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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
- 8
- 9
- 10
Chapter 8 - OWLs and NEWTS

On the Tuesday after Christmas, Harry went to Hogwarts. His owl, Trouble, hadn't returned from his message, which did worry Harry a little. Still, he hoped it had just been the bad weather that had put the owl off flying home. After all, the previous evening the heavens had opened and the sound of rain battering the glass had made it necessary for him to almost shout to Kreacher to be heard over the noise.

Hogwarts looked clean and fresh after the downpour. Here in Scotland, some of what had fallen had been snow, and Harry had to kick his trainers free of the slushy muck before he stumped up the stairs. At the top, Minerva Mcgonagall was waiting. She had a smile on his lips.

“Harry!” she greeted him warmly, which he needed after the frost of the Weasleys. “Brilliant!”

He wasn't quite sure why his appearance had made her so happy, but he wasn't about to argue with her.

“Come with me,” she instructed and led him into her office. He followed all the way up the spiralling staircase, wondering what she wanted with him. From the faint tingle he had felt when he had pushed the gates open, the protective charms were all back in place.

In the office, she pointed him to a comfy chair next to the low table, and sat there herself. She conjured up a tray with a pot of tea and small cakes on it and poured out. It was all a little bizarre to Harry; he idly wondered if the witch had lost it, but took the drink and selected a particularly tasty looking slice of carrot cake when she waved at him to help himself.

For a few moments they sipped the hot tea in silence. The warmth of the drink slid down Harry's throat, settling in his chilled belly. He sighed with contentment, the calm atmosphere of the room relaxing him.

“I wonder what you might think of an idea I've been considering.” Mcgonagall began after they had finished their first cup and each had a second.

“Try me,” Harry suggested.

“Given everything that happened last year, a number of students were denied their education. Even though you, technically, could have attended Hogwarts, I completely understand why you felt it was impossible.”

Harry snorted. He could just imagine Voldemort's face had he arrived at the school, expecting to be treated like any other student.

“Because of the circumstances, I have been in discussion with the Ministry about how best to acknowledge any qualifications that should have been earned last year which weren't, without devaluing the whole process of examinations. Between us we've suggested that any student who fought in the Battle of Hogwarts will be granted an automatic Outstanding in Defence Against the Dark Arts at NEWT level. Of course, this is made relatively easy because we only allowed those of age, that is to say, those who would most likely have been in their sixth or seventh year, to fight.”

For a moment Harry was swallowed up by memories of that terrible fight. It had all taken on the oddly flattened quality of a nightmare to him. In some ways that was better, in others it was worse, as a nightmare didn't always follow logic. He had had awful, terrifying dreams in which he had done everything he could but Voldemort just hadn't died. Instead he had murdered everyone Harry loved, and done so in horrible ways. And worse, much worse, were the dreams where Harry himself felt taken over by Voldemort, and he was the one torturing and killing.

“That takes care of one subject,” Mcgonagall went on, after the pause had stretched a little too far, “but we were wondering about what to do regarding the other subjects. As Hogwarts is now repaired and protected again I was considering opening its doors to any student who missed their NEWT education and who wished to take advantage of some short, intense courses the staff would run before people took their NEWT exams in June.

“Students who missed their OWLs are slightly less of a problem for us, as we can make arrangements for them to repeat the year once they are back at Hogwarts.

“There are all manner of things we've had to consider. For example, any first year last year should be in third year when the school re-opens in September, but that isn't a sensible move. What we've done is move things, so any first year last year will move into second, second will move into third, and so on. It is at fifth year that problems occur – we can't just move fifth years onto NEWTs courses when they haven't sat their OWLs! So, we're offering intense, short courses for OWLs as well, in case some pupils feel disadvantaged. It means they could move into year six in September. Any who don't take their OWLs will remain in fifth year. It does mean that we will have a large year group, but it's the best we can do. We'll also have a large first year to take those students who should have started Hogwarts this academic year and the ones who'll start it in September. It's all quite complicated, but it's the short courses I wanted to run by you,” She looked at Harry, “What do you think?”

Clarifying it in his head – there had been such a tidal wave of information - he said aloud, “So, between now and June, you're going to offer shortened NEWT courses if pupils want to take them? And you're also offering OWLs too?”

“That's it in a doxy's egg.”

“It sounds like a good idea. I know Hermione would leap at the chance.”

