There was a familiar rhythm to life, even in a place as seemingly foreign as a magical school in the middle of the Scottish Highlands. As the week passed, Harry found that he had settled into such a rhythm, and he, if not accustomed yet to life at Hogwarts, was at least beginning to adapt to it.

Of all his classes, Elementary Studies was the easiest to acclimatise to, for it concerned matters quite familiar to him – reading, writing, and arithmetic, though the latter at a much faster pace than he was used to in his old school. While the previous year, he had been learning basic fractions and decimals, Professor Katic was now teaching the class algebra. As a result, Harry found himself having some difficulty following along at times. Most of the class, though, it seemed, felt the same way – most of the class except for Hermione, that was. She appeared to be coasting along easily, raising her hand to offer an answer to nearly every question that Professor Katic posed.

Finding Magic, however, was taking up far more of his efforts. By the end of the second lesson, every student in the class had managed to produce magic, and Professor Cauverina had moved the class onto learning how to 'orient' their energy and control their magic. Though some others in the class, including Neville and some of the Slytherins, had managed to progress to successfully casting a Wand-Lighting Charm by the end of the week, Harry was having a much harder go at it, barely even able to feel what general way he was directing the transcendental energy that he was generating.

Finally, Harry decided to take Professor Cauverina on her offer of going to her after classes for help, which was how Harry found himself walking down the empty corridors of Hogwarts at nine o'clock Monday night. Occasionally, he would walk past a pair of patrolling Prefects, but as it was still an hour away from curfew, none of them gave him any trouble. He made, however, a mental note to keep an eye on the time – he did not want to repeat the 'feats' of Ron and Raul last night, when the Head Girl, Elizabeth Birdwhistle, had caught them out of bed at midnight, running around in one of the corridors, and docked them thirty points each, wiping out several days of gains from the first-year Gryffindors. That had made the both of them both pariahs in the Gryffindor House for the better part of the next day.

Harry made his way down to the Finding Magic classroom and pushed open the door, finding the space eerily empty, moonlight casting everything in shades of silver. After a few seconds of looking around, he crossed the room and ascended the stairs to Professor Cauverina's office, knocking twice on the door.

'Come on in!' she called.

Harry eased the door open, and to his surprise, he found Hermione inside, sitting in front of Professor Cauverina's desk. Her bag was lying on the floor, unopened, and there were two balls of what appeared to be rolled-up tissue paper on the desk.

'Oh, I'm sorry,' Harry said apologetically. 'I didn't mean to interrupt.'

'No, no,' Professor Cauverina replied. 'I think we were almost done here anyway. Hermione?'

Hermione nodded. 'I…yes…I'm good.'

'If you're unsure again about anything at all – '

'Yeah, I will,' Hermione interrupted her unexpectedly, her voice somewhat coarse.

Professor Cauverina did not look affronted, however, and answered with only a nod. 'I'll see you next Monday, then.'

'See you,' Hermione mumbled, quickly picking her bag up off the floor before turning and dashing out of the door, her eyes, which seemed red and slightly puffy, never once straying from her feet.

There was an awkward stretch of silence, punctuated only by the sound of Hermione's rapid footsteps echoing through the corridors outside. Harry watched as Professor Cauverina drew her wand and waved it once. The two balls of tissue disappeared into thin air right before his eyes, and he could not help but draw a breath at the display of magic. It never did get old, even after a full week spent surrounded by it.

'Impressed?' Professor Cauverina asked, a smiling playing around her lips.

'Yes,' Harry answered truthfully. 'What was that?'

'Vanishing Spell,' she answered. 'You'll learn it in Transfiguration around your fourth or fifth year. I remember learning it in my fourth. It took some getting used to, but it's not too complicated of a spell in the grand scheme of things.'

'Might be too complicated for me,' Harry murmured darkly, thinking back to how little progress he was making in Finding Magic.

'Of course it won't be,' Professor Cauverina said, seemingly catching on to Harry's thoughts. 'How quickly someone learns to control and use magic depends very much on who they are. If someone came from a magical family, for example, they would have been exposed to magic all their lives, and would naturally be more accustomed to it and pick it up faster than someone who didn't. At the end of the day, though, they will learn to use magic all the same. Don't be discouraged by seeing some of your classmates advancing more quickly than you are right now. It doesn't mean anything in the long term.'

'What if I…I'm not able to learn to use magic at all?' Harry asked.

'You won't,' Professor Cauverina answered confidently. 'I've been teaching this class for six years, and not a single one of my students have ended up in that situation.'

