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SD: CH151 - Potions
🕑 Added 2025-02-10 14:15:58 +0000 UTCHedwig’s hoots woke me up.
looked around me, and found myself still beneath the covers, in Hermione’s room, with the beautiful, naked and utterly delectable werewolf draped all over my lower body. Pushing the covers further down, I noted her head was lying on my leg, barely inches from my cock, which was still confined in the warm embrace of her fist. Hermione had probably gotten up later at night and decided to suck it some more, and fallen asleep in that position.
A hoot caught my attention. I turned towards the window sill and found Hedwig perched there, a letter bound to her talon. Making sure not to disturb Hermione’s rest, I slowly and silently got off the bed and approached her. Patting her head softly, I undid the letter. I’ll admit that I hadn’t quite given Hedwig the time and affection that the original Harry had given, but I had more than made up for it by giving her all kinds of treats and full freedom to soar the skies. Unfurling the parchment, I found a single line.
They might be on you. Be enigmatic. Will speak in person soon.
No name, no initials either. Not that Amelia needed a name to provide her identification. As soon as I read the letter, the parchment instantly began to disintegrate into motes of dust and flew away in the morning breeze. Whatever had happened, it was enough to make Amelia worried, and that couldn’t be a good thing.
I closed my eyes and absently patted Hedwig. “Guess it’s a whole different ball game this time around, isn’t it? And unlike before, they will see me coming from a mile afar. No, they want to see me coming and apprehend me red-handed.”
That was fine. I was no longer the frightened outsider that had found myself stuck in a fantasy character’s body in a fantasy world. I had grown by leaps and bounds, and my current status was proof of that. If Dumbledore wanted to play chess with me, I’d welcome him.
“Harry?”
I turned around, and found Hermione peeking at me from within the covers. Even with her hair all over the place, and that hilariously scrunched-up just-woken-up expression on her face, she looked absolutely delectable.
“Morning,” I told her.
“What’s that?”
“A letter,” I said. “From one of us.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes. “Is there a problem?”
“Nothing yet, I think, but situations might change soon.”
As per the original plan, I was supposed to return to Bones Manor on the coming weekend to attend my first session with Emmeline. There would be psychic instruction, but it could include anything from brainstorming on details of my previous life, Voldemort’s secret behind his immortality, runecraft lessons from Amelia, to a downright orgy between Amelia and Emmeline.
I was finally in position to make moves. With Voldemort trapped, and Lecherous Shrine active and manning my psychic boundaries, this was the right time to address the issue of his horcruxes. The longer I delayed things, the longer Voldemort might be able to continue tinkering with our connection, what with having endless time and equally endless vengeance at his recent defeat.
Not a task I could accomplish all by myself.
“Harry, about what you said about being from a different world?” said Hermione. “I believe we’re finally seeing the differences. The Triwizard feels a lot different than what you told us.”
Different. More. There would be a lot more exposure all around. Hogwarts would become a veritable hub of commercial activity. Which meant a lot many options, and a lot more prey. And also, a lot easier for Dumbledore to trap me if I wasn’t careful.
“Maybe,” I said at last. “Or maybe it’s the effects of what I did that’s affecting the world around us. I guess the best way is to ensure things play out in our favour and always keep an eye out. Constant vigilance, as our new DADA professor will tell us.”
“Think he’s the original one?”
I snorted. “He should. Or if he’s an imposter, he’s a damn good one and you should check for polyjuice. Maybe try summoning his hip flask. But if he’s really Moody, he likely will have it enchanted against summoning.”
I thought about the dream, and it's odd focus on the Goblet of Fire. Was my own mind playing tricks on me, or was the horcrux in my head reacting to something?
Either way, dillydallying wouldn’t solve a thing. Plus, I had two significant classes to attend. And either could prove to be troubling for me if things went wrong.
Potions, and Defence Against the Dark Arts.
The former, because apart from being a right pain in the arse, Severus Snape would likely attempt to legilimize me for information to report to Dumbledore. And the latter, because real Moody or an imposter, either meant dealing with a paranoid bastard that would once again, report to either Dumbledore, or use their knowledge to their own devices.
