Another Prisoner, Another Professor

Harry goes to Potions on Thursday morning.

"The potion you will create today," Snape began, once the class had all taken their seats, "is a Shrinking Solution, one of the most useful and also one of the most troublesome potions."

"Useful?" Harry whispered to Ron. "What's so useful about shrinking things?"

"Maybe Snape uses it to shrink his nose every morning," Ron whispered back. "I'd hate to see what it started out as..."

"The antidote is too complex for your level; you will learn it in your sixth year of study, if you take my N.E.W.T. class," Snape continued, giving Neville a nasty look that clearly indicated he thought Neville was more likely to turn into a newt than to get into the N.E.W.T. class. "I have a small vial of antidote in my pocket for emergencies only. Do not think I will administer it to any blithering idiot who spills the solution onto his books or shrinks his hand by accident. If and only if your life is in danger will you be allowed to use it. There are a few things I must mention about the ingredients..."

Harry's mind drifted off; he didn't see what the point of listening was, as Snape would surely find a way to lower his marks even if he produced a perfect Shrinking Solution. Instead, Harry was thinking about the first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson in the afternoon.

For a minute he tried to imagine Black as the Potions master; he had a feeling that Black was the sort who would willingly give some antidote to anyone who accidentally spilled the solution. He briefly wondered what plans Black had had that had prevented him from taking the job.

"Be sure to properly skin the shrivelfig," Snape was saying. "They cost the school a fairly substantial sum of money. Those who do not skin their shrivelfigs correctly will learn, firsthand, about the proper method of skinning - " he paused for significance " - by Mr. Filch after classes."

Whatever the plans had been, Harry hoped they'd been very, very important.

"Instructions and ingredients are on the blackboard. Two to a table. You have until the end of class to mix a proper Shrinking Solution, and believe me, they will be fully tested."

Harry was just turning to Ron when someone behind him tugged on his sleeve. "Harry? D'you think you could share a table with me?"

"I'm rubbish at this," Harry answered, turning round. "It's probably not going to help you much, Neville."

"You get better marks than I do, anyway," Neville said morosely. "I hate to ask Hermione all the time, she already said she'd read through my Charms essays."

Harry caught Ron's eye; Ron shrugged. "Sure," Harry said. "How about the table across from the door?"

Neville's anxiety was evident from the moment he set down his cauldron. His hand shook as she chopped the daisy roots, as well as when he poured the leech juice, which led to about twice the necessary amount splashing into the mixture. He dropped his rat spleen on the floor and had to wash it off before he could cut it into fourths and drop the fourths in the potion at thirty-second intervals.

"Don't worry about Snape," Harry whispered. "He wants you to get all nervous and mess things up. Just don't even think about him."

"I can't help it," Neville said, looking as though he was about to burst into tears.

"Have I missed much, sir?"

Harry looked up and groaned before he could stop himself. Malfoy had just walked through the door, his arm in a large sling and a superior expression on his face.

"If you begin now you will have just enough time to produce your Shrinking Solution," Snape answered. "Of course, as circumstances have allotted you ten minutes less than the rest of the class, I will not blame you if your solution is not up to par." Harry swore under his breath. He felt certain that Snape would never have extended the same privilege to any of the Gryffindors.

"I'll need some help, though, sir," said Malfoy, glancing at the board. "There was some considerable muscle damage in my arm - "

"Is it terribly awful, Draco?" Pansy Parkinson asked, her eyes wide.

"Nothing I can't handle," he replied, in a voice that Harry supposed was supposed to sound brave and noble. In truth, it made Malfoy sound like an actor in a very bad film, the sort that Aunt Petunia liked to weep over sometimes in the afternoons.

Snape's eyes swept the room. "Potter's potion is in its later stages, shockingly enough. Potter, you will assist Malfoy with his cutting and skinning."

Malfoy smirked. Harry heard a small gasp next to him as Neville dropped his wand on the floor.

"Don't worry," he whispered to Neville as Malfoy went to the supply cupboard to get his materials. "I'll deal with him."

