"Sorry, Aunt Petunia."

Chapter 1: The Beginning Of The End

Harry had a hard time getting used to sleeping in his new bed.

The softness of it was off-putting, making him feel like he was going to drown any second. He even tried sleeping on the floor, which made sleep an option for a little bit.

But then Ron woke him up, under the impression that he'd fallen off instead of leaving it voluntarily, and he had to spend the rest of the night tossing and turning on the unnatural surface.

This resulted in him being barely able to keep his eyes open in the morning which was considerably Not Good.

On the positive side, it was Friday already: one more day till the weekend, which he could spend looking for a solution.

On the more negative side, the first lesson was going to be Potions, and Merlin knew he was going to need every ounce of alertness for that, if even a fraction of what the older students said was true.

Everyone was saying that Professor Snape was strict, but there were still two possible variants. Either he was the Lawful Strict sort and was going to treat everyone equally strict, or he was a Petty Strict and would inevitably choose Harry as his target.

Hearing what was said about his preferential treatment towards Slytherin and unexplained hate towards Gryffindor, Harry was leaning towards the second option.

Breakfast passed in relative silence, Ron too busy stuffing his mouth, for which Harry was thankful. At least he had some time to try and attempt to appear vigilant.

Hedwig swooped down mid-breakfast, dropping off a note, which turned out to be from Hagrid, inviting him for tea that afternoon.

Sparing half a thought on how the man had sent him a note with his own owl, he scrawled an answer on the back of the note and sent it back.

The Potions class - a double lesson with the Slytherins - took place in the dungeons, not far from the Great Hall.

It was considerably colder though which somehow helped with staying awake. The walls of the classroom, lined with all sorts of pickled specimens in glass jars, held his attention quite well, too.

He barely had the time to take out his textbook and quill before Professor Snape swooped inside, his cloak billowing after him as if he'd ran the entire distance between the classroom and wherever he had been before that.

Similarly to Professor Flitwick, he started the lesson with a roll call.

And just like the tiny man had done, he paused just before Harry's name.

"Ahh, yes," he drawled, "Harry Potter. Our new...celebrity."

Malfoy and his cronies sniggered at that. Harry had a bad feeling about it.

"Present, sir," he still said, hunched over the desk.

Professor Snape scoffed slightly, continuing with the roll call.

He looked up at the classroom once he was done. Perfect, Harry thought. He looked like he was going to give a speech.

Harry readied his quill. At least noting what he said would keep him awake. Hopefully.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," Professor Snape began, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet still clearly heard. Was it magic or dungeon acoustics? Who knew. "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, or 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, and even stopper death; if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."