Malfoy: Year One

Chapter 4: Potter in Potions:

The first night at Hogwarts was a rough one. Both Crabbe and Goyle (both of whom were sharing a room with me) snored like elephants that had throat infections. I tossed and turned all night, homesick and dreading going home all at once. Classes started the next day and I was so nervous that I wouldn't make a good first impression. It seemed that Crabbe and Goyle were not going to leave me alone, which was irritating. I prefer to be left by myself, it's how I was raised. Not that they would be much company, I'd only ever heard them grunt to each other. Most of my night was just trying to drown out their noise.

In the morning I was making my way down to breakfast when I spotted a flash of movement in the corner of my eye. I turned around, Crabbe and Goyle disappeared in the bustling cloud of moving robes. I spotted the movement again, behind a statue at the opposite of the corridor. I dashed towards the statue and peered behind it. There was a tiny slot that opened up behind the statue, peeking through the gap in the stonework was a strange looking plant. It was squirming and moving in the shadows, it looked as if it were trying to grab at me, but it stretched only as far as the line of shade. I reached out to touch it, quite stupidly, I'll admit, but I was so transfixed by the strangeness of it, I'd never seen anything like it. 

"Come on now! You're going to be late!" a professor called down the corridor. I jumped up, I couldn't allow myself to be distracted by some trivial weed. I needed to make my family proud. I headed down to breakfast.

Breakfast was dull. I saw Potter, chattering away annoyingly with the blood traitor Weaslelys. My father said that they were betrayers to our kind. Apparently their father had a strange affinity with muggle objects, 'unholy things like rubber ducks and automobiles', my father says. Why was Potter being so chatty? Maybe if he had been smarter he would have taken me up on my offer, he may even have ended up in Slytherin. 

My father once said that he might be a dark wizard, a more powerful and mysterious magic that may have been why he was able to resist the killing curse. It was one of the few things I disagreed with my father about. There was no way that Harry was a dark wizard, he wasn't cool enough. I wish that I could tell people of my father's exciting tales of the 'good old days' ; he claimed that they should have won the war, if Potter hadn't screwed everything up. I wasn't allowed to talk of such things at school, apparently it would get my father in trouble with the Ministry, the slimy wretches.

Later in the day we had potions with the Griffindoors. I was excited to meet Professor Snape and see if he was like how my father described him. On the other hand though, Potter was sure to make the class tiresome, with his annoying righteousness. Professor Snape entered the room. He was tall, with black robes and equally dark greasy hair. He was scowling, an expression I doubted ever came off of his face. He slammed a book on his desk, causing the potions that were placed upon it to clatter and shake. 

"Ah, Yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new — celebrity." 

I bit my tongue, while Crabbe and Goyle sniggered. I copied them quickly, that's probably what my father would have done. Though it was unfair that Snape was singling Harry out like that, no doubt he got it a lot. I wish I got some of the attention. That would surely make my father happy.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," Snape started. "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."

I straightened my posture in my seat. Potions was one of the most entertaining of the school books. I had read some of them over the summer. It had been especially dreary this year, all the waiting around for school to start and the debating between my mother and father as to which school I would attend had been exhausting. Also, Snape's quiet stance seemed to command order, much like Professor McGonagal, who we had had for transfiguration earlier that day.

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

Potter sat still in his chair, with a blank look on his face. I honestly would have felt bad for him, if I had not sworn to dislike him for being so annoyingly perfect. A Griffindoor girl with wild hair and buck teeth beside him shot her hand in the air, unknowingly making the situation worse for Harry. 

"I don't know, sir," Harry looked so embarrassed, I would have been, if I was in his position.

Snape had an evil look on his face, the sort of sneer that my father had when he was punishing Dobby, our house elf. 

"Tut, tut — fame clearly isn't everything." Why was the teacher being so unfair. I had heard that he was bad but I didn't think that he would outright bully us. The girls still had her hand firmly in the air, but it was ignored by our teacher.

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

 The whole room shifted in discomfort, save a few other Slytherins that were still sniggering. I wondered if they actually knew the answer. Probably not. I was shaking with rage, how could the teacher be this unfair. Crabbe and Goyle had started laughing beside me. Harry glanced in our direction and I realised with a jolt that I looked like I was laughing too, my fake smile was still on my face and the shaking from the anger looked an awful lot like anger. I immediately stopped but it was too late. He had already looked back at Professor Snape. "I don't know, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" Snape continued with his harassment.

 "What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

 I began to shake uncontrollably again, and the stupid girl with the raised hand stood, I think her name was Granger, something beginning with h- Harmony? Why was he standing? Did she not realise that she was undoubtedly making the situation even more torturous for Harry? 

"I don't know," Harry said quietly, almost a whisper. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?" 

I let out a laugh, so did a few of the Griffindoors. An Irish boy sitting in the middle row winked encouragingly when Harry looked at him. Snape swiftly corrected Harry and scolded the Granger girl, whilst simultaneously insulting Harry at every chance. Did he have some sort of personal vendetta against him? The lesson continued, and I noticed that while he spared no opinion on everyone's terrible first try. He didn't insult me at all. I wondered if it had something to do with my father, or perhaps it was just because I was actually doing well in the class.

In that class I felt bad for Harry, but my empathy wouldn't last for long.