'And no, you won't be the first,' she added. 'Especially considering that you've taken the time to come here instead of sitting in your room, sulking about it. What can I help you with?'

'I…I don't know,' Harry answered truthfully after a few seconds of contemplation. 'It feels like I just can't get a feel for magic at all.'

Professor Cauverina shook her head. 'That's not true. You did very well the first day, so you definitely have a "feel for magic". Is it orienting energy that you have a hard time with, then?'

'I guess,' Harry said. 'I feel there isn't even anything for me to direct… The energy I feel is just in complete randomness, and I don't know how to even get a grip on it.'

'Have you been trying to force it to take a certain form?' Professor Cauverina asked. 'I mean, have you been actively trying to organise it? Or trying to push it towards a certain direction?'

Harry nodded. 'I have. But however much I try to concentrate, it still doesn't help.'

Professor Cauverina let out a chuckle as she leaned back in her chair, twirling her wand in her hand. 'Harry, that's because what you're doing is not supposed to help.'

Harry blinked, confused. 'What?'

'You can't force magic to do your bidding,' Professor Cauverina explained, grinning. 'Think back to your first day. You couldn't simply "pull" magic out of nowhere by brute force. You had to place yourself into an appropriate state of mind and allow your transcendental energy to "well up". Now you're more practised, and you don't need to go through that whole process to just interact with magic anymore, but the principle is the same. You can't force magic – you have to guide it, but in the end, you have to let it act organically.'

Harry nodded slowly, taking in what she had said. 'Okay… So how do I…let magic act organically? I barely know what my magic is doing in the first place!'

'Don't panic, it's actually not too hard,' Professor Cauverina said kindly. 'You really just need to take a step back. Instead of concentrating on the result of what you want magic to do, concentrate on how you want it to do it. That's to say, instead of trying to force your energy in a certain direction, concentrate on the movement – picture it flowing, if that helps you. Whatever you do, though, avoid concentrating on "forcing" magic, because that will actually make the disorder much worse. Does that help?'

Harry nodded slowly. It made sense. Every time he had tried to force his magic a certain way, it seemed to simply rebel and grow more chaotic instead. He had not caught on to that pattern before, but it certainly seemed, based on that, that Professor Cauverina's assessment was right.

'Could I give it a try?' Harry asked.

'By all means.'

Harry reached into his bag and drew his wand, gripping it tightly. With now-practised efficiency and only a little bit of conscious effort, he let his magic – or rather, his transcendental energy – well up in him. Instead of trying to force it one direction or the other, however, he now tried his best to picture it – feel it – flowing towards his wand, keeping his concentration on the magic, but not trying to shape it with brute force.

Suddenly, Harry felt a sort of clarity. It no longer felt like there were birds flying this way and that inside him, knocking into this and that, but rather a sort of flow that somehow reminded him of standing underneath a shower. He tried now to sense the shape of the energy itself, and found it almost easy. It seemed to be flowing in all directions, but in neat streams, not chaotic whirlpools.

He attempted now to focus his magic and direct it towards his wand, trying to feel it flowing down his right arm, concentrating again on the flow itself. In an instant, he felt the shape of the energy shift. Instead of flowing outwards every which way, it was now trickling down his right arm, towards the base of his wand. Suddenly, he felt the handle of his wand warm slightly, and as the stream of transcendental energy kept flowing, the temperature continued increasing, minutely but steadily.

'How do you feel?' Professor Cauverina asked, interrupting Harry. 'I just saw the tip of your wand flicker slightly.'

Harry looked up at her, the stream of energy drying up as he did. 'Great,' he answered, truly feeling so. 'I think I might've done it.'

'What did you feel? Did you feel your wand warm up?'

'A little bit,' Harry replied. 'Was it supposed to?'

'It was,' Professor Cauverina affirmed. 'That's what happens when the core of your wand gets activated – that's the first step to performing any magical spell. Congratulations, you've done it! And in less than five minutes, too. I knew you could.'

'Thanks,' Harry mumbled, cheeks heating up a little at the compliment. 'Without you explaining what to do, though…'

'Still, actually doing it was all you,' Professor Cauverina said, smiling at Harry. She opened her drawer and pulled out a square of chocolate. 'Here, have a treat.'

'You're from a muggle family, right?' she asked offhandedly as Harry unwrapped the chocolate.

'I grew up with my aunt and uncle and they weren't magical,' Harry answered, taking a bite. 'But I think my mother and father were.'

'And before you came here, did you know what magic was?'

