Foreshadowing the Unexpected

Chapter 20 - Changes and Adjustments

Discipline is the refining fire by which talent becomes ability.--Roy L. Smith

Despite the fact, that Adam had one more day in St. Mungo's, Connor was taken to platform nine and three-quarters at the usual time. He had enlisted the help of Ian and Lucy, but they had been unable to sway their parents' decision that Connor should return to school before Adam was brought home.

Connor was disappointed. He knew that there was really no reason for him to stay home: Adam was almost back to normal, and there wasn't any way for Connor to help him recover that wouldn't be disastrous.

Connor forgot much of his anxiety about Adam during the train ride back to Hogwarts. He understood the close call he had had when he healed Adam as much as he did, and what could have happened to him if he no one had stopped him. Aunt Hermione had kept him up very late one night reinforcing those facts, until he had been hanging his head in shame over his reckless behaviour. Then she had surprised him by bursting into tears and hugging him tightly afterward. Connor would never understand women.

His friends had all heard about Connor's collision accident with Adam, though none of them knew what had truly happened. They all expressed concern for Adam, but soon moved on to other subjects. He listened with half an ear to the conversations going on around him as Zack talked about his cruise and Ivy told them about her holiday. Quentin complained about the constant owls Vanessa had received all holiday long from her boyfriend.

Connor's mind was mostly on the days ahead. He had completed his holiday reading and all of the extra homework that he had been asked to do. He had even successfully managed to eliminate his evening Occlumency without too much trouble, though he found adjusting to the change left him feeling a little tired.

Still, he wasn't looking forward to returning to the daily grind of classes, and then more classes and studying on top of that.

The only bright spot in the near future was the upcoming Gryffindor/Slytherin game. Practices for the match were sure to be intense, and Connor felt like it was up to him to make sure that the boy replacing him on the team fit in. Even though Connor would not be allowed to play in the real game, he looked forward to the preparation; many of the plays they'd be practicing were ones he'd helped develop.

To Connor's surprise, Rupert stopped by their compartment to say that he had heard about Adam and to ask if he was all right.

"He'll be just fine," Connor told Rupert warily. Now that he thought about it, he hadn't really had any trouble from Rupert during the weeks before Christmas, if you didn't count spotting him in Hogsmeade. "How was your Christmas?"

"It was good. My dad bought me just about everything I could've asked for," Rupert said in a slightly bragging tone, but soon deflated a bit to admit, "Too bad none of it will work at Hogwarts."

Connor felt bad for the other boy, and could see at once that his father had tried to use extravagant presents to try to convince his son not to return to school.

"At least you'll have loads of fun with it at the holidays," Connor said consolingly.

"I suppose," Rupert said with a shrug. "My brother Kyle got me a really nice lens for my camera, though. That will work at Hogwarts with no problem at all."

"That's nice, then." Connor smiled encouragingly. He wondered what had brought on this sudden friendly attitude.

"Listen," Rupert said quietly, so that only Connor could hear him. "Thanks for not telling anyone about me being in Hogsmeade that day."

Connor blinked. So that's what this was about. "I hate to tell you this, Rupert," Connor said, "but I did tell. I guess they were more worried about what was happening to me than about punishing you. I'd be more careful in the future."

Rupert looked at Connor for a minute, as if trying to determine if he was lying, and then grunted out, "Well, as long as they're not going to punish me, I guess."

Connor said nothing as he watched Rupert leave the compartment. Snape had probably told the Headmistress that he would deal with the matter, and then conveniently failed to take points from Slytherin for the offence. Connor thought that Rupert would do well to lie low for a while--Snape was bound to be watching him for any slip-ups.

The rest of the train ride was uneventful, and Connor ate his dinner in the Great Hall with his friends, feeling content. It wasn't until the students had finished their meal that the surprise came.

"May I have your attention, please?"

Professor McGonagall's voice carried over the noise of hundreds of voices, and everyone settled down immediately. "I have two announcements to make before sending you all off to your dormitories," she said calmly. "The first is that Mr. Filch, the caretaker here at Hogwarts for many, many years, has resigned his post, and has retired."

