"ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ᴀʀᴇ, ɪɴ ᴍʏ ɴᴏᴛ-ꜱᴏ-ʜᴜᴍʙʟᴇ ᴏᴘɪɴɪᴏɴ, ᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ɪɴᴇxʜᴀᴜꜱᴛɪʙʟᴇ ꜱᴏᴜʀᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ. ᴄᴀᴘᴀʙʟᴇ ᴏꜰ ʙᴏᴛʜ ɪɴꜰʟɪᴄᴛɪɴɢ ɪɴᴊᴜʀʏ, ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴅʏɪɴɢ ɪᴛ."
Chapter Eight: To Put a Cat Amongst Pigeons
The first night had not gone well at all for Ruby. First of all, she hadn't been able to get to sleep for hours, and when she finally did, she was assaulted with the usual guilty nightmare.
Uncle Vernon slumping dead to the floor, giant hands tightening around Harry's throat.
Over and over again.
When she woke up, she couldn't breathe, and the pillow was wet with tears.
There was a newly-killed rat in her bed, probably courtesy of Pansy.
Hephaestus looked as pleased as a cat could as he cleaned his whiskers and gave himself a bath.
"Hogwarts," she muttered weakly as she picked up the dead rat by its tail, making sure to hold it as far away from her as possible. "We're at a magic school, Heph. With wizards and witches and ghosts."
Somehow, it didn't feel quite real. Unsure about what to do with the rat — she couldn't just leave it out; it would start decaying — she resolved to get ready for class first and deal with that problem later.
Ruby had never had new clothes before. When they were at the Dursleys', she and Harry had always worn Dudley's old hand-me-down clothes, which were always much too baggy, and after they'd run away, they had worn what they could find.
But now, all the new, starched and well-fitted pieces of her uniform were laying out on her bed (her bed!). Overnight, the plain black tie had changed to green-and-silver to match the Slytherin House colors. More magic, I suppose. Though something about all these things just happening out of nowhere is just a bit unsettling.
All of the other girls were on the opposite side of the room, laughing and chatting together, but that was fine by Ruby. She didn't want to speak to them anyway, especially Pansy.
Still, Ruby watched them, silently and curiously, as the girl from last night — Daphne Greengrass — carefully plaited another girl's hair into a blonde, silky rope. Both of them giggled as the blonde one admired her hair.
"Do it up in a crown, Daph! It'll look so elegant, like yours!"
Ruby fumbled with her tie, unable to figure out how to knot it properly; the fabric kept slipping through her fingers. She felt distinctly frustrated.
Forget it.
Unable to bring herself to ask for help, Ruby tucked it into the pocket of her robes instead, turning her attention to the dead rat lying on top of the bed.
As she watched Pansy and the other girls leave without a second glance at her, Ruby began to develop a very appealing idea.
In fact, it was sounding more and more satisfying by the minute.
She crept towards Pansy's bed — the silly girl had actually left her trunk unlocked!
Rich people do stupid things like that, don't they?
Keeping a close eye on the clock and the door, Ruby shifted endless piles of soft silk and jingling jewelry. There must have been some kind of spell on the trunk, because it didn't look that big on the outside.
Eventually, she found what she was looking for — a shoebox. Ruby gently placed the rat between the two sparkling, probably priceless slippers, replaced the lid, then left the trunk exactly how she'd found it.
She brushed her robes off, frowned in the mirror at the dense tangle of her hair that she'd only barely managed to manhandle into a plait, shouldered her bag, and left.
The door creaked shut behind her, and Ruby found herself in the still stone corridor of the dormitory, the eerie light of the lake and the steady-burning torches illuminating her surroundings.
The door opposite her swung open rather violently, causing her to jump back in surprise as it slammed against the wall. A boy of about her age, she recognized him from the Sorting Ceremony — Theodore something or other — stumbled out, looking incredibly miserable.
"Morning," he said, sounding just as miserable as he looked, then grimly made his way up the stairs to the common room, gripping the bannister as if his life depended on it.
Well, at least she hadn't been the only one who'd had a bad start to the day. Ruby followed after Theodore, emerging into the slightly-familiar surroundings of the common room.
As expected, Pansy and three other girls were already sitting together, laughing and talking about something.
Gemma waved at her, and Ruby responded in kind, although she felt that she should keep her distance, given Alastair's odd comment about Harry last night.
