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Chapter 10 – A New You
Harry awoke with his chin resting on his chest, his glasses askew, and his back as arched and tightly strung as any bow. The two pillows that had been serving as a back rest had slipped away and the mere act of straightening up made things in his spine and neck twinge and twang worryingly. He straightened the glasses on his nose and looked around the tiny bedroom, which didn't take long. It was dull and morose with long deep shadows running away into the gloom. The fat white candles that had once filled the room with yellow light from their lofty perches had burnt to nothing and dribbled themselves into a heaps of gloop. Only a single stalwart candle above the door remained lit but guttering, and it alone was keeping the pitch darkness at bay.
Harry reach back with both hands and grasping the knots in his neck worked them loose. He still felt tired and he still felt worn, the day before had been long and arduous and the extended night exhausting. With the knots untied and his muscles more cooperative his hands sought Tom's diary, which lay open on the bed. He saw that the trailing end of their conversation from the night before still inked upon the yellowing page and a smile crept onto his face.
I'm so tired right now, you cannot believe. I can hardly keep my eyes open, and I don't even know what time it is.
Draw a good sized circle in the air (going clockwise) before you with your wand and say Tempus. You'll soon find out.
That's pretty neat, and it's 2:39 in the morning if you're wondering. I have to be up and ready for class in five hours.
Perhaps you should get some sleep, then. I must say you are a fascinating person to talk to, Harry, but I'd hate to deprive you of your rest. Besides, I'm not going anywhere and I am always here should you need to talk to me or to learn anything new.
Harry?
Harry?
That was when he must succumb to sleep, Harry thought. He and Tom had spent what must have been five hours just riling the night away in conversation. Tom had told Harry how sixty-some years ago he and a few friends had been playing a rather foolish game of Magical Dares and he had accidentally managed to sever some of his consciousness and trap it in his diary. Tom wouldn't explain how it happened in detail in case Harry fell victim to the process as well, but he did say he wouldn't recommend it. Harry told Tom how Bertram's mischievous nature and love of an attentive audience had got him stuck in Slytherin House, and Harry wouldn't recommend that.
Tom had been rather upset by this revelation, and he spent a good while explaining how he had been a proud Slytherin at Hogwarts. He had put forward some very good and sound points in favour of his argument too, and wheeled off a list of famous wizards including Merlin who were all Slytherins to boot. When Harry informed him of the Snakes current reputation around both the school and the world at large he had scoffed and allayed Harry's fears with a simple paragraph.
If Slytherin House was so evil and corrupt, then why is it still in existence? Wouldn't they have shut it down centuries ago and saved the world all the evils it harbours? Would it not be a failed footnote scribbled in the corner of some history book? Would it not have been ground to dust and long forgotten? No, because cool heads always prevail, and the wise and astute see further than the ignorant and short sighted. You see, Harry, the people who grace the great house of Slytherin normally aspire to better and higher things, and they often go on to be great and powerful people. This endeavour for prominence and this drive for brilliance often fosters jealousy, fear, and hatred in lesser people; and those lesser people will always try to vilify those that they hate and fear. It's a vicious circle I'm afraid.
Big Ben didn't resonate across London so heartily as that statement resonated inside Harry. Thanks to his time in Bolton and Albright he knew all about vindictive, small-minded people, and he knew how their jealousy and ignorance could breed hate and fear. There were people in Bolton and Albright who beheld the simple act of reading as some mystical gift that was wielded against them like a sword, and they often looked on the learned practitioners of this arcane art with suspicion and distrust. It was probably why they considered the police the enemy, teachers the enemy, the government the enemy, and anyone who wore a shirt and tie as the enemy.
