"It's the Professor," surprisingly enough, it was Susan who spoke up. Harry, Neville and Hannah turned to look at her. She flushed at the attention, but screwed up her courage and continued. "One of the older students told us that the Potions teacher is really mean to everyone who isn't in Slytherin. Apparently, he's their Head of House."
"So we have a biased teacher who hates anyone not of his house." Harry frowned. "Surely you're exaggerating, right? I can't imagine the Headmaster allowing someone so biased to teach here."
"Well, maybe, I don't know," Susan admitted softly. "I'm just telling you what we were told. I can't help but think it's true, though. All of the older students who heard us talking agreed."
Harry's frown deepened. He would admit to being worried about what he'd told. Potions was actually one of the classes he was looking forward to the most. It would be very disappointing to have his expectations ruined by a biased teacher.
XoX
Potions, unfortunately, did turn out to be a major disappointment.
Harry and Neville entered class with the other Gryffindors. The classroom was located in the dungeons. It was dark, dank and there was a cold draft blowing in from somewhere.
The room smelled of fumes, almost clogging the senses. Everywhere Harry looked he could see shelves upon shelves lined with potions ingredients. Some he recognized; many he didn't. He saw powders, slimes, shells that looked like they belonged to some kind of animal. A few jars even had shrunken and shriveled up heads in them.
The Slytherin students were already there. Harry recognized Daphne and Tracey sitting together at a table near the back of the Slytherin section. Blaize sat with Theodore Knott, a weedy looking kid with beady eyes and stringy black hair. A little ways over, Malfoy was surrounded by Greg and Goyle, as well as Pansy Parkinson, a girl with black hair and a pug-like nose.
Harry and Neville sat in the middle of the group of Gryffindors. At first he had considered sitting in the front like he usually did, but after hearing about how the Potions professor was rumored to behave, had decided that it may be safer to sit somewhere more inconspicuous.
Wanting to be prepared, Harry pulled out several of the shrunken objects he had taken to class with him, his cauldrons and brass scales, the book Magical Drafts and Potions, and a muggle notepad where he stored all of his notes on the potions he had worked on over the summer, along with a calligraphy pen and his potions kit.
Neville also brought out the items he'd bought, but didn't have nearly as many supplies as Harry.
A little while after everyone had entered and got seated, the potions Professor swept into the room, his robes billowing out behind him, making him look like some kind of oversized bat.
Severus Snape was a very pale man with a long, hooked nose and shallow black eyes. His hair hung around his face and was incredibly greasy. It looked like it hadn't been washed in weeks. His finger nails were dirty, like he had never taken the time to clean them, and Harry's eyes could pick out several stains on his black robes from potions and fumes that had not been washed out. Once more, Harry questioned the personal hygiene of most adult wizards, as the man before him looked like he hadn't bathed in days.
Class started when Snape took roll. Like Professor Flitwick, he stopped at Harry's name.
Unlike Professor Flitwick, he did not seem very excited.
"Ah, yes, Mr. Potter," he said softly, with that mocking, condescending tone. "Our new—celebrity."
It was in that moment that Harry realized this class was not going to be anywhere near as pleasant as he had hoped, and would likely be even worse than he could have possibly imagined.
Draco Malfoy and his friends, Crabbe and Goyle, sniggered behind their hands. Snape finished taking roll and then looked up at the class with eyes darker than the blackest of nights and ten times more menacing. They held a condescending quality to them that made the man look like he was staring at a bunch of ants, rather than a group of students wanting to learn.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, yet everyone in the class could hear him and watched on bated breath. Harry had to give the man credit, he knew how to captivate an audience, even if he didn't care about looking more professional. "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."
Harry's eyes subconsciously narrowed. The last part of his speech had been unacceptable. A teacher was not supposed to mock and belittle his students by calling them names. It was the job of a teacher to encourage those learning under them and help facilitate understanding of the subject they're striving to teach.
Sitting beside him, Neville shook ever so slightly in fear. His eyes were wide and he looked like he wanted to hide under the desk. Two tables away from them, Hermione Jean Granger sat on the edge of her seat and was already taking notes, looking eager to prove that she wasn't a dunderhead.
"Potter!" said Snape suddenly, causing nearly half the class to jump. Harry just frowned. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Hermione's hand shot into the air while Harry stiffened in his seat slightly, but quickly relaxed and answered the question. "You would get a powerful sleeping potion known as Draught of the Living Death, which is said to be so powerful it makes the person who drank it seem as if they are dead."
Snape's eyes widened, surprise showing blatantly on his face. It only lasted for a second, maybe less. Harry doubted any of the students had seen it, but he had, and it was good to know he had just surprised the man who seemed to have the desire to pick on him.
"A lucky guess." Snape sneered. Harry's hand twitched where it was on the table. "Very well then, answer me this. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezaor?"
"In the stomach of a goat, sir," Harry answered as Hermione's hand began to tremble in the air. It went ignored. "It's a stone-like object capable of curing most poisons, and is used in the preparation of many common antidotes."
Snape's nostril's flared, the only sign he gave to being upset that Harry had answered him correctly.
"What is the difference, Potter, between Monkshood and Wolvesbane?"
"There is no difference, sir," once again Harry answered the question as Hermione's hand frantically waved in the air. She was beginning to look angry. "It's the same plant, and is one of the key ingredients in the Wolfsbane potion that was created to relieve the strain of Lycanthropy during the full moon, and allows the werewolf who drinks it to retain their humanity during the transformation. Wolfsbane also goes by the name Aconite by mugle botanists."
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