Harry.
She felt a sudden wave of homesickness. Was he awake yet, in whatever part of the castle the Gryffindors lived in? Did he miss her, too? Had he been able to sleep last night?
A gaunt, silent specter covered in bloodstains was floating over by the fireplace, looking even more morose than Ruby would have expected a ghost to look. The Bloody Baron, Ruby thought. I wonder how he got bloodstained.
Oops. She wasn't supposed to ask that.
"You're the other one, aren't you?" asked miserable Theodore.
What a wet blanket.
"Other what?" asked Ruby, sitting down opposite him.
Theodore propped his head upon his hands and looked at her gloomily.
"Potter," he said. "I, er, didn't know there was another one."
"Yeah."
"Oh."
"I'm Ruby," she said.
"Yeah, I know that," said Theodore. "Draco was going on about you and your brother last night."
Before Ruby could come up with a response for that, Draco Malfoy himself entered the common room, accompanied by the two hulking boys from the train.
"I should go," said Theodore, getting up and trotting over to Malfoy like a chastised terrier. "Bye."
Ruby slumped in her chair. He's so weird. Did Malfoy tell him not to speak to me, or something?
What did I ever do to these people?
"Hullo!" said someone with forced cheeriness. Ruby looked up to see Gemma standing behind her chair and smiling slightly.
"We're going to breakfast," she said. "Me and some of the older students. Why don't you come along?"
Ruby considered her options. "All right."
She perked up slightly as she followed Gemma and her friends out of the common room. Maybe, she'd see Harry in the Great Hall.
Harry grabbed her arm as soon as they got to the Great Hall; Gemma gave her an understanding smile as she continued in.
Ron was especially curious about the interior of Slytherin House ("Fred and George said they all sleep with snakes!").
Eventually, Hermione shouted him down.
"So, to summarize," said Ruby as the five of them stood outside the Great Hall, "they all think you're some kind of Dark wizard that all of the posh people can rally around or something."
Harry pulled a face, and Anthony snorted inelegantly.
"Pansy put a rat in my bed," she continued. "At least, I'm pretty sure it was her. Anyway, it didn't work out for her, because Heph went for it."
And I put the dead rat in her trunk. But she kept that bit to herself.
"Good boy, Heph," said Harry, grinning and petting the kitten.
"Well, I'm sorry your night was awful," said Anthony. "Ravenclaw House is really fun. But we all stayed up too late talking, so I'm really tired—" He yawned.
"I had a hard time sleeping, too," said Harry, giving Ruby a knowing look. They'd never been apart for a whole night. Even when the Dursleys were angry with them, they always locked them in the cupboard together.
"The Slytherins can't all possibly be bad," Hermione pointed out.
"You saw what Malfoy and his cronies were like yesterday!" Ron protested.
"Oi, Potter!" came a loud voice. Harry cringed instantly as he turned and saw who it belonged to. "Now, everyone knows the famous Harry Potter is just a baby — they should call you the Boy-Who-Fainted!"
"Leave me alone, Malfoy!" snapped Harry as Malfoy and the two hulking boys walked up to them. "I'm not a baby!"
"What are you going to do about it, hmm, Potter? Cry for mummy — oh, wait, you don't have one."
Harry shrieked and launched himself at Malfoy — he'd always been small for his age, but growing up with Dudley had taught him how to make the most of his size in a fight, lashing out with pointed elbows and clenched fists. Ron and Anthony joined the fray as well, and while Ruby attempted to pull Harry off of Malfoy, Hermione yelled for help, which turned out to be a bad decision.
Percy Weasley came rushing down the corridor, accompanied by Professor Snape, who looked as if he wished to be anywhere but there.
"STOP!" bellowed Percy. "STOP! I am a prefect, and I order you to stop fighting this instant!"
Ruby and Hermione went stock-still, but Percy and Snape weren't paying any attention to them.
Snape raised his wand, and suddenly, the corridor filled with an unbearably high-pitched squeal, the kind that older people cannot hear and that is specifically designed to agitate dogs and small children.
The boys stopped fighting to cover their ears.
Harry and Malfoy looked the worst out of them all — both had bleeding noses and split lips, Harry's glasses were cracked, and Malfoy had some particularly nasty-looking bruises, most likely from Harry's elbows.
