The potions master
"There, look."
"Where?"
"Next to the really pale girl, and the one with the braid,"
"Wearing the glasses?"
"Did you see his skin?"
"Did you see his scar?"
Whispers followed Harry from the moment he left his dormitory the next morning. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at him, or doubled back to pass him in the corridors again, staring. Harry wished they wouldn't, because he was trying to concentrate on finding his way to classes. The voices had even gotten so annoyed that they'd started giving him directions too, but it was hard to actually listen.
He'd been very tired that morning-- he'd been waken up by one of the very loud Prefects, banging on the door and demanding they wake up so they don't be late. He was glad they atleast got some sort of call, but why was breakfast so early in the morning? Not even Petunia would wake him up this early unless it was necessary. Harry supposed it was only fair to atleast wake up the new students, but they could've atleast been given a map or something. There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts-- wide, sweeping ones-- narrow, rickety ones-- some that led somewhere different on a day than the one before-- some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending to be doors because they weren't doors. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot, and it was a lot of walking that left Harry ready to go to sleep again anytime he went anywhere. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, he was sure the coats of armor could walk. And if they couldn't, he was certain someone was atleast moving them very frequently.
The ghosts didn't help either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, was nice enough to help any first year, no matter their House as long as they asked politely, but Peeves the Poltergeist was worth jack-crap and two locked doors with a trick staircase as icing if you met him when you were late for class. He would drop waste baskets of wet clothes on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose, and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!"
Even worse than Peeves, if even possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Harry had already managed to get on the wrong side of him on his first morning of class. Padma had left the table to speak with her sister about their classes, and Harry was stuck trying to find his way to classes without her since Lisa apparently didn't care for the Prefects and slept in and Luna had already been gone. Filch caught him trying to open what was apparently the door to the third floor corridor, refused to believe he was lost, thought he was playing hooky, and dragged him all the way to Flitwick's Charms classroom.
Filch owned a cat called Mrs Norris, a scrawny, dust-coloured creature with bulging, lamp-like eyes just like Filch's. Hydrus, who Harry kept within the pocket of his cloak, hated her to no end, just as much, if not more, than Harry did. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one strand of hair out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and Harry wished, if he ever would get a Christmas present, that it be to give Mrs Norris a good kick, preferably down a staircase.
Harry had to say, he did not like Filch, nor did he like Mrs Norris. And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the classes themselves. There was a lot more to magic than books said, and as Harry learned in some classes, he'd have to use his wand and do actual spell casting. Like Charms, and Transfiguration. Books wouldn't get him nearly as far as they had in muggle school, is what he realised very early on. That was a good thing, he figured- casting spells weren't easy, but it was easier than books make it seem.
The first years had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets, none of which did Harry pay much attention to (How was he meant to focus when he was half asleep?). Three times a week, they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology with a little witch called Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi and found out what they were used for. That was one of the very few classes Lisa wouldn't sleep in for the world-- she loved Herbology.
Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only one taught by a ghost. Mr Binns had been very old, and very alive when he had fallen asleep next to the fireplace in the staff room and got up the next morning very dead. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates and got Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up. But he was, again, very old, and very dead. Harry would've liked to insist that it would be more interesting if the teacher wasn't so boring, but he couldn't deny that the voices had a reason to call it the worst class; Nonetheless, he usually enjoyed the naps he took in the class, and Luna was always willing to offer her notes. She was, perhaps, the only student who'd sit through the entire class with a smile.
Flitwick, the Charms teacher and Ravenclaw Head of House, was a tiny little wizard that Harry first thought was some breed of goblin. He had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk and his ears were much longer and pointier than anyone else's. At the start of their first class he took the roll call, and when he reached Harry's name he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight.
McGonagall, the Transfiguration teacher, was different too. Harry had been quite right to think she wasn't a teacher to cross. A very strict and clever woman, she was. She gave them a strict talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class.
"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."
Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. Everyone was excited, but that was quickly gone, for they realised they wouldn't be doing anything of such for a long while. After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, around a fourth of their class had made any difference to their match, and about a sixteenth of them had actually achieved a needle. So, practically, just about three students. Who, is irrelevant, because none of the three were Padma, Lisa, Luna, nor Harry.
