(I just have a few things to say before I continue with the story, which you probably already know about. Please keep in mind that this is my first novel, and not just that, it's also the first writing of my first novel. I made mistakes, and some of the wording sounds a little awkward. But rest assured that I plan on making several revisions to this story. Just wait till I finish the first draft. And now we continue with…)
Chapter 7: Class Start Now!
Shal was pulled out of dreamland and back into reality by a strange jostling and poking sensation in his arm. He opened his eyes, and saw Ron looking at him. He looked impatient and worried at the same time.
"Shal, come on!" Ron said. "Get up! It's time for classes to start!"
The dragon stood up with a start. I slept through breakfast, he thought. This was the first time he had ever slept in a human bed. It was ridiculously comfortable compared to the cave floor he had slept on at home, and, as a result, he must have slept too deeply to feel the hunger pains that were just now punching him in the gut. He dove out of bed and collected his books (which were still inside the Bag of Holding his mother had given him). He followed Ron out of the dormitory and down into the common room, where Harry stood, waiting.
"Come on, Ron! We're going to be late for class!"
The trio raced to their first class. As they ran through the halls, they noticed the staring eyes. Always staring, never blinking, especially at Shal. Harry got his fair share of whispers and "Oh, look! Did you see his scar?" But Shal only got stares and gasps, as if he were feared and infamous, like Billy the Kid entering a quiet little saloon on a hot summer day. This made Shal feel isolated, and a creeping loneliness snuck into the back of his mind. But there were more important things to do. Finally, after many wrong turns and trick stairs and secret passageways and whatever else they had put into the school to impede their progress, they made it to class…late. Professor McGonagall was standing in front of her desk, already cross with them.
"It appears," she said, "that some of you need to learn to better manage your time. Would it help if I transfigured Mr. Weasley into a pocket watch?"
"It was all Shal's fault for sleeping in!" Ron protested. Shal stared at Ron, angrily.
"Then perhaps you would make a better alarm clock?" Professor McGonagall suggested. She directed the trio to their seats. Shal was very upset. It was his first day, and already he had slept through breakfast AND got on bad terms with the teacher of the class he was most looking forward to.
"As I was saying," the Professor said, "Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts. Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."
She then pointed her wand at her desk, spoke a few oddly imprecise-sounding words, and polymorphed her desk into a pig and back. Shal was very impressed. He knew he was going to like this class. But this excitement lessened when she made them take notes, and lots of them. Shal was not used to this much writing, and his hand was starting to cramp up. Professor McGonagall then presented each student with a match and instructed them to turn it into a needle. Despite what he saw the Professor do, Transmutation magic was surprisingly difficult for the students. But that was not the case for Shal. He didn't know yet, but his wand's unique qualities, combined with the fact that he was a dragon (all dragons have an affinity for magic), made it possible for him to cast spells with more potency than any of the humans in the room, with the possible exception of the teacher. He read over his notes a couple times, practiced in the air a bit, and pointed his wand at the match. He recited the words, making sure to avoid any mispronunciation. His wand glowed black faintly for a second. Almost immediately, with a small pop, the match became a needle.
Hermione saw this and immediately became jealous. Her match was still a match, but it had become silver and pointed on one end. Professor McGonagall looked at Shal's needle and smiled. She held it up for the class to see. Shal grinned broadly. He liked this class.
After Shal's success with his first Transfiguration (that word still got to him) class, things weren't so bad. He found it easier to get to each of his classes, though it was still a chore, with all the staircases that acted up or disappeared when you stepped on a certain spot, and the school's poltergeist, Peeves, who always picked the worst moment to rear his impish little head and throw something at you. And then there was Filch. What a rotten name for a person, Shal thought. Argus Filch was the school caretaker. He watched for students doing things they weren't supposed to, and he was always grouchy and strict. Not pretty to look at, either, Shal thought. He had this cat, which he called Mrs. Norris, that was just as strict and grouchy and ugly as he was. She was always seen following students around and spying on people.
But still, things were good for the young dragon. His other classes were somewhere between entertaining and bearable. Herbology was interesting, as the various magical plants and fungi that Professor Sprout showed them always kept him guessing as to what they did (Shal didn't know much about vegetables). Charms was a bit confusing. Where Shal came from, a charm was a type of spell that one used to control a subject's mind and make him become one's friend. Here, a charm was any sort of dumb little spell that could do anything from turn a book green to make a couch disappear. The teacher, Professor Flitwick, was entertaining to watch, as he was about three and a half feet tall and had a high, squeaky voice.