Harry shook his head. 'I had no idea that it even existed.'

Professor Cauverina nodded. 'It must be a jarring change.'

'A little, yeah.'

'I still remember how it was like for me, even though it's at least twenty years ago now. It's not an easy transition – there's so much to learn about the magical world and there are so many ways it's different from the one we came from – and you'll always have one foot in each world, no matter whether you want it or not.'

'It seems so big and strange sometimes,' Harry admitted.

'It does, and that feeling never quite goes away,' Professor Cauverina affirmed. 'It's a bit like living in a different country – just even more foreign. Listen, if you ever have any concerns about the magical world, anything you don't understand, anything you want to ask, feel free to come to me, okay? I tell this to every muggle-raised student I talk to, but feel free to tell anyone else you know that I'm open.'

'I will,' Harry replied, nodding. 'Thank you.'

'You're more than welcome,' Professor Cauverina said. 'If there's anything you'd like to ask me, please go ahead. If not, then you might want to start heading back before your curfew.'

Harry stood up and shouldered his bag. 'Nothing right now, Professor.'

'Great, I'll see you Monday in class, Harry.'


The next week passed almost without Harry realising it. Despite the difficult beginning the week before, Finding Magic was going rather well, and Harry was having less and less trouble with the class with every passing day. By the following Tuesday, he had even managed to perform the Wand-Lighting Charm, and was now re-learning to cast it 'by feel' – without the conscious manipulation of transcendental energy, something that was proving more challenging than he had first thought.

He had gone to Professor Cauverina for help, and after just an hour, he had mastered it. Once again, she rewarded him with a bar of chocolate, this one from a shop called Honeyduke's, which he had never heard of, but whose chocolate was surprisingly good. If only he had her instead of some of his more condescending teachers from his primary school…

Somehow, though, not everyone apparently seemed to think that Professor Cauverina was that great of a teacher. Some, notably Pansy Parkinson and her little gang, as well as Draco Malfoy and his two enormous friends – Crabbe and Goyle, if he recalled their names correctly – seemed to scoff at Professor Cauverina's teaching, whispering amongst themselves in class while casting her pointed looks. Professor Cauverina, however, appeared to not have noticed – or was acting as if she had not noticed. Perhaps they were just like Dudley's gang back in Little Whinging, Harry thought, with regard to whom it was better for teachers to turn a blind eye, lest they find rotten eggs in their bags two days later – whatever the magical equivalent of that was.

There was also a notable incident Thursday morning, when another teacher – whom Professor Cauverina introduced as Professor Snape – barged into the Finding Magic classroom and demanded to talk to her about 'You-Know-What' in a tone that Harry would never have used, not just with a teacher, but with anyone else – even Dudley. Whatever class it was that Professor Snape taught, Harry was not looking forward to.

Other than that, however, there was nothing overly remarkable about the week, except for perhaps the flurry of students, in his year and otherwise, who kept on inviting him to sit with them at meals, or play 'Kidditch', or go with them on a walk. Perhaps Harry should have agreed – and he would have agreed, if he were anyone or anywhere else – but he simply had no interest. They reminded him too much of how Ron had treated him since the first day – like an oddity to be gawked at, or someone famous to be 'collected' – and thanks to years of experience in Little Whinging, he had learned that these people had no genuine interest in being his friends simply to be his friends.

Neville, and Hermione were nice enough, though he had to admit that Hermione could get a little annoying when it came to answering questions in class. They spoke regularly, though not too often, and sometimes sat together at meals. Something, though, kept Harry from going out of his way to talk to them or seek their company. Perhaps it was a sort of lingering wariness, for though he had a feeling that Hermione and Neville were not people like Ron or the others who threw themselves at him for insincere reasons, he could still not fully get past that cynical conditioned reaction.

Harry often found himself wondering as he walked alone down the high-ceilinged, vaulted stone corridors of Hogwarts, whether he could simply be normal. In Little Whinging, he had been a social pariah, and he had come to Hogwarts, hoping – and maybe expecting – to finally feel accepted. Yet here, nearly everyone around him seemed to suddenly be on the opposite extreme – so many simply wanted to stare at him, shake his hand, or congratulate him – and for what? – as if he were some film star.

It was in such an introspective mood that Harry spent his second weekend at Hogwarts, sitting mostly in his room, wand in hand and absentmindedly exercising his magic, looking out the window down at the grounds of Hogwarts below. An inter-House tournament of Gobstones was going on, and occasionally, Harry would hear, emanating from the common room downstairs, shouts of victory or cries of disgust as a player no doubt took a face full of the putrid liquid.