Tom was certainly very smart, Harry had realised that after only a few exchanges, and the best thing was he didn't talk down to Harry or brush his questions aside like adults and teens often did. He answered Harry's questions, and he listened to Harry's concerns. When Harry had expressed his fears of being behind his magically raised classmates and struggling to keep pace, Tom had begun to give him some helpful pointers. He'd drawn pictures on how to hold a wand and explained how to interpret words like shake, wiggle, swish, flick, and swipe into very definite motions. He'd even imparted a few of his favourite first year spells for Harry to try in his bedroom. It had been great fun and Harry was doing something he always loved to do, learn.
Harry patted about the bed sheets and searched around and about for the mislaid tools of his earlier endeavours. He found his wand had rolled under his thigh during the night and drawing it out he polished the dust off the skull and held it as Tom prescribed. He drew a circle the size of a dinner plate in the air before him as he said Tempus and watched as the wand's black tip left a little trail of red and blue sparkles lingering in the air. The instant the circle was complete the thousand of sparks all pulsed like a thousand miniscule supernovas and in the wake of their shockwaves the numbers of a clock and two hands were left as a golden glow in the air. The short hand was at the six and the big minute hand was just passed the quarter too mark. He groaned, he hadn't had nearly as much sleep as he wanted, but took some joy that he still had time before breakfast. He searched a little more around and about his person for his ballpoint pen and found it lodged in a crevice between his duvet and pillow. He gave another mighty yawn before he wrote under Tom's questioning calls of his name.
Sorry about that Tom, I must have just fallen asleep. Didn't mean to ignore you or crash out of our conversation like that.
No problem. I'm just glad you managed to get some sleep and prepare yourself for your first day. You are ready for your first day, I trust?
I am now I've spoken to you. Thank you for the help and kind words, they meant a lot. I feel bad for dashing off so quickly after I fell asleep on you, but I really must. It's nearly 7 o'clock and I need to have a bath and get to breakfast.
Think nothing of it, Harry. Enjoy your first day and make sure you tell me all about it when it's over. Remember, you can tell me anything, pour your heart out. I don't mind.
I will do. Bye.
Harry spent a great deal of time figuring out how the taps, styled like silver snakes, on the bathtub worked. There was six of the things in all one for hot water, one for cold, four for smelly gunk of all colours. After getting a nice mixture and settling into the hot frothy water he enjoyed a luxuriant soak and felt some of the lingering weariness from that long, long day before seep from his pores. Getting dressed afterwards he found his once black school tie was now striped green and silver and his robes bore a Slytherin snake patch on the breast. There was no hiding the fact he was in Slytherin now, he practically wore it on his heart. Seeing how he was the only one awake he decided to remedy the situation by waking up Bertram. The raven was less than pleased by this and passively protested Harry's attempts to interact with him. In the end Harry had the petulant bird gripping his forearm in his talons and passively swinging upside down under it like a sulking bat in a cave.
"Go and get something to eat," Harry said once they arrived in the opulent hallway on the surface. He shook the bird off and watched as Bertram spread his wings and glided down the corridor and out of the nearest open window. Harry yawned as he watched him go, and began to retrace his steps towards the Great Hall where he had enjoyed the feast last night. Upon arrival he found a selection of eager seniors already up and busily studying from books and scribbling on parchments that they'd cunningly arranged between the breakfast foods and cutlery. No doubt they had important exams this year and were endeavouring not to fail them, he thought.
Moving down the table and you found they were barren of life, as the junior years, free of such commitments, remained abed and sleeping. The only exception of course was one H. J. Granger who was sat amid her own sea of reading material and hastily scratching away at a sheet of parchment with a quill. Harry glowered angrily, not so much at her but at Bertram. The pesky buzzard was perched on her shoulder mooching bits of sausage and bacon rind off the girl who seemed all too willing to provide for him. Sensing his glower power said girl turned to look at him and her own face twisted into a sneer with equal fervour. Harry, still too tired and worn to care, employed some good old fashion Bolton and Albright diplomacy to the situation and stuck his middle finger up at her before slinking off to the Slytherin table. She must have been quite offended because he heard her harrumph of disgust from across the hall.
