Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main
castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass
jars all around the walls.
Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at
Harry’s name.
“Ah, Yes,” he said softly, “Harry Potter. Our new —
celebrity
.”
Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands. Snape finished
calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid’s, but they had
none of Hagrid’s warmth. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels.
“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. Harry and Ron exchanged looks with raised eyebrows.
Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she
wasn’t a dunderhead.
“Potter!” said Snape 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
? Harry
glanced at Ron, who looked as stumped as
he was; Hermione’s hand had shot into the air.
“I don’t know, sir,” said Harry.
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
Harry didn’t have the faintest idea what a bezoar was. He tried not to look at Malfoy, Crabbe,
and Goyle, who were shaking with laughter.
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Thought you wouldn’t open a book before coming, eh, Potter?” Harry forced himself to keep
looking straight into those cold eyes. He had looked through his books at the Dursleys’, but did
Snape expect him 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 Harry quietly. “I think Hermione does, though, why don’t you try her?”
A few people laughed; Harry caught Seamus’s eye, and Seamus winked. 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.”
Things didn’t improve for the Gryffindors as 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 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 Seamus’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 Harry and Ron,
who had been working next to Neville.
“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 Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Ron kicked him behind their
cauldron.
“Don’t push it,” he muttered, “I’ve heard Snape can turn very nasty.”
As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Harry’s mind was racing and his
spirits were low. He’d lost two points for Gryffindor in his very first week —
why
did Snape hate
him so much?
“Cheer up,”
said Ron, “Snape’s always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come and meet
Hagrid with you?”
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 Harry knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks.
Then Hagrid’s voice rang out, saying, “
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