The dungeon classroom smelled of ash, oil, and something sharp that burned the inside of your nose if you breathed too deeply. The torches burned green, as if even fire bent to Slytherin rules down here.
Harry sat at the very front — not by choice. Snape had called the roll and, without comment, told him where to sit.
Beside him sat Draco Malfoy, who looked faintly amused by the entire setup.
"Front row, Potter?" Draco whispered, sliding onto the bench. "How noble. Or are you being punished already?"
Harry said nothing. He was too focused on Snape, who stood motionless behind his desk, long fingers laced together, eyes scanning the room like a hawk watching mice.
"Today," Snape began, "you will not learn to wave your wands around and shout silly incantations. This is not a place for theatrics."
The class fell quiet. Even the Slytherins stopped fidgeting.
"In this room," Snape said softly, "you will learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. Magic without wands. Power without glory."
He stepped from behind his desk, robes whispering across the stone.
"I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory… even put a stopper in death."His eyes landed on Harry. "If you're not too much of a celebrity to listen."
Harry didn't flinch. He met Snape's gaze.
It was the wrong choice.
The stare that came back wasn't angry. It was worse.
It was curious.
Later – Brewing: Wolfsbane Variant
The instructions on the board were complex. Too complex for a first-day lesson. A "simplified wolfsbane variant," Snape called it. Harry doubted it was anything less than sabotage.
As the students moved to collect ingredients, Harry hung back, scanning the shelf labels.
"Belladonna root," Draco murmured beside him. "Crushed, not sliced. And don't touch it with bare hands unless you want your fingers to stop obeying your brain."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Helpful now, are we?"
Draco smirked. "If you ruin the potion, Snape will blame both of us. I have survival instincts."
Together, they moved through the ingredients with quick, clean precision. Draco was annoyingly good at this — measuring in pinches and drops without even glancing at the scales. Harry followed more slowly, careful not to let the fumes make him dizzy.
By the time they returned to their cauldron, others were still fumbling with their mortars.
Snape drifted by like a specter.
"Interesting," he murmured, looking into their bubbling mixture. "Tell me, Mr. Potter — why did you steep the belladonna in icewater rather than flame-reduction?"
Harry blinked. "To preserve the neurotoxin without boiling out its volatility."
A beat of silence. Even Draco looked up, surprised.
Snape's eyes narrowed — not in anger. In suspicion.
"Well," Snape said finally. "It seems reading ahead has some value after all."
After Class – A Glance and a Warning
When class ended, Snape dismissed everyone with a lazy flick of his hand. As the others filed out, he said sharply:
"Mr. Potter. Stay."
Harry turned, pulse kicking in his throat. The room was empty now. Only the hiss of extinguishing torches and the faint shimmer of potion smoke remained.
Snape stepped forward. "Who taught you that about belladonna?"
"No one," Harry answered. "I read it."
"Where?"
"A book I found in the common room. Someone left it on a table. I just—read it."
Snape stared at him. Not like a teacher. Like someone weighing the risks of a spell he hadn't cast yet.
"Knowledge," he said, voice low, "is not the same as wisdom. And power, Mr. Potter, is not the same as control."
He leaned in.
"You may impress others with quick thinking. But if you truly want to survive in my classroom… and in this castle… you will learn when not to answer."
And then, just as suddenly, he turned his back.
"Go."
Harry didn't argue.
That Night – Slytherin Common Room
Theodore Nott was waiting by the fire.
"I saw your potion," he said without looking up from his book. "It didn't explode. That's rare for a first year."
Harry shrugged. "I didn't want to give him a reason."
Theodore nodded. "You'll do fine here."
"Why do you care?"
"I don't," Theodore said simply. "But the house needs someone who isn't a joke. And you're not a joke."
Draco was across the room, watching them — not with jealousy, but with interest.
Harry went to bed that night with a strange thought curled around his brain:
"I might not hate it here."
And that scared him more than anything.