CHAPTER SEVEN

THE POTIONS MASTER


There look."

"Where?"

"Our kid who not too far from the tall kid with the red hair."

"Wearing the glasses?"

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

Whispers followed Harry from the moment he left his dormitory the next day. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at him, or doubled back to pass him in the corridors again, staring. Harry wished they wouldn't, because he was trying to concentrate on finding his way to classes.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Harry was sure the coats of armor could walk.

The ghosts didn't help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Nearly Headless Nick was always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right direction, same with the Bloody Barens for new Slytherins, but Peeves the Poltergeist was worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose, and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!"

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Harry and Ron managed to get on the wrong side of him on their very first morning. Filch found them trying to force their way through a door that unluckily turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. He wouldn't believe they were lost, was sure they were trying to break into it on purpose, and was threatening to lock them in the dungeons when they were rescued by Professor Quirrell, who was passing.

Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-colored creature with bulging, lamplike eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone (except perhaps the Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs. Norris a good kick.

And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the classes themselves. There was a lot more to magic, as Harry quickly found out, than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for.

Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates, and got Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first class he took the roll call, and when he reached Harry's name he gave an excited squeak and gave him a friendly warm nod to his pupil, who nodded back.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Most students had been quite right to think she wasn't a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only Hermione Granger and Harry had made any difference to their matches; Professor McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy and gave the two students yet another rare smile.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed this story. For one thing, when Seamus Finnigan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

Harry was very surprised to find out that other students wasn't miles behind everyone else. Lots of people had come from Muggle families and some, like him, hadn't had any idea that they were witches and wizards. There was so much to learn that even people like Ron didn't have much of a head start.

Friday was an important day for Harry and Ron. They finally managed to find their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once.

"What have we got today?" Ron asked Harry as the latter poured sugar on his porridge.

"Double Potions," said Harry.

"With your Head of House?" gasped Ron in shock, Harry nodded. "They say he always favors Slytherin — we'll be able to see if it's true."

"We'll see," agreed Harry. Professor McGonagall was head of Gryffindor House, but it hadn't stopped her from giving class a huge pile of homework the day before.

Just then, the mail arrived, Harry had gotten used to this by now, but it had given him a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps.

Hedwig had brought him his replies from the family, in each of them, they all wished Harry good luck and congratulated him on his first week so far, Harry immediately sent his replies back. Sometimes Hedwig flew in to nibble his ear and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the owlery with the other school owls. This morning, however, she fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto Harry's plate. Harry tore it open at once. It said, in a very untidy scrawl:


Dear Harry,

I know you get Friday afternoons off so would you like
to come and have a cup of tea with me around three?

I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an
answer back with Hedwig.

Hagrid


Harry borrowed Ron's quill, scribbled Sounds great, Hagrid, I'll see you later today on the back of the note, and sent Hedwig off again.

It was lucky that Harry had tea with Hagrid to look forward to, because the Potions lesson turned out to be the craziest thing that had happened to him so far.

At the start-of-term banquet, Harry had gotten the idea that Snape probably disliked him. By the end of the first Potions lesson, he knew he'd been wrong. Snape didn't dislike him — if anything, he was curious about the Boy Who Lived, while still being suspicious.

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons, not too far from the Slytherin Common Room. It was colder here than up in the main castle and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Harry's name.

"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new — celebrity."

Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they demanded respect to his sense of authority when compared Hagrid's warmth. But to Harry's surprise, most students saw that the eyes were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels, but he didn't think of it like that.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word — like Professor McGonagall, 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. Some of students 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?"

Powdered root of what to an infusion of wormwood, thought Harry, as he racked his brain for the answer, something occurred to him. Wait, why would Snape regret my mother's death? Does he not know she's still alive?

Hermione's hand had shot into the air.

"I don't know, sir," said Harry.

Snape's lips showed a sign of disappointment.

"Tut, tut — fame clearly isn't everything."

He ignored Hermione's hand.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat, Harry knew the answer, but he didn't answer. Beside him, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were shaking with laughter.