History of Magic was an absolute snoozefest. Shal really disliked that class, not because it was boring, but because it was horribly inaccurate. Shal's great-great-grandparents were alive when many of the events in the books were happening, and they were completely different from the stories his ancestors told. He knew the teacher, Professor Binns, was wrong, so he just ignored everything he said. And then, there was Defense against the Dark Arts (or DADA as the humans called it). Shal had high hopes for that class, but people didn't take poor Professor Quirrell (which sounded a lot like squirrel, Shal noticed) seriously. They always asked him about dumb things like the vampire he met and the zombie he had defeated to get his turban. Shal knew that no wimpy little man could have taken on a vampire and lived to tell about it.
This first-week high ended abruptly on Friday, when Shal learned that they had Potions that day. At first, he thought that it would be fun, because potions are useful, and learning how to make them might pay off in the long run. Ron was going on about how Snape always favored the Slytherins, as he was the head of their house. At the mention of Snape, Shal suddenly felt an aching sensation inside, as if he knew he was not going to have a good time in that class.
Potions class was held in the dungeons of the school, which made Shal uneasy. He could have sworn he still saw blood on the walls. They sat, and he looked once again into the cruel and uncaring visage of Professor Severus Snape. His piercing gaze kept the room dead silent as he took roll.
"Ah, yes," he said, and Shal could feel his arrogance dripping out of his long black hair. "Harry Potter. Our new – celebrity."
When he got to Shal, Snape intentionally had trouble pronouncing his name, and rather than asking, he just smiled, waved his hand, and went on. It was like a slap in the face.
Upon completion of roll call, he stood and strode confidently to the front of the class.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking. As there is little foolish wand-waving here," Shal had to agree with him on that, "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 hu…" he paused a second, looking at Shal "a creature's veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
Shal was impressed. Despite his seething malice, Snape was good at making speeches. Ron and Harry were not so pleased. Hermione was desperate to prove herself worthy of his praise.
"Potter!" Snape said, demanding his attention. He got it. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry stared, again befuddled. Hermione knew and let Snape know with her hand held high. Snape ignored it.
"I don't know, sir," said Harry, quivering slightly.
Snape sneered at him, then asked another question.
"Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
Same result. Harry didn't know, and neither did Ron and Shal, but Hermione did.
Snape then turned to Shal, his fiendish smirk making him tense, but he held firm.
"Let's test you now, dragon," he said. "What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?
Aha, the clouds have lifted, Shal thought, for he knew the answer to that one. He organized his thoughts, and began.
"There is no difference between monkshood and wolfsbane. They are the same plant, which goes by a third and more acceptable name of belladonna. It is very useful in the prevention of Lycanthropy, more commonly known as werewolf disease. If someone consumes a sprig of belladonna within one hour of being bitten, he stands a better chance of staving off the disease before it takes hold. However, helpful or not, belladonna is still poisonous, and will make you dreadfully ill if consumed."
Shal looked at Snape in a defiant smile. Snape didn't smile back.
"It appears that fame isn't everything, Potter," he said, glowering over the boy. He turned back to Shal. "And dumb luck won't save you in this class."
And with that, the potions master instructed them to break off into pairs and begin concocting a basic potion that will cure boils. Shal thought that potions should be able to do more than that, almost as if this was just simple alchemy. But he did as he was told. Snape noticed Shal not wearing his protective gloves and approached him.
"A point from Gryffindor for not obeying safety precautions," he said, correctingly.
"Professor," said Shal, "I don't need to wear them. I'm good."
"Another point for talking back," said Snape as he walked away.
"I don't have to worry about anything burning me in this class. I'm immune to all that stuff."
"I'm sure," Snape replied, blowing him off.
This was too much for Shal. He was already fed up with Snape's snooty demeanor and hurtful words. Draconic hubris got the best of him.
"You want proof? I'll give you proof."
Shal looked around the room. He spied just what he was looking for: a large container filled with a powerful acid. Luckily, it was on the bottom shelf. Shal left his seat, grabbed the container, and pushed it to the front of the room. The class all turned to watch.
Snape tried to stop him. "Stop, you idiot! You'll get yourself killed!"
