THE ARISE OF A LITTLE SISTER[Percy Little sis of boy who lived (Book 1)]

CHAPTER 12 : POISON'S MASTER SORRY POTION'S MASTER

HARRY POV

We had Potions class with Professor Snape and Slytherin — what perfect luck, isn't it? Fred and George had already warned us about Snape favoring his own house, and now, here we were, lucky enough to have Potions class with Slytherin. Wow.

At the start-of-term banquet, I got the idea that Professor Snape disliked me. I wish I were wrong. Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than in the main castle, and it would have been creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the register. And like Flitwick, he paused at my name.

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

Draco Malfoy and his friends, Crabbe and Goyle, sniggered behind their hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were as black as Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth. They were cold and empty, making you think of dark tunnels.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, yet we caught every word — like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent effortlessly.

"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."

More silence followed this little speech. Ron and I exchanged looks with raised eyebrows. Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat, desperate to prove she wasn't a dunderhead. Laia seemed unable to sit still.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly.

"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Powdered root of what to an infusion of what? How should I know? I glanced at Ron, who looked as stumped as I was. As for Laia, she looked shocked. Why was she acting like this? Hermione's hand shot into the air.

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

Snape's lips curled into a sneer.

"Tut, tut — fame clearly isn't everything." He ignored Hermione's raised hand.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?" Hermione's hand was stretched as high as it would go without her leaving her seat, but I didn't have the faintest idea what a bezoar was. I tried not to look at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were shaking with laughter.

"I don't know, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" I forced myself to keep looking straight into those cold eyes. I had looked through my books at the Dursleys', but did Snape expect me to remember everything in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi?

Snape was still ignoring Hermione's quivering hand.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?" At this, Hermione stood up, her hand still reaching towards the dungeon ceiling.

"I don't know," I said quietly. "I think Hermione does, though. Why don't you try her?"

A few people laughed; I caught Seamus's eye, and he winked.

Snape, however, was not pleased.

"Sit down," he snapped at Hermione. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat, and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter."

It's so unfair. Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Snape put us all into pairs and set us to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching us weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone, including Hermione, except Malfoy (whom he seemed to like) and surprisingly Laia, since she made her potions flawlessly. I know you're thinking, "You said she is perfect in her studies, why are you surprised?" but you know, this is Snape; he's trying to criticize everyone, especially Gryffindors.

He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs, completely ignoring Laia, when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose. "Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Ron and me, who had been working next to Neville.

"You — Potter — why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

This was so unfair that I opened my mouth to argue, but Ron kicked me behind our cauldron, and Laia threw me a warning look, both knowing what I was about to do.

"Don't push it," Ron muttered. "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."

As we climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, my mind was racing, and my spirits were low. I'd lost two points for Gryffindor in my very first week — why did Snape hate me so much?

"Cheer up, mate," said Ron. "Snape's always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come and meet Hagrid with you?"

But Potions class made one thing crystal clear: Snape didn't dislike me; I was wrong that night. He hated me.

QUOTE:

"Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself." - Albus Dumbledore