4

466Chapter 4: It Begins

Edited 11/15/17

It Begins

Classes began the very next day. The morning would be Defense Against the Dark Arts and Transfiguration, then Ancient Runes. After lunch, Harry had Herbology followed by a double Potions period. Ordinarily, Harry would have groaned at the thought of two hours in the dungeons with Professor Snape. But this time, Harry found himself looking forward to it. He truly enjoyed Potions—when the dungeon bat wasn't breathing down his neck—and he was eager to apply the skills he'd learned over the summer in a real classroom setting and see where they got him.

The Defense professor was an auror. From what Harry had heard so far, Dumbledore had an agreement with the auror force that they'd rotate out one active auror for a year to teach DADA—though in the case of an emergency, said auror was still a part of the force and would be pulled from the school to meet whatever threat there may be. This year, the professor was a tall man with dark hair and a scar on his cheek. His very posture and bearing was testament to his dueling prowess and skill. He was a seasoned auror for certain, and one who wouldn't tolerate any nonsense in his classroom.

A decent percentage of sixth years from across all houses filled the class. Some of them seemed eager to learn and looked like they were taking the threat of war seriously—because there was a war brewing. Evidence of it was splashed across the pages of the Daily Prophet. And Harry would be a long time forgetting the attack on Diagon Alley while he and Tonks had been staying there for the last month of summer.

Harry sat with Tonks in the third row. James and Sirius took the table beside him, and Remus and Peter sat behind them. Lily sat in front of James with one of her roommates. James looked pleased at her choice of seating. Across the aisle, a smattering of Slytherins and Ravenclaws mingled with some wariness while the Hufflepuffs claimed the seats left over. Harry was slightly taken aback when he recognized the teenaged Snape in the middle of row across the aisle. The seat beside him remained empty, even though there were still students entering the classroom. He alternated between thumbing through his textbook and glancing toward Lily with an unreadable expression. Harry suddenly remembered the scene he'd witnessed in his future professor's pensieve during that disastrous Occlumency lesson and his gut twisted in a strange combination of anger, guilt, and pity.

Before Harry could give it any more thought, though, the auror—professor—began class abruptly. "I am Auror Simeon Dean. You will call me Professor Dean. I'm here to teach you what's out there, from petty disagreements to the Dark Arts themselves, and how to defend yourself. There is a war going on. Not a single one of you will remain untouched by the time it is over." Professor Dean let his eyes rest on every single student before continuing. A few shuddered as his gaze fell on them.

"You will lose friends, acquaintances, even family members, and if you do not take this class seriously, you may very well lose your very life. I will not tolerate any tomfoolery in my classroom. Disrespect and misbehavior will be punished severely. Some of you are aiming to be aurors. These standards apply in the auror corps as well. You must understand how serious this is. If I have to give you more than two severe warnings, you will be kicked out of my class, and Merlin help you when you find yourself facing down the wrong end of a wand."

Harry could have heard a quill drop. The entire class was silent, many of them only just beginning to realize what was at stake. Harry glanced at the Slytherin students. There were less than ten of them, Snape included, but among them were three Harry knew to be future Death Eaters—Nott, Goyle, and Avery. He recognized the former two by their resemblance to their future sons, and the last from their encounter in the Department of Mysteries. All three had very serious expressions on their faces, but Avery's lips were twitching in a menacing way, and Nott was far too relaxed. He wondered just how far down that road they'd gone, being only sixth years. Harry made a mental not to stay out of their way and off their bad side.

After a long moment, Professor Dean broke the silence. "I'm assuming you all remember everything from your OWLs, because I will not waste time reviewing what you should have already learned. Today we will start directly into the sixth year curriculum with nonverbal casting. It is one of your biggest advantages in a duel, as your opponent will have no idea what spell you're using until it leaves your wand. Nonverbal casting takes a great deal of concentration…"

And so the lesson began. The lecture went fairly well, though it was a bit dry—the bare facts, with no embellishment or entertainment value. Harry had trouble paying attention, as he already knew how to cast silently—he and Tonks had reviewed it extensively over the summer, before and after arriving in 1976. The practice would be worth it though.

