You Think By Now You'd Have an 'A' In Toxicology

[Deceased Severus Snape]

1975, Hogwarts.

Group projects were universally the worst.

In an effort to spearhead inter-house cooperation between Gryffindor and Slytherin (when was there not an effort, remained the real question), the Fifth Years in Slughorn's class were rather regrettably assigned to work on a Draught of Peace (laugh it up, Sluggy, you ironic piece of shit) in pairs of two.

The secondary laboratory was empty when James walked in, giving him the illusion of blissful ignorance on who his partner would be for a few moments before the heavy oak doors slammed open and the bane of his existence strode through the threshold, a black tote over the shoulder of his too-big robes, eyes like two hard obsidian rocks narrowed in disgust at him from across the room.

Snape was one of those people who, every once in a while, you felt sorry for. The greasy hair, the ill-fitted clothes, the adversarial relationships with any-and-everybody; it was difficult to believe that Severus Snape led a particularly pleasant existence. But then he went and opened his mouth, and all traces of sympathy promptly vanished, leaving behind the truth: he was a strange, rude, bitter person with borderline-obsessive tendencies.

You know, one of those people voted Most Likely to Shoot Up the School on a highschool yearbook.

"Moonstone, syrup of hellebore, powdered porcupine quills, and powdered unicorn. Obtain them from the storage cabinet," Snape's irritated voice snapped at him without a shred of respect.

[Deceased James Potter (Ponk)]

Listen, while James had in no way wanted to be partners with the Grease Rat, the universe had really been shitting on him, lately. He'd broken his broom in quidditch practice just yesterday, in fact, and event that was followed by Peter vomiting on his favorite shoes (the kid couldn't hold his firewhiskey). Just this morning, Peeves had targeted a first year with a rather clever prank involving a balloon of Botuber pus and he had splashed all over his favorite robes as he was leading his friends around the corner to class. Remus' 'dad' voice had followed him as he marched, disgusted, back to the dormitory to change. "If you'd watch where you were going, Prongs -"

But! He'd come prepared. Since the last twenty-four hours had been so unsavory, James had pocketed the map before he and the other Marauders had headed to the Great Hall for dinner. As he descended into the dungeons to walk to Potions and meet his partner, nose wrinkling at the stench of Slytherin, he pulled it from his pocket and identified his partner, already inside the classroom. Snivellus.

Fucking hell, Universe.

And so, prepared to deal with his arch-nemesis (in a dead tie with Malfoy), James tucked his hands into the pockets of his pants, clean robes swishing behind him, and used his shoulder to push into the classroom. As Severus appeared, he sniffed the air exaggeratedly, and swaggered to the cabinet as his partner spit out ingredients. He didn't necessarily want to collaborate with the tosser, but Potions was Lily's best subject, and he needed to impress her. "You take a shower today, Snivellus? I didn't smell you in the hall -just, you know, the usual Slytherin stench, but not you specifically."

James was clearly unperturbed by Severus' lack of respect. Frankly, he didn't give a rat's ass what Snape thought of him, and it was laughable that he would. James Potter was, in his opinion, the most popular wizard at Hogwarts. He had groupies, for fuck's sake. Snape had -well, nothing, unless you counted his position as Malfoy's lapdog among the glamorous. Setting the ingredients requested on the nearest table, James cast his enemy his most winning smile, ruffling his hair, which needed to be windswept even in the depths of the dungeons. Despite his bad luck, he was in a relatively fair mood.

Severus had a special talent for turning it foul, though.

[Deceased Severus Snape]

Snape just returned the smile thinly. "I can always leave." And, you know, stick James with the project entirely.

[Deceased James Potter (Ponk)]

"You think Slughorn would go for that?" he asked plainly, leaning against the cabinet. "I'm being cooperative." James arched a brow and, not waiting for an answer, said, "So, what, we need anything else?"

[Deceased Severus Snape]

James may have detested old Snivellus, but maybe being partnered with him did have some advantages. He expertly chopped and peeled the ingredients and set them out on the large white slab, hands working quickly and with practice. Potions was not a class many in this day and age revered, most consigned it an ancient relic, smelling of their musty grandparents and lacking in glamour, but there was undeniably an artform to it. "Sift the powdered moonstone into the base until it turns green," he instructed, having already heated the cauldron to bubbling over a small element at the worktable.

[Deceased James Potter (Ponk)]

James was more than happy to let Snape do the meticulous work. He was so into Potions -despite being an excellent student, Potions was his most challenging subject. Transfiguration (cough) was where he truly excelled, and DADA. He yawned as he watched his partner carefully prepare the ingredients, and then picked up the sifter to do as he asked, marvelling at how well he was doing surviving this encounter. Teasing Snivellus was truly one of his most favorite pastimes, and when Sirius was with him it was even worse -but, despite the great temptation to torment the kid, the desire to impress Lily Evans was winning out.

Maybe the fact that this potion was going to turn out perfectly and James' managing to partner with Snape successfully would doubly impress her.

Once the base turned green, James set the moonstone and sifter aside, running his hand through his hair again and peering down into the potion, hazel eyes reflecting through his glasses onto the surface of the liquid. "Looks like poltergeist vomit." It was a most scientific observation.

[Deceased Severus Snape]

It may have been a source of niggling irritation to James that Snape appeared to be thinking along similar lines; at least, it would explain his veritable cooperativeness not hexing him into the next century. Lily would be impressed by their ability to work together, never liking the fact that they couldn't get along. "Stir until the base turns a deep azure," he simply instructed, electing to ignore James's observation.