Potions Class

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons near the Slytherin common rooms. 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 started the class by taking roll call and he paused by Harry's name. His black eyes flashing to where Harry sat next to Draco Malfoy.

"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 — 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 Malfoy 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?"

Harry glanced at Malfoy, 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. "Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"

Snape ignored Hermione's 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 Draco's eye, and Draco smirked. Snape, however, was not pleased.

"Sit down," Snape snapped at Hermione. "A point will be taken from Ravenclaw House for being annoying, Granger."

As if she blamed him for Snape's comment and the loss of points for her house, Hermione shot him a glare.

Things didn't improve for Harry 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 his partner'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 his partner, the sandy haired boy named Seamus.. Then he rounded on Harry and Draco, 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?"

This was so unfair that Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Draco kicked him behind their cauldron. "Don't push it," he muttered, "My godfather's in a nasty mood for some reason."

Harry changed his mind about arguing about being unfairly blamed, instead trying to make amends. "I'm sorry professor, if you want I can take Neville to the hospital wing instead?"

Snape glanced at where Seamus was helping Neville to the door. "You're right, two idiot Gryffindors would probably cause more problems. Potter, you go. Seamus come back here and clean up your area."

As Harry walked up to help Neville, the other boy let his shoulder hit him as he passed muttering, "Thanks a lot Potter."

He walked next to Neville as the boy carefully painfully walked to the hospital wing. Tears dripped down Neville's face, as some of the boils popped as he walked, and new ones sprang up.

"Don't worry, Neville. We just have a bit farther and then they'll fix you right up you'll see."

"My gran's going to be so mad at me." Neville moaned pitifully.

"Professor Snape was wrong to make us do that potion today, if anything your gran should be mad at him!"

"Really?" Neville sniffled.

"Yes, this wasn't your fault."

Neville gave him a small smile despite the pain as they both walked into the hospital wing.

The Remembrall

At breakfast on Thursday, Harry could hear Hermione lecturing the entire Ravenclaw table about with flying tips she'd gotten out of a library book called Quidditch Through the Ages. Neville was trying to listen in to the Ravenclaw table and was precariously perched on the very edge of the Gryffindor table bench looking as if he might fall over at any minute. Neville was desperate for anything that might help him hang on to his broomstick later. Everyone else at the Ravenclaw table however seemed very pleased when Hermione's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the mail.

Harry hadn't had a single letter but he wasn't that shocked, he knew his uncle would not write often, and even when he did it would probably be short. His uncle told him everything they said, wrote and did while at Hogwarts would be watched.

On the other hand Malfoy's eagle owl was always bringing him packages of sweets from home, which he opened gloatingly at the Slytherin table. He gave Harry a bit sometimes, like he was bestowing huge favors, Harry did have to admit Draco's mother sent excellent sweets.

A barn owl had brought Neville a small package from his grandmother. It caused a small commotion at the Gryffindor table as he opened it excitedly and showed them a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke.

"It's a Remembrall!" he explained. "Gran knows I forget things — this tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do. Look, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red — oh . . ."

His face fell, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet, ". . . you've forgotten something . . ." Neville was trying to remember what he'd forgotten as Harry and Draco were passing the Gryffindor table, when Draco snatched the Remembrall out of his hand.

Seamus and Ron jumped to their feet. Harry reached out and grabbed Malfoy's shoulder, his hand tightening, meeting his eyes when Draco looked at him. The memory of the duel between them.

I could probably teach you a thing or two, as long as you listen to me.

"Give him the Remembrall back, Draco." Scowling, Malfoy quickly dropped the Remembrall back on the table.

"Just looking," he said, and he sloped away from all of them with Crabbe and Goyle behind him.

Harry stood there, as the rest of his Slytherin 'friends' walked off. Seamus and Ron glared at him, not caring that he made Malfoy give back, only that he wore green.

Neville smiled at him. "Thanks, Harry."

Harry smiled back. "What are friends for?"

He ignored the other looks from the Gryffindors and the Ravenclaws who had noticed the exchange, hurrying to catch up with Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle as they sat back down at their table.

Hermione's assessing gaze flicked from Neville, to Harry and then finally the Slytherin table where Draco Malfoy sat sniggering with his friends.

Flying Lessons

Harry walked with the other Slytherins down the front steps of Hogwarts to their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

The Slytherins had arrived first and stood there watching as the Gryffindors and some Ravenclaws approached, the broomsticks already lying in neat lines on the ground.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked.

"Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up." Harry glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!'"

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Harry's broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did.

Hermione Granger's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Neville's hadn't moved at all. Perhaps brooms, like horses, could tell when you were afraid, thought Harry; there was a quaver in Neville's voice that said only too clearly that he wanted to keep his feet on the ground.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips.

Ron and Seamus sniggered loudly when she told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years. Harry gave him a sympathetic glance as Draco turned red.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle — three — two —" But Neville, nervous and jumpy and frightened of being left on the ground, pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.

"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Neville was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle — twelve feet — twenty feet.

Harry saw his scared white face look down at the ground falling away, saw him gasp, slip sideways off the broom and — WHAM — a thud and a nasty crack and Neville lay face down on the grass in a heap. His broomstick was still rising higher and higher, and started to drift lazily toward the forbidden forest and out of sight.

Madam Hooch was bending over Neville, her face as white as his. "Broken wrist," Harry heard her mutter.

"Come on, boy — it's all right, up you get." She turned to the rest of the class. "None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you'll be out of Hogwarts before you can say 'Quidditch.' Come on, dear."

Neville, his face tear-streaked, clutching his wrist, hobbled off with Madam Hooch, who had her arm around him.

No sooner were they out of earshot than Malfoy burst into laughter.

"Did you see his face, the great lump?" The other Slytherins joined in.

Harry gave Draco a sideways glance, pulling out his wand, and Draco's laughter trailed off as he watched Harry spin his wand in hand.

"Yes, whatever." His eyes flickered around, not meeting Harry's again. But Draco had spotted something in the grass.

"Look! It's that stupid thing Longbottom's gran sent him." The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.

"Give that here, Malfoy," Ron said threateningly.

Everyone stopped talking to watch. Malfoy smiled nastily. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find — how about — up a tree?"

"Give it here!" Ron yelled, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off. He hadn't been lying, he could fly well. Hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak he called,

"Come and get it, Weasley!" Ron grabbed his broom.

"No!" shouted Hermione Granger. "Madam Hooch told us not to move — you'll get us all into trouble." Ron ignored her. He mounted the broom and kicked hard against the ground and was off chasing Malfoy.

Harry stood there watching, not quite sure what to do and keep within the rules of his life. Hermione walked up next to him giving him a disgusted glance that bothered him.

"You can't keep your friend under control?"

"I don't know that he's my friend."

"It certainly looks that way, Potter."