The Gifted Apprentice (A Severitus Story)

Chapter 26: I Want It That Way

Harry waited for a good thirty minutes after he heard Barclay's door shut before he stepped out. For the last week he'd been watching and listening for his patterns. It was well after midnight, and he'd heard him do his full "nighttime routine" so he was pretty sure he wouldn't go back again until the morning.

Once he was sure Barclay was in his room for the night, Harry opened his door and took his time creeping slowly toward the parlor, holding onto the walls for support.

All of the lights were out except a small night light Snape had put in the hallway to make sure Harry could find his way to the loo. But the parlor was completely dark, and the lights in the lab were off so he'd have to be extremely careful not to run into anything.

He moved his hands from the wall to the armchair, holding onto it with one hand as he inched toward the bookcase door. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the door open and stepped through. He had never been in the lab after hours, and he had no idea if Snape or Barclay had set wards, but he said a silent prayer as he waited.

Several minutes ticked by and when no one else in the house stirred, Harry flipped a switch by the top of the stairs and the lab illuminated. He carefully closed the bookcase door so the light wouldn't seep into the parlor, leaving it open just enough that he was sure not to be locked in.

One at a time, Harry took the stairs as quietly and as carefully as he could, holding onto the banister for dear life. Whether it was his anxiety or his clumsy feet, he slipped momentarily toward the bottom of the stairs. He tried to catch himself, but his grip was weak and he landed on the stairs with a small thud.

"Dammit!" he whispered to himself. He held his breath and sat there, his heart beating loudly in his ears. When no one came, Harry slowly pulled himself up, shaking, and took the last few stairs at a sloth's pace.

When he got down into the lab, he looked around. There were several cauldrons in various states of brew, but he knew what he was looking for was already bottled. He'd seen it twice.

It took about fifteen minutes of rummaging (quietly) through the cupboards and shelves before Harry finally found it. Snape had placed it high up on a shelf in one of the cupboards above his lab bench. Not having the height or a wand to help him, Harry had to climb up on the bench to reach it. His disability had left him with the coordination of a drunk toddler, so he was glad no one could see him as he flailed and squirmed on the bench top before he was finally able to pull himself up.

When he grabbed the bottle, it lit up for a moment, shining as bright as a jar full of fireflies. "Wicked," Harry smiled to himself. He set it down as carefully as possible on top of the lab bench before he managed to slowly lower himself back down to the floor.

Now he was starting to feel nervous. He could feel his adrenaline surging as his breaths came more quickly and his hands felt jittery. A cold sweat broke out on his neck. Whatever he did, he didn't want to drop the bottle, so he wiped his hands on his pajama pants and sat on a stool to wait for the feeling to pass.

He'd been planning this for days, but now that he was finally sitting here, with the potion in front of him, he was having doubts. His stomach was in knots and his heart was racing as he debated whether this was a good idea after all.

A few more minutes passed silently as Harry sat on a stool and contemplated his options, replaying the conversation he'd overheard between Snape and Barclay. He turned the bottle around and ran his thumb softly over the label. It was definitely Snape's handwriting, artistic and controlled, rigid yet elegant. And there, in spikey black script, were his initials. "HP #1: for nerve regeneration." It was calling to him.