Pranks and Professors
“When I was a boy I kept a book…”
September 2, 1971
The two cretins from the train were soon identified as James Potter and Sirius Black. Ever since Black was sorted into Gryffindor, the first in his family in generations, the two boys seemed to become joined at the hip. James Potter seemed intent on terrorizing Severus too. At first, he teased the other boy about the fact that Lily had been put into Gryffindor instead of Slytherin, touting that now Snape had no friends. Lily had shut that down pretty fast, stamping on Potter’s toes and flouncing over to stand next to her friend.
Black had simply roared in laughter over the entire thing.
Then, Potter seemed to have taken affront that Lily was still siding with the “slimy Slytherin,” and began a campaign of tripping Severus in the halls, calling him names, and generally being unpleasant.
“Just ignore him,” Lily kept saying. She would tug Severus away by the arm. “I don’t want you to get in trouble for them. It’s not worth it.”
She was right, of course. It wasn’t worth it to get in trouble for those two gits, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t exact revenge. It was all moot for the most part, seeing as he only occasionally saw them—that was, until Thursday, when he discovered that Friday’s double Potions was to be a joint class between Gryffindor and Slytherin.
“Great,” he sulked, buttering his roll Thursday evening even as Lily beamed from beside him. They were sitting at the end of the Hufflepuff table—neutral ground. Severus knew that if he were to venture to the Gryffindor table, he would likely immediately regret it on account of Black and Potter. And Lily certainly couldn’t sit at the Slytherin table. He shuddered to think of what some of the older students might do to her. He heard them whispering in the evenings in the Common Room about mudbloods and all the things they deserved. Even now, a few were watching the boy and Lily eat with sick, twisted looks on their faces.
Friday morning, the pair did much the same. They sat themselves at the Hufflepuff table, waved to a few other students who had nodded at them, and set to eating breakfast. Severus did so glumly, knowing what was to come. At his friend’s concerned look, the boy only groaned, “Double Potions with the Gryffindors today.” Then, he quickly corrected himself, saying in a rush, “Not that I’m not excited to have a class with you! It’s just—”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Lily muttered.
“Black and Potter,” the boy sighed.
They finished eating and made their way back down to the dungeons. The two first years located their class and joined the queue that had begun to gather there. A few Slytherins and Gryffindors were already there, waiting for their teacher to show up. The two houses were segregated on either sides of the classroom door, discussing quietly amongst themselves. As they passed, Severus overheard a couple of girls whispering about their Potions professor—Professor Slughorn. Apparently, he was the kind of teacher all of the Slytherins wanted to impress. Surprisingly, the Gryffindors were discussing something similar. The only difference was that this was done loudly, with no fear of judgement.
“I heard Professor Slughorn likes to give out a quiz in the first class and favors the people that do really well,” Black was stating loudly and pompously.
“And which cousin did you hear that from?”
Black looked momentarily sheepish and then said, “Andy, actually. You’d like her. She’s a sight better than Bella, anyhow.”
It was highly likely that “Bella” wasn’t talking to Black, now that he had gone and disgraced the family name. That was another topic of conversation that was easily overheard in the Slytherin Common Room these days.
“Maybe I’ll get us some points,” Potter bragged, puffing himself up slightly. Beside Severus, Lily scoffed and rolled her eyes. “My dad’s a Potions Master, you know.”
“Hopefully he blows up a cauldron and earns the both of them detention,” Severus muttered in her ear, his tone turning gleeful at the thought. The girl bit back a giggle.
“Something funny, Snivellous?” Black interrupted, staring them down as if he could sniff out any of their lies that had not yet been spoken.
“Only Potter’s assumption that blood always wins out,” Severus snorted. Potter stiffened. He seemed conflicted on whether to argue that he wasn’t a blood purist, or to fight back on the insinuation that his potions skills would be subpar. Severus wasn’t unhappy. A conflicted Potter meant a silent one, at least momentarily.
