Harry Potter and the Darker Path

Chapter 3: The Potions Master

The next morning, Harry woke to find the sunlight streaming through the high, narrow windows of the Slytherin dormitory. His first night in Hogwarts had passed in a blur of feasting and whispered conversations with his new housemates. Draco had taken it upon himself to introduce Harry to everyone important in Slytherin, and for once in his life, Harry felt like he belonged. He wasn’t just "the boy in the cupboard" or "the Boy Who Lived"—he was part of something bigger. 

Slytherin's common room was unlike anything Harry had ever seen dark, elegant, and draped in green and silver. The windows looked out into the depths of the Black Lake, giving the room an eerie, underwater glow. As Harry dressed, he glanced at his reflection in the large, ornate mirror. **Slytherin, ** he thought, still trying to wrap his mind around the idea. 

He wasn’t sure what to make of it yet. A part of him was curious about the house’s reputation—he’d overheard other students talking about how Slytherins were cunning, ambitious, even dangerous. But he could feel something stirring inside him, an excitement he hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe he could do great things here. 

After breakfast in the Great Hall, where the Slytherin table had been abuzz with quiet murmurs about Harry’s sorting, the first-year students made their way to their classes. Harry was particularly curious about Potions. Professor Snape was their Head of House, and Draco had spoken highly of him, though in a way that made it clear Snape wasn’t someone to cross. 

As they entered the chilly dungeons for their Potions lesson, the atmosphere shifted. The classroom was dim, the walls lined with strange jars containing things Harry couldn’t even begin to name. The room smelled of must and something else—sharp and pungent, like herbs and chemicals.   

Draco shot Harry a glance as they took their seats. “You’ll see,” he whispered. “Snape doesn’t take kindly to anyone but Slytherins.” 

Before Harry could respond, the door swept open, and Professor Snape entered, his black robes billowing behind him like a shadow. His pale, sallow face was framed by greasy black hair, and his dark eyes swept across the room with a sharp, calculating intensity. 

“There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class,” Snape began in a low, dangerous voice. “As such, I expect that many of you will hardly understand the subtle science and exact art of potion-making.” 

Harry watched Snape carefully. There was something about the professor that made him nervous, though he couldn’t quite place it. The other Slytherins sat in rapt attention, clearly used to Snape’s cold demeanor. 

“I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper in death,” Snape continued, his voice soft but filled with authority. “If you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.” 

His eyes landed on Harry. 

“Potter,” Snape said, his voice curling around the name like smoke. “Our new celebrity.” 

Harry tensed slightly but kept his expression neutral, something he had learned to do in the Dursleys' house. He didn’t know why, but Snape seemed to radiate a quiet intensity when looking at him. 

“You are in Slytherin,” Snape said, as though testing the words. “A surprise, perhaps, to some. But tell me, Potter, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?” 

Harry blinked. He hadn’t expected to be questioned on the spot, especially not with something he hadn’t read about yet. He glanced briefly at Draco, who raised an eyebrow as if to say, *This is Snape, get used to it*. 

"I don’t know, sir," Harry answered, trying to remain calm. 

Snape’s lip curled. "Pity. Fame clearly isn’t everything." He turned his gaze toward the Gryffindor students, who had been watching with mixed expressions of curiosity and discomfort. “Perhaps someone from Gryffindor would like to enlighten us? No? Then let’s proceed.” 

As the class went on, Harry found that Potions wasn’t all bad. Though Snape was intimidating, Harry was beginning to understand the logic and precision behind the subject. He made mental notes of the professor’s instructions, careful to keep up with the pace. His cauldron bubbled quietly as he followed the steps, and by the end of the lesson, his potion was one of the few that hadn’t turned into a disastrous mess. 

Draco leaned over as they packed up their things. "Not bad for your first day," he said, sounding impressed. “Snape expects a lot from us, but you did well. He’ll come around.” 

Harry shrugged. “I guess.” 

But as they left the dungeons, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that Snape had some unspoken grudge against him. Even though he was in Slytherin, the professor’s gaze had been cold, almost resentful. He wondered if it had something to do with his parents—he’d heard that Snape hadn’t liked his father. 

Over the next few days, Harry settled into life at Hogwarts. Being in Slytherin was a different experience than he’d imagined. Draco Malfoy quickly became one of his closest companions, though Harry was careful to keep his own ambitions in check. He wasn’t as ruthless as some of the other Slytherins, and he didn’t share their disdain for the other houses, but he knew there was value in keeping certain friendships. 

He saw less of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger than he had expected. Ron had barely spoken to him since the Sorting, and Hermione seemed more interested in her books than in making friends. But Harry didn’t mind. In Slytherin, he felt like he was part of something bigger. He could see the advantages of being in a house that valued ambition and cunning—and he was starting to understand how he could use it to his advantage. 

As the days went by, Harry couldn’t help but feel the subtle pull of Slytherin’s influence. He was no longer just the Boy Who Lived. Here, he had the chance to become someone more—someone powerful, someone respected. But deep down, a small part of him wondered what kind of person he might become in a house that valued power above all else. 

And somewhere, lurking in the shadows, was Professor Snape. Always watching. Always waiting.