Venom & Virtue

chapter 4

Three weeks later and I felt almost entirely settled at Hogwarts.

Things hadn't been easy at first, it was a big adjustment going from the freedom of darting around the Ministry, to the regiment of a school schedule, homework, and academic expectations.

Most of the classes were entirely unfamiliar to me at the beginning.

The easiest of them all was Defence Against the Dark Arts; I already had a broad understanding of it from the time I'd spent observing Kingsley and his work.

And so, with a little extra specified research, writing essays and completing assignments had come naturally to me.

The professor was nice enough too.

Her name was Myrtle Warren, and despite her high-pitched nasally laugh, she was a smart teacher who knew that positive encouragement motivated us better than fear of failure.

I was required to take Charms class too since I'd missed practical training for it; it didn't come as naturally to me as DADA, but the more I practiced outside of class, the quicker I improved.

The other classes I'd ended up in were History of Magic and, much to my dismay, Potions.

History of Magic was easy enough, although boring. It was about memorisation more than any skill, but once I discovered how much Potions' assignments took up my time, I was relieved to have the break of a less mentally-taxing class.

Undoubtedly, Potions was the worst of all.

It required a finely tuned practical ability, as well as an extensive base knowledge of ingredients. And I was lacking severely in both those departments.

It felt like my fellow students were light years ahead too.

They knew exactly how ingredients would react together, the colours that they would produce and the scents, how to prepare them for a recipe and when was the perfect time to add them to the cauldron.

When it came to the physical act of making, they were ahead of me there as well.

It was obvious that they had spent the last five years perfecting how precisely to manipulate concoctions with a wand, the pace of stirring, and the accurate temperatures at which to rest the potions for specific results.

My failure to keep up had led to frequent explosions and smoke clouds roaring from my pot; it was getting increasingly embarrassing.

It didn't help that we had a tyrant for a professor either.

One evening, when I'd asked Terence what Potions was like between the main course and dessert, they had merely grimaced and told me that my best option would be to stay quiet and keep my head down.

And when I met Snape for the first time, I quickly understood what they'd meant.

The Potions professor was cold and unwavering towards us. He didn't have any interest in excuses regarding the failure of our work, and he didn't seem optimistic about our improvement.

Neither disaster nor success amused him, he was merely displeased, constantly.

Therefore, I certainly didn't have the option, nor the luxury, of asking for help.

The one time I had suggested that it might aid my progress if he taught me basics outside of class hours, he had all but bitten my head off, stating that my incompetence wasn't his burden to fix.

And so, that's why I wasn't surprised when my Draught of Peace essay landed on the wooden desk, with a large red F circled at the top.

Fail. Again.