"So this is just one big misunderstanding, is it?" Ron said, unable to completely keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
"Be careful of your tone in this class, Mr. Weasley," said Glasser sharply. "Next time it will be detention." He paused, as though waiting for Ron to reply. A moment later he said, "I will ask again. Any other questions?"
Glasser stared over the room, as though challenging someone to argue. Despite himself, Harry could not help but notice that the professor did not once flatly state that he did not practice Necromancy.
"Then we can move on," said Professor Glasser. He flipped open a heavy, thickly bound book on his desk, briefly searching through the text. After a moment he nodded and tapped his finger twice on the page.
"Since there seems to be a budding interest in Necromancy," Professor Glasser said. "We'll start the year off on that topic. Who can tell me precisely what Necromancy is?"
Hermione instantly raised her hand.
"Hermione Granger, correct?" Glasser asked. When she nodded, he picked up his roster sheet and made another mark. "So, what is your answer?"
"Necromancy is a method of communicating with the dead through the summoning of spirits, reanimation of the dead, or other means."
"Excellent," he replied. "Five points to Gryffindor. So can someone tell me why it's illegal?"
Hermione raised her hand again, but Glasser waved her down. "I would like someone other than Miss Granger to participate." Seconds passed with no one replying, until at last Seamus raised his hand from the back.
"Is it because Fudge hasn't found a way to make money off it yet?" Seamus said, causing the class break into a fit of laughter. Even Glasser grinned slightly.
"Not quite, Mister -?"
"Finnegan"
"Ah, yes," Glasser said. "The actual reason is because Necromancy gives control over the spirits and corpses that are summoned. Needless to say, Necromancy can be used in many terrible ways. Oh, and one point from Gryffindor," he added. "I don't appreciate frivolous answers in my class, Mr. Finnegan."
Glasser continued. "For this class we are going to concentrate on the most dangerous form of Necromancy - that is the creation of liches." He flicked his wand towards the blackboard behind him, and his words slowly began scrolling across it. "Liches are the end result of when too much power and too much knowledge comes into the hand of one individual. A lich is, in a word, immortality." He paused for a moment, as though wanting the words to sink in.
"Someone-" His eyes flickered to Harry. "-give me an example of a lich."
"Voldemort," Harry said immediately, without raising his hand. To Harry's relief, only a few gasped.
Glasser smiled grimly. "Indeed. Along with enormous amounts of willpower, becoming a lich requires power, knowledge, and - most of all - sacrifice. Immortality does not come without a cost, for a lich, that cost comes in the form of humanity. Compassion. Trust. Love. None of that means anything to a lich - to the Dark Lord."
"But Harry killed him once," Ron said, speaking up.
"And he came back," Glasser said. "And you can kill him once more, and he'll come back again. That's not to say he's unbeatable - as there are ways of destroying all things. But do not simply expect to stroll up to a lich, use a Killing Curse, and expect that to be the end." Harry looked up at Glasser, unable to shake the persistent feeling that the professor wasn't talking to the class at large - but specifically to him. "At least, that's how it is with liches in their second stage."
Stage? Harry asked to himself.
"Take precise notes for this," Glasser warned. "This is vital. There are three stages to every lich. The first stage is the initial transformation - where the lich isn't particularly vulnerable, but has still retained much of his human features. However, all the necessary rituals have been completed, and all that's required is time for the transformation to take place."
"The second stage starts at the end of the transformation," continued Glasser. "The lich no longer appears to be human at all - indeed, the lich takes on the appearance of a serpent, with two slits for a nose and black ovals for eyes. Hands become scaled claws. Hair falls away. At this stage, he is a full lich. He cannot be killed by traditional means, and, for all intents and purposes, is immortal. The vast majority do not pass this stage, and this is all that I require you to know."
Hermione raised her hand. "What is the third stage professor?"
Glasser's eyes glittered. He did not answer immediately. "I do not require you to know the third and final stage." His eyes fell on Harry, then went back to Hermione. "If you truly desire to know more, I can recommend several books. After class."
Hermione looked slightly crestfallen. "Well could you tell us why the lich always takes on serpentine features in the second stage? I mean, isn't that sort of...unnecessary?"