On Monday morning, Harry woke up at his habitual time and went down to breakfast, as usual one of the first in the Great Hall. Absentmindedly, he picked at his food as the hall slowly but surely filled up with students. At their usual, prescribed time, the post owls paraded into the Great Hall, dropping off the morning post. By now, Harry was used to this, and did not even bat an eyelid at the occurrence.

Harry did not even realise that it was the end of breakfast until a loud clap rang out from the head table, echoing around the cavernous room and gathering everyone's attention. Harry lifted his eyes from the table in front of him and looked up to see Headmaster Dumbledore standing, wearing green robes and a hat to match.

'First-Years!' he announced. 'Today is your first day of regular classes. I hope that you have found the last two weeks with Professor Cauverina helpful and enjoyable. Please join me in giving her a round of applause.'

Enthusiastically, Harry set down his fork and joined the rest of the first-years and teachers in applause. Harry spotted her near the right end of the staff table, blushing slightly but smiling at the acknowledgement. It was more than certainly well-deserved, Harry thought.

'And a round of applause also for Professor Katic, too,' Headmaster Dumbledore added when the applause quietened, and once again, claps sounded around the room.

'Please review again the timetables handed out to you on the first day,' he continued after waiting for the second round of applause to die down. 'They should have changed to reflect the classes that you will now be enrolled in. You will, of course, continue classes with Professors Cauverina and Katic until the end of your second year, but they will no longer be your only classes. If you have any questions, please ask your Head of House. Thank you, and enjoy your year.'

Almost at once, first-years around the hall dug into their bags for the timetable card that they had received on the first day. Harry found his sandwiched between the pages of Foundations of Magical Theory: A Conceptual Approach, a book which he, gladly keeping to Professor Cauverina's suggestion, had not opened since he had arrived.

True to Headmaster Dumbledore's words, the timetable had changed. Now, it displayed many more different blocs of classes, with each subject being highlighted in a different colour. To his pleasant surprise, Finding Magic was still his first class of the day every day, but instead of lasting nearly three hours, it was now only an hour and a half. The rest of that morning would be occupied by an hour and a half of Potions, with a class and practical, followed by an hour for lunch. In the afternoon there was an hour and a half of Elementary Studies, an hour of Transfiguration, then an hour and a half of History of Magic, before the day ended at four fifty in the afternoon, nearly two hours later than it had in the two weeks before.

The clock read eight fifty-five, and Harry, along with the rest of the students, began trickling out of the Great Hall, making his way up the familiar path to the Finding Magic classroom and taking his seat.

Finding Magic, despite being shortened now by half, did not change in content and style. Professor Cauverina was now giving them several more simple spells to work with to practise honing their magic, including one to produce red sparks and one to create a popping-like sound. Nearly everyone in the class was now working through them steadily, and even Hermione, who seemed to have had particular trouble in the first two weeks, was progressing at a good pace.

An hour and a half later, it was time to head to Potions. Harry flipped his card over, and like on the first day, there were a set of directions to his next class. Following them, Harry descended the moving staircases down to the ground floor, then through a door by the side of the Entrance Hall, which led into a steep spiral stairwell. As Harry descended down the steps, the air grew colder, mustier, and almost a little dark and sinister. Finally, at the very bottom, he found another door, which opened into a short corridor, at the end of which there was a black, ominous-looking wooden door.

Harry walked to the corridor and eased the door open. Immediately, he was hit by a pungent odour that he could not describe with words. It smelled almost medicinal, but at the same time there was an acidic tinge to it, along with a vague smell reminiscent of cleaning chemicals. The room itself was dark, with its sole window obscured fully by a shade. The chairs were arranged around a set of tables, four to each, while the walls all around were lined with shelves, on which sat jars of strange-looking items.

Several students were already in the room, including Pansy Parkinson and her gang, who were all seated around a single table. Harry crossed the room to the table on nearly the opposite side as them – by the front of the room – and took a seat. Pansy looked up at him as he passed, giving him a look that was somewhere between pity and superiority, before returning to chattering in whispers with her girlfriends.

The rest of the room filled up slowly. Hermione, Neville, and Seamus took the other three seats at Harry's table, while Dean, Raul, and Lavender Brown sat together with Ron at another, thankfully far away from him. Raul and Ron were engaged in conversation with Dean, apparently trying to convince him of how much better Quidditch was than football. Harry had finally caved to his curiosity and asked Neville what 'Kidditch' was, and if he had to be honest, he was rather unsettled by the idea of flying brooms high up in the air and at high speed, dodging balls that could kill someone if it hit them.

