snape
The first day of classes continued after Herbology, and by the time Harry, Ron, and Hermione reached the dungeons for Potions, Ron was already groaning.
“I swear, Hermione, if you say one more thing about how ‘fascinating’ Puffapods are, I’m going to hex myself,” Ron muttered.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Well, if you paid attention, you’d actually learn something,” she said, hoisting her bag higher onto her shoulder.
Harry smirked but stayed quiet. He had grown up with Remus, who was practically a walking library, and Sirius, who had zero patience for books unless they were about Quidditch or pranks. As a result, Harry had learned how to balance both worlds—enough studying to keep Moony happy, enough rule-breaking to keep Padfoot proud.
The dungeon was colder than the rest of the castle, the air thick with the scent of herbs, potions, and something distinctly unpleasant. Professor Snape stood at the front of the room, his black robes billowing as he swept his gaze across the students.
“You are here,” Snape began, his voice slow and deliberate, “to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making.”
Harry met Snape’s gaze with a steady, unimpressed look. He had never liked the man. Sirius had warned him about Snape’s hatred for their family, and Remus had tried (unsuccessfully) to smooth things over by encouraging Harry to be polite.
So far, Harry wasn’t feeling particularly polite.
Snape’s cold, dark eyes lingered on him. “Ah. Our… celebrity,” he drawled, voice dripping with disdain.
Harry raised an eyebrow. “You know, I get called that a lot, Professor. I’m starting to think I should start charging people for it.”
There were a few snickers around the room. Ron elbowed Harry under the desk, whispering, “Are you trying to get detention on day one?”
Snape’s lip curled. “Let’s see if your talent matches your attitude, Potter.”
Harry was paired with Draco Malfoy, much to his annoyance.sirius had strictly told him to stay away from the malfoys, he told harry that Malfoy was a arrogant little prat.
“Try not to mess this up, Potter,” Malfoy sneered.
Harry gave him a lazy grin. “Same to you, Draco.”
For a while, things were going smoothly. But then—conveniently—Malfoy’s elbow “accidentally” knocked over Harry’s crushed horned slugs into their cauldron.
The mixture hissed, bubbled, and—
BOOM!
A thick, green smoke erupted from their cauldron, filling the room.
Snape stormed over, his face thunderous. “What—exactly—do you call this?”
Harry didn’t even blink. “An impressive demonstration of what happens when someone accidentally ruins the potion,” he said, tilting his head at Malfoy.
Malfoy turned red. “I didn’t—”
Snape cut him off with a glare, but instead of scolding Malfoy, he turned to Harry. “Detention, Potter.”
Harry’s jaw tightened, but he refused to let Snape see his frustration. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Figures.”
Snape’s eyes flashed dangerously, but he turned away, robes billowing behind him.