Neither was a soothing thought.
Interesting fact. The frequency of class distribution had been drastically altered this year. With students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang practising living in the castle come next month for the remainder of the scholastic term, and several other schools offering workshops to promote themselves, Hogwarts too would be offering multiple seminars and workshops on the subjects it was best known for, or at least, had the best ICW NEWT-ranking in.
Transfiguration. Charms. Herbology. And unsurprisingly perhaps, Ancient Runes.
Turns out Minerva McGonagall was an accomplished Transfiguration mistress whose research on the animagus transformation made her extremely coveted in many countries, but she had loyally stuck to Hogwarts for decades. Flitwick was an undisputed duelling champion, and the only half-goblin in history to achieve two masteries — Charms and Enchanting. Babbling had already shared her credentials with me earlier, so no surprises there. Hogwarts was also one of the largest reservoirs of magical plants in the entire world, and Pomona Sprout was a famous herbologist. According to Anastasia, Sprout’s friendly demeanor was very much a facade for the genius underneath. Compared to that, Severus Snape, Potions’ Master, had little to cite under his achievements, and his history as a Death-Eater worked against his already limited credentials.
It certainly didn’t help that Hogwarts had a pitiful number of NEWT Potion students, since barely anyone not from Slytherin wanted to bear with the dungeon bat after five years of being tormented. And Severus Snape was too arrogant to accept anyone with less than Outstanding in their OWLs.
No wonder Amelia wasn’t fond of Dumbledore’s pet Death-Eater.
It really made me wonder what Dumbledore was playing at, what with institutioning Binns in charge of History of Magic, and Snape in charge of Potions.
With the Triwizard coming up, Hogwarts was supposed to conduct workshops in subjects they were performing well on the ICW level — Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology, Runes, and interestingly, Care of Magical Creatures. Quite naturally, those classes were pushed up in frequency, while others, like Potions, were significantly lessened.
Still didn’t stop Snape from putting Potions on the list on our first day back.
As luck would have it, it was with Slytherins. I didn’t know if it was just coincidence, or if Snape intentionally put Gryffindors with Slytherins just to demonstrate his anti-Gryffindor bias, or if the bastard just wanted to make me look like a fool while awarding points to his favourite ferret for breathing and looking attentive, but I do admire the sadism.
Too bad he isn’t dealing with the Harry Potter of the last three years.
It was probably worse that Draco was no longer a Malfoy hiding behind his father’s skirts.
And the worst part? My affinity for Alchemy, of which Potions was a derivative, had grown by leaps and bounds. It was nowhere reaching the apex like Charms or the Dark Arts or Defence, it was far, far higher than the measly 2% Harry Potter originally had.
I smiled.
Should be fun.
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Severus Snape was sure that something was wrong today.
It was his first lesson of the year with the fourth-year Gryffindors and Slytherins this year. But suddenly… something was wrong… different? Puzzling? He couldn’t put a finger on the description to aptly describe the oddity of the situation, but there was something that was definitely disturbing.
So he stood in front of his classroom and looked at the class brewing their potions… trying to place exactly what was giving him this wrongness.
Just what was going on?
Then his eyes centred on his go-to source of annoyance, entertainment and self-loathing nicely wrapped in a single package with messy black hair and bright green eyes.
Harry Potter.
And then it hit him.
Harry Potter! Of course!
Ordinarily, Draco Mal — No, he corrected himself out of his long, standing habit. Draco wasn’t a Malfoy anymore. And with the changed circumstances, the boy was no longer taunting Potter, something he would have done multiple times by now. And normally, Neville imbecile Longbottom would have blown up his cauldron three times by now. The Weasley brat’s cauldron should have been frothing with the wrong colour, just two steps short of blowing up. And half the Slytherin girls would have sniggered whenever Severus called Potter out, just the moment he was about to retaliate at Malfoy for attempting to sabotage his potion.
Again, not Malfoy. Not anymore.
It was perhaps silly of him to do it, but he couldn’t help it. Potter looked so much like his blasted father, that seeing him being sniggered at by the girls while Draco pranked him was oddly vindicating. He would perhaps have left Granger alone, if the girl didn’t have the nasty habit of showing off every time. He knew perfectly well what happened to muggleborns that outshone their fellow purebloods, and no, being the best friend of Harry Potter was simply not enough.
