Harry Potter: But Where is Harry?

Chapter 15

Thomas trudged through the crowded corridor, his feet dragging a little more than usual. It was a new day, but yesterday's disaster still hung around his shoulders like a weight. Gryffindors were still whispering about the prank-gone-wrong, and Neville had gone entirely silent around him.

At breakfast, Hermione didn't say much, either. She nibbled toast while reading from A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration, occasionally shooting him a wary glance. Thomas hadn't tried to explain himself again—he doubted it would help. His only plan now was to make things right, starting with the Weasley twins.

"Think they'll even talk to me?" he muttered to Hermione as they made their way to the first class of the day.

She sniffed. "You're lucky they're not pranking you back. Honestly, Thomas, if you wanted to prank the Slytherins, you should've tested it on your own cauldron first. That was just reckless."

"Yeah, thanks," Thomas mumbled.

Transfiguration passed in a blur.

Professor McGonagall was all business that morning, turning her sharp eyes on every student as she demonstrated the day's spell: transforming matchsticks into butterflies.

"I expect each of you to attempt this with focus," she said. "Transfiguration is complex and dangerous when performed incorrectly."

Hermione was the first to succeed, of course. Her butterfly flapped weakly but shimmered with a pale violet hue.

Thomas gave it his best shot but managed only to turn his matchstick a soft blue. Ron's burst into flames.

"Well," McGonagall said, flicking her wand to extinguish Ron's smoking desk, "you're halfway there, Mr. Weasley. Try to focus on the desired transformation, not simply fire."

"Easy for her to say," Ron grumbled under his breath.

Hermione quoted a line from A Beginner's Guide: "Concentration is the foundation of all successful Transfiguration."

"Did you memorize the whole book already?" Ron snapped.

"Nearly," she replied.

Thomas kept quiet, his mind already planning what came next. Lunch. The Weasley twins.

In the Great Hall, the twins were already mid-story when Thomas approached.

"And then the jelly legs kicked in, and the prefect went sliding into the broom cupboard—"

"Oi, look who it is," Fred said, spotting him. "The saboteur of his own prank."

George leaned on his elbow. "You owe us a few laughs, mate."

"I know." Thomas sat down, keeping his voice low. "I messed it up. I didn't think Malfoy would catch on and switch the cauldrons. I'm sorry. I know I wasted your supplies, and I blew the plan."

Fred raised a brow. "Well, you did make a scene."

"Just not the right one," George added.

"Look, I've still got detention with Snape tonight," Thomas said, glancing around. "Maybe there's a way I can make it up to you."

"Oh?" Fred said, eyes twinkling.

George leaned in. "What're you thinking?"

"You tell me. I'm going to be in his office, probably near his ingredients cupboard. If there's something you need..."

Fred gave an exaggerated gasp. "Thomas Greene, are you suggesting a trade?"

"A mutually beneficial arrangement," George corrected, grinning.

They exchanged looks, then both leaned closer. "Right," Fred whispered, "there are a few odds and ends we've been meaning to restock."

"Nothing dangerous," George said. "We're not asking you to smuggle Basilisk venom."

Fred pulled a folded scrap of parchment from his pocket and passed it over. "Don't get caught."

Thomas unfolded it under the table. The list included things like Sneezewort, Valerian root, and powdered Billywig sting.

"You really think I'll have the chance to sneak these?"

Fred shrugged. "Depends what Snape has you doing. If you've got to fetch things, keep an eye out. Just don't do anything that'll get you expelled. Or caught. Or hexed into next week."

Hermione sat down across from him, frowning. "What are you up to now?"

"Nothing," Thomas said quickly, hiding the note under his sleeve.

"Please don't do anything else to get us in trouble."

He gave her a tight smile. "Wouldn't dream of it."

By evening, Thomas was in the dungeons, standing before Snape's office.

The door creaked open with a flick of Snape's wand. The Potions Master stood behind his desk, arms folded, eyes narrowed.

"Greene," he said coolly. "Enter."

Thomas stepped inside. The office smelled of ash, damp stone, and herbs. A few dusty cauldrons steamed softly in corners, and shelves lined with jars of unidentifiable things loomed over the walls.

"You are here because you thought it amusing to disrupt a class with juvenile antics," Snape said, voice low and disdainful. "Perhaps you believe Gryffindor's reputation for rule-breaking will shield you from consequences. It will not."

Thomas didn't answer.

"I expect nothing less from a house that glorifies arrogance and recklessness."

He waved his wand. A large stack of parchments flew from the corner and landed with a thud on a long worktable.

"You will organize and summarize these third-year essays on moonstone interactions. Properly. No shortcuts. When I return, I expect to see progress."

Thomas stared at the stack. It was at least fifty essays.

"Yes, sir," he said.

Snape left without another word. The door clicked shut behind him.

Thomas sat down, pulled the first essay toward him, and began reading.

It was... awful. Long-winded, full of spelling mistakes, and completely wrong about moonstone's effect in sleep potions. He sighed and started summarizing.

By the third essay, his hand ached. He let his eyes drift over the room, and there, at the far end, was a tall wooden cabinet labeled Ingredients.

Snape wasn't back yet.

He stared at the cabinet, then at the note still tucked in his sleeve.

"I'm already in detention," he muttered. "What's the worst that could happen?"

He rose, creeping toward the cabinet. Every footstep felt like it echoed off the walls.

The cabinet was locked.

Of course it was.

Thomas glanced toward the desk. No key. No Snape.

He returned to his work, frustrated.

Minutes passed. Then the door creaked open again.

Snape returned, robes billowing.

"Still working, I hope?"

"Yes, sir."

Snape approached, peered at the half-summarized stack.

"Barely adequate," he said. "You will finish the rest tomorrow evening. And the evening after that, if necessary."

Thomas winced. "Yes, sir."

Snape studied him for a long moment.

"Gryffindors," he said quietly, "always seeking glory and mischief. Rarely capable of discipline."

"I'm trying to learn," Thomas said before he could stop himself.

Snape's eyes sharpened. "Trying is not the same as succeeding."

He turned away.

"Dismissed."

Thomas packed up in silence and left the dungeon, Snape's words echoing in his head.

He hadn't gotten the ingredients. He'd failed the prank. And now he had another night in this dungeon tomorrow.

But maybe, just maybe, he was learning something.