Harry was also crying with rage, and when Ruby looked closer, she saw that the shadows around his fingers were jagged and dark.
"He started it, Professor Snape!" said Malfoy, pointing at Harry. "He started hitting me, and Weasley and Goldstein joined in!"
"Thought you could get away with fighting, did you, Potter?" snarled Snape, his top lip curling into a sneer.
"Malfoy started it, sir!" Harry protested.
Malfoy looked much too pleased for someone with a nosebleed and a black eye.
"I don't want to hear it," said Snape. "Now, thirty points each from Gryffindor, and thirty points—" He sneered at Anthony. "—from Ravenclaw."
"Anthony Goldstein," he offered with a small smile, but Snape just ignored him.
"What about them?" asked Hermione, pointing at Malfoy and the other two. "Aren't they going to get in trouble, too, Professor?"
"Potter started it, and it is clear that the other two followed his lead," said Snape. Ron gestured at Percy, as if to say, 'Aren't you going to do anything about this?'
Percy simply shrugged and continued to look superior.
"Potter. Is that true?" Snape asked Harry.
The hallway was silent.
Harry stared back at him, his bottom lip wobbling, and nodded.
"Then, my decision was completely fair," said Snape. "Mr. Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, you may all go to the Hospital Wing."
He and Percy disappeared into the Great Hall.
"Why didn't you tell him what Malfoy said?" Ruby hissed angrily. "That was out of order, Harry! If you didn't hit him, I would have!"
"It wouldn't have done anything," said Harry irritably, squinting through his cracked glasses. "I can't see a thing," he complained.
"Occulus Reparo," said Hermione, pointing her wand at his glasses. Harry felt a quick rush of air, and suddenly the crack down the middle of the left side of his vision was gone. He took his glasses off to gape at the repaired lens. Ron gawked at her.
"That's better, isn't it?" She seemed very pleased with herself. "You've got a bit of dirt on your nose, Ron, by the way. Did you know? Just there."
Ron made an annoyed sound, but did not attempt to wipe the bit of dirt off.
"Well, this is where we part," said Anthony as they walked into the Great Hall.
As Ruby drew closer to the Slytherin table, Theodore flashed her a quick, tight smile while Malfoy was distracted, and Daphne moved over a bit to let her sit.
Small victories. A bit at a time.
Most of the first-year Slytherins were very excited for Potions, because it was taught by Professor Snape, who apparently tended to favor their House — a fair evaluation, if the altercation earlier was anything to go by.
"What's up with Quirrell?" she asked Gemma, nodding towards the nervous professor.
Gemma scrunched her nose, considering this. "He used to teach Muggle Studies," she explained. "He went on sabbatical last year to gallivant around the world, as far as any of us can tell, and now he's teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts."
"What happened to the last teacher?" asked Ruby, and she could tell that Daphne and Pansy were listening, too.
"Fell down a well," said Gemma in a matter-of-fact tone. "Some people say the position is cursed. No one's lasted more than a year since the sixties. I know he doesn't seem very convincing, but don't worry, he likely won't last the year, anyway. If Rakepick couldn't outlast the curse, Quirrell certainly won't. He's an idiot, but Dumbledore's got to have someone teaching D.A.D.A, hasn't he?"
Ruby shivered. That did not sound promising at all.
"What kinds of things are we supposed to learn in, uh, D.A.D.A?" she asked, copying Gemma's abbreviation.
"My first year — that's when Professor Rakepick taught — nasty piece of work she turned out to be — well, anyway, we mostly learned about jinxes and whatnot, fending off Dark creatures. You'll be fine, don't worry. Plenty of Muggle-borns have done decently in class."
Someone further down the table snorted. "Depends how you look at it, Farley!"
Ruby felt distinctly uncomfortable. Gemma rolled her eyes.
"Look at Longbottom, for a start," she said, nodding over at a nervous-looking boy sitting beside Harry at the Gryffindor table. "Pureblood and nearly a Squib."
"Squib?" Ruby really couldn't keep up with all of the new vocabulary words; she wished that there was some sort of wizard encyclopedia so that she might make sense of all this without sounding like an idiot.
"Honestly, Potter, you really were brought up by Muggles!" exclaimed the dark-skinned, arrogant-looking boy sitting next to Theodore. "A Squib is someone who has wizard parents but no magic."
