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Harry Potter and the Expert Potions Master	By : SickPuppy Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Snape Views: 21304 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe. I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
Chapter 7 - Diagon Alley Revisited

After a lazy breakfast, Harry said goodbye to Kreacher and disapparated to Diagon Alley on the morning of 28^th December. Harry had felt incredibly frustrated that the day after Boxing Day, the 27^th, had fallen on a Sunday. He knew there was no chance of the shops in Diagon Alley, or any other part of the wizarding world, being open for business.

Instead he had sat, trying to read, trying not to think about his erection, and definitely not allowing himself to think about any stray deviant thoughts that had crossed his mind.

Now though, this morning, he pulled on a warm jacket and felt pleased to be able to do something, even if, really, he should have been at Hogwarts or the Ministry.

At the Burrow the weather had been crispy cold and refreshing. Here in the city, it was just foggy and gloomy.

Harry had landed right in Diagon Alley itself, not wanting to bother with going through the Leaky Cauldron and dealing with any early morning patrons who wanted to gawp at him. A swift glance at the shops showed him that most were open, or beginning to open, as the weak winter sun filtered onto the cobbles. Where the height of the building blocked the sun's rays, it was bitterly cold and discouraged dawdling.

So soon after Christmas, there were not many about. The wizarding world, unlike the Muggle one, didn't hold after Christmas sales that encouraged frenzies. Harry remembered all too well being forced to wear items Mrs Dursley had found in the winter sales, and felt the all-too-familiar curl of anger at his uncle's barked comments that he should be “damned grateful!” even as he was made to wear clothes that had made Dudley cry with laughter.

He shivered in the cool air and made his way over to Eeylops Owl Emporium. But before he could push the door open, he took another look around, and a dazzling orange display snagged his attention. He had forgotten that Fred and George had established their shop here. Now that he thought about it, he wondered what had happened to the business since Fred's death. George hadn't shown any inclination to leave the Burrow since Fred had died (understandably). Without conscious thought, Harry made his way over to the shop door.

The lights inside were not on, apart from a light at the back of the store, and the door itself was locked. Above the 'Tough luck, we're closed' sign was a hand-written one saying 'Owl Orders Now Being Accepted'. Inside, Harry could just make out a figure moving to and fro. Even knowing that it couldn't be Fred, Harry still felt his body tighten with tension at the off chance that maybe, maybe it was. He pushed at the door, but it didn't budge.

The figure moved towards the front of the shop and Harry saw that it wasn't Fred. Wasn't even male. It was a woman who was vaguely familiar to Harry.

The woman was shaking her head and pointing at the sign when she suddenly looked at Harry. A startled look came over her face and she unlocked the door.

Somewhere in a dusty corner of his mind, Harry dredged up the woman's name. “Verity, isn't it?”

“That's right, Mr Potter.” Verity seemed pleased and surprised that he could recall her identity. “We're not really open at the moment. As you can see.”

“Yes.” Harry glanced about at the full and tidy displays. When he had last been here it had been busy and the displays reflected the many hands that had taken down items and examined them. “Are you running everything by yourself?”

“At the minute, yes. Since - since Mr Weasley died, Mr Weasley hasn't come into the shop, and I haven't quite dared to write to him to ask him what he wants done. So I thought the least I could do was keep the owl order business going.”

“That's very good of you.” The words were simple enough, but Harry's gratitude was deep and so obvious to the woman that she blushed.

“Oh, it's no trouble. I wanted to keep busy, and this was an easy way of doing that. Besides, Mr Weasley was still paying me, so I would have felt dishonest just sitting at home.”

Harry's stunned expression amused her.

“Mr Weasley set up a regular payment to my vault. That's not been cancelled.”

“Oh.” A frown creased Harry's face. “Is there enough money to keep paying you?”

Verity shifted. “I don't know. I don't have access to the shop vault. Money is going in, as the only way to get an owl order sent here is to first send it via Gringotts to deposit the correct amount of money into the shop vault. But we're not doing enough to cover the rent and my salary, I don't think.”

