Potions was shared with Slytherin. Once they were seated, Snape took the roll.
When he came to Harry he paused. "Ah yes, Harry Potter, our newcomer, the famous figure.
"Threw down the Sorting Hat at the ceremony—arrogant, flamboyant—the first in a thousand years of Hogwarts to do so."
Malfoy and a few others tittered. Hearing the oily drawl, Harry snorted, rose, and cupped his fists. "Indeed, that's me. What of it, professor?"
Snape said nothing, fixing him with his black eyes. After a moment he struck: "Potter! If I add powdered asphodel to an infusion of wormwood, what do I get?"
Hermione's hand shot up.
Harry thought: I've learned some medicine under Doctor An; I'm no layman. Wormwood is common enough—but aren't daffodil roots poisonous? How could they go in a potion?
He said, "An excellent mosquito repellent."
"Ha." Snape sneered. "So fame isn't everything. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
"Monkshood I know; I've never heard of 'aconite' and 'wolfsbane' as two kinds."
Hermione strained to jump out of her seat. Snape ignored her and sneered again. "Looks like you didn't read a single book before term. One last try, Potter—where do you find bezoars?" (On the shelf.)
By now Harry's anger had fermented, but remembering Big Sister's words he held it in. "I suppose you'd have to dig it from the cow's rear end."
The class erupted. Malfoy thumped the desk with glee.
Blue veins stood on Snape's brow. "Silence!
"I'll tell you then, Potter. Asphodel and wormwood make a Draught of Living Death. Monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant. And bezoars—you dig from a cow's stomach!
"If your stupid brain is empty, why not write it down!"
Taunted and cursed, the scar-faced lad's fury broke its banks. Hermione's words flew from his mind.
He kicked the cauldron over, sent the table crashing. "You oily cur, what are you squawking at!
"A cow's rear end isn't connected to the stomach—unless it's connected to your mouth! Monkshood has hundreds of varieties with different names—without a specimen how would anyone know which!
"And as for asphodel and wormwood—if you can brew any 'life or death' with only those two, I'll cut my own throat!"
Harry's barrage was steel needles dipped in arsenic and dull knives soaked in filth—aimed straight at the heart. It would make an iron-bellied Buddha blow his top.
Ron gaped. Hermione groaned, furious he'd broken his promise. The rest didn't dare breathe.
Snape stood drenched in abuse, stunned for several heartbeats, then roared, "Harry James Potter!
"You should learn respect for professors! Instead you're just like your father—arrogant! conceited! blind to others!"
At that Harry's rage flared. "You! What are you to speak of my parents!
'Your father a nobody—'"
The words weren't out before Harry snarled and drew the watermelon knife. "My parents were renowned wizards! There's a statue in Godric's Hollow!
"James Potter and Lily Evans—who hasn't heard! Slander them again and I'll poke seven or eight holes in you—then take your name!"
At the name Evans, Snape's heart stuttered. He stared into Harry's green eyes, and when he heard "take your name" he went blank.
Seeing Harry's face full on, he shivered; life returned to his eyes.
The greasy professor's spirit reentered his body; his anger fell—only embers remained. He flicked his wand; cauldron and table restored. He cut Harry a glance and barked:
"What are you waiting for—get your book out and write down the three points!
"The rest of you—move! Or do you know them all?"
Students scrambled for quills and parchment, baffled.
Wasn't Snape a point-docking fiend? How could he not dock points after being cursed out?
Harry too was puzzled. He'd gripped wand and knife, ready to brawl. Why had the man suddenly beaten the retreat?
When class ended, Snape flapped his bat-robes and swept out first.
"Harry! Another miracle!" Ron was electric. "Cursing Snape out in class—sixth-years wouldn't dare!
"And no points lost," Hermione said, half glad, half worried. "But why? Harry—does he know your parents?"
Harry ignored that for now and bowed apology.
"Harry?" Hermione blinked.
"Forgive me, Big Sister. I remembered your golden words, but that greasy cur was too much—I truly couldn't hold it."
She faltered, a small sweetness rising that he'd remembered her plea. "It's okay. If it had been me, I couldn't have kept quiet either."
"Then I'm glad you don't blame me."
They packed up and went to Hagrid's hut.
As gamekeeper Hagrid lived by the Forbidden Forest, a few li from the castle. After half an hour they saw a stone-stacked, point-topped hut, with a great bow and a pair of rubber boots outside.
Harry knocked; a dog barked; Hagrid opened. "Welcome, Harry, Ron.
"And you must be Hermione Granger—little Gryffindor miss."
Facing Hagrid—built like a wall—Hermione felt like it was midnight. "Hello, Hagrid. You're… very big. Do you have giant blood?"
Hagrid started and flustered. "No—no I don't. Just… big-boned."
Hermione apologized quickly.
Inside, a huge boarhound bowled Ron over and licked his face.
Hagrid poured tea, creaked down on the bed. "So—how's your first week? Any news?"
"Plenty!" Ron wiped drool. "We think Snape knows Harry's parents!"
Hagrid's hand slipped; rock cakes thudded to the floor, leaving little pits.
Where there's smoke, there's tangled debts—old love and hate of the previous generation. Whether Snape knew Harry's parents—hear next time.
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