"Blaise," said Gemma warningly.
"Farley."
"Where's your tie, Potter?" asked Alastair as he sat down on the other side of Gemma.
"Good morning to you too, Alastair," Gemma muttered, glaring at him over her schedule. He held her gaze for a moment, then shrugged and turned away.
I wonder what's going on with them, thought Ruby. They seemed to be getting along fine yesterday.
"It's in my pocket," said Ruby, retrieving the now-crumpled piece of silk. "I didn't know how to tie it."
"You really are useless, Potter!" said Pansy, sniggering.
Oh, she won't be laughing when she finds that rat.
Gemma shushed Pansy, and Ruby saw Alastair wince — Gemma must have kicked him under the table.
"Aren't you going to say anything?" she hissed under her breath. "I was under the impression that this was a team effort, Montague!"
He was reading some kind of newspaper — The Daily Prophet — with moving pictures, like the ones of their parents in the book Hagrid had given them.
"Oh. The Wimbourne Wasps beat the Montrose Magpies three-hundred-and-twenty to eighty-five. I owe Hassan three Galleons. Satisfied, dear?"
"You're unbelievable," snapped Gemma. Alastair sipped his tea, looking remarkably serene.
"Um, could you show me how to tie this?" asked Ruby, holding out the tie forlornly. Gemma sat up straighter, clearly trying to compose herself.
"Yes. Of course. The easiest is, er, this way."
The rest of breakfast passed almost entirely without incident, the only disruption being that someone called 'Peeves' had upset a ghost named Moaning Myrtle, who apparently lived in one of the girls' bathrooms, and a disgruntled-looking Professor Sinistra (who, according to Gemma, taught Astronomy) was sent to deal with the resulting flooding.
On the subject of classes, Ruby received the following advice from Alastair on her way to her first Transfiguration lesson:
"Keep your head down and try not to lose any House points, Potter. Slytherin's won the House Cup for seven years, and we intend to win an eighth time. And, at dinner, we should find some time to discuss your brother — perhaps you could bring him with you once we decide where to meet. So many of us are curious to finally meet the Boy-Who-Lived."
"Right," she said, slightly unsettled. "I'll, uh, take that into consideration. And, I will, er, talk to Harry about it."
Alastair beamed. "Excellent. Run along, Potter. Professor McGonagall does not appreciate tardiness."
Seeing the other first-year Slytherins several paces ahead of her, Ruby sprinted to catch up with them, almost tripping over her robes. But they did not notice her. Daphne made a sympathetic face but quickly scurried after the blonde girl from earlier, and when Ruby entered the classroom (which looked surprisingly ordinary for a magic school), she found herself the only person sitting alone.
Professor McGonagall — the stern professor from the Sorting ceremony — cleared her throat, and the faint sounds of students whispering stopped instantly. The entire class seemed to sit up straight.
"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall, turning to stare at Crabbe, who had just whispered something that made all of the Slytherin boys titter. Only Theodore had the grace to look slightly embarrassed, though all of them shrank back slightly. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned—"
"—I'm so sorry I'm late, Professor!" someone yelped as the door was flung open with surprising force, and a robed figure barreled into the classroom.
"Mr. Goldstein!" Professor McGonagall scolded. "Are you at all aware what time it is, or do you require me to Transfigure you into a pocket watch?"
How does she know everyone's names already?
Malfoy snorted rather loudly. "I think Longbottom's got a contender for most pathetic."
"Enough, Mr. Malfoy," said Professor McGonagall. "Come here, Mr. Goldstein. Distribute these matches amongst your classmates, then you may sit with Miss Potter. Further tardiness will not be tolerated in my class; I expect a ten-inch essay on the virtues of punctuality on my desk before class begins on Friday."
This time, Pansy's sniggering was the loudest, though a sharp look from Professor McGonagall quickly silenced her.
"Bad luck, mate," someone whispered as Anthony began to pass out the matches. As he did, Professor McGonagall explained that their task for the day was to turn their matches to needles. First, she gave a very complicated lecture that only Anthony seemed enthusiastic about. Ruby had skimmed the reading assigned for class last night, but it had been gibberish then, and it was only marginally better now. By the end of the lecture, they had twenty minutes left to attempt the spell, and Ruby didn't feel the slightest bit enlightened.
