By the time Friday arrived, Harry was quite relieved to discover he wasn't too far behind his classmates. Many came from Muggle homes, just like him, and hadn't known anything about magic either. Even the kids from magical homes, like Ron, didn't have much of a head start because there was just so much stuff to learn. He had another cause to celebrate. By the end of the week, Harry and Ron had finally found their way to the Great Hall without getting lost.

"What do we have first today?" Harry asked Ron as he dumped sugar and cream into his porridge. Harry had never been allowed such luxuries at the Dursleys' and was now taking advantage of his new-found freedom.

"Bugger! Double Potions with the Slytherins," Ron said miserably, looking at his timetable. "Snape is Slytherin's Head of House. Fred and George say he favours them. I guess we'll see if it's true."

"Too bad McGonagall doesn't show us favour," Harry said, scooping up a large bite of his porridge and shoving it into his mouth, enjoying the sweet creamy taste. Professor McGonagall was their Head of House, but she had still set a load of homework for them. Harry doubted Professor Snape would take sympathy.

"I guess we shouldn't be too worried," Ron said as he tucked into his breakfast. "Fred and George were probably just winding us up. The professor didn't seem as bad as they said he was the other day."

Harry nearly dumped his porridge out of his spoon when the Great Hall suddenly came alive with the flapping wings and hoots and shrieks of owls delivering the mail. Hedwig had not brought Harry any letters or packages, of course. This was to be expected, his relatives were certainly not going to be sending him anything. He had a momentary twinge of disappointment, but swallowed it back with a gulp of pumpkin juice.

But still, Hedwig would fly in each morning to visit Harry and get bit of his bacon and a scratch on her head before she flew gracefully back to the Owlery. Despite the lack of a letter, it made Harry smile and was a welcome start to his day.

But much to his surprise this morning was different. Hedwig actually dropped a letter on Harry's plate nearly launching his bacon across the table. Harry eagerly ripped it open to see who would have sent him a letter. It was from Hagrid, inviting Harry to tea in his hut that afternoon when his lessons were over. Harry happily scribbled out a short note on the back of the letter saying he would like that and sent it off with Hedwig— after giving her an extra piece of his crispy bacon, of course.

After breakfast, Harry and Ron trudged reluctantly down into the damp, chilly dungeons. Harry wondered why Potions lessons were held in the dungeon. He thought maybe they were so awful it was like being held captive in prison.

When they arrived in the dungeon classroom, Harry found them to be even darker and creepier than the dungeon corridors. He supposed it was the slimy and unrecognisable creatures preserved in jars of different shapes and sizes lined along shelves on the walls. He shivered, because he could have sworn that an eyeball floating around with others in some murky, yellow liquid had blinked at him. Maybe Fred and George were right. Professor Snape did cut up his bad students into potions ingredients after all.

Harry and Ron barely arrived on time and they quickly found their seats next to a bushy-haired Gryffindor girl. Harry remembered her from the train ride and the Sorting. He was pretty sure her name was Hermione. It was such an unforgettable name once it was stuck in his head. She was furiously scribbling on a piece of parchment, but stopped just long enough to give them a critical look, as if they were really late.

Harry wondered how she could possibly be taking notes already. The lecture hadn't even started yet. But once he thought about it, Harry decided perhaps having his supplies out early wasn't such a bad idea, so he pulled his own quill, ink, and parchment from his bag. Taking notes wouldn't hurt, and even though he would never admit it to Ron, he was kind of excited about Potions. Science was his favourite subject in Primary. He managed to glance over the textbook during the summer and was amazed by all the different types of potions and what could be done with them.

The entire class jumped in their seats when the door suddenly flew open, noisily crashing against the stone wall. Professor Snape strode determinedly into the classroom, his black robes billowing behind him as if they would take to flight. The effect was very menacing.

Professor Snape reached the dais, turned quickly, and faced the class. The dark, cool manner in which he spoke set another round of chills down Harry's spine. "There will be no foolish wand waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is Potion making. However, for those select few who possess the predisposition—," Professor Snape paused and for a moment Harry thought the teacher's dark eyes flicked in his direction. Harry grabbed up his quill and quickly began taking note of every word his teacher spoke.