Severus himself knew that blood didn’t always win out and was glad for that fact. If it did, then he would be either a wallflower like his mother or a disgusting drunk like his father. Or Lily could have ended up like Petunia. He shuddered at the thought, shooting Lily a brief glance. She seemed displeased. He hoped it was at the other boys’ attitudes.
Finally, Potter seemed to have gained his bearings, for he stamped forward and shot out, “Shut up, you slimy git.”
Severus smirked.
“Eloquent,” he said. His own father had come up with much more colorful and creative insults over the years. Severus’s personal favorite was “mouthy brat with a face like the back end of a bus.” It just rolled off the tongue beautifully.
Black smirked. “Let’s have a wager, shall we?” said he. “Who can make the better potion. Us, or you?”
“Terms?” Severus drawled.
“We can decide on those later,” Black waved him off.
“I’d rather not,” replied Severus. He grinned nastily. “How about if I win, you two have to apologize and bow in my presence for a week?”
“Seeing as you’re not going to win, fine,” Potter finally shot back in, frowning. “And if we win, you do our homework for a week.”
Severus raised an eyebrow imperiously, but finally drawled with his nose in the air, “Agreeable.” He shot a glance to Lily. He could tell she was still fighting back giggles. He knew she found it funny when he tried to act commanding.
After that, the groups went back to their conversations, the show now over. Before too long, the classroom door opened. The students filed in, glancing about curiously. The classroom was just as cold and damp as the rest of the dungeons, with the added bonus of jars of different body parts littered about the room. There were low tables rather than desks with two stools at each one—evidently promoting partner work.
Their professor was at the front of the room. A giant walrus of a man who obviously valued luxury. He wore luscious, embroidered robes with shiny gold buttons. His belly was his most prominent feature, taking up much more space than necessary. His second most prominent feature was the handle bar mustache that drooped down his face.
The students seemed to naturally gravitate towards a pattern that mirrored the great hall—the Slytherins sat themselves on the left, and the Gryffindors on the right. Black and Potter had a table together, behaving rowdily as they chatted with their classmates. Severus and Lily sat at a desk in the front towards the middle of the room. Severus studiously pulled out his textbook and preparation kit—which was full of knives and vials.
Slughorn, once everyone was seated and quiet, stood before his desk and said to them, “As I am sure you all know by now, I am Professor Slughorn, Potions Master. Now, I am going to ask a few questions to determine where you all lay—and don’t worry if you don’t know the answers. Eye of newt is useful in which potion?”
A Gryffindor’s hand went up. The class stared at him with vacant expressions of bored and incredulous eleven-year-olds. Slughorn nodded to him jovially and he put his hand down to say, “The Confusing Concoction, sir.”
“Very good, very good,” their professor acknowledged. “Now, that was just an easy question with which to wet our feet—To see who has done their reading, we might say. But who can tell me why one should not pair thaumatagoria and plangentine, two common magical plants?”
Several people raised their hands this time, though most seemed fairly hesitant. Severus, however, looked as confident as could be, which was perhaps why Slughorn called on him.
“Well,” Severus said quietly, “Both are used in pretty positive potions—one for good qualities and the other for silencing, but thaumatagoria is a very unstable plant. Known as the miracle plant, its results can be extremely varied. Paired with plangentine, I imagine it would explode.”
“Ah!” Slughorn exclaimed, seemingly delighted by this response. “And you are?”
“Severus Snape, sir.”
“Snape,” Slughorn muttered, peering down at the boy. “I don’t know any Snapes. You do seem familiar, however.”
“My mother was Eileen Prince,” Snape said proudly, lifting his head slightly.
“Ah, yes,” Slughorn nodded. “She was a good student…Yes, indeed, pairing those two plants can cause explosions of violent proportions.”
“And, for our final question: can anyone tell me the importance of the material used to stir our potions with? Why don’t we just use a spell?” Less hands rose for this question than the previous one. In fact, only three hands raised—two on the Slytherin side and one Gryffindor. This was a different boy—this one with mousy brown hair and scratches littered on his hands. Slughorn pointed to him and said, “Mr…?”
