by: Star Bunny
rated: PG
Disclaimer: Draco Malfoy belongs to JKR... and so do most of my other characters... and quite a few of my plot devices... and a bunch of the quotes. But I do own Wade Wadsworth, the brave, heroic, and very cute. ^_~
Note: You'll notice that I'm taking quite a few quotes from the books, but I'm also making up some scenes. Anything I make up is subject to be revised should future Harry Potter novels contradict what I've written. I want this to be as close to canon as possible. :)
This was a very long chapter to write. Add that to the horrible semester I've had, and you have my excuse for why this took so long. Hope it's satisfactory. ;) Should everything go as planned, chapter six will be out much sooner. I hope you are all enjoying reading this!
Spoilers: PS and CoS so far. Eventually all four.
Chapter 5 - Potions
The dungeons! The Slytherin dormitories were in the ruddy dungeons! Draco couldn't believe it. No wonder the Slytherins had a reputation of being mean and vindictive. He bet that even the Gryffindors would turn evil if they had to live in the dungeons for seven years. The Common Room wasn't so bad, he supposed. At least there was a nice glow coming from the lamps and the fireplace. But his room was horrible. There were no windows, and the walls were slightly damp, giving the room a muggy, constrictive feel. It was cold, too. Draco didn't suppose that he was going to get a decent night's sleep anytime in the near future. It didn't help any that he had to share the dorm with three other boys. He didn't know about that Nott boy, but he was quite sure that Crabbe and Goyle snored something fierce in their sleep.
Once the boys had toured the room to their satisfaction, they returned to the Common Room for a meeting that had been called for all first years. There were seven Slytherin first years, aside from Draco. On the boys end there were Crabbe and Goyle, obviously, and Brandon Nott. Draco had never met him before, but he was sure he had heard his father mention something about the elder Nott at some point. He was a small boy - clearly the smallest of the first years - with a mop of almost tidy brown hair and small, pinched eyes which made him look like he was squinting at everyone.
As for the girls, Draco was wholly unimpressed with the lot of them. There was Millicent Bulstrode - who would probably lose to a troll in a beauty contest - and Blaise Zabini who, though she was striking with her curly strawberry blonde hair and piercing aquamarine eyes, struck Draco as dangerous and explosive. He wasn't sure he was ready to find out why. Morag MacDougal's limp black hair fell carelessly into her dark brown eyes. It was those eyes, those dark, dispassionate, soulless eyes that made Draco's skin crawl as they stared out at him from her thin, sallow face. Out of the lot, Pansy Parkinson seemed to be the most normal. Or, perhaps, it was just that she was the most like him. The Parkinsons, unlike the Bulstrodes, the Zabinis, and the MacDougals, were filthy rich, and Pansy was therefore spoiled. Pansy was not as beautiful as Blaise - she had nice blonde hair which set off her slightly round face and cute freckles dotting her perfect skin, all of which were ruined by the great pug nose right square on her face - but she didn't have the cold aloofness that followed Blaise around. Instead, she was quite obviously and forwardly a royal pain in the rear. She was the leader of the girls; it was obvious already. Besides, she was by far the most garrulous of the lot.
As the eight first years waited in the Common Room for the meeting to begin, Draco took the opportunity to examine the room more thoroughly. The door to the dorms, which was a false stone wall on the outside, was thick and richly carved. The ceiling of the common room was high - perhaps as much as three stories - and at the very top there was a small lattice window, which was the only natural light afforded to the room. The walls reminded Draco of the inside of a gothic cathedral, with its high arches and raw appearance. The seats were all plush leather, a dark green that added to the dark ambiance of the room. Several lamps with green lampshades cast an eerie green glow about the room, and a brass chandelier hung down from the lofty ceiling. Thick Persian rugs littered the stone floor, adding a bit of warmth from an otherwise cold room. The fireplace was certainly Draco's favourite feature of the room. It was harsh - rough, even - and yet the fire glowing inside made the roughness warm and powerful, just as a fireplace should be, he thought.
His attention was drawn away from the fireplace by a voice outside the entrance saying loudly, "Vexamen!" which, as they all knew, was the Slytherin password. The large door slid open, and Professor Snape entered the Common Room much the way Draco thought he might enter his classroom. His robe was billowing behind him, and he looked wholly above whatever he saw in the room.
