The first week of classes was both intimidating and exciting. There was more to magic than Harry would have thought and Harry and Ron had gotten lost a quite a bit in the large castle. By Friday, they felt they ought to be congratulated for managing to get to the Great Hall without getting lost once.

Friday was also an important day for Harry since they would be having their first Potions class with the Slytherins. Harry hadn’t slept all night in anticipation, reading his potions book again to try to understand the techniques involved in brewing.

Potions took place in the dungeons and as they walked in, Professor Snape glared at them all intimidatingly. He was definitely not a teacher to cross, Harry thought as Snape finished his starting speech. He looked menacing in a way that was cold.

“Potter!” Snape suddenly barked, “What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Asphodel? Wormwood? Harry had read these names in his book but for the life of him, he had no idea what the answer to the question could be. Beside him, Hermione Granger had her hand up in the air.

“I don’t know, sir,” he whispered.

Snape’s lips curled into a sneer. “Tut, tut – fame clearly isn’t everything. Let’s try again, Potter. Where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?”

Harry remembered reading about bezoars. They could be used as an antidote to most poisons, but that wasn’t what Snape was asking. “I don’t know sir.” Harry’s voice was barely audible. Malfoy and his cronies were shaking with laughter.

“Thought you wouldn’t open a book before coming, eh Potter?”

Harry bit his lip and tried to keep himself from shaking. This was not how he wanted this class to go. Snape really seemed to hate him before he had been given a chance to prove himself.

“What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

Monkshood? Wolfsbane? They were the same thing weren’t they? Was this some sort of trick question? Harry decided not to say anything since he didn’t want to seem stupid if he was wrong. “I don’t know sir.”

Snape’s lip curled as he recited the proper answers. Harry kept his eyes lowered onto his parchment throughout.

The class did not get better. Harry read the instructions twice before starting and carefully prepared all his ingredients. Snape didn’t bother glancing at his work and instead proceeded to show the class how Malfoy had perfectly stewed his horned slugs.

When Neville Longbottom, who had been working close to Harry and Ron, exploded his cauldron, Snape turned his attention to Harry and snapped, “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? That’s a point you’ve lost for Gryffindor.”

Harry kept his eyes fixed on his potion, tears blurring his vision for a moment before he managed to rein them in. The moment class ended, he rushed to his dorm room and sat on his head, pulling the curtains of his four-poster around and burying his head in his knees. Of course Snape hated him. Harry had been a fool to think any differently. This whole thing, Hogwarts, magic, what was the point? The one person who he’d actually wanted to meet loathed him.

Tears once again threatened to surface and once again, Harry had to push them back in. He couldn’t cry or he might never stop. Years of living with the Dursleys had taught him that crying didn’t solve anything. What should he do now? He had thought that he would impress Snape sufficiently in the first class and then would proudly tell Snape that he was his son. If he did that now though, Snape would probably just be disgusted, or worse, laugh him out of the room.

“Harry?” came a soft voice outside the curtains. Ron hesitatingly pulled back the curtains “Snape’s a git, Harry, forget about him,” Ron said gruffly sitting at the edge of Harry’s bed. “If you want, I can get Fred and George to prank him.”

Harry chuckled a bit. “No, don’t do that.” He thought about what Ron had said, about forgetting Snape. Could he do that? No one knew about his mother’s letter but him. He could go through Hogwarts with minimum pain if he just ignored the fact that Snape was his father. An image of Snape rose in his mind unbidden.

Finally he said, “I can’t forget about him, Ron. Snape is – ” He paused here. Could he tell Ron? Though they had only known each other for a week, Harry felt he could trust Ron Weasley. Nothing was stopping him from telling and it would be nice to finally be able to share his secret.

“Snape is my father,” he said finally.

Ron blinked at him a few times. “Are you okay, Harry? You didn’t fall and hurt your head did you? Maybe I should take you to Madam Pomfrey just to make sure.”

“No, seriously, Ron, he is,” Harry insisted. “Look, this summer I got a letter from my mother and she told me that Snape is really my father.” He explained the circumstances his mother had told him about.

Ron stared at him in awe when he was finished. “So it’s true then. Snape’s actually your father!” He fell onto the grass. “Your Mum really knew how to pick them, didn’t she? Why couldn’t it be someone like, I dunno, Flitwick?”

Harry made a face and sighed. “I don’t know what to do, Ron. Why does he hate me so much?”

