Chapter 6: Not So Bad After All
The ten first-years, led by the pair of sixth-year prefects, were talking amongst themselves on the way up the staircase. Vincent and Gregory were trading ideas on what food they thought would be served. Pansy and Millicent were giggling at something. Theodore, Daphne and Blaise were commenting on the portraits they passed. Tracey was lagging behind, silent. Harry and Draco were at the front of the group, conversing in hushed tones about the incident with their Head of House in the common room.
"See what I mean? He hates me!"
"Yes, Harry, I think even a troll could have figured that out. But why, though?"
Harry was just about to comment when he realised they were walking through the doors of the Great Hall. Seeing the incoming group of Slytherins, every Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw dropped their breakfast and stopped their conversations to stare at them. Once again finding himself the centre of attention, Harry felt his cheeks heat. A second later, the whispers started.
"He can't turn out good – "
"The Hat must've made a mistake!"
"Slimy snake…"
"I've always known there's something wrong with him. Defeating You-Know-Who like that… just not possible for a normal baby."
"Looks so much like his Dad… he'd be disappointed, I guess…"
Harry felt a bubble of anger rise up in his chest. He really hated it all. He hated being judged by the rest of the school just because he was a Slytherin. He hated being the Boy Who Lived – something he hadn't even known about until just about a month ago, much less remembered! It just wasn't fair. Harry wished they'd all just stop staring; that they'd all just stop whispering. He just wanted to be Harry, the Slytherin; not Harry Potter, Boy-Hero destined for Gryffindor.
Harry had had enough. This has to stop now. I can't survive seven years of this madness. Steeling himself, he looked up and shot all the offending students a look that could have withered all the flowers in the Dursley's yard. They shrunk under Harry's glare and went back to their food, though still whispering.
When they reached the Slytherin table, several older students nodded at Harry, as if expressing their approval, although some still glanced at him with varying masks of worry and suspicion. Harry acknowledged them with a nod of his own and slid into his seat, pulling Draco down beside him. Harry sat in silence for a while, oblivious to the hands of his fellow first-years darting out for the plates of food before him.
Draco looked over to the other boy in concern, about to say something, but thought better of it. Draco though he understood how Harry felt, having been the brunt of whispers for years – being the son of Lucius Malfoy – and there hadn't been a time when he wasn't bothered by it. Sighing inwardly (for Malfoys never sighed), Draco reached out for the silver serving spoon and heaped a pile of still-steaming scrambled eggs and a couple of sausages onto Harry's plate, followed by a buttered bread roll and some slices of fruit. Draco nudged his friend.
"Harry, eat."
Finally, Harry seemed to realise where he was and jerked himself out of the place he'd wandered to. The smell of the perfectly cooked breakfast on his plate wafted deliciously to his nose and his stomach, emptied of the food from the night before, began to rumble. He hurriedly grabbed the fork off the table and began to shove the eggs in his mouth, lest he be denied his breakfast. He didn't think he could take it if his (for once) decent breakfast was taken away.
Draco's eyes widened.
"Oi, Harry, calm down! The dishes won't disappear till you've finished. Even the Headmaster wouldn't let students starve."
"Oh. Right," Harry replied, now actually chewing before swallows. This confused Draco even further, but he said nothing of it. Just then, a fleet of hooting owls streamed into the Great Hall, carrying packages and envelopes of various shapes and sizes. Harry looked up in awe and when he turned towards Draco, about to comment on the magnificence of it all, he unexpectedly found himself looking into the large brown eyes of a neatly-groomed owl.
Recovering from his second of surprise, Harry picked up a small piece of bacon and offered it to the bird, who ruffled its feathers and nipped at the meat gratefully. The owl, finished, allowed Harry to stoke his feathers, then hooted at Draco and took flight. Only then did Harry turn his attention back to his blonde friend, and upon seeing him reading off a piece of parchment, Harry leaned closer.
…
Draco,
Congratulations on securing your place in Slytherin. Your father and I are most proud, although of course, we expected nothing less from you.
It seems that Harry Potter was also sorted into Slytherin. I believe you have made his acquaintance?
Your father and I have no doubt that you will do Slytherin proud. Although, do be on your best behaviour and remember that we expect no less than E's from you.
We look forward to seeing you at Christmas.