"The answer is actually quite simple," said Professor Glasser. He smiled, and Harry could not help but think that Glasser was one of the few people he had ever seen whose smile did not suit them. Where many people had smiles that were relaxing or reassuring, Glasser's smile was discomfiting. "You must remember the wizard who had originally discovered and established all these rituals in becoming a lich. This wizard was an egotistical man, a self-centered man. He wanted to leave his mark on the ritual, and thus made the serpentine appearance necessary for becoming a lich."
"Who was the man?" Harry asked, having a feeling he already knew.
Glasser smiled again. An uneasy, crooked smile. He flicked his wand on the board and a name appeared.
Salazar Slytherin.
***
"Looks like it's off to the dungeons for you two," Ron said after class. "Potions, right?"
Harry nodded, deeply dreading the upcoming class. He had not left Hogwarts last year on good terms with Snape, and didn't care much for returning to his class. He turned to Hermione and saw she was giving him an encouraging smile.
"I'm sure Professor Snape will be better than last year," she said with a little too much optimism.
"You say that every year, Hermione," said Ron, sighing. "Dropping that class was one of the best decisions I've ever made, I think."
"Speaking of decisions," Hermione said bitingly, turning towards Ron. "What were you thinking when you were talking to Professor Glasser like that?"
Ron's earns burned red. "Excuse me if I don't care much for Necromancers, Hermione," he replied heatedly. "But someone had to do it."
Harry suddenly recalled last year's events - Ron's possession. Dren was a Necromancer, wasn't he?
"You practically called him a criminal in front of the entire classroom!" Hermione said, now rounding fully on Ron. "His case was dismissed! It's over!"
"You can get anything dismissed if you pay the right people," Ron retorted. "Lucius never stepped foot in Azkaban until a couple years ago - are you saying he got away just from dumb luck? Nothing's different Hermione, nothing!"
"He's-Not-A-Necromancer! Don't compare it to Malfoy because it's not the same!" Hermione said shrilly. People began to look towards the three of them curiously, though neither Ron nor Hermione seemed to notice. "Otherwise Dumbledore wouldn't have hired him!"
"Hermione-" Harry started, seeing the argument was spiraling out of control. "Ron- both of you-"
Ron took two steps towards her and cut Harry off. "I'm sure Dumbledore used the same sound judgment that led him to hire Quirrell and Lockhart," Ron said. "Stuart Glasser is a Necromancer and that's all there is to it!"
"Really?" said Professor Glasser as he stepped out of the classroom, books in hand. His head was tilted ever-so-slightly and taut lines ran up and down his face. Harry groaned. "I daresay that this isn't the time nor place to be holding such discussions, now is it?"
"Sorry professor," Hermione said, biting her lower lip. Her cheeks were bright red with embarrassment. "Me and Ron - we were arguing and it got out of hand."
"Is that so? About what?" The tone of his voice suggested that he knew precisely what the argument was about.
"You being a Necromancer," said Ron flatly, staring defiantly at Glasser. Harry subtly shook his head at Ron, but Ron either didn't see it or ignored it.
"I don't see a reason for that particular discussion to have left the room" said Glasser sharply. "I don't believe I need to state that I find it rather insulting that you're attempting to spread rumors through the school concerning my character."
Ron didn't stop. "They aren't rumors."
"Ron-" Hermione pleaded.
"What is that supposed to mean, Mr. Weasley?" said Glasser in a low, dangerous voice.
"It means that I know you're a Necromancer," Ron countered. "And one way or another, I'll prove it before this year ends." He stopped, then turned to Hermione, glowering. "And I won't need you or your boyfriend to help."
Hermione's mouth sagged open, and Harry, who had been watching the entire event unfold, was entirely sure of even how to respond. He simply stared at Ron in a sort of stunned disbelief.
Professor Glasser stared at Ron a moment, as though trying to decide how to react. "Don't threaten me. You've earned yourself a detention and lost Gryffindor thirty points. I'll see you tonight at seven in my office."
Ron nodded, then threw once last glare at Hermione and stormed off to Astronomy. Harry, wanting to get Hermione away from the crowd of onlookers, gently put his arm around her back and guided her further down the hallway. About halfway to the stairwell, tears began to gather along the rims of her eyes.
"I can't believe I got him in trouble, Harry," she said quietly. "I'm the one who started that fight, not him."
"That doesn't mean he had to add to it, Hermione."
Hermione shook her head. "But that's not it. I knew about the hard time he's been having with us since the summer, I just- I just didn't think. What did I expect him to do when I talked to him like that?"
