Redemption - A Draco Malfoy Story

year 1 part 6

The Potions classroom was in the dungeons, just around the corner of the Slytherin dormitories. Therefore, it had the same cold, wet air, and a faint smell of lake water. The Slytherin and Gryffindor first-year students talked quietly amongst themselves as they waited for the Potions Master, Professor Severus Snape, to arrive. The Gryffindors were congregated on one side of the room, and the Slytherins were sat at tables on the far opposite side of the room as if repelled by magnets. I sat on the edge of a table nearest to the Gryffindors, serving to moderately bridge the gap. 

The rest of my table consisted of the usual crew: Millicent, Daphne, Tracey, and Pansy. They had continued to make a space for me amongst themselves wherever they went, space which I felt no strong inclination to decline. I was becoming more and more accustomed to their nonstop chatter, and while it was more than occasionally at the expense of others, it wasn't always unpleasant. Besides, it is never a good idea to break a connection over something as trivial as childish teasing; keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. 

Speaking of enemies, Malfoy was accompanied by his familiar posse at the next table over, perfectly positioned so that I was in his line of sight. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him staring at me with a wounded expression, his childish face in a decided frown. I decided it certainly had nothing to do with me, and more to do with the fact that there happened to exist even a single person that wasn't obsessed with him. After a few moments of blatantly ignoring his dramatic pout, he huffed and turned away, crossing his arms with a scowl. I laughed inwardly. 

Malfoy's hunched-over sulk morphed into an upright, alert posture as the door to the classroom swung open. In walked the most batlike man I had ever seen; he had olive-toned skin which seemed to hang off his high cheekbones, inky black, greasy shoulder-length hair, a large, hooked nose, and cold black eyes. As he entered, he swished his floor-length black cape dramatically in his wake. 

This must have been Professor Snape. 

Snape began class by nonchalantly going through the registrar, his low and slippery voice seeming to savor every syllable. He paused about halfway down the list, raising his eyes towards Harry.

"Ah, yes. Harry Potter..." Snape especially emphasized his surname in a tone dripping with scorn. "Our new... celebrity."

From the corner of my eye again, I saw Malfoy whisper something to Crabbe and Goyle, the three of them snickering and looking quite pleased with themselves. Malfoy seemed to have forgotten all about the misery he had been in just moments before. 

Snape finished role-call and poised himself in the front of the classroom. 

"There will be no foolish wand-waving and silly incantations in this class," he announced authoritatively. 

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. I don't expect you will truly 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 put a stopper in death."

I hung onto every word which dripped silkily out of Snape's mouth, fascinated with his tantalizing description. 

"Potter!" Snape suddenly snapped, breaking me from my brief haze. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

The Draught of Living Death, I thought to myself. I remembered reading about it the night before in the book I had checked out from the library.

"I don't know, sir..." Harry said blankly, looking a bit surprised. Hermione's hand shot up rapidly. 

"Tut, tut... clearly, fame isn't everything..." Snape drawled, ignoring Hermione. Pansy giggled darkly beside me. "Let's try again Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"