"It's impossible," Ruby groused, glaring at her match as Anthony gleefully flicked through his copious notes. "I get making things float and all that, but how can you possibly turn one thing into another? It's — It's impossible, I haven't got the blooming Philosopher's Stone, have I?"
Professor McGonagall was just walking by their desk, and she flinched, for some strange reason, at Ruby's complaint.
"I don't get it, Professor. I can't do it, I don't understand any of it!" she said, trying desperately to ignore the titters and Pansy whispering, "Squib!"
Ruby wished she didn't know what the word meant.
"Have you attempted the spell?" asked Professor McGonagall disapprovingly.
"I did, I had a go at it, but nothing!" To prove her point, Ruby waved her wand in the appropriate pattern and spoke the incantation. Yet, the match remained distinctly match-like on the desk but twitched slightly, as if it were mocking her efforts. Anthony had already somehow gotten his pointy and somewhat silvery-looking.
"Did you understand the lecture?"
She stared sullenly at the desk.
"No, I'm sorry, Professor McGonagall. I s'pose I'm just stupid, I didn't get any of it."
The stern professor seemed to soften, and even smile slightly. "Re-read your notes for the remainder of class. Your pronunciation and wandwork is passable; it is the correct focus that you lack. Once you think you have a grasp on the theory behind the spell, come see me after class this week. Your father had a remarkable talent for Transfiguration; I would be surprised if you did not show the same aptitude for the subject, Miss Potter."
Ruby felt her cheeks heat, and her chest swelled with gratitude.
My father... My dad was good at Transfiguration... I want to be really good at it, too.
"Transfiguration's my favorite class," Anthony declared as they left the classroom. "It's more scientific and logical than Charms. Of course, it's really hard work, but the theory is so interesting…" He trailed off. "What've you got next?"
"Potions, with the Gryffindors."
"Boo," said Anthony, frowning. "Everyone says Professor Snape is the meanest teacher."
"He took me and Harry to King's Cross," said Ruby, remembering the way he'd sneered at her and Harry disapprovingly, but especially her. "I don't think he likes us very much."
"Well, he's your Head of House now," said Anthony as he followed her down towards the dungeons. "He's got to deal with you for the next seven years, so he might as well get used to it."
Somehow, Ruby wasn't convinced.
"Uh, Anthony," she said, suddenly realizing something. "Shouldn't you be going up there? It's only the Slytherins and Gryffindors who've got Potions right now."
Ruby pointed vaguely up the stairs.
"Blimey, you're right!" exclaimed Anthony, his eyes going wide with horror. "I'm going to be late for Charms, too! Bye, Ruby!"
And with that, he turned and sprinted up the stairs with surprising speed, taking two steps at a time. Ruby shook her head, laughing to herself as she continued towards the Potions classroom.
Like the rest of the dungeons, the classroom was chilly and a bit creepy-looking. It was somewhat more like what Ruby had been expecting from Hogwarts; the shelves lining the walls were stocked with what looked like pickled animals floating in glass jars and there was a basin in one corner of the room with a very ugly gargoyle from whose mouth water poured continuously. The classroom would have been quite dim if not for the presence of several lamps flickering with emerald flames.
There was no chance of sitting with the other Slytherins; having learned her lesson, Ruby quickly sat in the first empty seat that she saw, next to the nervous-looking boy who Gemma had pointed out earlier.
"Longbottom, right?" asked Ruby, sticking her hand out in her best attempt at politeness. "Ruby Potter, my brother's in Gryffindor with you."
Longbottom shook her hand clumsily, and Ruby wrinkled her nose in disgust. Why are his hands so clammy? Couldn't he have wiped them off first?
He mumbled something that sounded like 'Melville.' Ruby couldn't quite make it out, but that was her best guess.
She felt a sudden, overwhelming sense of trepidation as Snape's piercing gaze swept over the classroom and lingered on Harry, who was sitting directly in front of her. As Snape glanced away, Harry took the opportunity to turn around hurriedly to pass her a tiny scrap of rolled-up parchment.
Keeping an eye on Snape, Ruby unfurled the note under the desk.
Something really weird happened. I have to talk to you. Meet me outside the Great Hall after class.