"I am Professor Snape, the Potions master at this school," he began in a baleful, commanding voice. "I am also the head of Slytherin House, and as such you will all answer to me. Slytherin did not become the most dominant house at Hogwarts through the sheer talent of its students. I have taught many Slytherin students who possessed not even a shred of talent, intelligence, or sense. Slytherin has, and always will, rise to the top not on the merit of its students, but out of an ambition to be nowhere but the top. I do not permit Slytherins to foolishly lose their house points. I do not permit Slytherin students to spend their nights in detention. I do not permit a Slytherin student to receive marks that are a whit lower than their potential. And I certainly do not allow a Slytherin Quidditch team to lose a game for any reason, no matter the excuse. Any student with low marks or in detention shall answer directly to me.
"I understand that in many of your homes, the Dark Arts are practiced regularly. At Hogwarts, there will be more points than you would like to consider taken from the house for being caught. Hence, there will be no Dark Arts practiced while at this school. Slytherin will not lose the House Cup because of a few daring students trying to bone up on their unforgivable curses.
"The penalty for losing points for Slytherin - for any reason - is more dreadful than you can imagine. I myself shall never take points from this house, but should I discover that any of you have lost points from the house, you will wish that I had simply taken away points, given you a detention, and left it there.
"We in Slytherin have many different ambitions, but there is none more pressing and important than our continued dominance over the other houses. Should we lose this, we lose our respect, we have nothing, and we are nothing. Never forget this. I wish you all a successful year."
Then, with no warning, he strode purposefully out the door. A pregnant silence hung through the room for a long moment. It was clear from the expressions on most of the other student's faces that they were as shocked as he was. Draco hoped that he was doing a better job of hiding this than they were.
"Right," he nodded brusquely. "Now that's out of the way, I think I'll turn in for the night." He rose from the couch to return to the dormitories.
"Draco."
He turned, cocking an eyebrow at Pansy. She fiddled with the ends of her braid, probably attempting to look innocent.
"I was wanting to get in a game of exploding snap tonight. It'll probably be the last chance we get for a while, with school starting tomorrow."
"Perhaps some other time, Pansy," he declined imperiously. "I have other things to do tonight."
Pansy held his gaze for a moment, before turning to the others. Crabbe, Goyle, Millicent, Blaise, and Brandon Nott ended up joining her, but Morag left the group silently to return to her dormitory as well - not, however, before she once again set her muted eyes on him. He shivered and reflexively took two steps back. As the corners of her mouth turned up in a barely amused smile, she pushed her bangs out of her eyes and walked down the stairs to her room.
Draco cast a nervous glance at the group next to the fireplace. He hoped they hadn't seen that. It would certainly compromise his position if he were to be looked upon as a coward - even if he really were one. The Slytherin lot was fickle. Leaders were what they made of themselves - one mistake, and it could all be gone.
Deciding that he must be more careful in the future, he returned to his room. He flopped down on his bed and scowled at the mattress for a long moment. He was expected to sleep on this? With a sigh, he opened his trunk and pulled out his book. Perhaps he would get a few chapters in before the others were done with their game.
Soon, Draco was lost in the dangers of the Great Wasteland. Thieves, spies, and treasure hunts were certainly more exciting than the horrid shocks he had been dealt today. It was only when the other boys returned to the room that he was pulled back to reality.
"Draco," Crabbe frowned, as if thinking very hard. "Didn't that boy you thought would be in Hufflepuff get put in Gryffindor?"
"So what if he did?" Draco scoffed. "I don't see much of a difference between the two houses anyway."
"But you said you would get a toad if he wasn't in Hufflepuff." Draco almost fell off his bed. Crabbe was showing more intelligence that he ever had in the ten years Draco had known him. It was very eerie. And there was no way Draco was getting a toad.
"It's a figure of speech, you dolt."
"Oh, good," Goyle sighed. "I really didn't want a toad."
"So, Draco," Brandon grinned, "Who was that girl I saw you making eyes at during the Sorting Ceremony?"
"Don't see as that's any of your business, Nott."
With a laugh, the boy pulled his pajama top over his head. "Call me Brandon. And believe me, I'm going to make it my business. Big Draco Malfoy and the Ravenclaw... What a scandal that would be!"