McGonagall paused in her speech for the inevitable outbreak of murmuring among the students. Connor simply looked at his friends, thinking that it seemed obvious that the man had been losing his tenuous grasp on sanity every since Mrs. Norris had died.

"The second announcement I wish to make," McGonagall said commandingly, "is the appointment of a new caretaker. Mr. Hank Sweeper has applied and been granted the position in Mr. Filch's place. Though he is, at present, unable to join us for dinner, I hope that you will all make him feel welcome and do everything in your power to make his job a rewarding one. All of the same rules that you were used to under Mr. Filch are still in effect, and you will be expected to abide by them. Thank you for your attention, and I recommend you get a good night's sleep. Classes resume at their normal times tomorrow morning. Good night."

The students took this as their cue, and began filtering out of the Great Hall, toward their dormitories.

"The shortcut?" Quentin asked as they neared a familiar tapestry.

With a smile, they disappeared one by one into the hidden passageway and up to Gryffindor Tower ahead of everyone else.

------------0-----------

The next morning, Connor was woken unexpectedly by a tapping on his dormitory window. A glance at his bedside clock told him that it wasn't even six in the morning: he had another hour's worth of sleep coming.

The tapping persisted, and Connor reluctantly left his warm bed to see Cliodna, his new owl, now perched on the ledge outside.

"Clio!" he said in surprise.

He looked around at the other beds, but all of the other boys seemed to still be asleep. He opened the small window quickly and let his owl inside, before closing it up again against the freezing air outside.

Clio had hopped up to Connor's shoulder, and perched there with a soft hoot, and so he moved back to his bed where he could get his cold feet back under the blankets.

"What have you got for me?" Connor asked the owl, holding out his arm and watched her flutter down to sit on his wrist.

Clio simply hooted again and nibbled at his fingers. There didn't seem to be any note attached to her leg, nor was there anything in her beak.

"You didn't lose a letter, did you?" he asked accusingly. Before coming back to school - he'd only had a week while Adam was in the hospital - but he hadn't completely ignored her, either. She seemed to have a very sweet disposition, and was very affectionate and smart.

She snapped her beak at the suggestion that she had failed to do her job correctly, and then hooted softly again. She carefully walked sideways up his arm until she reached the crook of his elbow, and then brought her face up close to Connor's. Then she hooted softly and butted her head gently against his chin in a sort of caress.

"You didn't have a letter, did you?" Connor asked with amused exasperation. "You were just lonely, huh?"

Clio hooted again in answer, and fluttered up to Connor's shoulder to softly nibble his ear and hair.

"Potter," Andrew Tillman's sleepy voice came from across the room.

Connor looked over to see the other boy peering at him from behind his bed hangings and smiled apologetically.

"Sorry," he whispered.

"I reckon your crazy new owl's in love with you," Andrew said with a chuckle before flopping backward against his pillow again.

Clio snapped her beak at Andrew in apparent derision, then went back to cooing over Connor's hair.

He could be right, Connor thought as Clio continued to preen his hair. He felt mildly ridiculous, but she seemed to be enjoying it so much, he didn't have the heart to make her stop.

"Clio," he said after a few minutes of thorough grooming. He reached up a hand and gently stroked her breast feathers. "I need to practice my Occlumency now. You've seen me do it before at home--remember? I need you to either go back to the Owlery, or sit really, really still and quiet until I'm done, okay?"

Clio hooted happily, and Connor tried to shush her. She fluttered from his shoulder to the windowsill, making Connor get up to let her out into the chilly morning air. It was too dark to tell which direction she had gone, but Connor assumed it was to the Owlery.

With a sigh, he mentally waved goodbye to an extra hour's sleep; Clio had been fussing over him for over twenty minutes. He decided to use the time to Occlude, and maybe he would still have time to take a shower before the bathroom became too crowded.

--------------o----------------

Connor got his first look at the new caretaker on his way to breakfast. The man was strangely pale, bordering on pasty looking, and wore drab gray robes that put Connor in mind of a prison uniform. He blended in with the surrounding walls astonishingly well, and Connor only saw him because he almost ploughed right into him while walking by.

