Chapter Three – Detention: Day One

Gliding back into his classroom, Snape tutted in annoyance at Parr not being there. He'd thought that her hasty exit from the Great Hall indicated that she'd understood his instruction to serve her detention promptly. His mood soured and he decided to make this session more unpleasant than normal for Parr. Sitting down behind his desk, he started to scratch out a long list of potions that he intended Parr to prove that she could make. It would determine whether or not she should really be in a fourth-year class; he'd love to relegate her to a more junior level. Childish, yes, but he didn't really care. He paused in his writing, trying to dredge up some quite obscure potions to challenge her with. He flared his nostrils and frowned. He could smell purple coneflower. He looked up and found Parr standing less than four feet away from him with that bland expression aimed at him. He blinked. The woman must be able to move quieter than a cat to sneak up on him like that. Snape covered his surprise at her sudden appearance by calmly looking back at the list in front of him.

"You're late," he stated flatly.

"I've been standing here for two minutes, Professor," she cheeked back at him, her tone just as flat as his.

He swivelled his eyes back up at her without moving his head. At least she'd remembered to tie her hair back. "I find that unlikely," he remarked quietly and scowled as he saw the faintest ghosting of a smile appear on her lips. "Wipe that smirk off your face." Snape thrust the parchment at her. "I expect you to be able to make all these to my satisfaction in order to justify your placement at a fourth-year level. Most can be found in your textbook, but I do expect you to do whatever research is necessary to shore up any gaps in your knowledge." She took the list from his hand. "Fourth-years are expected to have stepped beyond the plodding by-the-book attitudes of the younger students, so believe me, Miss Parr, if I remain unconvinced that you are sufficiently capable, you will be demoted to the year-level I deem suitable for your abilities."

Parr looked down the list. "There're thirteen potions here."

"Professor Vector must be very proud of your arithmetic talent," he sniped at her.

"At least three of which I cannot complete in one evening," she continued, as if not hearing his caustic remark.

Snape leaned over the desk. "Then I suggest you start with those because you will return each evening in detention until you complete every potion on that list." Shit, why the hell did he say that? He would not only be punishing her, but denying himself the evenings as well. This bloody headache was fuddling his common sense. He expected some sort of tedious complaining from Parr at the unexpected length of her detention, but she was squinting at him with her head turned to one side.

"Is there a problem?" he hissed at her. Her staring had an agitating effect that he didn't much care for. Parr shut her eyes and twisted her head round further, brows drawn down. Snape opened his mouth to start shouting (something he rarely was pushed to) but her eyes popped back open before he could draw breath. Her mouth shaped itself into a silent "ah" as she turned on her heel and walked over to the supply cupboard. Snape stared after her for a few moments before turning his attention to the earlier efforts of the class in brewing a Purging Draught. Each sample would have to be tested and graded. Hopefully it would take his mind off the thudding pain behind his eyes. If it got any worse, he was certain his nose would start bleeding.

He lost himself in the task ahead of him, only occasionally checking on Parr's progress. She seemed to spend a lot of time in the supply cupboard, and there were an inordinate number of bottles and vials on the desk she was working at, even despite the fact that she seemed to be preparing four of the potions on the list. Her textbook was held open with a pair of tongs and a bottle of oxblood pellets. She was either able to concentrate on a number of things at once, or was a messy worker. Snape shrugged to himself; it didn't make much difference to him. If it was the latter, it would justify moving her down several grades. He'd also spotted her sniffing at some of the ingredients before using them. That was a bad habit in this subject, especially considering the toxic nature of some of the ingredients being used. It made it difficult for him to concentrate on what he was doing as he fully expected her to inhale something and pass out on the floor due to her own lack of caution.

At one stage, he'd paused in his critique on Brown and Patil's potion sample to find Parr staring fixedly at an open vial in one hand and the index finger of her other hand stuck in her mouth.

"Please don't tell me that's hellebore."

Parr looked up at him and removed the finger from her mouth. "Why?"

Snape put down his quill. "Because if it is, I have all the evidence I need to put you back to a first-year level."

"Why?" she asked, looking puzzled. "I need to use it for one of these potions."

He pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead in exasperation. "At what point did your tutor say it was acceptable to not only spend time with your nose in the ingredients, but to also put any of them in your mouth?"

