alea iacta est (pt.5)
Jun. 23rd, 2018 08:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cywscrossFandom: HP x Greek and Roman Mythology
Summary: First day of classes.
A/N: Potions class includes lines taken straight from the book.
Harry gets his schedule shortly before breakfast ends. He's a little relieved that Odysseus is the one who fetches the schedule scrolls from Snape - who sits intimidatingly at the head table, glowering through the entire meal - and hands them out to the first-years. Harry quickly unrolls his and reads it over eagerly, if a touch anxiously, grimacing when he realizes he has Potions first, but looking over the rest carefully too:
There's a note at the bottom that says Flying - Flying! – lessons begin next week, and Astronomy is once a week at midnight on Wednesdays. He gets a few breaks throughout the week too, not to mention their weekends are all free, and there's Study Hall from Monday to Friday, so he should have a decent amount of time to study and do homework as well as free time for himself.
"We should have all the same classes since we're in the same House and year," Blaise says from beside him, and a glance at each other's schedule confirms that. At least Harry won't be friendless going in, and that's not something he ever thought he would be able to have.
“Potions is first though,” Harry points out, trying to keep his trepidation at bay. He has plenty of experience with teachers who dislike him, and most of them looked at him the way Snape is looking at everybody.
“Cyril’s mentioned Snape before,” Blaise admits, also slanting a subtle look up at the staff table. “Apparently, he picks on the other Houses but usually not ours. The worst Cyril’s seen him do to Slytherins is knock off a couple points and give out a detention once or twice, so we should be fine.”
Harry nods, but somehow…
He looks up at the table again and almost flinches when he catches Snape’s eye this time. A vicious glare full of a startling amount of hatred skewers through him, and he hastily looks back down at his schedule.
Yeah, somehow, he doubts everything will be fine.
“As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through the human veins, bewitching the minds, ensnaring the senses. I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”
It’s an impressive speech, until the last bit. Harry makes sure to listen to every word anyway, back straight and keeping his eyes on the professor. But maybe he shouldn’t have stared so hard because in the next second, Snape has rounded on him, black eyes drilling into his as he snaps out, “Potter! What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”
Harry stares in dumb silence for a moment, mind completely blank. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees an arm shoot up from where the Gryffindors are sitting, and he wishes Snape would call on them, but the man only continues drilling holes into him until Harry admits, “I- I don’t know, sir.”
Snape’s lip curls, and Harry hears snickers from the Gryffindor’s side of the room. It makes the back of his neck feel hot, and he wishes he could sink into the floor.
“Tut, tut - fame clearly isn't everything,” The professor sneers. “Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”
For a moment, Harry thinks he won’t be able to answer this question either. His palms are sweaty, and all he can hear is the prefects telling them all that they have to do their best to not let their House down, and not even a day into his Hogwarts career, he’s already failing even that simple task.
And then a shoe knocks into his, a movement so slight he barely feels it, but it jolts him out of his impending panic attack. He just manages to subdue the automatic reflex of glancing at Blaise, and instead, he thinks, thinks back to the textbooks he’s read over, not all of it yet but - thankfully - half of Magical Drafts and Potions was one of them, and one small section went into detail about-
“A goat,” He blurts out. “I mean, the stomach of a goat. That’s where a bezoar forms.”
Snape’s eyes narrow, and his lips go thin as if the answer displeases him. But he doesn’t say Harry’s wrong either, although Harry doesn’t have time to collapse in relief before Snape is demanding, “What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?”
Shit. He doesn’t know that either. He thinks hard, frantically reviewing everything he’s read, but he can’t remember anything about monkshood or wolfsbane.
“I don’t know,” He finally mumbles, fighting the urge to hunch his shoulders when another smatter of laughter comes from the Gryffindors. He finally darts a glance in their direction and finds a girl – Hermione Granger – now standing on her feet and looking like she might explode with the answer.
Snape sneers at him again, but to Harry’s immense relief, his attention - at least momentarily - turns to Hermione, irritation creasing his expression.
“Sit down,” He snaps at her before glancing at Harry again. “For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. And monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?”
Harry all but lunges for his quill and ink, ducking his head and keeping his eyes glued on his parchment as he writes. He makes himself slow down. He doesn’t want to find out if Snape will find fault with messy writing too.
The rest of class is spent toiling over a cure for boils, the instructions of which Snape writes on the blackboard but Harry is relieved to realize that it’s a potion he’s also read just a few days ago. It helps that he’s partnered up with Blaise, and the neutral but calm expression he wears allows Harry to take a deep breath and steady his own nervousness enough to focus on the classwork.
Snape sweeps around the classroom, towering over each pair and criticizing pretty much everyone, particularly the Gryffindors and except Malfoy, who’s been looking smug ever since Snape complimented his crushing technique. Blaise scoffs at that, too quietly for anyone but Harry to hear, although when Harry catches his eye, the other boy only shakes his head a little.