“Ah, actually, Miss Granger has re-enrolled to complete her seventh year in the normal way once the school re-opens. But a lot of witches and wizards her age can't afford to give up an entire year, or simply don't want to.” the witch gave Harry a serious look. “Now, Kingsley assures me that the usual requirement to become an Auror – that is five NEWTS at Outstanding or Exceeds Expectations level - will be waived for anyone who fought at the Battle of Hogwarts. I know you expressed a wish to be an Auror, Harry, so might feel that these courses are not needed. However, I can only stress that an education is something both of your parents valued, and is something that is never wasted.”

“I know.” Harry thought for a long time. “I'm not sure I can commit the time to completing the courses, certainly not for all of the subjects I'd like to take. But I'd like to finish my Potions NEWT and Transfiguration. Those two are really the ones I'd need most to stand a chance as an Auror, don't you think?”

“Well, yes, those and DADA, but you'd already have your NEWT in that. Charms would be useful, but your wand work is adequate, and could no doubt be improved once you began Auror training. And given your school experiences fighting the Dark Lord all these years, I would hardly worry about your ability to defeat any dark magic user.”

He smiled. “Who is going to teach the courses?”

Mcgonagall ticked off the names as she said them, “Most of the usual teachers – Hagrid for Care of Magical Creatures, Horace Slughorn for Potions, myself for Transfiguration, Pomona Sprout for Herbology, Sybill Trelawney for Divination...”

Harry smiled to himself as he heard the change in tone in the woman's voice when she had said the last name.

“Aurora Sinistra for Astronomy, Filius Flitwick for Charms, Cuthbert Binns for History of Magic, Bathsheda Babbling for Ancient Runes, Septima Vector for Arithmancy, and, of course, we need a Defence Against the Dark Arts and Muggle Studies teacher for September, and possibly for those students who wish to take an OWL in either of them before that point.”

A thought occurred to Harry. “Who's taking over as head of Gryffindor?” he asked, suddenly worried. “You can't do it, can you? As head?”

“No.” Mcgonagall's face matched Harry's concerned one. “The only Gryffindor teacher at the moment is...”

“Hagrid.” Harry put in, “And, I love him, but he'd be useless as head of Gryffindor.”

“There, we agree.” Minerva said, a little dryly, “My best bet would be to appoint a Gryffindor DADA or Muggle Studies teacher, but that really is hoping for the best!”

There was little enough hope of that, the wizard himself thought. Even if the post were no longer cursed, it would hardly be an easy job teaching hormonal teenagers how to defend against dark magic. He thought that any teacher who chose to face up to a bunch of horny children needed their head examining! His own focus at school had been lax enough some days, and other than Hermione (who was just weird that way), he knew his attitude had generally been fairly representative of his classmates' feelings.

“Anyway,” she said, “I'll sign you up for Potions and Transfiguration. Horace will be delighted!”

Harry somehow subdued his desire to grimace, feeling suddenly panic stricken: he would not have the Half-Blood Prince's book to help him! If only he had managed to go back and get the book before the room's contents had been destroyed by Fiendfyre! He felt horrified that his potions reputation (which, really, he hadn't deserved) would be ruined. Then he calmed. Before the course started he could bombard the real Half-Blood Prince with questions so that he wouldn't look a total idiot! One thing he would definitely ask about was Golpalott's Third Law, as that had made zero sense to him when he had come across it in sixth year. He also considered asking about Golpalott's First and Second Laws.

Mind meandering back to where he was, he drained the cool remnants of his cup and stood up. “I take it that was everything?” he asked.

The Headmistress stood as well. “Indeed. We plan to start the NEWT course on January 4^th. Just under a week from now. As you can imagine I have rather a lot to do, so I shall get on and let you find your own way out.”

Harry nodded and left the office. As he turned away he noticed Elizabeth Burke, the painting he had argued with on one of his previous visits, glaring at him. He threw her a deliberately jaunty smile and sauntered out.

Once outside the entrance to the office, Harry stopped and scanned carefully around him. The castle sounded so strange with no noise in it, no feeling of occupation, or sense of life in it.

He wool-gathered for far too long, suddenly shaking himself to wake out of his daze. If he intended to take two NEWTs in under six months, he needed to put in a lot of hard work at the Ministry now so that he could afford the time needed to attend lessons and complete homework. A grimace twisted his face – homework, he hadn't missed that!

His trainers squelched slightly on the stone floors, and he grinned to himself, thinking of Filch's reaction when he saw the splodged footprints ruining the clean ground. Harry walked slowly to the main gate, aware as he did so that he hadn't had a spontaneous erection the entire time he had been with his ex head of house. Embarrassment hit him as he imagined how awful it would have been to be sitting there with his hard-on tenting his jeans. Of course, now that he was thinking about it, he felt the discomfort of his stiffened shaft throbbing between his legs, bulging his crotch.

