Chapter 3: The Potions Master

The Potions Master

Whispers followed Harry everywhere as soon as he left his dormitory. Whispers about how his parents died and how he'd defeated Lord Voldemort. Whispers about where he'd been for the last ten years. Whispers that annoyed Sherlock so much that he got a detention on his second day for breaking a third-year Hufflepuff's nose.

'What did you do that for?' John had exclaimed.

'She was gossiping mindlessly, I mean, honestly, did she really think that Harry could breathe fire?'

Although it didn't annoy him as much as it did Sherlock, he still kept to his dormitory as much as possible, that is after he and Ron got lost countless times.

There were so many doorways and staircases which would have been hard enough to remember without all of the trick ones. Some doors pretended to be walls, some walls pretended to be doors and they all loved to move around, and then there were the trick stairs. It was second-nature to most of the older students to skip these steps but the first-years spent a lot of their first week being pulled out from being stuck in a step up to their knees (Neville got stuck in the same step three times in one day). The ghosts weren't much of a help either, especially when they glided through a door you were trying to open. Nearly Headless Nick, of course, was always willing to point you in the right direction, but Peeves took any opportunity to cause chaos, especially if you were late to class. He would knock over suits of armour, pelt pieces of chalk and balled up paper at you and sneak up to you, invisible, grab your nose and screech, 'GOT YOUR CONK!'

Worse than Peeves, if it were possible, was Argus Filch the caretaker and his dust coloured cat with lamp-like eyes, Mrs Norris. Harry and Ron managed to get on their wrong side on their very first day. Mrs Norris had caught them trying to shove their way through a door, which had unfortunately turned out to be the forbidden third floor, and Filch was there in a flash, trying to give them a detention ('I did tell you it wasn't that way,' John said… 'Well we know that now'). His knowledge of the secret shortcuts and passageways rivalled that of even the Weasley twins. Everyone hated Filch and the feeling was mutual. Filch would have loved nothing better than to find an excuse to string you up in chains in the dungeons.

While finding them was hard enough, the actual lessons themselves were extremely complicated and exhausting. There was a lot more to magic than simply waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

Every Wednesday night they had Astronomy and had to learn the names of all the stars and the movements of the planets, much to the annoyance of Sherlock, who found this knowledge completely useless and was deaf to Castiel's coaxing, earning himself several detentions in the process.

Then there was History of Magic. Easily the most boring subject, John was relieved to find that he wasn't the only one to have drifted off at some point, nor that he was the only one to have mixed up a few of the goblin rebels' names. Professor Binns, who taught History of Magic, was the only teacher in the school who was a ghost. He had been very old indeed and it was rumoured that one day he had simply fallen asleep by the fire in the staff room and had got up to teach the next day, leaving his body behind.

Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand on a pile of books to see over his desk, he was also head of Ravenclaw house. When he came to Harry's name on the register, he uttered a small, excited squeak and tumbled out of sight.

Professor McGonagall was again different. Harry didn't think he had ever met someone as strict as her and was right in thinking that she wasn't someone to cross. She gave them all a talking-to the moment they had sat down in her class.

'Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic there is. If I find anyone messing about in my lesson they will leave and never come back. You have been warned.'

They were all excited to get started but were soon disappointed when they realised they would not be turning furniture into animals any time soon, but matchsticks into needles. Transfiguration, it transpired, was a lot harder than they had expected and by the end of the lesson Hermione Granger was the only one that had made any difference to her matchstick. Professor McGonagall proudly showed the rest of the class how it had gone all shiny and pointy at one end.

The class everyone had been looking forward to was Defence Against the Dark Arts, however it turned out to be a bit of a joke. Professor Quirrell's classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which was said to be warding off a vampire in Romania. His turban, he said, had been given to him by an African prince for getting rid of a particularly bothersome Zombie; however when questioned on how he did it he would mumble something about the weather and scuttle off to another student who needed his help. They also noticed that a funny smell lingered around the back of his turban, the Weasley twins insisted it was also stuffed full of garlic so that he'd be protected wherever he went.