Best of luck, dear son.
With love,
Narcissa Malfoy
…
Both boys were so engrossed in the letter that they hadn't noticed the presence of their Professor, until a cough startled them. Harry stiffened when he recognised the drawling voice of his head of house and grudgingly turned to look him in the eye.
"Daydreaming already, Potter? I do hope that is not the extent of your mental capabilities."
Snape thrust a timetable at Harry, scowling. Wordlessly, the professor handed Draco his timetable and moved down the table to rid himself of the stack of timetables still in his hands. Harry sighed. Why is it that Snape can be civil with everyone but me?
Harry didn't think he would enjoy Potions as much as he thought.
Draco, sensing Harry's frustration, spoke.
"We have double Transfiguration first, with the Gryffindors." He shuddered. "At least the rest of the day isn't so bad. Defence with the Ravenclaws and History of Magic with the Hufflepuffs."
Harry was grateful for the distraction. "As long as it's magic," he mumbled.
"Well, come on then. We'd better head off. Don't want McGonagall to take points off us on the first day. Merlin knows how much she dislikes Slytherins." Draco stood up and tapped Nicholas Grimmett on the shoulder, who was in the middle of a conversation with another Slytherin – probably also in his sixth-year.
Nicholas said a goodbye to his friend and motioned for the first-years to follow him. They grouped together and left the Great Hall, heading up the marble staircase to the Transfiguration classroom.
…
It was the last day of classes before the weekend and Harry had finally familiarised himself with Hogwarts, thanks to the guidance of the sixth-year prefects. So far, Harry had counted fifty-four staircases – narrow wooden ones, wide marble ones, ones with vanishing steps, and ones that led you right where you hadn't wanted to go – and most of them moved; but he was sure there were still quite a lot more that he hadn't found.
Unfortunately, the whispers still hadn't stopped. The portraits pointed every time he walked past and the ghosts would exclaim every time he came within a metre of them, with the exception of Peeves. But, to be honest, Peeves wasn't exactly a ghost, so maybe that didn't count. Luckily for the young Slytherins, Peeves was afraid of the Bloody Baron – their house ghost – and didn't bother them as much. But, if you were an unsuspecting student from one of the other houses, you could at the least expect to be pelted by water bombs if you ever crossed paths with the poltergeist.
Argus Filch – the caretaker – was one person they learned to avoid. Nicholas and Leanne had told them on their very first day that about the nasty old Squib who was out to get as many students as possible. Even worse was his cat – Mrs Norris – who seemed to know where trouble lurked at all times and would fetch Filch in the blink of an eye. There wasn't a student in the school who didn't hate the trouble-fighting pair.
After only a day, Harry had found out that there was so much more to magic than merely waving a wand and uttering a few words. He'd also already formed an opinion on what classes he liked and which ones he would rather not attend ever again. Transfiguration wasn't too bad, aside from the fact that Weasley (as he and Draco now took to calling the redhead) had been shooting looks at him the entire lesson and looking smug whenever Professor McGonagall awarded Gryffindor a point. Draco was right. It was obvious that the Transfigurations mistress didn't think very highly of the Slytherins, for she kept glancing over at the green and silver side of the classroom every now and again and breaking into a frown.
The entire first-year cohort had been called up to the Astronomy Tower one midnight to examine the night sky through their telescopes and learn the names of various planets and constellations. The Astronomy teacher – Professor Sinistra, was essentially a night owl, and Harry instantly took a liking to her because she treated her students all the same. Herbology was fairly interesting, but the only downside once again was the Gryffindors, and especially that Hermione Granger, who simply seemed to know every single thing, much to the boys' irritation. But Harry had noticed that Neville Longbottom – that chubby boy with the toad – was really quite good at the subject, no matter how bad he was at other things. He was a Gryffindor though, so Harry didn't approach him.
"Filthy, know-it-all Mudbloods." Draco had muttered after Herbology. Although it wasn't the first time Harry had heard the word, he still didn't know what it meant, and he was determined to find out.
Professor Flitwick, the head of Ravenclaw house, taught Charms. He was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a stack of books to see over his desk. In their first lesson with the Ravenclaws, Flitwick had squeaked and fallen off the stack when he came to Harry's name on the register, much to the amusement of his fellow Slytherins. Aside from that incident, Harry quite enjoyed Charms – he'd levitated his feather on his first go and earned five points for his house.