"Sorry," Connor said, narrowly avoiding the man. He was relieved to see that Mr. Sweeper (his name was embroidered on the front of his robes in a darker grey thread) was smiling blandly.

"No problem," Sweeper said in a pleasant voice. "Happens all the time."

His eyes were slightly sunken in, and had the same pale grey as his robes, and he had thinning, mousy hair. He seemed to be completely unremarkable in every way possible--Connor found it kind of disturbing. Mr Sweeper eyed Connor for a moment, as if memorising his face, and then continued on his way.

"That was weird," said Ivy as Mr Sweeper disappeared up a flight of stairs.

"Creepy's more like it," Zack said.

"I didn't see if he was carrying a wand or not," said Rachel as they continued on down the corridor. "Do you think he's a wizard?"

"I dunno," Ivy answered. "I guess we'll find out sooner or later."

"Quidditch practice this afternoon," Quentin said, effectively changing the subject from the odd new caretaker. "You up for it, Con? Rachel said you were feeling good as new."

"I'll be there," Connor said with determination.

"Good thing, too," Ivy said under her breath as they took their seats at the Gryffindor table. "Whitney's on a tear. She's insisting on daily practices until the match, in case the holiday made us soft."

"We've still got two weeks until the match," Connor groaned. "When does she expect us to do out homework?"

As if Connor had conjured it up, the morning post arrived, with a letter for Connor attached to a school owl. Another owl landed on his shoulder, and he could tell without looking, by the way she nipped his ear, that it was Clio.

Connor opened his letter while Ivy, Zack and Quentin admired Clio. It was from Professor Lyra, and simply said, "I have been informed of your recent accident, and wish to check on your defences. Tonight, eight o'clock. Prof. T. Lyra."

Connor realised that it was going to be a very busy day, and piled enough food on his plate to last him until lunch. Clio sat contentedly on his shoulder, eating the bits of bacon he held up for her, and then took flight when she'd had enough.

"Hungry?" Quentin asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Busy day ahead," Connor said around a mouth full of potatoes. "Need fuel."

Rachel shook her head in amusement, and said, "Sometimes I think you fot the wrong parents. You're more like my dad than anyone else in the family."

Connor merely smiled and kept eating.

It wasn't until they were ready to leave for their classes that Professor Snape appeared, seemingly out of nowhere.

"Mr. Potter," he said without preamble. "You will come to Potions classroom number three tomorrow evening at seven o'clock sharp to assist me in brewing."

"Seven o'clock, sir?" Connor asked, his mood deflating a bit. He was not foolish enough to believe that Snape would rearrange his brewing schedule so that Connor wouldn't miss out on Gryffindor's practice."

"That is what I said," Snape said dryly. "Do not be late."

Connor watched him go, ignoring Quentin's elbow in his back, urging him to ask for a later brewing time. It wouldn't do any good, and would only serve to make Snape irritable.

"I've got to get to class," Connor sighed. "If you see Whitney, could you tell her--"

"No way!" Quentin said with a chuckle. "Nice try, but I don't fancy being yelled at this morning. You need to tell her yourself."

"Some friend you are," Connor groused half-heartedly, and departed for Care Of Magical Creatures with the Hufflepuffs and Slytherins.

----------------o-----------------

Whitney took the news badly when Connor told her that he would be leaving practice early that night, and that he would not be available for practice the next night, either.

"It's just with these extra classes--" Connor tried to explain at lunchtime, to Whitney. But she wasn't in the mood to listen.

"Look Connor," she interrupted abruptly. "I know you've got extra work, but you've got to make an effort, here. I really hated to lose you from the first team, and I was counting on you to help get Randall ready for the game. If you can't even manage to come to practices for that, there's not much point of you being on the team at all."

"Would you like to be the one to tell Lyra or Snape that I can't come to the special lessons they've set up just for me, because of Quidditch? I'm sure Snape would be happy to get up at five in the morning to accommodate you," Connor snapped. "I said I'd help Randall, and I will. I'm just going to have to cut it off a bit early tonight. If you stuck to the normal schedule, we wouldn't even be having a practice tomorrow, and I wouldn't have to miss anything!"