A door at the front of the classroom swung open with a crash, and a man, dressed in a cloak of all black, strode into the room. Harry recognised him immediately as the man who had come into Professor Cauverina's class the week previous, and had to work to stop himself from groaning or letting any look of disdain come over his face as he watched the man stride to his desk.

Harry had not gotten a good, close look at the man before, but now, he could easily notice the off, sallow tone of his face, the long, hooked nose, and the black hair that matted around his face and appeared to be covered in a thick layer of grease. By his appearance, it almost seemed to Harry as if this man found showers repulsive.

'You are now in Potions,' the man said in a soft, silky, and rather unsettling voice. 'After two weeks of "finding your magic", I doubt many of you will appreciate the art of potion-making. This is a skill that requires no use of your wand, and yet unlocks for you such a power which magic that is cast could never have. Potion-making is fluid art, complex dance, and exact puzzle all wrapped into something that most of you here…' his eyes travelled over to the side of the room where most of the Gryffindor students sat, '…will fail to grasp.'

'And as for the select few that do manage to understand, you will find the artistry of potions more rewarding than any other discipline of magic. It has not the flashiness of transfiguration, the frivolity of charms, the rote nature of herbology, the absurd speculation of divination. Nor does it possess the abstractness of arithmancy, the obfuscation of Eltrys by the Runic System, the inapplicability of astronomy. It is something completely different, something that takes years to learn, and a lifetime to understand. That is, if such dunderheads as some of you in this room could even learn it at all.'

'We shall start every class with a roll call,' he announced, picking up a roll of parchment from his desk. 'Brown, Lavender.'

'Here.'

'Bullstrode, Millicent.'

'Here.'

'Byrne, Mackenzie.'

'Here.'

'Crabbe, Vincent.'

'Yes?'

'Davis, Tracey.'

'Here.'

'Edel, Etzel.'

'Here.'

'Finnigan, Seamus.'

'Here.'

'Goyle, Gregory.'

Goyle grunted in reply.

'Granger, Hermione.'

'Present, Sir.'

The man looked up and gave Hermione a look that Harry did not quite like, but after a second, he returned his eyes to his parchment and continued. 'Greengrass, Daphne.'

'Present.'

'Longbottom, Neville.'

'Here.'

The man looked up again and gave Neville a piercing stare before returning to the roll call. 'Malfoy, Draco.'

'Here.'

'Murke, Elizabeth.'

'Here.'

'Noriega, Raul.'

'Here.'

'Nott, Theodore.'

'Here.'

'Parkinson, Pansy.'

'Here.'

'Patil, Parvati.'

'Here.'

'Perks, Sally-Anne.'

'Here.'

'Shafiq, Nura,' the man called, surprising Harry. He should have been next alphabetically, should he not have?

'Here,' Nura Shafiq replied.

'Thomas, Dean.'

'Here.'

'Weasley, Ron.'

'Here.'

'Zabini, Blaise.'

'Present.'

'And finally…Potter,' the man growled, and Harry was alarmed to hear that there was something that resembled venom in his voice as he pronounced Harry's surname.

'Potter, Harry!' he snapped a fraction of a second later, even more impatient.

'Here,' Harry hastily replied.

'Here what?' the man demanded. 'You surely have been taught how to properly address a teacher, have you not, Potter?'

'Here, Professor,' Harry corrected himself, confused. The teacher had not been upset when the other students had replied simply with 'here'. Had he done something wrong?

'Here, Professor what?'

Harry blinked in confusion. 'Professor…I don't think you've told us your name,' he chanced.

The man looked up, a look of disdain written all over his face. 'Ten points from Gryffindor for your disrespect, Potter, and another ten points for coming unprepared to class. For future reference, you will address me as "Sir" or "Professor Snape". Is this understood?'

'Yes, Professor.'

Professor Snape's eyes narrowed. 'Unbelievable. You really are just like him, skull so thick that you would not even know one was knocking on it. What did I just tell you to address me as?'

'Professor Snape, Sir,' Harry almost whimpered, shocked at the professor's tirade while simultaneously flummoxed at what he had done to warrant such a reaction from him. Despite his confusion, he was afraid to ask or say a word in protest, lest he provoke Professor Snape's anger even further.

'Yes, and you will do well to remember appropriate respect, Potter,' Professor Snape hissed. 'Ten points from Gryffindor.'