Speaking of Potter… something was utterly wrong with the boy.
He had changed during the summer, no, after the dementor attack. He hid it well, but Severus had noticed it. There was an underlying layer of panic, coupled with an urgency to do something. Not the usual recklessness of the Gryffindor Golden Boy, or a psychotic fear from his harrowing experience of nearly having his soul sucked out.
This was different. Even before the term had vanished, the boy had spent every waking moment casting spells on the third-floor corridor. Severus had watched, under disillusionment charms, at the focussed diligence with which the brat kept casting the spells over and over, studying every attempt and performing better every single time. Even with his limited arsenal, Severus had no doubt that the boy would turn out to be extraordinarily good as far as his casting speed was concerned.
And then came the summer. The summer where everything changed.
Oh no, he wasn’t even referring to the maelstrom of misfortune that had struck Lucius and his family. Severus Snape was not religious, but he did believe in accumulated karma. All that wrongdoing had to come back to bite Lucius in the end. It always did.
He was referring to Potter. While others might be concerned about Potter taking up the mantle of his forebears and gaining fortune and political authority, Severus had sneered and ignored it without a second thought. The boy was a Gryffindor, and obviously he had someone, likely that Jones brat, that had informed him of his true status as the scion of a Noble House, and perhaps taught him how to ease the gears for himself like all purebloods did.
Or at least, that was his theory until school began.
Potter had changed.
Not just in his physical appearance. That had of course changed. Gone were the boyish looks and in its stead, the face of James Potter now stood out even more, somehow, merged with the aristocratic sharpness of Sirius Black’s face And the worst part? Dropping the glasses now drew even more attention to those haunting green eyes, that reminded him even more of his greatest mistake and his greatest loss.
The real shift was in the way the boy carried himself. Confident. Powerful. Dominating. It wasn’t James Potter’s arrogant swagger, or Sirius Black’s callous, alpha attitude. It was… different. He didn’t simply walk. He stalked. Like a predator. Alluring and intimidating in a single form.
Change like that didn’t come in one summer.
And the worst part? Potter had killed someone. No, not someone. Many. Severus’s own involvement with the Death Eaters had long taught him how to distinguish these things from the rest. He could tell by the way the boy moved, how he talked, how his eyes shone with a lethality that lurked just beneath the surface. There was a killer stalking the halls of Hogwarts, and nobody was seemingly paying any attention to him.
The question was of course, how? Who had the boy killed? Someone in the World Cup attack? No, that was too quick too soon. If not for the fact that he knew that Albus Dumbledore would definitely know if something threatened his precious little Gryffindor prince, Severus would swear the boy was an imposter.
Whatever. Something else was going on. And he would soon find out.
His robes billowing, he walked towards the target of his suspicions.
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Anybody that has read all seven of the Harry Potter books can swear up and down that there is little to potion-making other than following the directions written on the blackboard, ignore all the soot, the smoke and the fumes arising out of bubbling cauldrons, put the ingredients in proper order, stir clockwise or anticlockwise or in freaking circles based on whatever the textbook claimed, and lo and behold, your magic potion was ready. And with Hermione successfully brewing the Polyjuice potion — a NEWT-level job by herself in her second year, there is little to convince that the only reason students failed in Potions was because Severus Snape was an awful teacher.
It was just like Snape had quoted back in first year. Without any silly wand waving, and with his absolutely atrocious teaching, one could hardly consider potion-making as magic.
The truth is a little different.
Uh, minus the awful teacher bit. Snape is a terrible professor. A brilliant potions master perhaps, but a horrendously bad teacher.
The real difference was however, in the basic understanding. Obviously you won’t be getting that in the original books, so you better pay attention.
Potions, or at least, most potions, are all made pretty much the same way. First you need a base to form the essential liquid content, then something to engage each of the senses, and then something for the mind and something else for the spirit. Seven ingredients, all in all, and they’re different for each and every potion, and, depending on the type of potion, perhaps an extra ingredient, for the person that uses them. Human hair, for instance, in Polyjuice.
