It was Harry's first time in Snape's office.
It was underground, dim and gloomy, and thick with the smell of herbs. Row upon row of cabinets held countless glass jars full of specimens.
But there wasn't a trace of personal life. Even Professor Binns's office felt more lived-in than this.
Not even a single photograph.
"Stop gawking with those filthy eyes!" Snape snapped, drawing his wand and pointing it at Harry. "Potter, I think I need to remind you of something."
"When you get back, don't go looking for Evans. Oh, I suppose I should call her Mrs. Dursley now. Don't go asking about my past!"
Harry smiled. "Are you concerned about Aunt Petunia's life, Professor? You even know who she married."
"I thought the wizarding world and the ordinary world were completely separate."
Snape pointed his wand at Harry's forehead. "Remember what I said."
Harry shrugged, noncommittal.
"Now, let's begin your test." Snape glanced at the clock on his desk. "You have three hours until dinner. Brew this potion, and you'll pass."
He flicked his wand.
Parchment and a quill flew over, scratching out a long list of instructions before landing in Harry's hands.
"Healing Potion."
Snape had mentioned it in class. It was the most important subject in third year, and one of the potions you had to master if you wanted to work at St. Mungo's.
"Evening Primrose, Wormwood..."
A few common herbs with pronounced healing properties.
And two magical ingredients, most important of all.
"Horklump, Unicorn Horn."
This potion wasn't especially difficult for Harry—if only the instructions included measurements.
"Professor, did you leave something out...?" Harry asked, frowning.
Snape sneered. "Only the most foolish potion-makers put their complete faith in books. Everyone brews a potion differently."
"I believe I've said that countless times in class."
"Are your ears like funnels, only letting things in?"
"You have three hours—oh... now it's two hours and fifty minutes. The ingredients are in that cabinet. You may use my cauldron."
Harry nodded and got to work.
Brewing a potion was, at its core, a matter of using magic to harmonize the ingredients' properties and bring about a change. The recipe in the textbook was the most conventional and least likely to go wrong, but that didn't mean it was the best.
Everyone's magic was different, so the quantities of ingredients had to be adjusted with care.
Just as Snape had said in the first lesson of term, it was "a delicate art."
The first hurdle was selecting the right ingredients.
Snape had deliberately mixed some herbs together. There was Evening Primrose mixed in with Oenothera, for instance. They looked very similar. The biggest difference was that Evening Primrose had only one layer of petals, while Oenothera had two.
What Harry found disappointing was—
Snape hadn't mixed the Unicorn Horn in with the Bicorn Horn.
Didn't he think those two ingredients looked very similar?
Many wizards couldn't tell the horns apart when they were on their own.
As a holy creature, the Unicorn's horn naturally carried a sense of holiness, but it had no "healing" or "curative" properties. It could only "purify" and "undo."
Horklumps were Fantastic Beasts that could barely harm anyone.
But they were very hard to kill.
Housewives considered them filth and rubbish, no different from Gnomes, as they took up space in the garden.
They were commonly used in healing potions, but... they were also often used to make weed-killing potions.
Their blood—or rather, their sap—was poisonous.
The Unicorn Horn was used to neutralize that poison...
Harry was gradually forming a plan for how to brew the potion. Now he had to put it into practice.
Three hours wasn't much time. Harry still had to test how well the ingredients' properties worked together. It wasn't until the very last moment that he finished brewing a cauldron of bright red potion.
Harry poured it into a round-bottomed bottle and set it in front of Snape.
"You cut it rather close. Should I be grateful you finished on time, or grateful you didn't blow up my cauldron?" Snape sneered, picking up the bottle and fanning the scent toward his nose.
"You used so much Evening Primrose. Did you think the injured person wasn't bleeding fast enough, and decide to give him a little boost?"
"The Horklump sap and Unicorn Horn are mixed passably well. The proportions are acceptable. At least drinking it won't kill you."
"You pass, more or less. You're slightly better than a Troll."
Harry nodded. "Thank you, Professor. Maybe you should try being a little more honest."
"Are you telling me what to do?" Snape narrowed his eyes.
Harry shook his head. "No. Just offering some sincere advice."
Snape said nothing. He yanked open the bottom drawer and swiftly pulled out a notebook, then snapped it shut again.
But Harry had still caught a glimpse.
An old photograph, carefully preserved.
A red-haired, green-eyed girl, no older than fourteen or fifteen, smiled sweetly. She stood motionless in the picture; only the wind and clouds moved.
Harry had never seen his mother look like that. She didn't look much like Aunt Petunia either, but he recognized her at once.
"Take it!" Harry had never seen Snape so gentle, not in his tone, his movements, or his expression.
He placed the notebook softly on the desk.
