My Tale {Book One in the Hermione Granger Series}

Chapter Eleven

There was so much to learn, and soon I wasn't the only one answering questions, although most people avoided me. On Friday, I had Potions with the Slytherins. I had overheard people saying how mean he is, and I'm hoping thats not true.

Professor McGonagall had given our class a huge pile of homework the day before, which I was going to finish tonight, and then I am going to borrow another book from the library.

The mail arrived, and I finished.my.breakfast, so I headed off to potions.

"Hey, Mudblood" shouted a Slytherin as I walked out of the Great Hall. Ignore them, I.thought, they are only gits.

"Oi, I'm taking to you!" another shouted. Keep walking, Hermione, keep walking.

"Oi, Granger. Don't trip!" And then someone tripped me. I.heard a chorus of laughter, got up, and headed to potions.

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick, he paused at Harry's name.

"Ah, yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new - celebrity." Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands, and I wished that they would shut up. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black - cold and empty and made me 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, but they caught every word - like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "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. I was sitting on the edge of my seat and looked desperate to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

I put my hand into the air. The answer is Draught of Living Death.

"I don't know, sir," Harry said. Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "Tut, tut - fame clearly isn't everything." He ignored my hand.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

I stretched my hand as high into the air as it would go without leaving my seat. I knew the answer - it is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were laughing again.

"I don't know, sir" Harry repeated.

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" Snaps teased while ignoring my hand, which was quivering slightly.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

At this, I stood up, my hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling. They are the same plant,I thought, known as aconite.

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

Thank you Harry, I thought.

A few people laughed. Snape, however, was not pleased.

"Sit down," he snapped at me, which I did.

"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 of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment, but I already had mine out, and copied the notes.down. Over the noise, Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter."

Things didn't improve for us 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 except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs 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, including me, were 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 Harry and Ron, 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 is unfair, I thought. He is losing my points I earned.

Soon, class ended. I walked out, but the Slytherins are mean and had to say something.

"Bye Mudblood. See you around, or not" and then they pushed my books out of my hands, leaving me to clean the mess up myself. I then decided to.go the the Owlery before I went to the library.

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Dedicated to mugglebornsquib, for loving my stories and commenting. :)

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