-Chapter Seven-

The Potions Master


Following the portrait's instructions to the letter, Harry came to a set of tall double doors with windows high above eye level. The musty smell of the castle's endless corridors was suddenly absent this close to the door, indicating that he was at the right place. He knocked quietly. As much as he'd resolved to come here, now that he had actually arrived it was very different. It no longer felt like such a good idea. His knock was probably too quiet to have been heard anyway, so maybe he should just go.

Abruptly, the door was pulled open, revealing a greying witch in what looked like a mix between an old-fashioned nurse's uniform and wizarding robes. It was an odd mix, but then everything magical seemed to be a bit odd so far. The witch smiled kindly down at Harry.

"How can I help you, young man?" she asked.

"I don't want to be a bother," Harry began.

She waved his words off immediately. "Nonsense. Whatever brought you here must have been bad enough to work out the way for yourself." Harry wondered how this witch had known that he'd found his own way here and it must have shown on his face. "First years don't get shown around properly until the first weekend of term," she explained. "Unfortunately, this year, you've got a whole week of lessons before then. Daft idea, if you ask me. Anyway, you've got me distracted. What's causing you problems?" Harry liked the way she talked and how she phrased things. It was very calming and he began to dismiss the idea that he shouldn't have come.

"Um, it's my head. I mean, I think it's my scar. It was hurting a lot when I was in Defence Against the Dark Arts."

The medical witch's eyes flickered up to Harry's forehead for a second before looking into his eyes again. "How much did it hurt?" she asked. "Give it a number from one to ten, with one being a little prickle to ten being so painful you might pass out."

Harry thought for a moment before holding eight fingers up. "Eight," he confirmed quietly.

"Come along to one of my nice, quiet beds and we'll see what we can do," the witch said kindly. Harry shuffled over to the bed in the corner furthest from the door and hopped up with a little grunt. "As it's the beginning of the year and I have some more time, how about I do a full check-up, just to make sure you won't have any problems later on?" Harry must have looked worried as she explained, "It's all done with my wand and you won't feel a thing. I just need you to lie back on the bed. You can close your eyes, if you like."

Harry nodded and closed his eyes. The bed was more comfortable than he'd expected. His stomach rumbled, but he ignored it in favour of the temptation of sleep. He'd had a long day full of new experiences.

Slowly, Harry became aware that he'd properly fallen asleep. His eyes snapped open, full of worry and ready to become embarrassed at a moment's notice. Seeing that the medical witch wasn't standing over him, performing her check-up, he looked around, his head moving very little from its comfortable position on the pillow.

On the table beside his bed, he spotted a plate of food. Judging by the steam rising from the plate in lazy spirals, it was still warm. Oh, and it smelled good. Harry pushed himself up into a sitting position, his mouth already moist with saliva in anticipation.

The kind medical witch came back into the room at almost the exact moment he had finished wolfing down the food left for him. He'd never had food that tasted so good. It was better than a few crusts of bread any day of the week. He wanted more, but his stomach was achingly full.

"You'll get cramps if you eat too quickly," she said with a small smile. "You'll also need to take it more slowly if you're going to work your way up to having big meals." Harry blushed at the implication.

"Sorry I fell asleep," Harry said in an effort to change the subject.

"Don't you worry about that. I've had more than my fair share of people falling asleep in one of my beds after they've had a long, tiring day. How's your head feeling?"

Harry wrinkled his brow before answering. "It all feels fine, ma'am. Is it fixed?"

"You can call me Madam Pomfrey," the medical witch corrected. "As for your head, we'll have to see. Was your head hurting when you came in or was it just in the lesson?"

"Just in the lesson, ma'am."

Madam Pomfrey frowned, not picking up on Harry still not using her name. "I don't think it was because you were tired, then," she said with a sigh. "I have a few things from my check-up that I still need to go through but, for now, I'll give you some potions in case you feel that bad again. I also want to see you at the end of the week for another check-up, just to see if we can work out what's going on. Is that ok with you?"

