The Potions Lesson
For Dudley, the week progressed much like transfiguration. In each lesson he took blotchy notes, waved his wand and produced absolutely no results. Except, of course, for when he lost his temper and shifted shit sideways in the most spectacular fashion. In herbology his hasty attempt at a severing charm propelled a potting tray through a window. Then in charms his attempts to light his wand (which Blaise had so kindly used as a benchmark for basic magical ability) had led to a loud bang and a concussion. How exactly the two were related still escaped him. Each of these mishaps earned him a new round of mocking laughter and increasingly worried frowns from Blaise and Theo. Both had produced needles, albeit wonky ones, after a few days practice and Dudley could swear he had heard them discussing their agreement. If he didn’t pick magic up soon he might not have their help any longer.
It wasn’t just casting the spells that was an issue. Dudley was struggling to get theory too. It seemed so stupid that magic, which they had all until now been using with the wild rise and fall of their emotions, now needed to conform to specific syllables and carefully drawn runes. He relished the classes like DADA and history, though the latter only somewhat, because they talked about tangible facts. Dates and strange creatures were something that he could agree existed. Less so; Lumos.
On top of his miserable performance in classes. It soon became clear that Harry’s ginger friend – who he now knew was called Ron Weasley – wasn’t the only person who had decided that Dudley’s sorting must make him the most evil wizard imaginable. People had been making hissing noises as they passed him in the corridors and he had about as much luck finding people to work next to in shared classes as those with just his housemates. Dudley had never wanted to be well-liked – far better to be feared – but the constant ridicule grated at him.
By Friday, he was scanning his timetable with trepidation. He’d been under the impression that they had started all of their subjects. Now though, he saw that there was one more. Double potions, which they only had on a friday. And, he thought with a shudder, that was Professor Snape’s subject. Ever since his mum’s reply to his letter, he had been keeping a nervous eye on the head of Slytherin house. They hadn’t crossed each other often, but Dudley was certain that Snape was far from happy to have a muggleborn Slytherin during his tenure. He only contained his sneer when there were other staff members around, and even then only slightly.
When he had written home, Dudley had lied about that. He had thought his parents would want to know that he was on the teachers’ good side. They had always been ready to believe it before. And though he never had been, Dudley had gotten good at telling them he was. Though having gotten his mum’s reply, he wondered if, this time, he might have overdone it.
As Dudley trudged along the dungeon corridors he found himself suddenly flanked by Blaise and Theo. He focused his eyes on the flagstones ahead of him. It was clear what this would be about and he didn’t think it would be a good idea to blow up on them. At least not until there was no returning.
“So, how's our first week going?” Blaise drawled as he inspected his nails.
Dudley grunted in the hope that a single sound might encapsulate the whole experience. He tried not to move his head as his eyes flicked between the two boys. Theo didn’t react to his near silence, but Blaise chuckled.
“Look, we’re not gonna drop you… yet. The offer still stands.” he said through a quavering laugh.
Dudley frowned, “But I heard you–”
“Oh you’ve been eavesdropping?”
“Give him a rest Blaise.” Theo muttered, “The intimidating thing’s not working for you.”
Blaise clucked his tongue, but fell silent. Theo made a show of glancing around the now empty corridor (they had slowed to let the other Slytherins turn the corner ahead of them) then pulled a roll of parchment out of his bag.
“We wondered about it.” He said, handing it to a confused Dudley, “I thought we were acting rashly getting into this, but where's the fun in backing out? We reckon you just need practice. Most people aren’t comfortable with wandwork for a month or so. Though if you don’t pick it up soon…”
He trailed off, looking a little uncomfortable with the vague threat to break their agreement. Dudley briefly considered promising that he would figure magic out soon enough, but before he could decide if it would be a good idea, Theo shook his head and spoke again.
“Anyway, Dad sent me this yesterday. Apparently it’s not too hard to learn, but Malfoy still won’t like it when you get him with it. If we learn it by Christmas, he might show me some more over the holidays.”