Harry and John were relieved to find that they weren't miles behind everyone else. There were plenty of other people from Muggle families who had no idea they were witches and wizards. There was so much to learn that not even people like Ron had a head start.

Friday morning came and Harry, Ron and John had managed to make their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once.

'What have we got today?' Ron asked, spooning copious amounts of porridge in to his bowl.

'Double Potions with the Slytherins,' Harry replied.

'With Professor Snape? He doesn't look too friendly, does he?' John frowned, spearing a sausage on the end of his fork.

'Yeah, he's lovely that one,' Ron said sarcastically. 'He's head of Slytherin; I heard he favours them.'

'Wish McGonagall would favour us,' Harry said glumly. Professor McGonagall was head of Gryffindor but that didn't stop her from giving them a huge pile of homework.

Just then the post arrived, making John jump out of his skin. Hundreds of owls swooped down over the house tables, dropping letters and parcels in to students' laps. Castiel picked up his letter which exploded immediately at his touch, burning his hands and singeing his eyebrows. They heard Lucy cackle loudly across the Hall and Castiel ran from the room, quickly followed by Gabriel, who shot a cold glare at Lucy on his way past. Most of the Ravenclaws ignored this, getting shocked and indignant looks from a few Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. Ron winced sympathetically.

'What a nice thing to send in the post,' said John. Hedwig, so far, hadn't brought Harry anything, but this morning she fluttered down and dropped a note in his plate of bacon. He eagerly ripped it open to read the untidy scrawl.

Dear Harry,

I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three? I want to hear all about your first week.

Send us an answer back with Hedwig.

Hagrid.

Harry borrowed Ron's quill and hastily scribbled 'Yes' on the back of the note and sent Hedwig back out with it.

'Come on, let's go. Don't want to be late for Snape,' said Ron, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

It was a good thing Harry had tea with Hagrid to look forward to because Potions was the worst lesson he had been in so far. If Harry had gotten the impression that Snape didn't like him, he was wrong. Snape didn't dislike him- he hated him.

Potions lessons took place in the dungeons where it was colder than the rest of the castle and Snape, like Professor Flitwick, took the register at the beginning of the class. He reached Harry's name and his upper lip curled menacingly.

'Mr Potter,' he said softly. 'Our new- celebrity.'

Crabbe and Goyle sniggered next to Malfoy at the back of the class. Snape finished calling names and his black eyes swept coldly over the class.

'As there is little foolish wand-waving in this class, many of you will hardly believe that this is magic.'

His voice was barely a whisper but they heard every word. He had the same gift as Professor McGonagall; able to keep a class quiet with minimal effort.

'I don't expect many of you to understand the beauty of a simmering potion and shimmering fumes, nor the delicacy with which it creeps through the human veins. I can teach you to brew fame, bottle glory and put a stopper in death- that is if you aren't the bunch of dunderheads I usually have to teach.'

Harry ad Ron exchanged looks while John looked a little scared, Hermione Granger, however, was on the edge of her seat in anticipation.

'Potter!' said Snape suddenly. 'What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?'

Harry looked around and saw identical looks of confusion on Ron and John's faces and Hermione Granger's hand waving in the air eagerly.

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

His lips curled further into a sneer.

'Fame clearly isn't everything. Let's try again, Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?'

John watched Hermione and tried desperately to keep a straight face as she nearly slid out of her seat with her hand flapping around above her. Somehow, he didn't think Snape would see the humour in their situation.

'I don't know, sir.'

'Thought you wouldn't open a book before arriving, eh Potter?'

Harry to try really hard to not scowl at Snape. He had looked through his books at the Dursleys' but how could Snape expect him to remember everything in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi.

'What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?'

At this, Hermione stood up, stretching her hand up towards the ceiling desperately.

'I don't know,' Harry said quietly. 'But I think Hermione does, why don't you try her?'

A few people laughed, including John despite his best efforts.

'Sit down,' he snapped at Hermione. 'For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so strong it's known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant. Well? Why aren't you all copying this down?'

There was a sudden rush for quills and parchment and Snape's cold eyes didn't leave Harry. 'I think I'll take a point from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter.'