The hall filled remarkably quick as students didn't so much as trickle in, as flood. The older students walked like zombies and mindlessly plonked themselves down with tired grunts aimed at one another and forkfuls of food aimed at their mouths. The younger students weren't much better, they substituted lethargy with boundless enthusiasm, and they spoke in squeaky nervous whispers and laughed guiltily at whatever tickled their fancy. He noticed that the conversations on Slytherin table seemed to be passing him by, everyone talking across or around him and very definitely not at him. In fact the only thing aimed at him was a few snarls and the occasional grumbled comment that he was meant to overhear. According to Draco and one of this chums, Potters had as much right in Slytherin as a strawberry in a stew, and a girl with a pug face and bob hair who was sat demurely at Draco's elbow thought him one small step from a mudblood, but she wasn't sure if it was a step up or a step down.
His brooding misery, and the muttered comments, were cut short by the arrival of a man. His black clad form came swooping down the length of Slytherin table like vengeance given form. He had long curtains of greasy black hair framing his pallid face and wore long billowing robes of midnight black that trailed behind him as he glided forward. Reaching the far end of the table where Harry sat amid a smattering of first years he spun about on his heel and faced them. His dull coal black eyes glanced from one face to another and didn't look so much as examine them.
"Good morning, my name is Professor Snape and I am your head of house," he managed to say through a clamped prison of crooked yellowing teeth. "I would have introduced myself yesterday evening after the sorting, but I fear my time was being wasted in a search for two idiotic Gryffindors, two repugnant boys who enjoy a life where rule and law apparently happens to other people. I will, therefore, make my introduction succinct and to the point due to our current public audience. I do not permit buffoonery in my house, I do not permit stupidity, I do not permit laziness, and most importantly of all I do not permit disrespect aimed at me or any of my colleagues. You will do your utmost to maintain the high standards that I and everyone else has come to expect of this house at all times, and if you do not you will expect the punishment to be severe. Do you all understand?"
"Yes sir," the first years squeaked in fear. Professor Snape didn't cut a particularly fearsome figure, he was slender and lean with a face better suited to a well buried corpse, but he looked like a man who could be a complete bastard if he wanted to be. He also appeared to be the type of man whose sole aim in life is to be a complete and utter bastard. He was type of man who upon being woken up drenched in sweat by evil nightmares would get out a pen and paper and make notes for further study and inspiration.
"Good," Professor Snape snapped out. He flipped out a wad of papers that had until then been tucked under his arm. "Your timetables," he declared. Walking back down the table he whipped the topmost form off and held it out to be taken, and the recipient said a muttered thank you for it. He reached Harry in short order and then stopped, frozen in his tracks. His black eyes zeroed in on Harry and held him as good as any cage, his hook nose gave a twitch as if it had sniffed something it didn't like, and a slit of yellow cut through lips as he rolled them back to sneer. Harry tugged on the proffered timetable but the man wouldn't relent his hold. "Mr Potter," he didn't so much as say the word as ooze it from his mouth like pus from bust abscess. "When Professor Flitwick informed me of your situation I must confess I thought him half mad and half joking. How wrong I was. My warnings from earlier go double for you, and I would also like to inform you that I took the precaution of filling out expulsion papers last night with your name on. There is no need to waste my valuable time doing them should the need arise in the near future, as it were. One false move on your part, Potter, and I will see them submitted with all due haste. And believe me, with my signature on them-your head of house-there will no trial, no appeal, no plea bargain, just your speedy expulsion from my presence. You will be gone, your wand will be snapped, and I will be overjoyed. Do you understand me?"
"Yes sir," Harry said. What he'd done to earn the man's ire he didn't know, but he suspected Bertram was undoubtedly involved. The man relented his hold and Harry's tugging grip saw his hand whip back and smack him right on the nose.
With a little smile at this juvenile result and without another word the man dismissed Harry's existence by turning his hook nose up to look about the table at his audience. "I was informed there were eight new first years?"