Ron looked at him sympathetically.

“You have parents, Ron,” Harry said, “How would you make them proud of you?”

“They’re proud of Percy because he’s a prefect and gets good grades,” Ron muttered. “I don’t know Harry. They love Fred and George even though they make trouble all the time. I think it’s a parent thing. Maybe you should just tell Snape.”

Harry shook his head. “I can’t. Not yet.” Filled with new determination he stood up. “Come on, Ron. Let’s get started on homework.”

“But it’s Friday, Harry,” Ron moaned. Harry was already walking down to the common room. “Wait up!” Ron called after him.

Ron had to admit that starting their homework on Friday had been a good idea. By Saturday they were finished and on Sunday they were completely free while their other classmates had just started.

“I could get used to this,” Ron said as he stretched out on a sofa in the common room. Harry sat in an armchair flipping through 1001 Magical Herbs and Fungi. “Stop reading, Harry, you’re as bad as Hermione Granger. Let’s go explore the castle some more. I want to find the kitchens.”

“Alright,” Harry agreed with a long-suffering sigh, though he too was ready for a break. As they were leaving the Common Room, they nearly bumped into Hermione who was carrying a stack of books that went up to her eyes. Ron rolled his eyes, “See what I mean?”

The next week, the Gryffindor first years had their first flying lesson, unfortunately though with the Slytherins. The class started off well enough, until Neville Longbottom lost control of his broom and managed to sprain his wrist.

Madam Hooch turned to the class. “None of you is to move while I take this boy to the hospital wing! You leave those brooms where they are or you’ll be out of Hogwarts before you can say ‘Quidditch’.”

As soon as she left, taking Neville with her, Malfoy snatched Neville’s remembrall from where it had fallen on the grass. “Look!” he said, “It’s that stupid thing Longbottom’s gran sent him.”

“Give it here, Malfoy,” Harry said quietly.

Malfoy smiled nastily. “I think I’ll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to find – how about – up a tree.”

“Give it here!” Harry yelled, but Malfoy had leapt onto his broomstick and taken off.

“Come and get it, Potter!” he called.

Harry grabbed his broom and hesitated. He remembered what Madam Hooch had said; he definitely didn’t want to get expelled before he had an opportunity to talk to Snape. Besides, what would Snape think of his breaking the rules? He was a professor after all. No, it was better not to risk it. He looked up at Malfoy defiantly.

“Scared, Potter?” Malfoy yelled.

Harry ignored him and clutched onto the broomstick handle harder. The others looked between Harry and Malfoy, wondering what he would do.

Malfoy was getting frustrated at Harry’s lack of response. “Catch it then, Potter!” he called and threw the Remembrall, just far enough from the Gryffindors that they might be able to catch it if they ran.

Ron, who had the longest legs, began running towards it. Hermione, on the other hand, whipped out her wand and pointed it at the ball as it fell threw the air. With a swish and a flick, she murmured, “Wingardium Leviosa.” The ball began to float in the air and Hermione gently guided it into Ron’s open hands. The Gryffindors started to cheer while the Slytherins looked sour.

Their moment of triumph got even better when Madam Hooch yelled, “Mr. Malfoy! Come down this instant!” Malfoy, who was still in the air, jolted at the sound of her voice and brought himself down. “Did I not make myself perfectly clear,” Madam Hooch demanded, “I’m quite sure I said no flying. That’s ten points from Slytherin you’ve lost there, boy. Now we still have some time before the end of the lesson. Everyone, mount your broomsticks.”

“That was the most brilliant thing ever!” Harry exclaimed as he and Ron made there way back to the castle after their flying lesson. Harry had taken to flying like a fish to water.

“And did you see the look on Malfoy’s face when Madam Hooch caught him? And the way Hermione slowed down that remembrall? She’s not too bad I guess.”

“What’s McGonagall doing in front of the portrait hole?” Harry muttered as they approached the entrance to Gryffindor tower.”

“Mr. Potter,” Professor McGonagall said, “Come with me please.”

“Er, am I in trouble, Professor,” Harry asked uncertainly.

“Mr. Malfoy has come forth with some accusations that need to be corroborated,” McGonagall said, her mouth a thin line. “Mr. Weasley, your presence is not required,” she added as Ron started to follow.

“Miss Granger, if you too will come with me,” she said to Hermione who had been loitering behind them.

