The next morning was filled with an odd sensation similar to that of when Hagrid had brought him to the Leaky Cauldron. Everyone that noticed him seemed to stare or point him out.

"There, look." one student said as Harry passed Great Hall.

"Where?"

"Next to the creepy one with the blonde hair." - "Hey!"

"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.

Harry first class ever was with Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher. Professor Flitwick 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 toppled out of sight. Draco took the opportunity to lighten the mood.

"Really? Harry Potter where?" Draco said mocking Flitwick's enthusiasm. "Oh my he's right beside me, I hadn't noticed." Most of the Slytherins and a few of the Ravenclaws laughed. Harry just felt better being singled out in a more jovial manner.

After Charms they headed to Transfigurations. Taught by the deputy Headmistress Professor McGonagall. Harry 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 had made any difference to her match; Professor McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy and gave Hermione a 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 relieved to find out that he wasn't miles behind everyone else. Lots of people had come from Muggle families and, 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 his friends. They finally managed to find their way to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once.

"What have we got today?" Harry asked reaching for a platter of Hashbrowns.

Draco smiled. "We've got Double Potions with the Gryffindors." Draco had been looking forward to the Potions class all week.

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.

Balthazar hadn't brought Harry anything so far. He hadn't delivered Harry any mail thus far but would occasionally enter the Great Hall and chase the owls as they tried to drop off the mail. This morning,however, he fluttered down between Harry and Draco, who was terrified of him and fell out of his seat. Balthazar dropped a note onto Harry's lap. 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 Balthazar.

P.S. I wasn't sure if I should have set him up in the Owlery so I made him his own perch near the Greenhouse. Had Professor Sprout extend the charms that keep all the plants warm during the winter. He'll be safe and sound. I'll show you some time.

Hagrid

Harry reached for his bag and quickly wrote his response.

'Yes, please, see you later

P.S. Thank you'

He held the note in a flat palm so Balthazar could grab it in his mouth without nipping at Harry, again. With a confident grasp on the note Balthazar took off.

There was a moment of awkward silence as Harry noticed most of Slytherin table staring at him. He tried to ignore the stares as he did most of the time, but was bothered by Draco's wide eyed gaze.

What was that?" Draco asked getting back into his seat.

Harry shrugged. "That was Balthazar. He's an Orobo-Raven. I got him in Knockturn Alley, from the shop you suggested." Harry said with just a hint of accusation. Draco only nodded dumbly as he continued his breakfast.

At the start-of-term banquet, Harry had gotten the idea that Professor Snape disliked him. By the end of the first Potions lesson, he was even less sure.

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main

castle, and even colder than the Slytherin Common Room. It 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."

Some of the Gryffindors sniggered behind their hands earning a quick glare from Snape. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth. They were cold and empty and made you think of dark tunnels.

"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. Harry gave Draco a look of confusion with a raised eyebrow but was met with a confident smirk. Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry instantly understood why he was told to review his Potions text by an older Slytherin. "If I'm not mistaken sir, that would create Draught of the Living Dead, sir." Harry said doing his best to sound respectful. The rumors about Snape were rather severe.

"Let's try another to see if that wasn't, dumb luck. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Harry panicked for a moment before remembering a footnote in the foreword of the Text books. "You'd find a bezoar in the stomach of a goat, sir." Harry said feeling like the only other person in the room with Professor Snape.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?" Professor Snape asked raising his chin.

Harry's jaw clenched. He hadn't read about either of those items in his text book. "I don't know, sir." said Harry quietly. "I didn't find it in the first 7 chapters of the excepted text, sir."

Snape's glare seemed to change but only for a fraction of a second. "Nor should you have. Monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. They are common knowledge and usage for any Third Year student." Snape said as he held a jar labeled 'wolfsbane'. "But your preparation for this class is what should be expected. Ten points for each correct answer Mr. Potter."

Harry's dread instantly flooded away. "Draught of the Living Dead is a sleep potion that mimics Death itself and a bezoar can be used to deactivate most poisonous if swallowed within seconds of the poisons, administrations." Snape said as he placed the jar of wolfsbane on a shelf. "That's 20 points Mr. Potter." Snape made it sound as if it was painful awarding points to Harry.

"Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?" Snape shouted at the rest of the class.

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 Draco, whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt 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. "Back to work." He barked returning to his desk.

Before long the Double Potions class had ended. It was clear to everyone there that Snape's feelings towards Gryffindors and Slytherins were not the same. Harry felt bad for Neville but had enjoyed the class to a degree. It was more practical than his other classes. More logical. He wasn't complaining about his wand heavy classes, but it was a nice change of pace.