"Right," Draco rolled his eyes dismissively.
"Poor Pansy. And Blaise. And Morag." He dragged out Morag's name, his grin growing wider the whole time. "They'll be ever so disappointed to learn their precious Draco Malfoy is already taken."
Whatever else may be true about eleven year-old boys, let it be known that they never like to be teased about girls liking them. Especially girls that they have no interest in whatsoever.
"Shove it, Brandon," was Draco's eloquent response. And with as much ceremony as was possible, he closed the curtains to his four-poster and crawled under the sheets.
~~~
The next morning, Draco crawled out of bed bleary-eyed and cranky. He had just had the worst night's sleep he could ever remember. Being cold and sleeping on a hard mattress would have been enough, but the instant he had found a semi-comfortable position, one of his roommates would wake him up. Draco's first impulse about Crabbe and Goyle had been right. They did snore - very loudly. And Brandon, the only one who didn't snore, talked in his sleep. He had apparently had a dream about food, for he had at one point sat up in bed and said very loudly, "chocolate milkshake!" Draco found himself wishing that the first spell he learned at Hogwarts would be a very strong Muting Charm.
After dressing in his newly marked robes, he attempted to make his way up to the Great Hall for breakfast. On the way, he met up with several older Slytherins, all of whom he learned were on the Quidditch team. Marcus Flint, the sixth year captain, didn't strike Draco as a particularly bright boy, but he certainly knew his Quidditch.
"Snape's a huge Quidditch fan," he grinned, big teeth jutting out from his mouth, "so he overlooks some of my 'less spectacular' grades in lieu of my outstanding Quidditch skills. I've been Quidditch captain since my fourth year, and Slytherin has never lost a game under my leadership!"
Terrance Higgs, another sixth year, was the team Seeker - small and light, he was the complete antithesis of Marcus.
"Yeah," he grinned. "McGonagall's been trying to get him suspended as captain for months. Marcus isn't too good at Transfiguration," he whispered jokingly, provoking a sharp punch from Flint. The group entered the Great Hall and proceeded toward their table. "But Snape always manages to keep him eligible, and good thing, too. The Ravenclaw team is looking really good this year. Their Seeker, Renee Triste, has gotten really good."
"Good looking, I think you mean," laughed Adrian Pucey, a fifth year Chaser. "Terrence's got a thing for older women, especially intelligent older women!"
"Hey!" Terrence attempted to look hurt, but the corners of his mouth kept twitching. "She's only a seventh year. Not that much older, now is she?"
"Speaking of Ravenclaw," Draco spoke up, pointing across the room at the girl he had seen last night, "do any of you know who that girl is over there? She seemed really interested in the Slytherins last night in the Sorting."
"Actually," Terrence smiled, "that would be my sister. Whole family's been in Slytherin, except for her, going back for generations. Bit of a shock, really, but our family's quite brilliant. Bound to happen at some point."
"Oh, here he goes," Adrian groaned and continued in a high-pitched voice. "'I should have been put in Ravenclaw. The girls are so smart in Ravenclaw. Why can't I have an intelligent conversation with Slytherin girls? Renee is so beautiful I think I want to-'"
"All right, enough! You know I love Slytherin - but it would be nice to see some Slytherin girls take pride in their work for a change. They're a dull lot, I'm telling you."
The boys all laughed. Marcus slung an arm around Draco's shoulder and shook his head.
"Not to scare you or anything, Draco," he attempted to put a serious look on his face, "But the female population of Slytherin is looking pretty bleak." Adrian lifted his fist.
"Hear, hear! Better grab yourself a half-decent one before it's too late. Although," his voice suddenly took on a completely different tone, "that Zabini girl isn't half bad, if I do say so myself."
"Yes, too bad she's five years too young," Marcus sighed.
"And since when has that stopped you?" Terrence laughed, setting off the rest of them.
Draco, who had gone strangely silent, was left with the distinct impression that he had some serious maturing to do - and fast.
At breakfast, Draco sat down next to a second year girl named Bronwyn and a third year boy named Alexander. Before long, Crabbe and Goyle joined them at the table, and the five of them studied their course tables while devouring pancakes and strawberries.
