Chapter 5. Potions
On the following Friday morning I was roughly woken up by Harry. I hurriedly dressed and washed up. In less than three minutes we were already sprinting past the portrait of the Fat Lady.
We'd been in Hogwarts for a little less than a full week, and we still couldn't find our way in this crazy maze. I had no idea what the founders, or whoever built the place, had been thinking, but everything in this castle made a concerted effort to confuse us and prevent us from getting to classes in time.
There were more than a hundred staircases: broad, elegant ones; narrow, squeaky ones; tricky ones that had a vanishing step or liked to turn to slides for no reason; some that led to different places on Wednesday or during rain. I could've sworn I'd seen a drop-down ladder somewhere. It was infuriating enough to make me want to rip my hair off, but it was far from everything that the sadistic castle could offer.
Some doors would stubbornly remain shut until you asked politely or tickled in just the right spot. Then there were doors that weren't doors at all, but solid walls pretending to be doors, or the opposite – the doors that looked like walls. Fred and George often boasted about knowing the castle better than anyone else, I just didn't anticipate how difficult it would be.
Neither the portraits nor the ghosts were any help at all. Considering the portraits had nothing else to do but constantly visit each other, they could hardly remember where in the castle they were at a given moment. And the less said about the ghosts, the better. Their sudden appearances were always nasty surprises, even without them gliding through the door you were trying to open, leaving you to shiver from the icy sensation of a ghost passing through you. Fortunately, I had an advance warning most of the time – poor Harry suffered the most by their presence. Still, they knew their location far better than portraits, but they hardly stayed behind to chat – Hogwarts was an epicenter of social activity for specters, it seemed.
Peeves the Poltergeist was the most troublesome in that regard. Merlin forbid, if you happened to run into him while running late – he wouldn't hesitate to pelt you with bits of chalk, pull rugs under you, drop a tapestry on you or sneak up while invisible.
I didn't have a habit of constantly scouting the futures – I tried to do that once, but it was like seeing from two points in time at once that were moving with different speed at that, extremely disorienting. I had hoped that while the twins' pranking attention had shifted from dear old me to all Hogwarts' population, I could relax a bit. But it looked like I needed to up my game instead.
As for my divination abilities, they proved utterly useless in navigating my way either. Since I was completely unfamiliar with the layout, I would have to search for the entire path to my class. With this many people scurrying about disrupting my focus, it was well beyond my skill level.
On one occasion, when we were lost, we found ourselves on the third floor, attempting to force our way through a door. Unfortunately for us, it turned out to be an entrance to the infamous death inducing corridor, and we were caught by Argus Filch, the caretaker. He instantly believed we were troublemakers intentionally trying to break into the forbidden area and didn't believe a word we said to the contrary. I was sure he would really lock us up in dungeons – on our first day, no less – when Professor Quirrel rescued us.
All students hated Filch, and Mrs Norris, a little monster under the guise of a dust colored cat, was no better. She was patrolling the halls alone, and staring intently at you, waiting for you to break any rule. If you even slightly step out of the line, Filch would appear within seconds, worse than any ghost. I didn't know who was better at knowing the secret passageways, he or my brothers. Once I looked into the future where I kicked Mrs. Norris with all my heart. The sight was truly satisfying though an enraged Filch was ready to strangle me then and there.
Nonetheless, once we finally found their location, there were classes themselves.
The most interesting class so far was Charms, taught by Professor Flitwick, a funny little man, who was so short, he had to stand on a pile of books to see anything over his desk. He made a few mind blowing demonstrations of various charms, including the one when he made Neville's Trevor zoom around the room with a nice levitation spell. We were very lucky to have him as our very first Professor, as he made even an introductory lecture sound captivating and playful. He was clearly a teacher who loved both teaching and working with children.
Sadly we didn't get to the practical part till yesterday's Double Charms when we all tried arguably the simplest spell there was – The Wand-Lighting Charm, Lumos. And yet, by the end of the class, the best I could do was the dim light flicker for a second or two before dying out.
"I told you that you wouldn't be the worst in class, didn't I?" I muttered to Harry, face flushed in embarrassment, when outside the classroom.
