Severus Snape’s private potion lab was a bit of a surprise for Harry the first time he was permitted to enter it. He had been amazed at the number of premade potions that the professor had stacked in rows. There had to be so many different ingredients—all in various stages of preparation—that the Professor would have to have an advance system to keep track of it all. The room itself was a comfortable size, big enough that two people could work side by side without concern of bumping into one another or mixing up ingredients.
In the centre of the room stood a square benchtop, covered in four different cauldrons—all different sizes and materials—and two were bubblings away. Along all three walls, in front of them, were the shelves upon shelves of vials and ingredients. And just to the right of the door was an overflowing bookshelf, that from a glance, Harry noticed was filled with books all about potions. Each book was well worn and even had tags and loose pieces of paper sticking out of them. Snape would tell him later that he always annotated any book that he found useful. The very bottom of his shelf was dedicated to the few books he had found nothing in and kept, only as a reminder, to never by a text by the same author again.
The lab had become a hideout for Harry, the same way for Snape. Their first few hours spent inside, Harry had assisted the potions professor with stocking up potions for the infirmary—a task that Snape saw to once a week. It became a regular occurrence for Harry to leave dinner on a Saturday night and join Snape in his lab. After that, he would sometimes help with special orders and even grading for other classes. Snape even allowed Harry to study in his lab when he wasn’t able to find peace in his dorm room or the library.
So when Harry walked into the lab on the first day of classes and found Snape brewing, instead of saying anything, he hung up his bag on the hook on the side of the bookshelf and pushed up his sleeves. The two had worked side by side enough that they worked with a fluidity that Carlisle had commented made them appear to almost be ready each other’s minds.
Snape cut the flames beneath the potion thirteen minutes later and said, “The water breathing potion was perfect.”
Harry smiled. “Thank you.” He had been anxious after he had sent his completed recreation to the Professor. “I will admit there were a few moments where I almost caved.”
Snape smirked. “I did say I wouldn’t make it easy on you.”
“I never want you to make it easy, sir. That would be rather unproductive.”
Snape nodded. “Indeed.”
With a wave of his wand, the potion began to bottle itself into multiple vials before floating over and storing itself onto the shelves, filling in a blank spot.
“Your apprenticeship will be keeping you busy outside of your classes,” said Snape, “and I expect you to maintain your grades as well.”
Harry nodded. “Of course, sir.”
“This,” Snape handed Harry a piece of parchment, “is your timetable. You will find that you still have your free periods. However, they will take place when your standard Potion classes would be. Your free periods will find you here with me; either brewing orders or, if I have classes, then you will assist me with those.”
Harry nodded.
He read through the timetable and realized that Snape had altered his original timetable and updated his free periods with his apprenticeship lessons. On Monday’s, he would have a double potions lesson with Snape; he would be assisting first-years from Slytherin and Gryffindor. Tuesday’s, he had another double Potions lesson that he would help the first-years from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Wednesday evenings, he had a private lesson after dinner. Thursdays, there was nothing extra added. And Friday afternoon, he had another private lesson before dinner.
“I expect that you will be fare to all your fellow students, regardless of house or personal feelings.”
Harry glanced up. “So what your saying, sir, is don’t follow your example.”
Snape glared at him. “Watch your tongue, boy.”
Harry smirked. “Yes, sir.”
“I may have a tendency to favour my Slytherins, but that is only because the rest of the students seem unable to grasp simple concepts,” said Snape.
Harry didn’t argue. There was no point. They both knew that Snape was aware that many failed potions in his classrooms were due to his Slytherins, causing trouble for other students, but that isn’t something he would own up to.
“I also expect that much like last year, this room’s password is not to be shared with others. Not even Mr Malfoy.”
Harry nodded.
He had learnt in their first year that Snape was Carlisle and Draco’s Godfather, but even they weren’t permitted into his private lab. Carlisle wasn’t trusted, as he tended to push Snape’s buttons to get desired reactions, and Draco was always over-eager, and Snape hated that. Harry believed that if he could manage to do so, Snape would keep everyone, including Dumbledore, out of the lab, but all teachers had access to all rooms.
“Any questions?” asked Snape.
Harry shook his head. “No, sir.”
“Good. Now, we have first-years in fifteen minutes. Slytherin and Gryffindors.” Snape let out a heavy sigh. “Go and set up the lab.”
The idea of having to assist in some of Snape’s classes had seemed fine at first, and he had nothing against first years—after all, you had to start somewhere—but for their first lesson, he would have to deal with Harvey, and that just didn’t seem like a great way to start the day.
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Harvey had entered the potions classroom pleasantly surprised. He had known that his brother would start his potions apprenticeship at the start of the school year, but he hadn’t known that he would be in his class. Harry was standing up the front of the classroom behind a desk flipping through a large tomb book that looked well worn. He had glanced up as the first years had walked in but hadn’t spoken.
Ron had pulled Harvey across the room to sit at a desk with a few of the other Gryffindor boys, and they chatted while they waited.
The morning had started well enough; Harvey had headed downstairs to have breakfast with Ron in the Great Hall and had been excited to get his timetable from Professor McGonagall as she walked along. His happy morning had dropped when he noticed that the first class was going to be Double-Potions.