Harry squared his shoulders. “Okay, Verity. I'll sort something out. I'll write to Ge-. No, on second thoughts,” he realised that George might not be too pleased to receive a letter from him, “you write to George and just say you're keeping the shop going and when he's ready to come back, you'd be glad to open everything up properly again.”

She seemed uncomfortable at the idea of writing to her employer, but nodded.

“I don't suppose Fred and George ever opened a branch in Hogsmeade in the end, did they?” Harry asked, suddenly turning back.

“No. Given what's happened, it's fortunate.”

That about covered it. So Harry made his farewells and walked past Eeylops to the other end of the street where Gringotts was.

He wasn't expecting the warmest of welcomes. The last time he'd been in here he'd broken into a vault, stolen their guard dragon, and destroyed half of the bank building. Given the glower the welcome goblin was sending his way, he remembered Harry's previous visit.

Harry had been glowered at by far scarier beings than the goblin (Mrs Weasley sprang instantly to mind) so he gave a mocking smile to the guard and went inside the beautiful building.

Inside, there was no sign of the damage that he, Ron, Hermione, and a crazed, half-blind dragon had caused. The floor was as highly polished as ever, the marble columns wound up to the high vaulted ceiling as elegantly as ever before, and the high wooden desk, behind which sat the goblin he needed to speak to, was as rich and well cared for as ever.

“Mr Potter.” The being's tone was not welcoming. “What brings you back to Gringotts?” There was a faint sneer in his voice that Harry chose to ignore. For now.

“I need to put some money into the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes shop vault.”

“Very well. How much?”

“That's the problem. I'm not sure. It depends on how much money is in there already.”

The goblin glared down his long nose at Harry before sighing. “I shall have to consult with a colleague.”

With surprising agility, the creature leapt down from the high stool and scurried off out of sight. A few moments passed, during which time those goblins who were not otherwise preoccupied glared at him.

“Mr Potter?” A shorter, fatter goblin was standing by the one Harry had spoken to. This one had a croaky voice and wheezed slightly on each breath. “Come with me, please.”

Harry followed the new, obviously more important, being off the main hall and along a richly carpeted passage that had doors leading off it, each labelled in strange figures that looked sort of like runes.

The goblin was unlocking the door at the end and waving Harry in before he'd really had time to consider the foreign writing.

The office was just as luxurious as the rest of the bank. On the wall behind the large, mahogany desk was a picture in a gilt frame of a stern goblin. The figure glowered at Harry before walking huffily out of the frame.

“I guess that was Gringott himself?” Harry offered, his eyes on the nicely painted background.

“Yes.” the bank employee said shortly. He pushed the door closed and waddled to the desk. “He's not very happy with you, Mr Potter.”

Harry sat where indicated and almost smiled. “No, I imagine not. But I imagine you're all happier not being terrorised by Voldemort and his cronies.”

The goblin's face soured a little. “Yes.” he admitted finally. “Now, Ragnuk tells me that you want to put some money into another vault, but don't know how much?”

Briefly, Harry explained. He finished with: “I don't want the shop to fail, so I want it to have enough money to pay Verity and cover the rent. But I don't know how much money is left in the vault.”

The goblin nodded and opened a drawer in his desk. It was clearly magically enlarged as he spent nearly three minutes searching through it looking for the information Harry needed. At last he pulled out the relevant folder, grumbling to himself, “Put back under 'V'. I bet that was Fug again. Stupid creature can't even read!”

Harry waited. The chair was very comfortable so he wasn't annoyed at the delay. At last, the creature behind the desk croaked, “Without going into specifics, there is currently enough in the vault to cover all expenses for the next two months and three weeks. If any unexpected item crops up, then the vault will be emptied much more quickly.”

There was silence. The only noises were the faint ticking of a clock and the sound of some foreign tongue being spoken. The one saying it sounded extremely angry. Harry couldn't be certain, but he was fairly sure it was coming from near the empty picture.

The goblin opposite him smirked for a moment, then covered it.

“Gringott is abusing me, isn't he?” Harry asked, not in the least upset.

The goblin looked rather discomforted. “Ah, er, that is..”

