Without Me

September 1990

After almost a week of grading with Snape, you realized the three things that bothered you the most about the entire situation.

First off, you disliked how he still totally underestimated you.

That very first night, you were a bit anxious and unsure what to expect, due to your rocky start. Luckily, Snape was all business; he had arranged an old dark brown arm chair opposite his desk, and had three large piles of pop quizzes ready to grade when you arrived.

You figured he would set you up with a challenge on your first day, but you would not be intimidated. Plowing through the papers, you finished them up in the couple of hours before the student curfew. The repetitive work was surprisingly draining, but worth the look Snape's face when you announced you had finished.

That satisfying feeling? Stopped feeling so great after day two. Because after that he seemed to continuously try and up the ante, always adding piles of work, making you reread through essays, or asking you to review something he had ‘forgotten’ about. And to top it off, he always had some snarky little quip when you got done.

Second, the total and complete silence. How did he work like this? Did he have a silencing charm on every inch of every wall? On every square of the stone floor? It was maddening to not have some sort of white noise- and at this point you would take literally anything that wasn’t parchment shuffling and quill scratching.

You let yourself sink into your seat and hummed- at least the old armchair was nice and comfortable.

“Having trouble [Last Name]?” Snape cut into your thoughts with a bored drawl from the other side of the desk.

“No not at all. It's just this essay from one of the first years. It's bad. Like, really really bad.”

You looked back down at the essay on wormwood that was starting to test your fortitude. You were trying to be fair, but almost every inch of this essay was pure regurgitated bullshit. You picked your quill back up and crossed out an entire paragraph in red that had been copied almost word for word from the textbook. Wormwood was the simplest of simple, and if this kid couldn't get it down he would have no chance of passing potions this year.

You sighed and pushed the paper towards Snape. He glanced up and seemed to recognize the writing instantly.

“Oh yes, a little Gryffindor brat with a stinking attitude.” he said with disdain. “More interested in chasing after the Quidditch players and causing trouble than anything else.”

You frowned at his comment. The kid definitely shouldn't have plagiarized the work, especially not from the textbook. Maybe he figured it was just better to b.s. his way through then even try. With a professor like Snape, he probably didn’t want a thing to do with potions, underachieving Quidditch chaser or not. The same thing had almost happened to you after all.

“Some students don’t want to be taught. Nothing I can do if they refuse.” Snape answered, seemingly reading your mind. He put down the parchment he was working on and snatched one from your pile.

There it was. The third and most annoying thing about working with him.

After a week, Snape still felt he had to check your work for mistakes. Every so often he would take a random parchment and make a show of scrutinizing it. Sometimes he hummed and tapped at the desk, or gave a disapproving grunt. You figured it was his attempt at making you sweat. Not a chance of that though, not with the easiest of the course work to grade, you thought and rolled your eyes at his theatrics. You didn’t try and pretend like it didn't bother you, but it really wasn't a fight you wanted to have. You’d let the snarky bastard do double the work and feel smug when he couldn't find something to complain about.

“It’s getting kind of late. If you don’t mind, I’m going to turn in for the night.” You started gathering up your things.

“Before you go, I have something of yours.” Snape pulled out a familiar glass bottle from one of his drawers. “Dumbledore asked me to return this, with his thanks.”

Instead of holding it out to you, he set the empty bottle on the desk in front of him and gave it a tap. “ ‘The Quicker Fix’er Elixir’. A strange name.” He unscrewed the lid carefully and took a whiff. “Nettle, turmeric, dittany. A healing potion, with an incredibly bitter taste.”

You shifted in front of him, unsure of what to say. Why did Dumbledore have to give it to Snape of all people? Anyone else but him. Or just keep the bottle altogether- not like you didn't have plenty more!

“Simple ingredients but expertly brewed.” Snape replaced the stopper and looked back at you. “Where did you get this?”

There was a strange sort of gleam in his eyes, you had a sudden itch at the back of your head, and you found it difficult to look away.

“I made it. It’s an elixir that helps me with my ‘dungeon aversion’. It's an all-purpose respiratory remedy. Hay fever, allergies, cough- things like that.”

The tickle vanished when he raised a dubious brow and scoffed.

Now that was just plain rude. You didn’t want to stir up any more trouble, or have Snape resent you anymore then he did, but dammit that was your formula! All the miserable hours you spent in the dungeons as a student, taking cough drops by the handful. And when the drops stopped working in your third year, you had borrowed an upperclassmen’s copy of advanced potions and taught yourself the standard Cough Potion. But even that only worked for so long before the fits came back with a vengeance, and made you realize you would have to come up with something from scratch or you were gonna end up needing a magical lung transplant.

This was your creation, lovingly crafted, and you weren't about to let him dismiss all the work you put in.

“You don’t have to believe me, Snape, but that's my elixir.” You straightened up and crossed your arms, “This is my baby- I slaved over this formula for almost two years to get it perfect.”

Snape looked at you carefully, his brow still arched high. “Prove it.” he said simply and rose out of his chair. He wasn’t going to wait for your response, and went to the cupboard on the far wall.

“Wait are you serious? You want me to do this now?”

“Why not?” He responded over his shoulder, and motioned to the small workstation in the corner of the room. “Shouldn’t be a problem for you, if this really is your baby.”

You felt the panic start to creep in, that same familiar panic of your school years- the panic of the other day- and you breathed in deeply. It’s okay, It’s okay. You’d make a quick batch to shut him up and that’d be the end of it.

