Eagle's Flight // Frarry

Year 1.4*

Revised: June 15, 2021

I had originally switched the schedules around (e.g. Potions with Slytherin, flying lessons with Gryffindor) to make it easier on myself and I'm not going to change that in this rewrite.

As someone who had come into the magical world with no prior experience, Harry thought his first week wasn't too bad. One downside was the unfortunate and unnecessary pointing.

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to the blond kid."

"Wearing the glasses?"

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

To Harry's annoyance, some students even doubled back to stare. Harry had let his hair cover his forehead so his scar wasn't visible, much to the others' disappointment.

At least the classes weren't boring. The exception was History of Magic. It was being taught by a ghost, Professor Binns, who only went on about goblin wars. Professor Flitwick had been very enthusiastic about Harry being in his house, and Charms was no different. In fact, when he was calling roll, he squeaked and toppled off the books he was standing on. Harry didn't know whether he was amused or irritated or a mixture of both. Professor McGonagall was very strict, as Harry had predicted. Her first lesson involved changing a match into a needle. While no one had managed to completely succeed, Harry was able to make the match sharper and more gray in color. In his mind, that was a win.

Now, on to Potions, the class taught by Professor Severus Snape. He had hated James, that much Harry knew, but he hoped that wouldn't carry over to him.

He was wrong.

"Ah, yes," Snape said softly during roll call, "Harry Potter. Our new — celebrity."

Harry heard a few snickers from the Slytherins but ignored them. Maybe if Snape knew Lily didn't hate him, he'd change his mind about not liking Harry. He didn't know what had happened during his parents' school years, but Lily had broken off her friendship with Snape. It must have been bad if Lily had spent nearly two whole pages wishing she could speak to him just one more time.

"Potter!" Snape's voice snapped Harry out of his thoughts. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry only hesitated for a second. "A sleeping potion called the Draught of Living Death."

Snape's lip curled into a sneer. Evidently, not even getting the question right was good enough. "And where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

This one took a couple seconds. "The stomach of an animal. I can't remember what." His first thought had been a cow, but somehow that didn't sound right.

"What is the difference, Potter," Snape asked, his voice slightly less hostile, "between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"They're the same thing, sir."

Snape was silent for a moment. "Correct," he said grudgingly. "For your information, Potter, the bezoar is found in the stomach of a goat. And there's a third name for monkshood: aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?" he snapped at the class.

The class went by smoothly for the most part after that. Anthony accidentally melted his cauldron by adding porcupine quills before removing the cauldron from the fire, resulting in boils springing up on his arms and legs and a loss of five points.

When Snape dismissed them, Harry deliberately took his time packing his things.

"What do you want, Potter?" Snape said sharply.

"Were you friends with my mother?" Harry asked in a rush. Better to just get this over with.

Time seemed to still. Snape stared at him for a long moment before saying quietly, "Why do you want to know?"

Harry reached into his bag and took out a journal. "She wrote about you."

Snape stared at it but didn't take it.

"I know you stopped being friends," Harry went on, "and I don't know why, but..." He hesitated.

"Go on." A hint of desperation had crept into Snape's voice.

"She forgave you," Harry finally said. He held out the journal, which had been opened to the very last entry. "She wanted to tell you, but then she had to go into hiding."

Snape took the journal and read it over. Pain flashed in his dark eyes. "Thank you," he murmured, handing the journal back.

"You're welcome, Professor." Harry gave a small smile before turning and leaving. Just as he got to the door, Snape spoke.

"Five points to Ravenclaw."

Did he just —? Part of Harry's mind told him to turn around while the other part ordered him to keep walking. As a result, he tripped over his own feet. His ears burned, but he did not turn around, knowing Snape was smirking after him.