“Never mind, Flagrook,” the painted figure came back into the frame, “I'll tell him. I said, Potter, you and your kind are a menace, and if I had my way you'd all be locked in the most secure vault we have and basilisk venom dripped on you until you melted!”

Harry bit back a laugh. “So, you're not a fan then?”

Gringott snarled something in Gobbledegook and stalked out of frame again.

Continuing as if there had been no interruption, Harry spoke, “If I put in enough to cover another six months, with say, 25% extra to cover contingencies, would I be able to afford that?”

Rolling his eyes in annoyance, Flagrook returned to his drawer. This time he pulled out Harry's folder much more quickly. A quick read of its first line was enough. He replaced the folder and said, “Mr Potter, you have enough to cover the amount at least a hundred times over.”

“Oh.” Harry was a little nonplussed. He knew he had a lot of gold in his vault, but he'd never counted it all. He hadn't realised he really was genuinely rich.

“Shall I arrange the transfer?”

Harry, lost in the thought of his wealth, started. “What? Oh, oh yes. Yes please. Thank you.”

Flagrook dipped his quill into a bottle of deep purple ink and began writing on a clean piece of parchment. After a few minutes he turned it so that Harry had a chance to read it.

“You haven't put in the vault number of the shop's vault,” he said, a little suspicious.

“No. I have labelled the vault with its owner, but to protect our clients' privacy, we don't reveal vault numbers unless we have to.”

Harry nodded. “Good idea. Okay, that's all fine.” He reached for the quill that stood on his side of the desk and dipped it into the emerald green ink there. Scratchily, he scrawled his signature at the bottom of the sheet and passed it back to the goblin.

Flagrook signed his name, using the same odd alphabet that Harry had noticed on the doors. With a snap of his fingers, three copies of the parchment appeared. Flagrook rolled one of them up and tied a red ribbon around it. The other he passed to Harry. “Your copy.” He explained.

“Thank you,” Harry said, standing up when the old goblin had done so, “You've been very helpful.”

Flagrook glanced at the human out of the corner of his eye, not entirely sure if he was being mocked, but Harry seemed genuine enough. Stiffly he replied, “You're welcome.”

Harry's walk back across the polished floor was less glower-filled as the bank was fuller, and more goblins were talking to customers. There might have been fewer glowers, but there were more stares as the humans saw who was amongst them and turned to gape. It always gave Harry an awkward feeling and made him want to check he hadn't left his fly open by mistake.

Out in the weak winter sun, Harry rolled his shoulders and finally made his way to Eeylops.

Inside, the shop was dark and full of rustlings and soft hoots. It took Harry a few moments for his eyes to adjust, but when they did, he saw shelves all around the walls of the shop. The shelves had large wire cages on them, and each cage held an owl.

“Can I help you?” a soft voice asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

Harry jumped. A shop assistant had clearly been lurking in the room, and Harry just hadn't noticed.

“Yes. I was looking for, well, an owl.” He indicated the many birds around the room. “Obviously.”

The assistant gave a soft chuckle. “Ah, indeed, Eeylops is obviously the place to look for an owl. And what type of owl? Tufted? Snowy? Long eared? Barn? Screech? Eagle?” He pointed at each section in turn, beginning a slow revolution.

Harry held up his hands. “I'll just browse, thanks. See what catches my eye.”

“Very well.”

Starting at the side closest to the counter, Harry glanced at the wide array of owls. Most were sleepy, but not quite fully asleep in the gloomy room. His heart clenched as he reached and walked straight past the section holding the snowy owls. He considered: Screech? Those are like the owls Hogwarts uses. An imperious looking eagle owl stared haughtily at him, reminding him of Draco Malfoy. He passed on quickly. He slowed by the barn owls, liking the look of their rounded bodies. But it was a cage next to the barn owls, a cage holding what looked like a miniature barn owl, that caught his eye.

In the cage a small bird, about the size of a pigeon, was flapping its wings and chirruping in an excited sort of way. Harry smiled at the animal's antics and knelt down in front of the cage.

“Hello,” he murmured, not wanting to speak too loudly. Eeylops, like Ollivanders, rather reminded him of a strict library, “are you trying to tell me something?”