Harry looked around him. There was Bellamy coaxed out of his bed by the smell of food, there was Matsuko and Tabitha down the end of the table, there was Felicity, and as Harry was doing the headcount Chester slumped into a chair and cradled his head. "There is," Harry said.
"Why am I now counting six, then?" the man asked, his coal black peepers searching Harry for answers as if it was his fault.
"Able's still asleep," Chester yawned as he took the timetable offered to him. "Dunno about Muriel, wasn't brave enough to knock on her door and find out."
"So you just left them in their beds to be late for their first class?" Professor Snape demanded of Chester before snapping his head around and giving Harry a dark look. "Potter, didn't you think to wake them up?"
"They didn't think to wake me up," Harry defended.
"Typical indolent behaviour I would expect from a Potter," he spat. "If they're late for their classes I'm going to hold you personally responsible for it."
"But—" Harry said, the man didn't wait to listen, he spun around and billowed away to resume his task of passing out the timetables. Harry fumed silently. It wasn't enough that the entire Slytherin House seemed to consider him something slightly less than a turd, but the chief of the house seemed to have the opinion that he had stepped him in. He perused his timetable and found his first lesson was double potions. That sounded quite fun, and he wondered who taught it.
"You really know how to make friends, don't you" Chester mocked. He still looked like a tramp who had put effort into his dishevelment. His greasy brown hair was stuck up on one side, his robe collar was tucked in, and the creases in his pillow had been embedded in his face. As Harry watched he dug a finger in his ear, jiggled it about, and then after a brief inspection of the contents wiped it off on the breast of his robes.
"It's a knack," Harry said distantly. His attention was suddenly grabbed by the fact it was raining owls, which was hardly normal. They dive bombed the dinner tables, crashed into the crockery, upset the jugs of pumpkin juice, and got into little fights over scraps of bacon rind. One particularly grubby beast flopped itself down before Chester and held a leg out containing a small crudely wrapped brown package.
"Coo, mum's sent my underpants. Would have started to get awkward if she hadn't," he informed any interested parties. He untied the package and went on to unfurl two pairs of greying Y-fronts with decidedly horrifying stains and a saggy gussets.
"You do have more than two pairs, do you not?" Harry asked as the boy inspected them keenly.
"Nah, two's fine," he assured Harry before he stuffed the underwear in his pocket. "One to wear, one to wash."
Draco received something he would no doubt refer to as 'a correspondence' and he looked awfully pleased about it. It arrived via a large eagle owl who managed to look as haughty and arrogant as its master by the mere act of sitting there. Without any care or consideration for the animal's wellbeing Draco yanked the missive attached to the leg and snapped the twine that kept it there. It was a plush ivory coloured envelope sealed with golden wax bearing an ornate M. He slit it open languidly with his butter knife, extracted a stiff card, and read it at some length. A smile reminiscent of an oil spill spread across his pallid face, he scrambled out of his chair all in a flutter, and rushed down the table to begin a hushed conversation with a square headed, jug eared thug in the highest year.
"RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY! HOW COULD YOU BE SO STUPID!" a shrill woman's voice shook all concerns about Draco out of Harry's brain and he and everyone else turned to the Gryffindor Table. "OF ALL THE IDIOTIC THINGS TO DO! FLYING A CAR TO SCHOOL IN BROAD DAYLIGHT...AND TO DRAG POOR NEVILLE ALONG WITH YOU! I HONESTLY CAN'T CREDIT IT! YOU KNOW YOUR FATHER HAS BEEN CALLED INTO SPECIAL ENQUIRY TO ANSWER QUESTIONS! HE COULD LOSE HIS JOB AND THAT WOULD RUIN OUR FAMILY!" A gangly red head with freckles was being thoroughly harangued by a red envelope that was gulping out puffs of smoke and vibrating dangerously on the table before him as it shouted. Everyone else around him had dived for cover and all he could do was cower behind his hands and quiver in fear. "IF I GET ONE MORE COMPLAINT ABOUT YOU, RONALD, I WILL HAVE YOU DRAGGED OUT OF HOGWARTS BY YOUR EARS!" The envelope finished. There was a tiny explosion of red light, a puff of smoke, and Ronald Bilious Weasley was being rained on by shredded red confetti.