Hastily, Ruby shoved Harry's note into her pocket, sat up straight, and tried to look attentive as Snape began to call attendance, making a snide comment about 'celebrity' when he got to Harry's name.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," Snape began, with the effortless, exacting intonation of a Shakespearean actor. Ruby had to admit that the effect was very good. The entire class was silent, enthralled and hanging on his every word. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic."
Despite herself, Ruby leaned closer, and she saw out of the corner of her eye that Longbottom did, too.
"... 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."
Snape paused for dramatic effect. Ruby wondered if he had gone to drama school. Could wizards be actors? If so, his talent was wasted.
"Potter!" said Snape suddenly, and Ruby jumped in surprise. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Ruby stared hard at her desk, and Harry, in front of her, was doing the same. Hermione's hand shot up like a jack-in-the-box.
Asphodel and wormwood. Ruby massaged her temples, trying to think. She'd seen both of those words in the textbook, but she had no idea what they could possibly make together. It had to be some type of potion, but which one?
Hermione's arm trembled desperately; she was nearly bouncing in her seat.
Wormwood sounded sort of medicinal. Maybe it was a healing potion. Surely, it was better to have a wrong answer than to say nothing. Snape seemed like the sort of teacher who expected participation.
"Uh, Professor, is it—"
"Not you," snapped Professor Snape, sneering at her. "Mister Potter?"
"I don't know, sir," said Harry, his voice clearer and more confident than it ever had been in primary school, and Ruby felt a tiny smile tug at her mouth.
"Let's try again. Mr. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
Hermione's hand shook like a leaf, but Snape ignored it. Why is he so hellbent on Harry answering? Ruby wondered.
"I don't know, sir," said Harry. His head was lifted ever-so-slightly; he must have been staring back at Snape. "Why don't you ask Hermione?" he offered. "I think she knows the answer."
"One point from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter," said Snape, sounding almost pleased.
Malfoy snorted, and half of the classroom devolved into giggling and whispered insults, which to Ruby's shock, Snape made no attempt to quell.
By now, Hermione was halfway out of her chair. The class was in total chaos.
"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
Harry slid lower in his chair, trying to make himself small, just like he did when Uncle Vernon yelled at him.
Self-preservation gave way to impulse; Ruby wasn't going to let Malfoy and Pansy make fun of her brother, too. She stood up, and regretted it instantly as the chair squealed against the stone floor and Snape's sneer deepened.
"Do you have an announcement to make, Miss Potter?" he asked snidely. The laughter grew even louder.
Ruby wanted the ground to come up and swallow her, but she'd committed to this already.
"To answer your question, sir," she said shakily, her face burning in embarrassment, "Monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant. It has hooded purple flowers—"
Uncle Vernon twitched.
No.
He choked.
Stop!
"—and is also known as the queen of poisons, since every part of the flower is toxic, though its numbing qualities—"
Her hands had tingled.
"—its numbing qualities make it an effective pain reliever."
"Is that all?" asked Snape, still sneering.
"Yes, Professor," she muttered, staring at the ground determinedly as she sat down again.
"Well, thank you, Miss Potter, for that monologue. We all feel most enlightened."
Snape stopped the resulting outburst of titters with a glare and snapped at Hermione to sit down, once more taking control of the classroom.
"Asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death," he said, returning to his Shakespearean performance, sweeping his robes in a Hamlet-like fashion. "A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are indeed the same plant, more properly known as aconite, and the main ingredient in a potion that allows werewolves to keep their human minds during their monthly transformations; but it would be beyond most of your capabilities to brew such a potion even after seven years with me."
The room was silent as a tomb.
"Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"
Instantly, the classroom was filled with the rustle of parchment and the quick scraping of quills; Ruby wished she'd practiced writing with the strange implement, but at least her handwriting wasn't as horrendous as Longbottom's illegible scrawl.
It seemed that most of the classes at Hogwarts were focused on their practical applications; because after giving them a few minutes to copy down the last bit of his lecture, Snape instructed them to prepare a Cure for Boils, sweeping towards the blackboard to write the instructions, which reminded Ruby of a cross between a recipe and a chemistry experiment.
She had to admit that it was quite exciting; brewing an actual potion in an actual cauldron. After all, she was an actual witch (though that part was particularly hard to get used to).
The room began to fill with the musty, unpleasant odors of snake fangs and horned slugs. Snape swept between the desks, inspecting each potion and offering either a sneer or an imperceptible nod.