Dudley unrolled the parchment and squinted at the loopy script. At the top of the page he could just about make out the words Stinging Jinx. He looked up at the both of them, grinning. Accepting their help was paying off.
“So what does this do?”
Blaise rolled his eyes. “What? Need us to read it for you? Maybe Malfoy has a point.” But he couldn’t suppress a grin as he launched into an explanation, “It does what it says it does. Hurts like hell, but won't leave a mark unless you really want it to.”
“Yeah. And the stinging lasts too.” Theo muttered.
“I reckon once you figure out actual spells this should be our first one to learn. Mr Nott’s a godsend for giving it to us.”
Theo made a similar grunt to Dudley’s earlier one, then groaned loudly.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
They had turned the final corner and were facing the door to the potions classroom. Waiting to be let in were two sets of students standing in very definite groups and glaring at each other. One, Dudley knew well, wearing the same green-lined robes as him. The others, once he had clocked them, elicited a similar grunt of annoyance, because they were wearing red.
Now they were among the rest of the student body, Blaise and Theo drew away from Dudley. Blaise made a point of throwing two fingers up at him, but he risked winking as he did it. Dudley barely registered the action. His eyes were locked on the gaggle of Gryffindors, many of whom had likewise turned their attention to him. Great. Dudley had a feeling he was about to face the results of a week's unchecked gossip about his evil soul. Ron Weasley was easy to pick out, standing a blazing head taller than most of his housemates. Beside him, an unruly nest of black hair marked Harry, though there were enough people in front of him to screen him from view.
He supposed it made sense that they would share a class with the Gryffindor’s. After all, they shared herbology with Hufflepuff and astronomy with Ravenclaw. He should have suspected that they were missing a third combined lesson.
As Dudley slid into the line of Slytherins, his housemates all shuffled away from him. This he had grown used to, but the Gryffindor’s all took note. Several snorted with derision and Ron’s murmur echoed in the corridor.
“Even they don’t like him.”
Harry chuckled. “Not surprised.” He said, not even bothering to whisper.
Dudley scowled at them, but before he could think of something to say, a bushy haired girl with massive front teeth stepped forward and held out a hand.
“You’re Dudley Dursley, right. I’m Hermione Granger. Is it true you’re a muggleborn?”
“Uh. Yeah.” Dudley didn’t shake her hand. She dropped it, looking a little affronted, but plunged on with her questions.
“You must be really ambitious then. I did a lot of background reading before coming here and in Hogwarts: A History It says that muggleborns have to be ‘paragons of Slytherin virtues to surpass the founders preference for blood status.’ I expect you’ll be really good at magic then.”
“What would you know about it, Granger.” Draco spat. His cheeks had flushed pink again. Was he angry at her, or the insinuation that Dudley must be the most Slytherin of them all.
“I’ve heard all about you. You’re the know-it-all who can’t keep her mouth shut.”
Dudley was almost certain he heard Pansy mutter “Stuck-up mudblood” under her breath. Though some of the Gryffindors seemed to agree with Draco’s comments as well. Hermione didn’t seem to notice their tired nodding, she was too busy staring at Draco with a mixture of confusion and derision.
“What’s wrong with getting questions right? We’re in a school, and it seems to me that that’s rather the point.”
“What’s wrong?” Draco sneered, “Nothing, except for how annoying it must be to share a class with you. And I was so looking forward to potions. I can only hope that Professor Snape might knock some humility into that buck-toothed head of yours.”
Now Hermione had also turned pink. She was gripping the strap of her bag so hard her knuckles had gone white. But several of her housemates were grumbling menacingly.
“Hey!” It was Ron again. He pushed through the Gryffindors to stand behind Hermione. “I don’t care how annoying she is, ‘cause you can take your stinking ferret-face and shove it up Snape's arse as far as you can, but that won’t make you half the person she is… Bloody snake.”
“Oooooooooh.”