Parr sighed and put the vial down. "Why would I need to put any of the ingredients in my mouth when I can already tell that a third of the ones I need to use are spoiled?" She removed one of the cauldrons from its flame with a pair of tongs and placed it on a heat-proof tile. "Where should I put the Strengthening Draught and the Wolfsbane Potion so they can sit until tomorrow evening?"

"Put them on the metal cooling rack in the back corner. What do you mean, 'spoiled'?"

"The knotgrass started to moulder before it was dried, the snake venom is old enough to have come from a viper alive during the reign of the pharaohs, the moonstone has traces of copper shot through it, and the hellebore has been contaminated with something, possibly dirt." Using the clamp-tongs again, Parr moved a steaming cauldron carefully to the rear of the room. "If my skills are to be assessed based on what I produce, then I'm sure you can understand my concern about the quality of the ingredients I have to work with." She settled the cauldron gently on the rack and returned for the second one. "Where can I find a porous clay jar, Professor?"

"Bottom shelf in the cabinet by the cooling rack. Are you suggesting that I allow my students to use substandard ingredients, Miss Parr?"

Releasing the clamp from the second cauldron, the woman returned to her desk. "I wouldn't have stated it that baldly, as that could be construed as being rude," she mused and struck a wooden stirrer sharply against the side of the cauldron that was cooling on the tile. The metal rang like a bell, and she nodded. She picked up a large marble pestle and thumped it into its accompanying mortar. "However, if what I see in your supply cabinet is anything to go by, it's no wonder some of your students have trouble meeting the standards you set." She continued to pound the contents of the mortar loudly.

Any thought that his headache had lessened over the preceding hour was unceremoniously crushed along with whatever was in Parr's mortar. "Stop doing that!" Snape demanded with some asperity. The pestle paused in mid-air as Parr looked up at him.

"The banging or the rudeness?" she inquired innocently.

"Either would be a start," he retorted stonily.

Parr shrugged and left the pestle in the mortar and turned to get a clay jar from the cupboard behind her.

Snape stood up slowly from his desk and made his way down the room. "Let me see if I can sum up your first day in my classroom, Miss Parr. You neglect to give me a note from the Headmaster before I begin teaching, you put a student in the infirmary with a crushed wrist, you turn up late to detention, you exhibit sloppy potion making practice by cluttering up your work area and snorting the ingredients, and then to top it off, you disparage the quality of the supplies I provide for my students. I can't wait to see what you'll do for an encore," he finished as he leant on the table Parr had been working at. She was still rattling about in the cupboard with her back to him. She gave a heavy sigh.

"I couldn't give you the note without interrupting your theatrical verbal treatise on the ineptitude of your students, Mr Malfoy's injury was preferable to everyone else emptying the contents of their stomachs on the floor, I arrived to serve my detention no more than a minute after you entered the classroom, and my work area is cluttered with all the spoiled ingredients I could find in the cupboard in the belief that you'd want them removed to avoid contaminating the rest." She turned on her heel and faced him, a small wide-necked clay pot in her hand. "As for an encore, how about I snap off one of your ribs and shove it up that ice-breaker you call a nose?"

Snape gaped at her. Supremely unconcerned, she started to spatula some greasy yellow concoction from the mortar into the jar. "You conceited, impertinent..."

"Is everything alright, Professor?" came Dumbledore's voice from the doorway.

Snape stood up quickly and removed the accusing finger he'd had pointed right in Parr's face.

"Yes, thank you, Headmaster," he responded with a rather impressive pretence of calm. "Miss Parr and I were... discussing the day's events." That failed to bring Dumbledore's eyebrows down from the general vicinity his hairline. "Is there something you needed?"

"I was looking for Chara, actually," the Headmaster continued after a pause, judiciously avoiding mention of the fight he'd just interrupted. "I'd hoped to catch her after dinner but it seems she was in too much of a hurry to serve detention." Parr gave a soft snort at that as she scribbled something on a small piece of parchment. "Has she nearly finished?"

Snape shot a look at Parr before answering. "For now, yes."

Dumbledore caught the implication straight away. "Ah, I see." His eyes flicked to Parr who was still scribbling away with her bottom lip tucked behind the smaller upper one. "How was your first day, Chara?"

Parr stopped writing and started to shuffle the bottles, jars, vials and pouches about on her work table. "Everyone has been most accommodating, Headmaster," she replied smoothly. "There is certainly a lot to learn." She picked up a cluster of receptacles and made her way over to the supply cupboard, face schooled into a mask of neutrality.

"Actually, on that note, Headmaster, I have some concerns over Miss Parr being in the fourth-year level of my class."