“Lupin, sir. Remus Lupin,” the boy had a quiet, unsure voice. Severus noted he was sitting at the back of the classroom without a partner. Slughorn nodded encouragingly to him. “Certain materials have magical properties. Like silver warding off dark magic. I imagine stirring with different materials would add to the potion’s properties, or buffer them.”
“A wonderful answer,” Slughorn nodded. “An interest in defense, have you?”
Lupin shrugged, his ears reddening. Slughorn continued regardless. “Defense pairs well with Potions—especially if one wants to become an auror.”
“With that said—and I do hope you have all been taking notes—we will begin our tutelage by learning how to brew a basic cure for boils. Please turn in your books to the corresponding page”—he waved his wand and a recipe appeared on the blackboard behind his desk with a page number in the top left corner—“and get out the necessary supplies. The cupboard in the back is for your use. The cauldrons you purchased should be in there along with basic potions’ ingredients. Go on! Get going.”
At his prompting, the class scrambled to do as told. Benches scraped as people stood to gather cauldrons and ingredients out of the cupboards. A queue formed in the bustle. When they reached the closet, Severus grabbed their cauldron while Lily was snagging ingredients—which she quickly deposited into said cauldron. Then, it was back to their table to prepare to make a potion. Slughorn went about the room lighting fires for them—they had yet to learn the Fire Making Charm. Evidently, such an incendiary spell would not be learned in Charms Class until later in the year when they had more of a handle on their magic.
The pair soon found that this particular potion called for a glass stirrer. Severus had an inkling it was due to the medicinal nature and volatile reaction of the ingredients, which he quietly explained to Lily. The pair set about weighing dried nettles and crushing snake fangs before adding them into a soupy mixture. Slughorn walked about all the while, giving pointers and exclaiming loudly when he had found a particularly well-brewed potion so far. Severus easily tuned him out, though he couldn’t help but overhear his conversation as he passed Potter and Black’s cauldron.
“You would do better to crush your snake fangs more finely,” the man noted. Severus bit back a snort. Only moments ago, Slughorn had been praising he and Lily on the stewing of their horned slugs. “Tell me your names, boys.”
“James Potter, sir,” supplied Potter. “And this is Sirius Black.”
Slughorn looked closely at Black with an expression that might be called disappointment.
“My father invented the Sleekeazy’s Potions,” Potter piped up.
“Yes, well, I imagine with the famous Potter hair, he had proper motivation,” Slughorn chortled. Potter ruffled his own black hair awkwardly.
When the two-hour class was finally over, Severus was turning in a stoppered vial of their potion to their professor. “Wonderfully made potion, Mr. Snape. I hope to expect great things of you in my class.”
Severus puffed up and Lily gave him a look of strange fondness as they left. The boy was floating the entire way out of the classroom, knowing that not only had he been praised by a professor, but that Black and Potter were going to be having a rough week by their own doing—all on his account.
When I was a boy I kept a book
to which, from time to time
I added pressed flowers
September, 1991
Hogwarts, Persephone learned, was certainly as big as it appeared from outside—perhaps even bigger. This was discovered immediately after the feast, though everyone had been so groggy and full of food to notice much, leading to many problems navigating the castle in the days to come. All Persephone remembered was twisting corridors, lots and lots of staircases, and occasionally going through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries.
That, and Peeves.
Persephone had just been wondering how much further they would be going when they came across a bundle of walking sticks floating in midair ahead of them. As Percy took a step toward them they started throwing themselves at him.
“Peeves,” Percy whispered to the first years. “A poltergeist.” He raised his voice, “Peeves—show yourself.”
A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered.
“Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?”
There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.
“Oooooooh!” he said, with an evil cackle. “Ickle Firsties! What fun!” He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked.
“Go away, Peeves, or the Baron’ll hear about this, I mean it!” barked Percy.