The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a real joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days-- he couldn't say it himself because even the thought brought his stuttering to a miniscule volume. It was not a pleasant smell, to say the least. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed this story. For one thing, when anyone asked hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, he went pink and started talking about the weather, though he had miraculously always managed to say wrong; For another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and nobody would've been surprised if it was stuffed full of garlic as well so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went. Nobody really liked his class, and that was something nearly everyone, if not the whole school, could agree on.
Harry was very relieved to find out that he wasn't miles behind everyone else like he thought. A lot more people had come from Muggle families than he would've guessed, and, like him, hadn't had any idea that they were witches and wizards. There was so much to learn and do that even pre-educated kids like Luna and Padma didn't have much of a head start in a couple classes.
But finally, Friday was an important day for Harry and Padma, who he'd met in the common room that morning. They had finally managed to find a way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once. They plummeted into the seats across from Lisa, who they had become well acquainted, with much to Padma's chagrin-- Harry supposed they had Herbology very early today-- was pushing around her plate of French toast.
"What have we got today?" Harry asked, as he got a spoonful of porridge.
"Double Potions with the Hufflepuffs after Transfiguration, and then Herbology, I think. Gryffindors have got double potions with the Slytherins." Padma said, taking a hesitant bite of a pancake. "Hear Snape favours the Slytherins. I wonder if it's true. Parvati told me that Weasley said his brothers all hate Snape, but I think that may be a bit more family-related than House-related. And apparently she gets along with him. Wouldn't've thought-- she says redheads are weird."
"I mean, it'd make sense. The Snape part, I mean. He is the Slytherin Head of House." Lisa chimed in. Padma glared at her, and she glared right back. Harry nodded in agreement, pretending to not notice them glaring at eachother for no reason, just as an owl swooped in and landed infront of him. She was familiar, and Harry couldn't place how until the voices reminded him.
"Hedwig. Hello," Harry said, recognising her snow white feathers. He hadn't seen her ever since he got to Hogwarts-- he assumed she'd been staying with Hagrid. She then extended her foot to him, she had a letter. He ripped it open and read the very untidy scrawl, that was very familiar--
Dear Harry,
I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig.
-Hagrid
-- was messily scrawled along the paper. Harry searched for his quill, and wrote back a reply of-- 'of course, I'll be there.'-- and handed it to Hedwig, along with a bit of his toast, and she flew out the way she came.
"Who was it from? Wait, you have an owl?" Padma asked, looking at him funny.
"It was from Hagrid. I don't have an owl, but I took care of Hedwig over the summer."
"Isn't the name Hedwig from one of our course books? A History of Magic, right?" Lisa asked from across the table as she wiped her face clean with a handkerchief. Suddenly, she hopped up and ran around the table. "Hey! You're a first year Slytherin, aren't you?"
Harry nodded to her question, and snorted when she dropped her goblet.
"How do you even eat this, every day?" Padma muttered, staring gloomily into her own goblet. "There's no chai, there's no- no noodles, or rice-- there's not even any tikka masala. I mean, do Brits just not have taste buds? You lot clearly don't know what food is. My mum used to make stuff like that for us all the time!"
"She made rice? And anyway, you do realize this is a British school, right?"
Padma scoffed, glaring at him. "Would it kill you to just sugarcoat something and try to make my feelings hurt less, for once?"
"Probably not. But I don't think it would kill you to not complain. You could make the- whatever you said, couldn't you?"
"If I knew how. And you are so honest that it's rude, you know."
He shrugged. Sugarcoating was for when it was good for him-- mostly for when he was in trouble. He wasn't in trouble right now- he didn't think. He'd been tricked into thinking he was not in trouble multiple times before. He probably wasn't in trouble. Or, he thought that-- he'd been caught incredibly off-guard when someone suddenly tapped him on the shoulder from behind. He was a bit surprised to see Draco was behind him.
"Can I sit?" He asked.
"Sure, I don't mind." Harry smiled, moving over to let him sit. Lisa spotted him at once, and immediately threw herself over his shoulder.
"Hello! So, you're a Slytherin, aren't you? I've heard you've got double potions with the Gryffindors. And that you're a Slytherin. Would you mind if I just took a bit of your hair--"
"Ignore Lisa, she's been doing that to every Slytherin within a fifteen feet radius. She thinks a bit of Polyjuice potion will get her out of Potions. How've you been?" Harry cut off Lisa, who giggled and went back to her seat.
