Harry and Ron were standing in line down in the dungeons, waiting for Potions to start. Even though Professor Snape was frightening, Harry couldn't help by being a bit excited about this class. One of the things he had looked forward to starting in Muggle school had been Chemistry and Potions seemed a bit like it. Ron didn't have very high hopes for the course, since he was, according to himself, slightly less clumsy than a troll when dealing with anything that had to be measured and stirred.

When the door to the classroom opened, Harry stumbled in after the rest of the Gryffindors, his head held high, determined not to make a fool of himself. He and Ron sat down in the middle of the classroom, took out quill and parchment and put their potions books within easy reach. They left their ingredients in the kit on the floor, since they had no idea if they were actually going to brew something in this first class.

Harry spotted Dudley walking in with a group of Slytherins (he was hard to miss, given how big he was) and sit down in the middle of the classroom. Not far enough in the back to cause suspicsion, and not close enough to seem like a teacher's pet. Dudley might be an idiot, but he could be cunning enough when he had too. Harry knew that far too well, from the way Dudley always managed to blame everything on Harry.

The room went quiet when Professor Snape swept in. He looked a little as though he was floating, and Harry had to admit that even if the Professor could do with a hair wash or two, he did have some kind of finesse, some refined air that surrounded him. It was as though he wore an invisible cloak of... Harry couldn't find the approriate word to describe it. But the professor was imposing, alright.

19 pairs of eyes were focused on (or beside) professor Snape. Harry kept his eyes on the spot just beside the man's left ear, feeling too uncomfortable to look at him straight in the face. Snape, however, seemed to have no problem at all with looking at Harry.

”Harry Potter...” Professor Snape said, his voice dripping icicles. ”Our new celebrity.” Harry had a sudden wish to hide himself under his desk. Things went downhill from there.

”You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making,” he began. The soft whisper was enough to make Harry turn his eyes towards the Potions Master's face and listen to his speech, enthralled. All around him, Harry could sense that the rest of the students, even if they didn't understand all the professor meant, were listening intently to his every word. As the little speech ended, Harry busied himself with copying down what Snape had said.

He was interrupted not long afterwards, by sharp questions that he couldn't answer, and his ears burned in humiliation. As he failed to answer, he could hear Dudley snicker, and Harry determinedly kept his eyes on Snape, refusing to look at Dudley and allow him any kind of pleasure.

When the class was finally allowed to start doing some actual potions work, it became clear to Harry that Snape's antagonisms not were a one-time thing. In fact, the Potions Master seemed to take great pleasure in tormenting all the Gryffindor and glorifying the Slytherins. Harry bent over his cauldron, trying to concentrate and ignore any jibes from Snape. He thought he was doing quite well, but his fellow Gryffindors were not. Neville Longbottom was staring at his brew nervously, seemingly unable to decide what to do next. From the way Hermione Granger was shaking her head at Neville, Harry could easily understand that Neville had made some kind of fatal mistake.

Glancing over to his cousin, Harry saw Snape standing in front of Dudley's cauldron, lips drawn in a sort of half-sneer.

”Mr. Dursley, would you care to explain what this is supposed to be?”

”My potion, sir,” Dudley answered, strangly polite.

Even Harry could smell something that resembled vinegar from where he was standing, and Snape had explicitly warned them that something was from if their potions even came close to any smell of that kind. But instead of insulting, or smirking at Dudley, Snape looked at him, then nodded curtly and turned away. He immediately spotted Neville, and well...

Neville's cauldron chose that moment to blow up in a rather spectacular explosion. Harry ducked and managed to avoid being drenched in the soppy mess. Some of his other class mates were not as fortunate. Neville, seeing as it was his potion, was sporting some nasty burns and boils, and both Seamus Finnigan, and Ron were groaning in pain. Even some of the Slytherins were affected.

Professor Snape sent the injured students off to the hospital wing, and with a snarl turned around to face Harry.

”You – Potter – 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?” he spat, with small spots of red glowing on his sallow cheeks.

”Just like a Potter. Not like I expected anything else with your heirtage,” Snape added in a fierce whisper. He then shook his head, as if ridding himself of the last fragments of some dream, and with a small but clear gesture of his hand made it obvious to every student that they were dismissed.

The Gryffindors huddled in a small group a safe distance from the potions classroom to discuss the events. Ron, who evidently had a lot of knowledge of the professor, most likely due to the wild Fred and George, leaned in and said in a whisper:

”Snape usually takes points, and I've heard he's real unfair towards the Gryffindors, but wow... Who put a dung bomb down his trousers this morning?”

”Harry, why did he single you out like that?” said Parvati Patil in an awed voice.

Harry shrugged, not liking all the attention.

”Maybe he just hates people who aren't good at potions. He didn't seem to like Neville anymore than he liked me.”

The other first-years nodded, and not few of them were happy Neville was the one who was awful at potions and not them. The new Gryffindors had learned a valuable lesson: Lions and Snakes did not mix, and the Cheif Snake would do nothing to help them.