Harry Potter

Potions

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CHAPTER EIGHT
Friends And Foes
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Life at Hogwarts' School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was not blissful. It was anything but the idyllic life Po had told her stories of. The students were largely cruel and small-minded; if they were not bullying her because of her house then they picked on her fame. Everyone knew who Harry Potter was. Even the muggleborns that hadn't grown up hearing legends about her deeds knew of her as there was no shortage of books that discussed her feats. They thought she was a hero—and everyone knew that heroes were sorted into Gryffindor. When Harry was sorted into Slytherin, the house that traditionally only produced witches and wizards of the darker sort, the people that had grown up admiring her felt like she had betrayed them. As the masses did with any celebrity, they liked to think that she fit right into their perfect images of her, and when she didn't she was the one to suffer.

Before even the first week of school had passed, Harry had faced criticism and insults from perfect strangers who assumed to have some module of control over her. They shamed her and excluded her and pretended that it was all a punishment they were justified to administer. And Harry could say nothing against them, because every word in her defense fell on deaf ears. Without friends to back her up and reassure her, she was certain that she would have deemed magic not worth it. Little ever was worth the exceeding frustration, hurt, and eventually resignation of dealing with those who would not listen.

But even her friends could not help with everything. They did not know everything. No one did, save for one ever-grumpy potions' master.

Harry was no fool. She had seen the hatred in Snape's eyes from the very first moment she met him. She had been terrified by the intensity and seeming lack of cause the next meeting, when it became clear he wanted her to hurt. She knew it simply was not plausible for such a hatred to disappear, though it was certainly the easiest explanation for how he managed to take her to retrieve her school supplies. The fire had seemed to go out of him, for all that her sight was compromised half of the trip. But as much as she might want to hope, hatred was not easily forgotten. Especially when one had to face the object of that hatred every day.

And Snape knew everything. Just like Petunia, he held all the ammo—and someone as bitter and jaded as he would not waste a single opportunity. Walking towards her first potions' class (a double block with Gryffindor) with Theo, Harry knew exactly what she should expect. Snape's assignment of a detention after the Flying Lessons' debacle had been hint enough. (He hadn't even been able to look her in the eye without grimacing.) Biting remarks that would push her temper to breaking point and leave her looking crazy for it.

Even so, there was a desperate hope in her heart that pulsed with each step. Harry had liked what she had seen of Snape that day at Diagon, as much as she liked anyone right off the bat. It had felt a little like a fairy-tale, visiting magical stores with the dour professor that radiated a quiet power. As much as Harry tried not to allow herself to fall into the habit of fantasizing— well, it was hard not to when her eyes had still burned faintly and her heart had still ached over the Dursleys' abandonment.

With her conflicting hopes and expectations quietly wrapped in her mine and Theo as clueless as ever, Harry slipped into the potions' class with bated breath. She could not be sure if she was relieved or not when she searched for Snape and found him missing. Fortunately, Theo was excited enough that it didn't matter. Ignoring her own feelings on Snape, Harry's friends had their own opinions on the infamous professor. Theo was eager to experience the supposed favoritism the Slytherin Head of House was known for; commenting, when asked, that it would be interesting to see the tables turned. (Harry had understood that sentiment perfectly well, pride still stinging from when McGonagall had awarded points to Hermione and not Harry for an essay well done.) Neville, ever wary and nervous, was a little more pensive in his thoughts. Considering that Snape was known for tormenting Gryffindors, it was not without reason, either. Hermione, strangely enough, was simply channeling pure optimism. (Harry thought it might relate to how the bushy haired witch was so obsessed with books and had as much experience with friendship as Harry. The girl had always had teachers and school and books, before, where all else failed, and that left her with a slightly skewed sense for those very things.) It was a little like that first day of class all over again, the way everyone was waiting to size Snape up.