The last fifteen minutes were left for application. Professor Dean instructed them to practice casting first- and second-year spells nonverbally, and scolded any students who tried to cheat by whispering the spell. About a quarter of the class had managed it at least once by the end. Snape got it right away, as did Lily. James and Sirius were pranking each other silently, their lips all but glued shut to prove they weren't cheating. Lily scolded them several times for their antics. James nodded shamefacedly—then turned around and turned Sirius's hair pink again.

Remus also caught on quickly, and was helping Peter through it. He hadn't quite managed it by the end of class. Professor Dean dismissed them with two feet of parchment on the advantages—and disadvantages—of nonverbal casting in a duel and said they'd continue practicing next class.

Transfiguration was everything Harry expected it to be. Professor McGonagall was the same as she was in his time, though with a few less gray hairs. She spent most of the class lecturing about the importance of the NEWT examinations and outlining again her basic expectations.

"I've said it every year, and I'll say it now: anyone caught fooling around in my class will be kicked out, and you will not be readmitted—this class is no longer mandatory, and as such, it is your choice whether you stay or go. However, I expect every ounce of your concentration and dedication during class," she finished, eying each of the Marauders specifically. They all assumed perfectly innocent expressions, as though it was unfathomable to even consider they might be capable of said mischief.

The last twenty minutes of class were spent in review of material from the previous year. It quickly became obvious who had just barely made it into the class and who had aced their Transfiguration OWL. Even Peter, whom Harry had always assumed was a bit of a dune, performed well. He supposed having tutors as proficient as James and Sirius (who were lazily showing off Transfiguration already well into the first term) had an impact after five years. Becoming an Animagus had probably helped, too.

After Transfiguration, Harry had his first Ancient Runes class. He was excited to learn from an actual teacher, rather than a book. Tonks, James, and Remus joined him, as did a smattering of other students across the houses. It appeared Ancient Runes wasn't a very popular class to take after OWL year. There were only about fifteen students in the entire class across all houses. After the first half-hour, Harry found himself wondering why James had bothered to take this class in the first place. Then he realized where James's attention was truly focused and he had to stifle a laugh—his eyes never left the back of Lily's head, who sat two rows ahead and slightly to his right.

As the class period continued and Professor Babbling moved into a discussion of the runes from other languages outside of the Indo-European languages such as Anglo Saxon and Norse, it became clear that, despite appearances, James did have an understanding of the material. Remus contributed, as well, and with enthusiasm. And while the discussion was interesting, Harry was a little disappointed to find himself rather bored. Even in the few classes he'd had so far, it was becoming increasingly clear that Harry was ahead of the curriculum.

He lamented this to Tonks during lunch. She laughed at him and said it was his own fault for being an over-eager student during the summer. "Maybe that will teach you to spend your vacation studying," she teased him. Harry, very maturely, stuck his tongue out at her and turned back to his meal.

After lunch was Herbology. Harry hadn't really thought the subject worth continuing, but after finally coming to understand the role of each plant in potions, he figured he might as well learn more. As it turned out, he shared the class with both Peter and Sirius. He had expected Peter, more or less—his demeanor sort of reminded Harry of Neville—but Sirius had been a surprise. What he knew of his godfather was that he only tried when he was interested, and Herbology had not been one of those things that interested him.

Professor Sprout—in her second or third year of teaching and far younger than Harry was used to seeing her—began the class with the typical lecture on NEWTs and a brief overview of what they'd be studying that year. Sirius was obviously bored, doodling on the end paper in his textbook.

"You should pay attention," Peter told him quietly. "What if she tests us on this?"

"Then I'll steal your notes, like always," Sirius replied idly, twirling his quill between his fingers.

"If you don't want to be here," Harry said with faint annoyance, "then why are you here?"

Sirius made a face. "We—me, James, Remus, and Peter—made a promise back in third year that we'd never let each other take a class alone. When our OWLs came, I was the only one with a high enough grade to continue the class when Peter said he wanted to keep with it—besides Remus, that is, but he already had a full schedule. So, I got stuck with him."

Something flickered across Peter's face, so quickly that Harry almost missed it. Then he looked back at Sirius, just in time to see him to throw Peter a somewhat resentful look.