“Shut up Weasley. I expect you’re hoping to impress your girlfriend before she ditches you for someone with money.”
“Oh why don’t you go make out with Dursley over there. You bastards are made for each other.” He sneered at Dudley maliciously, “Stick with him, and I’m sure he’ll teach you every curse someone like you’d want to know.”
Dudley had no idea why he was suddenly being dragged into this argument. But the insinuation that he would want anything to do with that brat was galling. His well-stoked anger boiled up in his gut. He stepped forward and rolled up his sleeves. It was such a familiar motion that Harry immediately started trying to tug Ron back into the crowd.
“You know. You’re starting to piss me off.” Dudley growled.
“What have I done?” Ron protested, “Everyone’s thinking it. How evil do you have to be to get in with that lot. Or is it just an ugliness contest now. ‘Cause you’re the lumpiest potato of the lot.”
“That’s it!”
“Woah! What are you–”
Ron seemed to have finally clocked the oncoming danger, but too late to block the punch. There was a loud crack and a chorus of shrieks and cheers from the surrounding class. Ron doubled over, but reached up to grab Dudley’s robes as he fell down. He pulled him with him, yelling, and landed a swift kick to Dudley’s gut. Bright sparks of pain blossomed in front of his eyes. He rolled over and with a roar and lunged at the flailing runner bean of a boy.
“DON’T!” Punch. “YOU DARE!” Punch. “INSULT!” Punch. “ME!”
Someone else had thrown themselves on Dudley’s back. He bucked and shook, pushing himself up from the now crumpled Ron. He grasped at the familiar, stick-thin wrists and pried Harry off him. Twisting around to stare his cousin in the face, Dudley allowed himself only a second to take in the furious fear in Harry’s eyes before he stepped forward and pulled him firmly into a head-lock.
By now the rest of the class had devolved into pandemonium. The other Gryffindor boys, and two of the girls, had surged forward. The Slytherins were all standing back and laughing. He wasn’t sure who they wanted to win this. Draco definitely wouldn’t care. What was certain was that Dudley wouldn’t stand much of a chance against five. He glanced around wildly for help, but even Blaise and Theo were keeping out of this. The less indignant part of him knew that he would have to give up. To take the hits. And yet that was never the part he had listened to before. He‘d just have to do something. He’d just have to–
“What is going on here!”
Everyone froze and turned to the classroom door. Professor Severus Snape was standing in the doorway, glaring at the scene before him with pure venom in his eyes. It was by now a pavlovian instinct for Dudley to release his victims when a teacher arrived on the scene. Harry stumbled away from him, gasping. Snape’s glittering eyes flicked between Ron, Harry, and Dudley so fast they seemed a blur.
“Well?” He demanded.
“Dursley was provoked, sir.” Blaise said. Dudley stared at him, dumbfounded. He thought they were pretending to have nothing to do with each other. Sticking up for him broke that into pieces. But to Dudley’s surprise, Pansy and Vincent started clamouring their agreement, causing the entire Gryffindor cohort to roar with anger.
“He was sir. Weasley insulted him.”
“Only because Malfoy went for Hermione.”
“Which had nothing to do with Dursley.”
“Well he escalated it.”
“Shut up Granger!”
“Snakes!”
“Idiots”
“Enough.” Snape said icily. Silence fell. He pulled Ron to his feet and swept his eyes over the bruises now blossoming on his face. Then he advanced on Dudley, black eyes glittering with malice so obvious that Dudley was struck with the urge to start cowering.
“I’m afraid I didn’t see what started the fight. So I have no way to of knowing who threw the first punch”
“But sir!”
“THEREFORE, Weasley, I will be deducting five points from every student involved. As I understand it, that will be Potter, Weasley, and Dursley. And they should be grateful it isn’t more.”
