𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌 | 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘺 𝘗𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳

3 || Potions & Quidditch

"Ah, Harry Potter," Professor Snape sneered. "Our new- celebrity,"

Malfoy and his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle snickered behind us in the back of the cold, dark potions classroom. Snape finished calling the names and stared us down. I was sitting next to Hermione, and Harry was sitting next to Ron a few seats ahead of us.

"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 we caught every word. "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."

Hermione sat on the edge of her seat, and I noticed Ron and Harry exchange looks. Harry looked over his shoulder at me and made a "cuckoo" motion with his finger. I stifled a laugh.

"Potter!" Snape snapped, drawing Harry's attention back on him. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry looked incredulous as Hermione shot her hand into the air.

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

"Tut, tut," Snape's lips curled into a smirk. "Clearly fame isn't everything." I gripped the sides of my chair so hard my knuckles turned white. It was the orphanage all over again, Bill making fun of Mira-

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find a bezoar?" Again, Hermione stretched her hand towards the ceiling, again, Snape ignored her, and again, Harry answered:

"I don't know, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" Snape snapped. Harry was still staring right into Snape's eyes. Good boy. "What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?" Hermione jumped out of her seat so she was standing up and bounced on the balls of her feet.

"I don't know," Harry said quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't you try her?" A few people laughed. Harry caught my eye and winked. I gave him a small thumbs up from beneath the folds of my cloak.

"Sit down," our oily-haired professor shot at Hermione. "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. Over the noise, Snape said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter." My blood was boiling. Hermione noticed, and she put a hand on my shoulder.

"It's alright," she whispered, understanding after what we'd talked about last night. I smiled at her before resuming my note-taking.

Snape obviously hated the Gryffindors, because he only praised Malfoy's potion and kept telling me that I was doing mine wrong, which was clearly not true because Hermione was helping me.

Every time I looked at him, I saw Bill's sneering face, and had to force myself to remain calm. I hated bullies. Hated them. And our Potions teacher was definitely one.

"Cheer up," said Ron to Harry. "Snape's always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come and meet Hagrid with you?"

"We're meeting Hagrid?" I inserted myself into their conversation, blood simmering.