"If you made that promise to honor your friendship, don't you think you should try a little harder not to make him feel guilty for dragging you along?" Harry stated bluntly. Peter half-gasped in surprise; Sirius's brow furrowed.

"Do you feel guilty?" he asked.

"Not at all," Peter replied—not with a nervous stammer, like Harry honestly expected—but with dry sarcasm. "Why would I feel guilty for making my friend take a class he obviously hates just to keep me company?"

"—oh." Sirius actually looked a little shamefaced. A long moment passed in silence. Then Sirius turned to Peter again and asked, "So, tell me again about biting hydrangeas?"

Peter snickered. "They're fanged hydrangeas," he corrected with perhaps a little too much enthusiasm.

"Things with fangs bite, don't they? So they'd be biting hydrangeas anyway," Sirius retorted.

Peter, looking mildly offended, suddenly launched into a lengthy and surprisingly detailed explanation as to why they were called fanged and not biting, with Sirius interjecting several times with illogical counter-arguments and good humor.

As they bickered, Harry rolled his eyes. Honestly, how did he even manage to make it into the NEWT Herbology course? Unless he's only pretending to be dense. Harry then turned his attention to Professor Sprout's lecture, though he couldn't help hearing Sirius and Peter's debate in the background. He was surprised at how much Peter knew about herbology. Perhaps he was more like Neville than Harry had thought.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, though, there was a niggling voice that insisted he's a traitor! One day, he's going to betray them in the worst possible way. Maybe he's already planning it. But that didn't match with what Harry had seen so far. Maybe he wasn't the most charismatic or intelligent of the Marauders. But that didn't make him a jealous traitor. Perhaps he just appeared bumbling and dimwitted because he was paired with two unusually talented minds and an incurable scholar.

Before Harry knew it, Herbology was over and it was time to trek down to the dungeons for Potions—the class that, honestly, Harry was most looking forward to. Harry, Peter, and Sirius met with James and Remus and Tonks outside the classroom and they entered together.

Four different potions boiled in cauldrons lined up at the front of the classroom. To Harry's surprise, one of them was gold and bubbling merrily. From the slightly pink potion he caught the scents of cut grass, hot cocoa, and wood smoke—scents he associated with his Dursley-free summer with Tonks and future Remus and which made him smile. The other potion, which rather resembled grey sludge, Harry recognized with a half grimace and a slight smile—Polyjuice potion. The last was clear, looking just like water but for the faint silver smoke that rose from its surface.

Nearly the entire class was already present—from the greenhouses on the grounds to the dungeons was a long walk. Three of the four Gryffindor girls were sitting in the back left of the classroom, young Lily Evans with one roommate at one table and the other by herself at the table next to them. Harry didn't know her name, but the one sitting by herself beckoned to Tonks with enthusiasm. Tonks gave Harry a slightly apologetic half-shrug and went to sit by her.

Meanwhile, James and Sirius had paired up at a table toward the front right of the classroom, with Peter and Remus sitting in front of them. The rest of the classroom was populated with a mix of Slytherin and Ravenclaw, with a single Hufflepuff boy. And all the seats were taken save one—the seat beside young Severus Snape, in the second row in the front left.

He looked the same as his older counterpart, though he was shorter and his hair didn't quite reach his shoulders. But there was one glaring difference that Harry picked up on immediately. Instead of being having shoulders set in arrogance or defiance, a permanent sneer of contempt adorning his face, the young Snape's shoulders were hunched, his head bowed and face partially hidden by his curtain of greasy hair. His expression lacked the bitterness Harry was so familiar with from his own time. Instead, he just looked…lonely, especially sitting alone at a desk designed for two.

Harry took a deep breath, then crossed the invisible divide between the Gryffindors and the Slytherins and approached the empty seat.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" Harry asked cautiously, ignoring Sirius's hissing to stay away and to join him and James.

The young Slytherin looked up in shock, then his face twisted into a grimace. "Don't you have any friends yet?" he asked mockingly. The question could have been asked with concern, but his tone was vicious. Harry gritted his teeth and chose to ignore it.

"Not yet. Besides, I've heard you're a wizard at potions, and I need all the help I can get," he said self-depreciatingly, smiling a little at his bad pun. He stubbornly ignored all his instincts screaming at him to get far away. And the whispers that filled the classroom.

