Chapter 56

About halfway through, Professor Snape had come over to his and Terry's table and nodded a bit before moving on.

At first, Harry did find it a bit weird that the man had stared into his eyes for a few awkward seconds before moving on, but he quickly remembered that Professor McGonagall had once told him that he had his mother's eyes, and that the professor was a friend of hers. He couldn't help but sad for the black robed man.

"P-Professor Snape?" a Ravenclaw asked, raising his hand a few minutes later.

"Yes, Mr. Cornfoot?" Professor Snape asked, turning to the table where Cornfoot stood.

"You mentioned the insides of the cauldrons slowly erode and feed the potions metal as we stir, so does that mean they'll…grow thin and…you know…break?" he trailed off and gulped. Evidently, he too had heard about the Professor's bias against muggleborns and all non-Slytherins. Harry looked on with a bit of interest, curious how the Professor would react.

"No, Mr. Cornfoot, they normally don't. The erosion is quite slow. I doubt you'll have to worry about buying a new one during your years at Hogwarts. That is, unless you plan to brew any aggressive or corrosive potions in them."

Much to the surprise of most of the class, the Professor's tone was rather flat, devoid of any disparaging comments or tongue lashings.

"Oh, okay, Professor, thank you," Cornfoot said, relief flooding his face when the situation did not turn out as he had expected.

The potions master turned away, walking around some of the other stations to make sure the Hufflepuffs were cutting correctly before he circled back around and headed up to the front, correcting a few of the students on his way. Harry finished up his dicing and looking around, noticing that most of the others were finishing up as well.

"Now set up your cauldrons and adjust the flame to a medium," Snape said, "You will be using the ingredients you just prepared to make an acidic infusion of Atropa Belladona, which will be an essential component of the burn salve which you will be making in the next class. Are all the burner burning now? Very well then. You will be answering questions while your cauldron warms up."

He made his way through the Ravenclaws asking one or two questions each, taking a point for every wrong answer, until he reached Harry. He paused for a second before asking, "Tell me, Mr. Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry swallowed, this was a tricky one. His mind went to the One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore, where he'd read that asphodel could act a stabilizing agent and wormwood contained benzodiazepines which were powerful hypnotic agents. So an infusion of wormwood would be stabilized to create…"A very powerful sleeping potion sir?"

"Correct Mr. Potter. It is known as the Draught of Living Death. Now, where would one look to find a bezoar?"

This one was quite straightforward. "A bezoar is the kidney of a goat Professor. So I'd say the lower abdomen of a goat."

"And what, Mr. Potter, is the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?"

Ah! A trick question. Harry smiled a bit before he answered, "They are two members of the same genus Professor Snape. Although Monkshood has applications in sleeping potions while Wolfsbane leans more towards healing."

Professor Snape simply gave a small nod and moved on to the Hufflepuffs who fared much worse than the Ravenclaws.

Things got a lot more exciting halfway through the brewing. Harry had been so engrossed in the potion making that he hadn't even noticed that he'd started sensing the slow flowing waves of magic floating through the class…until suddenly he felt an erratic flux in the magic to his right.

It was coming from Ernie Macmillan's cauldron.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the Professor's neck had snapped towards Ernie as well. He could sense it too. Harry knew it!

And sure enough, within a few seconds, clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Professor Snape rushed forward, grabbing a boomslang tooth off of Hannah Abbott's bench and dropping it into the bubbling potion before snatching the ladle out of Ernie's hands and giving the potion two quick stirs, making it settle down.

He then proceeded to rip Ernie a new one.

The rest of the lesson was without incident. They brewed their infusions and bottled them in glass phials, marking them with their names. They left them on Professor Snape's table before leaving. Harry hung back outside the classroom door while everyone else went off to go start on an early homework free weekend.

He was conflicted, thinking to himself about how he would ask the professor about his mother. There was no way he could get him to talk about her by asking him directly.

'Maybe I could ask him about how he could sense the magic change in the potion,' he mused, 'I can do it too, so if he could help me with that, maybe I'll get some magic sensing skill or something like that. And if it goes well, maybe I could sneak in a couple of questions about Mum to him!'

Something about the plan just felt right, and Harry decided that it could be the way to go. If he gave up one piece of knowledge about himself to the professor, it could act as a springboard to persuade him into telling him about his mother. McGonagall had said that he was a friend of hers. Besides, Harry was sure that the Professor had felt the magic change in Ernie's potion too. The sharp look that he'd given the cauldron right when its magical flow turned erratic had given him away.

He turned around and knocked on the door to the classroom.

"What is it Mr. Potter?"

Harry let himself in, instantly finding himself pinned under the Professor's stare. Steeling himself, he spoke, "How did you sense that…fluttering in Ernie's potion?"

"What are you talking about Mr. Potter?"

In for a penny, in for a dime.

"I know you felt it. The magic was going haywire around the potion. I did too. How did you do that? Why can't anybody else in the class do it? How do you sense magic? Is this because of Voldemort-" Harry started rambling.

"Enough Mr. Potter," Professor Snape snapped, "I'd suggest you don't use that name. If you do feel the magic around you, then I don't need to tell you why. You must have felt it stir each time you uttered it."

"But why? It's just a name…isn't it?"

"I swear to heavens it should be Minerva explaining this," Professor Snape tiredly muttered under his breath.

"Most people will find themselves uncomfortable talking about this, but let me give you an impromptu history lesson," he finally said, "The practice of saying "You-Know-Who" instead of the Dark Lord's proper name began when he put a Taboo on his name during the Wizarding War. The Taboo was a spell that acted as a magical beacon, calling the Dark Lord's servants whenever someone uttered his name. Saying that Tabooed name shattered most weak wards and was a death warranty to whoever said it. I would highly recommend being more sensitive about how you use that name Mr. Potter. A lot of people are still afraid. Shoving that fear in their faces by yelling out the name of their families's murderer is nothing short of insulting."

Harry was shocked into silence. He hadn't thought of that. An enchanted name of all things…And even if the name hadn't been spelled, the Professor was right. Shouting the name of a murderer in public was a douchebag thing to do, to say the least. Apologetically, he muttered, "I…I didn't…I didn't know."

"No, you did not. And about this so-called magic sensing that you seem to possess…it is a side effect of an art called Occlumency, which involves organizing your mind through meditation. It allows the user to be more sensitive to magical currents around them. When properly trained, this ability can differentiate between various spells and wards, and is an incredible tool for duelists," Snape said, not breaking his flat tone.

"Can you teach me -" Harry started saying hopefully before being cut off.

"A teacher cannot show favoritism to a student by offering them extra classes Mr. Potter," Professor Snape said, before picking up his eagle feather quill and starting to grade the potions. Harry stood there for a minute, disappointed, before turning to leave the classroom.

"Detention Mr. Potter. For the next three weeks. Evenings on Saturdays," Harry turned around with shock. The professor hadn't looked up from his papers. "Don't be late. "

Harry grinned happily and ran out.

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