Potions Class
by Julie Barrett

Professor Severus Snape surveyed his fifth year Potions class. The students labored over a difficult concoction for the cure of the bite from a White Widow spider. One bite from this arachnid could turn any man into the quivering love slave of the first woman upon which he laid eyes after the spider left her venom. Snape himself kept a large quantity of the antidote on hand.

“Potter.” The Potions master rose slowly from his chair, glancing briefly at a parchment which lay on the desk.

“Professor?” Harry Potter blinked and swallowed. When Snape singled him out, it was never good.

Snape cleared his throat and swallowed. Speaking these words to Potter of all people would be difficult, but necessary. Although his memory was quite keen he snatched the parchment from the desk lest the words lodge in his throat. “Potter,” he began as he locked eyes with his student. “I love you, Harry.”

The clatter of spoons against cauldrons came to a halt. Draco Malfoy stifled a giggle. “That will do, Malfoy. Five points from Slytherin.” Snape’s gaze never wavered from Harry. “I love you more than anyone else in the world. I know I shouldn’t ask this, but would you go with me to the Yule Ball?”

Several students gasped. “I will take more points away if you do not take care with your potions, class.” Eyes darted back to cauldrons. Hermione Granger began to stir just a bit too quickly, and her potion boiled over, spilling purple slime over her table. “Leave it, Granger,” Snape warned. He turned his attention to the parchment in his hand, and then finished his impassioned speech. “Please say yes.”

“Wha…” If it was possible for Harry to will himself smaller, he would have gladly done so at this moment. Instead, he reached across his cauldron to snatch the parchment, the sleeve of his robe dragging through the potion.

Snape pulled the missive to his chest. “That will be a zero, Potter. The student who wrote this … this epistle in class instead of concentrating on her work will be serving detention with me.” He surveyed the rest of the class, his lip curled in a cold sneer. “Concentration is essential in the art of potions.” As if on cue, Neville Longbottom’s cauldron exploded, sending purple slime across several tables.

“Ten points from Gryffindor.” Professor Snape strode purposefully to his desk and seated himself. “Five for Granger, and five for Longbottom.” He pointed his wand at the parchment. “Incendio.” A brief, yet brilliant flash of flame ensued, turning the parchment to a pile of ash which he unceremoniously swept into a small dustbin. “I despair of anyone in this class becoming successful at potion making.”

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