Harry nodded quietly at Madam Pomfrey, glad to have somebody looking out for him. She didn't seem too worried, so he wasn't too bothered himself. In any case, she had now given him a tiny rack of potions that he could use if he had another headache. That was probably the best outcome he could have hoped for.

"Oof!" Something had barrelled into Harry, knocking the wind out of him. As soon as he had walked into the Slytherin common room, he'd been attacked. Drawing on his experiences with Dudley, he quickly ducked down in an attempt to get out of the grasp of whoever was holding him, wildly swinging his arms around to make his captor let him go, at least for long enough to let him make a run for it.

"Ow!" Harry's flailing fists had hit their mark. However, the voice sounded familiar. As he jumped away from his assailant, he spun around to get a good look at who had ambushed him. Realising that they weren't pursuing him, he caught his breath and his vision began to come back into focus from the centre outwards; he hadn't even noticed that everything had blurred apart from the very centre of his view. Slowly, he saw who it was. Standing by the entrance to the common room, Harry saw Tracey, cheeks flushed and clutching her arm.

"Oh hell," Harry exclaimed, horror evident in his expression. "I'm so sorry, Tracey. I- I thought..." He trailed off, painfully aware of the number of people now silently watching them from the seats arranged around the large room. Tracey furrowed her brow, blinked, then swallowed before straightening slightly.

"Hey, come with me," she said, grabbing Harry's hand and dragging him towards their dormitory before waiting for him to respond. The faces of the onlookers flashed past as he was pulled to the doorway, feet barely making it across the floor in a logical order. The two hurried through the passageway between the Allies dormitories, into their own and through another small door, ending up in a room with a single bed, a desk and a severe-looking wardrobe. Tracey pushed Harry into the desk chair and sat on the bed facing him.

"Where are we?" he asked, puzzled at entering another door after entering their shared dormitory.

"Well, that's all thanks to you, Harry," Tracey said. "This is my bedroom. This morning I was sharing the big room with you boys and when I came back after dinner my bed and my trunk were gone, and there was this door instead. I found this note on the bed inside." She picked up a piece of parchment that lay beside her and waved it under Harry's nose. Slowly, he took it from her and began to read the words written beneath the ornate seal of Slytherin.

A true Slytherin need not start with wealth or power, nor knowledge above those he would seek to surpass. Instead, a true Slytherin uses their cunning to achieve their goals.

A true Slytherin need not isolate their efforts for fear of ridicule or betrayal, Instead, a true Slytherin uses their contacts and connections, supplementing their abilities with those who specialise differently.

A true Slytherin need not prescribe recompense for their gifts, nor need he draw attention to any favour owed. Instead, a true Slytherin is always seen as selfless and generous, yet will find more oft repayment in kind.

A true Slytherin should not hinder their house by depriving others of the journey to understanding. Instead, a true Slytherin allows others of the house to develop their cunning unaided. For indeed, just as those who gain understanding are richer in knowledge than those who remember facts, those who can forge the key unlock more than those simply given it.

"Hang on," Harry said slowly. "I still don't get what's going on."

"Did you ask someone to help give me some privacy?" Tracey asked.

"Well, yeah, I asked Professor Snape. From what he said to me, I didn't think he'd do anything." Harry grimaced at the thought of Professor Snape and his reaction to the request.

"See, I knew it was you. None of the others knew anything about it. Professor Snape must have made this bedroom for me. Thank you for getting him to do this." Tracey stood in front of Harry. "Can I give you a hug without you going crazy this time?" she asked.

"Sure," Harry replied, standing up to meet her. Tracey stepped up to him and wrapped her arms around his torso. Harry stiffened slightly at the embrace, then gingerly put his arms on her back. After a few seconds, he lowered his arms and Tracey followed suit, stepping back from him. "So what do you think Snape meant in the note?" he asked.

"I'm not sure I get all of it, but I think he was saying that asking for help is sometimes a cunning thing to do and maybe he was also saying that we should keep trying to be cunning. You know, because it's a Slytherin thing."

