CH 7: THE POTIONS MASTER
(note: updated previous chapters to fix minor mistakes that a few reviewers pointed out. Still looking for a beta, but I need to you to be logged in when you volunteer yourself so that I know who to send the documents to, lol.)
"There, look."
"Where?"
"Next to the girl with bushy hair."
"Wearing the glasses?"
"Did you see her hair?"
"Did you see her scar?"
Whispers followed Marly from the moment she left her dormitory the next day. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at her, or doubled back to pass her in the corridors again, staring. Marly wished they wouldn't, because she was trying to concentrate on finding her way to classes.
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 (Marly fell through one twice before remembering). 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 Marly was sure the coats of armour could walk.
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. Sir Nicholas was always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right direction, but Peeves the Poltergeist was worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. 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!"
Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Luckily for Marly, she stuck with Hermione, who knew her way around better than any other first year—she said she had almost photographic memory—but Ron and Seamus managed to get on the wrong side of him on their very first morning. Ron told Marly over lunch that day that the two of them had been lost and trying to get into the out-of-bounds corridor, and only managed to escape Filch, who wouldn't believe that they were only lost, because of Professor Quirrell.
Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-coloured cat with bulging, lamplike eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone (except perhaps the Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs. Norris a good kick.
And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the classes themselves. There was a lot more to magic, as Marly quickly found out, than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.
They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movement 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 Emeric 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 Marly's name he gave an excited squeak and almost fell over.
Professor McGonagall was again different. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class, and made it clear without saying anything of the sort that she would not be showing Marly any favours.
"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.
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 Finnegan 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.
Marly was very relieved to find out that she wasn't miles behind everyone else. Lots of people had come from Muggle families and, like him, hadn't had any idea that they were witches and wizards. There was so much to learn that even people born to wizarding families, like Ron, didn't have much of a head start.
Friday was an important day for Marly and Hermione. They finally managed to find their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once.
"What have we got today?" Marly asked Hermione as she added a bit of salt to her scrambled eggs.
"Double Potions with the Slytherins," said Hermione. "Professor Snape's their Head of House, I've heard people say that he favours them but I don't think it's true."
"Wish Professor McGonagall favoured us," said Marly. Professor McGonagall was head of Gryffindor House, but it hadn't stopped her from giving them a huge pile of homework the day before. Marly and Hermione had spent at least an hour in the library trying to get it all done before they got more homework from their other classes, but only managed to finish half of it.
Just then, the mail arrived. Marly 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 Marly anything so far. She sometimes flew in to nibble her 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 Marly's plate. Marly tore it open at once. It said, in a very untidy scrawl:
Dear Marly,
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
Marly carried her fountain pen everywhere with her. She pulled it out and wrote on the back, Yes, please, see you later on the back of the note, and sent Hedwig off again.
It was lucky that Marly had tea with Hagrid to look forward to, because her first Potions lesson turned out to be the most disquieting thing that had happened to her so far.
At the start-of-term banquet, Marly had gotten the idea that Professor Snape had lost someone very close to him, someone that Marly reminded him of. By the end of the first Potions lesson, she knew she'd been right.
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 Marly's name.
"Marlene Potter," he said softly. His eyes locked directly with hers, and she saw again that great loss. His eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth. They were cold and empty, as if he did not live for anything anymore.
After a brief hesitation, he finished calling the names and looked up at the class.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word—like Professor McGonagall, Professor 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, every stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
Marly was captivated instantly. It hadn't sounded so amazing in her Potions textbook when she'd read through it, but maybe, taught by such a master of the art, it would be. Hermione was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving she wasn't a dunderhead; Marly saw Ron and Dean Thomas exchange looks with raised eyebrows in front of her.
"Potter!" said Professor Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
I know I saw this somewhere—somewhere in the Potions book, it mentioned asphodel…wormwood…sleep! "Er—a sleeping potion, I think, sir," said Marly. Hermione's hand had shot up, but she lowered it when Marly answered, nodding at her.
Snape's lips curled. "Are you asking me, or telling me, Ms. Potter?"
