Chapter 6: Potter

Harry Potter, a child revered as the "Savior" by wizards in the wizarding world. Throughout his sombre eleven years of life, he had never experienced such a sensation. It could be accurately stated that he was now firmly in the spotlight. He reminisced about the scene when Hagrid had ushered him into the Leaky Cauldron: people enthusiastically shaking his hand, showing their respects. Though he couldn't quite recall what he had done to earn the admiration of these wizards, he brushed it aside.

All Harry knew was that he felt content and joyful at the present moment. He confidently declared that the dinner from the previous night was the most satisfying and fulfilling meal he had ever savoured.

"Kindness?" he pondered, correcting himself, "No, it should be the most supportive."

The young wizards here displayed exceptional friendliness—except for the boy he had encountered on the train. During the train ride, he made his first friend of his age. The thought of never enduring hunger again, never facing Dudley's blows, never confronting the Dursleys' cynicism or Aunt Marge's dog, gave Harry a surreal feeling, as if he were in a dream.

However, Harry soon began to feel ill at ease.

On the second morning, from the moment Harry exited the dormitory, whispers persistently echoed in his ears. He could sense nearly everyone's gaze directed at his scar. A throng of young wizards gathered by the classroom door between periods and after classes, eager to catch a glimpse of his true face. People lingered around him in the corridors, staring intently. Even when he entered the restroom, there would be a cluster of individuals stationed outside.

Frankly, Harry found himself missing the Dursleys' stairwell in a way. Of course, it was merely a fleeting thought. Transitioning from one extreme to another wasn't an easy adjustment for everyone. Thankfully, he had a friend named Ronald who consistently stood by him, offering support.

While the attention he received, akin to being observed as an exotic creature, appeared non-malicious, Harry sensed an absence of ill will. However, he grew tired of this state, the constant feeling of being under scrutiny. It had been four days since he arrived at the school, and the crowd around him showed no signs of diminishing.

To escape these "Harry Potter watchers," he felt compelled to make a bold decision: to rush to class. This decision didn't sit well with his newfound friend Ronald.

However, Harry had overlooked a crucial detail—he was unfamiliar with the intricacies of the magical school. He lacked knowledge of how long it took to reach each classroom, the specific routes, and even the proper way to navigate certain staircases to "arrive on time for class."

This was an oversight he shared with his friend Ronald. Consequently, they found themselves late for the Transfiguration class on a Thursday morning.

Professor McGonagall, a formidable witch, was known for her strict demeanor, something Harry had realized from their very first meeting. Perhaps due to his renowned status as "the savior," Professor McGonagall refrained from punishing them. Strangely enough, it wasn't Professor McGonagall who bothered Harry, but rather a young witch named Hermione Granger. Despite having witnessed Miss Granger's bossiness on the train, Harry found her incessant reminders of what they should or shouldn't do quite grating. As a result, he and Ronald decided to keep their distance from the didactic Miss Granger.

Friday held special significance for Harry and Ronald, as they finally managed to navigate their way to the auditorium without losing their path.

"What classes do we have today?" Harry inquired of Ronald, who sat across from him, engrossed in an apple pie.

"In the morning, we've got Potions class with Slytherin, back-to-back sessions." Ronald's speech was muffled by his mouthful of food, making it difficult for Harry to understand him.

"Snape is the Head of Slytherin, and I've heard he has a strong bias towards Slytherin students. We'll soon find out."

Just then, a female voice chimed in, "Oh, yes, I also heard from Salim that Professor Snape heavily favors his house's students and holds a strong antipathy towards Gryffindor. Salim mentioned that Professor Snape seizes every opportunity to deduct points from Gryffindor."

Harry and Ronald immediately recognized the voice. They exchanged glances before returning their attention to their meal.

"Wait, are you saying Snape is going to single us out?"

"Yes, that's what Salim said. He helped me and Neville review the 'dos and don'ts' of potions class last night. Thanks to his assistance, Neville won't accidentally explode the cauldron when brewing the Scabbers' Potion."

Harry and Ronald turned their attention to Neville in unison.