"He's had all summer to get used to us," said Harry. "And besides, I think we've all been a lot better since then."
"It's not just that," she said. "If he keeps getting detention and arguing with Professor Glasser, he might end up losing his Prefect position..."
"Hey Hermione!" came a voice from behind, and Harry whirled to see Terry Boot running up to them. He slowed as he saw Hermione, a look of concern crossing his face. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," said Hermione. She quickly wiped the wetness from her eyes and turned around. "Just a row with Ron, that's all."
"Yeah, it was about Professor Glasser," Harry added.
"Oh, hey Harry," Terry said, seeming to just see Harry for the first time. "What about him?"
"It doesn't matter," Hermione said, shaking her head. She gave Terry a tentative smile, and Harry felt suddenly felt an intense dislike for the Ravenclaw. "So do you have duty tonight then?"
Subtly, Harry let his hand find Hermione's and looked pointedly at Terry.
"No-" Terry said, suddenly looking uncomfortable. He looked towards Harry then back at Hermione, then at their entwined hands. "I was going to ask you if you would be able to review a few chapters of Arithimancy before class tomorrow but if you're busy..."
"No, that's fine, Terry," said Hermione.
"Alright, sounds great," said Terry, beaming. "Well, I've got to head to my next class - I'll talk to you later Hermione. You too, Harry," he added, almost as an afterthought.
"Bye," said Hermione.
"You know him?" Harry asked casually once Terry was out of hearing distance.
"Of course I do," said Hermione. "He's Head Boy and has been in my Arithimancy classes for the past few years."
"Mmmm," said Harry neutrally.
She looked at him as though in sudden understanding. "Mmmm? What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked, smiling. "You're not jealous, are you?"
"No, of course not," said Harry a little too quickly. "I mean I know you're not interested, but I don't think he has the same idea."
Hermione laughed. "You can't be serious, Harry. We're just friends." She touched his shoulder and looked up at him. "There's no reason to be jealous."
"I'm not jealous," Harry said immediately, flushing. "Well, okay, maybe a little bit," he conceded. "But that's beside the point."
Despite his admission, Harry had trouble pinpointing the exact reason he was jealous.
"You won't lose me, Harry," said Hermione, going on the tips of her toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. "I promise. I'm only interested in you."
Harry turned to meet her lips, holding her briefly, vaguely aware of first-years giggling in the background. The ambiguous connection that he felt with her - and her alone - rose. He released her, though did not stop looking into her eyes.
"Come on," she said, her eyes sparkling. She blushed as she realized how public their display was. "We'll be late to Potions."
Harry followed, his brief surge of jealousy vanishing. However, in the back of his mind, he could not help but remember how quickly Hermione's mood had changed when she saw Terry.
***
In the past six years that Harry had had Potions, the dungeons had never been a particularly welcoming place, and this year was no exception. He walked into the classroom on the heavy stone floor worn down by centuries and centuries of students, finding a seat near that back where he hoped Snape would forget him. The neat, organized front desk, the bookcase stuffed with tomes on various alchemical research, the simmering cauldron in the corner - none of it betrayed any sort of change in the Potions master that Harry knew was there.
It was clear as glass. Harry had first seen the change in Grimmauld Place - during his brief meeting with Dumbledore, and had seen again yesterday in the Great Hall. In the past six years, Harry had never seen Snape become sick. Not once. Indeed, Harry had no doubt that Snape had potions stored away that could cure any ailment that he might have.
But the Potions master was obviously ill, and Harry noticed. He noticed again as Snape entered the room; his normally sleek robe ruffled as though he had just woken up, and the unshakable look of exhaustion that imprinted itself on his face.
"Get out your cauldrons," Snape said sharply. His eyes crossed over the room once, as though he was taking in what material he had to work with for the year.
"Draco," said Snape with barely hidden irritation. "When I ask the class to take out their cauldrons, understand that you are not exempt from this request." The Potions master was clearly not in the best of moods, though that was not necessarily attributable to his sickness.
Malfoy, who had been reading the Daily Prophet, smirked and pulled a cauldron out from under his table.
Snape turned his attention to the book on his desk, flicking through the pages. "Let's make today's potion be..."
Harry subconsciously finished Snape's sentence. Difficult, strenuous, impossible...