After Charms on Monday we were introduced to a short plump witch by the name of Professor Sprout, who taught Herbology – a class where we learnt how to take care of various magical plants and what they could be used for. It actually looked quite fun. Due to Burrow's garden I wasn't a stranger to working with plants and earth. Apparently it was something Neville excelled in, who would have thought.
The title of the most boring class was easily awarded to History of Magic, taught by Professor Binns. You would think having history taught by a ghost was a brilliant idea, giving the students truly unique insight into the past events. That couldn't be farther from the truth, as I would bet he could make even Grindelwald's War or You-Know-Who's reign of terror sound as dull as reciting a dictionary.
My initial assessment of Professor McGonagall as a stern and intimidating woman was fully confirmed during Transfiguration lessons, from the first minutes she harshly warned us against a frivolous attitude. However, she didn't forget to give us an exciting demonstration of what could be achieved by Transfiguration – turning a piece of furniture into an animal was very impressive and promising. Though I quickly realized it'd be a very long time before we'd manage something like that. If ever, a portion of my consciousness didn't hesitate to quip.
Instead we made loads of complicated notes and were later assigned the task of transfiguring a match into a needle. By the end of the lessons the only ones who made any difference to their match were Granger, making it all silver and pointy, and Seamus, who actually applied it for the intended purpose – set it ablaze. Along with a portion of his desk, but still a notable achievement.
The one subject literally everyone was hyper excited about – Defense Against the Dark Arts – turned out to be a total disappointment. Professor Quirrel appeared to be scared of his own shadow. The whole classroom had been drenched in a garlic stench, he claimed it was to ward off a vengeful vampire that had been chasing him. It was such a horrid sticking odor, that I could still smell it almost half an hour after the class. Harry was the worst affected, suffering from lingering headaches through the whole lesson. However, it proved to be of little use as Quirell's severe stutter made it nearly impossible to comprehend his speech.
"Good morning, young ones!" a cheerful voice ripped me out of my reminiscing thoughts. I nearly jumped, but nothing compared to Harry's full body flinch.
"Nick, you startled us!" I complained, dramatically holding onto my heart. He kept smiling as if he hadn't heard a word. I sighed exasperated. "Good morning to you too. Say, are we going the right way to the Great Hall? I hope today not to get lost once."
"Of course, you are! Just a few turns, and you'll be by the Grand Staircase. Good luck," he said and quickly swept away.
"See, Harry, we almost made it!" I said excitedly. His posture relaxed slightly, but still appeared somewhat tense. "Oh, come on! They're not that scary!"
"I'm not scared," he protested.
I skeptically raised an eyebrow and pointedly looked him up and down, "You become tightly strung up every time you see a ghost, and you keep eyes fixated on them at all times, as if you expect an attack."
"That's not it."
"Is the great Harry Potter afraid of ghosts?" I couldn't help but tease him.
"I said, I'm not scared!" he snapped at me more harshly than I expected, eyes narrowed and darkened a bit warningly.
I threw my hands placatingly, taking a step back, "Okay, okay. Got it," no matter how cool I thought his earlier display of power was, I didn't want that kind of thing directed at me, thank you very much.
My spike of wariness did not go unnoticed. Harry visibly deflated, wrapping his arms around himself. "Sorry," he said softly, eyes lowered down.
I ran my fingers through my hair. "I'm sorry too. I didn't want to upset you that much," I apologized.
"I'm not afraid of ghosts, Ron," he repeated more calmly, lifting his gaze at me. "It's just–" he paused, struggling to find the right words. "I don't know how to explain it. They just… don't feel right, y'know?"
I blinked in confusion. 'Don't feel… Oh, Weasley, you're an idiot,' I resisted a strong urge to facepalm as realization dawned.
If my suspicion about Harry being an air mage was correct, then he might be able to sense air currents around him. And ghosts, intangible as they are, wouldn't affect them at all, making them invisible to his sensing ability.
I had never thought about it before, but ghosts were really impervious to most magical senses. I made a mental note to ask brothers about it, particularly Fred.
I groaned at my own stupidity. "Right, sorry, I didn't think of that," I mumbled. "I won't bring it up again, I promise."