Whitney looked slightly shocked at Connor's outburst. He could tell that she had believed that he was the one who was wrong in this argument, and had expected him to promise that he'd be at every practice.

"I'll concede that I didn't post a new practice schedule with anyone but Madam O'Leary--it's possible Snape didn't know his lesson would overlap our practice time," Whitney admitted grudgingly, making Connor calm down slightly. "Still, you can't be missing practices. We're depending on you. How do you plan on helping Randall if you're not even there?"

"I'm not sure," Connor said with a shrug. "I guess that depends on Randall's schedule. I can work with him one-on-one in the mornings before breakfast, if that would work. I might even be able to get Rachel up to keep for us. But I can't miss any of my lessons, or my homework."

"Your schedule's too full, Connor," Whitney told him with a sigh, also deflating. "Anyone can see that. Are you sure you couldn't get Professor Lyra do her lessons with you earlier, before practices?"

"I can try talking to her, but don't count on it. She's doing these lessons with me as a favour, and I really can't make demands from her," Connor said. "I'm pretty sure she thinks that her lessons are more important than Quidditch."

Whitney reluctantly accepted that Connor didn't have a lot of recourse, and that he would just have to do his best to make practices when his lessons permitted. Connor promised to try to make up the time he missed with special one-on-one training with Randall in their off time.

After lunch, Connor had Advanced Potions, which was a practical lesson. They were brewing a variant of a mild Sleep-Inducing Draught, and Connor felt his turned out fairly well as he bottled it up and presented it for marking.

"Too cloudy," Snape commented as he held Connor's sample up to the light. "I believe you must have lost count of your counter-clockwise stirring in the third step."

"Yes, sir," Connor agreed, making a mental note of it. He looked around to see that there wasn't a line behind him, and took a deep breath. "Sir? About tomorrow: I was wondering if it would be possible to arrange for a later time?"

"No, it wouldn't," Snape answered blandly. "I'll see you at seven o'clock sharp."

"Yes, sir," Connor answered glumly. At least I tried.

---------------0---------------

"You're late, Connor," Professor Lyra said when he arrived, out of breath, for his lesson. Her tone was more conversational sounding, than scolding.

"I lost track of time during practice," Connor said while he tried to catch his breath.

"Ah, yes," she said as she looked over his muddy uniform. "Your captain would not excuse you from practice this evening?"

"Not with a match coming up in two weeks," Connor said with a little incredulous match. "She said the same thing about this lesson, actually."

"I think you need your Occlumency more than Quidditch practice, Connor," Professor Lyra said reprovingly.

"I told her you'd say that," Connor smiled.

Connor kept in mind that since Professor Lyra had been home schooled, she had no real first-hand knowledge of inter-house rivalry.

"Did you?" Lyra asked, sounding surprised. "You don't agree?"

"It's not that I don't agree," Connor said quickly. "Especially after what happened on Christmas. I just wish there was a way I could do both."

"I'm not an ogre, Connor," Lyra said dryly. "I'm sure we could work around your practice schedule in the future."

"Really?" Connor asked happily. "That would be great!"

"We can talk about it after your lesson," she said kindly.

With that promise lifting his spirits, Connor sat across from Professor Lyra on the floor. They had both become accustomed to sitting together this way, and it didn't seem odd anymore.

"I'm going to cast a light Legilimens on you," she told Connor as they began. "Did you manage to successfully break from using Occlumency each night?"

"Yeah," Connor said. "Do you think that might be why I had the trouble with healing Adam at Christmas?"

"It's possible that the adjustment my have temporarily weakened your defences," Professor Lyra said. "But I think it was more that you panicked at seeing your brother hurt, and that made instinct take over. That's why I want to use a Legilimens on you tonight. I want to survey any damage to the permanent wall we're trying to build up in your mind."

Connor sat patiently, and tried not to squirm as Professor Lyra's mind prodded at the edges on his own. It was a strange sort of familiarity that was hard to explain, but Connor knew that he would only have trusted a select few people to look inside of him this way.

