In Between Two Worlds (HP/PJO Crossover)

Chapter 28: Potions Class.

We walked down to the dungons, where potions class was held, talking about how we thought our first day would go.

"I think that we will all get detentions!" I exclaimed to Ron, Harry, and Hermione. "Well...maybe not you Mione."

"I think Snape will be a greasy old wanker!" Said Ron.

"Hey! Not fair! You have older brothers who told you about him!" Protested Hermione.

"Yeah, but Fred and George told Karlee all about Snape too! I bet they're already planing a prank on him!"

"All true. We actually planned it over the summer," I whispered to Harry.

We stopped outside the potions class just as a greasy old man slammed the door open. I saw a boy near the front jump.

"In," drawled Professor Snape.

Oh, I know I'm gonna hate him.

Once we were all seated, Snape began his lecture.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making," he started. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but we 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. Harry, Ron, and I exchanged looks with raised eyebrows. Mione was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate to prove 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?"

Harry glanced at me, I was just as stumped as he was; Mione's hand had shot into the air.

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

Snape's lips curled into a sneer.

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

He ignored Hermione's hand.

"Let's try another. How about you Gray? Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"A goat's stomach." I replied. Snape looked like I came from outerspace. I don't think he expected me to know the answer. It was something Hermione had told me the night before.

"If you are going to be formal, sir,  you musn't call on me. I'm a girl."

"Detention Gray. Now, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

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

"Sit down," he snapped at Hermione. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. 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. Over the noise, Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter and Gray."

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Things didn't improve for us 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 all 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, we were all standing on our 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.