Friday Morning: The Dungeons
The Potions classroom was every bit as cold and oppressive as Richard remembered. The shadows clung to the corners, and the jars of pickled animals along the walls seemed to watch the shivering first-years with glass eyes.
Richard was already there when the students arrived. He sat on a high stool in the shadows at the very back of the room, his long legs crossed, looking perfectly at home. Harry and Ron entered, both looking nervous, and their eyes widened when they spotted Richard. He offered them nothing but a slight, professional nod.
Snape entered the room like a cold front, the door slamming shut behind him. He began the roll call, his voice a silken drawl, until he reached the name everyone was waiting for.
"Ah, yes," he whispered. "Harry Potter. Our new... celebrity."
Harry looked down, his knuckles white as he gripped his quill. Snape proceeded to give a speech about the "subtle science and exact art of potion-making," his eyes flicking toward Richard every few seconds as if daring him to interrupt.
Then, the interrogation began.
"Potter!" Snape said suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry blinked, looking lost. "I don't know, sir."
"Tut, tut—fame clearly isn't everything." Snape's lip curled. "Let's try again. Where, Potter, would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
Hermione's hand shot into the air, but Snape ignored her, his gaze locked on Harry. Richard leaned forward slightly on his stool, his mind analyzing the situation.
"I don't know, sir," Harry said again, his voice smaller this time.
"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"
"Actually, Severus," Richard's voice rang out from the back of the room, calm and resonant.
The entire class turned in their seats. Snape froze, his hand hovering over his desk.
"I believe the boy has been quite busy with his transition to our world," Richard continued, standing up and walking slowly down the center aisle. "Perhaps we could look at the Theory behind the questions. The Draught of Living Death is a sixth-year brew, isn't it? A bit ambitious for a first-day introductory quiz, even for a 'celebrity'."
Richard stopped next to Harry's desk, resting a hand briefly on the back of the boy's chair. He looked Snape directly in the eye.
"And how is he supposed to learn from you without you teaching him. I believe even you with all your renowned talent in potions needed the support of Professor Slughorn to get to where you are now in the field of Potion making, so why don't you take a page out of your teacher's book to try it."
In a manner uncharacteristic of him Snape asked," Try what?"
Richard smiled," Support, obviously. Maybe the boy will reach show the same talent as his mother"
Harry looked up, catching the mention of his mother and then in a few seconds noticed the prolonged awkward silence in the class.
Richard turned back to Snape, his expression one of polite, professional helpfulness. ]
Snape's face was a mask of fury, his pale skin tinged with a faint, angry pink. He looked ready to dock a hundred points from Gryffindor, but with Richard standing right there—effectively co-teaching the moment—the grounds for an outburst were thin.
Snape spat out, the words sounding like they were being dragged over broken glass, "Now, everyone, turn to page eight. We are brewing a simple potion for boils. And Professor Prewett... I trust you've seen enough of my 'style' for one day?"
"Oh, I'm just getting started," Richard smiled, returning to his stool. "Please, continue. I'm quite interested in how you handle the practical application."
For the rest of the hour, Snape moved through the room like a man walking on eggshells. He couldn't bully Harry with Richard's gaze weighing on him, and the resulting lesson was the quietest, most efficient Potions class the dungeons had seen in years.
As the students filed out, Harry lingered for a second, looking back at Richard. "Thanks, Professor."
"Don't thank me, Harry," Richard said softly. "Just remember the lesson. Details matter."
Once the room was empty, Snape slammed a glass vial onto his desk. "That was an intolerable intrusion, Prewett."
"Was it?" Richard asked, packing up his things. "I thought it was an excellent example of cross-curricular support. I'll be back on Tuesday. I've always wanted to see how you teach the theory of Potion stabilizers."
Richard walked out before Snape could reply, leaving the Potions Master fuming in the darkness of his own domain.
Richard watched Snape for a long moment, the silence of the dungeon heavy with the smell of damp stone and bitter herbs.
"You speak of arrogance, Severus," Richard said, his voice quiet but carrying a resonant weight. "But you aren't looking at Harry. You are looking at a ghost. You take your anger at James out on a boy who doesn't even remember his own father's face."
Snape's hands clenched into white-knuckled fists against the edge of his desk. "You know nothing of what happened in those years, Prewett. You were a child when—"
"I was a Gryffindor," Richard interrupted, stepping closer. "And unlike the rest of my House, I didn't find the Marauders' brand of 'humor' particularly charming. You seem to have forgotten that my original... disagreement with the Marauders wasn't because I was their friend. It was because I stood up to James, Sirius, and the rest of them for the way they treated you."
Snape stiffened. The memory of a younger Richard Prewett—defying his own House mates and refusing to join in the laughter at Snape's expense—flickered briefly in the cold depths of his eyes.
"I faced the animosity of my own House to defend your dignity, Severus," Richard continued, his tone devoid of pity. "And I did it because it was right, not because I needed something from you or because I pitied you. I would be fool to pity the immensely talented potioneer in his final year of Hogwarts with a bright future as a Potions Master. Now, here you are, working for the very Headmaster who protected those boys for years while they tormented you, and abandoned that future. Even more, you've turned around and become the tormentor yourself. You've become the very thing you hated in James Potter."
Snape's voice was a ragged whisper. "Get out."
"I'm going," Richard said, pausing at the door. "But remember this: James is dead. Lily is dead. Harry is all that's left of either of them. If you continue to punish him for his father's sins, you aren't honoring her memory—you're proving James was right about you."
He stepped out of the dungeons, the heavy door thudding shut behind him. As he climbed the stone stairs toward the sunlight of the Great Hall, he checked his internal status. His mental capacity was recovering, but the emotional tax of the encounter was high. If he was to protect the school, he couldn't have the Potions Master sabotaging the mental state of the boy who was central to everything.
The heavy, brass-bound doors of the Headmaster's office swung open. Severus Snape swept into the room, his black robes snapping around his ankles like a cornered viper.
"Albus," Snape hissed, his voice low and dangerous. "This is intolerable. Your 'guest' has decided that his curriculum now extends into my dungeons."
Dumbledore, who had been quietly feeding Fawkes a small piece of dried fruit, looked up over his spectacles. "I assume you are referring to Richard, Severus? I heard he spent the morning observing your first-year Gryffindors."
"Observing?" Snape slammed his hands onto the Headmaster's desk. "He spent the morning undermining my authority. He shielded the Potter boy from my questioning and practically co-taught the session. He is making a mockery of my discipline to ingratiate himself with the boy."
Dumbledore's eyes lost their twinkle, replaced by a sharp, calculating stillness. He leaned back in his chair, his long fingers steepled. He was unaware that the curse on the Defense position had been shattered; to him, the seventh floor was merely humming with the residual energy of a powerful wizard settling in.
"And why do you think he is doing that, Severus? To protect Harry... or to gain his trust for another purpose?"
"He is powerful, Albus. More powerful than he was ten years ago, and far more composed," Snape said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "He knows we are watching him. He told me as much. He is daring us to interfere."
"Then we shall watch more closely," Dumbledore murmured. "But do not let your personal distaste for his methods blind you, Severus. If Richard is indeed a threat, he is a far more subtle one than we anticipated."