Snape stops by their station once, looming over them in a way that has even Blaise’s shoulders going stiff. The man tells Harry in curt tones to stir the contents of the cauldron more evenly but at least he doesn’t take points before moving on to a different pair, which is more than Harry can say for most of the Gryffindors.
Just as Blaise is holding a vial out while Harry pours some of their finished boil cure into it, both of them only listening with half an ear as Snape tells everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned slugs, clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing begin filling the dungeon. Harry blinks in astonishment when he looks over and finds one of the Gryffindor boys has somehow managed to melt his cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion is seeping across the stone floor, already burning holes in people's shoes if the way they’re leaping up onto their stools is anything to go by. Luckily for Harry and Blaise, they’re almost as far away from the incident as they can be, and a moment later, Snape’s stormed over there, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand.
“Idiot boy! I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?”
Harry winces sympathetically as the boy whimpers, boils starting to pop up all over his nose.
“Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape snarls at the hapless boy’s partner. Then he whirls on Weasley and his partner, who happen to be the closest. “You - Weasley - why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? Five points from Gryffindor!”
It’s a relief when class ends and they’re finally allowed to leave.
“Well that wasn’t so bad,” Blaise remarks, smirking a little when Harry can’t help staring at him dubiously. “Come on, he didn’t even take points off you. It could’ve been worse.”
Harry sighs. He supposes that’s true. Weasley lost… what, twenty points total?
“I couldn’t answer his questions though,” He says glumly. He’s going to have to review his textbooks. He doesn’t want to be left floundering like that again.
“You answered one,” Blaise says consolingly. “You would’ve known the monkshood and wolfsbane one too if you’d read the whole Potions text, it’s near the back and only a passing mention since the uses of aconite aren’t really studied until at least third year. The first question was odd though.” He frowns. “I didn’t know the answer either, but that’s because we don’t learn about the Draught of Living Death until sixth year. I know that because Cyril’s been brewing it in our lab all summer, practicing. I don’t know why Snape would ask you that.”
Harry doesn’t know either. He knows Snape hates him, but he doesn’t know why. “I’ll just have to study more. Granger knew the answer, I think. And Malfoy probably did too. Snape really likes him.”
Blaise scoffs again, exactly the way he did in class. “That’s because Snape is his godfather and his Potions tutor. Children in the wizarding world tend to have tutors growing up, if their parents can afford it.”
Oh. Well that explains why the Slytherins in general seemed more capable than the Gryffindors. Harry hopes he’ll be able to keep up.
“As for Granger,” Blaise continues with a roll of his eyes. “She probably bought the other years’ textbooks and read ahead to prove herself. You saw the way she was, waving her hand in the air like she thought Snape was blind or something.”
Yeah, that was… excessive. Snape certainly didn’t seem the type to actually like his students being able to answer a question correctly, unless it’s Malfoy, so Harry’s not sure why Granger would want to go out of her way to attract Snape’s attention.
Blaise gives him a nudge. “Forget her. Potions could’ve been worse but it wasn’t. Just know the material before going to class and we’ll be fine. Now come on, we have an hour before History of Magic. I didn’t get to look around the Common Room yesterday or today. You can show me what you were up to this morning.”
Harry brightens at that. Blaise is right – considering the black looks Snape has thrown him every time he notices Harry so much as glancing in his direction, the professor could’ve done a lot worse than hurl a few snide comments and questions at him, even if one of the latter was beyond his level of knowledge. If all his future classes are going to be like this one, well, it won’t be pleasant, but Harry’s actually had worse teachers before. He’ll manage. In the meantime…
“I’ll show you the catalogues,” Harry says enthusiastically. “Ody-” Disrespectful, Blaise’s voice suddenly echoes in his head, and Harry hesitates a beat before correcting himself, “Odysseus was up early too, and he explained it to me.”
He pauses. Blaise was raised in the wizarding world though. He probably already knows all about-
“Clockwork Edition, right?” Blaise nods. “Mother prefers Italian-based owl-delivery services so there’s never any in the house but Cyril swears by them. I’d love to flip through one.”
Harry relaxes as they both pick up their pace. They’re already in the Dungeons too, and a glance at his map tells him that their Common Room is just up ahead.
History of Magic is taught by a ghost, which sounds exciting in theory but turns out to be sleep-inducingly boring. It isn’t even that the topic isn’t interesting – Harry knows exactly nothing about goblin rebellions – but Binns drones through the entire lecture with a voice so flat and monotonous that Harry ends up wondering if ghosts lose all ability to convey emotion when they die.
“Cyril said History of Magic was so bad that it might as well be a self-study period but I didn’t believe him until now,” Blaise says as they leave the classroom. He sounds utterly disgusted.