"I guess," Harry said. "I think being cunning is all about doing what you have to to get what you want, and if you can't do it yourself, I guess part of that is knowing who can and who will." He paused for a second. "Talking about who can do something, have you started the Charms homework?" Tracey shook her head. "Wanna work on it together?"

#

It was late when Harry woke the next morning. After falling asleep in the hospital wing, it was difficult for him to fall asleep, especially with the duet of snores from Crabbe and Goyle's direction, amongst the chorus of regular breathing. He checked the time after putting his glasses on and was relieved to find that there was still a large chunk of breakfast time left before their first class began. According to the timetable, it was Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall. Harry smiled and began to rummage through his trunk for suitable clothes.

Instead of going to the great hall, Harry was the first to line up outside the Transfiguration classroom. He slipped his bag off his shoulder, slid down the wall beside the door and opened up his Transfiguration textbook. Although he'd already read further ahead, he decided to go back over the basics that they would no doubt be covering in this lesson. As he looked at the first page, he was reminded of how much emphasis was put on safety in this particular subject.

The sound of footsteps grew ever louder as Harry came to the end of the chapter. Breakfast had finished and hundreds of shoes were beating out the centuries-old journeys from the great hall to the many classrooms in the castle. Theodore Nott was the next to arrive at the Transfiguration classroom, though he leant nonchalantly against a wall further down the corridor, rather than line up formally beside the door. He was quickly followed, however, by Tracey and Daphne. Tracey gestured to Daphne and hurried ahead of her towards Harry.

"Here," she said, holding a couple of slices of toast towards him. "I thought you might not come down to breakfast, so I brought breakfast to you." Harry's eyes widened ever so slightly before he gratefully took the proffered food.

"Thanks, Tracey. Umm... Sorry about last night." Harry's eyes dropped to the floor.

"Hey, that's alright," Tracey replied, putting her arm on his shoulder. Harry shied away from her touch. "I think I understand." He looked up slowly to see her smiling at him. It seemed like an open, honest and genuine smile and he couldn't see any hint of judgement or anger or disgust in her expression. He gave her a small smile in return before they were brought back to the castle by the sound of the classroom door opening. Murmuring swept through the corridor. "How did she get into the classroom?" Tracey hissed. "She was still in the great hall when we left."

The class filtered into the classroom and took their seats. Tracey parted from Harry to sit next to Daphne - the two girls were almost inseparable, though it seemed to Harry that most of the effort in the relationship was on the part of Tracey, Daphne retaining her cool, uncaring exterior even with her constant companion. She looked around the classroom as she sat but, seemingly disappointed, faced the front without a word. Harry assumed, as he took his own seat in the back corner, that she had been looking for a second entrance into the room.

Harry quietly bit off a corner of his first slice of toast, not wanting to disturb the class. Of course, Professor McGonagall took that exact moment to meet his eyes. While Harry blushed, the professor waved her wand in his general direction. The toast, both in his mouth and in his hand, warmed and felt as though it were fresh from the toaster. He smiled at the professor, who replied with a subtle wink.

#

"Mr Potter, a word if you please." Harry had been packing his parchment and quills back into his bag when Professor McGonagall had approached his desk and quietly made her request. He made an effort to take a long time to pack his bag, finishing just as the last person left for Defence Against the Dark Arts.

"Yes, Professor McGonagall?" Harry asked hesitantly as he approached her desk.

"Nothing to worry about, Mr Potter," Professor McGonagall said with a smile and a softening of the eyes. "I just wanted to ask whether you had your potions on you."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied. Then he had a worrying thought. "Did Madam Pomfrey...?"

Professor McGonagall held up a hand to quiet the boy. "Calm down. Madam Pomfrey has only discussed your health with myself and Professor Snape - Professor Snape because he is your Head of House and is therefore responsible for your wellbeing, myself because I was the first person to see you for over ten years and she had some questions for me. The rest of the staff have only been told that they are to let you take your potions as and when necessary, not even what they are for."

Harry visibly sagged in relief and let out a breath he hadn't even realised he was holding. "Thank you, Professor," he said.

