"Pity. Clearly, fame alone is not enough."
Snape's laugh was barely audible. Malfoy and his companions snickered. Harry said nothing, but whatever expression he'd been wearing got worse.
Snape glanced at Hermione's still-raised hand and said, "Altair, you answer."
Altair stood. Beside him, Hermione lowered her arm and turned to watch, her eyes shifting from protest to attention.
"Powdered root of asphodel mixed with an infusion of wormwood produces the Draught of Living Death. A powerful sleeping potion." He kept his voice even. "A bezoar can be found in the stomach of a goat. It functions as an antidote. And monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant. Both names refer to aconite."
He sat down. Snape looked at him with something that, on another face, might have been warmth.
"Entirely correct. Ten points to Slytherin."
He turned to Hermione.
"Perhaps Miss Granger also knew the answers. Even so, she would do well to take a lesson from the student beside her, rather than always being so eager to display herself."
Hermione's mouth opened. Under the desk, Altair caught her sleeve and gave it a quiet pull. She closed her mouth.
Snape said nothing further and moved on to the lesson.
...
Today's class was a Cure for Boils. Dried nettles, crushed snake fangs, horned slugs, porcupine quills. The students worked from their textbooks while Snape moved through the room in his black robes, unhurried, coming to rest behind Gryffindor students and standing there in silence until the weight of it made them fumble. Then he would speak, precisely and without warmth, and move on.
By the end of class, Altair had earned another ten points for a perfectly brewed potion. Malfoy picked up five for his handling of the horned slugs. Gryffindor had lost thirty, ten of them from Neville's cauldron melting into Seamus's, the rest from students making the kind of errors that come from being watched by someone who wants you to fail.
Hermione's potion was correct. Snape found several things wrong with it anyway.
"No wonder Slytherin usually wins the House Cup," Altair said quietly, watching Snape's robes disappear through the door.
...
Outside the classroom, Hermione fell into step beside him. "I hate Professor Snape." She said it plainly, not as complaint but as conclusion. "He's completely unreasonable. He's deliberately targeting Gryffindor, isn't he?"
"Perhaps. He is Slytherin's Head of House."
Altair didn't dislike Snape. He had his reasons, and they had nothing to do with House points. What the man had carried quietly for years, for Lily, without acknowledgment or reward, was worth more than most people managed openly.
"I suppose you like him quite a lot," Hermione said, with the tone of someone who finds this mildly offensive. "With him on your side you'll earn far more points than I will."
She took his sleeve and started pulling him toward the library.
"Going to read again?"
A faint pressure developed behind his eyes.
"You don't want to?"
She turned to look at him. There was a particular quality to her expression when she was deciding whether to be annoyed.
"To be honest, no."
For him the library was time that could be better spent in the dormitory with Saruman's notes, or brewing something. Hermione held his gaze for a moment, then exhaled.
"Fine. I'll go by myself."
She let go of his sleeve and started up the stairs alone.
"Lunch together," Altair called after her.
"I know!"
She waved without turning around, and her pace lifted slightly as she went.
...
Altair walked back to the dormitory, put on the One Ring, and slipped out invisible behind a group of Slytherins leaving the common room.
He made his way through the castle to Snape's office in the dungeons and waited.
After about half an hour, Snape came out, turned to shut the door behind him, and Altair stepped inside.
The private stores were exactly where he'd expected them to be. The shelves held more than he'd anticipated, countless ingredients, many from Snape's personal collection, the kind of materials that didn't appear in ordinary shops. Brought to Knockturn Alley, some of them would have started bidding wars.
He found the storeroom door without much searching. Wood, sealed with magic.
Hermione had broken in during second year for Polyjuice ingredients. Barty Crouch Jr. had been in here. Dobby had been in here.
"Alohomora."
The door opened.
Altair looked at the shelves inside and felt, despite himself, a flicker of genuine surprise at the quantity.
"I really should give Professor Snape a warning," he said quietly to the room. "Once I clean this out, perhaps he'll finally put a proper lock on the door. Something that would actually keep people out." He picked up the nearest jar and examined it. "In a sense, I'm helping him grow. Sorry, Professor."