Ruby saw Longbottom panic as Snape drew closer to them.
"Not the porcupine quills," she hissed. "You've got to take it off the fire first!"
God, she didn't want to sound like Blaise Zabini, but honestly, was the boy daft? Couldn't he read?
"Let Mister Longbottom make his own mistakes," Snape reprimanded. "Though I too would be wary of mortal peril, if standing next to Longbottom, you have an unfortunate knack for talking out of turn, Miss Potter. Another unsolicited peep from you may very well cost you House points."
"Yes, sir," she muttered, and went back to her cauldron.
While Transfiguration was discouraging and Potions was unpleasant, Defense Against the Dark Arts, which most of the students had been eagerly looking forward to, was disappointing — or, in Ron's words, 'a bit of a joke.'
Though Hagrid had assured her and Harry that Quirrell was shy, yet brilliant, Ruby almost preferred Snape's style of teaching. Quirrell's classroom reeked disgustingly of garlic — Ruby swore she could smell it in her hair even after she left the classroom.
Worst of all, he stammered the entire time about some spell called 'The Curse of the Bogies,' which quite frankly sounded ridiculous, yet didn't manage to tell them anything useful about how to cast it in the entire hour that the class was sitting there like hostages.
With the day ending on a decidedly low note, Ruby set off towards the Great Hall to meet Harry, who had beaten her to it and was nervously pacing up-and-down by the entrance.
"Talk?" she asked. It was strange not really seeing him for an entire day.
"Not here," said Harry.
"What about the library? D'you know where it is?" Ruby suggested. She should probably study for Transfiguration, anyway.
"Yeah," said Harry. "Percy mentioned it — it's down this hallway, c'mon."
"What are you looking for?" asked the librarian as they approached her desk, without looking up. She looked something like a bird-of-prey, with sunken cheeks and a sour expression.
Ruby's voice had somehow left her. "Books, uh, books, ma'am."
The librarian gestured vaguely at the shelves behind her.
"Books on Transfiguration."
No answer.
"Books on first-year Transfiguration."
"Second shelf, left side," said the librarian in a dangerous tone. "No eating in the library, no talking, no running, no defacing of the books."
Harry and Ruby stood rooted to the floor.
"Go on, then. Shoo."
"So," Harry began, as Ruby inspected the books that the librarian had suggested, "I had a weird dream last night. The one with the screaming, and the green light, and our — our mum. But what's funny is that Quirrell was in it."
"Quirrell?" asked Ruby disbelievingly. "Well, he's a bit of a joke, isn't he? Maybe you had some weird cheese last night."
Pleased with what she found, Ruby hefted the heavy stack of books (all right, perhaps she'd been a bit overzealous) and started off in search of a table. Harry trailed behind her, frowning.
"I think I've got to speak to Quirrell," he said, sitting down opposite her with a serious expression.
Ruby snorted. "Never realized you were superstitious about stuff like dreams."
"I'm not," Harry protested. "It's just, we thought all this time our parents died in a car crash, but now that we know what really happened, I know that dream is really a memory of me seeing Mum — Mum die." His voice shook on the last word. "So, if magic is real, why not dreams? I've just got this feeling, I dunno. I really think I've got to speak to him. I just don't know what I've got to speak to him about, yet."
"If that's what you think," said Ruby, opening the first book from her stack.
"This House thing is stupid," said Harry, lowering his voice to a whisper as the librarian walked past them. "I mean, we can't meet in the library all the time — it closes at eight!"
He seemed disproportionately worried about this, Ruby thought. To her, it was all very, very simple.
"You're my brother," she said, rolling her eyes as she looked up from her book. "We're not going to have some kind of crisis just because Slytherins and Gryffindors don't usually get along."
Harry held his hand out. "Blood before House?"
"Blood before House," Ruby agreed, clasping his hand.
Bad Education by magicspacehole (which is brilliant and you should read it) was my inspiration for Snape's high-pitched solution to getting children's attention.
I'm not sure if the idiom referenced in the title is often used in the U.S., so I'll explain it here:
To put/throw/set the cat amongst the pigeons means to disturb a group of people by saying or doing someone that makes everyone upset - essentially, it means to start drama.
Again, did my best not to reuse canon text too much, hope I pulled off Potions without it feeling too much like a rehash, though these beginning chapters are the closest I'll get to canon.