Chapter 9
- You are here to learn the science of making magic potions and potions. A very precise and subtle science! - He began to go on a rant about how his subject was the best and the others were crap....
Snape spoke almost in a whisper, but the students could clearly hear every word he said. Like Professor McGonagall, Snape had a gift for effortlessly controlling a class. As in Professor McGonagall's classes, no one here dared to whisper or engage in extraneous matters, not even the Weasley twins, for now we had a combined class with Gryffindor.
- The silly waving of a wand has nothing to do with this science, and so many of you will find it hard to believe that my subject is an important part of the science of magic. - Snape continued.
- I don't think you are able to appreciate the beauty of a slowly boiling cauldron that exudes subtle odors, or the gentle power of liquids that courses through a man's veins, bewitching his mind, enslaving his senses...I can teach you how to bottle fame, how to brew triumph, how to cork death. But all this only on the condition that you differ in some way from the herd of chumps that usually come to my lessons.
After this short speech, the silence in the classroom became absolute.
- I hope some of you opened your textbooks over the summer. Who can tell me, if I ask you to bring me a bezoar stone, where will you look for it? - After asking this question, Snape looked around the class, but no hands were raised, so a note of disappointment flashed in his eyes.
At first I was hoping that someone else would be able to answer this rather simple question. After all, the information about the bezoar was written on page three of the textbook, but as it turned out, everyone had been kicking around all summer, so I decided to raise my hand and answer the question.
- Yes Mr. Malfoy, are you ready to answer my question? - Snape asked with a hint of surprise in his voice.
- Yes Professor, if memory serves me correctly, a bezoar is a stone that is extracted from the stomach of a goat and is an antidote to most poisons.
- You are quite right Mr. Malfoy, then can you answer my next question. - The professor paused for a moment, as if to let me prepare. - Mr. Malfoy, what is the difference between wolf poison and monk's cloak?
- Hmm, wolf poison and monk's clobber are the same plant, also known as aconite. - I quickly answered another easy question that was also mentioned in the opening pages of the textbook.
- Great, can you answer this question. What will I get if I mix the crushed root of asphodel with tincture of wormwood?
- If I'm not mistaken, then from the root of asphodel and wormwood prepare soporific potion, so strong that it is also called the drink of living death. - I answered quickly, although this question was already much more difficult, because this potion was mentioned only at the end of the textbook.
- Excellent, Mr. Malfoy. I usually ask all first year students these three questions, and I note that in all the time I've been teaching, only you, Mr. Malfoy, have managed to answer all three correctly. Therefore, I award Slytherin fifty points. Gryffindor gets twenty for the fact that the Weasley brothers were whispering about something instead of getting into Mr. Malfoy's answers....
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, all the Slytherins smiled, while the Gryffindors' faces turned sour.
After Snape had scolded Fred and Joge a bit, something else happened that was completely joyless for others, but not for me. Snape broke the students into pairs and gave us an assignment to concoct a simple potion to cure boils. He circled the classroom, rustling his long black robe, and watched us weigh dried nettle leaves and grind snake teeth in mortars. Snape criticized everyone except me, whom he was obviously beginning to sympathize with. That was probably not the main reason, though, because my potion was perfect because I had followed all of the professor's instructions, which earned Slytherin another ten points.
And that was the end of my first week at Hogwarts....
***
I was returning from another dinner when suddenly I noticed a light source in one of the corridors that quickly took the form of an arrow pointing in a certain direction.
The light was very much like the glow of Hogwarts when I first saw it from the shore of the lake. In addition to the light, there was still that overwhelming feeling. Of course, it was much weaker than last time, but those two factors were more than enough for me to realize that both of those lights had the same source. And it didn't take a genius to realize that I was the only one seeing it. After all, last time and this time, none of the passing students were paying attention to the glow, so I quickly realized that it was meant for me.
Even though it was dangerous, I decided to follow the arrows. For fifteen minutes I looped around Hogwarts, up and down staircases, and eventually reached a stone door. Glancing at the map in my hand, I realized that I had never been here before, for the area itself was unmarked.
The stone door was tightly closed, and wouldn't open no matter how hard I tried to open it. Even the Alohomor spell was powerless, so I quickly realized that this place was locked up on purpose by someone. Perhaps even Headmaster Dumbledore himself.
Sighing sadly, I started walking back to the Slytherin common room, determined to do some digging in the library about those strange glows. And I had a feeling that I would definitely find the answers to my questions there....
At lunchtime the next day, we had our first flying lessons, which were held in conjunction with Gryffindor.
All the Slytherin freshmen were hurriedly walking up to the area where they were learning how to fly. The day was sunny and clear, with a light breeze blowing and the grass rustling underfoot.
The students filed down the hill, heading for a flat clearing that was as far away from the Forbidden Forest as possible, its treetops swaying grimly.
The Gryffindor freshmen were already there - as were the seventeen broomsticks lying in a row on the ground.
Finally the flight instructor, Madam Trick, appeared. She had short gray hair and yellow eyes like a hawk.
- What are you waiting for?! - she shouted, showing impatience. As if we were supposed to get on the brooms without permission. Of course, many people here knew how to fly on brooms, having come from magical families. But there were plenty of young mages who came from Muggle families, too, and you could see in their eyes that they were at a loss, thinking they'd probably have to sweep with those brooms. Heh. Apparently these fools weren't at all interested in what exactly the purpose of the lesson was.
- Everyone stand in front of a broom - come on, get a move on. - Madame Trick kept pushing the freshmen.
I looked at the broom I was standing in front of. It was quite old, and a few of its twigs were sticking out in different directions.
- Extend your right arm over the broom! - commanded Madame Trick, standing in front of the class.
- And say, "Up!"
- UP! - shouted seventeen voices.
As always, the broom was quickly in my hand, as were all the other freshmen. To which Madam Trick got a satisfied look on her face.
Madam Trick then showed the students how to sit on the broom so they wouldn't slip off it in mid-air, and walked along the row, checking to see if they were holding their brooms correctly. Occasionally correcting the students, however, she didn't yell anymore, realizing that for some people, everything here was new to them.
After that, we hung in the air for a while, and then landed back on the ground. This process was repeated countless times for the rest of the lesson, so that the students would have to perfect it to the level of reflexes.