Today, we were brewing the Shrinking solution, a potion that caused the drinker to shrink to a smaller form. When brewed properly, it would emit a bright greenish hue.Incorrectly brewed, the colour could shift from gaining a slight purplish hue to becoming a lethal poison. Despite the name, making another human being drink the Shrinking solution was an offence and would land the perpetrator in Azkaban for a period of one week. Apparently Samuel Plunkett, a wizard that lived sometime in the sixteenth century, poured Shrinking solution into all the wells in Winchcombe in Oxfordshire, as a way of getting revenge for the muggles abusing and hurting his family. So potent was the potion that the drinking population had shrunk to the size of hedgehogs, and Samuel Plunkett terrorised them further by chasing them around in hobnail boots.
It was a nightmare and a half for the Obliviator squads.
Currently, the only legal use of the Shrinking potion was on plants and livestock.
The kind of trivia you remember when you have an eidetic memory.
With Ron deciding to stick to Seamus and Dean, his new friends, Hermione had turned her attention to help poor Neville, a help that unfortunately didn’t help Neville at all.
Hermione tried to channel a genius in every class she was taking, and that included Potions. I blame JKR for actually cementing that notion with the polyjuice event in the second year. The fact is, Hermione is an above-average brewer. She was meticulous, that much was certain, but it only worked so long as she followed the texts to the letter for standard potion-making.
But the moment you stepped into NEWT-level potions, well, things were slightly different. You needed to understand the why more than the what, and that required an open mind that Hermione lacked.
Not that it deterred Hermione from looking proud of her work, but any potion-master would feel ashamed if he had produced something like that.
Obviously, I couldn’t blame Hermione for that. She didn’t know better, and didn’t have anyone to tell her better. In fact, without Walburga’s wraith running me ragged while making me brew all sorts of potions for my rituals, I’d have perhaps thought her to be a talented brewer.
“No, Neville,” Hermione hissed. “Don’t do it like that. You need to crush it. Can’t you read?”
Like I said. No help at all.
Still, she was mine. And I certainly needed her to diligently brew potions for me in the foreseeable future. She did help me brew the Potent Exstimulo Potion after all.
“Hermione,” I offered gently. “Crushing won’t help it.”
“Harry,” she replied tartly. “I understand you’ve learned all sorts of new things, but getting a new potions cauldron doesn’t make you better at potions than I am.”
I sighed. “Actually, it does. In part. Why do you think half of the students have moonsilver cauldrons instead of pewter?”
“Because they think that their daddy’s gold can compensate for their talent?”
I sighed. Like I said, ever so steadily losing all faith in my knowledge from the books.
“It’s because moonsilver is magically inert, and creates an insulated barrier for the magic of the ingredients to work properly, making them more potent. And for the record, the instructions on the board were to make the shrivel figs bleed.”
“And the book says that crushing is the way to do that.”
“The hard way it is,” I said. With her watching, I carefully peeled the shrivel figs, their inner tissues bleeding a ruby red blood, letting them fall into the brimming cauldron. I carefully adjusted the heat to steadily rise, and stirred the cauldron in clockwise directions. As expected, a light tinge of yellow began to show, like it was supposed to.
“How are you doing that?” she demanded.
“It isn’t only the actual physical ingredients that are important, Hermione,” I said. “You need to consider the meaning that they carry too. At times, it’s the significance the ingredients have for the person making the potion, and for those who will be using it. Oh, and of course, the sort of cauldron you’re using also affects the quality of your potion.”
“Bleed, not crush,” Hermione said carefully, eyeing my cauldron.
I smiled. Meticulous and smart. Like I said, she hadn’t known better and the one who should’ve taught her better hadn’t.
In the end, like everything else, it was Snape’s fault.
I watched Neville follow us and repeat our actions, albeit a little clumsily. Neville grew up to be a herbologist in the books, and then took over Professor Sprout’s role after she retired. Chances were he already knew what I was talking about, but his massive lack of confidence and fear of Snape made him an absolute failure in the subject he was supposed to naturally shine. For someone supposed to be a fighter on the Light side, Severus Snape had caused more than his fair share of crimes.