"Not a problem, Mr Potter," Professor McGonagall said with a warm smile. "By the way, I'd recommend the food in the great hall. I'm not sure every professor here would be happy with you eating in their classroom, especially if they are... less understanding. Now, you'd better go to your next lesson if you don't want Professor Snape to have words with you."

#

The first year Slytherins didn't have a lesson with Professor Snape until Friday morning. They had also avoided the first year Gryffindors until then. Sharing a class with the Gryffindors worried Harry, and this was a feeling shared by most of his classmates. The older Slytherins had all told them harrowing tales of the terrible deeds perpetrated on Slytherins by Gryffindors. This had been backed up by the other first years relaying the experiences passed down by their parents. Clearly Gryffindor students had held a grudge against Slytherin students for generations, perhaps passed down within Gryffindor families.

Harry wasn't so foolish as to take the stories at face value, despite the overwhelming number of different tales from different sources. However, even though he had, at first, thought he'd imagined it, the Gryffindors, even the older ones, seemed to dislike them. In the great hall, they received everything from suspicious looks, through scowls, all the way to rude gestures. The latter were rare, but that was likely due to the constant presence of teachers overseeing each meal.

Outside the Potions classroom, the enmity between the houses of lion and snake was clear. Each lined up on opposite sides of the corridor and, even though they had all been in Hogwarts for less than a week, both groups were sending dark looks at each other. Harry shifted from one foot to the other under the accusing gaze of the Gryffindors.

He jumped as the Potions professor appeared and the door banged open. They were bidden to find their seats and so filed into the classroom, pairing up at the desks beside the cauldron stations. Harry was one of the last in, hoping to, as usual, get a desk to himself at the back.

Everyone else had paired up and he had no choice in where to sit. He was somewhat disappointed that Blaise had paired up with Pansy Parkinson, although he understood the boy's choice. When she wasn't pulling a face in defence at the Gryffindors, she was actually rather pretty. Harry, on the other hand, was doomed to be seated with Millicent Bulstrode, who was decidedly not pretty. Besides this, she always seemed to be angry at something. That or, if you caught her unawares, a little sad.

"There will be no foolish wand waving or silly incantations in this class," Professor Snape began as the class quickly became silent. Harry smiled at this with amusement. Classing wandwork as foolish or silly was a very Muggle point of view. Perhaps the head of Slytherin was a Muggle-born. This would be, from what he had been told of the usual composition of the house, rather unusual.

Harry was jolted out of his reverie by Professor Snape firing a question at him. "Tell me, Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" He racked his brains for the answer, mentally searching for any reference made to either substance in the pages of the textbook he had read so far. Brow furrowed, he struggled to concentrate with one Gryffindor girl waving her hand in the air in front of him and making grunting noises like a toddler attempting to reach a high-up treat.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said in a quavering voice, "I'm afraid I haven't read up to that chapter yet."

"Oh really?" Professor Snape replied with an arched eyebrow. "Pray tell, which chapters have you read?"

Harry flushed, though his was at least a question he was capable of answering. "Up to chapter six, sir," he replied honestly, knowing that he had not quite finished reading the sixth chapter, which involved the distilling of potions into more concentrated forms and the creation of pastes.

Professor Snape blinked, then proceeded to grill Harry further. "Then what are the dangers involved in creating a paste, poultice or even a solid substance?" Harry immediately realised how cheeky the professor was being, considering his earlier answer. As luck would have it, however, the answer was only about ten pages into chapter six. Of course, the Gryffindor girl once again tried her very hardest to attract Professor Snape's attention.

"I'm sure I don't know all the dangers yet, sir, but I think one of them is if your ingredients haven't fully dissolved yet. It's not homologous or something, so different parts of the mixture will have different effects."

"You're certainly correct that you don't know all the dangers yet, Potter. Let's see if the noble house of Gryffindor has read up to chapter six." The potions master looked down at the register on his desk. "Weasley." A boy with bright ginger hair his seat on the Gryffindor side of the room. "What are the disadvantages of creating a solid substance, rather than a standard potion or solution?" The boy glanced quickly at Harry before answering, yet even with such a brief look, the anger was obvious.

