Without Me

September 1990

The clicking of your small heels echoed against the stone corridor. Of course you would be late, today of all days. Even after you made sure to leave the greenhouses early to give you enough time to get cleaned up and dressed in your slightly nicer, more professional outfit, complete with a gently billowing robe.

But of course something had to happen. This time around, Peeves had been taunting a gaggle of Gryffindors. They decided to try and fight back, casting clumsy charms at the specter. It took almost an hour to break up the fight, and made you more than half an hour late.

Well whatever, it's not like you were late because you forgot or something. You had to break up that fight. You repeated this in your head with a nod.

Maybe a small part of you knew that you could have let someone else take care of it. Another small part of you had hoped all day that something would happen that made you unable to attend. And another very large part of you was not looking forward to reliving Snape’s Seventh year in any way. As a student, you had been both dismayed and relieved to find you had managed to get in by just the skin of your teeth, one in a group of twenty-five.

You shook your head and tried to push away the dread. No time for it. This was going to be different. Maybe not better, but hopefully not as miserable.

You forced a light professional smile on your face and pushed the door to the classroom open.

The classroom for seventh years was a different and separate room then the normal classroom; one you had only gone into a few times during the summer, only needing to restock a few of the basics.

It was small and windowless. The shelves against the wall had the normal set of ingredients, but also had jars of rare specialty items. Animals, whole and in pieces, floating in murky solutions, preserved molds and fungi, and carafes of pewter, silver, and gold. Each table had a normal cauldron and drawers with test tubes, beakers and vials. Four other low set tables had been equipped with industrial sized cauldrons. A large sink was tucked into the corner besides the door to a supply closet.

“Sorry I’m late,” you started, but unlike the last class you had walked in on, no one looked up.

The class of only thirteen students were divided up into four groups, hovering over the large cauldrons already bubbling and smoking. A few of the students worked at the tables prepping ingredients- grinding and measuring on the scales, while another was cleaning up behind them. And one student stayed at the cauldron, mixing the brew with a large wooden paddle.

Snape walked among them watching closely- stopping to inspect the ingredients or to check the stirring of another.

You walked towards the closest cauldron and were hit instantly with the strong distinct scent of a Wiggenweld Potion. A Hufflepuff with thick fogged frames was mixing the bright orange brew carefully, as a thin Ravenclaw tilted a large pewter carafe over, slowly pouring in salamander's blood.

“Just a bit more Ralphie, it's starting to turn.” The Hufflepuff seemed to be able to see through the clouded lenses and the smoking cauldron and straight into the mix. “And…. Stop! That's plenty!”

And sure enough, the vapor swirled and with a gentle puff lightened out as the mix in the cauldron turned a beautiful bright yellow.

“You’re late.” Snape’s harsh tone besides you almost made you jump. His glare was impatient and testy.

“Sorry, yes I am, but-” You started but Snape had turned his attention on the grinning Hufflepuff.

“Birchwood. I’ve warned you before about going by feel and not measuring your ingredients properly by scale. Feel free to ruin your own work, but this particular batch is for our Infirmary. Best not to kill someone due to your ego. Twenty points from Hufflepuff.” he scolded sharply.

The Hufflepuff kept her head down and continued to stir, but you could see the red tinge of embarrassment on her face.

Snape leaned down to inspect the mix carefully for a moment, and when he stood back up, seemed almost put out by not finding anything wrong. “You're exceedingly lucky Miss. Birchwood. Forty points if you try it again.”

She nodded briskly, her lips drawn into a tight frown.

It was painful to watch, and you almost wanted to hug her. It was obviously not her first time making a Wiggenweld potion. She was clearly a natural, but it would be useless trying to argue that with him.

“I don’t remember doing this as a student.” You followed him as he continued to the next cauldron.

“I only began this practice the year after your class graduated. My seventh year students, as part of their course work, make the healing potions, antidotes, and salves that supply the school Infirmary. Making large batches of potions while maintaining a perfect formula, preserving and transporting in large quantities; it’s an important skill to learn and why I emphasize accuracy and quality control.” He explained as he scrutinized the prepared and measured ingredients on the second groups table.

You glanced back at the Wiggenweld table and hated to think he was right. Even though she seemed like a natural she was still a student and she had to make sure she was making the potion correctly, especially since it was going to be used on campus, not just neutralized after being graded.

You knew a good few who took this class would end up working at St. Mungo’s or in large scale potion production. Getting them into the practice of brewing in bulk, of storing and maintaining in that quantity was actually...