He spat the last words at Dudley in particular, and with such palpable fury that the whole corridor seemed to burn hotter. However Dudley had already deflated. House points. That was it. For a moment he had thought that he had somehow earned the respect of his housemates without the need for magic. But he realised now, with the Gryffindors all whining about the five point disparity, that they had only stuck up for him so that Snape had a reason to take more from Gryffindor than Slytherin. He glanced at Draco and saw the same contemptuous expression there always was.
He couldn’t wait for that duel.
As they all filed into the classroom and found their cauldrons in the store cupboard, Snape swept up behind Dudley and announced that as further punishment, he would be working at the same table as Harry and Ron. At this, Dudley felt like he might actually be sick. He and Harry had been avoiding each other all week on the unspoken agreement that if they didn’t have to talk to each other, then they would just pretend they didn’t exist. And the last few minutes had proved just how disastrous breaking that pact could be. He’d have even taken Draco’s table over Harry's. But he had no choice but to set up his cauldron opposite the two boys who busied themselves with a little-opened textbook as an excuse to avoid his eye.
Dudley took to looking around the classroom. It was all dark wood, and low light – which seemed like a strange decision for a practical classroom. Potions, to Dudley’s eye, looked a lot like chemistry and he’d seen pictures of bright white chemistry labs in the Smelting’s brochure. Surely it made more sense to be able to see what you were doing. The room was set up with a large blackboard behind a plain desk littered with small vials and stacks of paper. Dotted around the classroom were more large tables, each with four stools and four small braziers. There were more stools than pupils, and most people split into groups of three as they set up. Though there wasn’t enough room for everyone to do that. Dudley stared morosely at the fourth spot at their table. The last thing he wanted was another Gryffindor to come to back his cousin up.
Then the unthinkable happened. Tracey Davis, who had been standing doing nothing at a table with Daphne and Milicent, turned around suddenly and made a beeline for the fourth seat. She plonked her cauldron on the brazier and hopped onto the stool with a determined smile. Dudley, Harry, and Ron all stared at her. What the hell was she doing? Ever since Dudley had snapped on their first day, Tracey had been pointedly ignoring Dudley. He was glad of it. That had been the point after all. She hadn’t seemed like the sort of person he’d wanted at his back. Unreliable, emotional. And from what little gossip he’d picked up this week, he thought he’d made the right decision. Tracey seemed to complain a lot, and not as quietly as she thought. The other girls had apparently ostracised her, offended by her dislike of Slytherin house and her snobbery about their late night discussions. The only one who would still directly talk to her was Daphne, who apparently put great stock in the sorting hat and thought that all Slytherins were true Slytherins because it said so (though the final verdict on Dudley was still pending.)
Still, when Tracey flashed him a nervous smile and whispered “Thought you’d want an ally.” as she edged her stool closer towards him Dudley couldn’t help feeling a slight jolt of appreciation. A feeling that was compounded by Ron’s mutinous expression.
“And I took your advice.” She said matter-of-factly.
“What advice?”
“I lied to my dad. Told him I got into Ravenclaw.”
“Oh.”
Weird. She was acting like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t told her he wanted nothing to do with her. And the look she gave Ron, who had clearly heard her and was not so subtly holding back laughter, had a definite air of mess with one of us, you mess with both of us.
Snape called for quiet, and took the register. He paused at both Dudley and Harry’s names, drawing them out with theatrical malice. It was like he already disliked them. Was he really that annoyed by a fight outside their classroom? And if so, why didn’t he pause on Ron’s name like that.
Register done, Snape launched into a speech about the nature of potions and the aim of his class; bottling fame and brewing glory. Halfway through, Dudley decided that this man was extremely full of himself. He was talking to a room of eleven year olds like they were intruders into his sacred space. If he didn’t want to risk detention, he would have laughed.
Suddenly, Snape rounded on Harry.
“A test then. To see if our more famous students have deigned to open their textbooks before now. Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood.”
On the next table over, Hermione Granger’s hand shot into the air. Dudley stared at her. The question had clearly been for Harry and Harry alone. It didn’t matter if she knew it. For his part, Harry was looking confused and a little bit scared.
