Because Slytherin and Gryffindor had all their classes together on Fridays, Hermione had been working extra hard all week. She was determined to earn more house points than Dudley in the two Potions classes that day, to the point where her first-year textbook was practically falling apart.
The Potions classroom was in one of the castle's dungeons, which was chillier and more damp than the floors above. To be honest, Dudley didn't think this was the ideal environment for brewing potions. Personally, he preferred a room with a more stable temperature to have better control over the heat and the ingredients. It was likely just Professor Snape's personal preference.
Along the walls of the Potions classroom, there were glass jars filled with all sorts of preserved animals and ingredients, including quite a few things that were strictly forbidden in the wizarding world. Dudley eyed them greedily. Snape was a true Potions Master; even the stuff he had on display was incredibly rare. Dudley figured if he could just raid Snape's private stores, he'd be set for life. Of course, that would probably result in Snape hunting him down to the ends of the earth.
"Dudley," Harry whispered just before class started.
Harry had told Dudley the day before that Hagrid had invited them to his hut that afternoon. Hagrid was... well, he wasn't a bad person at all. If he hadn't been so rude to Uncle Vernon, Dudley wouldn't have had a run-in with him. Once Hagrid apologized, Harry forgave him too, since Hagrid had been a good friend to Harry's parents and knew so much about their past. But if Dudley hadn't forgiven him, Harry wouldn't have either. Even now, their relationship wasn't terribly close, and Harry always deferred to Dudley. If Dudley said no, so did he.
Dudley was more than happy to accept. Hagrid's hut was on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, a place Dudley was quite curious about. Any Potions or Herbology enthusiast would be. It was dangerous, but rich with resources.
Still, Dudley had come to a conclusion about Hagrid after spending some time with him: he was "dangerously naive." In Dudley's mind, this wasn't quite a compliment, but it wasn't an insult either. It just meant Hagrid reminded him of someone else—the kind of person who was simple-minded but powerful. Of course, Hagrid was better; he wasn't as bloodthirsty or violent. Otherwise, a contemporary of Voldemort's like Hagrid might have earned a Dark Wizard title of his own. A "physical" dark wizard, perhaps. This was the first time Dudley had met someone who truly made him wary.
With just a minute to go before class, Professor Snape swept into the room. His cold, empty eyes, large hooked nose, greasy hair, and black robes made him look exactly like a villain from a fairytale. Not many of the students had a good first impression of him.
Snape made his way to the front and began to call roll. When he got to Harry's name, he paused.
"Ah, yes. Harry Potter. Our new... celebrity." The sarcastic drawl caused a few students to snicker, including Malfoy and his cronies. But after Dudley gave them a withering glare, the entire Slytherin class fell silent. Only a few clueless Gryffindors continued to giggle.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of Potions," Snape began, and the room instantly grew quiet. When it came to intimidation, Snape was right up there with Dudley.
"There will be no foolish wand-waving in this class, so I don't expect many of you to appreciate the delicate power of the brew. I don't expect you will truly understand the sheer beauty of the simmering cauldron with its shimmering vapours, the delicate power of liquid fire. I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death... but perhaps that is too much to ask of you unless you are the sort of soft-headed dunderheads I normally have to teach."
Potions could do many things that spells couldn't, and Dudley, of all people, understood that. He had already seen the magic of potions firsthand. Even if he could never cast a single spell, his mastery of potions would still make him more powerful than most wizards.
Dudley noticed that Snape's eyes kept drifting to Harry as he spoke. Was he thinking of my poor aunt? Dudley wondered.
"Potter!" Snape suddenly snapped. "What would I get if I added powdered asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
"I don't know, sir," Harry answered honestly. He had no idea what powdered asphodel or wormwood even were.
Snape's gaze moved from Harry's green eyes to his face. He curled his lip in utter contempt. "Fame, it seems, isn't everything."
Another sarcastic remark, another round of laughter. This time, none of the Slytherins joined in; only the Gryffindors were laughing.
"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"
As he spoke, Snape's eyes once again fell on Harry's. There was a flicker of hope in their depths. Unfortunately, Harry's answer was another disappointment.
"I don't know, sir," Harry said, shaking his head.
"I imagine you didn't bother to open a single book before coming to school, did you, Potter?" Snape's expression was even more disdainful, but deep in his eyes, there was only disappointment. That person was gone forever, and it seemed her son had not inherited her talents.
"Potter, one last question. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
Monkshood? Harry perked up. He knew this one! Dudley had specifically told him about it.
"They can both be used to make poison, sir!" Harry blurted out, catching Snape off guard.
"Monkshood and wolfsbane are both types of Aconitum. They are the same plant—a tall, upright, and poisonous perennial. The root is especially toxic, the skin is black, and the flowers are beautiful and vibrant. The sap can be used on arrows to poison people or animals. It was sometimes used as a poison for criminals. Its floral meaning is 'malice.' Once poisoned, a person's heart will slow down, their body will go numb, and then their heart rate will increase. They'll become disoriented, fall into a coma, and eventually die."
Harry rattled it all off like a machine gun, his eyes gleaming with excitement. He had finally been able to answer a question.
But in the eyes of the Slytherins in the room, his excitement meant something else entirely. You were timid and clueless about everything else, but when it comes to poison and death, you light up and can't stop talking. Something's not right about you, Potter.
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