Things didn't improve in the rest of the lesson. Snape put them in pairs and had them make a simple cure for boils. He spent the rest of the lesson making them nervous, watching them measure out dried nettle leaves and crush snake fangs, picking on everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like. He was just about to criticise the consistency of John's potion when a loud hissing and clouds of acrid green smoke filled the dungeon. Neville had somehow managed to melt a hole straight through the bottom of Seamus's cauldron and his potion was now leaking across the floor, burning holes in people's bags and shoes. In moments the whole class were stood on their stools, while poor Neville, who had been drenched in the potion, moaned in pain as angry red boils appeared all over his face and arms.

'Stupid boy!' Snape snarled, clearing up the potion with a wave of his wand. 'I assume you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?'

Neville whimpered. 'Take him to the hospital wing,' Snape spat at Seamus. They left the room, Neville supported by Seamus, and Snape rounded on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to them.

'You two, why didn't you stop him from adding the quills? I suppose you thought you'd let him mess up so you would look better; another point from Gryffindor.'

Harry opened his mouth to protest but Ron kicked him under the table.

'Don't push it,' he muttered. 'I heard Snape can turn nasty.'

As they climbed the steps out of the dungeons, Harry couldn't help but feel low. Why did Snape hate him? He hadn't done anything wrong- had he?

Ron noticed the glum look on Harry's face.

'Cheer up. Snape's taken loads of points off Fred and George,' he said.

'Yeah but he doesn't hate them,' Harry pointed out.

'He did seem a bit unpleasant, but that's probably just because it's the first week back. I'm sure he doesn't hate you,' said John reasonably.

'Yeah. Can we come meet Hagrid with you?' Ron asked hopefully.

On their way to Hagrid's they bumped into Sherlock.

'Just had Transfiguration,' he told them. 'Waste of time if you ask me.'

'It's not that bad,' John shrugged.

'How's Castiel?' Harry asked.

'Don't know, he hasn't come out of the hospital wing yet. The burns must be bad today,' he replied. Ron looked appalled.

'Today?' he asked.

'Oh, that's right, you don't know. He gets those at least twice a day. Mostly they explode dungbombs so he just changes his robes, but sometimes they're actual explosives.'

'What?' Harry and John exclaimed. Ron's mouth dropped open, his disgust too great for words.

'Why hasn't anyone done anything?' John demanded.

'We can't. He won't tell anyone who's sending them so no can do anything,' Sherlock frowned. 'Personally I think they're from his sister, but all the proof burns up before I can get my hands on it.'

Ron grimaced.

'We'll go and visit him after we've met Hagrid,' said Ron.

'Do you want to come?' asked John kindly, causing Sherlock to make a mild look of surprise.

'Yes, yes all right.'

He turned around and followed them to Hagrid's hut.

Harry knocked on the large front door and they heard loud barking, followed by scratching behind the door.

'Back Fang- back!' Hagrid grunted.

He opened the door and smiled widely while holding back an enormous black boarhound. 'Come in, come in,' he grinned, pushing the dog out of their way. They entered the one-roomed cabin and looked around. There was a crossbow and a pair of giant galoshes by the door and any number of tools and equipment hung from the ceiling, along with pheasants, hams and chickens. A kettle was boiling in an open fire.

'Make yerselves at home,' said Hagrid, letting go of Fang who bounded straight up to Ron and slobbering all over his face. Like Hagrid, Fang clearly wasn't as fearsome as he looked.

'This is Ron, Sherlock and John,' Harry told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water in to bucket-sized mugs and putting rock cakes on to a plate.

'Another Weasley, eh? I've spent half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the Forest.'

The rock cakes nearly broke their teeth but they all pretended to enjoy them, except Sherlock who wouldn't touch them, while telling Hagrid about their first lessons. Fang rested his head on each of them in turn, leaving them all their fair share of dribble on their robes, and they were delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch 'that old git'.

'An as fer that cat, I'd like to introduce her to Fang sometime.'

Harry told Hagrid about Snape's lesson, but he told him not to worry about it.

'But he seemed to really hate me.'

'Rubbish!' said Hagrid. 'Why would he?'

But he seemed to have trouble meeting Harry's eyes when he said that.