After a few minutes, Professor Lyra broke her Legilimens on Connor and sighed heavily. "You don't do anything by half-measures, do you, Connor?"

"Is it that bad?" Connor asked with a wince. "I mean, I've felt normal and all."

"You mental shields took a battering," she said, "and then they began to heal themselves the next time you practiced Occlumency after the incident with Adam."

"Isn't that what's supposed to happen?" Connor asked curiously.

"Yes, and no," Lyra said. "Try to picture your mental defences like a brick wall around your mind. The bricks were damaged, and you did your best to fix them. It's good that you've managed to patch everything up so well and that you feel normal, but at the same time, that wall still isn't as strong as it would be if it had never been damaged. Do you follow what I am saying?"

"I understand what you're saying," he said. "What I don't understand is what I can do about it."

"With a the brick wall having been repaired, it loses some of its integrity, but is still strong. However, repeated instances of damage and patching will leave your wall severely compromised." Lyra explained. "What we need to do is to destroy the existing wall, and build another in its place."

"How do we do that?" Connor asked. It sounded like hard work.

"It's much like your previous Occlumency sessions, actually," Lyra said. "You were so dependent on practicing it three times a day, that you allowed the wall to deteriorate to the point that it needed complete restoration each time."

Connor supposed that made sense. It was good to finally see, and be able to measure against how strong he had become since he had started working with Professor Lyra. He hadn't really noticed it before. If what she was saying now was true, is mind was stronger at subconsciously defending itself against outside influences.

"How do I begin?" Connor asked.

"First, you want to meditate. Get a clear vision in your head of the sky, like you normally do," Lyra instructed in a soft, encouraging voice while Connor closed his eyes and began to follow her instructions. "Now, I want you to let the clouds build. Don't try to force them out. You will be vulnerable for a while to all of the outside distractions, so you will need to concentrate. By letting the clouds appear and grow, you're bringing down the wall we talked about. I want you to open yourself up as much as possible, while still remaining aloof. Don't allow you mind to linger on any one image."

Connor was tense as he visualized the clouds in his mind build into large thunderclouds, towering over his conscious mind and beginning to darken as a veritable storm brewed in his head. This was the very thing that he had been battling against letting happen, and now he was being told to allow it. His head began to ache, and his hands began to tingle.

"Now," came Professor Lyra's soothing voice on the edge of his mind, "I want you to build up the wall again. Go through your Occlumency slowly and thoroughly as you can, and push the clouds away until they're completely gone."

Connor was straining with the effort of trying to leash the storm that was attempting to take over. Sweat was beading on his forehead and upper lip, and he was shaking slightly.

"That's it, Connor," Lyra encouraged without intruding. "You're strong enough to do this. Good."

By the time Connor was finished, his head ached and he felt like a wrung-out dishrag.

"That was hard," he said, tired, but proud. "But I did it."

"You certainly did." She beamed at him. "Well done! How do you feel now?"

She rose to her feet and went to fetch a tea tray from a nearby table. A tap from her wand had steam pouring from the spout, and she poured them each a cup. Connor watched as she put a liberal amount of sugar into his cup before she passed it over to him.

"Worn out," Connor admitted, "like I've been awake for days."

"Well, it is nearing eleven o'clock," she said with a chuckle as she offered him a tin of biscuits.

Connor was surprised to hear it, and nearly bobbled his cup. "It's that late?" he gasped.

"It is," she confirmed. "It took a long time, but you did good work. You shouldn't have to practice your Occlumency in the morning."

"Really?" Connor was shocked by this announcement. "It's only been a few days since I quit doing my evening practice."

"Yes, and that went well, despite your accident," she said calmly. "Your work tonight should give you a nice firm foundation to start your independence from every day practice."

"I don't know if I'm ready for that," Connor protested, oddly reluctant to let go of his familiar practices. It was a comfort zone for him that he wasn't keen to step out of.

"I think you are," Lyra insisted, then seemed to understand that he was afraid. "But don't worry. I think that we'll take it slowly. Let's agree to have you practice Occlumency every other morning for the next couple of weeks. We can evaluate from there."

Connor felt relieved to hear this, and readily agreed. "Thank you," he said.