“If Binns is going to be like that every class, I think it’ll have to be a self-study period,” Harry points out, and Blaise heaves a sigh.
“Let’s just get to lunch,” The boy grumbles. “At least you can’t go wrong with food. Don’t mention I complained about History to Cyril though,” He adds. “I’ve mocked him for his complaints about the course for years. He’s going to laugh at me if he finds out that I’ll probably be complaining for the next seven years too.”
Harry has to suppress a grin but he nods his agreement anyway. As it turns out though, Blaise has nothing to worry about. The two of them have barely sat down when Cyril sweeps in and slumps into the seat across from them, as much as - Harry suspects - a Slytherin ever slumps. There’s a definite droop in his shoulders though as he collapses dramatically, if gracefully, onto the bench.
“This year is going to kill me,” Cyril moans.
“That’s what you said last year too,” Odysseus interjects as he too appears, taking the seat next to Cyril and across from Harry. “And look at you now, still alive to endure another year of digging your own grave.”
Blaise sniggers, and Harry bites down on a laugh of his own. Odysseus glances over and smiles lazily at them even as he swats aside the elbow Cyril attempts to jab into his ribs.
“It can’t be that bad,” Blaise says with just the tiniest note of condescendence that Cyril picks up on with a glare.
“You have no idea how lucky you are, you first-year brat,” The older Slytherin growls, digging into his bag to retrieve his schedule and tossing it at Blaise, who unrolls it with raised eyebrows. “And I thought O.W.L. year was torture. If I actually survive to graduate from this place, I’ll probably be receiving my diploma from a hospital bed.”
Harry gets a glimpse of multi-coloured blocks on the schedule but he isn’t sure if Cyril was including him when he let Blaise see his schedule. He looks instead at Odysseus, who’s pulled out a normal- a muggle-looking planner and is flipping through it, but he looks up when he feels Harry’s gaze on him.
“Um, do you have a lot of classes too?” Harry asks, and then immediately wonders if that’s a stupid question. Odysseus is a sixth-year, of course he has a lot of classes. Electives, Harry’s read, are an option – and two are mandatory – beginning in third year, and O.W.L. exams are required in fifth year while N.E.W.T. exams are required for seventh year, although only for courses that the student managed to get into by getting good enough grades on their O.W.L.s.
Odysseus only shrugs and pulls out his own schedule scroll, handing it over for Harry’s perusal.
“Odysseus is more insane than me,” Cyril mutters. “Four electives! And you only dropped two of the core subjects. I’m surprised Penelope hasn’t beaten some sense into you.”
“Penelope’s taking nine too,” Odysseus replies with an amused quirk of his mouth. “Divination instead of Care though.”
“I fear for your future children,” Cyril deadpans, and Odysseus rolls his eyes.
Harry watches their exchange with half an eye but he’s more distracted by Odysseus’ schedule, which – yes – has nine different courses arranged between five days:
Harry vaguely wonders if Odysseus is planning to sleep this year. True, he himself is taking seven courses, eight if one counts Flying, but both Flying and Astronomy are only once a week, and History of Magic has already proven to be mostly reading what’s written in the textbook. And first-year material is bound to be easiest to learn. Odysseus has dropped Astronomy and History though, his Potions hours are longer, and Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures, and Alchemy fill in almost every empty space that his five core subjects don’t.
But Odysseus doesn't seem particularly concerned, and…
“-greatest mind the world has ever seen,” Harry recalls the Sorting Hat telling him. Maybe for Odysseus, the workload is perfectly manageable.
When he looks up, Odysseus is already watching him, and he arches an eyebrow as if he expects Harry to have questions.
“Professor Dumbledore teaches classes too?” Harry asks.
“Only Alchemy,” Odysseus answers promptly. “It’s N.E.W.T.-level, with Arithmancy and Ancient Runes O.W.L. requirements, and only twice a week. It was an interesting first class today. I’m looking forward to more.”
Harry nods, takes one last careful note of the electives Odysseus chose, and then hands the schedule back.
He’ll keep all four of them in mind for his own future years at Hogwarts.
“You certainly work fast, Odysseus. Not a day since the Boy Who Lived arrives, and you already have him under your thumb.”
“I’ve given him a hand now and then. He’s hardly ‘under my thumb’.”
“Almost four millennia and you’re still as magnificent a liar as you’ve always been.”
“Almost four millennia and you still think the worst of me.”
“With good reason. I have both benefitted and suffered from your wit, old friend; I would be a fool to forget that.”
“And yet you still do so time and time again. We all have our sins to bear, Agamemnon. Don’t blame me for yours. You would be a fool to forget that.”
no subject
Date: 2018-06-24 08:10 pm (UTC)I do enjoy this verse
no subject
Date: 2025-04-27 08:57 pm (UTC)Hope you are doing well and are enjoying this year so far!