'Now, as I have said before, in this class, you will be learning the careful, calculated art of potion-making,' Professor Snape said, standing up and beginning to pace around the front of the room. 'This art will not be easy to learn, and it will be even harder to master. The best way to learn, however, is by doing, which is why you will be brewing for me an Invigoration Draught today. The ingredients and procedures begin on page five of Potions: An Elementary Introduction. You should have your cauldrons and stirring rods with you. Get to work. If your potion is not completed and of satisfactory quality by the end of this class, you will receive a failing grade for today.'

With no other instructions, Professor Snape set the class to work. Harry took out his cauldron from his bag and unfolded it, setting it on the table, before grabbing his glass stirring rod and placed it next to the cauldron. Next, he rifled through his books, finding the correct potions textbook, and turned to page five.

He scanned the page. At the top was a list of ingredients, followed by a set of steps. He looked at the ingredients carefully. Some of them looked familiar, even commonplace – the recipe called for three coffee beans and two mint leaves – some a little more exotic, such as the fourteen moonflower petals required, and some seemed downright strange. The potion required, for example, half a Standard Spoon of Leaping Toadstool powder, along with one Standard Spoon of ordinary purity Sunvine Extract diluted into two Standard Cups of water.

Harry took out his set of potions supplies, locating where each of the ingredients were stored. He had thankfully done some chemistry experiments in school, and so found following the steps rather straightforward. There was no need for him to prepare any of the ingredients himself besides tearing the leaves and petals into smaller chunks before dropping them into the simmering solution, which made it all the easier.

When he was finished with the last step, the potion, for the most part, seemed to look as it was supposed to. The consistency was reasonably fluid, and the smoke rose in four distinct, visible spirals. The colour however, instead of the glowing, golden tone it should have been, appeared as more of a bright yellow colour. Confused and a little nervous, he flipped through the pages, checking if he had missed any steps, but found that he had followed all of them correctly. He checked his potions supplies. He had not added too much of any ingredient, nor mistakenly added something wrong. What was causing the difference in colour, then?

Harry decided to look around at how the others around the table were doing and what the colours of their potions were. Hermione, though not yet done, seemed not to be struggling very much, her ingredients arranged into neat little piles around her table as she stirred the concoction with an expression of concentration. She seemed to be at the step before last, and her potion was close to being the exact shade of midnight blue that the book had described as being correct. Harry watched as Hermione dropped in the final petal of moonflower, and mixture slowly turned into the dull auburn, which slowly grew in turn into the expected gold.

Neville, meanwhile, was struggling, a look of panic on his face as he flipped back and forth in his book, trying to determine the right steps. By the look of the items still on his cutting board, he had barely gotten to the halfway point in the recipe. He shot a nervous, pleading glance at Hermione, which she did not see, as he scooped up a spoonful of Leaping Toadstool powder before dropping it into his cauldron with a shaking hand, scattering nearly half onto the table. His potion turned an off shade of purple that Harry was quite sure was not correct at any stage of the process.

Just as Harry was about to look over at Seamus, there was a loud whooshing sound, followed by a flash of orange and a wave of heat. Harry averted his eyes to avoid being blinded by the light, while ducking away from the direction of his cauldron to stop himself from being burned.

When the light died down, Harry opened his eyes carefully and looked over at Seamus. Professor Snape was standing over him, a livid expression on his face. In front of Seamus, his cauldron sat on one side, two of its legs collapsed. A trail of burned brown slag ran from the mouth of the cauldron down to the side of the table, dripping onto the floor. In the shocked silence of the room, Harry could hear some giggles coming from some of the Slytherin students.

'Explain,' Professor Snape whispered, his voice deadly.

'M-My cauldron collapsed, Professor,' Seamus stammered, drawing open laughter from the heavily Slytherin side of the room.

Professor Snape drew his wand, and with a single wave, levitated Seamus's cauldron into the air. He waved his wand again, and the cauldron spun slowly in mid-air, allowing Professor Snape to examine it from all angles.

'Tell me, Finnigan, how many pegs are you supposed to secure to keep a collapsible cauldron open?'

There was a moment of silence before Seamus answered. 'Eight, Professor.'

'So why,' Professor Snape growled through gritted teeth, 'are only six of the pegs locked?'

'I…I must've forgotten to lock them, Sir,' Seamus mumbled. A number of the Slytherins laughed again.

Professor Snape snapped his wand up, and Seamus's cauldron fell back onto the table with a clang. 'Thank the Creators that you were brewing a simple Invigoration Draught,' he hissed. 'If it had been something else in that cauldron – a poison, let's say, or a Draught of Living Death after the addition of wormwood, which makes it explosive if overheated – you would have killed this entire room with your idiocy. Do you understand what you could have done?'