Dumbledore gave Snape his full attention. "Oh?"

The Potions master paused and gave a sidelong glance in Parr's direction before continuing. "I feel that perhaps... a first-year level would be more appropriate."

Dumbledore looked genuinely surprised. "First-year level, you say? Mmmm." He shook his head slightly and spread his hands. "Well, if you feel that Chara is best placed there, then you are at liberty to reassign her." He took a deep breath. "But Professor Fulgor will be very disappointed to hear that."

Parr returned to the table and started to tidy up, ignoring the conversation that was taking place.

Snape blinked. "Fulgor? As in Marconi Fulgor?"

Dumbledore scratched his ear as he squinted in thought. "Ah yes, that's right. Marconi was kind enough to be Chara's tutor prior to her arrival here at Hogwarts. He was very pleased with her abilities and has high hopes for her." He patted at his robes distractedly. "I shall have to find a way to let him down gently when I see him tomorrow."

Parr drifted away from the table again, and this time Snape followed her with his eyes more openly. Marconi Fulgor was regarded as one of the best potion makers currently alive, and some thought him amongst the very best that had ever practised the art.

"I thought that Fulgor was retired."

"Yes, he returned to Italy some years ago, but he was kind enough to travel back to England for the appointment. He's due to leave soon, which is why I'm meeting him for lunch in Hogsmeade tomorrow."

"I see." Snape actually saw many things stemming from this revelation. "Well, I have yet to see the results of Miss Parr's attempt to prove her knowledge in the subject, so perhaps it would be prudent to wait until then," he relented grudgingly, diverting his attention to his thumbnail as Parr returned to the table a third time.

Dumbledore raised his hands delightedly. "Wonderful," he enthused. He looked closely at Snape and frowned. "Are you feeling alright?"

Snape stared back and tried to stop wincing. His headache was ramping up again and making his eyes water.

"Yes, thank you, Headmaster," he spoke through gritted teeth.

Dumbledore tapped his lip with an index finger, looking unconvinced. He diplomatically didn't press Snape further. "Chara, are you ready?"

Parr was standing with an empty cauldron in one hand and a fistful of dirty utensils in the other looking lost. "Umm," she began, looking around the classroom for something.

"Ah, perhaps it'd be quicker if I...," Dumbledore stepped in smoothly, taking out his wand. "Scourgify!" The table and all the equipment rapidly turned spotless.

Parr looked relieved. "Thank you, Headmaster," she breathed and rushed to put the now-clean equipment away.

Dumbledore popped his wand back in his pocket. "Very much my pleasure," he replied, and held out his arm towards the door with a smile on his face.

Parr's movements got increasingly faster and she virtually threw three stacked cauldrons into a cupboard, stuffed her notes and her textbook into her bag, and nearly ran towards the door. Dumbledore set his hand on her shoulder and walked out with her.

"Professor Flitwick has asked me to talk to you about a proposal he has, and I have exciting news that you are to have a visitor this weekend..." The Headmaster's voice trailed off as they walked away from the classroom, leaving Snape standing alone in mild confusion, wondering what had just happened. He drifted back to his desk slowly, lost in thought.

Parr's family must have great influence to call such an accomplished potions maker back from his native homeland and out of retirement, but he'd never heard of a Parr family moving in the more exalted circles of the wizarding world. Pureblood families were usually given too much social exposure and didn't shy away from vaunting their status openly. Snape cast his mind back through fourteen years of teaching and couldn't recall any student of his having the surname. Of course, Parr could be from another country, although her accent was definitely British, as was her colouring. The hair was unusual but not isolated to a particular culture or race. He stopped in front of the blackboard, his eyes unfocused. She certainly had the arrogance and smart mouth of a pureblood, and that was definitely going to cause a problem in his class. Without a house to penalise, reigning in her behaviour was going to be tricky. He didn't want to have to spend every evening supervising detentions he'd given her. At least she'd kept the cheek in check whilst there were other students around, though that might not remain the case. Her denouncement of the contents of the supply cupboard was insulting enough when mentioned in private, to say nothing of the crack she'd made about Snape's nose. That thought snapped him out of his reverie.