"Thanks," Harry paused for a second, before his expression shifted as he realized something. "Wait, you know what I'm talking about?"
"Well, yeah, sorta. I don't feel things like you do, but my brothers can do it too. Somehow just know where things or people are around them, right?" He nodded in wonder. "It's just your magic manifests differently, nothing more."
After that brief conversation we continued on our way to the Great Hall. Contrary to my expectations, it had a lot of people already. In fact, Harry and I took the seats opposite to Neville. I still couldn't figure out how he was doing it. Despite his overall clumsiness and a little lack of self-esteem Neville's learnt how to navigate the castle faster than anyone. Whenever asked, he would just shrug, undoubtedly finding it amusing.
"Hey, Neville. You can congratulate us, we didn't get lost," said Harry, helping himself to some porridge. I followed his example and served myself a portion of oatmeal and sprinkled it with nuts and cinnamon.
Neville lifted his eyes from his omelet. "Yeah? Good job. Ron's map actually helped?"
Harry hummed as an answer and made a vague motion with his left hand.
"Shut up! It totally did," protested I and pointed my spoon at him.
The map was my personal navigation tool in this labyrinthine building. When I asked the older students, they just shrugged as if the idea never came up to anyone. Only the twins acted suspiciously – well, even more suspiciously than usual – but they would deny everything in their characteristic flamboyant and sarcastic manner. Sometimes I thought that such a response had become their default answer – deny everything and hope for the best.
Therefore I decided to make a map myself, while exploring the castle in the evenings. It didn't go too well, as it was difficult to keep up with various pieces of parchment for different floors and areas. Sadly the ever-changing elements like moving staircases and portraits didn't make the task any easier. Harry didn't mind the exploring part but didn't share my enthusiasm over the idea itself. We would see how it goes.
Under their sniggers, I pulled out a small notebook with the aforementioned map from my bag and started making notes on how to get to the Great Hall. Harry poured some sugar on his porridge and asked. "What have we got today?"
"Double Potions with Slytherins," answered Neville.
"Snape's their Head of House," mentioned I. "They say that he always favors them." And that was putting it mildly.
Despite all the tales I heard from my brothers about Snape's overall nastiness, I actually looked forward to learning Potions. It was supposed to be one of the very few classes where my atrocious wand abilities wouldn't hinder me. From what little I saw while skimming the textbooks, it promised to be a pretty awesome skill to have.
Just then, a hundred owls streamed into the Great Hall and started circling over the tables in search of their owners.
None of us expected any mail. My parents sent their letters all in one go via Hermes, and Percy would distribute them among all the brothers. As for Harry's relatives, the less said about them, the better, even if they somehow managed to use a magical post system by some miracle.
That made it all the more surprising when Hedwig flew down and perched on the table between a marmalade and a sugar bowl, holding a note in her talons. Most first-year Gryffindors were already familiar with Harry's flashy snowy owl, who made a habit of visiting during breakfast for a piece of toast and some petting from her owner.
Harry tore open the note at once and started reading.
"What's there?" I asked, curious.
"Hagrid is inviting me for tea after classes," he said, very pleased with the news. "Can I– thanks." He hastily took my quill and scribbled an answer on the back of the note and sent Hedwig off again.
Potion lessons took place in one of the dungeons, and was actually one of the first classrooms I discovered during my evening strolls around the castle, as it was conveniently close to the Great Hall. And the Hospital Wing. The room had a gloomy and a slightly creepy atmosphere, not to mention the vast amount of pickled animal parts floating in various liquids all around the place.
Professor Snape, a tall man with greasy dark hair and a crooked nose, constantly wore a contemptuous expression on his face. He began the lesson with a roll call, speaking in an unpleasant drawl.
"Ah, yes, Harry Potter. Our new… celebrity," he said softly, causing Draco and his cronies to burst into poorly controlled sniggers.
The Professor finished the call and lifted his piercing gaze upwards. Then, to everyone's surprise, he launched into a passionate speech about the beauty ot potion making. Despite the derogatory terms and hints sprinkled throughout his words, many students found themselves captivated by his words. He was clearly a teacher who loved his subject, but unlike Flitwick, he seemed to despise having to teach it to what he considered 'little dunderheads'.