Snape's grimace turned into a look of surprise, then his eyes narrowed as he searched for hidden motives and unspoken malice. Harry stood patiently, waiting for the answer and hoping he wasn't rejected—if only because there were no other open seats.

Finding nothing but sincerity in Harry's face, Snape nodded curtly and turned back to his potions textbook. Harry took the seat beside him and set up his cauldron, trying not to let Snape hear his sigh of relief.

Virtually at the same moment Harry took his seat, the door behind the teacher's desk suddenly opened. A rotund, smiling man dressed in fine robes entered the classroom. "Good afternoon, class!" he said enthusiastically.

"Good afternoon, Professor," a few students murmured in greeting.

"Jolly good to see you, Professor Slughorn!" Sirius chirped from his seat. "Had a good summer, did you?" Harry shut his eyes in embarrassment as chuckles fluttered through the classroom.

"Wonderful, wonderful, thank you, Mr. Black," Professor Slughorn replied absently. The man was the complete opposite of Professor Snape. The dungeon bat would have taken points for such a greeting, and probably found some way to sabotage the student's potion. Professor Slughorn waved it off and continued as though no interruption had occurred.

"Kits, books, and scales out, please," he said. There was some rustling and banging as supplies were retrieved and set up. "Now, then. I've prepared a sampling of potions I thought would interest you. You should all be able to make each one flawlessly by the time your NEWTs are over! You ought to have heard of them all. Can anyone tell me what this one is?" Slughorn indicated the cauldron full of slow-boiling mud.

Several hands went up, Harry's and Tonks's among them. Every Ravenclaw had their hand up, as did Snape's, Lily's, and, surprisingly, James's. Slughorn smiled happily at the response and pointed at one of the Ravenclaws.

"Polyjuice Potion, sir," the boy said confidently. "It can change your appearance to that of anyone in the world, but only for a limited time depending on the dosage."

"Excellent, Mr. Fenwick, excellent! Take five points for Ravenclaw. You want to beware this one. Never know who's really your friend when they can transform into anyone, especially in times like these. Now, how about this one?" The professor now pointed at the cauldron full of what looked like plain water.

Fewer hands went up this time, though Snape, Lily, and even James kept their hands up. Harry couldn't help but wonder how his father knew, when he himself couldn't for the life of him figure out what it could be, though it seemed familiar somehow.

"Mr. Potter," Slughorn said, pointing to James.

"It's Veritaserum. Colorless, odorless, and will leave you spilling your darkest secrets with barely a word," he said confidently. And suddenly Harry remembered why it seemed familiar. Back in his fourth year, Professor Snape had threatened to dose him with it to get him to admit he'd been stealing from his potions stores, when in fact it had been fake Mad-Eye Moody.

"Excellent. Five points to Gryffindor," Slughorn said jovially. "The truth serum. Very popular, but highly regulated, during criminal trials. Now, how about this one?" Slughorn indicated the one from which the pleasing smells were originating. This time only two Ravenclaws, plus Lily and Snape, raised their hands.

"Ms. Evans?"

"It's Amortentia, the world's most powerful love potion. It smells differently to each person according to what attracts us. Easily recognized by the characteristic spiraling steam," Lily said, a pleased look on her face.

"Exactly right, Miss Evans. Another five points to Gryffindor. Now, the thing to remember about this one," Slughorn began, "is that Amortentia does not and cannot create actual love, but rather a powerful obsession. Be wary."

"Maybe that's why James is obsessed with Evans—she's dosed him with Amortentia!" Sirius whispered loudly. James flushed and elbowed Sirius in the ribs.

"Or you did," Peter muttered teasingly, just loud enough for Harry to catch, and Remus chuckled.

"—this one is?" another student spoke, distracting Harry from his dormmates' bickering.

"Oho," Slughorn began dramatically, like he'd been waiting for this moment. "Yes, that. That one, ladies and gentlemen, is a delightful little potion known as Felix Felicis. Does anyone—"

"It's liquid luck!" Lily blurted excitedly before Slughorn could call on her. Harry suppressed a smile; she was just like Hermione. A wave of nostalgia washed over him at that moment and he almost missed what she said next. "Just a mouthful gives you the luckiest day of your life!" The entire class was suddenly paying much closer attention.