Silence.
"Ha ha," Bertram, who had watched the thing from his seat on Hermione's shoulder, laughed. This of course gave everyone else the idea and soon the hall was ringing with chuckles and guffaws. Ronald Weasley's vivid red blush quickly drained to sickly pallor as he sulked down in his chair and tried his best to vanish under the table.
Harry was at least saved the embarrassment of having to act in loco parentis for Able and Muriel at least. Okay, so his basis on parenting was a little tainted, but he expected that the job of knocking on doors and chirping a cheerful wake up call was normally reserved for mothers and fathers, not peers. Both late-comers came trotting into the hall at commendable speed and both rushed over to salvage what scraps they could from Bellamy's ever-reaching, ever-grasping hands. Harry took their arrival as his cue to leave, there was something about Able that made his skin crawl.
Potions was held in the dungeons and their classroom was tucked away in one of the darker, danker, damper corners (which was saying something). Harry, with Professor Snape's warning still ringing in his ears, was the first to arrive. He tried the iron bound door with its ancient wrought iron fittings, but it was locked tight, so he rested his back against the wall and waited. In time dark shapes swept up the gloomy corridor towards him, and as they approached they turned into the distinctive forms of several Gryffindors. He saw Ginny and Colin, with a big bulky camera hung around his neck, leading the pack, and you couldn't miss the boy called Sidney Still looming behind them. His gangly long form towered over his housemates at a rather unsettling angle, it was as if he was walking along a camber. Harry tried to twist his head askew in a bid to straighten him up, but it didn't work, the boy continued to walk at a slant.
"Oh Merlin, we're with the snakes," One of the boys he couldn't name said as Harry's green and silver tie and snake badge became apparent.
"Tell me about it," Harry sighed in complete sympathy. He'd said the exact same thing more than once. The Gryffindors took up positions on the far wall in a manner similar to Harry's and their eyes never once left his, as if they expected him to strike out at them.
"Oi, Oi, Oi!" A cheerful voice echoed down the dungeons and everyone turned to see Chester walking towards them. He dragged his feet as he walked, one shoulder was hunched down under the weight of his schoolbag, and his head bobbed along from side to side on top of his neck. "Oh, it's you, Potter," he amended his welcome upon seeing Harry's face. "Bloody buggery, it's the...Gryffindorks!" He seemed rather pleased with the insult he had tacked onto the end, he'd wrapped it in a moment of silence so people could appreciate it and snorted a guffaw of laughter after the payload had landed.
"Shut your greasy face, Harper," one of the Gryffindors declared as Chester took up station beside Harry on the wall.
As more people arrived the walls became their battle lines of sorts and the narrow expanse of corridor between them a demilitarised zone. Snakes stared at the lions and the lion stared back. The only fighting to be had was verbal, with Able snapping off derisive remarks at some of the boys, mainly Colin; and Felicity doing her utmost to be a complete bitch to every member of her sex in earshot. Felicity wasn't discriminate in her animosity, and Matsuko and Tabitha were given the sharp side of her tongue as readily as Ginny and the Gryffindors. The only one she didn't bite at was Muriel, mainly because the girl could twist her head off like a bottle top.
The iron strapped door was thrown open with a calamitous boom as it crashed into the wall and Professor Snape strode out with his robes billowing behind him and his face sneering and serious before him. Harry gulped at the sight of him, potions had seemed like a lot of fun as well. From what he'd read it was almost a blend of chemistry and cookery, and he liked chemistry. It didn't seem so fun now. The professor rounded on his heel and snapped to attention as his black gaze trailed across the assembled armies. "IN!" the word cracked out of his mouth like a bullet from a rifle and before it had even finished reverberating down the passageway he had marched back inside his lair.