Shal wouldn't listen. He had removed the lid of the container before Snape could get to him. A gush of steam rose from the greenish colored liquid as it bubbled and hissed violently. The class stared at him, never looking away. Hermione was worried.
"I'll show you, Professor!" he said, and with that, he thrust his arm into the seething liquid. The class gasped loudly. Professor Snape stared in horror. They expected to hear Shal screaming, but he was noticeably silent. He was smiling instead. He slowly pulled his arm out of the container. It was completely unscathed. Shal grabbed a quill pen off one of the desks and put half of it in the liquid. He pulled it out, and the class saw that the submerged portion had been completely melted away.
"Not proof enough for you?" said Shal to the Professor. He then proceeded to lift the container, put it to his mouth, and start drinking it. That was too much for Snape. He dove at Shal in an attempt to stop him, but he missed as Shal stepped to the side. The dragon had downed a quarter of the bubbling brew before he set it down. Snape had become more pale than usual. He quickly sealed the container and snatched it away from Shal. The class gawked, wide eyed as Shal walked back to his seat and continued his work. Hermione was particularly upset, but they all stayed silent as they kept working. Gryffindor lost yet another point for that little stunt, but Snape never again asked Shal to put on his gloves. The rest of the lesson proceeded uneventfully, until Neville had badly screwed up his potion and given himself a ridiculous amount of painful boils. Snape blamed Harry for not telling Neville what to do, and Gryffindor lost still another point.
When they finally left that dungeon, Shal knew for a fact that Potions class was going to suck the entire year. It was not going to be fun. Still, he remembered what his mom said, and he did his best to be strong. As they were walking back, Shal overheard Harry and Ron say they were going to go see Hagrid, the really big guy from when they got off the train. He was just about to go ask if he could come when Hermione approached him.
"I need to talk to you later. Meet me in the library at three," she said, and went off. Shal weighed his options, between Hagrid and Hermione. What could she want that was so important? Shal thought. Then again, what could Hagrid do that I couldn't go see later? He elected to go talk to Hermione.
Shal had never been to the school's library before; he never had to go. He marveled at the sheer number of books. It dwarfed the collection that his parents had back at their lair. There were books about every subject imaginable. Hermione took a seat at one of the tables. Shal sat across from her.
"We'll have to keep it down in here," she said, "or else Madam Pince will be upset." She motioned to an old lady at the desk, who gave the pair a distrusting scowl.
"So…what did you want to talk about?" Shal asked.
"What were you thinking in there?!" Hermione asked in her forceful whisper. "You could've been killed, or at least seriously injured!"
"I was fed up with Snape and his pompous attitude," Shal replied, trying to keep his voice down, "so I wanted to teach him a lesson. Besides, I'm a dragon, and I'm completely immune to the harmful effects of acids."
"You're lucky Snape didn't give you detention, or worse, have you thrown out!"
"Hey, it's not my fault he's a stuck-up jerk. I was just trying to garner a little respect from him."
"Well, I don't think you got it. Shal, he's a teacher, and you have to respect them in order to learn what you need to learn."
"Okay, fine," Shal said, sulkily.
There was a pause, and Shal noticed Hermione was still upset.
"What's wrong now?" he groaned.
"It's just…" she began, "Remember back during our first Transfiguration class?"
"Yeah," he said, confused.
"You turned your match into a needle with no effort at all in just a few seconds, and it took me all class just to turn it silver. How did you do that? How did you become so good at magic if…?"
"…If this is the first time I've cast a spell?" Shal finished for her.
"Yeah. I think it might be because you are a dragon and I'm only half-witch."
"My race might play a role in it, and I don't know what you mean when you say 'half-witch,' but I think part of it might be from some things my mother taught me. She said that I would be able to cast spells when I'm old enough, but she began to teach me some of the ways of magic. She taught me that one needs absolute focus when using magic, and I learned how to obtain that focus. Also, I learned that pronunciation and specific hand gestures are very important, and that even a slight slip in either can cause a spell to fail. She taught me the words and hand motions to some of the more basic spells, and I took to practicing them so I would be ready when the time comes."
Hermione was very interested in what Shal was saying. "Could you, perhaps, teach me some of the things you learned from your mother?"
"I probably can't do it all in one sitting, but I'll try sometime soon." And with that, the two of them left. Just as they were heading back to the common room, they saw Ron and Harry coming back from Hagrid's. Harry looked like he had something to say, and that that something had to have been very important.