“'Arry!”

Harry turned, his cock deflating at once.

Hagrid was lumbering behind him, puffing and blowing as he ran to catch up. The half-giant reached his friend and pulled him into a bear hug.

“Can't breathe,” Harry gasped, but clung on anyway.

“How come yeh 'aven't been to see me, what with all yer trips up to the castle?” Hagrid asked when he finally let a slightly light-headed Harry loose.

“I meant to,” Harry confessed, “but it's just taken so much longer than I thought to get anything done. And when I'm not here I'm at the Ministry, so things like dropping in on a friend get pushed aside.”

“Well don' push too many friends aside,” Hagrid warned, “it'd be a fine kettle o' kelpies if yeh killed You Know Who but ended up as friendless as the noseless freak!”

Harry admitted the truth, and the likelihood of Hagrid's words coming true. Hadn't he lost contact with a whole score of friends when he had left the Weasleys? Had he made a mistake? The situation there had been intolerable, but maybe he had given up on it too quickly. Maybe if he'd stayed he could have explained everything and kept them all in his life. Even whilst musing, he knew that that would have been impossible. Perhaps in a few weeks time some of the Weasleys would be prepared to speak to him, but on Christmas Day they had all been too angry with him to listen to his point of view.

“Yeh got time fer a brew now?” Hagrid asked.

“I've just had tea with Professor Mcgonagall,” Harry said, but noticing Hagrid's dropped face he hurriedly went on, “but it is cold, so another hot drink is always good.”

“Excellen'!” Hagrid cried, slapping Harry so forcefully on the back that Harry nearly pitched face first into the frozen mud. “Come on then!”

“I 'spose you 'eard about the NEWTs courses being put on next week?” Hagrid asked once they were ensconced in his hut, Harry sitting on one of Hagrid's oversize chairs, Fang slobbering on his leg.

“Yes. That's what she told me about today.” Harry tried to push Fang off. The dog's drool was beginning to sink through the denim and wet his thigh. And it was cold and disgusting.

“'Ere,” Hagrid said, shoving a mug the width of a crystal ball into Harry's hands. Hagrid himself put his large hands around a bucket sized container and sank into the other chair. It creaked ominously but held Hagrid's bulk. “So, what NEWTs has she signed yeh up fer?”

Harry took a careful sip of the tea. It was scalding. “Transfiguration and Potions.” he told his friend. “I would love to have the time to do some others, but I'm a little worried about committing to even those two; I just have so much to do at the Ministry.”

“Now look 'ere, 'Arry,” Hagrid began, voice almost a growl, “You've done yer bit, more than yer bit, by getting' rid of You Know Who. There are others trained to do what yer pushing yerself to. Don't take on the rebuildin' of ev'rythin'. That ain't yer place!”

“I'd love to shove the job onto someone else,” Harry admitted, feeling some long pushed down resentment welling up. Hagrid was right, Harry had done more than enough. It was someone else's turn to help. “But I'm sort of a symbol at the moment, not that I like it, that I approve of what the new Ministry is doing. It's one way of repairing things.”

Harry wondered with some bitterness why an entire school could be rebuilt with a few waves of a wand and some re-casting of spells, but rebuilding a community took patience and effort over long, dreary months filled with endless paperwork and a growing sense of futility.

“Surely Kingsley never meant fer yeh to end up working fer the Ministry?” Hagrid asked, sounding faintly scandalised.

Harry thought back to those first few days, when he had wanted to do nothing but sleep, but everyone had wanted a piece of him; wanting to just say hello, or touch him, as if he were something special and by being near him they could have some of his uniqueness rub off on them. What had Kingsley said to him?

“Harry Potter,” Kingsley's deep slow voice had been so calming to Harry in amongst all the craziness and shrillness of the aftermath of the war. “I wanted to speak to you. As you probably know, I've been named acting Minister for Magic and I'm keen that no time should be wasted on repairing the rifts in the magical world. I know you were interested in becoming an Auror; how about you visit the Ministry and go into the Auror department for a day or two, just to get a feel for the job? It may be that now, after the defeat of Voldemort, your priorities have changed.

“I'll be honest with you, Mr Potter, it would help stabilise some of the more shaky parts of the magical community if you were seen in the Ministry at this time. It would give legitimacy and a sense of approval to those of us trying to put the Ministry back together.”

Harry had stilled. He remembered another Minister for Magic making a similar request of him.