He opened the cage door and placed his closed fist by the entrance. The shop assistant gave a strangled gasp, fully expecting the bird to nip his customer, but the little owl jumped close to Harry's hand and bent down, almost as if he were sniffing it, then he hopped onto Harry's fist and began walking up the arm. Through the material of his coat and jumper, Harry could feel the bird's claws just pinching his skin as it clambered up his limb and onto his shoulder. There it settled, a noise very like a crow of triumph emerging.

Before standing, Harry flicked over the tag tied to the cage and read the price.

“This one.” He said walking to the counter, the bird balancing happily on his shoulder. Harry felt like a pirate with a bird sitting on him and had to resist the urge to say “Ah, me hearty” in a ridiculous accent. Something told him the young man in front of him wouldn't be amused.

“A - a fine choice,” the assistant said, sounding thoroughly unconvincing. “Would you be wanting a cage?”

Harry turned to look at the small bird weighing him down. “Do you want a cage?”

The owl flew off him and landed on the counter. It strutted along it, wings held out and headed, with apparent innocence, straight for the bowl of owl treats. It buried its beak in the bowl, almost appearing headless.

Harry laughed loudly, not caring that he was completely disturbing the birds around him and shocking the young man. He pulled the bird out of the bowl and held it in his arms.

“No cage,” he decided.

“Oh.” The young assistant was looking at the bird with a dazed expression.

“Do I owe you some money?”

“What? Oh, oh yes.” The assistant named a price much higher than had been advertised on the price tag.

Harry remarked without accusation, “Oh? Was the label wrong?”

The man seemed to come back to himself and looked at the tag. “Oh, sorry. Yes, that's the correct price.”

Harry paid it and left the shop.

Outside, the owl made a noise of annoyance at the sunlight.

“I know. I'm going to do a bit more shopping, so if you want to find somewhere to settle for a bit?” The owl flew out of Harry's arms and hovered at eye level. It gave a mildly inquisitive hoot.

“I'll give you a call when I'm done, 'kay? And try to stay out of trouble!”

The owl made a 'Who, me?' gesture and flew off. On the cobbles, Harry realised he was grinning. He had smiled more since seeing the little bird than he had the entire time he had been at the Weasleys.

He strolled next door to Mr Mulpepper's apothecary, idly turning over names for his new companion. The door stood open, letting a few rays light the dusty floor boards.

“Hello.” This time the assistant was a woman, and she seemed far friendlier than the disapproving young man at Eeylops.

Like the owl shop, the apothecary was empty apart from him, so Harry didn't feel he was causing too many problems. He had the feeling he would be in this shop for a while.

“Hi. I know you're not a book shop, but you'd probably know, is there a sort of sequel to Advanced Potion Making? You know something beyond NEWT level, but not at the level of expert?”

The woman considered. She scratched an ear before turning and looking at the books on the shelves behind the counter. “Well,” she said, “there isn't an official sequel. But I suppose Potion Making for Pleasure and Profit is your best bet. It covers potions beyond what an average NEWT student could do, but isn't at the stupidly difficult stage yet.”

Harry nodded. “Do people make potions for profit much?”

The girl, Harry could just see a name tag saying 'Hi, I'm Joy. Ask me about our special offers!' pinned to her black robe, shrugged. “Not really, because people want to know that the person making the potion is, you know, actually proficient. There were a spate of deaths two hundred years ago when Merwyn the Malicious sold what were meant to be love potions, but were really boil inducing potions.”

“Charming.” Harry interjected. “I take it, judging by his name, Merwyn didn't make a mistake? He meant it?”

“Oh he meant it,” Joy said airily. “So, since then, people have insisted that only Potion Masters or proper potion making firms make their potions. There isn't any law, which seems odd, but I suppose it isn't needed, as no-one would be foolish enough to buy a potion without knowing the maker could be trusted.” She pointed at an advert pinned to one of the edges of the wooden shelving units. A potion maker was advertising his wares. At the bottom was merely “Potion Master 1176”

“Are there many Potion Masters?” Harry knew Snape was one, but hadn't really ever given any thought to what the term meant.

“Erm, eight or nine, I think.”