"I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death. Then again—perhaps most of you have come to Hogwarts with abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough to not take notes. Why is Mr Potter the only one writing this down?"

There was a quick flurry of activity as the students reached for their parchment and quills. Harry turned to Hermione because he knew that she had been taking notes too. She looked a bit put-out and Harry didn't blame her. He had gotten the idea from her and yet Professor Snape hadn't recognised her effort.

Someone must have done something on the Slytherin half of the room because Professor Snape's attention shifted over there from Harry. Malfoy was sniggering as if he found something funny. Apparently, Professor Snape didn't find it very funny because he was giving Draco Malfoy the most menacing glare Harry had ever seen. Harry sincerely hoped the professor would never look at him like that. Draco either didn't notice that Professor Snape was approaching him as he whispered to his friends sitting on either side of him, or he just wasn't very concerned. Harry thought either way was a colossally stupid mistake.

Harry remembered Draco and didn't like him at all. Harry first met the blonde boy the day he went shopping in Diagon Alley with Hagrid. He made Harry nervous because he kept questioning Harry about his parents and Harry didn't know how to answer. They met again on the Hogwarts Express. The way he openly insulted Ron's family, Harry knew that Malfoy was a pompous prig that he would never get along with. Malfoy was the reason Harry wasn't in Slytherin himself. Malfoy had already been sorted into Slytherin and Harry did not want to follow him, so he talked the Sorting Hat out of sending him there. Harry spent enough of his life living amongst bullies. Now he was away from the Dursleys, he didn't want to be condemned at his new school to the same fate.

"Mr Malfoy," the professor said darkly, "what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Hermione's hand flew into the air; nearly smacking the side of Harry's head on the way up, just as Malfoy's attention finally snapped to the professor.

Malfoy looked rather stunned, as if he wasn't sure if it was some kind of trick. But Harry didn't think that Professor Snape was the type to pull tricks. Harry was glad Professor Snape hadn't asked him that question, because he certainly didn't know the answer. He suddenly wished he had read more of his potion's text if that was the kind of questions they would be asked.

Harry had to crane his head to look around Ron so he could see what was happening at the other table. Every eye in the room seemed to be on Malfoy, except for Hermione's. She was still waving her hand frantically trying to get Professor Snape's attention.

It looked like Malfoy didn't know the answer because he was obviously at a loss. For a moment he seemed to struggle for an answer until he finally stammered, "I…I don't know, sir."

"Hmm...Then let's try another, shall we? Tell me, Mr Malfoy," Snape said curtly, "where would I look if I wanted to find a Bezoar?"

Malfoy just stared unbelievingly up at the tall, dark figure. He was clearly at a loss for words. "I…I…"

"Pity—clearly your father has overpaid your private tutor."

Professor Snape leaned in closer to Malfoy. Malfoy leaned back, his face paler than a ghost's. His two gormless looking friends, Crabbe and Goyle, scooted away in their chairs in an effort to put some distance between themselves and Snape's victim. The professor spoke so softly, Harry could barely make out what he had said. "Next time, Mr Malfoy, you will think well enough to keep from making rude gestures at your fellow students in class and you won't be called out. Am I understood?"

Malfoy nodded dumbly. Harry honestly thought the arrogant git was going to cry.

Professor Snape turned and marched back up to the dais. No one dared to laugh or giggle behind his back, though Harry could tell that some students had to make an effort at it.

"One point will be given to Gryffindor, for Mr Potter's excellent note taking. Ms Granger, put your arm down, you silly girl. You're going to poke Mr Potter's eye out, waving it about like that."

Hermione put her hand down in a huff, but at least no one had laughed at her.

There were, however, poorly suppressed gasps of surprise rippling through the Gryffindor side of the room, and the Slytherins seemed to be in a state of mild shock. Harry understood why. Word had it that Professor Snape never awarded points to Gryffindor.