'How's yer brother Charlie?' Hagrid asked Ron. 'Always liked him- great with animals.'

Harry wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose. While Ron talked to Hagrid extensively about Charlie's work with dragons, Sherlock and John argued over Astronomy (again) and Harry picked up a piece of paper he spotted on the floor. It was a cutting from The Daily Prophet.

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of dark witches or wizards unknown.

Gringotts' goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied earlier that same day.

'But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you,' said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.

Harry remembered Ron mentioning it on the train but he hadn't said the specific date.

'Hagrid!' Harry exclaimed. 'That Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! Maybe the robber was there at the same time we were!'

There was no doubt about it; Hagrid definitely didn't meet Harry's eyes this time and grunted, offering him a rock cake. The news of the break-in hadn't distracted Sherlock and John from their argument.

'How can you not care about Astronomy?'

'Because there's no point to it! I couldn't care less whether the Earth goes round the sun, or what Jupiter's largest moon is!'

'But why? It's not like it'll hurt you to know it.'

'It just takes up space where more important things could go. I could fill my brain with names of constellations, but what good would it do? The fact is, is that none of it makes the slightest bit of difference to anything where logic is concerned,' Sherlock argued.

'You don't know that. Some people think that stargazing can help you interpret the future,' John said.

'Oh, John, please! I thought you had more sense than to believe that load of old rubbish!' he scoffed.

Eventually they all left with their pockets weighed down with rock cakes and made their way up to the hospital wing. Accompanied by Sherlock it was very hard, if impossible to get lost. It seemed as if he had gone exploring and memorised most of the castle already. It took less than fifteen minutes to get to the hospital wing. They reached the doors and Sherlock threw out an arm to stop them.

'Sherlock, wha-'

'Shh.'

He pressed his ear carefully against the door and heard murmurs.

'You must tell me who keeps sending you these letters,' he heard Madam Pomfrey saying.

'It won't make any difference,' Castiel replied.

'Is it someone in school? Please, Castiel, perhaps we can help-'

'You can't.'

John tugged on Sherlock's arm.

'Sherlock , stop! You can't listen in on people's conversations!' he hissed. Sherlock ignored him so John leaned past him and knocked on the door.

'John!'

Before he could protest further, Madam Pomfrey opened the door.

'Can we see Castiel please?' John asked politely.

'I'm sorry; he's not taking any visitors right now. I'm discharging him later, you can see him then.'

She went to close the door but Sherlock rolled his eyes and barged past her, followed by Harry and Ron while John apologised profusely to Madam Pomfrey. Castiel was sitting on a hospital bed right at the end of the ward and hid his bandaged hands and forearms hastily as he saw them coming.

'You all right?' Harry asked.

'Evidently not,' Castiel asked.

'Sherlock said you won't tell anyone who's sending you those letters,' Ron said. Castiel looked down at his lap.

'Of course he won't,' Sherlock said. 'They've got such a level of control and fear over him that he thinks it won't make any difference. To inspire such amounts of fear, he must have known them for a long time and-'

John punched him in the arm.

'Stop it. He'll tell us if he wants to,' John said sternly. Normally, Sherlock would have continued anyway but something about John's tone stopped him in his tracks.

'There must be something we can do,' Harry said. He shook his head.

'It won't work. Clearly Madam Pomfrey has been trying to do the same all week.' Sherlock commented, still sulking over the fading pain in his arm.

'Really, now this is quite enough! You will see him at dinner! Out!'

Madam Pomfrey shooed them out of the room, Castiel watching them forlornly as they left.

They sat at dinner and Harry felt the last few hours had given him more to think about than any of his lessons. For a start, there was the mystery letters. Harry looked over at Sherlock and could tell from his expression that he wasn't going to let it go any time soon, although, from the look on his face, Castiel was certainly hoping he would. Then there was the break-in at Gringotts and Snape. Had Hagrid emptied the vault just in time? What was in that grubby little package he'd taken out? Why did Snape hate him and did Hagrid know something about it?

Thanks to mightyBookworm, PastelCake, hogwartsmockingjaysilvertoun ge and two anons- Rae and Guest for all your lovely reviews :)