Chapter 9
With that, he stode from the table, the whispers of the hall growing behind him. Draco followed him, his eyes never leaving his cousin's back, a silent affirmation of their unspoken bond. As they headed towards the dungeons for potions class, Hadrian felt a sense of purpose swell within him. He would not be defined by the shackles of his family's legacy.
To his surprise, Blaise Zabini fell into step beside them as they descended the stone staircase, his dark eyes studying Hadrian with a newfound interest. Daphne Greengrass and Tracy Davis, two more Slytherins who had been watching the exchange at the Slytherin table, also joined the group, their expressions a mix of awe and caution.
"What was that all about?" Tracy whispered, her voice barely audible over the cacophony of students shuffling to their next classes.
"Nott's just trying to make a name for himself," Daphne said dismissively, her eyes never leaving Hadrian. "But you shouldn't let him get to you."
Hadrian's eyes remained fixed ahead, his jaw clenched. "I won't," he said, his voice a promise. "But he should be aware of his place."
Draco nodded in agreement, his hand clasping his wand tightly. "He'll learn," he murmured. "They all will."
The fift students descended into the dungeons, the air growing colder and damper with each step. The candlelit corridors stretched before them like the veins of a living creature, whispering secrets that only the stones had heard. The anticipation of potions class hung in the air, a blend of excitement and trepidation. For Hadrian, it was not just about the lessons in potion-making but the chance to assert his place in the Slytherin house and prove his worth.
The potions classroom door creaked open, revealing a space that was a stark contrast to the grandeur of the Great Hall. The walls were lined with dusty shelves, filled with bottles of all shapes and sizes, their contents bubbling and hissing ominously. The Gryffindors, already present, cast wary glances at the Slytherins as they entered, their eyes lingering on the Black family heir. Harry Potter was among them, his gaze unreadable as he observed the new dynamics at play.
Hadrian and Draco took their seats at the front of the classroom, surrounded by other Slytherins. Blaise Zabini sat with Pansy Parkinson, with a communicative smile on his lips. Daphne, on the other hand, took a seat with Tracy, her eyes never leaving Hadrian's back.
Professor Snape strode into the classroom, his robes billowing around him like a dark cloud. His eyes swept over the students, pausing briefly on Hadrian before moving on. "Welcome, first-years" he began, his voice as cold and unforgiving as the stone walls that surrounded them. "In this class, you will learn the subtle art of potion-making. It is a discipline that requires precision, patience"
His gaze flicked to the Gryffindors, and a smug smile played on his lips as he added, His eyes returned to Hadrian, the smile fading. "I expect nothing less than perfection from each and every one of you. Any deviation from the instructions will not be tolerated."
The first potion they learned to brew was “ Cure for boils,” a simple concoction that required precise measurements and timing. He explained that a properly considered concoction would have pink smoke rising from the cauldron Snape's voice was a sibilant whisper, carrying the weight of his expectations and the promise of failure if they were not met. He began quizzing the students, starting with the Gryffindor girl, who trembled as she talked about the ingredients and their properties.
When he reached Harry, he raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Potter, tell me about the bezoar." Harry's eyes flickered to Hadrian before he replied confidently, "A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat, Professor. It's used as an antidote to many poisons." Snape's gaze remained on Harry for a beat too long before he nodded curtly. "Correct."
Turning to Ron, Snape's expression grew predatory. "And you, Mr. Weasley, how does one obtain such a stone?" Ron's face flushed a dull red, and he stuttered, "Uh, you... I mean, we read that it's... it's found in goats, right?"
"Indeed," Snape said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "But where, Mr. Weasley? Where does one find a goat in the wizarding world?"
Ron's face grew redder, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for a lifeline. "Well, you... I mean, they're in the... in the magical menagerie, right?"
Snape's sneer grew more pronounced. "Wrong, Mr. Weasley. The bezoar is found in the stomach of a goat that has ingested certain poisons. It is not something one can simply pluck from a shelf at the apothecary." He flicked his wand and a quill hovered in the air, scribbling on the board behind him. "-5 points from Gryffindor for not being prepered for class."
The class gasped, but Hadrian's focus remained on his own cauldron. He and Draco had gathered the necessary ingredients, their movements fluid and coordinated. As they measured and mixed, the air grew tense with the anticipation of their next move. The other Slytherins watched them, whispering among themselves.
With each stir, the potion grew murkier, the foul smell of the ingredients assaulting their senses. Draco paused, eyeing Hadrian with a mix of admiration and trepidation. "You really are something, cousin," he murmured, his voice low enough to avoid Snape's sharp ears
The cauldron between them began to bubble and churn, the murky potion within casting eerie shadows across their faces. Hadrian's eyes remained fixed on the swirling liquid, his brow furrowed in concentration as he added the final ingredient: powdered dragon horn. The room grew quiet, the only sound the occasional hiss of a distant cauldron and the crackling of the fireplace. As the horn dissolved into the potion, the mixture began to froth and change color, shifting from a murky brown to a deep pink.