Peeves stuck out his tongue and vanished, dropping the walking sticks on Neville’s head. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armor as he passed.
“You want to watch out for Peeves,” said Percy, as they set off again. “The Bloody Baron’s the only one who can control him, he won’t even listen to us prefects. Here we are.”
And that was the end of it. They went up into Gryffindor Tower, found their beds in a dormitory, and went to sleep. But quickly, the girl found herself wishing that she had indeed paid more attention that first night.
There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; 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. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Persephone was sure the coats of armor could walk.
Persephone was glad she stuck with Hermione when emerging from the dorms throughout the week. The studious girl, while not seeming to have much more luck navigating the castle than other first years, at least left for classes obscenely early—enough so to make it on time regardless. Persephone was especially glad of this when Ron stumbled into their first Transfiguration class late (having gotten lost) and received a severe dressing down from Professor McGonagall.
Transfiguration, Persephone found, was quite complicated. It reminded her a bit of the small amount of physical science that they had just begun to get into at the end of Primary School. Only Transfiguration was way, way worse. There were lots of complex equations that didn’t make a terrible amount of sense at first, but the girl found herself enjoying the concepts alongside Hermione.
McGonagall herself was something else. It turned out that Persephone had been quite right to think she wasn’t a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a 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. They were all very impressed and couldn’t wait to get started, but soon realized they weren’t going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. 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, only Hermione had made any difference to her match; Professor McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy and gave Hermione a rare smile.
All of the classes however, no matter how disappointing or promising they turned out to be, were quite fascinating. They 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. Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy 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.
Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates, and got Emetic the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up.
Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first class, he took the roll call, and when he reached Persephone’s name he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight.
The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell’s lessons turned out to be a bit of a 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.
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 Seamus Finnigan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.
By Friday, Persephone had come to the conclusion that she was not, in fact, leagues behind everyone else. Several others had come from Muggle families and, like her, hadn’t had any idea that they were witches and wizards. There was so much to learn that even people like Ron didn’t have much of a head start. It made her feel slightly satisfied as she, Hermione, and Ron sat themselves down for breakfast.
“What have we got today?” Persephone asked her friends as she poured sugar on her porridge.
“Double Potions with the Slytherins,” said Ron. “Snape’s Head of Slytherin House. They say he always favors them—we’ll be able to see if it’s true.”
“Wish McGonagall favored us,” Persephone grumbled. Professor McGonagall was head of Gryffindor House, but it hadn’t stopped her from giving them a huge pile of homework the day before. Hermione glared down at her own bowl of porridge. Persephone wasn’t sure if this said more to how not-a-morning person Hermione was, or how common Persephone’s wish had been.
Just then, the mail arrived. Persephone had gotten used to this by now, but it had given her a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps.
Hedwig hadn’t brought the girl anything so far. She sometimes flew in to nibble her owner’s ear and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the owlery with the other school owls. This morning, however, she fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto Persephone’s plate. The girl tore it open at once. It said, in a very untidy scrawl:
Dear Persephone,
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
The girl borrowed Ron’s quill, scribbled Yes, please, see you later on the back of the note, and sent Hedwig off again. She went back to her breakfast then, not really paying attention to the other students receiving and exclaiming over letters and packages.
She and Hermione chatted a bit about how they expected Potions to go, as the latter slowly began to wake up, as they waited on Ron to finish eating. Finally, however, it was evident the boy was taking his sweet time and Hermione loved leaving for classrooms early. In the end, it was decided that Ron would meet them down there.
The girls climbed to their feet, slinging their school bags over their shoulders, and made their way out of the Great Hall and towards the dungeons. They had barely reached the correct level when the pair stumbled across Peeves. He was floating along the ceiling in the middle of the corridor, stalking a pair of older Slytherins. Hermione, who also had a pile of books in her arms, clutched them to her chest protectively.
