PURIFY : Fred Weasley

18: Repudiated

Drip. Drip. Drip. The vial slowly pours out into the cauldron. This year, we don't have partners for any assignments. It seems that Snape has given up on that endeavour, opting instead for us all to work alone. Consequently, Bronwyn and Silas dropped the class.

I know their schedules like the back of my hand. Bronwyn is taking the Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, Astrology, Charms, and Transfiguration. Elora is taking practically every class, except Muggle Studies of course. Silas is in the same classes as Bronwyn, go figure, especially since they haven't spoken yet since the fight on the train, and it has been nearly a week.

I am taking the same classes that I took last year: Transfigurations, Potions, Charms, Herbology, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Alchemy, and Ancient Runes. I'm rotten at Ancient Runes, absolutely rotten, but I like the idea that I could become a curse breaker. It would never work, of course, but I want to escape, and that seems the only way possible.

Other than being a dueller. I'm hopeful this year since we have someone teaching from the ministry. Maybe we will actually learn something for a change. Hopefully, there will be some consistency too.

The potion continues to drip into the cauldron. I look up at the Weasley twins across the classroom, who are whispering to each other. Professor Snape is buried in his notes.

I could write Fred a note and send it to him. It is entirely possible that he didn't receive my letters. More than possible, even, likely perhaps. Maybe he spent the summer somewhere else and hadn't a clue. After all, I never gave him my address. Maybe he's trying to contact me too.

A ruler snaps down on my hand, and I recoil as my knuckles ache. I look down at them, and I am bleeding, bright red drops, dripping down across my hand and on to the floor.

"Watch. Your. Potion." Snape says, taking the vial out of my hand that was previously dripping into the cauldron. "One more drop and it would have burst."

He's exaggerating. Three more drops, maybe. I don't argue, biting my lip and cradling my hand in between my fingers.

"May I go to the Hospital Wing?" I ask, not daring to look up at him.

Professor Snape nods. "See me after class."

I turn and head out of the room. The entire way to the Hospital Wing, I bite back tears. I don't understand why Professor Snape would do this to me. Why he wouldn't just take the vial from my hand or something? There is no use arguing with him, however. The professor seems to think that he knows everything and that I know nothing. I know a lot more than he gives me credit for knowing.

Madam Pomphrey treats me in the Hospital Wing. She asks what happened. I say it was a potion's mishap. She knows what Professor Snape is like, but she has never spoken out against him. Is this normal? Is this what happens at Beauxbatons and Durmstrang?

Is this what happens in the Muggle world?

After I am patched up, I head back to class. Everyone else is still working on the potion, but I just dump mine and relax for the rest of the class. It is, after all, just the Draught of Living Death. I could do that in my sleep. With or without instructions. With one of my hands bloodied and ruined.

When the class ends, I get up and move to walk out, before I remember that Professor Snape called me to stay. I stand at my desk, debating moving. Elora walks by me and drops a note on my desk.

I shove it in my pocket.

The classroom slowly filters out, and then it is just me and Professor Snape in a freezing room. He chooses to stand behind his desk, without taking a step closer to me.