Harry, being closest to the door, was first into the classroom and he saw six long concrete tables sat in two rows facing the front, each table held four stations. On shelves around the walls were pickling jars full of...things, and some of them gurgled and other bubbled in their various brews. Before Harry could appreciate them or anything else further someone shoved him in the back and he was thrown forward. His hip cracked into the sharp corner of the nearest table and he staggered, barely managing to keep his footing.
"Potter!" Professor Snape barked. "Stop messing around or I'll have you removed!"
"I fell sir," Harry said as he turned to see if he could ascertain who had shoved him, but the crowd had dispersed and the person lost amid the sea. Harry limped to a seat on the end of the nearest bench and sat down on the high stool that was tucked under the strangely industrial tabletop. Tabitha Banks, the girl with the hair explosion, lowered herself into the seat next to him and gave him a little understanding smile.
Professor Snape flicked open a little book and began to crack out surnames like a machine gun, Babybarrows, Banks, Creevey, Farrows, Glover were shot across the room in short order and so on and so on they went until he spat Potter out with no small amount of disgust and carried on until he said Weasley in a tone that suggested he didn't like the taste of that name either. With the register read the man shot to his feet, his stool scraped across the floor and he began to pace. "Put your wands away, there is no need silly wand waving to be done here," he said. Harry was glad for that little factoid. No one at school had seen the Macabre Wand yet, and if he had it his way that is how things would remain until he was old and buried. "I do not teach an art form in this classroom, there is no interpretation to be found, no emotional outpouring, and no fickle nonsense like soul and expression. I teach the science of potion making here, it is exact and it is precise. In this room I will teach the methods and the understanding to make bottles of brilliance, vials of virility, pots of power; and all I ask in return is for you to respect and adhere to the work I set, and apply yourselves to the task at hand. Of course I have often found that year in and year out I ask far too much, and the most I can ask from you clot headed buffoons is not to blow yourselves up. I ask you, do not blow yourselves up, it causes me paperwork. POTTER!"
"Yes sir," Harry said polite and respectable as always. The man's onyx gaze caught him and held him prisoner.
"What do Cirsium, Sonchus, and Echinops all hold in common?" He said smoothly. "Answer!"
"They're all members of the Asteraceae family, sir," Harry answered smoothly. He'd picked that up from his Herbology companion book, not his potions book. "They're all thistles," he added for precision purposes.
"So it appears you took the time to read your Herbology textbook, that's a start I suppose," he said. "Perhaps you can impress me with your potion knowledge. Name me a potion that can be made with one of those thistles?"
"Stomach settling solution," Harry answered. It was on page 30-something of his textbook and the list of ingredients had been so easy to obtain from the local supermarket and any nearby garden Harry had been tempted to try brewing it in his library storeroom. He didn't though, he didn't know what boiled snail slime and cow's milk would smell like, and he didn't want to attract attention.
The man's dull black eyes blinked and he held Harry for a moment, "very good Mr Potter. Ten points to Slytherin for your excellent knowledge on both concocting and Herbology. Miss Weasley, let's see which of those revolting brothers you aspire after, shall we. Tell me, where does Deadmire Moss grow and when is the most lucrative time to harvest it?"
Ginny thought for a moment before offering up, "fairy mounds?" nervously and when the man sneered at her she added, "And under a full moon?"
"A full moon!" he spluttered as if the suggestion had hurt him. "It appears you're taking after those idiot twins and that lack brain Ronald, doesn't it. Didn't you even think about flicking through your textbook whilst lounging around in your hovel of a home?" he picked up his copy of the textbook of his desk as if to remind them what it should look like, and then he slammed it down on his desk with a great bang. The Slytherins at the back of the class chuckled and started muttering the word hovel as if it was novel. "Ten points from Gryffindor for being woefully unprepared for this lesson. Would anyone else like to add your own pathetic attempt at answering that question?"
