The Last Sanguimagus

The week had passed quickly, and Harry soon found himself dreading his last class on Friday. He was not looking forward to seeing Snape again, especially since McGonagall had forced Snape to somehow accept him as a student. Harry was tempted just to drop the class and forgo the torture, but his desire to become an Auror won out. He had to try, at the very least. He was being given a chance. He would just have to suffer through Snape's snide comments and awful disposition. At least they would be having Quidditch tryouts tonight. He grinned happily, thinking about being in the air again, flying on his broom.

Unfortunately, Ron did not share his sentiments. He seemed really put out that Ginny had been made captain. Privately, Harry thought that it was a good thing. Being prefect was time-consuming enough for Ron alongside their Quidditch practices. He probably would not have been able to keep up with being captain as well. Hermione had said as much, which only seemed to irritate Ron further.

They entered the Potions classroom and sat down. The class was smaller than last year's. There was no Neville, which did not come as much as a surprise. Unfortunately Draco was there, and somehow Crabbe and Goyle had managed to squeeze in as well. Harry could not honestly believe that either of them had received an O, but there wasn't anything he could do about it, and he tried to ignore their snide mutterings.

"I asked the Fat Friar about Professor Tanner," said Hermione quietly as she rearranged her vials on the desk.

"What year was she?" asked Ron.

"Actually, he didn't remember her at all at first. She apparently wasn't a Hufflepuff." Her eyes nervously darted to the door of the classroom, watching for Snape.

"Not a Hufflepuff?" said Harry. "Should we ask Nearly-Headless Nick? He would remember if she was in Gryffindor."

"She couldn't have been a Slytherin," said Ron. "And I'm not asking the Bloody Baron anything, no way."

"She could have been a Ravenclaw," mused Hermione. "She does seem like the type. I suppose we'll have to try to find the Grey Lady. Maybe Luna could ask for us."

"Good idea--" began Harry, but never finished his thought because at that precise moment Snape came bursting through the door, sweeping up to his desk at the front. Harry was surprised to see how worn out Snape looked.

"Ah, yes, my N.E.W.T. preparation class," he sneered. "So you have gotten to this level. Or perhaps you simply coasted here on the basis of your fame alone." He paused and gave a menacing look to Harry, who tried his best not to react. "Whatever the reason, you are now in an advanced Potions class, and I will expect nothing less than top work from all of you if you are to proceed further towards the honour of sitting for your N.E.W.T. examination in Potions. Each of you will be judged on your own merit. I must warn you that any attempt to help others in this classroom"--here he looked at Hermione--"will be dealt with in the strictest way possible. Now open your textbook to page three hundred eleven..."

Hermione looked pale, and turned to Harry. Ron looked distinctly ill. This is going to be the very worst, thought Harry. I'll be lucky to make it through the first month.

***

"Ah, Severus, sit down," said Dumbledore cheerfully. "How was your first week back?"

Severus sat in the proffered chair and refused the tea that was offered next. "The usual dunderheads," he said. His head ached. He was actually quite glad that it was Friday. It had been a difficult week.

"I won't keep you long." He stood up and picked up something from his desk. "When I was rearranging some personal belongings I found this, and thought it might be useful to you."

"Useful?" asked Severus, perplexed. Dumbledore handed it to him. It was a piece of yellowed paper. The edge was ragged, as if it had been torn out of a book. The old-fashioned writing was faded and spotty. "What is this?"

"It is a page from Nicholas Flamel's private journal," said Dumbledore. "There was a stage in his career where he spent a good deal of time attempting to find antidotes for some of the nastier Dark Arts potions."

Severus looked up, incredulous. "A counter-potion? For--" He broke off, staring.

"Yes, for that," Dumbledore looked at him very seriously. "This is not a complete formula, by any means. It is merely a synopsis of research that Nicholas was doing at the time on that particular antidote. But I daresay it is a very good beginning."

Severus continued to stare. "I thought...I've tried to brew a counter-potion like this before. I failed. Completely."

"Perhaps this will start you in a new direction." His eyes twinkled.

"Thank you," said Severus quietly as he looked down at the page again. Just in the first three lines he could sense the genius of the legendary alchemist, and he found himself daring to hope.

"Enjoy your weekend," said Dumbledore.

"Mmmm--yes," murmured Severus as he left the Headmaster's office, engrossed in the faint handwriting.

***

"He's rubbish," said Ron morosely as they watched the last Gryffindor hopeful fail to catch the Quaffle that Jack Sloper lobbed at him and nearly run face first into one of the Quaffle hoops. Katie Bell stifled a giggle.

"Yes, but we don't have a lot of choices," said Ginny in a frustrated tone. "We need another Chaser. It's either him or Dennis Creevey."

"Dennis managed to at least catch the Quaffle," said Harry. "Three times, even. And Natalie McDonald seemed to be all right on a broom as well, though she needs work on her dodging skills."

"Natalie almost got knocked off by a Bludger," said Ron hotly. "And Dennis fell off his broom. Twice!"

"And he got right back on again," argued Ginny. "He's got the spirit, he just needs the training. I think he'll be fine."

"He's rubbish on a broom."

"He's better than anyone else who tried out."

Ron's eyes bulged. "You are not honestly going to put Dennis Creevey on the Quidditch team. That's starkers!" he yelled.

"I'm captain!" she shouted. "I say who gets on the team! And you're just lucky that no one tried out for Keeper!"

Ron looked as though he'd been punched in the gut. "That's enough!" said Harry. "This is ridiculous. We're a team."

Ginny took a deep breath. "You're right, Harry. I'll make the decision and post it in the Common Room tomorrow. I'm sorry, Ron, I shouldn't have said that." She marched determinedly off towards the last applicant, who was still desperately trying to catch the Quaffle that Jack Sloper kept tossing to him. "Oi! That's enough. Thank you!"

Ron was standing completely still, looking angry and hurt all at once. "C'mon, Ron," said Harry. "We should see what homework Hermione has planned out for us..." Ron nodded jerkily and followed him into the castle.

***

Severus looked over the parchments critically. He began to list aloud the supplies he would need for each base formula and the numerous variations thereof. His auto-quill automatically began to scratch away at a new sheet, neatly transcribing everything he said.

His eyes were bleary and his neck had a cramp in it, and he noticed that he had somehow missed dinner and that it was quite late. He straightened up slowly, and checked over the auto-quill and its work so far. It seemed to have transcribed everything. A closer look at the list of experimental potions he needed to run revealed that he had inadvertently missed one variation. He rubbed his eyes. His headache had returned, and he knew he needed to catch up on his rest, but first he needed to make this one last notation. Picking up a regular quill he began to write out the last possible variation.

***