“That's it?!”

“Yes. People generally can't be bothered to do the work involved to become a Potion Master.” She gave Harry a serious look, “It isn't easy, you know. There are three levels of Potion Master, four if you count Expert Potion Master, and it's not easy to achieve any of the levels.”

Harry was intrigued. “How do you do it?”

“There are a few ways.” Joy had settled on a stool behind the counter and stuck her elbows onto it, cupping her pointed chin. Harry glanced around for a chair and saw a small step ladder. He sat awkwardly on the top step as she went on, “Level three is the lowest level. You get that by recommendation or by position. What that means is that if you have done some exceptional work that a Potions Master has seen, they can recommend you for Level Three. A second Potions Master has to validate your work to approve you. Or, you can have the kind of job that means you have to be a Potions Master. Like Snape. You knew him, right?”

Harry didn't correct her tense. He nodded.

“Well, because he was the Potions Master at Hogwarts, he clearly had to be a decent potion maker. So he was granted level three after he had been at Hogwarts for a year and his NEWT students all received Outstanding or Exceeds Expectations.”

“Wow.” Harry was impressed. He knew Snape was not always the fairest of teachers, but he clearly knew his stuff.

“I know. He was the youngest level three Master in about fifty years. Anyway, to attain level two you have to amend at least three potions to improve them. And the list of what counts as an improvement is really restrictive! It can't be more difficult to make, take any longer, use more expensive ingredients, have any negative side effects... You get the picture. And level one is almost impossible as you have to invent a potion. And again there is a ridiculously restrictive list of what can and can't be done.”

The smell of the shop, so noticeable in warm weather, was subdued now, and almost relaxing. Certainly Harry found himself breathing more deeply as he listened.

“Snape hit level one two years after getting level three. He'd amended five potions and invented a new one and taught! I don't know how he did it!”

Silently Harry added, And waited to see if Voldemort came back.

“Most Potion Masters are proud of their achievement and put their names on the adverts we pin up. But that one...” she pointed to the one Harry had perused earlier.

“That's Snape, isn't it? He's 1176.”

Joy nodded and Harry shook his head. It was so typical of Snape not to want any recognition or praise.

Silence fell as Harry began to understand just how skilled Snape was. It was a companionable silence and Harry let it fall over him and wrap round, like a warm blanket in front of a fire on a freezing day.

“So,” Joy seemed to shake herself, “was there anything else I could do for you?”

“Your badge says I should ask you about the special offers,” Harry commented, but went on, “but I really came in here to get the ingredients to make an All-Round Potion.”

“That's a lot of ingredients.” Joy said tentatively.

“67. I know.”

Joy slid off her stool and reached for a thick pile of parchment, punched in one corner, with an unravelling bit of twine holding the loose leaves together. Flicking through the pile she quickly turned to a sheet with 'All Round' written at the top.

“Did you want the standard quantities, or are you making a bigger or smaller portion?”

“Standard is fine,” Harry said quickly.

“Thank goodness, I'd hate to apply Golpalott's First Law to that list!”

Harry, still not overly familiar with the different rules affecting potions, said nothing and hoped he looked intelligent, rather than a moron.

Joy began running her finger down the list and pulling out jars from the shelves around the room. After watching her for a few moments, Harry asked, “Can I help? You could be weighing out whilst I fetch? I assume the jars are in alphabetical order?”

Joy handed him the list, her finger indicating where she had got to, and went to the counter to begin bagging up the items she had already found.

After nearly five minutes her voice broke the easy quiet.

“Duck for a second,” she warned Harry.

He did and watched as the containers she'd got things from sailed back to their correct places.

She carried on, now with more room to work, and it didn't take long before she was weighing out dried doxy wings and waiting expectantly for Harry. He was turning on the spot, looking irritated.

“What is it?”

“It's this list. I wish it was in alphabetical order! And I can't find the unicorn hair!”

“Oh, sorry! We keep that behind the till. Stops light fingers.” Harry glared at her and she smiled. “Does it say what kind?”

“Female. One strand fourteen inches long.” Harry said shortly, returning to the counter with the now complete list.