"I've been well. How has your week been?" Draco asked.
"It could've been worse, atleast. I'm going to Hagrid's later for tea, would you want to come along? You don't have to talk to him or anything, but it gives us another reason to hang out." Harry offered, and Padma cleared her throat.
"Harry? I think you mean we are going to Hagrid's later. I would've thought that was common knowledge that since we are your friends we will be going with you. Also, Malfoy, I think your Potions class starts soon, and we've got Transfiguration. So just meet us in the library at two-thirty-ish if you're coming with us, 'kay? Say bye-bye, Harry," Padma said, pulling Harry to his feet.
"Padma, classes don't start for another ten minutes? Oh-- bye Draco!" Harry waved the best he could as Padma dragged him by the wrist out the Great Hall.
"Sorry about her. Her ego's a bit delicate sometimes," Harry heard Lisa say before chasing after them.
"What was that about?" asked Harry, and Padma scoffed.
"Look, I'm not saying anything, really-- but you should make sure you know who you're friends with. There are people in this school that would sell you out and get you in some really big trouble, and with no remorse. You're kind of new to the wizarding world, so I'll guess you don't read the Prophet."
She paused to let him answer, and he shook his head. Draco had said that too.
"There are all kinds of stories published about you, and people have assumptions. Again, I'm not saying anything, but you never know who you can and can't trust. And Slytherins are not always the most trustworthy-- Malfoys especially. You know, betrayal always comes from the people you trust. And Malfoys have a long good history with betrayal. Half the time, you're better off just not even looking at them."
"Jeez, what deal happened to you?" said Lisa, and Padma shoved her. "Ow! Okay, I didn't need to know anyway."
Harry thought it over as they walked to Potions. He'd have to remember to never tell her he'd nearly been sorted into Slytherin. It seemed Padma barely noticed how much he wasn't talking, because Lisa was talking too much for her to be able to tell. She, nor any of them, were not excited, and not even managing to get his pin just right in Transfiguration made Harry feel better-- Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder there than up in the main castle, and was creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls that made Lisa and Anthony incredibly nauseous. Lisa refused to let go of Harry's arm, and got very queasy whenever she looked up.
Snape, like Flitwick, started by taking the roll, and, again, like Flitwick, he paused at Harry's name.
"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harley... Potter. Our new... celebrity."
Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they were noticeably cold and empty and reminded Harry strictly of his cupboard.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," He spoke quietly, but nobody missed a word-- like McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the
mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death-- if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
Silence followed his little speech. Harry glanced around the classroom. He sat midway to the front, with Padma and Lisa beside him. Luna was not too far behind, somehow, still smiling. Was she ever not smiling? Harry tried his best to pay full attention.
"Potter!" Snape called out suddenly. Harry jumped in his seat, but rose his head.
"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Snape asked. Harry thought, and thought. It was like all he had read during the summer-- and during free time that he spent in the library-- was gone from his head.
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, reminded the voices, so quietly that Harry almost didn't hear it. The voice was helping? That was new. Powdered root of asphodel, and infusion of wormwood...
"Um, a sleeping potion. The- er- Draught of Living Death?" said Harry, forcing himself to speak. He hoped he said it right.
Snape hummed. "Opened a book before lessons, I see. Now, Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?" Snape said, almost sounding proud. Something about the tone, however, didn't look right on his scowling face.
The storing cabinet, technically, Harry thought, but kept that comment to himself and thought on the question. The voices were telling him, again, but they had gone even quieter, and all he caught was goat.
"A bezoar? The stomach of something, I think." He said, trying to think of what book he read that from. The stomach of a goat, maybe?
"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?" Snape went on and asked a different question.
"Wait, they have a difference?" asked Harry, confused. Had he misread something? He could've sworn they were the same.
Snape hummed again. "All correct, Potter. Three points for Ravenclaw. Asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of the Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying this down?"
Harry looked at Padma, who shrugged as she scrambled to get her bag, then at Lisa, who gave him a weak thumbs up. He would've looked for Luna, but she sat up ahead. In the rest of the room, there was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. After that, the Potions lesson continued. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing everyone.
The class ended an hour later and, as Padma instructed, Draco met them in the library after classes at 2:30. They managed to find something to talk about while they waited, but conversation between Draco and Padma was notably strained.
