The Hagrid's son

Dungeons had always been a place that sent shivers down the spine of students from any house other than Slytherin, indirectly causing few to be willing to spend more time there than strictly necessary.

That's why Snape liked them so much.

No noise, no interruptions, or animated shouts.

A perfect refuge to practice the profession of a potions master, where the slightest distraction could have terrible consequences for his potions. A static environment in which exercising control was obligatory, and concentration was essential.

This year, Lily's son had joined the school and had already made a deal with the headmaster to protect him. But he couldn't help feeling disdain since he saw him at the feast because, in a certain way, he reminded him of his tormentor and the one guilty of breaking his friendship with his best friend, James Potter.

And then there was Quirrell. He...

His thoughts were interrupted the moment someone DARED to knock on his office door, causing him to frown in annoyance and narrow his gaze to two cold slits.

"Who is it?" he asked with his muffled voice, resonating slightly with the echo of the spacious office.

No matter who, no one has the privilege of occupying his time before Potions lessons. He needed to gather all the patience possible through Occlumency practice not to grab the incompetents who were incapable of following simple instructions by the neck and dunk them in the cauldrons of acid that ended up distilling.

"Uncle Snape, it's Barnaby," he heard from the other side of the door. "Can I come in?"

Snape's annoyed face relaxed when he heard the voice on the other side.

Barnaby? Then it's okay to dedicate him a few minutes.

"Come in," he allowed as he straightened up in his chair and looked at the boy. "What brings you here at this hour?" he asked without changing his voice in his dimly lit office.

When Snape saw Barnaby, he couldn't help but remember his extraordinary performance in the Potions lessons back then and how he had discovered new uses for porcupine quills, crushed snake teeth, and billywig mucus, to name just a few of the animal-based ingredients.

It was like seeing a younger version of himself, with overflowing talent in the field and a great interest in breaking obsolete traditions.

It helped a lot that Barnaby hardly resembled his father, treated him with due respect, and occasionally brought him some new materials with which he could experiment to create new potions.

It was a great method to handle the stress of incompetence that he saw almost every day and that almost drove him crazy.

The last material he provided, a wooden bowl full of what he called "Frost Salts," turned out to be tremendously interesting to study.

There were also times when he needed to take on the tedious task of preparing some additional potions for the school infirmary, and Barnaby helped him brew them with more than acceptable quality.

"Do you bring good news, Uncle Snape?" Barnaby took the staff and drew a circle of light with orange sparks on the table, from which emerged a purple vase sealed with dark lines.

"Is this what I think it is?" Snape got up to examine the vase in more detail and interest.

He didn't mind that Barnaby called him uncle when they were alone or with the other teachers, as he would address him as a professor in public.

"Yes, I thought you would be happy to get it before your first class with the first years," Barnaby stroked the vase, and it trembled slightly.

"And the other...?" Snape wanted to ask, but Barnaby's slow headshake already answered the question even before he raised it. "Never mind. The jars on the left table are the potions for the carnivorous slugs you asked me for; take them to your father when you leave."

"Thank you, Uncle Snape." Barnaby approached and took the jars before storing them. "This will be a great help for Dad; they're eating his garden without mercy, and it would have been a plague in time."

"Just remember to bring me the slug bodies," Snape dismissed him without taking his eyes off the vase. "Old rules?"

"Old rules," Barnaby confirmed before saying goodbye and leaving Snape's office.

... Later, Potions class...

After taking the pleasure of humiliating Harry, Snape wrote on the board a simple potion whose only purpose was to cure coughs with a hint of mint. One of the most elementary potions, and still, there were already three explosions and more than ten cauldrons with, who knows, Merlin, the kind of liquids they contained.

Normally, he would waste time drawing his wand and banishing those abominations that students dared to call potion attempts, but since Barnaby gave him the vase, he wouldn't have to do these nursery tasks anymore.

"You are probably the worst class I have had the displeasure of having to teach," he said with acid in his voice. "At least the ingredients will not be wasted, even with what you have done."

With a wand gesture, the new vase that no one had noticed in the Potions classroom (normal, given that it was his first class there) shook and opened, from which a purple sludge began to crawl towards the dubious liquids in each student's cauldron.

Students recoiled in fear at what they saw and looked at Snape, seeking at least a simple explanation to understand the situation.

He simply remained stoic, waiting for the sludge to finish cleaning everything and recede back into the vase once the task was completed. The cauldrons were so clean that reflections could be seen in them.

"Thank you," Snape commented before putting the lid back in place with another wrist movement wielding the wand.

"Professor Snape," Hermione couldn't keep her mouth shut once the moment passed. "What was that thing?!"

"That 'thing,' as you called it, Miss Granger, is a creature that will recycle the potions you fail from now on to avoid wasting expensive materials," Snape informed, enjoying the internal frightened expressions of the students. "Barnaby brought it recently to help me; it is none other than a Grimer."

"Grimer?"

The students looked at each other, showing no signs of knowing about these strange creatures.

Even those who came from pure-blood backgrounds didn't seem to have heard of Grimers.

"Oh, another reminder," Snape added as he left the Potions classroom. "Don't try to pet it or hug it like the other creatures. Despite being friendly, it is extremely toxic to the touch, and the antidote is not ready yet."

The classroom fell silent, digesting Snape's words, and a few seconds later, the students were leaving as if the vase were radioactive.