The door slammed shut behind Professor Snape as he made a dramatic entrance, robes billowing around him like bat wings. All of the first years jumped but none more so than Harry. He had barely been able to eat a slice of toast at lunch, convinced that if he tried anymore, his stomach would heave all over the table. It didn't help that he wasn't used to much food. The Dursleys had only fed him once a day if he was lucky and then always a very small meal. He'd heard Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon talking once--they only fed him so much to allay suspicion and ensure that he was able to keep working. Harry still thought it was very kind of them. He knew he didn't deserve food.

"There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class," Professor Snape's silky voice reached Harry's ears. He frantically pulled out his parchment and began writing down the Potions Professor's speech. It sounded like it might be important later. However, Harry had only had two classes' worth of practice with a quill, and his parchment was soon festooned with ink splotches.

"--Pay attention," Snape's voice snapped, almost right above his head. Harry barely suppressed the jump of terror his professor had startled within him.

"Harry Potter," Snape smiled unpleasantly, his mouth twisting in a smirk worthy of Uncle Vernon at his worst. "Our new...celebrity."

Crabbe and Goyle, two of the more oafish new Slytherins, snickered behind him. Harry could feel his ears turn red. Snape looked like he was dying to take points, but didn't--he never took points off his own House unless it was a matter of dire severity. Having the Boy He Disliked in his House did not count.

Thankfully, the Potions professor ceased at that moment, turning and stalking to the front of the room, where instructions appeared on the blackboard. Oh hell, Harry realized with an internal groan. The board was blurry--his glasses weren't strong enough to allow him to see clearly that far away. He worried his bottom lip nervously with his teeth. He couldn't ask at this point to move closer--there weren't any empty seats. At least he was paired with Nott again.

"What are we making?" he whispered to Theodore under the general rustles and noises of the class copying down the potion instructions and gathering ingredients. Nott shot him a surprised look.

"Boil cure potion," Teddy whispered back. Harry flushed again and nodded a quick thanks.

"Talking in class, Potter?" Snape swooped down on them, making Harry jump.

"Detention."

Harry's mouth dropped open at the blatant unfairness as the swell of conversation around them buzzed in his ears. Then he slumped, defeated.

"Yes, sir," he mumbled, staring at the floor. His relatives were right. He was a freak and Professor Snape was the only one who could see it. For now, anyway. He had no doubt that the others in this school would understand soon, and then he would be kicked out, sent back to live with the relatives who despised him. He couldn't blame them. His freakishness contaminated the household, no matter how many cleaning sprays and powders were used on its surfaces. His mere presence, even locked inside the cupboard under the stairs, contaminated it.

Class droned on. It did not get any better for Harry. He had to keep sneaking glances at Theodore's notes to understand what they were supposed to be doing. Their potion was supposed to be a sort of aquamarine blue at this stage. Instead, it was a manky sort of green and smelled unpleasant. Harry actually felt his stomach start to churn and worried he might be sick into their cauldron.

"Terrible even for first years," Snape proclaimed behind them. Harry didn't even flinch this time. He felt too defeated. "Another detention, Potter. In fact...maybe a week's worth of detention will improve that horrible concentration of yours." Harry just nodded. Nott actually looked angry-on his behalf!-but didn't say anything. Probably didn't dare to. If he did, he would be given detention.

A cauldron on the Gryffindor side exploded and Harry reacted with trauma-born reflexes, pushing Theodore further away from the scene and clamoring up on the bench. Green smoke filled the room, and he could see the potion oozing across the floor. A round-faced Gryffindor boy was crying, his face popping up in boils.

"Off to the Hospital Wing, Longbottom," Snape said with a look of weary resignation. "If anyone else has been splashed, please come up front. I will either administer a proper boil cure potion or send you to the Hospital Wing. Class dismissed."

Harry shot out of there with alacrity, feeling his stomach fill with acid. He felt horrible. Stupid. His fingers clenched tightly into his palms as he found an out-of-the-way boys' loo. Locking himself into the very last stall, he sat there and panted, emotions overwhelming him. It was almost as if Uncle Vernon was there, there at Hogwarts, there to yell at him. To inform everyone of what a worthless freak he was.

Gradually, Harry stilled. A blank sort of peace settled over his face. He opened his bag and calmly withdrew a small pen-knife. A quick shove of his sleeves up and the knife was moving steadily across his skin. The blankness remained, even as a thin line of blood oozed across his arm, puddling into his palm.

"There," Harry whispered. He felt better. The emotions had receded. Enough that he could go to History of Magic anyway. He dabbed briskly at the cut with a wad of toilet paper and flushed it away. With his sleeves down, no one would ever know.

When he walked back out and got into line for his next class, he knew that no one had even missed him.