“Yes, Professor,” said Hermione.

Harry felt a sharp pang in his stomach. What was going on? What had Malfoy said? They were walking towards the dungeons now. Harry closed his eyes tightly as he realized their destination. Professor Snape’s office.

When they entered, a smirk plastered itself on Professor Snape’s face while Malfoy gave them a smug look.

“I see you have our culprit,” Snape said, looming over Harry.

“That remains to be seen, Professor,” McGonagall said, sniffing.

“Potter,” Snape snapped, “Malfoy says that you goaded him into flying his broom in spite of Madam Hooch’s orders. If he is to be punished, I don’t see why you shouldn’t be either.”

It was like the Dursleys all over again, Harry thought. He would of course have to take the blame for something he didn’t do.

“I didn’t goad Malfoy into anything,” he protested nevertheless.

“Just like your father,” Snape said softly, “Of course it is never perfect Potter’s fault.” He looked at Harry disgustedly.

“My father?” Harry whispered.

“That’s enough, Severus,” Professor McGonagall said sharply, “I have brought Miss Granger here to act as a witness. I am sure we can all agree that she will remain impartial.”

All eyes turned to Hermione. “M-Malfoy picked up Neville’s remembrall, Professors, and Harry told him to give it back. He didn’t listen and took off the broomstick. He tried to get Harry to go up after him but Harry didn’t listen,” she said.

“How noble of you to defend a housemate in his absence, Mr. Potter. Five points to Gryffindor,” McGonagall said. “If that is all, Professor Snape, may I give Mr. Potter and Miss Granger leave to go?”

Snape’s sneer became more pronounced and Malfoy lost the smug look. “Yes, go!” Snape said waving them off irritably.

“Good evening, Professors,” Hermione said before she exited.

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry said to McGonagall who nodded in acknowledgement. “Good evening Professor Snape,” Harry said quietly though Snape wasn’t looking at him.

Hermione was waiting for him. “I can’t believe Malfoy lied like that,” she said indignantly.

“I can,” Harry said drily, “he’s just like my cousin.”

“Well I’m glad Professor McGonagall sorted that out,” she said huffily.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. He looked at Hermione from the side of his eyes. “Hey, Hermione, Ron and I might do some homework this evening if you want to join us.”

“Really? I – uh – sure,” Hermione said, turning slightly red.

“Harry, what happened?” Ron attacked him the moment they entered the common room. Harry quickly explained what had transpired in Snape’s office.

“That bloody git,” Ron swore. “Malfoy, that is,” he added.

“Er, by the way Ron, Hermione’s going to do homework with us before dinner,” Harry said brightly.

“Homework,” Ron groaned, “You’re ruining my work ethic.”

“Or lack of it,” Harry grinned.

“I’ll go get my books,” Hermione said brightly.

As Harry and Ron walked up to their dorm to get their own books, Harry said quietly, “I think I know why Snape hates me.”

“Why?”

“I think he hated James Potter. My Mum wrote in her letter that he and James never got along, and just now he said I was just like my father.”

“So he’s holding a grudge against you because he hated James?”

“Seems like it,” Harry said glumly.

“Don’t worry, Harry. We’ll make him see that he’s wrong about you.”

“Thanks, Ron.”

Hermione was already waiting for them when they came down. Ron said to Hermione. “That was pretty cool, what you did back there with that spell, Hermione.”

“Oh, well, it was just a simple Wingardium Leviosa,” she said blushing slightly, “We’ll probably learn that in Charms soon.”

Ron looked at her disbelievingly.

Harry felt he should have guessed that the combination of Ron and Hermione together would not be easy. Unfortunately, he realized it much too late.

“You have pickled newts eyes and pickled toads eyes confused,” Hermione said superciliously.

Ron flipped open his potions book and scowled when he noticed that she was right. He looked over at her work. “Why are you writing a novel? Snape only asked for six inches.” Hermione seemed to have written at least a foot.

“I found some more information that was relevant.”

“There’s a reason he asked for six inches. He probably doesn’t want to read any more.”

“Just because you’re too lazy to put in any effort, it doesn’t mean everyone is.”

“Maybe if you weren’t such a know-it-all, you’d have more friends!”

Hermione flinched at Ron’s words and picked up her books, stomping out of the common room in a huff.