After giving a hurried explanation the monkshood and wolfsbane were the same plant and that one could find a Bezoar in the stomach of a goat—a concept that Harry found gross, yet morbidly fascinating—Professor Snape started talking about simple potions. Much to Harry's delight, they would actually get the chance to brew one on the very first day.

When it was time for the practical part of the lesson, with a flick of Professor Snape's wand, the directions on how to brew a Boil Cure magically appeared on the blackboard.

Once they began brewing, the professor glided silently up and down the aisles, his black cloak floating behind him like a giant shadow. As he glanced into each cauldron and snidely gave students suggestions on how to fix their deplorable potions.

"Don't put your porcupine quills in yet," Harry managed to whisper to Ron when the professor's attention was focused on Dean Thomas' cauldron. "You have to take it off the fire first."

Professor Snape glanced towards Harry and for a terrible moment, Harry thought the professor might have heard him give directions to Ron, but Professor Snape just moved on to Seamus Finnegan's cauldron and Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thanks, mate," Ron whispered back as he removed his cauldron from the heat, not daring to say more.

When it was their turn to be scrutinised, Harry and Ron gave auditable sighs of relief and smiled at each other when the professor declared that their potions were barely passable.

The professor was about to say something to Harry when Hermione screamed out, "No, Neville! It's too soon!"

Neville Longbottom was at the table directly in front of Hermione Granger. A loud hissing noise and an acid green smoke were coming from his cauldron.

"Move back, Mr Longbottom! Evanesco!" Professor Snape bellowed as he pointed is wand and made his way around the table over to Neville. But it was too late.

Harry guessed that Professor Snape was trying to get rid of Neville's ruined potion, and had mostly succeeded, but in less than a second Neville's cauldron had melted into a molten mass of pewter as the potion erupted like an active volcano and everyone in close vicinity, including Harry, took shelter under their tables.

Harry, Ron and Hermione waited under their table for the green goo to rain down on them, but it never came. Cautiously, they emerged from their haven. Professor Snape had managed to rid most of the potion, but poor Neville had been too close. His face sprouted angry red boils.

"Idiot boy! Can't you read?" Professor Snape practically roared. "You! Ms Granger! Take him to the hospital wing," he snapped.

He whirled around and glared at Harry. Harry winced, waiting for some sort of rebuke or accusation. He was close enough to see what Neville had been doing. Perhaps he was going to be blamed, like when Aunt Petunia would blame him for ruining one of Dudley's new toys, when it really had been his cousin's fault all along. However, Professor Snape said nothing but seemed to scrutinize Harry from head to toe, before once again sweeping down the aisle checking student's cauldrons.

There wasn't much time left in the lesson when Hermione rushed Neville off to the hospital wing. There were muffled giggles on the Slytherin side of the room that were quickly silenced with one, dark, drawn-out word from Professor Snape. "Quiet."

What little time left in the lesson was uneventful and Harry and Ron sighed in relief as they left. They had survived their first potion's lesson.

"I should have known they were winding me up," Ron said as the trudged the stairs out of the dungeons. "Snape isn't exactly what I would call nice. In fact he was practically beastly to poor Neville. But he's not nearly the ogre the twins made him out to be. He even awarded you a point and Fred says he never gives Gryffindors House points."

Harry grinned, it was the first point he had earned for his house.

Ron changed the topic suddenly when he asked, "Can I come and meet Hagrid with you? Charlie really likes him. He was always talking about him. Apparently Hagrid is as mad about dragons as Charlie is."

"That'd be great," Harry said, "because I have no idea what we would talk about."

It was getting late and Harry and Ron rushed to get back to the castle before sunset. Having tea at Hagrid's had been interesting to say the least.

Hagrid lived in a small hut on the edge of the Dark Forest full of massive Hagrid-sized furniture and an equally massive Hagrid-sized, slobbering boarhound named Fang. The tea was okay, but Harry and Ron had to slip Hagrid's rock cakes under the table to Fang because they didn't think to bring a hammer and chisel. Harry thought they had to be made from real rocks.