“I don’t know sir.”
“Hm. Dursley! Where would you look if I told you to find a bezoar?”
A what? Dudley frowned, he had skimmed his textbooks for any particularly powerful magic, but none of their contents had lodged in his memory. And why was Snape picking on him? Once again, Hermione’s hand was waving in the air. She had even stood up, apparently under the impression that Professor Snape simply hadn’t seen her. Dudley was getting the sneaking suspicion that Draco might have been right about her being an annoying classmate.
“Well?”
“I dunno. A potion shop?”
There was a brief collective ‘humf’ as the class tried to stifle their snickers. Professor Snape’s eyes glinted.
“No, Dursley. And you would do well to curb that tongue of yours. Well then… Potter! What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”
Again, Hermione’s hand shot into the air and again. Harry seemed to be drawing a blank, though Tracey had cocked her head and furrowed her brow as if she thought there was something wrong with the question.
“I don’t know sir.” He said calmly, “Why don’t you ask Hermione though. She seems to know the answer.”
This time there were actual chortles and Ron high fived Harry the moment Snape turned to look at Hermione.
“Sit down!” He snapped, “That will be a point from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter. And for your information, boys; asphodel and wormwood create a sleeping draught so potent it is known as the draught of living death, a bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat which will save you from most poisons, as for monkshood and wolfsbane – they are the same plant which also goes by aconite. Well? Why aren’t you all copying that down.”
Content that he had roundly humiliated the cousins, Professor Snape then set them the task of making a supposedly simple potion to cure boils. Though soon the whole class was staring in disbelief at their concoctions. Hardly any of them looked right. Dudley squinted at the board, then picked up a pair of porcupine quills and moved to drop them into his too-green goop.
“No!” Tracey hissed. Her hand shot out and grabbed the quills from him. “You have to take it off the fire first.”
At the next table over there was a loud bang and a cascade of unfinished potion spilled out of the spot where Neville Longbottom’s cauldron should have been.
“Or that happens.” She sighed and crouched on her stool so the sizzling concoction couldn’t get at her feet. Dudley followed suit, but Ron – still a little sluggish from the fight – started swearing loudly about his ruined shoes.
“You’re good at this stuff.” Dudley muttered.
Tracey shrugged, “I studied ahead.”
Once again, Professor Snape swept onto the scene. He cleaned the potion up in an instant, then turned to Harry.
“You, Potter. Didn’t you see him add the porcupine quills. Thought you’d let him blow the cauldron up just to make yourself look good. That's another point from Gryffindor.”
Ron jabbed Harry’s arm before he could protest. As the potions master stalked away, Tracey turned to Dudley.
“Does he have something against you two?”
Ron snorted, but quailed when Dudley shot him a vicious glare. “Well he’s Snape. And we were punching each other right outside his class.” He said.
“I don’t remember you punching me.” Dudley said. He swept his gaze over the purple splotch on Ron’s face. That black eye was going to be around for a while.
Ron opened his mouth to retort, but Tracey jumped in first.
“Don't get full of yourself, Weasley. He doesn’t seem to be picking on you. If it was about the fight, you’d have gotten one of those questions, or the blame for Longbottom.”
She was right. Dudley tried to puzzle it out in his head. Why would a professor at a school they only just found out about have a grudge against both him and his cousin. Then a snippet of the first letter from his Mum wandered into his mind.
I’ve heard of him and I can’t imagine him being very kind to you.
“Mum knew about him.” He said.
Harry dropped his own porcupine quills in shock.
“Aunt Petunia? She knows Professor Snape?”
“I guess.” Dudley shrugged, “I mentioned him in a letter and she warned me that he’d be mean. Does it really matter?”
“But… Aunt Petunia?”
“Yeah. Mum didn’t say more than that.”
“We’re talking about the same Aunt Petunia right?”
“You don’t have to keep saying that. I know my mum’s name.” Dudley snapped.
