Isabella Potter; Harry's twin and Snape's daughter.

Part 8

The next day we got out schedules at breakfast. First year Slytherins and Gryffindors had classes together. A lot of people didn’t like it, but the way I look at it I get to see Draco and Harry.

On the way to transfiguration Peeves grabbed Draco’s nose and said “GOT YOUR CONK!”  Then disappeared.

Draco: Peeves will be gone if it’s the last thing I do…

Isabella: I like Peeves. I’d play with him all the time when I was little.

Draco: How much trouble did you get into?

Isabella: None, he hid me. 

Just then I was lifted into the air and taken to professor McGonagall’s room and dropped….

Isabella: Really Peeves!?

Peeves: HAHAHAHA!

I smiled and went in the room.  After everyone arrived the Professor stood up.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned." Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again.  The class clapped for her. “You all will not be doing that for a long time.”

After taking a lot of notes, we were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only Hermione Granger and I had made any difference to the matches; Professor McGonagall showed the class how they had gone all silver and pointy and gave us a rare smile.

Everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts class, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed this story. For one thing, when Seamus Finnigan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

　　Potions class with dad was interesting, dad and harry clearly disliked each other. Dad, 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 , Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands. Snape finished calling the names and looked up at the class.

　　"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word -- like Professor McGonagall, dad had caught every word -- like Professor McGonagall, dad 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 listened intently. In my eyes, dad was the most amazing person in the world. I wanted to be like him.

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

I know this, in more ways than one. In Victorian flower language asphodel means ‘my regrets follow you to the grave’ and wormwood means absence and typically represents bitter sorrow. If you combine that, it means I bitterly regret Lily’s death… Poor dad. He misses her a lot.

Hermione's hand had shot into the air.

　　"I don't know, sir," said Harry.

　　Dad’s lips curled into a sneer.

　　"Tut, tut -- fame clearly isn't everything."

　　He ignored Hermione's hand.

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

　　Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat. Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle were shaking with laughter.

　　"I don't know, sir." "Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter.” Dad was still ignoring Hermione's quivering hand.

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

　　At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.

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

I caught the smile on Harry's face and knew he would be punished.

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

　　"Sit down," he snapped at Hermione. “Isabella. Would you answer those questions that your brother has failed at.”

Harry: “Um, excuse me sir, but how could she have remembered the questions?”

Dad: “Because she isn’t a dunderhead.”

I sat up straight and answered the questions "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.”

Dad smiled at me. “Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

　　There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Dad said, "And three points will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter."

Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Dad 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 everyone weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Draco and I. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way we had stewed our 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 was 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 Dad, 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," Dad 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."

Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Ron kicked him behind their cauldron.

　　"Don’t  push it," he muttered, "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."

What he said wasn’t a lie, he can get very mean if someone gets lippy with him. Harry’s better to just sit back and do as he’s told.