chapter - 43 : Potions and Pettiness

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I smiled sweetly. "Better options than my twin brother, Malfoy? You think very highly of yourself."

The door to the classroom burst open. Professor Snape swept in, black robes billowing behind him. His dark eyes latched almost immediately onto Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were the only ones standing.

"Take your seats," he ordered in a deep baritone, not breaking stride as he made for the front of the room. Malfoy gave me a dark look, but slunk off to sit by Zambini.

Snape plucked a slip of parchment from the top of his desk and announced, "Brown, Lavender?"

"Present," Lavender squeaked, wide-eyed at the sound of her name being barked.

"Bulstrode, Millicent."

"Here."

One down the roll Snape went. I could tell when he reached Harry's name. His lip curled in distaste before he said, "Ah, yes. Harry Potter. Our new… celebrity." He said the word like it was something to be deeply ashamed of. I saw Malfoy snicker, Crabbe and Goyle following his lead as usual. I straightened my spine, lifted my chin, and waited for my own name to be hissed out.

"Potter, Lorena."

I blinked. That was it. Simply my name. No malice, no disdain. Like any other teacher would call. I understood that Snape showed favoritism to his own students, but that was a bit ridiculous.

"Present," I replied slowly. Snape's eyes lingered on my face for a moment before he went back to calling names.

When roll was finished, he set his parchment aside and turned to face us. He was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed completely in black. He seemed to loom over us all.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," he began. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death… if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

The moment he spoke, I was hooked. Like McGonagall, he had a naturally commanding presence. But unlike McGonagall, who talked about Transfiguration like it was a grueling sort of ordeal we would have to go through to succeed, Snape spoke about potions like they were something subtly beautiful, an art form.

I watched as Hermione scooted forwards eagerly in her seat, eyes as wide as saucers as she hung on tender hooks. I couldn't help but scoff a little. It was one thing to want to please a teacher – it was another to make yourself look like a fool. Like her, I also wanted to please this particular teacher – aside from being my head of house, he also taught the subject that seemed most interesting to me – but you didn't see me practically piddling myself in desperation.

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

I glanced at Harry. I knew he hadn't even cracked his Potions textbook but for a brief skim to get an idea of what the subject was like. He looked like Snape had just asked him what the meaning of life was. He sent a desperate glance at Ron, who shrugged helplessly. Hermione's hand was in the air.

"I don't know, sir," he admitted.

"Tut tut," Snape sneered. "Clearly fame isn't everything."

The Slytherins were snickering behind their hands. I doubted all of them knew the answer, but they seemed pleased enough just watching our teacher tear into my brother.

"Let's try again, Potter. Where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"

Harry still looked clueless, eyes flickering to Hermione, who was stretching her hand so far into the air I was wondering if she'd disjointed it. The snickers from the other side of the room were no longer concealed. I sucked in my cheeks.

"I don't know, sir," Harry said again.

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming to Hogwarts, eh, Potter?"

Harry scowled, but he didn't say anything. I wasn't that disciplined. I would have been glaring up a storm and chewing on all sorts of insults after that.

"What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane, Potter?" Snape asked a third time.

Hermione stood up so that her hand could reach farther. I let out a disbelieving huff at that. Did she honestly think the reason she wasn't being called on was because Snape was unable to see her frantic hand-waving? No, he was choosing to be selectively blind because he could care less what she knew.

"I don't know, sire," Harry repeated through gritted teeth.

I opened my mouth. "Draught of the Living Death. A goat's stomach. Nothing."

Snape's eyes snapped to me. "Excuse me?"

I bit on my tongue to remind myself to keep it civil before replying, "The answers to your questions sir. Draught of the Living Death, a goat's stomach, and nothing. You called on Potter. I answered."

Snape's mouth dropped open. He looked faintly surprised and also… slightly amused? The beauty of it was that I was right. He'd never actually mentioned Harry by name, and we shared a surname. I was at perfect liberty to answer and, unlike my brother, I knew the answers.

Dean let out a low whistle, giving me an impressed look. In all honesty, it wasn't like it was some great feat of courage. It was me doing what I'd always done – trying to take whatever Harry's punishment would be for myself. I knew that Snape wouldn't be nearly as hard on me as he would on Harry. Not only was I in his house, but I got the feeling that, for as indiscernible a reason as his loathing of Harry, he liked me.

All around us, the class was mumbling. The Gryffindors seemed pleased that I'd stood up for my brother. They were looking at me with as little less distaste. The Slytherins looked surprised.

"Silence," Snape ordered. "Well done, Miss Potter, you are correct. If only your brother were as capable a student."

I scowled at him in reply.

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