“Keep your voice down.” Tracey hissed.
Harry held his hands up, “Hey, I’m just shocked. I thought she wanted nothing to do with this world.”
Dudley shrugged again. Frankly, at this point he was used to people having an instant and unfounded dislike for him. The question of why Snape disliked him may be interesting, but it wasn’t his priority. But now Harry had pointed it out. It was quite odd.
“I guess that explains it.” Harry muttered. Everyone looked at him, perplexed. He sighed and looked at Dudley like he at least should get it. “Well, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon hate my guts. If she’s somehow friends with him, then he might just hate me on principle.”
“Doesn’t explain me.”
“You don’t need explaining. Anyone would hate you on instinct.”
Ron moaned at the insult, clearly remembering the fight, and Dudley curled a fist around his stirring spoon. But with Snape in the room he could only snarl.
“Oh calm down.” Tracey moaned. “You two are cousins. You live together. Why are you acting like you hate each other?”
“Because we do.” They answered in unison.
“And it’s none of your business.” Dudley added darkly. She may have come to back him up on this table, but that didn’t mean he was becoming best buddies with her.
Tracey raised an eyebrow. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Dudley. I’m the only one here being nice to you. So I’d appreciate it if you’d stop jumping down my throat.”
“Good luck with that.”
Tracey glared at Harry, “You’re not helping either.”
“Why would I?” He laughed, “I’ve lived with his family all my life. The Dursleys hated me because I wasn’t one of them. They made me sleep in the cupboard under the stairs and Dudley used me as a punching bag.” His eyes narrowed as he assessed her expression, “Or didn’t he tell you that?”
Tracey looked between Harry and Dudley. Her eyes were wide with surprise.
“No.”
Dudley just shrugged. “He made our lives hell. Weird stuff kept going on all the time, and he never figured out that he should just shut up when dad was angry.”
“Well a lot of the time he was going to hit me anyway. I might as well point out how stupid he was.”
“Wait, your uncle hit you!” Both Ron and Tracey looked horrified.
“Yeah. Turns out he hates wizards.”
Ron looked at Dudley, “And you joined in with that.”
“Well he kept ruining stuff. Smashing presents and breaking glass at zoos.” Dudley was starting to get annoyed with the way they all were glaring at him. “So what. He didn’t learn to fight, so he lost them a lot. It’s how it works.”
“It’s not. And that's not the point.” Tracey said quietly. “Harry said it was because your dad hates wizards. And if you're both here, then some of that stuff must have happened because of you.”
“And I got the flack for it.” Harry muttered.
“So he was being hit because of your magic. I guess your dad didn’t want to believe that you were a wizard too.”
He had never thought of it that way. That he and Harry were both wizards annoyed him. The apparent connection made him uncomfortable. It was a part of why he had asked to be allowed to come here – he couldn’t let himself be like Harry and be worse at it than him. And it had made perfect sense to him that Harry would be punished for being weird and making strange stuff happen. That his dad hated wizards was natural. They weren’t normal which meant they weren’t respectable. But that his dad hated magic even when Dudley was responsible…
Why did mum ask him to only address his letters to her? It couldn’t be…
No! He wouldn’t think that. It hurt too much to even go near the idea. Grappling for some way to win the conversation – to hit back at Harry for the momentary doubt he had inflicted on him – Dudley spat out the lowest blow he had.
“Yeah? Well if you wanted a loving home, you should have blown yourself up with those stupid parents of yours.”
Silence. Dudley leaned back, satisfied that he had won. And the nearby tables had heard as well. The chatter around them died as Harry glared at him, furious.
“Loving home?” He retorted, “I didn’t see Vernon at the station. Why could that be? I think Daddy’s gone off his golden child. Don’t you?”
Dudley lunged across the table at him, but Professor Snape was faster. He shouted a spell and Dudley was flung back to his station.
“Detention, Dursley. And I want you sitting there next week as well. And every week until you can control that temper of yours.”