"Er—telling you, sir."
"You're half right, Potter. Weasley! Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
This one Marly didn't know, although Hermione clearly did, for she raised her hand as high up into the air as it could go without her leaving her seat. Ron looked just as stumped as Marly was. "I don't know, Professor."
"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Weasley? Let's try again. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.
"I don't know," said Ron. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"
A few people laughed; Seamus winked at Ron. Professor Snape, however, was not pleased.
"Sit down," he snapped at Hermione. "For your information, asphodel and wormwood made 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 writing this down?"
Marly and Hermione had started scribbling down his words the moment he began speaking, but everyone else hadn't, and there was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Professor Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Weasley."
Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Professor 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 Marly, who he just watched in that strangely sad way whenever he came near. He was just telling off Lavender Brown for stewing her horned slugs incorrectly when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus' 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," Professor Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Ron and Dean, who had been working next to Neville.
"You—Weasley—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 Marly opened her mouth to argue, but Professor Snape had already turned to stalk towards the Slytherin side of the class.
"I've heard that Snape could turn very nasty," she heard Ron say to Dean in a low voice. "But that was low. How was I supposed to know?"
As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Marly's mind was racing. She hadn't lost any points herself, but why did Snape look at her like that? And why didn't he seem to like the Gryffindors? Was it just because he was the head of Slytherin House?
"Let's go to the library after lunch, make some more headway on Transfiguration before you go and see Hagrid," said Hermione. "Oh—can I come and meet him with you? He must have some interesting stories about Hogwarts. I wonder how long he's been here!"
"No, I want to speak with Professor McGonagall," said Marly. "I want to ask her about Professor Snape."
Said professor suddenly loomed up behind them like a spectre, an unpleasant look on his face. "And why are you talking about me, Ms. Potter, Ms. Granger?"
"I wasn't," protested Hermione. "Tell him, Marly—I wouldn't!"
"She wasn't, sir," said Marly. "I was going to ask Professor McGonagall, but since you're here, I may as well ask you…why do you look at me like that? Did you know my parents, is that why you look so sad?"
"Off to lunch, Ms. Granger," said Professor Snape sharply. "That is private, Potter." He swept past them towards the Great Hall, his cloak billowing behind him.
Marly frowned. "I guess I'll be going with you to the library after all, Hermione."
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 Marly knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "Back, Fang—back."
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 Hermione and started licking her face. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.
"This is Hermione," Marly told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.
"A Muggleborn, eh?" said Hagrid, glancing at Hermione. "Nice ter meet yeh, Hermione."
The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke their teeth, but Marly and Hermione pretended to be enjoying them as they told Hagrid all about their first lessons. Fang rested his head on Marly's knee and drooled all over her robes.
Marly and Hermione were delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch "that 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 of her—Filch puts her up to it."
Marly told Hagrid about Professor Snape's lesson. Hagrid frowned. "He must be seein' Lily in yeh, Marly," he told her. "He an' yer mum were close pals, back when they were in school."
"They were in school together?"
"Oh, yeah," said Hagrid. "Same year as yer parents."
Marly couldn't help thinking that Hagrid didn't quite meet her eyes when he said that. There has to be more to that story, she thought.
"So what are yeh interested in learnin' in the future, Hermione?" Hagrid asked Hermione.
Marly wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Hermione told Hagrid all about the depths of the subjects she wanted to learn, Marly 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.
Marly's eyebrows shot up. "Hagrid! That Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while we were in Diagon Alley!"
There was no doubt about it, Hagrid definitely didn't meet Marly's eyes this time. He grunted and offered her another rock cake. Marly read the story again. What had been Hagrid's "Hogwarts business" with Gringotts? Could it have been whatever was in that vault, whatever those thieves were looking for?
As Marly and Hermione walked back to the castle for dinner, tossing the rock cakes they'd been too polite to refuse in the lake as they passed it, Marly thought that none of the lessons he'd had so far had given her as much to think about as tea with Hagrid. Had Hagrid collected—whatever it was—just in time? And did Hagrid know something about Professor Snape that he didn't want to tell her?