Persephone groaned. The Gryffindors had learned that run-ins with Peeves were worth two locked doors and a trick staircase. While most of the ghosts weren’t too bad—some of them simply minded their own business while others, such as Nearly Headless Nick, occasionally pointed you in the right direction—Peeves seemed to exist simply for chaos. He would drop wastepaper baskets 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!”
At the sight of him, the first years hesitantly drew to a halt.
Persephone glanced over at Hermione, who eyed her right back, both wondering whether they should risk Peeves or getting lost in the dungeons. They were saved the mental debate, for as the Slytherins rounded the corner, Peeves turned and caught sight of them. His mouth stretched into an evil smile, likely congratulating himself on finding two tiny new victims.
Both girls turned and attempted to break into a run.
Peeves came at them. They could tell since he was screaming excitedly the entire way up the corridor towards them. Then, Persephone felt a clammy hand close on her collar and she and Hermione were dragged sideways. Suddenly, she was in a small space, squashed next to Hermione, and a dusty door swung shut.
Peeves had locked them in a cupboard.
There was a moment when both girls were still and quiet, the only sound in the space being the pair’s aggravated breathing, as they took in their sudden change in situation. The next thing Persephone knew, Hermione was squirming next to her as she seemed to be trying to get to the door of the cupboard.
“What are you doing?” Persephone squeaked as Hermione trod on her toes.
“Trying to see if I can get the door open,” the other girl replied, pushing on the door and causing it to rattle. Persephone shifted to one side to allow Hermione better access to the door, and to also place her own hands on the door in an effort to help. The girls were both standing sideways, their feet braced on one another, their shoulders crisscrossed and touching, their hands planted on the door as they caused it to shake and rattle.
“It’s no use,” Hermione gasped. “It must be locked.”
Persephone banged on the door with a fist for good measure—just so everyone would know how aggravated she was. “Now what?” she asked irritably, tugging at her hair and pushing it out of her face.
“Well, I was reading through Standard Book of Spells—” Hermione said matter-of-factly, a statement which didn’t surprise the other girl in the least, seeing as she had seen Hermione reading through her spellbooks in bed every night so far since their arrival. The bookworm practically slept with the Standard Book of Spells. “And I saw an unlocking spell. I haven’t tried it yet, though.”
“Great! What is it?” Persephone asked, squirming as she tried to maneuver around Hermione’s elbow to get her wand out of her robe pocket.
“Incantation’s ‘alohomora,’” Hermione said. Her own wand was already brandished—she must have had it in her hands with her stacks of books. “You’re supposed to make a clockwise loop and flick down.”
The girl demonstrated the motion, intoning, “Alohomora!”
Nothing happened.
Persephone decided to give it a try. Soon, the cupboard was filled with the sounds of the two girl attempting spellcasting. The lock remained resolutely shut—even to the girls’ increased agitation.
“Urgh!” Persephone shouted, beating on the door with both fists in aggravation. “Let us out!” She beat on the door some more and kicked it for good measure. “I don’t think we’re going to get it. Maybe we could get someone’s attention instead.”
She pounded on the cupboard some more, crying, “Help! Help! Let us out!”
The girl had just about given up when the door swung suddenly open and both girls went tumbling to the floor, blinking in the torchlight. Standing above them were two redheaded boys—Ron’s brothers! Persephone let out a sigh of relief and let one of the twins tug her to her feet. The other one pulled up Hermione, and then both boys made a show of checking the girls over and brushing them off.
“Peeves locked us in,” Persephone panted, attempting to bat away a freckled hand. Hermione just looked resigned to it, though annoyed—her eyes kept shooting to her books that were now strewn across the corridor.
“Firsties afoul the poltergeist,” one of the twins commented. “Must be careful of him.”
“Right,” the other nodded. “I heard some firsties are never found after being locked in hidden rooms.”
“Right, well, we’ve got Potions to get to,” Persephone said awkwardly. “Thanks for rescuing us.”
The twins made matching sweeping bows. “No problem,” they said together.