Well, things would change now. If needed, I’d have to arrange for extra tutoring for Neville under Anastasia.
House Longbottom was an essential piece that I couldn't let slip away. Apart from being a potential prophecy candidate, Neville was the next Lord of House, and House Longbottom was the key to establishing monopoly in the herb trade, as well as gaining a strong support from the traditionalist ‘Light’ side of the Wizengamot.
It was why I would let Gideon have his way and get Hannah contracted to Neville.
“So, did you pick up potion skills, when you were… you know?” asked Hermione.
I clicked my tongue. For all her meticulousness, the girl could be woefully obvious about things best kept secret. I’d have to change that.
“Another potions master helped me dust off the basics.”
Her eyes widened.
I nodded, letting her conclude whatever she came up with. Probably Anastasia.
“Speaking of,” she said. “Notice something interesting about Malfoy?”
“He isn’t Malfoy anymore, Hermione.”
“He’ll always be Malfoy to me, whatever name he takes,” she said stubbornly.
I snorted, glancing at the blonde ferret. Surprisingly, it seemed his arrogance hadn’t quite taken the hit I had expected it to be. Or maybe he thought that pretending everything was hunky dory would solve everything?
“He’s Draco Rosier now,” said Neville, his voice barely above a whisper. At my gaze, he swallowed and looked apprehensive. I nodded for him to continue.
“His maternal grandmother is Druella Rosier. The Malfoy name is gone, but he can still take that name up.”
“I thought both his grandparents were dead,” said Hermione.
Neville nodded. “They are. But his great-grandmother Vinda Rosier is still alive.”
I narrowed my eyes. Vinda Rosier? An image of a crone standing on the platform came to mind. And with that came the foreboding feeling I had felt back then.
“Vinda Rosier….” I murmured. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
“It should,” said Hermione. “Vinda Rosier was Gellert Grindelwald’s right-hand. She was captured by the British forces, and granted diplomatic immunity after she turned state witness and revealed Grindelwald’s secret base. It was after that that the ICW forces surrounded Nurmengard and Professor Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald.”
She paused and looked at us blinking owlishly. “Honestly,” she said, blushing a little. “Don’t you read?”
“I think I’d remember it if Binns decided to talk about anything other than goblin rebellions.”
“He’s right,” said Neville, a little less timid. “He only covers recent history from the sixth year.”
Of course. Cover the actual useful stuff after killing any appreciation for the subject with five years of droning nonsense.
“Okay, okay,” said Hermione, her cheeks pink at getting caught with that little slip. “It wasn’t in History of Magic. It was in the Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century. I read it in the summer after you know… you told me stuff.”
Ah. That made sense. Still…. Rosier, huh?
I glanced at Draco interacting with his fellow Slytherins. Honestly, I had expected Draco to show up in the train, and if not, then at least attempt to humiliate, insult and if nothing worked, then brazenly attack me out of his misplaced sense of righteousness.
I blinked and considered my recent actions.
Okay, perhaps not misplaced. I had technically snatched his birthright, or at least, what he believed was his birthright.
Still, not one confrontation after that train encounter? Was this under the directions of his new guardian? Was I dealing with an older and more dangerous substitute for Lucius Malfoy? I idly remembered that a certain Tywin Rosier had been found dead at the World Cup. Had I unintentionally ended the Rosier heir? Was that why Draco had gotten the spotlight?
Great. More homework for Hestia. Poor girl would probably cry at the sheer volume of work she had to deal with. Especially with her new job as Amelia’s assistant.
And studying for the job of Lead Liaison Minister.
The sudden sound of footsteps broke my musings.
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Severus Snape wasn’t sure what to think.
The potion… Potter’s potion was actually on its way to perfection. Of course, there were still a number of steps before that happened, but that faint tinge of yellow wasn’t supposed to show up in the standard recipe printed in the textbook. That would only happen if —
“What is going on, Potter?”
The brat had the temerity to actually look up, yet skillfully kept his eyes centred at the tip of Severus’s nose. Even his expression had the careful mix of intimidation and confusion. An apt mask for someone that couldn’t possibly be a Gryffindor.