The worst class of all was History of Magic. In Harry's opinion, it was a complete waste of time. Professor Binns, who taught the subject, wasn't even alive! Harry wondered how a ghost had got the position. Harry gave up on taking notes five minutes into the lesson, and by the time it ended, not a single eye in the classroom – save for Binns' – was open.
Defense Against the Dark Arts – a subject Harry thought would be most fascinating – turned out to be nothing more than a joke. The classroom smelt strangely of garlic and Professor Quirrell couldn't utter a full sentence without stuttering. Strangest of all, whenever Quirrell caught Harry's eye, his scar would flash with pain and he had to clench his teeth to stop himself from crying out. Draco was concerned, but, not wanting to worry his friend, Harry assured him it was nothing.
After four days of lessons and the nights spent in the Slytherin Dungeon, Harry had made his first real mates. Draco, of course, was his best friend. After all, he was the first wizard his own age that Harry had talked to. Harry quite liked Blaise too – the Italian had many interesting tales to tell and there was no doubt that he was smart. Theodore didn't talk much, but Harry got the feeling that the tall, scrawny boy considered him a friend. Daphne had warmed up to him after Harry and Draco had saved her from the wrath of Filch (she'd taken a wrong turn and found herself at the forbidden third-floor corridor) by striking a deal with Peeves that had delayed the elderly Squib for a precious few minutes – just enough time for the heroes to whisk the distressed damsel away. As for the other first-years, well, they remained fairly neutral to Harry; saying 'hello' when the situation warranted it, defending their fellow Slytherin from Weasley's pathetic insults and helping Harry out with homework whenever he needed it. The older Slytherins had also come to accept Harry as a housemate. They left him to his own circle and acknowledged him if they ever crossed paths. Harry also counted the sixth-year prefects Nicholas and Leanne as friends of sorts, for they'd helped him adjust to Hogwarts life and looked out for him like older siblings would (he assumed).
Harry was also very relieved that he wasn't lagging behind in his classes (thanks to the witches and wizards from Muggle families who knew nothing of their magical heritage, essentially just like him). Even his housemates, although pure of blood and raised in the magical world, weren't miles ahead of him. There were just so many things to learn that no one could possibly know them all. (Well, except maybe for Granger, who was really starting to get on his nerves). Harry was quite happy when he'd found out that the arrogant Weasley didn't fair that well either, which led to another one of Draco's 'no surprises there'.
It was a Friday morning and the air in Hogwarts Castle was one of restlessness and excited anticipation of the weekend. No one seemed to really be paying much attention to their breakfasts; most students were chatting relentlessly about their weekend plans, about Quidditch tryouts and the classes they'd had so far. Harry wasn't eating either – but not because he was listening to Draco's rambling about the Tutshill Tornadoes (the Quidditch team he wholeheartedly supported) nor because he was planning for his free weekend hours. No – Harry wasn't eating because he'd been dreading this day since he'd properly examined his timetable – he would be having double Potions today, and as if two hours with Snape wasn't enough, they were having the lesson with the Gryffindors. Harry scowled and pushed his eggs in circles on his plate.
"…so, do you think Tutshill will win this season?"
"Huh? Tuts- wait, what?" Draco's question had caught Harry off guard.
Draco shook his head in mild annoyance. "Really, Harry? Weren't you listening to anything I said?"
Harry blushed and kept silent. Draco took that as a yes. "So, what about your eggs have you so fascinated?"
"Nothing," Harry replied, not wanting the blonde to know he was so worried about Potions and Snape.
Draco didn't buy it. He had a suspicion of what the other boy was thinking about. "It's Snape, isn't it?"
Harry paused in the midst of playing with his food and met Draco's eyes. "How'd you know?"
"I'm smarter than you give me credit for, Potter." Draco glanced toward the staff table and saw Snape's eyes narrowed on the Gryffindor table. Draco smirked, knowing just how to assure his friend. "You know, I don't think you have anything to worry about. Snape can't hate anyone more than the Gryffindors."