"Because it's horologists?" the boy suggested.

"Without copying Potter's answer, however abysmally," Professor Snape said with a sneer. The bushy-haired Gryffindor girl was once more straining to get her hand as high as humanly possible, but the ginger boy had fallen silent. "Pathetic. For your information, asphodel and wormwood form the basis of a sleeping potion so powerful that it is known as the Draught of Living Death. One of the many dangers of creating a paste or poultice is, as well as inconsistent effects due to an inconsistent structure - the word here is homogeneous, not homologous - there are also issues of dosage, where only a fraction of the poultice is in contact with the surface it is applied to, rather than the entirety of a potion when drunk. Finally, looking at further disadvantages, I would also have accepted the pitifully banal answer that a solid substance can pose a choking hazard."

Professor Snape looked around at the class, not even taking a deep breath after his lecture. "Well?" he continued. "Why aren't you all writing that down?" The dungeon classroom was suddenly filled with rustling as nearly two dozen eleven-year-olds extricated their quills, ink pots and parchment from their bags. This soon gave way to the intermittent scratching of those quills as the students fumbled blindly within their short-term memory in a rush to write down the professor's information.

As he diligently recorded his first Potions notes in his mostly-legible scrawl, Harry could feel the Potions professor watching him from across the room. The man made a good show of moving between the students to check on their current task, but he could somehow feel eyes boring into him. Nevertheless, Harry refused to look up, away from his work.

The remainder of the lesson passed somewhat uneventfully. The class learned the basics of how to properly prepare a number of standard ingredients, although Professor Snape enjoyed lingering on the consequences of failing to do so. Besides the obvious dangers, which were varied and abundant, the more attentive of the students learned that the professor considered it a cardinal sin to waste even so much as a beetle eye or a daisy root. At the end of the lesson, he made it clear to Harry that he suspected the rack of potions given by Madam Pomfrey were a waste of ingredients.

"Potter, stay behind," Professor Snape called out while everyone was cleaning their equipment at the end of the lesson. Harry was carefully scooping the horned slug horn dust that he had prepared as part of the lesson into an empty vial, which he then labelled and dated. Meanwhile, the majority of the rest of the class were throwing their used ingredients away as they were no longer needed. Professor Snape, however, had returned to his desk at the front of the classroom and was doing his best to ignore the students as he made notes on a pile of parchment.

There was almost a mad dash for the door when Professor Snape, without looking up from his marking, dismissed the class with a careless wave. Blaise patted Harry on the back as he passed behind where Harry remained seated. Harry smiled at the boy and got a wink in return. His smile didn't last long, however. As the Gryffindor half of the class bundled past on their way to the great hall for lunch, he overheard someone mutter, "Bloody Slytherins, always causing trouble." He sighed, and hung his head.

"Potter." Harry looked up and saw Professor Snape now looming above him. With nobody else in the room, the man certainly cut an imposing figure. "Where are you going after you leave here?" Whatever he had been expecting to be asked, it wasn't that.

"To the great hall, sir," he replied.

"And after that?" Professor Snape said slowly, enunciating every word carefully. Harry paused and thought for a moment.

"I think I might go for a little walk outside and then go to the library, sir." Going for a walk would be the perfect way to take advantage of their free afternoon before taking up his usual spot in the library. Professor Snape, however, seemed to disagree.

"Is it part of your great plan, Potter, to waste not only my time, but also the time and resources of Madam Pomfrey?" the professor asked.

"I'm sorry, sir?"

"I believe you gave your word to Madam Pomfrey on Monday," Professor Snape explained, and it dawned on Harry.

"I suppose it would be best to go to the hospital wing straight after lunch, rather than in the evening," Harry reasoned.

"Indeed," Professor Snape said simply. "Ensure that you do attend the great hall to take your meals today. I will be watching." With that, he swept out of the classroom, cloak billowing behind him.