Neville nodded, "Yes, he's my cousin."

"Neville, how come you have a Slytherin cousin? Those from that house tend to turn dark in the future..." Ronald's words were interrupted by the sound of an owl's wings flapping.

Now accustomed to the spectacle, Harry remained unfazed. On the first day of breakfast, scores of owls suddenly swarmed the restaurant, which startled him. These owls would flutter around the dining tables until they located their recipients, delivering letters or packages.

Thus far, Hedwig hadn't brought Harry anything of note. She occasionally perched on his shoulder, begging for a morsel of toast, before returning to the owlery to rest among the other owls in the schoolyard. However, this morning marked a change. Hedwig fluttered between the jam dish and the sugar bowl before dropping a note onto Harry's dinner plate. With eagerness, he unfolded the note.

"What does it say?" Ronald leaned over, trying to catch a glimpse of the note in Harry's hand.

"It's from Hagrid. He wants to meet me this afternoon." Borrowing a quill from Ronald, Harry quickly jotted down a reply on the back of the note: "Sure, looking forward to it." With that, he sent Hedwig on her way.

The Start-of-Term Banquet had left Harry with the impression that Professor Snape disliked him. However, it wasn't until the conclusion of their first Potions lesson that Harry realized his initial assumption was off the mark. It wasn't merely disliked—Professor Snape harbored a deep-seated animosity towards him.

The Potions class took place in an underground chamber, noticeably colder than the castle above. The walls were lined with glass jars containing preserved creatures.

Like Flitwick, Snape began by taking attendance as soon as class commenced. His gaze lingered on Harry's name as if emphasizing a point.

"Ah, yes," he murmured, "Harry Potter, our new celebrity."

Draco Malfoy and his companions, Crabbe and Goyle, stifled laughter behind their hands. Once Snape completed the roll call, he scanned the class, his eyes as dark as Hagrid's but lacking the half-giant warmth. Snape's gaze was cold and hollow, resembling two dark tunnels.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and precise art of potion-making," he commenced, his voice a mere whisper, yet each word captured attention. Similar to Professor McGonagall, Snape possessed an imposing authority that effortlessly commanded order in the classroom. "Many of you may hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you to fully appreciate the beauty of a simmering cauldron, its white vapors and aromatic scent. You may not truly comprehend the liquid that courses through people's veins, the magic that causes hearts to race and minds to reel. I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses, brew glory, and even prevent death. But there's only one thing—don't think you can ever escape being a bunch of pitiful fools."

After his brief introductory remarks, the class fell into silence. Harry and Ronald exchanged raised eyebrows. Hermione Granger had nearly moved to the edge of her seat, leaning forward with an eagerness to prove herself.

"Potter!" Snape's voice suddenly pierced the quiet. ""What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?""

Harry and Ronald exchanged bemused glances. Hermione's hand shot up as high as she could from her seat, but Harry had no clue what root of asphodel in wormwood would result in. He tried not to look at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were stifling laughter. "I don't know, sir," Harry admitted.

Snape curled his lip in disdain.

"Tsk, tsk, it seems fame doesn't guarantee knowledge."

Snape deliberately ignored Hermione's outstretched hand.

"Let's try again. Potter, if I asked you to find a bezoar, where would you look?" Hermione's hand shot up once more, but Harry was unfamiliar with a bezoar. He attempted to avoid the laughter emanating from Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. "I don't know, sir."

"Seems you haven't cracked open a single book before term, have you, Potter?"

Harry met Snape's gaze with unwavering determination. While at the Dursleys, he had indeed read numerous books, but could Snape realistically expect him to have memorized every detail from "One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi"? Snape continued to ignore Hermione's raised arm. "Potter, explain the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane." At this point, Hermione stood up, her hand nearly touching the dungeon ceiling. "I don't know," Harry whispered, "but I believe Hermione knows the answer. Why don't you ask her?" Laughter rippled through several students. Harry caught Seamus' eye, and Seamus winked at him. Snape, however, did not seem amused.