Harry, not a boy who liked to volunteer answers, raised his hand a little. He really needed to be on the right foot with this man and if answering a few questions would help his cause, he would. The man waited a few moments, his head turning to look around the class before he pointed a finger at Harry. "Deadmire Moss grows under corpses found in Peat Bogs. The best time to harvest the moss is immediately after the body has been removed and the moss uncovered, preferably under a crescent moon."
"Another excellent answer, ten points to Slytherin," Professor Snape said after giving Harry another long dark stare. He turned around and thwacked his wand against the blackboard. Spindly white chalk writing spread out across the black surface to give the instructions for a boil cure, and the man took his seat at his desk. "Your assignment for the day is on the board. I don't expect to hear anyone talking and I expect everyone to be finished by the end of the lesson. Begin!"
Harry did begin his work, and so did everyone else. He found potion making to be the sort of thing he liked, there was no need for special talent or even superior intellect to get results, all it needed was the ability to follow instructions. To his right the timid form of Tabitha Banks had tied her hair back so the brown curly explosion looked like it was caught in the wind, and she worked away as silently as everyone else, no one, not even the pompous ass Able, was willing to step out of line with this monstrous professor.
Two hours later Harry's boil cure was a simmering sunburnt orange with a slightly oily texture, and when he waved some of the fumes towards him he found it smelt like aniseed and nutmeg. He checked the board once more to ensure he wasn't missing any steps and then checked his potion textbook to ensure the colour, texture, smell, and consistency were right. Deciding everything was as expected and very happy with the results, Harry ladled a sample into a little phial, labelled it, and put the stopper in before delivering it to professor's desk. Professor Snape, who was etching the work of some other poor students with copious amount of angry red ink, flourished in his writing and his quill 'accidently' sent Harry's vial skittering off the edge of the desk and shattering on the floor.
"Try and act with some care and consideration, Potter," Professor Snape snapped. He withdrew his wand and with a flick vanished the mess off the floor. "That's your work receiving a T for not pay attention!"
"I have enough left over for another sample in my—" Harry stopped as the man pointed his wand at Harry's cauldron and the orange potion inside sizzled away into the ether, "-Cauldron," he finished sadly.
"Get back to your seat before I give you detention," Professor Snape said with a flick of his quill in dismissal. Harry slunk back to his seat as several people sniggered and laughed at his misfortune. It wasn't just the Gryffindors either, his own house seemed to find the situation hilarious.
I just don't know why he did it. Harry wrote to Tom that night. He was back in his bed hiding under the covers and using the lit tip of his wand to illuminate the written conversation he was having with the diary. Tom took the writing away and a moment later replied in his swoopy slanted hand.
It's quite obvious when you think about it logically. Professor Snape is head of Slytherin House and appears to hold a rather mysterious grudge against you. Therefore he is very receptive to you gaining house points and benefitting his own standing, but undoubtedly dislikes you getting any personal reward that does not profit him in some way.
Yeah, I already sort of understood that. What I don't get is why he would want to do it. Surely as a teacher he should encourage and nurture, not destroy and dishearten his students.
Harry, there are some people in life who are shallow and there are some people who are utter bastards. This Professor Snape seems like both. Do you want my advice?
I'd welcome it.
Don't rise to the bait, and definitely don't try and antagonise him.
Antagonise Professor Snape? Are you mad. Didn't you read the description I just gave? He looks like the type of man who would bite a vampire to get his blood back.
More reason to do your best to ignore his childish slights and immature manner. He has all the power in this situation and at the end of the day you will always come out the worse for butting heads. So when he ruins your work, say: Sorry sir, will try better in future; and when he belittles you, say: I'm sorry my efforts are not to your liking, sir. Trust me, give him no quarter to hold you hostage and always maintain the higher ground. He'll soon grow tired of it.
You think?