Harvey had never met Severus Snape, but he had overheard his mum and dad argue about him a lot growing up. He had also heard from Ron’s brothers that Snape was a hardass who hated everyone but Slytherin’s. It seemed unfair that Snape was biased against anyone who wasn’t in his own house, but then again, Harry was in Ravenclaw and seemed to get along well with him.
The door to the potions classroom swung open, and Professor Snape strutted in with his cloak billowing around him. He didn’t acknowledge the class. Instead, he walked up to Harry and held out his hand. Harry handed him a piece of parchment and a quill. Snape started shouting out names, taking the register and frowned when he said Harvey’s name.
“Ah, yes,” he said softly, “Harvey Potter. Our new celebrity.”
Harvey was unsure of how to react. He hated it when people called him such a thing; he didn’t even remember the incident with Voldemort. He glanced at Harry, hoping to see just some sort of encouraging look, but his brother’s eyes were forced on the book in front of him. The sniggers from a few Slytherin’s drew Harvey’s attention, and he tried to brush it off as Snape finished calling everyone names.
Snape handed the list back to Harry, who took it and placed it onto the desk. Snape crossed his arms over his chest and said, “You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making.” His tone was low, almost like a whisper. “As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…I can teach you how to bottle game, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”
The class was silent, and Harvey couldn’t help but feel that just from the potion masters words, potions seemed more interesting that his mum had ever made it.
“I resent that dunderheads comment,” said Harry.
Snape glanced at him and smirked. “I’m sure.” He turned back to the class. “First-years, this is Harrison Black, a fifth-year and my apprentice. He will be in most of our classes for the year and will be here to assist you. I expect you to treat him as you would any teacher.”
Again, no one spoke. The silence in the room seemed tense, and Harvey found himself waiting for something to happen, and the knowing smirk of Harry’s face didn’t help.
“Potter!” said Snape suddenly. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”
Harvey froze. He had no idea. He glanced at Harry, but the only look he got was the knowing smirk that told him that he knew Snape would do this.
On a table across from him, Hermione Granger—a girl who seemed to a little bit of a know-it-all—shot up her hand.
Harvey shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know, sir.”
Snape’s smirked. He ignored Hermione’s hand and said, “Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”
Hermione’s hand shot up again; she was almost standing.
Harvey shrugged again; he didn’t know. Bezoar sounded familiar, but instead of listening to his mum's lessons about potions, he had been too busy thinking about quidditch. “I don’t know, sir,” he said.
“You would think, considering your mother’s affinity for potions, that you would have cracked a book before coming, Potter.” Snape’s lips slithered into a sneer. “What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”
“I don’t know,” said Harvey. He glanced over to see Hermione, who was now standing waving her arm. “But I think Hermione does.”
Snape turned his glare on her. “Sit down,” he snapped.
Hermione dropped into her seat and pouted.
“For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat, and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren’t you all copying this down?”
Every student grabbed for parchment and quills, and Harvey couldn’t help but once again look to his brother. It hurt to see that Harry was still standing behind the desk, book in hands, laughing.
Snape walked towards them and said, “And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter.”
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Harry enjoyed the first potions class thoroughly. As soon as Snape had arrived and started his everyday speech about the subject, he had anticipated the bombardment of questions that Harvey was sure to receive. And Snape didn’t disappoint. The same three questions that Snape had slung at him four years earlier had left Harvey stumped; Harry hadn’t been able to hold back the satisfaction of watching the boys face fall.
The rest of the class went as smooth as most first-years usually went. Gryffindor students had a horrible time, while Slytherin’s mostly swept by with a few grumbled complaints about quality from the potions master.
The real trouble came in Neville Longbottom, who, when faced with the wrath of Snape, looked like he was about to wet himself. The boy managed to melt a cauldron into a twisted blob and what had supposed to be a Cure for Boils was a mess that was running across the stone floor, burning holes in people’s shoes.
Harry stopped the potion from spreading too far with a flick of his wand, clearing it, but not before Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when it melted, had red boils springing up over his arms and legs.
“Idiot boy!” shouted Snape. “I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?”
The boy was sent off to the hospital wing with another Gryffindor, and Harry frowned as Snape blamed Harvey. While he enjoyed watching his brother squirm, he knew that Harvey wasn’t to blame. It should have been the boy's partner who prevented it.
The class finished with the students handing in a sample of their potions to Harry, who labelled and placed when all on a shelf for grading later. Harvey was the last student, with his and the Weasley’s sample, to walk up.
“Did I do something to Professor Snape?” asked Harvey.
Harry smirked. “No.” He took the potion and named it.
“Then why did no one else get cornered with questions?”
Harry said, “Snape has issues with your father.”
“But I’m not, Dad. And he hates Uncle Sirius too, doesn’t he?”
“That he does.”
“Then why does he like you and hate me?”
“I wouldn’t put in the effort to hate a student, even one who has relations such as you do,” said Snape.
Harvey jumped, not expecting Snape to be so close, and turned around.
“And Mr Black received the exact same treatment in his first potions class. Would you like to know the difference?” asked Snape.
Harvey took a step back, feeling uncomfortable under Snape’s glare.
“Mr Black answered every one of my questions correctly—without hesitation,” said Snape.
Harvey dropped his head, clearly embarrassed, and said, “Right, I’ll just be going.” He turned and walked out of the classroom to his friends who had been waiting by the door.
“I understand your apprehension about him.”
Harry didn’t respond. He simply handed the potions master the class registers and grabbed his bag. He has a charms class to get to.
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