The Dark Prophecy

The Potions Master

***

"There, look!" 

"Where?" 

"Next to the tall kid with the red hair."

"Wearing the glasses?" 

"Friends with Malfoy?"

"Did you see his face?" 

"Did you see his scar?"

"A Slytherin?"

Hushed whispers followed Harry from the moment he left his dormitory the next day - people lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at him or doubled back to pass him in the corridors again, staring. Harry enjoyed the attention, as he always had, and both Draco and Ron seemed to as well.

However, it did get slightly annoying after a while, especially when the three of them were all struggling to find their way to their classes, fighting to navigate their ways through the halls of Hogwarts.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also ridiculously hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Harry was sure the coats of armor could walk. 

The ghosts didn't help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Nearly Headless Nick was always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right direction, but the Slytherin ghosts all seemed to enjoy watching their students struggle. And Peeves the Poltergeist was worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, drop bottles of ink on you, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose, and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!"

"I swear to Merlin, the next time he throws chalk at me, I'm going to curse him into next week!" Ron yelled, struggling to brush off the dust he had gathered on his robes a minute earlier when Peeves had decided it was funny to pelt chalk at him.

"Pfft, like you know any curses," Draco mocked, ruffling Ron's dusty hair which had turned a reddish shade of white from the chalk.

"Oh yeah? Well-" Ron thought for a moment, trying to find a way to argue with this, but failed, "Okay, maybe I'll learn some! And I'll use one on you!"

"Please do," Harry said, taking a bite of his toast, "I don't know if I can't stand any more of his patronizing."

"It's not my fault you were raised by muggles," Draco shrugged, through mouthfuls of cereal.

"Well, it's not mine either," Harry said, glancing over at Ron who was scanning their timetable for the day, "What've we got?"

"Ugh, double potions," Ron groaned.

"Uh, I don't know what you're on about," Draco frowned, "Potions is one of the good ones!"

"That's because you'll be his favorite," Ron objected, shaking his head, "All my brothers say he's terrible."