"...dangerous," Snape said at length his finger coming to rest on one particular spot of the page. He waved his wand at the blackboard and writing appeared, filling it up entirely.
"The Dervish Potion," Snape said, sounding like he enjoyed his selection. He burst into a fit of coughing, then, when he collected himself, continued. "It has no practical use in any field, though it is an easy way to ruin expensive equipment and possibly appendages if you have absolutely no idea of what you're doing." He glanced pointedly at Harry then continued. "I trust you all were studying over the summer rather than wasting your time on frivolous activities? If you were doing your work, then you should have no problem with this particular brew..."
While Harry brought out the necessary ingredients, he could not help but look up as Snape began coughing once more, this time bringing up a cloth handkerchief to his mouth. Once the coughing passed, he blew his nose and threw the handkerchief aside.
"Make sure you do not add any wormwood until the water reaches the precise temperature," Snape warned, his voice rasping as though sore. He cleared his throat and continued. "Precision is vital."
Harry double-checked the water, finding it to be too cold. He sliced the wormwood as he waited.
"Blatant stupidity while concocting this potion will have disastrous results," continued Snape. "And while I understand that with some of you stupidity is genetic, I assure you that that will not be an acceptable excuse when you destroy school property."
He checked the temperature again, and, finding it to be exactly what he required, he tossed in the wormwood. Gently, he began to stir, consciously making sure not to disturb the wormwood at the bottom of the cauldron.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Hermione had just begun to add her wormwood, and he fleetingly wondered if he possibly added his too early.
No, the temperature was exact, he assured himself.
"Already adding the snake scales?" Snape's cold voice rose over the bubbling of the cauldrons. "You must have added something too early."
Harry looked up and saw that the Potions master was hovering over a Ravenclaw's cauldron, his nose inches away from it's surface. Black fumes began to rise up from the surface and Snape recoiled.
"As I suspected," Snape said, tapping the girl's cauldron once, clearing it. "It continues to baffle me how some of you manage to foul up your Potion when we are scarcely ten minute into class time. Ten points from Ravenclaw."
He coughed twice, then, as though holding it in, abruptly stopped. He sighed and rubbed his temple, muttering something under his breath.
"He's not looking too well, is he?" Harry whispered to Hermione.
Snape's attention snapped to Harry, though his hand did not leave his temple.
Harry immediately returned his attention to his cauldron, briefly checking the temperature before grinding the dried python scales. The heat from the cauldron was causing beads of sweat to form on his forehead, and somehow the classroom began to feel very warm.
"So how is Potter performing?" Snape said, his glittering black eyes boring down on Harry as he strode over.
Harry didn't look up, instead beginning to grind the scales with his mortar and pestle. He could feel rather than see Hermione glance nervously at him before returning to her own work.
I don't need this, Harry thought angrily to himself. Not on the first day of class.
"Not impressive, Potter," Snape said. He paused suddenly, covering his mouth, as though trying to suppress a cough. A second later he continued, "The temperature of your water is clearly raising too slowly, and if you wait too long the wormwood will become worthless."
Harry met Snape's eyes, seeing his professor up close for the first time since last year. Dark circles sagged under his eyes, and his face was lined from strain.
But Snape's voice had lost none of its biting undertones. "I don't expect second grade work in seventh year potions, Potter. It's clear you used the time you had this summer unwisely..."
Harry, did not reply, instead finishing the scales, and, without checking the temperature, threw them into the cauldron. His body froze as he realized what he had done, and hastily he looked at the temperature. It was just two degrees short.
Shit.
Snape's mouth twisted into a grin, and, without saying a word, he strode to Hermione's cauldron. Harry closed his eyes, his mind racing. How could he salvage his potion? He bordered on asking Hermione to help, but when he saw Snape was hovering over her, he stopped his tongue.
A smell like vinegar and rotten eggs began to rise from his cauldron accompanied with thick green smoke. Harry's heart sank.
He quickly went through his ingredient chest, searching for Screechsnap root, and, upon finding it, quickly threw it on the table and began dicing it into pieces. He glanced at his cauldron and saw that it was on the verge of boiling over. Snape watched him curiously, the same grin on his face.
Harry was counting on the roots to counteract the effects of the python scales, which would possibly allow him to continue from the point where he added the wormwood. He finished chopping the root and immediately gathered it with his hands and tossed it into the cauldron, hearing the potion hiss in protest.