Despite Snape's demeanor, I found myself brimming with enthusiasm, leaning on the edge of my seat.
"Potter!" Snape snapped suddenly, breaking the metaphorical spell that fell over the audience. "What would I get if I mixed fluxweed sprigs and powdered runespoor fangs?"
I raised my eyebrows at the unexpected quiz, realizing that maybe I should have known better. I had mostly flipped through the book and read a few chapters, so I personally didn't know the answer. From Harry's stumped look, it was clear he didn't know either. On the other hand, Granger nearly bounced on her seat, her hand reaching as high as possible.
"I don't know, sir," Harry replied.
Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "Tsk, tsk. Fame isn't everything, clearly."
"Let's try again. Where would you get the key ingredient for Blood-Replenishing Potion?"
Oh, this one I knew. I even raised my hand, but it didn't matter anyway as Snape completely ignored anyone else.
"I don't know, sir," repeated Harry.
"Obviously. Didn't even think to open a book before coming, hmm, Potter?" I glared at Malfoy who was shaking with laughter.
"Tell me then, Potter, what's the difference between deadman's bells and witch's gloves?"
At that point, Granger had stood up from her seat, her hand quivering as if in some sort of seizure.
Only then did I realize that I still had my hand up, which I promptly lowered. Unfortunately, it seemed like Snape was waiting for that exact moment.
"I don't–" Harry began, but he was interrupted.
"Weasley!" Snape shifted his gaze sharply at me. "The same question."
My jaw dropped a bit. "I–" I coughed. I didn't know this one, but I could try to cheat. Thankfully, he was going to give the correct answer anyway.
"There's none, sir." I said, keeping my voice as calm and steady as I could.
"Lucky guess," he retorted with the same sneer.
"It's a poisonous plant, also known as foxglove." I tried not to fidget under his intense scrutiny.
"At least some of you are not illiterate. Sit down!" he barked at Hermione. "For your information, Potter, fluxweed and runespoor fangs make Swiftness Solution, which increases the drinker's physical agility and reflexes. As for the Blood-Replenishing Potion, its key ingredient is unicorn horn, widely known for its healing and purifying properties. Well, why don't you copy it down?"
After the shaky start, things got somewhat better as the Potions lesson continued. First period was purely theoretical, with Snape covering a bit of history, including the most powerful and famous potions, as well as heavily emphasizing safety measures. He put a special accent on that part, looking around with a glare promising hell on earth for anyone who wouldn't heed his instructions.
The next period brought the most exciting part – practice. Snape split us into pairs and set us to make a simple potion to cure boils. However, very soon, I stumbled upon a problem. Harry and I had taken turns in grinding the mix of crushed snake fangs and dried nettles into the finest powder we could using a regular mortar and pestle. I was about to throw the mixture into the cauldron half-full of heated water but stopped myself.
The pause was apparently too long for Harry's tastes, as he whispered, "Ron? What's wrong?" He double-checked the recipe. "Seems to be fine, we didn't make a mistake," I ignored the unspoken 'yet' and silently pointed at the next steps:
Heat the mixture and maintain a temperature of 250 for 10 seconds.
Wave your wand clockwise over the cauldron.
Leave the potion to brew for 33-45 minutes.
He blinked at me.
"We'll have precisely 10 seconds before waving a wand. A wand! I can't do that!" I hissed at him. Snape said that there would be none of 'foolish wand waving' here! So why was it here, in the simplest potion!? And twice at that!
My anxiety was doubled by the fact that I knew for a fact, I saw that simply swinging my wand here and there wouldn't do anything. According to the book, during step six the potion was supposed to gradually change its color from pale gray to bright blue. But in my vision, it stayed the same, just water with bits of bone and leaves floating. My magic was needed to activate a magical reaction in the cauldron, but how can I do that if I can't use my wand?
"Why don't I do that part?" Harry asked tentatively.
"No!" I almost yelled in a whisper, startling him. Thanks Merlin, Snape was drifting among the Slytherins right now. "I mean– Let me do this, please. I want to do at least something right," I said pleadingly, even softer than before.
