Harry Potter, a child called "the Savior" by wizards across the magical world, had never experienced a feeling like this in his eleven years of gloomy life. For the first time, he truly felt under the spotlight.
He remembered being brought into the Leaky Cauldron by Hagrid, when strangers shook his hand and paid their respects. Though he couldn't recall anything he had done to earn such admiration, he didn't question it. Whatever it was, he was content. He could even say that the dinner last night had been the best and most supportive meal he had ever eaten in his life.
The young wizards here were kind and friendly—well, most of them. The exception was a little boy on the train, but Harry had made his first friend of his own age during that journey. The thought of never being hungry again, never facing Dudley's fists, never enduring the Dursleys' cynicism, and never meeting Aunt Marge's terrifying dog again made Harry feel as if he were dreaming.
But his happiness was soon tinged with discomfort. On his second morning, whispers accompanied him wherever he went. Harry felt nearly everyone staring at the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. Groups of young wizards would crowd the doors between classes, trying to catch a glimpse of Harry's face. Even in the corridors, students walked around him, eyes glued to his every move. When he went to the bathroom, he sometimes noticed a group waiting outside.
Frankly, Harry missed the Dursleys' stairwell. Of course, it wasn't dangerous—just overwhelming. Not everyone could adapt to sudden fame so quickly. Fortunately, he had Ronald, a loyal friend who always stayed by his side. Despite this comfort, being treated like a rare curiosity was exhausting. By the fourth day, the attention had not lessened.
To escape the constant scrutiny, Harry made a risky decision: he and Ronald would try to reach class on their own. Ronald was not entirely happy with this plan, but Harry had overlooked one crucial detail—they were unfamiliar with a school full of magic. They had no idea how long it would take to get to each classroom, or the specific routes and stairs required to arrive "on time." Unsurprisingly, they were late for Transfiguration on Thursday morning.
Professor McGonagall, known for her strictness, didn't punish them—perhaps their fame as "the Savior" saved them. What troubled Harry more was not McGonagall, but Hermione Granger, a little witch who had been incessantly lecturing him and Ronald on what they should or shouldn't do since the train ride. Harry and Ronald decided it was safer to keep their distance from the preachy Miss Granger.
Friday, however, brought relief. Harry and Ronald finally found the correct path to the auditorium without getting lost. "What classes do we have today?" Harry asked, working on an apple pie as he spoke.
"Potions with Slytherin in the morning, two sessions in a row," Ronald replied, mouth full.
"Snape is Head of Slytherin, and I've heard he favors his own students. We'll see," Ronald continued.
A female voice interrupted: "Oh yes, Solim said Professor Snape is very partial to Slytherin and unfriendly toward Gryffindor. He finds every chance to deduct Gryffindor points."
Harry and Ronald exchanged knowing looks. They recognized Hermione's voice immediately and prepared to continue their meal.
"Wait, you mean Snape is going to pick on us?" Harry asked.
"Yes, Solim said so. Last night he helped me and Neville with the potion rules. Thanks to him, Neville won't burn the scabies potion," Hermione explained, gesturing toward Neville.
"Wait—who is Solim?" Ronald asked. "And he helped Neville with potions?"
"Did you sleep through the Sorting? He's Neville's cousin," Hermione replied.
Harry and Ronald looked at Neville.
"Yes, he's my cousin," Neville said.
"Why do you have a Slytherin cousin?" Ronald began, only to be interrupted by the flapping of an owl outside.
Harry was used to owls by now. On the first breakfast, hundreds of them had flown into the Great Hall, startling him as they delivered letters. Today, Hedwig dropped a note onto his plate. Harry opened it:
"Hagrid wants to see me this afternoon."
Borrowing a quill from Ronald, Harry replied quickly, "Okay, I'll be there soon," then sent Hedwig back to the owlery.
Harry had sensed Professor Snape's dislike at the start-of-term banquet, but the first Potions lesson revealed something worse—Snape didn't just dislike him; he despised him. The classroom was cold, underground, lined with glass jars containing preserved magical creatures. Snape began by reading the roster, pausing at Harry's name with a sneer.
"Oh yes," Snape said quietly, "Harry Potter, the newcomer—well known."
Draco Malfoy and his friends, Crabbe and Goyle, giggled. Snape's eyes were as dark as Hagrid's, but without warmth—cold and empty, like twin tunnels.
"You are here to learn the delicate science of potion-making," Snape said, voice barely above a whisper, yet every word carried weight. "Many of you will not understand the magic here, but that is no matter. I can teach you to brew glory, increase your reputation, and even prevent death—but one thing you are not, Potter, is me. And fools, you will always be."
The class fell silent. Harry and Ronald exchanged raised eyebrows. Hermione leaned forward eagerly, hoping to prove herself.
"Potter!" Snape barked. "What would happen if you added powdered daffodil root to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry and Ronald exchanged confused glances. Hermione immediately raised her hand.
"I don't know, sir," Harry admitted. Snape's lips curled in contempt.
"Tsk, fame does not equal knowledge," Snape hissed, ignoring Hermione's raised hand.
"Let's try again. Potter, where would you find a bezoar?"
Hermione raised her hand again, but Harry had no clue. He tried not to look at Malfoy's laughter.
"Not a single book read before term started, I see," Snape sneered.
Harry forced himself to meet Snape's cold gaze. He had indeed read plenty at the Dursleys', but not everything Snape demanded.
"Potter, tell me the difference between aconite in the shape of a boat and aconite chamaejasma," Snape continued. Hermione stood, hand high. "I don't know," she admitted.
Harry whispered to Ronald, "She knows the answer. Why not ask her?" Several students laughed. Seamus Finnigan winked at Harry, and Malfoy looked delighted.
"Sit down," Snape snapped at Hermione. "Daffodil root powder mixed with wormwood makes the powerful sleeping potion, the Draught of Death. A bezoar comes from a cow's stomach—a stone that can counteract poison. Aconitum acanthum and chamaejasma aconitum are the same plant. Write it down!"
Quills scratched against parchment as students hurried. "One point from Gryffindor for contradicting the professor, Potter," Snape said over the noise.
Harry noticed a Slytherin student who didn't laugh or sneer. Unlike Malfoy, he quietly read his book. Harry found him intriguing, a rare exception among Slytherins.
Potions class continued, and Gryffindor struggled. Seamus blew up his cauldron, Ronald mismanaged his, and Lavender Brown's potion smelled awful. Only Hermione and Neville produced perfect results, their cauldrons exactly as described in the books.
Meanwhile, the Slytherins worked quietly. Snape deducted points from Gryffindor repeatedly, including Harry's seven points.
"Neville, how did you do it?" Ronald asked, frustrated.
"Read the instructions," Hermione said impatiently. "All the steps are on the blackboard. I only kept an eye on Neville so he wouldn't ruin it last night."
Ah, that explained it. Harry realized they had practiced the potion the night before, guided by someone—Solim.
After class, Hermione and Neville waited at the door. Curious, Harry dragged Ronald behind a corner to eavesdrop. Solim approached, talking quietly with Hermione and Neville.
"Thanks, Solim. I'd be doomed without your help," Hermione said.
"Shouldn't you thank Neville? Remember last night?" Solim replied.
"No classes this afternoon. What will you do?"
Harry finally remembered Solim from the Sorting Ceremony. Ronald whispered angrily, "Two Gryffindor traitors! You're close to Slytherins now?"
Harry disagreed. Hermione and Neville weren't traitors; they were simply smart, cautious, and resourceful.
"Leave them alone. I'm going to Hagrid this afternoon," Harry said to Ronald. "When I come back, we'll ask Hermione and the others about this. Agreed?"