For a moment it appeared to have worked. The smoke thinned, and the smell faded slightly. Even Snape raised an eyebrow.
Then, when Harry stood to peer into the cauldron, it began to boil furiously, and soon a thick, greenish liquid began frothing over the sides, onto the desk. The stench returned in all its potency, and Harry jumped back as the liquid began burning into his desk.
"Well, Potter," said Snape smoothly. He took a small vial of clear liquid from his pocket and downed it, then continued. "I can't say I'm not surprised. Ten points from Gryffindor, as well as detention."
Harry's spun towards Snape. "What?"
"Your gross negligence resulted in the destruction of my equipment, Potter," said Snape, nodding to the melting desk. He cleared his throat, then continued. "I said it before, stupidity will not be excused." Malfoy began laughing from the other side of the room, though Snape ignored it.
"But he didn't mean to, Professor," Hermione protested, causing both Snape and Harry to suddenly look at her. Harry subtly shook his head in warning. "Isn't detention a bit...excessive?"
You don't want to get involved, Hermione, Harry said as though she could hear. This has nothing to do with my potion.
"I don't believe it to be necessary for you to argue on Potter's behalf, Miss Granger," said Snape slowly. "And neither do you have any reason to speak out of turn-" He paused, as if seeing something, then smiled darkly. "-especially when you should've added your bat fur about five seconds ago."
Hermione's eyes went wide, and reached around for her reagent, but it was already too late. Her cauldron was already beginning to overflow with a greenish slime.
"What neither of you seem to understand," said Snape in a raised voice. "is that negligence breeds disaster." He waved his wand over Hermione's and Harry's cauldrons, wiping them both clean even as the liquid continued to sizzle down both their desks.
"Detention for you as well, Miss Granger," continued Snape. He sniffed and reached for his handkerchief but found that it was no longer there. "And ten points from Gryffindor."
Snape paused to look once over both their marred desks, then continued on to other cauldrons, many of which were meeting a similar fate. Hermione appeared to be in shock, her eyes still wide with surprise.
The class continued as, slowly be surely, each and every student in the class ruined their potion. While all of them were fortunate enough to not have a reaction from the potion similar to the one Harry had, Snape deducted points from them anyway. The lone exception had been Malfoy who, miraculously, was the last one to lose his potion.
"I trust that today's lesson was not missed," Snape said, his voice cold. "Timing, like in so many other areas, is vital to brewing a successful potion." With a short glance back towards Hermione and Harry, he returned to his desk.
Suddenly looking rather weary, Snape sat in his chair behind his desk and continued. "As not a single one of you managed to successfully brew the potion, we're going to try again next class. Barely any of you managed to get past the first paragraph of instructions, so I strongly recommend that you study and prepare for next time, as I won't be so lenient. Class is dismissed."
"I can't believe I talked to Professor Snape like that," Hermione breathed when she had left the classroom with Harry. "How am I going to explain to Professor McGonagall that I have detention?"
"I don't think she's going to put much stock in Snape's detentions," Harry said. "She knows how Snape is."
"So the mudblood and Potter got detention the first day of class, did they?" Malfoy asked aloud to no one in particular. He smirked at Harry as he passed by them.
Harry felt a flare of rage, and then Hermione's calming hand on his shoulder.
Malfoy turned, seeing Harry's clenched fists, and then Hermione's hand. He smirked again - more widely - as though he found them amusing. "I'd watch it, Potter," he said, nodding his head toward the end of the hall. Crabbe and Goyle stood by the staircase like hulking bodyguards. "Don't forget what I said on the train. You're both walking dead."
Harry gritted his teeth, but before he could say anything, Hermione said, "If you haven't forgotten, Malfoy, I'm Head Girl. If you keep harassing Harry-"
"You'll what?" Malfoy snapped. "Write me up?" He snorted with laughter.
"I don't think Dumbledore would like hearing about you threatening his students," said Hermione coolly. "I don't think daddy will be around to keep you in here like last time, Draco."
"Watch it, Granger," Malfoy said, an edge to his voice. "Don't act like you understand a thing that's been going on."
"Pray do enlighten me," said Hermione. "Or maybe you're just acting bigger than you really are, since I doubt Voldemort trusts you enough to do his laundry."
Malfoy paused at the mention of Voldemort's name, the humor gone from his eyes. "You'll scream when the Dark Lord cuts you open and makes you bleed filth like the mudblood bitch that you are," he snarled.