Ron and Hagrid happily discussed dragons for a half-hour. Hagrid regaled the same story to Ron that he had told Harry earlier that summer; how he had wanted to own a dragon his whole life.

When Hagrid had asked how their day was Ron jumped in and said that Harry made a point for Gryffindor.

"Like Potions then, Harry?" Hagrid had asked.

"It wasn't bad," Harry admitted. "Ron and I managed to manage to pass our first practical."

"Ya musta done more than tha to get points from Profess'r Snape. He don't dole House points out like sweets, ya know."

Harry shrugged. "It was only one point. Nothing spectacular."

"Don't sell yerself short, Harry. I imagine you'll be a fair hand at Potions, jus like yer mum an dad."

Then Hagrid got a funny look on his face, as if he shouldn't had said something. When Harry asked him to tell him more about his parents, Hagrid went on and on, telling him how brilliant and popular Harry's mum, Lily, had been. He must not have known much about Harry's dad, because the only bit of extra information Harry managed to wheedle out of Hagrid was that Harry's father had been brilliant with potions as well as a fine Quidditch player.

The rest of their time at Hagrid's Ron had excitingly explained the finer points of Quidditch, and Harry had to admit the game sounded brilliant. He just didn't think he'd be a good enough flyer once he was old enough to try out for the House team.

But maybe if he inherited his parent's potions skills, maybe Harry inherited his dad's flying ability too. Harry wasn't sure how these things worked, especially in the Wizarding world.

"Finally," Harry panted as he and Ron made it to the castle doors. "I didn't think we'd make it."

"Come on then, Harry," Ron said. "If we hurry we can just catch supper before it's over. I'm starving."

Ron was right; they just had enough time to tuck into a sandwich and some crisps washed down with pumpkin juice before heading back to the common room.

"Caput Draconis," Harry said to a large portrait of a fat lady in a pink dress.

The fat lady bade them to enter as the portrait swung open to reveal the hidden doorway to the Gryffindor common room.

Inside the common room, students were spread out in little groups, some doing homework, some playing games and some just engaged in conversation. The chatter in the room switched to eerie silence when Harry and Ron stepped into the room. Harry looked quizzically to Ron who simply shrugged gormlessly.

From the silence, there came spattered clapping, in the far corner of the room, Fred, George, and their friend, Lee Jordan, where standing and cheering for Harry.

"Bravo, bravo!" The three cheered, soon followed by others in the room.

"Three cheers for our Gryffindor hero," Fred cried out. At least Harry thought it was Fred. Ron told him that Fred was the one that usually spoke first.

George followed with, "The only Gryffindor in Hogwarts history to win House points from the dungeon bat!"

Harry could feel his face flush with embarrassment as Ron cuffed him jovially on the shoulder. "It was only one point, nothing spectacular. Hermione has already won more points in Transfiguration and Charms," Harry said.

"Don't sell yourself short, Harry, "said the twin he thought was Fred.

"Honestly—old Snape has never given points to Gryffindors before," George reiterated.

Harry was rendered speechless when Lee Jordan asked, "Yeah—you wouldn't happen to be his kid or something, would you?"

"What a rotten thing to suggest," Ron said hotly.

Another, older student backed up Ron. "The kid's right, Lee. Sure, he might look a little like Snape, but there's no need to pick on him like that. Even if you are just kidding, that's how nasty rumours get started."

"I didn't mean to take the micky out of him," Lee said defensively. "It's true. He does look like Snape."

Ron turned and looked at Harry's face. Harry could feel all sorts of eyes on him at that moment. Ron's eyes furrowed as he studied Harry's features. "I suppose he does look a little like him…" Ron said musingly.

"I can't look like Snape," Harry said. "My aunt says that I look like my dad."

"That's easily explained." Percy's haughty voice interrupted the discussion. Apparently he had been listening in on the conversation from his vantage point at a study table in the corner. "Most Pureblood families are related. It's more likely that the Snapes are an obscure branch of the Potter family. Professor Snape is probably a distant cousin of Harry's."

