Harry Potter:blood legacy

"Can I ask why it's so big?" the headmaster inquired next, still looking very interested.

"I don't know, sir," the boy admitted honestly. "It just became like this one day."

"Hmm." Dumbledore leaned back slightly in his chair. "Well, if it ever starts hurting, please visit the hospital wing."

"All right, sir. Is there anything else?"

"No, you may go."

"I need to return to my office, and I can escort Mr. Potter unless you need me for anything else, sir," Professor Babbling offered as Harry stood up.

"No, you may go," the headmaster replied with a smile.

"Then, good day, Professor Dumbledore," Bathsheba nodded before leaving the office with the boy.

"Well, he's quite a polite young man," Sprout was the first to comment.

"Indeed," Flitwick agreed. "He takes after his mother."

"He's just an arrogant little brat," Snape retorted sharply.

"Severus, you've barely spoken to him," McGonagall frowned at his abrupt remark.

"I've seen enough, and unlike you, I'm not blinded by his fame," the potions master snapped, glaring at her.

"But you are blinded by who his father was," Minerva countered.

"Enough," Dumbledore intervened before anyone could say more. "We have more pressing matters than quarreling with each other. Mr. Potter will be allowed to keep his familiar, and I don't foresee any problems, but I ask you all to remain vigilant in case anything arises."

"So, Harry," Bathsheba addressed him as they made their way back to the Slytherin common room. "You don't mind if I call you by your first name, do you?"

"No, though I assume I can't return the favor?"

"Well, you may if we're alone, though I'd prefer you call me Beth instead of Bathsheba," the woman shrugged. "I mean, if others are around, I'll call you Mr. Potter, and you can call me Professor Babbling."

"Beth?"

"That's what they used to call me when I was in school. Anyway, I wanted to ask—what do you think of Hogwarts after your first day?"

"For the most part, I like it, though there were a few things I didn't enjoy."

"Such as?"

"For instance, a certain redheaded idiot who thinks snakes and everything related to them are evil." Harry rolled his eyes, and Jet hissed, prompting Harry to nod in agreement.

"What did he say?" Bathsheba asked curiously.

"Are you still a teacher?"

"Er... yes."

"In that case, I probably shouldn't repeat his words."

Harry entered the Potions classroom, where his first lesson with Professor Snape was about to take place. He already knew that his own head of house disliked him, likely due to something related to James, but according to the other Slytherins, Snape hated Gryffindors above all. For Harry, it would be better if the professor's hatred for the lion house outweighed his dislike of him personally. Harry took a seat with Blaise, and the two began unpacking their supplies. Jet was also present for the lesson but remained hidden under Harry's robe.

When the bell rang, the classroom door flew open, and Professor Snape strode in.

"In this class, there will be no foolish wand-waving, no silly incantations, or other nonsense you children seem to enjoy," the man declared, pausing to glare at the students. He sneered at the Gryffindors before continuing. "I do not expect many of you to truly understand the delicate and magical art of potion-making, but for those who can, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind, ensnare glory, and even put a stopper to death itself."

The entire class hung on his every word. Snape had many flaws, but an inability to captivate an audience wasn't one of them. Harry, though he didn't show it, was genuinely impressed by the speech—not because he found it amusing but because Angela had already told him about it, almost word for word. Clearly, Snape used the same script every year.

The professor began calling roll and almost reflexively smirked when he reached the name Potter.

"Time for a quiz. Weasley," Snape suddenly barked, his black eyes locking onto Ron. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" The other Gryffindors looked confused, except for Granger, who raised her hand. Ron's ears turned red as he looked down and mumbled something.

"Speak up!" Snape demanded.

"I don't know, sir," Ron repeated.

"Ah, you don't know?" Snape drawled, a note of amusement in his voice. "How disappointing. Five points from Gryffindor. Let's try again. Where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?" Hermione waved her hand frantically, clearly not realizing yet that Snape was ignoring her. "Don't know that either?" the professor scoffed when Ron failed to respond. Draco and his friends snickered, which Snape either didn't notice or didn't care about. "One last question, Weasley—try to answer this one. What's the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"Hermione knows—why don't you ask her?" Ron snapped, pointing at the girl, who was now standing and waving her hand wildly as though trying to land a plane.

"Sit down, silly girl!" Snape barked, causing Hermione to lower her hand and sink into her seat, blushing. "Mr. Weasley, twenty points from Gryffindor for your ignorance, detention for disrespecting a teacher, and another five points for failing to even open a book before class. I thought your parents—or perhaps those you call brothers—taught you something, but it seems they decided not to waste their time. Potter!" Snape suddenly turned to Harry. "Perhaps you can answer my questions."

The other Slytherins were slightly surprised that Snape had decided to quiz one of his own. After all, it was well-known that he favored his snakes over the rest. Fortunately, Harry knew the answers thanks to reading ahead, as the upper years had advised, and because Snape's speech wasn't the only thing he liked to repeat year after year.

"The first answer is a powerful sleeping potion. The second—either your ingredient cupboard, an apothecary, or a goat's stomach. And the last, if I remember correctly, is that there's no difference; they're the same plant."

Snape's face contorted into a strange expression, as if he were simultaneously pleased and displeased that Harry had answered correctly.

"Five points to Slytherin," he finally decided before beginning the lesson and lecturing the students about the potion they would be brewing that day.

After a brief overview, he instructed them to start brewing a boil-curing potion. Soon, the first accident occurred, courtesy of the pudgy Gryffindor who had tried to flee from Jet in Transfiguration. Neville Longbottom ended up doused in his unfinished potion when his cauldron exploded. Snape promptly cleaned up the mess and instructed his Irish-accented neighbor to escort him to the hospital wing after boils began erupting on his face. He then blamed Longbottom's failure on Weasley.

By the end of the lesson, Harry was relieved to leave the classroom and put some distance between himself and Snape. The man clearly had issues with the Boy Who Lived.

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