Joy had vanished into a back room but she quickly returned with a unicorn hair and two boxes. She looked at the pile of ingredients in their labelled paper bags and at the smaller box. Joy shook her head and began loading up the large box, heavier items at the bottom.

“When did you find time to write all these labels?” Harry asked.

“Magic.” Joy waved her wand and the quill on the desk wavered in the air before settling back down.

As she finished, Harry put the last few jars away, noticing a price list tacked to one wall. It began at the ceiling and finished on the wooden floor. It had prices for various potions. Near the top was “All Round”. His eyebrows rose a little at the amount, but then he remembered that there were 67 different ingredients.

“Is the All Round potion on that price list?” Joy asked, not wanting to have to work out how much all the different items would cost.

“Forty-seven Galleons, 13 sickles, 14 knuts.” Harry read off and dug in his jacket for the pouch that held his money.

He came back to the counter and tipped his coins onto the surface. One silver sickle made a bid for freedom, rolling right across the width. It would have fallen on the floor had Joy not slapped her palm over it to flatten it. Whilst he sorted through his change, Joy closed the box. Now that the top flaps were no longer obscuring the sides, Harry could easily read 'Potion Ingredients. Do not drop' written on each side in glittery silver and purple letters. Joy wrapped string around the box, tying it neatly and pushed it towards Harry.

“Dammit!” Harry growled. “I've got enough, but I was hoping to get rid of some knuts, but I've only got eleven of the buggers.”

“Oh, I'll knock three knuts off! That's the special offer.” Joy gave Harry a shy grin, which he returned.

“Are you sure?”

“Of course. You helped get the stuff too, so that's only fair.”

Harry scooped his unused coins back into his pouch and stuffed the pouch back into his jacket.

“Thanks, Joy.”

The woman looked confused, then glanced down at her tag. “I've picked up my sister's tag again! I'm Jen.”

Harry shook his head and left.

On the street he threw a glance upwards, checking to see if he could spot his new owl, but he couldn't, so he went into Flourish and Blotts. Within five minutes he was back out, a new copy of Potion Making for Pleasure and Profit under his arm, and a thick roll of new parchment. He settled at one of the seats outside Fortescue's and rested his feet. The ice cream parlour was closed and had the look of long neglect.

With a quick exclamation, Harry nipped back into the book shop and came out holding a quill and bottle. He unfurled a new piece of parchment and wrote a letter to Snape:

Dear sir,

I'm sorry that I bothered you over Christmas. I hope you didn't reply as I'm no longer at the Burrow, instead I'm at Padfoot's old house.

This is a new owl so I don't know how good he is. I'm sending this on the day after Boxing Day, so let me know if there's a delay.

Evans

Harry neatly ripped the parchment to save the unused portion and looked around. “Oy! Trouble!” Harry called.

The owl flitted down onto the table.

“Can you take this to Spinner's End?” he asked.

The owl considered, his head a little on one side, then he hooted and held out his leg. Harry snapped a bit of twine off the string wrapped around the potions box, and tied the letter on.

“When you've done that, I'll probably be home. I live at Twelve, Grimmauld Place. It's in London. Got that?”

Trouble, for that had suddenly become its name, chirruped and flew off.

Going back into Flourish and Blotts, Harry returned the quill and ink he had borrowed and decided on wandering down Knockturn Alley. It would be interesting, he mused, to see what was still there.

He turned into the dark road and felt the chill in the air. The sun couldn't reach here and his breath fogged around him in great clouds. There were signs that temporary stalls had closed down in a rush – spilt foodstuffs, broken 'amulets' and wooden crates littered the passageway. Harry did his jacket up, shoved the book and parchment inside his coat, and stuck the string on the box around his left wrist so that he could shove his cold hands into his pockets.

At the end of the alleyway stood Borgin and Burkes. It still seemed open, but the shop was strangely denuded, as if half or more of the stock had vanished. The dirty windows still seemed full, but, as Harry peered in, he could see the spaces on the boards where large items had once stood and now no longer did.

He shivered. There was nothing to see here. He turned on the spot and focused on his destination – the warm house in London that was his home.
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Harry Potter and the Expert Potions Master