"I don't know, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"

Harry kept looking straight into his Professor's eyes, he had looked through his books at home, but there was only so much he could remember from reading One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi. But all just the same, he didn't want his so-called fame to get the better of him.

Snape was still ignoring Hermione's quivering hand.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.

And just how does he know my Uncle Remus's secret, Harry asked himself.

"I don't know," he said aloud.

"Are you positive you don't know any of these answers?" Snape asked, as he raised an eyebrow. "Cause if you don't…"

But what it was that was so clear, Harry didn't give Snape a chance to finish his sentence as he said, "I think Hermione knows the answer, why don't you try her?"

A few people laughed; Harry caught Seamus's eye, and Seamus winked. Snape, however, was not pleased.

"Sit down," he snapped at Hermione, she did so. He then spoke in a grave voice, "You are here in my class to learn potionmaking, are you not, Potter?"

Harry nodded, "Yes, sir."

Snape continued, "Then you no doubt know all about rhetorical questions." Harry nodded, he did indeed, "Then that last question, about you learning you will no doubt will have gathered was in fact rhetorical."

"Was it, sir?" Harry asked mockingly, rolling his eyes.

There was more laughter from all sides as Snape bellowed, "Silence!" The laughter stopped. He turned back to Harry and gave the answers, "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. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Slytherin House for your cheek, Potter."

Things somewhat improved 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 be intrigued by as well. He was just telling everyone to look at the 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 Seamus'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 Seamus. Then he rounded on Harry and Ron, 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? That's another point you've lost for our House."

This was beginning to become a bother that Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Ron kicked him behind their cauldron.

"Don't push it," he muttered, "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."

With defeat, Harry gave in, "I understand, sir."

"Are you positive?" Snape asked, raising an eyebrow.

Harry nodded to show he was being honest, "I am."

"Then see to it that in our next class, Potter, that you are ready to make do to be with your lessons and being up to speed on your material. Otherwise, don't you dare set foot in my class ever again. For if you don't show any improvement, I shall have you dropped immediately from my class. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal, sir." Harry replied.

"Good." Snape nodded, "see to it that you do, you've caused a lot of damage for today."

As he and Ron climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Harry's mind was racing, he had lost two points for Slytherin in his very first week.

"Cheer up," said Ron, "Snape's always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come and meet Hagrid with you?"

"Sure," Harry replied, nodding his head. "I'm sure Hagrid would love to meet you."

At five to three they left the castle and made their way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.

When Harry knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "Back, Fang — back."

Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.

"Hang on," he said. "Back, Fang."

He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

"Make yerselves righ' at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Ron and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.

"This is Ron," Harry told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

"Another Weasley, eh?" said Hagrid, glancing at Ron's freckles. "I spent half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest."

"Pleased to meet you, Hagrid," said Ron.

"Likewise," Hagrid replied, nodding his head.

The rock cakes were (with Harry's help on how to cook them better) delicious fruitcake lumps with raisins and some cinnamon that tasted good, so Harry and Ron enjoyed them immensely, as they told Hagrid all about their first lessons. Fang rested his head on Harry's knee and drooled all over his robes. *

Harry and Ron were delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch "that old git''

"An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her — Filch puts her up to it."

Harry told Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid, like Ron, told Harry not to worry about it, that Snape hardly liked most of the students, but he would grow on Harry in time.

"How's yer brother Charlie?" Hagrid asked Ron. "I liked him a lot — great with animals."

Harry was also curious about how one of the eldest siblings was doing, so Ron told them both all about Charlie's work with dragons, he mentioned that just last week Charlie and his colleagues found Portuguese Long-Snout, which was known for its light green scales and black eyes. He even told them about his reason for sniggering at Draco's name, his first name as it turned out was, as Harry suspected, Latin for dragon, to which both Harry and Hagrid found it amusing.

Harry then noticed a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. It was a cutting from the Daily Prophet.

"Can I see that, Hagrid?" he asked.

"Not at all, Harry." Hagrid nodded, as he handed Harry the article.


GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

Investigations continue into the break-in at
Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the
work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.

Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing
had been taken. The vault that was searched had in
fact been emptied the same day.

"But we're not telling you what was in there, so
keep your noses out if you know what's good
for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.


Harry remembered Ron telling him on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but Ron hadn't mentioned the date.

"Why so int'rested, Harry?" Hagrid asked.

Lowering the article and putting it back on Hagrid's table, Harry answered, "Oh, it's just that mom told me you'd be mad to try and rob Gringotts. That's all."

"An' she's righ', yeh know." Hagrid confirmed, shaking his head. "Poor goblins, I hope they do catch the fiend who attempted the robbery in question."

"Ditto," nodded Ron.

"Me too," agreed Harry. "May God have mercy on their soul for causing such a ruckus."

"Hear, hear." Hagrid beamed. "Well said, Harry."

Later that day, Hagrid told Harry and Ron all about his favorite classes that he'd taken, and to Harry and Ron's surprise, they learned he'd been expelled in his third year, but he didn't say why. All he did say was that when that happened, his wand was snapped in half.

"I can't seem ter think of anythin' good that ever came out of it." Hagrid said sadly, wrapping up his story.

"Well," Harry said, smiling, "you did get to stay here at Hogwarts as your new home and Professor Dumbledore gave you a job as Gamekeeper and Keeper of the Keys. Don't forget that, Hagrid."

"Yeah," Ron added. "If that didn't happen, you'll never have meet me and so many other great people since then."

"Yer right." Hagrid said with a nod, his smile returning. "If it weren't fer Dumbledore, I wouldn't have found me second home or this job. Great man, Dumbledore." He took a gulp of his tea. "I just lose meself sometimes. Thanks for makin' me feel better."

"And thank you, Hagrid." Harry replied.

"Fer what?" Hagrid asked.

"For being a great friend, magical uncle and everyone else being like a big family for me." said Harry. "For everything."

"Oh, that." Hagrid chuckled, as he gave Harry and Ron a nice warm big bear hug. "Yer most welcome, Harry. It's been me pleasure."

He then escorted Harry, Ron and himself inside to the castle for dinner. Before leaving, they had asked Hagrid to give them some of the rock cakes to go, Hagrid was of course, happy to oblige and put them in boxes.

All in all, Harry thought that all of the lessons he'd had so far had given him as much fun and he was looking forward to more excitement as his classes went by. More importantly, tea with Hagrid had been a rather fun-filled experience and he was like another magical uncle he could call his own, just like Lupin already was.

That night, as he laid in his bed well after a good dinner and doing his homework, a few questions were on Harry's mind… Where was that package stolen from Gringotts now? Let alone, what is inside it and what was so important about its contents inside? Which classes would he be taking next week and would they be just as fun? And most importantly, could he do better in Potions class to satisfy Snape and not make him angry next time?

The answers to the first question Harry never gave himself an answer as each guess was unlikely as the next one, for the second question, he wanted the element of surprise to be shown his answer when arrived at his classes, and for the last question he spoke to himself.

Yes, he firmly told himself, Yes, I will work hard, so hard in my next Potions class to make Snape satisfied with my results. Heck, he'll be so pleased that it will make Draco jealous. And with that, Harry went to sleep, with a satisfied grin on his face while saying to himself, Harry James Potter, you are a genius.


Author's notes:

* So that was my seventh chapter of the Sorcerer's Stone, and as always with every one of my stories, let me know what you all think so far by leaving your feedback in the comments area.
* The Harry Potter franchise, its characters, elements and everything else are owned and were created by J. K. Rowling.
* I won't deny it, Hagrid's rock cakes were inedible in the original canon, so I think it's safe to say, Hagrid may have needed to make them taste better.
* If Draco's first namesake (it means dragon) isn't good enough reason as to why Ron snickered at Draco's name, I don't know what is.


That said, until the next chapter my fellow Wizards, Witches and Muggles:
I'm M. R. Parkerson signing off…