The Potions Master
Harry and Ron became fast friends. It helped that Harry knew exactly what to say to put Ron at ease and to foster their growing friendship. In lieu of lunch, Harry purchased a few of every candy available on the trolley to split among the two of them. He watched politely as Ron attempted the fake spell the twins had given him on Scabbers. Aside from that, Harry was careful to ignore Pettigrew completely, to avoid letting on that he knew the rat to be anything other than a rat. He spent the rest of the train ride meeting younger versions of his friends and enemies – most hoping to get a glance of the famous Harry Potter – with an overwhelming feeling of déjà vu.
Harry hugged Hagrid tightly when he spotted him on the platform, gathering the first years while the other students went on ahead to the carriages. It was nice to travel to the castle by boat with the other first years again. They followed Hagrid through the castle and up to the stairway outside the Great Hall where Professor McGonnagall was waiting. Harry tuned out the ghost’s introductions as well as her welcome speech to bask in the feeling of being back at Hogwarts. He had missed it.
As they entered the Great Hall, Harry listened in amusement to the awe and excitement of his fellow first years. He stifled a laugh as Hermione explained to those around her that she had learned about the bewitched ceiling from Hogwarts: A History. Maybe he’d use the extra time he'd been given to finally read the book. McGonagall set the Sorting Hat on the stool and it began to sing.
“We’ve just got to try on the hat!” Ron whispered to Harry after the Sorting Hat’s song had ended. “I’ll kill Fred. He was going on about wrestling a troll.”
Harry frowned at the irony of his friend’s statement. “That’ll be next month.” he said under his breath.
One by one, Harry’s classmates were called forward to be sorted. Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones were sent to Hufflepuff, Terry Boot and Mandy Brocklehurst to Ravenclaw, and Lavender Brown to Gryffindor. Content that the sorting was moving forward as expected, Harry relaxed and waited for McGonnagall to call him forward.
******
Harry sat on the stool as the whispers broke out all over the hall. McGonnagall placed the hat on his head.
“Curious.” said the hat in his ear. “We have never met, but it seems, Mister Potter, that you believe you have already been sorted.”
Harry nodded and thought that he’d like to be placed where he had been before. I know that Slytherin could put me on a path to greatness, but Gryffindor will help me to make the friends I need to survive, he thought.
The hat chuckled grimly. “You don’t have the true makings of a Slytherin.” It said. “Maybe once, but not anymore. You aren’t overly ambitious or cunning, and the thirst to prove yourself has been satisfied long ago.”
The students and faculty watched in anticipation, waiting to discover what house would get to claim the Boy Who Lived.
“I can see the evidence of your selfless bravery and daring deeds. I will not re-sort you.” The hat concluded before exclaiming to the hall, “GRYFFINDOR!”
Harry hurried to his table among the deafening shouts and cheers echoing in the Great Hall. He listened bemusedly to Dumbledore’s light and nonsensical welcoming speech peppered with ominous warnings before digging into the feast. He had missed the food from Hogwarts this year – well, what would have been his seventh year. He piled his plate high with roast chicken, potatoes, and steak and kidney pie and drank several glasses of pumpkin juice.
Pushing aside his empty plate, Harry turned his gaze to the Staff Table. When Quirrell turned his head to speak with Snape, the purple turban aimed directly at Harry causing him to wince at a sharp pain in his scar. Largely unphased - the pain in his scar had been much worse over the past year- he grabbed a treacle tart from the platter of desserts that had appeared on the table. Snape looked past the Turban and into Harry’s eyes. Harry quickly looked away. He felt Snape’s gaze linger on him for several moments more.
After dessert, Dumbledore made his announcements and led the student body in the school song. A cacophonous mixture of varied tunes and tempos filled the hall. Harry noticed that the Staff pointedly did not join in. The Weasley twins concluded the affair with the final notes of their death march tune, and the students applauded. Percy Weasley led the first year Gryffindors to their dormitories. Harry collapsed into his four-poster bed and drifted to sleep as his head hit the pillow.
******
Harry paid no notice to the whispers and stares of the student body during the first week at school. He and Ron were on time to every class, as Harry knew where to find the classrooms and how to manage the ever-changing staircases. He made it through his first classes in Astronomy, Herbology, History of Magic, Charms, and Transfiguration without much fuss. Taking notes was much easier this time around, as he only needed to write down the material that he had forgotten. Not to mention, he’d had much more practice writing with his quill and ink than he’d had in his actual first year.
