Potions Class

Severus Snape.

Why did this man act as though everyone owed him twenty thousand pounds?

Harry thought irritably as he watched Snape hurry away, supporting Quirrell and giving Harry another strange look just before he left.

His forehead was hurting again. For some reason, it seemed to hurt whenever Snape appeared. This time, though, the pain was brief, vanishing in an instant.

Even so, the sensation made Harry deeply uncomfortable.

Afterward, Professor Quirrell's Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson left all the young wizards, including Harry and Ron, bitterly disappointed.

Defense Against the Dark Arts was supposed to teach students how to defend themselves against aggressive magical creatures or Dark Magic. Normally, they should have been able to learn plenty of useful spells.

Yet Professor Quirrell, who had supposedly been an excellent Muggle Studies teacher, turned his Defense Against the Dark Arts class into a joke.

Quite apart from the garlic smell that filled his classroom, the twins had already spread their theory that Professor Quirrell had run afoul of a vampire until practically everyone in the school knew about it. Term had only just begun, too. They certainly had a knack for that sort of thing.

Professor Quirrell's constant boasting about his past adventures was enough on its own to leave everyone thoroughly disappointed. Whenever a student asked for details, he could only give irrelevant answers, stammer, and change the subject.

Even Hermione, who had always been deeply respectful of teachers and even seemed to admire them a little, left the lesson frowning, plainly dissatisfied.

Harry and Ron privately guessed, however, that Hermione might also have been unhappy because she had failed to earn any points for Gryffindor.

Before this lesson, Hermione had earned Gryffindor at least one point in every class that week. Seamus Finnigan had even started calling her their little points-scoring expert.

But Professor Quirrell's lesson had given Hermione no such opportunity. It had simply been too awful.

Apart from the disastrous Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons and Astronomy, which required climbing a tower in the middle of the night, Harry thought life at a Magic School was fairly interesting.

That opinion changed somewhat on Friday.

Up until Friday morning, Harry had actually been very happy.

He had enjoyed his breakfast and was waiting for Ron to stuff the last onion ring into his mouth when Hedwig unexpectedly delivered a note.

So far, Hedwig had brought Harry three letters. Two had come from Flourish and Blotts. Harry had ordered several books, including one about Quidditch.

Ron, Seamus, and several of the other boys talked about Quidditch in his ear every day. Even the usually quiet Neville could chime in with a few words on the subject.

But Harry knew absolutely nothing about Quidditch, and Ron and the others gave muddled explanations that were far too colored by their own feelings. Before Harry knew it, they would launch into a frenzied account of some match.

Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Neville each supported a different team and often argued fiercely over match results. Although this did nothing to harm their friendships, it left Harry completely bewildered.

Under the circumstances, Harry thought getting a book to learn about it might make it easier to join in with his friends.

The other letter had come from Dudley. It was short, merely telling Harry about life at his new school and hinting at his worries about future exams.

Harry had written back, drawing a Magic Array from the Aegean World on the letter. Its effect was much the same as the Quick-Memorization Spell he had previously used on Dudley.

The first person to open the letter would receive the magical effect, but only the first. If Dudley was unlucky enough to open it after someone else, there was nothing Harry could do.

Harry had spent nearly half a month preparing that letter. Drawing a Magic Array and imbuing it with magic was much harder than simply casting a spell.

Harry was also rather curious about how Dudley had managed to send a letter to him at Hogwarts...

Today's letter was a little unusual: it had actually come from Hagrid. Hagrid had invited Harry to visit his hut beside the hunting grounds that afternoon.

Ron, sitting beside Harry, saw the letter too and immediately asked excitedly, "Can I come? Harry, can I come?" Clearly, Ron was also very interested in Hagrid, whose enormous size set him apart from ordinary people.

Harry took a ballpoint pen from his robe pocket... He really could not get used to quills. If his assignments had not required one, he would never have used one at all.

He wrote a brief reply on the back of the note saying that he would be happy to come, fed Hedwig a little food, and sent her off.

Up to that point, Harry was still very happy. His good mood, however, took a sharp turn for the worse in Potions Class.

Although he had already heard from older students that Professor Snape, the head of Slytherin, was very unfriendly toward students outside his own house, Harry still had no clear idea of just how unfriendly he could be.

The Potions classroom was in the basement, which made it cold and damp. Glass and crystal jars and bottles of various sizes stood in the corners. Harry recognized none of their contents, nor did he want to learn about those revolting-looking things.

These furnishings made the already chilly classroom seem even more sinister.

They had Potions Class with the Slytherin students, so Harry once again saw Draco Malfoy, the boy whose nose he had bloodied on the train.

Harry was not one to hold a grudge, because he generally settled his scores on the spot rather than letting them linger overnight. So although he still found Malfoy a little irritating, he gave him no further thought.