With that, the two girls ran to their classroom. Persephone imagined they were probably late by now, and was very afraid of what their professor would do. He had looked mildly unpleasant at the sorting, and McGonagall had been scary enough when Ron was late to her class. Hesitantly but hurriedly, she followed Hermione into the classroom.
Potions lessons would have indeed been quite creepy enough, Persephone soon ascertained, just with the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls. As it was, Hermione and Persephone stumbling in late made everything all the worse. They were in this cold, dank, creepy room with jarred eyeballs watching them along with everyone else in the class. They had all turned and were staring over their shoulders. Snape gave them a look that could curdle milk.
Then, he sneered, “It seems two of our students have elected not to arrive to class on time. That will be five points from Gryffindor each. Not that I expected much better from Persephone Potter—our new celebrity.” Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands. “I suppose you fancy yourself above the rules, don’t you?”
“No sir,” Persephone gritted out. It wasn’t as if it was their fault they were late. She really was grateful for the twins—otherwise Snape probably would have strung them up by their toes and pickled their spleens.
Snape’s mouth twisted unpleasantly. “Luckily for you, we have only just finished roll, therefore you have not missed much. Sit.”
The two girls hurriedly sat in the only two available seats, which were at the sole empty table in the back. Persephone glanced around and saw that Ron was sitting with Neville Longbottom and was shooting them concerned looks.
“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking,” he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word—like Professor 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.”
More silence followed this little speech. Persephone found her eyebrows raising. She glanced over at Hermione, but the girl was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn’t a dunderhead. Persephone just thought the man was pretentious and dramatic.
“Potter!” Snape snapped suddenly. “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”
Powdered root of what to an infusion of what? Persephone glanced at who looked at her encouragingly, as if she could coax the nonexistent answer out of her friend. Persephone shook her head. Hermione hesitantly looked back at Snape before slowly raising her hand (evidently having come to the correct conclusion that her friend had no idea of the answer).
“I don’t know, sir,” said Persephone.
Snape’s lips curled into a sneer.
“Tut, tut—fame clearly isn’t everything.”
He ignored Hermione’s hand.
“Let’s try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”
Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat, but Persephone didn’t have the faintest idea what a bezoar was. She tried not to look at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were shaking with laughter. The girl knew if she did, she would erupt in anger. As it was, she was beginning to think that this unnecessary attention and malice was very unfair.
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Thought you wouldn’t open a book before coming, eh, Potter?” Persephone looked at his eyes. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels. In an attempt to keep from being sucked in and drowned, the girl unfocused her eyes entirely. Now, she was beginning to shake with repressed indignation. She had looked through her books at the Dursleys’, but did Snape expect her to remember everything in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi?
Snape was still ignoring Hermione’s quivering hand.
“What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?”
At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.
“I don’t know,” said Persephone quietly. “I think Hermione does, though, why don’t you try her?”
A few people laughed. Snape, however, was not pleased.
“Sit down,” he snapped at Hermione. “For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of 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 that down?”
There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, “And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter.”
Under the table, the girl’s fists clenched. She didn’t move to write anything down. First of all, she didn’t think she would forget that information after Snape so rudely flaunted it in her face. Second, she didn’t think he deserved the respect that taking notes of his paltry introduction would achieve.
As the others wrote, Snape stalked back to the front of the class and began to teach in earnest.
“Over the course of your seven years at Hogwarts,” Snape said, “you will learn how to heal—to create, identify, and locate antidotes to certain poisons—to alter, and to fight using potions. You will learn about ingredients and their interactions with each other. You will not, however, create disturbances in my class. Potions is a delicate art. One in which a single mistake can lead to irreparable damage. As such, any such disturbances will be treated severely.
“Today, we will be starting with a basic healing potion—the Cure for Boils. Take out your cauldrons, and we will begin.”
With that said, the man waved his wand and suddenly a fire lit under every cauldron all at once. Persephone couldn’t help but be at least a little impressed. She grew angry that he had impressed her. It would have been much better if he was incompetent as well as mean. She narrowed her eyes and glared at him.