It was only a half-truth though, I didn't want Harry to use his magic mostly because it would make the potion even worse. It would obtain a sickly green hue for some reason, but I couldn't tell him that.
He nodded, either in sympathy or pity, I couldn't tell, and honestly, didn't care at the moment. I had to learn how to maintain a steady magical flow through the wand, fast.
With one last sideway glance towards Snape, I pulled out my wand under the table. As discreetly as possible I flicked it with a murmured "Lumos". On the third try, I managed a familiar flicker at the tip of the wand, but it wasn't enough. I used my magic all the time, why was it so different now?
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, centering myself. This time, I focused on the feel of my magic and how it behaved. After a few more futile attempts, I came to the conclusion that my magical power was too… intangible, for lack of a better word. It just didn't want to affect the world around me, but evidence showed it still could, albeit barely.
Straining all my focus and willpower I could muster at the moment, I mumbled the incantation one more time. Immediately, a strong and steady light source illuminated the underside of our desk. With wide eyes, I turned to Harry, wearing a stupidly happy grin on my face– only to be met with Harry's guilty expression and Snape's figure looming over our worktable.
"Bored already, are we, Mr. Weasley?" he drawled, looking far from impressed. "You must surely possess supreme potion-brewing skills, seeing as you deemed yourself above your peers and blatantly disregarded my instructions. Perhaps I was too generous in my assessments of your intelligence."
My face burned in embarrassment. "I– I'm sorry, Professor. It won't happen again."
His black eyes shone in the dim lighting. "See that it won't. Five points from Gryffindor. Another stunt like that and I'll see you in detention. Carry on."
I nodded and hurried to finally throw the powdered contents of the mortar into the cauldron. I increased the heat and patiently waited for the required temperature, with my wand ready, feverishly sorting through the various futures at the same time. With extreme relief, I saw that my clockwise wand wave would indeed yield productive results now. Choosing the future where the potion gained the most vibrant color in the end, I carefully followed whatever actions would lead to that one.
Pulling my wand back, with my heart pounding in my ears I released a breath I hadn't realized I had been holding and swiped the sweat from my forehead. I fell back into my seat, immensely proud of myself. Harry silently gave me thumbs up, which made me smile.
Half an hour later, I stared intensely at the blue concoction while Harry listened to Snape criticizing everyone he came across. I was scouting the futures for the best moment to add the next ingredients when something caught my attention.
"Neville, no!" I shouted, startling the nervous boy. Thankfully it didn't make him drop the porcupine quills he was holding into his cauldron. "You haven't taken it off fire. You don't want to end up in the Hospital Wing, do you?"
He blanched and shook his head, lowering his eyes to the open book, confirming that I was right. "Thanks."
"Yes, quite," the professor's voice once again startled me, making me jump and sharply turn around. He pierced his eyes into mine, studying for a while. I gulped.
"Another point from Gryffindor for disrupting the class," he said. With those parting words, sweeping his long black cloak he went away. As Harry opened his mouth to argue, no doubt, I kicked him under the table.
"Don't push it," I muttered. "I heard he can turn very nasty." With a blank face, he fell silent.
After that unbelievable moment, things went smoothly: I told Harry the optimal moments to take another step in the recipe, and he did it without question. I caught an occasional glance from Snape, but he didn't say anything.
As soon as I made another circular wand motion over the cauldron, pink smoke raised from it, signaling the completion of the potion. We were almost the last ones to finish, so we had enough time to hear Snape critique the work of others, except for Malfoy's, whom he almost praised. When it was our turn, he paused for a second and with an unreadable expression uttered, "Passable".
It was the highest praise any Griffindor had received.
"You were brilliant there, Ron!" Harry blurted out as soon as we left the dungeons.
"Thanks," I beamed at him, but then remembered something. "Erm– sorry, I took over there for a bit."
"Are you kidding? You probably saved us a lot of points."
"I lost six," I reminded him with a raised eyebrow.
"I mean– did you see him? He hates me for some reason!" he shouted.
"Well, now he hates us both. Come on, don't take it to heart," I said. "Snape always takes points off Fred and George. Though, they probably deserve it. Anyway, do you mind if I tag along to Hagrid?"