“Well, that's actually brilliant, Professor.” You said genuinely. “It only makes sense that they learn these skills now before they jump into their professions.”

Snape looked a bit startled by the sincerity of your sudden compliment, and stared at you pointedly before clearing his throat, “Of course it is.”

“As you can see, today the class has been divided into groups: Wiggenweld Potion, Calming Draught, and a burn-healing paste.” He continued and gestured to each group. “Every member will take turns preparing the potion, adding in each ingredient, brewing the mix, bottling, and cleaning. All something I wouldn’t have to explain if you had done us the courtesy of appearing on time.”

You winced at the contempt in his tone, but didn’t bother to explain yourself. It wouldn't do any good, especially since you hadn't really tried very hard to get out of dealing with the Peeves situation.

Instead, you glanced over at a lone student just off to the side of the rest of the class. “What about her? She’s working on her own?”

“Precisely why I asked you to be here today.”

Snape walked you over to the table set a bit away from the others where a single Slytherin was hunched over a medium cauldron.

“This is Guinevere Bonume. She’s the top student in this class and an exceptionally skilled potioneer.” The Slytherin girl didn't look up from her work, carefully adding crushed valerian root into the cauldron a little at a time, stirring steadily.

“Oh I see.” It was a bit strange to hear him boast about a student, but it sort of made sense- she was a Slytherin after all. You glanced at the ingredients on the table next to her. Wormwood, asphodel, sloth brain. You felt a flicker of guilt pass through you, recognizing exactly what she was making.

“A Draught of Living Death?”

“Correct.”

“Alright, so what does this have to do with me?” You turned to him in confusion. “Did you want me to help her? Or demonstrate this for the class? Help you supervise?” It was weird that he had invited you in the first place, but you figured it was his way of placating you. By putting you in a class where everyone could work almost totally independently and you wouldn't do any damage.

A small gloating smirk formed on his face. “Oh no Professor [Last Name]. I asked you here to do the same as Miss. Bonume. Create a Draught of Living Death.”

“Wait, what? I don’t understand. It looks like Miss. Bonume has it under control here. Why do you need me too- ”

“As I mentioned, this is a practice I started after you had already graduated.” Snape cut you off and led you to the next table over that had been set up exactly as Bonume’s. “This draught is just a bit too testy to be made in the large cauldrons. And since you did oh so well on your own elixir, I figured this wouldn’t be a challenge for you.”

There was a glint in his eye you could see past the sarcastic spiel. What exactly was he aiming to try and prove?

“It’d be an especially great help to Madam Pomfrey,” he said carefully, watching your face. “She’s been in need of this particular potion. And there isn't enough time for Miss. Bonume to make two batches.”

You looked away from him and to the Slytherin, who was still carefully poring over her work, and then down at the table in front of you. Of course you don’t mind helping. Especially if it would mean supplying Madam Pomfrey; the healer held a special place in your heart and not just because of her care during your panic attack.

She had always been there for you; when you stumbled into her infirmary after your first potions lesson, wheezing and covered in snot, she cleaned you up and sorted you out. Pomfrey had been the one who supplied you the cough drops that kept your allergic reactions at bay for three years, until they had stopped working. And when you were teaching yourself to make standard Coughing Potion, she had walked you through some of the trickier steps. Still, you doubted his intentions- couldn’t he have just done this himself?. But if it meant helping Madam Pomfrey…

Besides, you couldn’t deny the excitement that had started sparking at your fingertips the second you had walked into the room and were surrounded by the smells and sounds of the bubbling brews. The challenge of creating in such quantities intrigued you. And it had been a while since you had made this particular draught.

“Yeah, alright. I don’t mind helping out, if the Infirmary really needs this.”

“Good to hear it.” he answered slyly.

The magical sparks blooming in your chest felt wonderful; managing to drown out your own guilty memories and Snape's suspicious tone, as you considered the ingredients in front of you. It was an interesting challenge, every change would impact the end potion.

Wormwood and asphodel were easy enough to measure out. You took a dagger and crushed the wriggling Sopophorous beans, collecting the juice in a bowl and setting it on the scale.

Hmm. It equaled the counterweight fine, but it didn’t feel right. You narrowed your eyes in thought; you always found it best to trust that Magic Nudge when it came to things like this, and crushed a few more beans. You didn't notice Snape raise a curious brow as he walked by your table.

As you worked, you could feel the energy in you change. Normally when you worked on your own concoctions or on small potion batches the magic seemed to flow like warm lava, sparking bright but comforting.