"Exactly right, Miss Evans," Slughorn said, surprised. "Take ten points for Gryffindor. A funny little potion, Felix Felicis," he continued. "Incredibly tricky to make, and disastrous to get wrong. However, when brewed correctly, you find that all your endeavors tend to succeed until it wears off."

"Why wouldn't you take it every day, then?" the Hufflepuff boy asked.

"If taken in excess," Slughorn explained, "It causes giddiness, recklessness, and dangerous overconfidence. Highly toxic in large quantities as well."

"Sounds like Potter," Snape muttered. Harry surprised himself by laughing. Snape gave him a surprised look.

"Have you ever taken it, sir?" Lily asked.

"Excellent question, Miss Evans. I have, in fact, twice. Once in my youth and once not too long ago. Two tablespoons taken with breakfast. Two perfect days." The professor's gaze glazed over slightly, seemingly lost in memory. "And that," he said solidly after a moment, "is what I offer as a prize at the end of this lesson."

Everyone went silent, eager to hear the terms. "One tiny bottle of Felix Felicis, just enough for 12 hours," he said, pulling a tiny, corked glass vial from his pocket to display. "From dawn until dusk, you will be lucky in everything you attempt."

Everyone traded excited looks, and even Snape looked interested. "However," Slughorn continued warningly, "I must tell you that Felix Felicis is banned in organized competitions—sporting events, for instance, examinations, or elections." There was an audible groan from James and Sirius at the mention of Quidditch. "The winner is to use it on an ordinary day only…and watch how that ordinary day becomes extraordinary!"

A moment passed in silence. Then one of the Slytherins—Avery, Harry thought—spoke up in a condescending tone. "And how, pray tell, are we to win it?"

"Why, by brewing a potion, of course! Everyone turn to page ten of Advanced Potion Making. We have just over an hour, which should be perfectly adequate to make a decent attempt at the Draught of Living Death. It is more complex than anything you've brewed before, so I do not expect perfection. However, this little bottle of Felix here will go to the best attempt. Off you go!"

Half the class immediately rose and made a mad dash for the store cupboard. Harry turned to Snape, who was organizing his supplies.

"I'm Harrison Carter, by the way," he said casually.

Snape looked up, shocked. Then he muttered, "Severus Snape." Then he headed for the store cupboard as the line went down. Harry shrugged, having expected much less than that, and went to retrieve his own ingredients.

Harry worked silently, adding ingredients methodically and exactly according to the instructions. The dungeon was already filling with multicolored steam and smoke from the students' various attempts. It was an independent project, but there was still murmured conversation throughout the classroom.

Harry glanced at his book, on which the recipe was displayed. Everything was going right. He looked at the next instruction: Slice sopophorous bean into eighth-inch pieces to release juices; add to cauldron. He tried—the small, shriveled bean resisted, even slipping out from under the knife. Once he even had to chase it under his desk. Red-faced and impatient, Harry slammed it down on the desk—only to feel it burst and juice ooze out over his fingers.

Shocked, Harry removed his hand to find it slightly flattened. Thoughtful, Harry studied his silver knife. Then he lowered the flat of the blade over the bean and crushed it.

The amount of liquid released surprised him. Harry hastily scooped it all into his cauldron, making sure not to lose any of it. The potion immediately turned the exact pale lilac color described by the text. Elated, Harry jotted down his discovery in the margin of his textbook—he wasn't going to try cutting one of those stupid beans again—and moved on to the next step.

According to the book, Harry was to stir counterclockwise in sets of seven until the potion turned clear, like water. Harry began to stir, being sure to count carefully. After the first seven stirs, it hadn't changed colors like the book said it should have—or at least, the change had been so subtle as to be irrelevant. He paused, thinking. Potions was like cooking, if infinitely more precise. And in Harry's experience, stirring a mixture in the same direction for a long time would end up with a clump of burnt or unmixed substance at the bottom of the pan as ingredients settled. He wondered if the same was true for potions.