Seamus was trembling slightly now. 'Y-Yes, Sir.'

'Fifty points from Gryffindor for your brainlessness, Finnigan,' Professor Snape snapped, 'and a "Troll" grade for the lesson.'

Professor Snape backed away from a still-shaking Seamus and began pacing around Harry's table. 'I will take it that you have all completed your potions,' he said.

'I haven't,' Neville protested feebly, but Professor Snape pretended to not hear him as he began to examine Hermione's potion.

'Colour is…acceptable,' Professor Snape said, and Harry was suddenly overcome by fright. If Hermione's colour was only 'acceptable', then what would Professor Snape say of his? The man already seemed to hate him for some reason or another and clearly seemed to have a vindictive bent. Would he give Harry a failing grade for the slightest mistake?

'Vapour is wrong,' Snape continued. 'Four spirals should be clearly distinguishable, but I could only see a little more than three.' He dipped Hermione's stirring rod into her potion. 'Consistency is acceptable. This potion gets an "Acceptable".'

Next, he walked over to Neville, who looked like he was having a small heart attack. Professor Snape glanced down at the cauldron, and his face immediately took on a derisive expression.

'Unfinished, Longbottom?'

Neville nodded, frightened.

'Unfinished and poorly made,' Professor Snape said, and there was something in his voice that seemed to indicate that he was relishing in criticising Neville's work. 'Loose ingredients everywhere, colour, vapour, and odour are all wrong. This gets a "Poor".'

Neville looked at Professor Snape with an expression of shock as he strode over to Harry. He did not dare look up at Professor Snape as he grabbed Harry's stirring rod and gave the potion several stirs, testing its consistency.

'Colour is awful,' he concluded, and Harry could almost hear a smile in Professor Snape's voice. 'Gold, Potter. Gold, not yellow. Clearly, not only did you inherit his insolence, but you also inherited his dullness.'

Harry did not dare ask who 'he' was as Professor Snape continued critiquing the potion. 'Vapour is similarly terrible. No spirals at all.'

'But Professor,' Harry protested, 'there are clearly four spirals, rising like how the textbook said they would.'

'I do not see any,' Professor Snape replied in dismissal, despite the fact that Harry – and he was sure, Professor Snape – could clearly see the four spirals of vapour rising from his cauldron. 'And that will be fifteen points from Gryffindor for talking back to a teacher, Potter. Be thankful that it is not a detention.'

'This potion should not even earn a "Dreadful", but I will not for your sake waste my time explaining to the Headmaster the reason that I gave a student a "Troll",' Professor Snape said in a low voice that almost only Harry could hear. 'I had hoped that you might be different, Potter, but clearly, you are just like your father.'

And before Harry could say a word in reply, Professor Snape strode away, leaving Harry staring wide-eyed, wondering what in the world had just happened.


The lunch right after that first potions class was eventful. Many of the first-year Gryffindors seemed to have split themselves into two camps – one abusing Snape for his treatment of Seamus, and another, though not supporting Snape's attitude and actions per se, acknowledging that he had a point about Seamus needing to be more careful with his cauldron.

Ron was heading up the first camp, and supporting him was Raul, Lavender, and Nura. On the other side was Hermione, with Dean and Neville somewhat tacitly sympathising with her view. Harry, meanwhile, thought that though Hermione was right, she could be a little nicer to Seamus. Not that Ron was any better, though. In fact, of the two, he was most definitely and by far the worst.

'I'm not saying that Professor Snape should've taken fifty points or humiliated him in front of the whole class, Ron,' Hermione was arguing. 'But you can't just brush it off altogether and say that he wasn't right to criticise Seamus for not being responsible.'

'Of course I can,' Ron snapped back. 'Snape's a right foul git who shamelessly favours the Slytherins. Did you see Crabbe and Goyle's cauldrons? There's no way those were properly set up, but he didn't even say a thing about them. And what about Harry's potion? You said that it was almost right, but Snape still failed him, and gave Crabbe and Goyle both "Exceeds Expectations"!'

'Keep me out of this, please, Ron,' Harry muttered, not wanting to get involved or named in the fight.

'And did you forget! He did it to Harry, too!' Ron shouted, Harry's protest only fuelling his tirade. 'Did you hear him, Granger? Insulting Harry Potter – only the most famous wizard of our age and, you know, the person that saved the entire wizarding world – like that in front of the whole class. What kind of teacher does that?'