“Why does she have to stick her nose in everyone’s business anyway?” Ron grumbled. He looked down at the essay he was writing and picked up his quill. Harry remained silent and went back to his work. A minute later, Ron slammed his quill down and stood up. “Fine, I’ll go get her.”

As Ron left the common room, he bumped into Parvati and Lavender who were giggling to each other about something. “Do you guys know where Hermione went?” he asked.

“If you can’t find her, she’s probably in the library,” Parvati answered.

Ron did indeed find Hermione in the library. “Hermione,” he whispered sitting down on a chair next to her. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you a know-it-all.”

“Well, if you want my help you shouldn’t call me names,” Hermione said, not looking at him.

“If I wanted your help I would ask for it.”

Hermione finally turned to face him. She looked bemused. “Then why did Harry ask me to do homework with you?”

“Because he wanted to be your friend.”

“My friend? Really?”

“Yeah. I mean it would be great if you could help us out with homework sometimes, because you’re so smart. But we really do want to be your friends.

“But why would you want to be my friend? I thought you didn’t like me.”

Ron looked uncomfortable. “I mean that was pretty great what you did with the Remembrall. You’re not that bad.”

“Thanks, Ron,” Hermione said rolling her eyes but giving him a small smile. The moment was interrupted by a small growl from Ron’s stomach.

“Wanna go for dinner? I’m starving,” he said, hopping up.

“Okay,” Hermione agreed. “What about Harry?” she asked as she picked up her things.

“He can meet us there,” Ron said, practically jumping around from hunger.

Hermione laughed as she followed him. As they passed by a classroom on the third floor, they heard noises from within and paused, Ron silently hushing Hermione. It was Quirrell.

“Hagrid l-lent a th-three h-headed dog to D-Dumbledore to guard the third f-f-floor,” Quirrell was saying.

“Three-headed dog?” Hermione whispered.

“C’mon,” Ron whispered pulling her away from the door as he heard footsteps approaching.

“I wonder what it could be guarding,” Hermione said.

As the weeks wore on, the trio had a lot to think about. The question of what the three-headed dog was guarding was ever-present in their minds. In the mean time, Harry’s situation with Professor Snape did not get any better. Not even Harry’s perfect potions and homework could manage to get past the barrier that Snape had set against him. In fact, all his effort got him were sneers of “show-off”.

Things finally came to a head one evening while Harry was scrubbing cauldron in a detention with Snape. Snape was grading papers at his desk.

Harry sighed, wondering how he could show Snape that he wasn’t like James Potter. He wanted to say something, but he didn’t know what. This was the first time he was alone with his father and he had no idea what to say. He thought about possible scenarios in his head. How about, ‘Sir, were you ever married to my mother?’ or even better, ‘Sir, were you a supporter of Voldemort?’ Harry gave a low groan at the thought.

Snape turned to glare at him. “What are you moaning about, Potter?” he demanded.

“Nothing important, sir,” Harry said quickly.

“You may have been spoilt by your family and Professor McGonagall but to me you are just a nasty little boy,” Snape said.

Harry’s eyes flashed with anger. “You don’t know me, sir. Just because you hated James Potter that’s no reason to hate me too.”

“Don’t speak about things you don’t understand,” Snape growled in a warning tone.

“What about my mother? Did you hate her too?” Harry said carelessly.

“Enough, Potter! Finish scrubbing that cauldron and get out of my sight.”

Harry finished scrubbing it, ignoring the pain of rejection and seething with anger the whole time. Snape didn’t look at him or speak to him. Harry reached for the doorknob, then stopped and taking a deep breath, turned around.

“I apologize, sir. I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” he said.

Snape finally looked at him.

“I just wish you would see me as Harry and not as James.” With that, he left.

Severus Snape sat at his desk pondering the mystery that was Harry Potter. He remembered going to Dumbledore at the beginning of the year and telling him that Potter was spoilt, arrogant and as conceited as his father. He knew even as he spoke the words that it was not true. Potter was unfailing polite, he was studious and hardworking, he defended those in need… Just like her.

Dumbledore had told him that the other teachers found him quiet, talented and likeable, an assessment Snape had scoffed at. He had already decided that he would feel nothing but hatred for the boy who had ruined his life.

And yet, he felt inexplicably drawn to the boy. All his actions suggested that, as Dumbledore had said, the boy’s nature was like his mother’s. No, Harry Potter was not what he had expected.