Cautiously, his wand in his right hand, poised to cast a shield charm, and the stirring rod in his left, Harry pulled the stirring rod clockwise. Instantly the potion lightened several shades. There was a gasp beside him.

"How did you do that?"

"Do what?" Harry asked, confused. He'd never heard that kind of surprised and slightly envious tone in Snape's voice before.

"Make your potion look like that, obviously," Snape drawled, recovering his composure. Harry almost rolled his eyes at the obvious attempt to act composed.

"I added an extra clockwise stir after each set of seven counterclockwise, so the ingredients—"

"Don't settle," Snape finished, nodding at the logic. Harry nodded in confirmation. Snape furrowed his brow, his tongue sticking out a little in concentration. He counted seven, then he added the extra clockwise stir. Immediately its color lightened. Snape almost smiled, then he gave Harry a hesitant but sincere nod of gratitude for the hint.

Harry shrugged. "No problem." He jotted down the addition in his textbook, noting Snape doing the same, and continued the altered stirring pattern—it was the last step before the completion of the potion.

"And time's…up!" Slughorn announced just as Harry completed the last stir and his potion turned completely clear. Snape's beside him was still tinted pink—he hadn't had time to finish the stirring sequence. Regretfully, he removed the stirring rod from his cauldron where it bubbled lightly. The professor paced around the classroom, glancing into each student's cauldron, occasionally giving it a stir or a sniff. The Ravenclaws got approving nods, as did Lily. James looked sheepish as Slughorn prodded his potion with his wand and emerged coughing in a cloud of purple smoke. Sirius's potion was a congealed mess the color of liquid mercury. Then Slughorn reached Harry and Snape.

"Oho! Well done, boys, well done indeed. See here, not one of you managed to make your potions quite as perfect as these two. Mr. Snape seems to have run out of time, but it is all correct. Just a few more stirs and it would have been perfect. Twenty points to Slytherin, Mr. Snape. And Mr. Carter, you are our clear winner with your completed Draught of Living Death! One vial of Felix Felicis to you, Harrison," Slughorn said, presenting the luck potion to Harry with a flourish.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry said, ducking his head in embarrassed pleasure. He accepted the vial and tucked it carefully into a pocket of his robe. He was proud of himself, though. He'd never even been close to best in the class in Potions before.

"Use it well, Mr. Carter. I expect to see great things from you this year," Slughorn said, winking. Harry forced a smile. "Mr. Snape, go ahead and add those last few stirs and bottle up your potion for me."

"Yes, sir," Snape said. He seemed indifferent as he picked up his stirring rod again, but Harry noticed the faint flush of pride coloring his cheeks.

"Good job," Harry murmured, smiling. "You deserve it."

Snape glanced at him and almost smiled.

Harry bottled up his Draught of Living Death for Slughorn, then washed his cauldron and utensils before putting them back in his potions kit. He finished packing up his things just as Snape finished his potion. He gave him an encouraging nod as he took the vial up to Slughorn. The other students were already leaving the classroom.

The moment Snape left his side, Sirius grabbed Harry's arm and all but dragged him out of the classroom. Harry barely had time to grab his bag.

"What the hell?" Harry demanded, yanking himself free. Sirius blinked in confusion.

"I was rescuing you, of course."

"From what?"

"From Snivellus." Sirius sneered the nickname. Harry gritted his teeth.

"For your information, it is not up to you to decide who I can be friends with," he said with measured patience and a note of warning in his voice.

"He's just worried about you, mate," James said uncomfortably.

"We've had…unpleasant encounters with him in the past," Remus explained.

Harry tried not to sigh. "Well, that happened to be the most decent and informative Potions lesson I've ever sat in. So forgive me for not seeing the problem."

"Just…be careful with him," Peter said. "He can get nasty if…" he trailed off uncomfortably.

"Let me guess—if you provoke him?" Harry said pointedly. They all nodded. "So can I. And if Sirius does something like that again without good reason, you will see me get nasty."

With that, Harry turned his back on them and caught up to Tonks, who was waking ahead with her seat partner from Potions. He nodded to them in greeting but didn't speak. Instead, he bit the inside of his cheek and wondered why it hurt so much to walk away from them, when he technically didn't know them at all.