'For the last time, Ron, I'm not defending Professor Snape doing that to Harry!' Hermione rebutted, while Harry cringed as Seamus was all but forgotten and Ron's attention, once again, focused on him. 'I'm just saying that you shouldn't say that Snape was the only one at fault – '

'Of course I should! He – '

'Could you guys please keep me out of this,' Harry said, louder. He chose what to say next very carefully, for he certainly did not want to say anything positive about Snape after how he had treated him, but yet not did not Ron to keep yelling at Hermione while completely missing the point of what she was saying, either. 'And my potion wasn't perfect. It wasn't all Professor Snape's fault.'

'You can't be telling me that you agree with her!' Ron cried, pointing an accusatory finger at Harry.

'I'm not,' Harry replied. 'I'm not saying that I disagree with her, either. Just don't bring me into this.'

'You think it's okay for her to accuse you and Seamus after Snape just failed both of you, and took fifty points from him?' Ron yelled, scandalised. 'You're siding with the brown-nosing know-it-all?'

Harry buried his face in his hands and winced at Ron's language. He really did not want to get more involved – getting into someone else's fights would only hurt him, he knew from experience with Dudley – but at the same time, he knew like Ron was behaving far out of line. Sure, Hermione could have been nicer, but in essence, she was not saying anything wrong. There was certainly no justification for Ron to be abusing her that way.

'Ron, Hermione's not saying anything wrong. Who knows what could've happened if it really was something more dangerous in the cauldron?' Harry said, taking a deep breath. 'And there's no reason for you to be calling her those names.'

'No reason?' Ron shouted, his voice cracking slightly. 'She's trying to kiss up to Snape, right after all he just did to you! And to Seamus!'

Hermione looked to be on the verge of tears. 'I'm not – '

'What's wrong with saying that Professor Snape had a point?' Neville interrupted. 'She's not saying that Professor Snape was right to be docking fifty points or attacking Seamus or Harry like that. All she's saying is that – '

'That I messed up,' Seamus interrupted, his voice barely audible. His clothes and hair were still singed from the incident earlier. 'That's all she's saying. Can we please just stop?'

Ron regarded Seamus with a mutinous look, and opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something, but after a few seconds, decided to remain silent and went back to his lunch, stabbing his food with extra, undue venom and changing the subject to complaining to Raul about some 'Dave' who lived in his attic. Hermione, meanwhile, was barely eating, and was staring out into the distance with a rather lost expression.

Lunch ended, and Harry made his way up to his first class of the afternoon – Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall. To a small measure of relief, he saw that the class was with the Ravenclaws, rather than the Slytherins. Thankfully, Transfiguration passed without incident, with Professor McGonagall mostly lecturing, giving an overview of what transfiguration was. Harry noticed, however, that Hermione was, quite uncharacteristically, quiet in class, seemingly not paying attention to what Professor McGonagall was saying half of the time.

Harry, knowing how it felt to be attacked like that, tried to talk to her between Transfiguration and History of Magic to see if she was okay, but she simply walked ahead, not wanting to speak to anyone. In History of Magic, too, she sat by herself, taking notes as their teacher, Professor Ross, lectured about the beginnings of the magical civilisation of ancient Mesopotamia.

Finally, just before dinner, Harry found her, sitting alone in a chair in the Gryffindor Common Room, staring into the fire. After a second of hesitation, he walked over, standing awkwardly to the side, not feeling comfortable enough to sit down opposite her.

'Hello,' he chanced after a deep breath.

'Hello,' Hermione replied, sounding absent.

'How are you?'

Hermione shrugged. 'Fine. And you?'

'Fine.'

There was a long stretch of awkward silence before Hermione finally broke it. 'It's fine,' she said.

'What's fine?'

'What happened at lunch.'

Harry inhaled sharply, not really believing that it was actually fine to her. 'I just want to ask…if you're…okay. Ron was completely – '

'I'm fine,' Hermione repeated, looking into the fire absently. 'I…well, I appreciate it. You and Neville and Dean and Seamus. And I know I could've been nicer. But I don't need to think about him more than I have to.'

Harry nodded uncomfortably, convincing himself to be convinced by her words. 'Have you had dinner yet?' he asked, changing the topic.

Hermione shook her head. 'Not yet.'

'Do you want to go now?' Harry proposed.

Hermione sighed, looking at him for a second before turning back to the fire. 'Not now,' she said quietly. 'I don't feel like it right now. But…another time?'

Harry nodded, smiling a little. 'Another time.'