In a voice entirely free of malice, he said quietly, "This is the first of your mother's notebooks. Study what's inside over the summer."
"Evans was a talented witch when it came to Potions. She was much cleverer than you, and far more gifted."
"Don't damage it!"
Snape slowly moved his hand away, inch by inch, tracing the cover, the spine, and finally the corner of the book. Then he pulled his hand away with a final effort, his fingertips brushing it ever so lightly.
Harry hesitated.
After a long while, he spoke uncertainly. "Professor, if you want to cry, I can borrow a wig from an older student and put on the sunglasses you gave me..."
Snape drew his wand without a moment's hesitation.
He didn't say an incantation. Magic surged.
Harry dodged nimbly. The silent spell barely grazed his scalp before striking a glass specimen jar on the cabinet behind him.
Crash—
The jar tipped over, its lid hit the floor, and it shattered. The specimen inside—a lifeless, blue-green heart—fell heavily to the ground. Shards pierced it. No blood seeped from its hollow interior; only pungent liquid spilled across the floor.
"Take the notebook and get out!" Snape snarled, slamming his fist down on the desk. "Or I'll have you test the potion you brewed on yourself!"
Harry solemnly picked up the notebook, tucked the Healing Potion into his hat, and turned to leave without delay.
He was already through the doorway when he suddenly turned around, poking his head back in with a serious expression. "Professor, I really mean it. It's a very sincere—"
He still didn't get to finish.
A spell shot toward him.
It struck the door hard, carving a deep gash into it.
Harry slipped away.
Honestly, why couldn't men just be a little more straightforward?
Gryffindor Common Room.
Ron and Hermione were so anxious they couldn't sit still, pacing back and forth. Even the Weasley twins knew better than to rile them up just then.
Whenever someone came through the portrait hole, they immediately looked over, eager with anticipation. When it wasn't Harry, they sighed heavily and went back to pacing.
One person, then two, then three...
The sky gradually darkened.
At last, the person they'd been waiting for came back.
"Harry, you're finally back." Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. "You have no idea how worried I was!"
"Professor McGonagall took someone to the Hospital Wing. I thought it was you..."
"Are you hurt?"
Harry waved a hand, sounding relaxed. "Don't worry, I'm fine. Have you eaten?"
"Not yet." Ron shook his head. He was worried too—so worried he hadn't even thought to eat.
Harry reached into his hat and pulled out some scones and cake. "I brought these from the Great Hall. I was going to have them as a late-night snack."
"So... you didn't come straight back. You went to eat first?" Hermione took the cake from him, sounding aggrieved.
Did he know how long she'd been anxiously waiting?!
Ron took a bite of a scone. "You could've called me over to eat, too!"
Was eating really the point?
Hermione glared at him, but Ron was too focused on his scone to notice. He was even lamenting that he could've used a little more honey.
"Professor Snape took me to do a test," Harry said, looking innocent. "It was dinnertime when we got to the Great Hall, so I ate while I was there."
Hermione nodded, then thought it over. Even if she was hungry, she couldn't act like Ron. With a casual wave of her hand, she turned a quill into a spoon and began eating in small bites. "What other tests does Professor Snape have?"
"My mother's Potions notebook was with him. I had to pass the test before he'd give it to me," Harry replied.
"The notebook!" Hermione's eyes lit up at the mention of it. "Can I take a look?"
Harry nodded. "Of course."
Exam week ended, and the young wizards entered the easiest stretch of the school year.
Harry also found himself with more free time than ever.
During the day, he read his mother's notebook with Hermione in the common room. Just as Snape had said, his mother had been very talented at Potions.
Her approach to potions and the way she thought through certain theories answered many of Harry's questions.
It left Hermione feeling a little discouraged.
When she read the notebook, much of it went over her head. They'd both studied magic for a year—how could the gap between them be so big?
At night, Harry put on his Invisibility Cloak, evaded Snape's patrols, and headed to the Forbidden Forest.
Sometimes he visited Hagrid, too, to see what other ingredients he might be able to scrounge up.
Dumbledore had dealt with the dragon egg situation, and Hagrid hadn't been punished. But he was still in tears—he couldn't raise the dragon, not even in the Forbidden Forest.
It had been sent to a wizard named Newt Scamander.
Harry knew the name well. Nearly every book he'd read about Fantastic Beasts mentioned the wizard.
He was a little disappointed. It seemed unlikely he'd ever get his hands on dragon ingredients.
During the final week of term,
Harry still hadn't managed to catch a Bicorn. The good news was that the area marked out on the map was getting smaller and smaller. Next term, it might take him less than a month to get what he wanted.
If only...
If there were some way to get his hands on one over the summer, that would be perfect.
The last day of the school year.
The air was filled with the giddy feeling that the holidays were just around the corner.
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