"Very good, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Black," Snape's voice sliced through the air, his gaze lingering on their cauldron before moving on. "But remember, a potion is only as good as its maker. I expect nothing less than mastery from both of you, especially you, Mr. Black." The subtle challenge in his tone was not lost on Hadrian, who felt the weight of his words like a heavy cloak.
As the class continued with their brewing, a loud crash echoed through the dungeons. Everyone's heads snapped towards the source of the disturbance: Neville Longbottom's cauldron had shattered into a hundred pieces, the potion spilling onto the poor Gryffindor's body. He yelped in pain, his skin erupting in boils that grew larger by the second.
Snape's eyes narrowed at the sight of Neville's distress. He swept over to the Gryffindor, his robes whispering against the stone floor like a mournful specter. "Mr. Longbottom, I'm surprised that someone with your lineage would be so careless with a simple potion." His words were laced with acid, stinging as the potion that now covered Neville.
With a flick of his wand, the potion and the remains of the cauldron dissolved into the air, leaving no trace of the disaster behind. Neville's skin began to bubble and blister, and Snape's expression grew more severe. "Mr. Black," he barked, his gaze piercing Hadrian's calm facade. "Your turn to prove your worth. Heal him."
Without a moment's hesitation, Hadrian rose from his seat, the potion he and Draco had so carefully crafted held in his hand. The class stared, the room so silent that the drip of a distant faucet seemed to echo like a drumbeat. The potion sloshed gently in the glass flask, the pink smoke dancing in the flickering candlelight.
He approached Neville, whose panic-stricken face was a map of pain and fear. The Gryffindor looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes as the boils grew larger and more painful. Harry and Hermione watched with bated breath, their concern for their friend evident in their tight expressions.
Ignoring the whispers of his classmates, Hadrian knelt beside Neville, his hand steady as he uncorked the flask. "Drink this," he instructed calmly, his voice a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding them. Neville's trembling hand took the potion, his eyes never leaving Hadrian's.
With a gulp that seemed to take an eternity, Neville downed the contents. The room held its collective breath as the pink smoke swirled around him, wrapping him in a cocoon of magic. The boils began to shrink, the pain etching from his features. Slowly, the blisters disappeared, leaving his skin smooth and unblemished.
The class erupted in amazement, whispers turning to gasps of awe. Harry's eyes widened in astonishment, while Hermione's brow furrowed in curiosity. Even Snape's sneer slipped away, replaced by a begrudging nod of approval. "Ten points to Slytherin," he said, his voice devoid of its usual spite.
Hadrian returned to his seat, his heart pounding in his chest. The feeling of power that surged through him was exhilarating and terrifying all at once. He had never felt so alive, so in control of the world around him. The Slytherins around him murmured their congratulations, their eyes shining with a newfound respect.
But the Gryffindors remained silent, watching him with a mix of amazement and suspicion. Harry's gaze bore into him, his green eyes filled with a question that Hadrian wasn't quite ready to answer. He knew the rumors about his family, about his father's affiliation with the Dark Lord, and the doubt was palpable.
Snape cleared his throat, reclaiming the room's attention. "Your homework will be to write an essay on the properties and uses of the bezoar," he announced, his eyes lingering on Neville before sweeping over the rest of the class. "Ten inches, neatly parchmented, and due by the end of the week. Those of you who failed to perform adequately in today's demonstration will write an additional essay on the dangers of improper potion handling."
The Gryffindors groaned, but Hadrian felt a flicker of satisfaction at the sound of quills scratching against parchment as they hurried to copy down the assignment. The lesson was over, but the tension remained as thick as the potion vapors that still clung to the ceiling. As the students began to pack their bags.
Snape's eyes swept over them, a silent warning to keep their distance. "You may leave," he said, his voice as sharp as a dagger's point. The class filed out, the clack of their shoes on the stone floor echoing through the dungeons like the march of an angry mob.
In the corridor, the Slytherins gathered around Hadrian, their whispers a cacophony of admiration and fear. Daphne and Tracy hovered at the edge of the group, their expressions a mix of awe and uncertainty. Blaise's smile was wide, his teeth gleaming in the torchlight. "That was quite the show, Black," he said, his tone one of begrudging respect.
Draco clapped Hadrian on the back, his eyes gleaming. "You've made quite an impression," he said, his voice a low rumble. "But remember, we're family. We stick together."