…
Half an hour later, the Slytherins found themselves at the corridor outside the Potions classroom. They filed in as a group and headed towards the tables on the left – Harry and Draco picked a table at the back of the classroom; Theodore and Daphne took their seats at the table right in front of them; Tracey and Blaise chose the middle table; Pansy and Millicent settled for the table second-to-front, and Vincent and Gregory were left with the unlucky table right in front of the professor's desk. They reached into their bags for parchment, ink and quill; wanting to be prepared for the lesson.
The Slytherins shivered involuntarily as they sat alone in the classroom waiting for Snape. Although they were used to the chills of the dungeons, the Potions classroom was much colder than their common room. The room itself was quite creepy as well – lamps flickered eerily along the walls and shelves were lined with disgusting looking things floating in glass jars.
The Gryffindors, with the exception of Granger and Longbottom – who took the table at the front of their side of the classroom – barely made it to the classroom before Snape did. Harry jumped in his seat when the door slammed shut behind him, as did many of the other students. Snape brushed down the aisle in his billowing black robes and stood in front of the class. He reached for a parchment on his desk and started to take the register. When he reached Harry's name, the greasy-haired professor paused.
"Ah, yes. Harry Potter. Our new – celebrity."
Hearing Weasley snicker behind his hand, Harry glared at him. Snape finished taking the register and looked up at the class. He set down the list of names and began to pace, speaking in the same almost-whisper.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making." Harry scribbled down Snape's little speech on his parchment. "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 and its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…" Snape stopped pacing beside Harry's desk, studying the parchment. Feeling the black tunnel-like eyes on him, Harry stilled and nervously looked up at his professor; sure that something bad was to come. Alas, he was surprised to find the professor blink and resume his pacing. "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."
He stopped and turned to look at Harry. Harry thought that the professor's cold black gaze had softened slightly. But he knew it made no sense. It's just a trick of the light.
"Tell me, Mr Potter. What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Granger's hand was waving in the air but Snape paid it no mind.
Harry was puzzled. Snape had called him Mr Potter and hadn't spat his name like he'd had on past encounters. Harry probably wouldn't have realised everyone was staring at him if Draco hadn't kicked him under the table. Draco raised his eyebrows and Harry smiled at him. Harry knew the answer. He'd read about it just the night before, thanks to Draco – who'd said they needed to be prepared. Well, at least that bit of reading had paid off.
"It's the Draught of Living Death, sir." Granger reluctantly put down her hand. "Whoever drinks it will go into a very, very long sleep – almost similar to a deathlike state."
"Very good, Mr Potter. At least we have one student who knows fame isn't everything. Ten points to Slytherin."
Harry grinned, pleased. The lesson wasn't going as badly as he'd thought.
"Weasley! Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?" Again, Granger's hand shot up.
Weasley's eyes widened. Obviously, he didn't know the answer. Harry and Draco looked at each other and smirked.
"I don't know, sir," Weasley said.
"Thought you wouldn't open a book before you came here, eh, Weasley? For your information, a bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most potions. Let's try again. What is the difference between monkhood and wolfsbane?"
Again, Weasley didn't know the answer. Again, Granger's hand shot up into the air. Again, Snape ignored her; he continued firing questions at the redhead. The entire Slytherin side of the classroom sniggered as they watched Weasley grow more and more uncomfortable. Finally, Snape stopped. Weasley had turned almost as red as his own hair.
"Hopefully, Weasley," Snape sneered. "You will learn to be prepared for your lessons. Ten points from Gryffindor."
Scowling, Weasley glared at the Slytherins, who all smirked at him. Snape walked to the blackboard and wrote down a recipe for a simple potion to cure boils. He set them to mixing in pairs and swept around the room, criticising every single Gryffindor. Snape made his way to Harry's table. Harry stilled. Now he was sure, even with Draco there, Snape would find something to criticise him on. But in fact, Snape did just the opposite. He complimented them on the way they'd stewed their horned slugs and the perfect consistency of their potion. Harry looked at Draco and smiled.
The lesson passed fairly quickly, without Snape ever picking on him or any of the Slytherins. Sadly, there weren't any mishaps on the Gryffindor side. Harry was really quite looking forward to seeing Weasley mess up. Soon, Harry found himself leaving the potions classroom, set back by only a foot-long essay on the uses of horned slugs in various potions.
Well, Harry thought. That wasn't so bad after all.
He smiled and climbed the stairs with the other Slytherins, heading to the Great Hall for lunch.