"Today's Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws. Then Herbology. Tuesday we have History of Magic with the Hufflepuffs. Astronomy Tuesday night, and we don't even have Potions until Friday!"
"And with the Gryffindors at that," Goyle grunted.
"Be glad you have Potions with the Gryffindors," Bronwyn smiled cruelly. "Snape has it in for them, and he'll be sure to give you a break."
Draco wasn't so sure of this, as Snape hadn't seemed ready to give anyone a break last night. Goyle seemed to agree, as he wrinkled his nose and stabbed at his pancake rather forcefully. Then again, he could simply have been concentrating rather hard on the task of eating.
A whooshing noise from the ceiling indicated that mail had come. Having grown up in the wizarding world, Draco was quite used to owls flying about and dropping off packages. But never had he seen quite so many owls at the same time. The closest had perhaps been for his father's fortieth birthday when before breakfast there had already been 83 owls containing well-wishes and presents. But now, nearly two hundred owls were swooping through the room, dropping off forgotten items and first-day-of-school presents. Draco noticed Alita among them, gliding down towards him on her enormous wings. She had a package clutched in her talons, which Draco immediately relieved her of.
It was a package of sweets from his mum - more than he would be able to eat in two weeks. He grinned, mouth watering at the thought of all the late-night snacks he would be able to have. After feeding Alita a treat and watching her fly off, he opened the letter.
Draco,
How are you enjoying Hogwarts? Are you keeping your grades up?
Draco would have laughed out loud had he not known how serious his parents were being - only the first day of school, and they were already asking about his grades?!
Be careful of who you make friends with. Be sure to never start fights, etc, which might reflect poorly on your upbringing. Fighting is for those who do not hold power to try and take it from those with power. Remember this.
He rolled his eyes. Perhaps his father might not need to fight to maintain his hold over people, but Draco was an eleven-year-old boy. Fighting was a second language to him.
Your mother thought you might like some sweets to keep your spirits up. She wants to make sure that you're eating right and not losing any weight. If you need any help with your classes, Professor Snape has offered to help you. It would be wise of you to listen to his advice. Enjoy your school year.
Father and Mother
Draco put the letter down, not really interested in thinking about school just yet. There were many more important things to think about - such as how many chocolate frogs he would have to eat before he finally found the Rowena Ravenclaw card he still did not have. He had heard that her picture was especially - friendly - to a wizard who could stuff the entire frog into his mouth. However, that could end up being just like the rumour about the Uric the Oddball, who was said to make rude faces at wizards and witches who hung his card upside down. All he had ever done to Draco was stare blankly at him while his face turned red from the blood rushing to it and his hair stood on end.
Just before he left for breakfast, Draco looked across the Great Hall to see Terrence's sister Ashley staring at him. This presented Draco with a very difficult decision to make: head straight for his Transfiguration class, so that in case he got lost he would still be on time; or he could forget about class and go talk with her.
His decision was made in less than a second. All thoughts of class out of his mind, he began to walk over to the Ravenclaw table, sweets in hand. Girls like sweets, right? he thought vaguely.
"Draco Malfoy!"
He turned abruptly, ready to give the speaker a piece of his mind, and was forced to bite his tongue at the last minute.
"Professor Snape," he forced a tiny smile onto his face.
"Mr. Malfoy, I believe you have a Transfiguration class to attend. Professor McGonagall is not a lenient teacher. We do not want to lose any point for Slytherin on the first day, do we?"
Draco shook his head obediently. How was it that Snape could command such an air of authority? He was nothing more than a greasy-haired, middle-aged, lonely, cranky man - but he had the gift of power and influence much like Draco's father did. Had Draco been completely honest with himself, he might have admitted to even feeling a tiny bit of fear towards the Potions Master.
Resisting the urge to scowl, he left the Great Hall and went to find his class. Along the way, he met Crabbe and Goyle, who had gotten themselves lost and were returning to the Great Hall. Draco almost laughed at them, but he thought better of it. A few minutes later he was glad for the mercy he had shown. Hogwarts was a maze of corridors and vanishing rooms, moving staircases and fickle walls. By the time they reached the classroom, they were only just on time.