“I'm not doing this to ensure my own place in history, or because I think the Ministry is perfect. It's far from it, but in these fragile times, the last thing we need is authority being questioned before we have a chance to explain ourselves or improve things for everyone.”

It was Kingley's final statement that had convinced Harry. Anyone who was running the Ministry who was aware of its many failings would do everything they could to improve it, and that Harry had wanted to be a part of.

Suddenly coming back to the present Harry looked up at Hagrid. “No,” he said, “no, Kingsley never meant for me to end up working at the Ministry. I'll speak to him tomorrow about everything and see what will be the best outcome for everyone – me, the Ministry, the magical world.”

“I'm glad yer puttin' yerself first fer once!” was Hagrid's gruff comment.

Feeling responsibility lift its heavy burden from his shoulders, Harry injudiciously took a gulp of the still piping hot tea. His eyes bulged as he tried not to spit out the painfully hot fluid, even though he was sure blisters were forming on his tongue. Eyes watering, he swallowed the drink and gasped.

Hagrid chuckled.

Harry took more time and care with the rest of his drink then said a fond farewell to Hagrid. Despite already having said his goodbye, Hagrid still walked down with Harry until he reached the cold gates. The young man hugged his friend, feeling so warm, and it had nothing to do with the gallon of tea he had drunk. He disapparated and landed on the front step of his home.

“Kreacher, I'm back!” Harry called as he pushed open the door.

Inside came the noise of a disturbance.

“Kreacher?”

Harry pulled his wand free and tip-toed down to the kitchen.

It was bedlam. Pots and pans had been knocked to the floor, a bag of flour had fallen over and clouds of white dust swirled in the draughts, a chair was on one side, and from somewhere came the sound of spluttering intermingled with curses.

“Get out, stupid bird!” Kreacher was yelling, or trying to yell. He coughed and spluttered his way through the sentence and then made a swipe for a small white and brown owl.

Oh no, Harry thought, I forgot to tell Kreacher I had a new owl.

Trouble was flying in circles above Kreacher's reach. He was chirruping maddeningly and looked ready to dive bomb the house elf.

Kreacher had grabbed a broom and was swiping upwards with it, his spindly arms shaking with the effort.

“Kreacher! Trouble! That's enough!” Harry waded in and was soon white-haired.

At the sight of him, Trouble hooted and flew down, landing on Harry's shoulder. It was just unfortunate that Kreacher swiped the broom blindly, his eyes full of flour, and clonked Harry's cheek.

“Kr - Kreacher!” Harry choked, hurt and a little disorientated by the billowing clouds of flour.

“M - Master! Oh, Kreacher is so sorry! Kreacher is a bad elf!”

The elf dropped the broom and headed for the lit fire.

Harry lunged desperately in the elf's direction. “Wait! Kreacher, no! It's fine! Don't punish yourself!”

Kreacher stilled and faced Harry. “Master has a new owl?” he guessed.

“Yes, I've got a new owl. Sorry, it slipped my mind.”

Kreacher sneered at the bird. “Not surprising, he is certainly an undersized thing. Did Master take pity on the mouse with wings?”

Trouble sprang off Harry's shoulder and dove towards Kreacher.

Harry shouted, “No! Trouble! Stop it!”

Kreacher had put up his fists as though about to box the owl.

“STOP IT!” Harry bellowed and red sparks shot out of his wand. The two creatures stopped.

“Right,” Harry panted, trying to maintain control on the situation now that he had it, “Kreacher, I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but Trouble is my owl and I'd like you to treat him with respect. And you,” Harry glared at the owl who was fluttering by his ear looking innocent, “You leave Kreacher alone. He's important and you need to show him respect, right? No dive bombing.”

The owl made a disconsolate noise and settled warily on Harry's shoulder.

“Okay,” Harry gasped, feeling that the worst of it was over. “Trouble, you go upstairs. You'll soon see which room is mine. I'll be up in a minute, once I've helped Kreacher tidy up.”

“Master does not have to help Kreacher.” The house elf sounded offended.

“Course I do,” Harry said briskly, “all this mess isn't your fault. I'm sure my owl had something to do with it.”

Kreacher said nothing, which was proof as far as Harry was concerned. Cleaning spells weren't really Harry's area of expertise, but he had seen Mrs Weasley tidy up enough times to have a fair idea of what to say and do. Once he'd got the flour settled into a neat pile in one corner, and the pots and pans back on their hooks, he left Kreacher to finish cleaning and hurried upstairs. He hoped Snape had written back to him.

Bloody hell, he thought as he climbed the stairs, I'm hard again.
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Harry Potter and the Expert Potions Master