Turning on his heel sharply, he strode over to the supply cupboard and wrenched the doors open. He'd always prided himself on having very high standards when it came to potion ingredients, and to have that called into question was galling to say the very least. He looked back at the table where Parr had stacked the allegedly inadequate substances. If she'd been telling the truth then he'd have to check all the ingredients he currently had, and that was a lot. Snape's shoulders slumped in exasperation. All he wanted to do was slink back to his private rooms, take something for his headache, and then, if he was lucky, pass out into a torpor that would blot out the memory of the day at least for a few hours. Now he'd have to check through all his potion supplies before the next day's classes and that would take hours. With a heave, he slammed the cupboard doors closed and was rewarded with the sound of many glass jars tipping over and smashing. He balled his fist and for a brief moment considered smashing it through one of the wooden doors in an unrepressed tantrum but thought better of it. He didn't want to be picking splinters of wood out of his hand in this kind of a mood. He forced his hand down to his side and stalked over to the collection of offending ingredients and proceeded to sift through them. A couple of minutes later Snape had confirmed what Parr had said. This was a disturbingly large cross-section of what he had, some of which had been acquired anywhere from a few days ago to several months before, but they all had the same thing in common. He leant forward with his hands on the table, one finger tapping the underside and stared at the wall opposite. He reached the disappointing conclusion that one of his suppliers had been taking him for a ride, but that wasn't what stuck in his throat. It was the fact that he hadn't noticed that angered him the most.

He pushed himself back upright and flowed back to his own desk. At least he'd finished assessing all those potion samples from the earlier class. A small sense of accomplishment but better than nothing. He picked up one of the three flasks that Parr had left of her evening's efforts and gave it a shake. Exhaling heavily, Snape put it back down. He really couldn't face checking on these right at this moment. They'd have to wait for tomorrow when, hopefully, his focus would be better. He nearly sat down to write a curt and impolite letter to that thieving, unscrupulous scab of a supplier but decided that he wouldn't give them man the benefit of any kind of warning. This transgression warranted a personal visit, but it would have to wait for the weekend. Quite frankly, everything else could wait until the morning. It was too late in the evening and he was too pissed off. His first lesson tomorrow wasn't until mid-morning so he'd sort everything out before then.

Snape was just about to turn away from his desk when he saw the small clay pot that Parr had been holding earlier. It was corked and placed on top of a folded piece of parchment, sitting apart in the centre of the table. Although it hadn't been sitting there for very long, there was already a small ring of oil that had soaked into the parchment from the porous pot. Hooking the jar around the neck between two fingers, Snape picked the pot up, at a loss as to what could be contained within it. None of the potions on the list he'd given Parr would contain the amount of oil that this one seemed to have, judging from the mark on the parchment. It had turned the paper semi-translucent, revealing slightly blurred ink marks. Writing? He picked the folded parchment up with his free hand, carefully avoiding touching the oil mark, and unfolded the paper awkwardly. It looked like a list of ingredients, presumably for what was in the pot: devil's claw, gotu kola, cyani flower, licorice ... It definitely didn't match to any of the potions she had to prove she could make. At the end of the list was a hastily scrawled set of instructions.

Not to be taken internally. Wait until the pot has leached enough oil to mark the paper in a circle twice the pot's diameter. Apply to neck at the point where the occipital touches the atlas. Unused contents to be discarded after 24 hours, but recommend using entire amount for the size of the headache you have, if not for your own good then for the sake of the people around you.

At least two of your neck vertebrae are misaligned. Drink one litre of water. Sleep on your back.

Had it been that obvious? Well, considering both Dumbledore and McGonagall had asked him if he had been feeling all right, his headache must've shown on his face in some fashion.

Snape found himself stuck somewhere between curiosity, bemusement and suspicion. He wasn't about to trust that Parr had listed everything she'd put in the jar's contents, but it would be very easy to separate the mixture into its original ingredients, especially since it had been made less than an hour before. Fetching a clean porcelain tile, he shook out a small blob of the jar's contents on to one corner of it. He fished his wand out from his robes and pointed it at the yellow paste.

"Discrimino."

The paste pulled itself along the porcelain, following the tip of his wand and distilled itself into a banded ribbon of its constituents. Snape checked them against the list in his hand. They were all there, no more, no less. None of them were toxic; in fact, they all had properties that made them suited for dealing with the symptoms of a headache. He stared at the tile. The proportions of the ingredients were a little strange: the valerian and peppermint oil were used quite heavily. The vetiver and olibanum were unusual only in that they were rarely used in his class. He shook his head. There was something about these ingredients that nagged at him, but he couldn't figure out what. Apart they were as unremarkable as they were together, and right now he was willing to try anything to get rid of this headache.