The New Trio and the Philosopher's Stone

Chapter 8: The Potions Master

The next day, Monday, classes were due to start. First, however, they had to get Draco mostly unharmed through breakfast. After finally finding their way to the Great Hall for breakfast, Harry, Ron, and Neville had to try to calm Draco down, as he had started to have a panic attack.

"Draco? Draco, look at me," Harry said, Draco's face in his hands.

Draco stared at him, eyes unseeing, lips going blue from lack of oxygen, and Harry was unsure of what to do, until a cold voice sounded behind him. "What is going on here? Draco?"

Harry whipped his head around quickly, and saw Neville cowering away from none other than Professor Snape. "Oh thank Merlin. Professor, he's having a panic attack! What do I do?"

"Stand aside, child," Snape muttered, reaching into his robes and retrieving a small flask of blue liquid. He reached past Harry and deftly poured it down Draco's throat. Immediately, Draco took a huge gulp of air, and his eyes focussed on Harry. "What's going on?" asked Draco.

Snape explained, using the most gentle voice Harry had ever heard him use. Then, Snape turned to him. "Mr Potter-Black, thank you. Ten points to Gryffindor for quick thinking."

Gobsmacked, Harry watched him walk off, and he noticed that the other three boys were also wearing similar expressions.

Draco did not receive letters of any kind for most of that week.

*

Harry received a great many looks as soon as the four of them entered the Great Hall, and a fair few whispers could be heard coming from all directions. He had learned to ignore them pretty early on in his life, and he was sure that if he hadn't been, the attention would have been overwhelming.

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to the Malfoy, Weasley, and the chubby kid."

"Wow! Did you see his face? His scar?"

Harry ignored all the attention. He was, sadly, used to it. Luckily, all of his dorm mates had decided to stick close to each other, and they formed a haphazard clump around him, preventing people from attempting to shake hands with him, or simply to touch him as though some of his 'saviour-ness' would rub off on them. Admittedly, this grouping of first-year Gryffindors provided a secondary use: navigation.

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 them politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending.

Everything seemed to move around of its own accord, so they had decided to take it in turns asking for directions, and that they had to ask at least two people before committing to one route. It had been Draco's idea, and they all found it rather brilliant, since it minimised the amount of false information they might receive.

Sadly, the ghosts weren't much help. The only one even remotely helpful to the new Gryffindors was Sir Nicholas. On the opposite side of the spectrum was Peeves, who would drop waste-paper baskets on your head, pull rugs out from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!"

The caretaker, Argus Filch, was a possible source of correct information, though. On their very first day, during their first ever free period, Harry spotted Filch sitting in an alcove near the library, broom discarded, and a crumpled letter in hand. He pointed this out to the other boys, and, after Ron complained that Filch was the one who gave Fred and George so many detentions, proceeded to sit down next to the man.