The Boy Who Never Lived

Proffesor Snape turned and stared at Harry, one eyebrow raised.
"Mr. Potter! Are you paying attention?"
"Y-Yes, Proffesor."
"Tell me what would you get if I asked you to add powdered root of Asphodel to an infusion of Wormwood?" Snape asked, knowing that the first year wouldn't know the answer.
"I-I don't kn-know Sir." Harry said, his throat tightening severely.
"Very well, Mr. Potter, where would you go if I asked you to get a Bezoar?"
"I-I s-suppose t-the supply c-closet, P-Proffessor" Harry said, his heart racing and his breathing becoming shallow.
"I-what?" Snape asked, not expecting this answer from a Gryffindor.
"Th-the s-supply c-closet, Sir?" Harry repeated.
"Well... umm yes, technically, but if I didn't have one then where would you go to get one?"
"Th-the s-store s-sir?" Harry asked trying to think of a suitable answer.
"Think Potter. Where does a bezoar come from?"
"I d-don't know sir!" Harry cried, tears prickling his eyes.
"And what is the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?" Snape asked.
"I-I don't know, Sir"
Snape stepped closer to Harry, who in return flinched away.
"For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so power-" Snape stopped talking as Harry quickly wrote down every word the man was saying. "What are you doing?"
"Ta-Taking N-Notes Proffesor." Harry said, quietly.
"Is that what you were doing before?" Snape asked, surprised.
"Y-Yes, Sir."
"Hmm..." Snape hummed "Five points to Gryffindor." the class gasped and stared at the Proffesor "And see me after class, P-Harry."
"Y-Yes, sir."