"Now," Lyra said, sipping at her tea, "your Quidditch practice. What's your schedule like?"

"Well, it's usually three evenings a week, half past six to half past eight," Connor told her. "But Whitney--she's the captain--scheduled practice for every night for the next two weeks until the Gryffindor/Slytherin match."

"From six thirty," Professor Lyra mused, "and you'd need at least a half an hour before that to prepare, and you'll need time for meals and homework. Not an easy schedule."

"No," Connor agreed. "Especially with special brewing sessions with Professor Snape, and then lessons with Madam Cosgrove."

"Wouldn't be easier if you just gave up the Quidditch for now?" Lyra asked pragmatically.

"Professor," Connor said in a tone close to being a whine, "I don't want to give up Quidditch!"

"Very well," she said after a few moments contemplation. "Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, at a quarter after four. That should give you enough time for some dinner before practice, and the other days for homework or other lessons."

Connor couldn't stop the he grin splitting across his face. "Thanks, Professor! You're the best!"

Lyra laughed and scribbled a quick note on a piece of parchment on her desk, and handed it to Connor. "A note in case you get caught out after curfew. We'll have your next lesson on Thursday."

Connor shoved the note into the pocket of his uniform, and left the Divination Tower feeling happier than he had expected to. Even the sight of Mr. Sweeper, watching him from the end of the seventh-floor corridor, failed to give him any feelings of guilt about being out past curfew. He had a note from Lyra, after all, didn't he? But the new caretaker didn't say anything at all, just watched Connor disappear through the portrait hole.

He was tempted to try to get one of his homework assignments done before going to bed, but he was just too tired. He showered and climbed into bed, hoping his crazy owl would let him sleep in the morning.

-----------------o---------------

The next morning was rainy. The dark clouds rolling overhead outside were releasing sheets of icy rain that slowly melted much of the snow on the grounds, making a muddy mess outside. There was no temper in the air--no accompanying thunder or lightning-- but it didn't look as though it was planning to stop any time soon.

Connor was almost glad that he wouldn't be able to make Quidditch practice that night. Knowing Whitney, it wouldn't be cancelled on account of a little rain.

The inside of the castle reflected the gloomy mood of the outside. Torches were lit in the corridors, and the ceiling of the Great Hall reflected the grey clouds and rain, giving the room a sombre cast.

The talk at breakfast was about the upcoming Quidditch match and the new plays that they intended to try, that they had not had an opportunity to put into practice at their last game. Whitney was so pleased that Connor was able to make arrangements with Professor Lyra that she didn't even make any comments about him missing practice that night.

Clio turned up halfway through the meal, shaking droplets of rain from her wing, and perched on Connor's shoulder, no mail in evidence. His cheeks heated a bit as she meticulously spent the rest of the meal arranging his hair with her beak while his friends made fun of him.

"I'm starting to think Grandma Molly picked out that silly bird," Rachel told Connor as she watched the funny display. "She's always going on about your hair, too."

"There's nothing wrong with my hair," Connor said with as much dignity as he could with a large owl nibbling at his head, ignoring all of Connor's efforts to coax her down for some bacon. "It's just like my dad's."

Rachel merely arched an eyebrow at him, as if he has proven her point for her.

"My mum loves my dad's hair!" Connor said defensively. "So what if it's a bit messy?"

"You could always grow it long, like Zack's," Ivy suggested. "Then you could just wear it tied back."

"My dad grew his hair out once, before I was born," Connor said. "I've seen pictures, and it wasn't pretty."

"Oh, it was pretty," Rachel giggled. "Too pretty, is what my mum says. She says he looked like he stepped off the cover of one of those romance novels that Grandma's always got lying about."

Quentin snorted into his pumpkin juice.

"I just need a haircut, is all," Connor said as he finished his breakfast and gathered his books. "Maybe I can get Victoria to do it for me. Sorry, Clio, you'll have to go back to the Owlery now."

Clio hooted loudly, and took flight as Connor got to his feet. His mind was already on the day ahead, and his plans to work on some of his homework during History of Magic class so that he didn't fall behind.