Now, it was like a crackling fire under your skin.

The potion was now at a rolling boil and had turned dark like blackcurrant from the mashed sloth brains. Add the powdered asphodel mix slowly until completely dissolved.

The seventh years, who had just finished their potions, left their cooling cauldrons to crowd around your table curiously. Demos really weren't a thing in seventh year- if you still needed someone to show you at this point, you really have no place in this classroom at all. But you were making a Draught of Living Death, one of the harder, more advanced potions to make. Snape had demoed it in the sixth year and had considered that enough. And they figured you must know what you were doing- you were technically a potions professor after all, even if they hadn't really seen you in the dungeons.

Drop the heat of the cauldron to a gentle simmer and incorporate valerian root with a clockwise stir. Six beats between each added piece. Next, beat the mixture and slowly pour in the Sopophorous bean juice. A puff of lilac smoke and it was time to turn counterclockwise. One… Two… Three… You counted with each turn. Six… And, seven. Turn off the heat and let it rest.

You finally looked up and noticed the group of students watching you intently. You smiled sheepishly, “I’m so sorry everyone. I wasn't trying to take over your class. I’m sure none of you need to be taught how to make this.” It was kind of embarrassing to stand there being watched and your cheeks turned pink.

Snape stepped toward your cauldron and leaned down, carefully avoiding the remaining vapors. He gave it a cursory stir, and then looked up at you with an arched brow.

What was that look on his face? Was he surprised? Impressed?

The other students started to crowd closer, taking a look for themselves.

“Jeez, it's completely clear.” The skinny Ravenclaw from before motioned for her Hufflepuff friend. “You can actually see the bottom of the cauldron- it's almost like there is nothing in there!”

The students all took turns examining the potion and asking you questions. You felt a bit overwhelmed with their attention at first, but you were beaming at their interest. This was exactly what you had hoped to do! This was something you wished you could have done in that fourth year class you had walked in on.

“Alright that's enough of that. You’ll all know plenty about how to brew a Draught of Living Death- I’ll expect fifteen inches on the subject from each of you on my desk next Friday.” Snape rolled his eyes at the chorus of groans, “Get back to your stations and start on bottling.”

You watched the class disperse, all but Guinevere, who had quietly lingered with her arms crossed and a glare on her face, as she examined your brew.

“Thank you for inviting me today.” You turned to Snape with a smile, “I didn’t know what to think when you asked me here, but, wow, that was really great.”

Genuivere stepped forward suddenly and answered before he could. “Professor Snape didn’t invite you here to waste class time with a pointless demonstration,” she said haughtily. “He did it to test you. Apparently, you're some nobody Dumbledore stuck here because he didn’t know where else to put you.”

You recoiled, her words landing like a slap across the face. “Excuse me?”

“Bonume.” Snape said her name in a low warning, but she pressed on.

“I’m the best in this class- that's why Professor Snape asked me to go up against you.” She brushed away loose strands of hair from her face and tilted her head up proudly. “In fact, it was my idea to make a Draught of Living Death.”

Her stinking attitude sent an indignant anger rolling through you. Who the hell did this kid think she was, speaking to you like that?

You looked at Snape waiting for him to say something. He avoided your eyes.

Okay. Deep breathe and calm.

Was this kid a major brat with some serious self-importance? Of course. Stuck up her own ass? Yeah, absolutely. But she was still a kid, just a teenager. This landed all on Snape. He was the one who had orchestrated all of this- and unlike last time you weren’t going to run away.

“Guinevere, was it?” you spoke carefully, keeping your tone even, “I can see why you chose such a difficult potion. You are an extraordinarily talented witch.”

That seemed to deflate her a bit and her arms fell to her sides.

“Why don't you start bottling the Draughts and I’ll come over and help you out in a bit?”

She looked at Snape, who motioned her to go, and gave you another measured glare before heading back to her table.

Once she was out of ear shot you leaned toward Snape, “What in the hell is she talking about?” you hissed quietly. “Is she serious? Is that why you dragged me here?”

“I hardly had to drag you. Besides, hands-on class work is a part of your duties”

“Yes of course it is, but that's clearly not the point!”

Finally he met your eyes. “Lets save this discussion for after class.” His voice was frustratingly cool and unaffected, and you wanted to smack him.

“Fine.” you acquiesced through gritted teeth. He would have peace for now, but you weren’t leaving without an explanation. You were sick of him constantly making you feel inferior and it was time you confronted him about it.