Something in Harry snapped, and he lashed out at Malfoy, snatching his collar and pulling him forward. Crabbe and Goyle started towards them.
Harry could feel Hermione grab him to try to pull him away, but his mind was too focused on Malfoy. "Don't you dare talk to her like that-"
"Or you'll what?" sneered Malfoy, his eyes gleaming. "The Dark Lord is the future now, not that old man in the office."
Harry clenched his fist, pulling it back, but felt himself suddenly thrown backwards, his head smacking on the hard stone floor, the wand in his pocket skidding away. At first he though Malfoy performed some sort of wandless magic, but as he looked back, he saw that Malfoy too was on the ground. Crabbe and Goyle stopped in their tracks.
Snape's voice cut through the air like a knife. "Enough!"
The anger Harry felt building deep inside him suddenly cooled, and he looked at the classroom doorway to see Snape standing there, his wand drawn, his face twisted with fury. "What is the meaning of this?"
Hermione remained standing between the two boys, seemingly torn between worry for Harry and anger at him. Harry averted her gaze, feeling suddenly embarrassed, and instead looked back towards Snape.
Malfoy was already on his feet, dusting his robes. "Potter grabbed me, sir. He said I sabotaged his cauldron."
"That's a lie," retorted Harry. "He threatened Hermione, calling her a- a mudblood and saying Voldemort was going to kill her."
"Professor-" Hermione began.
"If I wanted your version of what happened, Miss Granger," interrupted Snape. "I would ask for it." He paused for a fraction of a second. "Twenty points from Gryffindor. Now both of you get out of here, I don't have time for this."
"Thank you, sir," said Malfoy, glancing once at Harry. A brief, barely concealed smirk crossed his face. "Come on," he said, motioning to Crabbe and Goyle to follow him.
Harry, however, did not leave. Hermione came up to him, whispering urgently, "Just leave it - it's just house points-"
"It's not just house points," said Harry with finality, then turned back to Snape, who had been watching them curiously.
"What are you still doing here, Potter?"
"You're just going to let Malfoy get away with that?" Harry said, old anger rising again. "With threatening-"
"Get in the classroom," snapped Snape. To Hermione he continued, "You wait outside, Miss Granger."
Harry followed Snape into the classroom, and once inside, the Potions master rounded on him fully. "What is it I said that was unable to penetrate your thick skull?"
"Malfoy threatened Hermione," Harry said, getting tired of repeating himself. "He was telling her how Voldemort was going to torture and kill her-"
"I strongly doubt that Mr. Malfoy's claim has any substance to it," said Snape icily. "And besides which, what exactly would you have me do, Potter? Give him a detention? Perhaps dock a few points?" He snorted. "Don't involve yourself in my decisions Potter." He turned and started towards his desk.
"So nothing, then?" Harry said angrily to Snape's back. "Nothing at all?"
Snape did not answer immediately. He sunk into his chair, beginning to rub his temple in a way that suggested he had a migraine. "Yes, nothing," he repeated.
Harry shook his head, feeling frustrated, then whirled and strode towards the door. Snape's voice stopped him as his hand touched the door handle.
"Do not concern yourself with Miss Granger's welfare," said Snape. "As long as she's within the protection of these wards, no harm will come to her or anyone else."
Harry did not acknowledge the words. He yanked open the door and went through, letting it slam shut behind him. When he looked to see Hermione watching him, her face carefully blank, he suddenly felt ashamed, though he could not pinpoint why.
"Sorry," he said, mumbling, the dungeon suddenly feeling very cold - colder than usual.
Hermione's head tilted a bit, and he went up to her. "I just don't like seeing you fighting Malfoy, that's all," she said quietly. "You- you could've gotten hurt, and what would've it been for?"
"I'm not going to let him threaten you right in front of me," Harry said, somewhat defensively.
"I can take care of myself, Harry," Hermione countered.
Harry felt a sudden surge of frustration. Frustration at Snape's refusal to do anything about Malfoy, frustration at being stuck in the role that the Prophecy had set for him, frustration at Hermione's stubborn idea that he was more important than her, and, most of all, frustration at being unable to do anything about it.
"Hermione..." Harry said, his voice trailing off.
Her eyes softened. "I know, Harry," she said, taking his hand. "Believe me, Harry. I know."