Yes. Maybe he doesn't like smart kids. Ever thought about that? Maybe he hates seeing young people whom he recognises as rising stars in the world. Maybe he dislikes teaching the people who will one day be looking down on him from high and powerful office.
You think I could be destined for high and powerful office?
Indeed. Through our brief chats I can tell you're a very smart and hard working individual who will undoubtedly go very far in the wizarding world. Is that what you want, to be at the top?
I've always aimed to be the very best I can be. I think that's what annoys me about Professor Snape and his childish attitude. He is like a unnecessary roadblock in the way to my success.
How very Slytherin of you.
Excuse me?
The pursuit of power and prestige is a very Slytherin ideal. Surely you know that.
I thought Slytherin espouses cunning and guile (or evil and bigotry) if you listen to anyone not in Slytherin.
No, the people of Slytherin use cunning and guile to obtain power. Strip away all the rhetoric and all the history, and focus on what matters and what drives the people of Slytherin, Harry, and you will find it to be the acquisition of power. Remember that power comes in many shapes and sizes. Some of your housemates will find it glittering in their family vaults, some will find it in their wand arms, some will find it in their minds, and some will find it on their backs. Slytherin caters for all the power hungry denizens of the magical world equally.
Even the ones who find their power on their backs? Harry wrote with a blush and felt rather crude and naughty for doing so.
Why do you think you're not separated from the fairer sex, dear boy? Consider this hypothetical example. The very beautiful and bouncy seventh year Slytherin Susan, who is positively radiant in the mirror but dull in the brains, looks across the common room and sees Slytherin Simon, a boy whose family has oodles and poodles of money with titles and lands to boot. Now Slytherin Susan is graduating in three months and she has a choice. Does she leave with nothing more than a lot of T Grades and a very beautiful face; or does she leave with a lot of T Grades, a very beautiful face, and Slytherin Simon's very expensive and very lucrative baby percolating in her womb?
That's just...well, disgusting.
But very true. It swings both ways, mind. A dashing young chap with a penchant for lounging around is very likely to cosy up with some rich girl in a bid to living the life of excessive riley. Of course we could delve deeper into this depravity and discuss the old marriage contracts, but they've mostly fallen out of fashion, and we're deviating from the point. The point is: POWER! Slytherin House lets you get it and it does nothing to deny you the chance. All you have to do is seize the opportunity and make a run for it. And you, Harry, with that amazing brain of yours have it in your hands, all you need to do is grasp.
True, but I'm quite content to just stand aside and let the days roll by. It's what I've always done and it always works out well in the end. Understand I'm not angry so much as disappointed by the way my first day turned out. I might have disillusioned myself with the idea of a new start to a new life and my head might have got a little woozy from the idea of making friends.
You have me.
Yeah, I suppose, but I was of course aiming to make more than one friend.
You don't make friends in Slytherin, you earn them. Trust me, sit at the top of Slytherin's power pyramid and you'll find friends. They'll clamour and claw at each other to be noticed by you, they will fawn at your feet for attention.
They're not friends, they're sycophants. A friend shouldn't be someone who mooches around with you for profit or glory.
I think our definitions on that matter differ somewhat, no matter. But let me ask you something. You spoke of a new chance of a new life, but have you ever thought about a new you? Have you ever thought about a Harry who isn't a door mat? A Harry who growls back instead of whimpers? A Harry who isn't controlled but in control? A Harry who leads instead of led? You could do it you know, you're very capable. And who's to stop you? Who here is to say That's not the Harry Potter I know?
Harry stared at the page and the writing for a long moment. As usual Tom was exactly right, his wisdom and intelligence shining through as normal. He could of course do all that, but he shook his head and sighed. I don't think I'm cut out for any of that, he wrote.
With my help you are. Trust me Harry, you don't get many chances to forge yourself anew, and this, Harry, is a chance. You are tempted, I know you are, and so you should be. Just think about how great you could be with my help.