As the lesson continued, the man swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt Ron’s cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people’s shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.
“Idiot boy!” snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. “I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?”
Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.
“Take him up to the hospital wing,” Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Hermione and Persephone, who had been behind him and Ron the entire class.
“You—Potter—why didn’t you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he’d make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That’s another point you’ve lost for Gryffindor.”
This was so unfair that Persephone opened her mouth to argue, but Hermione pinched her arm behind their cauldron. Ron, who had come to stand by them during the spill, kicked her ankle at the same time.
“Don’t push it,” he muttered, “I’ve heard Snape can turn very nasty.”
Persephone glared mulishly, feeling as though she certainly had not deserved to be abused so.
As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, the girl’s mind was racing, and her spirits were low. She’d lost seven points for Gryffindor in her very first week—why did Snape hate her so much?
“Cheer up,” said Ron, “Snape’s always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come and meet Hagrid with you?”
As he moved away slightly, Persephone glanced at Hermione, who was frowning shrewdly. She had been looking oddly thoughtful all throughout class. Finally having the time, Persephone determined to question her about it.
“It’s just strange,” Hermione explained when she did so. “Asphodel is considered a symbol of the goddess Persephone.”
The Asphodel, forebodingly, among them.
Persephone stared at her friend a long second, trying to figure out what direction her ordered mind was working towards. “Do you think he did that on purpose?”
“Well, the questions were oddly advanced for the first class, is all,” Hermione said in a rush, as though afraid to criticize a teacher in any form. She frowned. “It’s just odd. I’m sure they were supposed to mean something.”
until, after a time,
I had a good collection.
At five to three they left the castle 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 Persephone knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid’s voice rang out, saying, “Back, Fang —back.”
Hagrid’s big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.
“Hang on,” he said. “Back, Fang.”
He 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 Ron and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.
“These are my friends, Ron and Hermione,” Persephone told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.
“Another Weasley, eh?” said Hagrid, glancing at Ron’s freckles. “I spent half me life chasin’ yer twin brothers away from the forest.”
The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke their teeth, but the trio pretended to be enjoying them as they told Hagrid all about their first lessons. Fang rested his head on Persephone’s knee and drooled all over her robes.
Persephone and Ron were delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch “that old git.” Hermione, not so much.
“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 of her — Filch puts her up to it.”
Persephone told Hagrid about Snape’s lesson. Hagrid, like Ron, told the girl not to worry about it, that Snape liked hardly any of the students.
“But he seemed to really hate me.”
“Rubbish!” said Hagrid. “Why should he?”
Yet Persephone couldn’t help thinking that Hagrid didn’t quite meet her eyes when he said that.
“How’s yer brother Charlie?” Hagrid asked Ron. “I liked him a lot — great with animals.”
Persephone wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Ron told Hagrid all about Charlie’s work with dragons, Persephone picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a cutting from the Daily Prophet:
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.
The girl remembered Ron telling her on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but Ron hadn’t mentioned the date.
“Hagrid!” said Persephone, “that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might’ve been happening while we were there!”
There was no doubt about it, Hagrid definitely didn’t meet the girl’s eyes this time. He grunted and offered her another rock cake. Persephone read the story again. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied earlier that same day. Hagrid had emptied vault seven hundred and thirteen, if you could call it emptying, taking out that grubby little package. Had that been what the thieves were looking for?
As the three walked back to the castle for dinner, their pockets weighed down with rock cakes they’d been too polite to refuse, Persephone thought that none of the lessons she’d had so far had given her as much to think about as tea with Hagrid. Had Hagrid collected that package just in time? Where was it now? And did Hagrid know something about Snape that he didn’t want to tell Persephone?
When I was a boy
I kept a book
to which,
from time to time,
I added
pressed flowers
until,
after a time,
I had
a good collection.
The asphodel,
forebodingly,
among them.