They left the castle at five to three and made their way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.
When Harry knocked on the door, there was a frantic clatter and a dog barking loudly. "Back Fang, back," Hagrid said past the door.
He pulled the door open just a creak. "Hang on," he said. "Back, Fang."
He finally let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.
There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.
"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Harry and started licking his arm. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked, and Harry was glad. Both the neighbourhood dogs and the dogs of Vernon's sister looked as mean as their owners.
"Hi," Harry said, patting Fang's head. Glad Hydrus didn't want to come, he thought, as he stuffed his hand into his pocket. Despite his somewhat better judgement, Sly had been with him all day since she kept stealing the shiny possessions of his housemates. He was too used to having some kind of creature in his pocket, and she didn't seem to mind.
Padma laughed and helped him up. Fang stayed by Harry for a bit, before going back over to Hagrid. "Hagrid, this is Padma Patil. She's Lisa Turpin, and he's Draco Malfoy."
"Malfoy, eh? I knew yer parents when they were at Hogwarts. Knew yer grandfather too. Real tosser, that bloke. Spent half me life tryin' ter figure out yer family. Rock cake?" Hagrid offered a lump with a couple raisins in it.
"Sorry, I've already eaten all the sweets I'm allowed today." said Draco.
"Harry, Padma, Lisa? Would any o' yeh like one?"
"I'd love one, but wouldn't want to ruin my appetite for dinner." said Padma, chuckling.
"I'm allergic to raisins." said Lisa solemnly, but the gratitude was clear on her face.
"No, I don't want one. Sorry, Hagrid, I'm not hungry right now." Harry said. He understood sugar-coating better than anyone, he'd say, when he actually did need it-- he must've done it a thousand times with the Dursleys, to soften his punishments. But Hagrid was nice. Surely he'd understand.
"It's not'a bother ter me, more rock cakes I get fer meself. Now, tell me 'bout how yer lessons been!" Hagrid said cheerfully.
Fang rested his head on Harry's knee and drooled all over his robes as they told Hagrid about their first lessons-- Lisa found it just hilarious how Ron had managed to find himself late for Transfiguration classes when Draco said it-- and Harry was awfully delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch an old git.
"An' as fer that cat, Mrs Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid o' her-- bet Filch puts her up to it." Hagrid said, and Harry found it unbelievably hard to pay full attention.
The paper on the table-- a cutting from a copy of The Daily Prophet, a newspaper he saw Padma get a copy of each morning, kept catching his eye. Hagrid asked Draco about his parents. Padma had been poking at the table with her wand, picking up a loose woodchip every few minutes and bringing it up to her eye, and Lisa seemed to be lost in thought, her ears twitching as she stared blankly at the floor.
Harry picked up the paper, and was shocked as he read.
GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST
Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.
Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.
"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.
Harry remembered Ron telling him on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but he hadn't mentioned the date.
"Hagrid!" Harry said, as Draco peeked over his shoulder to look at the newspaper. "The Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while we were there!" He stood up.
"Oh, your birthday's July thirty-first?" Padma asked.
"That's not important. Hagrid," Harry pushed off her question, and frowned at Hagrid. He knew that Hagrid knew something now, because he couldn't meet Harry in the eyes; Instead, he grunted and ate another rock cake.
"Nevermind, it may not have been while we were there. Someone tried to rob that vault that you emptied out while we were getting my school supplies, right? You know, don't you?" Harry asked.
"Yeh lot better get up ter the castle for dinner," Hagrid avoided, pushing them all out the hut. He slammed the door behind them.
"Harry," Padma finally said after a moment of silence. "Why didn't you tell me your birthday had already passed? I've been trying to think of the perfect present to get you, and now it's going to not even matter until next year! What if you don't like the same things next year?"
Harry shrugs. "I didn't think it was important. Since it's not during the school term, and all. I don't expect presents anyway, so you're fine."
Padma dragged on how she'd get him the best gift she could, before Draco declared he definitely could get something better, while they slowly walked back to the castle for dinner. Harry thought that none of the lessons he'd had so far had given him as much to think about as tea with Hagrid. Did Hagrid collect that package just in time? Where was it now?
Harry was almost itching just to get his hands on it. He really wanted to know now.