Professor McGonagall looked at them sternly, as if being just on time to her class were hardly enough for her high standards. She took role, peering at each student and nodding before moving on. Then she addressed the class.
"Today you begin your education in the magical arts," she declared in her no-nonsense voice. "I am pleased that I shall be able to introduce you to the most exact, and perhaps the most difficult, of all disciplines: Transfiguration. Should you pay attention and stick to your studies, perhaps one day you might be able to grasp such concepts as anamorphous transfiguration and, as Greenlee the Great who pioneered the study of Advanced Transfiguration, master the art of self-transfiguration.
"Today we shall begin small. Please note that on each of your desks there is a single match. Your job will be to transfigure this match into a pin. Any ideas on how this might be achieved?"
Several hands went up around the room.
"Yes? Miss Turpin?"
"By speaking an incantation?"
"That is incorrect, although a good thought. Anyone else?"
"Mr Nott?"
"By prodding it with our wands until it becomes tired of being a match?" Brandon snickered at his joke, along with a few of the other students.
McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "That behaviour is unacceptable in this classroom, Mr Nott. Five points from Slytherin."
Brandon scowled at her, obviously not intimidated. She stared back with the most disapproving frown Draco had seen. He held her gaze for a moment before lowering his head to look at his desk.
"Good. Now, if there are no other suggestions, let us begin the discussion of Transfiguration methodology."
~~~
Later that evening, Draco saw Brandon entering the Common Room. His face was pale, and he looked very shaken-up.
"What's the matter?" he asked curiously.
"Snape's just had a talk with me."
"About what?"
"Losing those points this morning," he sighed. "Rotten mess, that turned out to be."
"What did he say to you?"
Brandon shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "Nothing much," he sniffed. "Think I'm going to turn in for the night."
Draco watched him as he mounted the stairs to the dormitory. Brandon may have acted like the talk was insignificant, but for the rest of the week he did not so much as step a toe over the line.
~~~
During that first week, Draco learned many things about Hogwarts and the classes he had to take. He learned that Charms was a difficult class for him, as was Transfiguration. He learned that History of Magic was going to be an enjoyable class because Slytherins took the class with the gullible Hufflepuffs and Professor Binns would never pay any attention to the horrible things Draco could think of doing to them. Draco had already marked out the students who would be the easiest to torment, most especially Susan Bones and Ernie MacMillan.
He also learned that Defence Against the Dark Arts was a waste of his time. Professor Quirrell was a snivelling coward who could no sooner defend himself against the Dark Arts than get through a sentence without stuttering.
And then came Potions. At the end of the week, when Draco's head was finally spinning with all the new information that had been forced upon him, and after his belly was full of the sweets his mum had sent him from home, Draco had his first Potions lesson.
The Potions lessons were taught in the dungeons, and so the classroom was cold and damp just like Draco's room. Draco found it quite twisted that after only a week at Hogwarts he had already become used to the bone-deep cold that was characteristic of the dungeons. In fact, the Potions classroom actually seemed familiar and comfortable to him! The only difference between the Slytherin dormitories and the Potions classroom were the jars filled with, for example, pickled eye of newt and boomslang skin.
All of the students in the class were aware from the start that Snape was not a teacher to cross. He commanded respect and obedience from each of his students. Draco liked that about him.
At the start of class, Snape began by taking the role. Draco could have been mistaken, but he thought that Snape paused at his name before continuing with the role. And then he hit Potter's name.
"Ah, Yes," he nearly whispered, "Harry Potter. Our new-celebrity."
Draco turned to Crabbe and Goyle, and they all laughed behind their hands. It was about time Potter got his due!
After the role was called, Snape began to speak to the class. His voice was low, like before, but the class was silent. No one so much as shifted in his seat.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking. 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."
A small smirk began to tug at Draco's lips. He knew he wasn't a 'dunderhead', as Snape had put it, but even had he been one, Snape had promised his father to help him out. He had no worries about this class.
"Potter!" Snape snapped. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Very slowly, Draco sat up higher in his chair. He knew for a fact that Potter had grown up with Muggles. He would have no idea what Snape was talking about - this would be fun to watch! One of the Gryffindor girls apparently knew the answer, as she raised her hand high in the air. But Potter, who suddenly seemed very small next to his standard size cauldron, looked completely bewildered.
