Henry opened the small box that had arrived with the letter and lifted out a gold serpent ring set with an emerald.
He knew the history of this ring well. It was the engagement ring Prince Albert had given to Queen Victoria, intended as a symbol of eternal love.
The band was gold, with an emerald set into the serpent's head—the birthstone for May, Victoria's birth month. The snake design had become fashionable following Victoria's own snake-shaped wedding ring, and serpent jewellery had gone on to become an indispensable piece of adornment for women of the era.
The Queen had been so devoted to what she saw as the snake's symbolism of wisdom and eternity that the motif had become something close to a personal emblem throughout her life and reign.
It was, of course, a thoroughly Slytherin aesthetic. Perhaps that was exactly why his great-grandmother had chosen it.
After breakfast, it was time for Potions.
If Henry had held high expectations for Charms and Transfiguration, he had saved at least ten times as many for this class. Whether he would ever be rid of his hair loss depended, in no small part, on how well he managed Potions.
The class was held in an underground dungeon, considerably colder and gloomier than the rest of the castle.
Glass jars lined every wall, their contents of preserved specimens floating in murky liquid—things with too many legs, or too few eyes, or entirely ambiguous anatomies that did not bear too much examination. Henry noted one jar in particular and decided not to think further about what it contained.
Shortly after he had taken his seat, the classroom door swung open with a bang and Professor Snape swept in, his black robes billowing behind him like the wings of a very large and displeased bat.
He proceeded to the lectern, picked up the register, and began calling names much as Professor Flitwick had done—until he reached a particular entry.
"Ah yes," he said, pausing. "Harry Potter. Our newest celebrity."
Draco and his two companions, Crabbe and Goyle, covered their mouths and snickered. Henry said nothing, turning his quill idly between his fingers and watching Snape's pale, severe face with calm attention.
When the register was finished, Professor Snape looked up at the class. His eyes were cold and entirely without warmth.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he said, his voice barely above a murmur and yet perfectly audible in every corner of the room. Like Professor McGonagall, he possessed the particular kind of authority that required no effort to enforce. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you to truly appreciate the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, or the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind and ensnaring the senses. I can teach you to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death—if you aren't as great a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
Daphne, seated beside Henry, straightened almost imperceptibly, as if anxious to demonstrate that she was not a dunderhead.
"Potter!" Professor Snape said suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry clearly had no idea. Not far away, Hermione's hand shot into the air with characteristic urgency.
"I don't know, sir," Harry said.
Professor Snape's lip curled.
"Tsk, tsk—it seems fame isn't everything."
He ignored Hermione entirely, though she was by now practically lifting herself from her seat.
"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
"I don't know, sir."
"Clearly you didn't think it necessary to open your books before term started."
Snape's expression did not change. "Then tell me, Potter, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
"I don't know," Harry muttered, "but I think Hermione does. Why don't you ask her?"
A ripple of laughter moved through the classroom. Professor Snape looked displeased.
"Sit down," he said sharply, and his gaze swept back to Harry. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane—they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite." He let the silence settle for a moment. "Well? Why aren't you all copying this down?"
The class bent hurriedly over their notebooks. Amid the scratching of quills, Snape added, without looking up, "Potter, one point from Gryffindor for answering back."
The lesson continued. Professor Snape divided the students into pairs and instructed them to brew a simple potion for the cure of boils.
He then circled the room in his long black robes, observing as students weighed nettles and crushed snake fangs, and managing to find fault with nearly every table he passed.
Most groups received at least a brief spray of criticism, if not something worse—with the notable exceptions of Draco's group and Henry's.
Henry had read through the relevant section of the textbook before the lesson and worked through the preparation with methodical ease, pausing now and then to correct Daphne's technique.
"Remember to take the cauldron off the flame before you add the porcupine quills," he said quietly.
When Snape drifted to their table, pink smoke was already curling gently from the cauldron. He stared at it in silence for a moment, his gaze moving between Henry and Daphne, then gave a single, barely perceptible nod.
"Materials correctly handled, finished product meets the required standard." A pause. "Ten points to Slytherin."
Not everyone fared so well. Neville, the unfortunate Gryffindor, had added his porcupine quills without removing the cauldron from the flame first.
The resulting melt burned straight through the bottom of his cauldron and sent the potion seeping across the floor, eating holes through the shoes of several surrounding students.
Neville himself came off worst of all, erupting in boils across his face and arms almost immediately.
As Henry had fully expected, once Snape had finished with Neville, he turned his attention back to Harry and deducted another point from Gryffindor for good measure.
What a pair those two were destined to be.
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100PS=2 extra chapters
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