"Sit down!" he snapped at Hermione. Then he turned his attention back to Harry. "Allow me to enlighten you, Potter. Asphodel root powder and wormwood can be combined to create a potent sleeping potion, commonly known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar comes from the stomach of a goat and has potent detoxifying properties. As for wolfsbane and monkshood, they are the same plant, collectively referred to as aconitum. Do you comprehend? Why don't you jot these down?"

A flurry of quills and parchment filled the air as students hurriedly transcribed Snape's explanations. Amidst the noise, Snape's voice cut through, "One point deducted from Gryffindor for contradicting the professor, Potter."

Harry observed Malfoy struggling to contain his laughter, almost tumbling from his chair. The Slytherin students exchanged intrigued glances, whispering among themselves and occasionally bursting into laughter.

At that moment, Harry noticed a different presence among the Slytherins—a student who remained focused on his book, abstaining from participating in the laughter alongside his classmates.

"This is an odd one," Harry mused to himself.

Influenced by Ron and Malfoy, as well as Snape's earlier demeanor, Harry had developed a strong aversion to Slytherins. Yet, this particular individual seemed distinct from the rest.

The Potions class continued, and Gryffindor's fortunes didn't improve. Professor Snape assigned them the task of brewing the Boils' Potion, yet Gryffindor repeatedly encountered mishaps: Seamus Finnigan's cauldron exploded, Ronald's potion caused his cauldron to twist into an odd shape, and an unpleasant odor emanated from Lavender Brown's cauldron.

The only two Gryffindors who managed to escape trouble were Hermione and Neville. Their cauldrons neither exploded nor produced unpleasant odors. Their potions closely mirrored the descriptions in the textbook.

In contrast, the Slytherins quietly and efficiently completed their work. Gryffindor's side seemed perpetually plagued by mishaps. Snape had docked points from Gryffindor more than once due to their struggles, including a deduction of seven points from Harry.

"Neville, how did you do it?" Ronald's cauldron had become unworkable, leaving him helpless.

"Can't you read?" Hermione impatiently chided next to Neville. "The steps and methods are clearly outlined on the blackboard. I have to wonder how you managed."

Hermione couldn't fathom it—clear steps and practical instructions were right there on the blackboard. Yet, Gryffindor continued to grapple with difficulties. Hermione noticed Salim bottling his potion and handing it to Snape. On Gryffindor's side, only Neville had made any progress, while the rest lagged behind.

After class, Harry spotted Hermione and Neville waiting by the door. Their successful completion of the potion had drawn attention, considering they were the only ones among Gryffindor who had achieved it. Slowly, Harry led Ronald over, intrigued to see what was unfolding.

Finally, the Slytherins exited the classroom. Harry noticed the solitary Slytherin who hadn't mocked him approach Hermione and Neville.

"Thanks, Salim. I'd have been in a real mess today without your help."

"Shouldn't you be thanking me, Neville? Or have you already forgotten about last night?" Hermione chided. "Salim, you have no idea how close Neville was to putting porcupine quills into the cauldron during class. Thankfully, I kept a watchful eye, preventing a repeat of last night's incident."

"Alright, alright. Since there's no class this afternoon, what are your plans?"

Hearing the voice, Harry finally recalled who Salim was, the memory of the sorting ceremony resurfacing. He gestured for Ronald to remain quiet, leading him to a corner where they could continue eavesdropping.

"Salim, do you have time tonight? I'm almost finished with the book you lent me."

"Sure, after dinner, just return to your usual spot. Choose another book for yourself."

As their voices faded, Ronald couldn't contain his curiosity. "Two traitors from Gryffindor! They're getting cozy with those Slytherin snakes. What do you think, Harry?"

While Harry didn't believe Hermione and Neville were traitors to Gryffindor, he was curious about their connection with Salim. Forgetting about Neville, Hermione had mentioned that they had practiced brewing the Boil Potion the previous night, enabling them to complete Snape's assignment in class.

Considering this, Harry suggested to Ronald, "Let's leave them be. I'll head to Hagrid's place in the afternoon. When I return this evening, we can approach Hermione and ask them about it. What do you think?"

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