"Really, Percy? Do you think Professor Snape might be my cousin?" Harry didn't mean to sound as eager as he was, but the thought of having a long-lost wizarding relative excited him. Anyone would be a better relative than the Dursleys—even Snape.

"It's a distinct possibility," Percy said, sounding even more pompous than he did the first time he spoke.

"That would explain why…"
"…he gave you the point," the twins said.

"If he's related to Professor Snape and Professor Snape knows it, why didn't he say anything to Harry?" Harry hadn't noticed Hermione sitting alone in a wingback chair, listening in on the conversation with the rest of the common room.

Ron shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe it's because Harry was sorted into Gryffindor rather than Slytherin."

"He's right." This time it was a dark girl who Harry guessed was about Fred and George's age who spoke up. "A lot of families take House rivalries very seriously. The Slytherins might not like it if their Head of House was related to a Gryffindor."

"Well, they didn't seem to like it much when he awarded me a House point right after he called out Malfoy," Harry said.

They all agreed that Professor Snape's behaviour that day was a mystery, even more so than his resemblance to Harry. Harry knew deep down that somehow the two were related, and he was determined to find out how.

"I am such an idiot!" Severus berated himself as he paced to and fro in front of the headmaster's desk. "I can't believe I awarded him points or that I admonished one of my own Snakes in front of the entire class!"

"Don't belittle yourself, Severus. You're one of the most brilliant wizards I know," Albus said patronizingly while never taking is nose out of his copy of Transfiguration Today. "Harry was setting a good example to the rest of the class whilst young Mr Malfoy shot your son a two-fingered salute. If anything, you let Mr Malfoy off easy. Now would you please sit down before you wear a hole in the carpet? "

Severus plopped himself ungracefully into the uncomfortable Queen Anne's chair in front of the headmaster's elaborate desk. A tea tray popped into existence on top of the desk and Albus put his journal down and began to pour out.

"You're not the only professor who will award the boy House points," Albus said as he put Severus' customary four sugars into the cup. Albus Dumbledore was probably the only living person aware that Severus had a sweet tooth, despite the fact that Severus loathed sherbet lemons. "You are worrying over nothing, my dear boy. The other teachers report that the boy is modest, likeable, and reasonably talented. Personally I find him a bright, engaging child. I think he's going to have a successful career here at Hogwarts."

Severus reached for the offered tea. "Of course he is intelligent—and engaging. He is Lily's child, after all.

"There you go again, Severus," Albus said as he poured out his own tea. "I'm sure your genes may have contributed somewhat to the boy's intelligence."

"I'm still not certain that he is mine," Severus said softly before blowing on his tea. "I'm not certain that I even want to know if he is."

Albus offered Severus a plate of biscuits. Severus chose two shortbread with jam before the headmaster took a chocolate biscuit for himself.

"Now you are being silly," Albus said. "Of course you want to find out if he is yours. It'll eat you up inside until you do."

Severus hated to admit it, but Albus was right. Severus had to know the truth. "There's a potion that can determine maternity sometimes used by orphans trying to find their birth mothers, but it isn't as reliable in discerning paternity."

"There are a couple of charms that could be useful, but it will require something from Harry and yourself—hair, blood, or skin."

"Well, I'm not about to go about pulling the boy's hair or poking him with needles," Severus said.

"No, no, nothing so invasive, my boy. But I do think we can 'kill two birds with one stone,' as the Muggles like to say."

"What do you mean?" Severus asked.

"I'm as curious as you are to find out about Harry's home life. I have a few hours available next Saturday. What do you say that you and I visit Harry's relatives next weekend? I'm certain we can find a hair or two on his pillowcase."

Severus was certain it was easier to go into the Harry's dorm and snatch a hair from the boy's pillow that way, but Harry's pillow couldn't answer Severus' questions the way Petunia could.

Severus' eyes narrowed as he steadied his thoughts. He said darkly, "I think it's been too long since I've seen dear, old, Tuney."