"Chop these daisy roots, Potter," Malfoy ordered the minute he sat down at the table. "If you do a shoddy job of it, I'll tell Professor Snape and you'll just have to do it over again. It isn't fair that my education should suffer because of your friend Hagrid's lethal beast."

Harry calmly lined up the roots and began to cut them into equal lengths. "So, Malfoy," he said, as casually as he could. "Arm still hurting much?"

"I was lucky it didn't have to be amputated, Potter," Malfoy hissed.

"Yeah, I had the bones in one of mine removed last year." The roots were done; he reached for the shrivelfig. "Dobby's got a lot of power for someone so small, doesn't he? It's a miracle your father didn't break his back when Dobby sent him tumbling down the stairs."

From the corner of his eye, he thought he could see the tiniest of smiles on Neville's face.

"I'll break your back, Potter, if you say another word about my father."

"Will you?" Harry asked. "That's too bad. I was hoping to ask Professor Black about pathetically idiotic wizards who get sacked as school governors, but if you insist...you know, I think your mum's cousin might be the best Defense professor yet."

"Do you," Malfoy drawled; a familiar malicious look that Harry didn't like at all had replaced the expression of rage. "Quirrell was my favorite, personally. Things might have been better around here if Quirrell had been more...successful."

"I would have thought Lockhart would be your favorite, actually. You know, stuck-up, thick as a rock, completely oblivious to the fact that everyone mocked him behind his back."

"You - " Malfoy began, but whatever he said next was blocked out by Neville exclaiming, "Look, Harry, it's turning green!"

The Shrinking Solutions, according to the blackboard, were supposed to turn a neon green a few steps before they were completed. Before Harry could offer encouragement, Snape marched down the aisle and looked at Neville's potion, his eyebrows raised.

"Well well well, Longbottom, this certainly is a surprise. A potion of your creation that actually resembles the other potions in the class? A surprise indeed. I see you have two ingredients left to add, continue."

Neville reached for the ground moss; Snape towered over him, watching his every move. With a painful-looking gulp, Neville began to sprinkle it over the solution, but his hand shook and the rest of the moss fell in all at once. "Oh dear, Longbottom. That certainly is going to alter the outcome a great deal." There was one thing left, a marigold petal. Neville hurriedly dropped it in and pulled back from the cauldron as though he feared it would explode in his face.

"There, you have completed the last step. Do not touch it until the end of class. We will test it then."

"It's going to be awful," Neville muttered, his eyes fixed on the floor.

Their table did not talk for the remaining ten minutes of class; having finished Malfoy's chopping and skinning, Harry gazed idly at the clock and hoped that Neville's potion would at least be good enough to get passing marks. As the rest of the class began to get their things together Snape again strode over to the table.

"Everyone gather around this table, I am going to test Longbottom's Shrinking Solution. Let's see, I will need a subject...Longbottom, give me your toad."

Neville was startled. "My toad?"

"Yes, didn't you hear what I said? If the potion is correct he will suffer no harm. If, however, your usual abysmal work has ruined it, he may very well be poisoned."

"I don't want to give you Trevor," Neville whispered fearfully.

This was taking things too far. Neville's potion had been fine until Snape had had to stand over him and make him afraid; Harry felt a surge of rage rising in his chest. At his Muggle school he'd once found a caterpillar outside on a leaf, and just as he was working out how to take it home and manage to feed it Dudley had come along, thrown the caterpillar on the ground, and stomped it flat.

"Do you not understand me, Longbottom?" Snape hissed. "You will surrender your toad to me now."

Neville's shaking hand reached into his pocket.

Without quite knowing what he was doing, Harry grabbed Neville's cauldron. The class gasped; before Snape could do anything other than shout Harry raised the cauldron to his lips and emptied the potion down his throat. It tasted like overcooked cabbage and weak tea.

The room suddenly seemed too - too much, was the only word that came to Harry's mind. Angles seemed sharper. Colors seemed deeper. Malfoy's hair looked like a bright patch of light and the smell of Lavender Brown's perfume seemed to permeate the air to the point that it was almost overwhelming. Ron's nose was too long and Hermione's books were too big.

As soon as the sensation had come upon him, it stopped, to be replaced by blackness.