---------0--------

That evening at seven o'clock sharp, Connor entered Potions classroom number three and saw that Professor Snape had already laid out ingredients and chosen a cauldron. The man in question was not in sight, so Connor set his schoolbag on a nearby table and went to wash his hands at the sink in the corner.

"Ah," Professor Snape said as he entered from a storeroom. "You're here. You will not take notes, this evening."

"Sir?" Connor asked, puzzled.

"I want you to observe my technique," Snape clarified, "and remember everything I do. You will assist me in preparing ingredients, and be otherwise silent."

"Yes sir," Connor said warily. "Where would you like me to stand?"

The fact that no other students had been offered this chance to watch Snape brew had not escaped Connor, and he felt strangely proud of that fact. This opportunity was possibly for Connor's benefit alone.

"You may situate yourself to my right," Snape answered, "and hand me any items that I ask for, when I ask for them."

Connor, remembering the admonition to remain silent, merely nodded and took a place beside the Potions Master.

"Put this on."

Snape handed Connor a thick apron that looked like dragon hide, but otherwise didn't look at him.

"I will be brewing a Blood Purifying and Replenishing Potion. I will be using three of the shorter hairs that were transferred to your cloak on Hallowe'en." Snape told him. "We will begin with a base of distilled water...."

While Snape was brewing the potion, Connor paid rapt attention to even the smallest details. He made mental notes, and was itching to ask a hundred questions about everything he was witnessing, but remained quiet for fear that Snape would send him away. It was a tricky potion, requiring precision and an experienced hand. Connor was allowed to perform simple ingredient preparation at certain points during the process, and was careful to be precise and quick when Snape demanded tools or ingredients in a terse voice.

Connor was surprised at the how verbose Professor Snape was being.

"Those rosehips need to be ground up finer." Snape would say. Or, "The leech hearts have to be added one at a time, precisely twenty-two seconds apart." Or "A glass stirring rod during this stage will help to keep the temperature from rising too quickly."

Normally a class was expected to read the chapter of their book, and to follow instructions from the blackboard, with very little instruction from the professor. This evening, however, each step was explained and demonstrated while Connor looked on eagerly.

Not sure how much time had passed since they had begun brewing, Connor was enthralled as Snape came to the final step--adding the unicorn hairs from Hallowe'en, held him enthralled. As soon as the hairs fell into the potion, it began to froth before the entire cauldron glowed pearly white and almost bubbled over.

"The potion does not always react so vigorously," Snape said, never taking his eyes off of the potion. "The time of the harvest of the hairs plays a significant role in how strong the potion will be when complete."

Connor nodded, also watching as the bubbles died down and settled to a smooth, placid surface inside the cauldron. After a few moments of silence, Connor finally asked, "Is it complete?"

"The brewing process is complete, yes," Snape answered, sounding satisfied. "The potion itself will need to be poured into an earthenware jar and allowed to mature for a moon cycle. It will then need to be stirred for precisely thirty-one minutes with a silver stirring rod before it can be dispensed."

"Thank you, sir," Connor said after a few more moments of silence. "That was...amazing. I'll never forget it."

Snape gave him an odd look before nodding brusquely and turning to collect an earthenware jar from a locked cabinet. He carefully and neatly transferred the potion over to the jar, and sealed the lid magically.

"You will write out the instructions on how to make this potion from start to finish, based on everything that you observed here this evening," Snape told him. "You will not consult any texts or anything else of the sort to aid you. This exercise will give me some idea of how much you actually absorbed and understood before I allow you to attempt brewing this potion yourself. You have one week to turn it in to me."

Connor was speechless for a few moments. Snape was going to let him attempt this potion? When Snape had mentioned that they would be using the unicorn hairs, Connor had assumed that Professor Lyra had told Snape about Connor's interest in seeing the hairs used. He had never dreamed that Snape would allow him to brew anything of his own.

"Yes, sir," he said with awe.

"Good night, Mr Potter," Snape said by way of dismissal.

Connor returned to his common room, barely registering that it was near midnight, as he sat down at a table by the fire and began outlining everything he remembered about the Potion he had just witnessed.