Harry Potter and the Secret Treasures

Chapter 933: Unstable Harry

“After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me,” Snape went on. “I take only the very best into my N.E.W.T. Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying goodbye.”

His eyes rested on Harry and his lip curled. Harry glared back, feeling a grim pleasure at the idea that he would be able to give up Potions after fifth year. That was probably the best news he’d heard recently.

“But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell,” said Snape softly, “so whether you are intending to attempt N.E.W.T. or not, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high-pass level I have come to expect from my O.W.L. students.”

He paused, flicked his wand, and the ingredients and brewing method of the potion appeared on the blackboard.

“Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. Be warned: If you are too heavy-handed with the ingredients you will put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep, so you will need to pay close attention to what you are doing.”

Following the instructions on the blackboard, Harry tried hard to brew the Draught of Peace, which was the most difficult, fiddly potion he’d ever encountered. The ingredients had to be added to the cauldron in precisely the right order and quantities; the mixture had to be stirred exactly the right number of times, firstly in clockwise, then in counterclockwise directions; the heat of the flames on which it was simmering had to be lowered to exactly the right level for a specific number of minutes before the final ingredient was added.

“A light silver vapor should now be rising from your potion,” called Snape, with ten minutes left to go.

Harry, who was sweating profusely, looked desperately around the dungeon. His own cauldron was issuing copious amounts of dark gray steam; Ron’s was spitting green sparks. Seamus was feverishly prodding the flames at the base of his cauldron with the tip of his wand, as they had gone out.

The surface of Hermione’s potion, however, was a shimmering mist of silver vapor, and as Snape swept by he looked down his hooked nose at it without comment, which meant that he could find nothing to criticize.

“Potter, what is this supposed to be?”

The Slytherins at the front of the class all looked up eagerly; they loved hearing Snape taunt Harry.

“The Draught of Peace,” said Harry tensely.

“Tell me, Potter,” said Snape softly, “can you read?”

“Yes, I can,” said Harry, his fingers clenched tightly around his wand.

“Astonishing! So, read the third line of the instructions for me, Potter.”

Harry squinted at the blackboard; it was not easy to make out the instructions through the haze of multicolored steam now filling the dungeon.

“ ‘Add powdered moonstone, stir three times counterclockwise, allow to simmer for seven minutes, then add two drops of syrup of hellebore.’”

His heart sank. He had not added syrup of hellebore, but had proceeded straight to the fourth line of the instructions after allowing his potion to simmer for seven minutes.

“Did you do everything on the third line, Potter?”

“No,” said Harry very quietly.

“I beg your pardon? I didn’t hear you; please say it again.”

“No,” said Harry, more loudly. “I forgot the hellebore.”

“I know you did, Potter, which means that this mess is utterly worthless. Evanesco.”

The contents of Harry’s potion vanished; he was left standing foolishly beside an empty cauldron.

“Those of you who have managed to read the instructions, fill one flagon with a sample of your potion, label it clearly with your name, and bring it up to my desk for testing. The performance of this preparation will affect your grades in the school year,” said Snape. “Homework: twelve inches of parchment on the properties of moonstone and its uses in potion-making, to be handed in on Thursday.”

While everyone around him filled their flagons, Harry cleared away his things, seething.

His potion had been no worse than Ron’s, which was now giving off a foul odor of bad eggs, or Neville’s, which had achieved the consistency of just-mixed cement and which Neville was now having to gouge out of his cauldron.

Yet it was he, Harry, who would be receiving zero marks for the day’s work.

He stuffed his wand back into his bag and slumped down onto his seat, watching everyone else march up to Snape’s desk with filled and corked flagons. When at long last the bell rang, Harry was first out of the dungeon, not wanting to stay there for a moment longer.

As Evan and the others walked in the Great Hall after their dreary Defense Against the Dark Arts class, the ceiling had turned an even murkier gray during the morning. Rain was lashing the high windows, reflecting the gloomy mood of the fourth-year students.

The only one who was in a worse mood than them was Harry, and Evan could feel it just when he got close.

“That was really unfair for Snape to do that,” said Hermione to Harry. “Your potion wasn’t nearly as bad as Goyle’s, when he put it in his flagon the whole thing shattered and set his robes on fire.”

“Yeah, well, since when has Snape ever been fair to me?” said Harry, glowering at his plate.

“I did think he might be a bit better this year,” said Hermione in a disappointed voice. “I mean … you know … Now he’s in the Order of the Phoenix and everything.”

She looked carefully around; there were half a dozen empty seats on either side of them and nobody was passing the table.

“Poisonous toadstools don’t change their spots,” said Ron sagely. “Anyway, I’ve always thought Dumbledore was cracked trusting Snape, where’s the evidence he ever really stopped working for You-Know-Who?”

“I think Dumbledore’s probably got plenty of evidence, even if he doesn’t share it with you,” snapped Hermione.

“Oh, shut up, the pair of you,” said Harry heavily. “Can’t you give it a rest? You’re always having a go at each other, it’s driving me mad.”

Hermione and Ron both froze, looking angry and offended.

With that, and abandoning his shepherd’s pie, Harry swung his schoolbag back over his shoulder. Just as he got up, he saw Evan and Colin walking over. He stopped for a moment, muttered a greeting, and walked away, leaving the four of them in a daze.

“What’s wrong with him?” Evan looked at Harry’s back in surprise; his mood had been unstable recently.

First, he’d had a quarrel with Seamus last night in front of all the students in the school, and now this…

Regardless of how close their relationship might be, it was evident that Harry’s temper was noticeably more volatile than before.

Perhaps the accumulated pressure had become too much for him; which was not the case at least during the previous semester.

“It’s that old bat Snape!” said Ron disgustedly. “He deliberately targeted Harry and gave him zero marks for the potion.”

“Let’s not talk about that. How was it on your end?” Hermione asked, handing Evan a piece of shepherd’s pie. “What did Professor Umbridge teach you in class?”

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