Chapter Text
Instead of asking his first-year classes questions about ingredients and where they originated from, like many other Potions professors were wont to do, Severus Snape preferred a much better alternative. On the first day of class each year, he instructed his students to retrieve their books from their bags and write down every attribute of an ingredient of their choosing, then assigned a five inch essay about the subject. Most wizard-raised children tended to pick out more difficult ingredients (although it wasn't a hard rule of thumb) such as Alihotsy or chizpurfle fang. Their muggle-raised counterparts, however, typically strove to find the more familiar additives in their books. Some of the most common additives he received essays on from those unfamiliar with the Wizarding World were flowers; daisies, lavender, etc. seemed to be fan favorites simply because they were easily recognizable and existed in both worlds.
The method of requesting an essay (and the original notes, which he asked for at the end of the class period in order to be sure no child was having issues with their attention span or simply did not want to do the work) ensured two things. One, that Severus’ students could follow simple instructions, and two, that they could write with a quill. If they could not, he set them up with an older tutor from their own house to work with on handwriting in order to make both their life and his own easier.
What he did not expect to receive on the first day of class was a piece of parchment with a sloppily written Harry Pator Poter across the top and indecipherable drawings and words sprinkled over the page. He glared at the page as if his gaze could set it aflame, then set out to find someone who would know more about what was going on than he did.
“Minerva!” Severus stormed into her office with a fiery glare aimed at the two fifth-year prefects sitting across from her. They leapt from their seats and left quickly, more worried about crossing paths with their professor’s wrath than the repercussions of leaving without being dismissed. “What in the blazes is this supposed to be?” He slammed the incriminating parchment onto her desk, and watched as the deputy Headmistress slid her glasses on and squinted down at Harry Potter’s pitiful attempt at notes.
“Well, Severus, it seems to be…er…what is it supposed to be?” Minerva’s questioning eyebrow met his own stumped face, then she gestured for him to sit. “I’ll call for Filius. He always asks students to turn in their notes on the first day as well. Perhaps he’ll have more insight.” She quickly left for the back room of her office (which led to her personal rooms) and presumably floo-called for the Charms professor, then returned rather quickly with the wizard himself in tow.
“Hello Severus! I hear a student has been causing you some stress?” The typically overexcited professor had a more serious tone in his voice, and Severus quickly explained the situation to him, brandishing the scribbled-on paper with less anger and more confusion than before.
Flitwick rubbed his tense forehead and summoned a file from his own office. He sorted through until he found Potter’s notes from earlier that day, and frowned down at it before showing it to the others. “I only check the students’ work during my free period, which is tomorrow, or I would have let someone know sooner. But look, it’s nearly the same as yours, only with what looks to be some sort of wand. His potions notes look like drawings of…perhaps ingredients?” Filius muttered.
Minerva and Severus looked at each other. It seemed that something was quite wrong here.