The Fire You Touch

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Chapter 12: The Potions Master

"This is ridiculous," grumbled Ron as he swiped futilely at a pixie fluttering just beyond his reach.

"Tell me about it," Aeryn agreed sourly, mind-slamming a pair of pixies and sending them spiraling to the ground. There were only four left free, but it may as well have been forty for the trouble they were causing. Harry finally caught one of them and stuffed it back into the cage, but not before the blue pixie dug its teeth into his finger.

Herbology and Transfiguration that morning had been wonderful, but the day was going downhill from there. Aeryn had been looking forward to Defense Against the Dark Arts—without Snape, finally—but Gilderoy Lockhart, besides being handsome and egotistical, was also completely helpless. For the first half of class, the students had taken a pop quiz on all things Gilderoy Lockhart, and then the professor had let loose an entire cageful of Cornish pixies in the room and unleashed pandemonium. When the bell rang, Lockhart had left Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Aeryn to clean up the mess.

"We’re going to be late to our next class," Ron growled. The last of the pixies had grabbed a handful of his red hair and was pulling it merrily; Aeryn quickly stilled it with her telekinetic power and flung it into the cage. She flipped the lock with a sigh of relief and wiped her forehead.

At that moment, the bell rang, signaling the beginning of the next class.

Harry straightened his glasses. "What do we have next?" he asked Hermione, who was hurriedly digging her schedule out of her bag. She glanced at the parchment and gave a soft cry.

"Potions," she said flatly, waving her schedule at them. "With Slytherin."

Harry, Ron, and Aeryn groaned. "Snape’s going to have our heads," Harry exclaimed as the four of them grabbed their bags and hurried out of the classroom.

They raced down the halls and down the stairway to Snape’s dungeon. Gilderoy Lockhart was standing outside the classroom, and he grinned at them as they flew towards the door. "Ah, my friends!" he called, his smile flashing. "I see you’ve caged the pixies—not that I couldn’t have done it, of course, but I thought it would be best if you had the experience yourself—"

"I told you," Hermione hissed.

The door flung open with a bang. An entire classroom of eyes turned to the doorway, including the blistering pair of coal-black eyes of the teacher whose lecture they had just interrupted. Aeryn, Harry, Ron, and Hermione scurried into the classroom, their heads bowed.

"Well," exclaimed Professor Snape as they took their seats. "The famous Mr. Potter and his motley crew have decided to grace us with their presence." He placed his hands behind his back and paced over to them, peering down at them from behind his veil of greasy black hair. "What was it this time, Potter? Taking your flying car on a little joyride again?"

The Slytherins sniggered.

"Professor Snape," Hermione began.

"Five points each from Gryffindor for your tardiness," Snape said silkily. He cocked his head and his sharp gaze pinned Aeryn to her chair. "I’m surprised at you, Miss Blake. One would think that at your advanced age you would choose your companions more wisely."

Draco Malfoy muttered something under his breath, and the Slytherins guffawed.

Aeryn raised her hand. "Professor, it wasn’t our fault—"

Snape swooped down on her like a hawk, placing his hands on her desk and pressing his face close to hers. "I suggest you think carefully about what you say next, Miss Blake," he murmured. "You’ll be taking another ten points from Gryffindor if you aren’t wise."

Aeryn swallowed and fell silent. Snape turned away with a sneer and a swirl of robes. "Now. Let us continue."

Twenty cauldrons stood steaming between the wooden desks, on which stood brass scales and jars of ingredients. After a brief but amazingly scathing lecture about the importance of correctly measuring dried salamander tongue, the class divided to brew Waterlung Potions. Snape wove his way through the cauldrons, stopping every once in a while to sneer at a Gryffindor or loudly praise a Slytherin.

"Twenty points," Aeryn hissed, shaking a handful of wolfsbane into her cauldron with more force than she intended.

"Don’t worry about it," Harry said in a low voice as Snape cast a cool eye into Neville Longbottom’s cauldron. Poor Neville looked as if he was going to faint at any second. "It could have been a lot worse."

"Yeah, twenty points is nothing," Ron added, stirring the liquid in his cauldron. "That’s why we hang around with Hermione. She gets the points, and we lose them. It’s a good relationship."

Hermione sniffed and added a pinch of powdered dragon’s scales to her cauldron.

"Is the potion supposed to look like this?" Harry asked, looking at his watery concoction.

Aeryn put down her spoon and walked over to look at Harry’s potion. As she bent over to peer in the pot, a puffer-fish eye bounced off the back of her head. She whirled around and saw Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle chortling over their cauldrons.

"Hey, Blake," Malfoy sneered. "Bend over again…the view’s great from over here."

Harry’s face hardened, but Aeryn quickly laid a hand on his arm. "Ignore them," she muttered.

"What is this?" Snape turned around. He saw Aeryn and Harry standing together and clucked his tongue. "You are not to assist other students, Miss Blake. Five points from Gryffindor."

"But—"

"Ten points, then." The professor looked as if he was about to say more, but he broke off in a fit of coughing and had to retreat to the front of the room. He picked up a goblet sitting on his desk and drained the contents.

The Gryffindors collectively shrank away from Aeryn. She had known, of course, that Snape held Gryffindors in deep hatred, but she hadn’t realized he was so free at taking away points. Better quit now before he throws a detention into the mix. Her lips tightened, but she made no attempt to retaliate as she stalked back to her cauldron.

As she picked up her spoon, Snape was suddenly standing behind her, his body pressed uncomfortably close to hers. His breath wafted against the back of her neck. "Since you are so anxious to help others," he muttered smoothly, "let us see how well your own potion is faring."

Aeryn hadn’t realized the Potions master was so tall. He stood an easy head above her, and could effortlessly peer over her into her cauldron. He wrapped his fingers around her hand and stirred the pot. He bent down slightly as he spooned a measure of her potion onto a glass plate, and his oily hair brushed across Aeryn’s face. She valiantly strove not to flinch as he picked up the plate and slowly swirled the contents.

"Well," Snape said after a long moment. "How very interesting, Miss Blake."

Aeryn’s jaw tightened.

"It appears that you have produced a suitable Waterlung Potion. In record time, I might add."

At that unexpected comment, every eye in the classroom turned towards her. Draco Malfoy, who had been whispering smugly to his two goons, stopped in mid-hiss and gaped furiously at her.

Snape placed the glass plate back down on the desk. "I believe this is a first for your house, Miss Blake—I’ve never known anyone there to actually have a talent for this most subtle forms of magic." He curled his head down until his lips were nearly touching her ear. "Take ten points for Gryffindor, then," he murmured in a low voice, but the room was silent enough for the entire class to hear him.

A gasp spread through the students; anger from the Slytherins, stunned disbelief from the Gryffindors. Snape finally stepped away from Aeryn, his black robes swirling about his feet as he strode over to Hermione’s cauldron. Aeryn suppressed a shudder and ducked her head to avoid the baleful glares from the Slytherins and the confused, skeptical stares of her friends.