“Did I do something wrong, professor?”
Snape’s answer came in the form of a surface Legilimency attack. It was far more difficult, since Potter wasn’t meeting his gaze.
“Did I make a mistake, professor?” the brat repeated.
“...No,” he said, inwardly scowling. “How did you get the yellowish shade?”
“I peeled the shrivel figs.” Potter paused, eyeing Longbottom’s work. “No, Neville. You have to wait and let it heat until the potion turns purple, and only then add the rat spleens.”
Severus narrowed his eyes. “Show me your textbook.”
“My textbook?”
“Your textbook.”
Potter frowned, but acquiesced. Severus grabbed the textbook and quickly rummaged through the pages.
No old, decaying pages.
No writings by his own hand on the edges.
Nothing. Just a brand new fourth-year textbook.
“And this is the book you have been using?”
“Should I not?” The fake expression in the boy’s eyes made Severus want to cast a curse at his blasted face.
“Why did you peel it, when the instructions in the book clearly say to crush it? Or do you think you know better than potion-masters? Just like your arrogant father! Five points from Gryffindor for recklessness and another five for not following instructions! Detention tomorrow evening!”
Yes. He thought. Show me the rage. Open your mind. Show me your secrets.
His growing annoyance found vindication when the boy actually met his gaze. “Actually professor,” he said. “I was reading some of my mother’s old school books I found from our Family Vault. Reading them made things a little easier to understand. I remembered this potion from that text and followed the instructions.”
Severus’s eyes widened, meeting those blasted green eyes — Lily’s eyes, and a sudden guilt squeezed his mind, and seeped downwards.
“Your—”
“Lily Evans,” said Potter. “She was in your year in Gryffindor. Maybe you knew her?”
If not for his Occlumency, Severus would have staggered back. Instead, he just stared directly into the boy’s eyes. He barely saw a flickering image of the boy reading a potions text, before he was pushed out. The next thing he knew, he was staring at a set of confused green eyes.
That threw him for a loop. No mental defences whatsoever.
So normal. So ordinary.
“Uh, professor,” asked Hermione. “Did we do wrong by peeling the figs?”
Severus ignored the urge to sigh. That confirmed it. “No, the instructions, Miss Granger, ask you to make it bleed. Not crush it to paste. You’d notice it too if you weren’t too busy showing off your skill at guzzling books.”
The girl looked mutinous, but didn’t say anything. Strange, even with lycanthropy, there was little lack of self-control. A stronger immunity, or Lupin’s weakness? Could be either.
He regarded Potter’s cauldron again. “This… is a passable attempt. Not the standard I expect from students looking to continue after their OWLs, but close enough that Hogwarts’ most famous celebrity just might make the cut.”
All three of them stared owlishly at him.
“While it pains to admit that you would understand by reading another’s textbook what I have been trying to drill into your head over the last three years, I suppose some things cannot be helped. You are your father’s son, after all. Make sure you do not fall back to your usual levels of mediocrity.”
“Uh… thank you,” said Potter.
“Now finish it,” he said, and turned around, and left. And as he did, he heard Granger whisper. “What the bloody hell was that?”
“Language, Hermione.”’
Comments
Critical_Hit
I gasped soooo hard at the "She was in your year line" that is f*cking cruel...i love it
Hadrian v.E.
Um, no, Harry definitely not should treat his girls like chattel and gift Hannah to Longbottom. He has Anastasia and thus establish their own sizeable share of the market.
Alatoic
Life in the castle will be way more fun for Harry, similar but different to the books. Way better explanation of potions and Harry's give a good answer to Snape, will trow him out of the real reason. By the way, Did you have an answer Why have not Dumbledore done something about History of magic (could have 2 teachers) and why he let Snape crush so many students so no more potions master are made? Draco Rosier, for some reason I believe he will become quite dangerous if he learn from her great grandmother, not the spells, but they way of thinking, also the political and monetary power may be less than the Malfoys but old family is old family. Harry's helping Neville is a good move, can be a great ally, just need to train in better and give him a girl as reward and the alliance is complete.