The first Defense against the Dark Arts class was embarrassingly laughable. While none of his classmates batted an eye at the overwhelming smell of garlic in the classroom - rumors of his fear of vampires had been running wild among the student body - they were suspicious of Quirrell’s lies about battling a Zombie for an African Prince. It was, admittedly, rather amusing to watch the professor valiantly attempt not to meet Harry’s eyes. Voldemort must have been wary about Harry’s scar reacting like it had at the feast.
Now, it was Friday morning: time for Double Potions with the first year Slytherins. Harry had not looked at Snape again since the Welcoming Feast. It was difficult to reconcile his previously most hated professor with the man he truly had been.
Ron babbled beside him about Snape’s rumored favoritism as they walked to class. Once they were seated, the door slammed open and Snape sped past them to the front of the classroom giving his dramatic speech to inspire any future potion makers among them and discourage the rest of the dunderheads. The class - and Harry, admittedly - hung on to his every word.
“Potter.” Snape barked. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”
Hermione’s hand shot into the air.
“The Draught of Living Death, sir.” Harry answered unconsciously. He cringed internally at his mistake.
Something flickered in Snape’s eyes. Then, he nodded approvingly. “5 points to Gryffindor, for bothering to crack open a book before class.”
That was different...
“Mister Malfoy,” Snape called. “Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”
“The Potions Storeroom.” Malfoy quipped. “Or the stomach of a goat, sir.” He amended after a stern look from his Head of House.
“Well reasoned, Mister Malfoy.” he said. “Five points to Slytherin.”
And just like that, the world was back to normal. If Harry had made a similar joke, Snape would have taken points or given him detention.
Snape turned to Hermione, whose hand was still raised. “Miss Granger, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?” He asked.
She answered easily, winning more points for Gryffindor. The Slytherins sat in shock, and Harry found himself off-balance by the additional shift from normalcy. Luckily, Snape proceeded with the lesson, splitting them into pairs to make the cure for boils. He walked through the rows as they brewed, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy. Harry braced himself for the explosion that would soon be coming from his right, but Snape caught Neville’s hand as he prepared to add the porcupine quills.
“Idiot boy!” he snarled. “Adding the quills before removing the cauldron from the flames would be disastrous. You could have seriously hurt yourself and your classmates.” He turned back to the rest of the class, “Let this be a lesson to all of you to thoroughly read the instructions before completing each step.”
Now, that, Harry thought, was not a change that he had accidentally caused by answering a question. Snape had somehow stopped Neville before he melted Seamus’ cauldron and erupted in painful boils. Was it possible he wasn't alone in this time?
******
When class ended and their potions were bottled and labeled, Harry was slow to pack away his things. He sent Ron on ahead and waited for the room to clear out before approaching the front of the room.
“Do you have a moment?” Harry began cautiously.
Snape looked up from the papers on his desk in surprise. “Do you have a moment, sir.” he corrected.
An idea formed in Harry's mind. He briefly considered the consequences, but decided to forge on ahead.
“There’s no need to call me ‘sir,’ Professor.” he said. Harry mentally crossed his fingers and prayed he had been right. At least the last time he had uttered the phrase, there had been witnesses. But Harry’s worries were for naught.
Snape’s mouth dropped open. An eternity passed in a moment before he spoke again. “Potter, have you ever heard of the Order of the Phoenix?” he whispered urgently.
“Its headquarters are located at Number 12 Grimauld Place.” Harry responded, pausing for only a moment to consider a security question for Snape. There had been no reason to come up with one last year. “When did you tell me that you went by the moniker, the Half-Blood Prince?”
“After I killed Albus Dumbledore.”
Harry laughed incredulously. He wasn’t alone. He had so many questions for the man. “How the hell did we get here, sir?” he asked.
The classroom door opened and a sea of students in yellow and blue came pouring in and took their seats. Several of them looked up at the unlikely duo with open curiosity.
“Not now, Potter. Meet me tonight. Use your cloak.” He hissed, mindful of the interest of the class. Harry took his cue to leave, and Snape strode forward to address the class without sparing Harry another glance.