Walking over to the table, you started to set up what you’d need.

This was okay. Another deep breath and a few dishes, a whisk, and a stirring rod with a flat paddle.

Then you felt it, the electricity starting to swell in your chest. In fact, this was more than okay. This would be great.

A swish of the wand and the cauldron at the table started to warm up.

As the sparks flowed from your core and down to your fingertips, the panic started to dissolve and you beamed. Oh yes this was more than okay. You’d prove it alright- you’d make the most perfect batch of elixir you'd ever made, and that would put the snarky bastard right in his place.

Snape came to your table and set down a number of things in front of you. “This should be all you need Professor.”

His tone was patronizing, but you didn’t really notice now. Your attention was on the jars and bottles before you. “No shrivelfig or porcupine quills. Turmeric paste, not ground. Althaea syrup, clarified if you have it, and butterbur root please.” Your tone was almost trance like and he gave you a curious look, as you started to portion out your ingredients carefully.

The practiced motions came easier than the soft rhythmic humming. Oh yes, you would make sure this was something special.

Snape placed the last few ingredients before you and took a step back. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully, noting how you had seemed to tune him, and everything else, out. Your eyes were dilated and wide as you worked, your hands reaching out instinctively toward everything you needed.

You folded the last of the froth into the brew and it gave a pop with a burst of white smoke. An especially potent batch, you thought with a giggle.

“Interesting.” Snape's cool voice beside you abruptly snapped you out of your trance.

You had completely forgotten he was even there and the thought that he had been watching you the whole time made you shiver. Still, you stepped to the side as he leaned closer to look into the cauldron.

His face was expressionless but his eyes were calculating as he carefully inspected the elixir. The lovely afterglow of the magic drained out of you as you watched him. Dear Merlin, it was just like being back in class. Waiting for him to pass his judgement.

“I’m not being graded for this am I?” you asked with a nervous chuckle.

Snape ignored you and took a small taste with a sample stick. His eyes widened and he turned to you as if seeing you for the first time. “Now I see. I know exactly who you are.”

Well that's not what you expected. “Excuse me Professor?”

His eyes gleamed with new recognition. “Oh yes [Last Name] now I remember. You’re that whining, crying, wheezing little girl who barely made it into my Seventh Year of Potions.” He snickered, “I wondered why this mix seemed so incredibly familiar. If I recall correctly, I caught you after hours in my classroom, sneaking out with a bowl of dittany.”

Your face turned hot and you looked away in embarrassment. This was definitely bad, right? Of course it was strange that he didn't remember teaching you. It made him distrust you from the get go. But maybe that had been for the best? Not a clean slate, per say, but you weren't keen on the new inflection his voice had now taken.

“My bottle broke in my bag. I only needed a bit.” You said hesitantly, feeling a sneeze building, you took a deep breath to force it down.

He winced in distaste, “But I should have realized sooner, what with your stunt with the reconstituted bile.”

“I already apologized for that!”

“Oh yes,” He continued as if you hadn’t spoken, “you were always the first to finish your work so that you could fool around with these harebrained concoctions of your own design. Arrogantly handing in barely passable potions, always doing the bare minimum.

“Yet, despite that, you’ve managed to create a very potent elixir.” He tapped the edge of the cauldron, “If you had made anything even half as good as this in class, I might have actually bothered to remember you.”

You tensed at the smirk he threw your way. How could he just.. Just stand there and be so smug? After the way he treated you, treated everyone! Anger bubbled up inside and you wanted to shout- maybe if you hadn't been such a monster this would have been perfected sooner!

“I would never have worked like this in your class, and it had nothing to do with my attitude or any arrogance you think I had, Professor.” you said venomously.

“I’m truly devastated.” Snape didn't miss a beat, and replied with a roll of his eyes. “I don’t baby anyone, or treat anyone with kid gloves; your failures as a student in my class are your own. How you managed to make it to my N.E.W.T. classes at all...”

“Well it definitely wasn’t thanks to you,” you snapped, feeling heat rise on your cheeks. You wanted to yell at him- that he had no idea what you had been through. Why things were so hard for you. Why being here now meant so much.

You shook your head, pushing back the sudden rush of grief, and walked to the desk to grab your things. You doubted he would understand, or even care really, so it was pointless to try and explain.

“Why don’t you come to my class tomorrow night?”

“What?” You spun back to face him with wide eyed suprise. An invitation to his classroom? After what had just happened? Now that was unexpected.

“My seventh years meet for class every Friday afternoon. They’ll be brewing several different healing potions tomorrow.” Snape’s dark eyes caught yours as he spoke. “You’ve clearly had success with that elixir of yours; come and you’ll have a chance to show off your abilities. Even relive some of the old glory.” The humor in his voice sounded hollow and didn't match the cold calculating glint in his eyes.

The invitation could not have been more ominous- attending was probably not a good idea. But what could he possibly have planned in the last three minutes? Was he just inviting you to embarrass you in front of the students again? To try and save face from last time?

You had really hoped that was over and done with, but sure, maybe inviting you was some sick revenge plot. But then why not invite you back to the same class? Or even another one with more students? Last time you checked the roster, there weren't even twenty students enrolled in seventh year potions.

“I’ll expect you there at five pm sharp, [Last Name].” he said, again not bothering to wait for an answer.

“Yeah alright. I don’t see why not.” you responded reluctantly and slung your bag over your shoulder. “Tomorrow then.”

He nodded dismissively, already turned back to the cauldron with your cooling potion.