"I don't know, sir," he finally answered.
This must have been exactly the answer Snape was looking for, as his eyes began to gleam with triumph. The rest of his face, however, was curled into a sneer.
"Tut, tut-fame clearly isn't everything." He shifted slightly and faced him again. "Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
The Gryffindor girl's hand again shot into the air, and Draco found that he had to bite on his tongue to keep from laughing out loud. As it was, he was fairly shaking with suppressed laughter. Didn't she see that Snape was only interested in humiliating the famous Harry Potter?
"I don't know, sir."
"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"
Hah! That'll show Potter a thing or two, he thought. Did he think that magic was just going to come naturally to him, since he was the Boy Who Lived? It just went to show that there was nothing all that special about Harry Potter after all.
"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
This time the girl actually stood up, stretching her hand as high as it would go.
"I don't know," said Harry weakly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?"
Several people started laughing, and Draco actually had to bite his tongue to stop himself. Not that he thought Potter was funny, but the girl - Hermione, he had said - was so pathetic! What a horrible know-it-all.
Snape was not very happy with the laughter, and snapped a nasty, "Sit down," at her. He then shot a cold glare at Harry. "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." He paused, regarded the rest of the class, and said impatiently, "Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"
Draco instantly reached for his quills and parchment and began to copy it all down. What was that he said? Asphodel and what? Aconite is another name for monkshood and what? Well. He would just have to pay more attention next time. His mood was further improved by Snape's next jibe at Potter.
"And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter."
Ha! Draco hoped Professor McGonagall was as strict about losing House points as was Snape.
The rest of the lesson was as enjoyable as the beginning. Their task for the day was to prepare a potion to cure boils, one of the most rudimentary potions to brew. In fact, Draco found the entire Potions process to be fascinating. Professor Snape made Potions seem full of adventure and mystery, both things that Draco craved in his effortless life.
Draco's partner was Goyle, but that didn't bother Draco at all. He simply made the entire potion himself. Trust Goyle to do it, and he might end up with a potion that grew boils instead of removing them. But to Draco, nothing seemed as natural as crushing the snake fangs and stewing the horned slugs. This was the type of magic he liked!
Apparently Snape thought he was good, too, because he kept praising the way he was making his potion.
"Excellent, Mr. Malfoy," he nodded. "See the perfect way he is stewing his horned slugs?"
Just as he said this, the dungeon filled with bright green smoke and a loud hissing sound assaulted Draco's ears. The toad boy, who was sitting just behind Draco, had somehow melted his cauldron into steamy, gooey bits. The potion had spilled out over the desk and onto the floor, inching ever-closer to Draco's feet. Goyle yelped, jumping up on his stool.
"My feet!" he cried. But no one heard him except for Draco. Not a second too soon, Draco climbed up onto his own stool, which had begun to hiss as the potion ate away at the wood. Once he was out of immediate personal danger, he was able to take in the rest of the situation.
Students everywhere were taking refuge on their stools. Several unlucky students, like Goyle, were peering horrorstruck at where the potion had burned a hole in their shoes. Some were even nursing boils on their feet. The toad-boy had been unfortunate enough (or perhaps, Draco mused, it might have been more accurate to say 'stupid enough') to be in the direct path of the exploding potion, and was therefore covered in horrible boils from head to foot. He was moaning in a dreadful sort of way that made Draco's mouth twitch up in a half-smile. Idiot.
"Idiot boy!" Snape spat, as though reading his mind. Draco nearly fell off his stool in surprise. Then, with an amused smirk, he decided that it might not be a bad thing to think on the same wavelength as the temperamental Potions Master.
Snape flicked his wand and the mess vanished. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?" More boils popped up over the boy's face, and he looked ready to cry. "Take him to the hospital wing," he snapped at the boy who had been unfortunate enough to be the toad-boy's partner. Then, seeming to build up even more fury, he faced Potter, who had been working on the other side of the disaster.
"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."
Potter looked affronted, Draco noticed gleefully, and had opened his mouth to reply. But for some inexplicable reason, he merely shut his mouth and brooded for the rest of the period. Draco felt a smile slowly forming as he turned back to face the front.
Oh, yes. He was going to like Potions.
~~~
To be continued...