By three, the two of us were stepping over the threshold of Hagrid's wooden cabin, standing right on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Its interior consisted of a single room, with hams and pheasants hanging from the ceiling. A copper kettle was boiling in the fireplace, and in the corner stood a massive bed.
"Make yourself at home," Hagrid welcomed us, inviting us to the set table. He let go of Fang – his black boarhound, which I could swear was almost as tall as Harry. Fang didn't hesitate to bound straight at me, starting to lick all over my face. The saying "Like owner, like dog" apparently rang true in this case – Fang was as much a gentle giant as Hagrid himself.
"This is Ron," Harry decided to introduce me to the man, who was in the meantime occupied with pouring boiling water into a large teapot.
"Another Weasley, eh?" he said after a glance at my flaming hair and all the obnoxious freckles, making me vaguely tilt my head. Guilty. "I spent half my life chasin' your brother from the forest, y'know."
I snorted, "You're not the only one, trust me. Try to live with them under the same roof," I said. "Hold on, the twins have only been here for two years."
He turned to me, amused. "I'm not talking about the twins."
My jaw dropped open.
Harry and I had a great time as Hagrid's guests. He treated us to his signature rock cakes with raisins. After Harry almost broke his tooth trying to bite one, I had an idea to dunk them in tea instead, which actually made them more edible and quite yummy. While helping ourselves to treats, we shared with Hagrid all about our first week in school.
Hearing a usually kind man calling Filch 'an old git' and cursing Mrs. Norris certainly made our day.
When the turn came to Snape and his treatment of Harry, Hagrid was quick to back up my words. "Ron's right. Snape hardly likes any of the students."
"But he seems to specifically hate me."
"Nonsense! Why would he?" he said, averting his eyes.
We exchanged glances. Hagrid certainly knew something.
"How's your brother, Charlie?" he asked me suddenly, blatantly changing the topic. "I liked him a lot – great with animals, he is."
I narrowed my eyes at him but figured it wasn't that important anyway.
"Ah, Charlie is in Romania now, studying dragons. A friend called him after graduation, I believe."
I could swear, there were stars in his eyes. "O-oh, magnificent creatures, dragons. Truly magnificent. I've always wanted one myself, but–", his face turned wistful.
Yeah, it would be hard to raise a dragon, when it was highly illegal. Dragon breeding has been banned for three centuries, since a pet dragon in a backyard was a huge risk at being discovered by Muggles. Not to mention, that these reptiles were considered untamable and extremely dangerous. No matter how big Hagrid is, he'd be only one bite for an adult specimen.
Still, dragons were as risky as they were valuable – my wand was proof enough. For that reason, dragon reserves existed all around the world, most prominently in Romania, China and Sweden.
"Well, if you want, I could bring you some shots he sent us over the summer. They are absolutely wicked!" I suggested with a grin. "There's only a few, I suspect not to upset mom too much. She wasn't too thrilled with his job, you see–"
"Hagrid!" suddenly Harry's voice interrupted me, "that Gringotts break in happened on my birthday!" Apparently, he had noticed some old newspapers.
I blinked, bewildered. "Yeah, didn't I tell you about it?"
"You didn't mention the date. For all we know, It might've even been happening while we were there!"
I raised my eyebrows in surprise. That's some funny coincidence. And an unpleasant one at that. A shudder went through my spine as I imagined what could have happened to Harry if he had run into the intruder.
Hagrid decided not to dignify it with a response and instead offered Harry another rock cake. Harry got the clue and didn't press on, but it was clear he didn't let go of the notion and sat deep in thought.
As we walked back to the castle for dinner with pockets full of rock cakes, Harry explained to me in more detail about a mysterious package Hagrid took from Gringotts that day. It seemed much more than merely a coincidence now. My curiosity was certainly piqued.
Offhandedly, I dismissed a vague foreboding feeling that started to creep in.
Notes:
Unfortunately, interactions with Snape turned out less colorful than I anticipated, but I tried my best.
Also, recipe for the potion is very real, taken from Harry Potter wiki. I only slightly altered it for extra visual indicators of the potion's quality and added dried nettle, that were missed for some reason.