James woke at five again, his internal alarm clock precise despite the late night. The routine was already becoming familiar: bathroom, shower, dress in uniform, practice a few wandless spells to keep his skills sharp. Today he worked on summoning and banishing, and making objects fly silently around his room in complex patterns that almost made it seem like a hurricane was going through. The control required helped him focus, and sharpened his magical awareness.
By seven-thirty, he was downstairs in the common room, which was already filling with students preparing for the day. The first-year Ravenclaws were gathered near the fireplace, and James could hear their nervous chatter as he approached.
"I heard he took twenty points from Gryffindor yesterday," Mandy Brocklehurst was saying, her voice worried. "Twenty points! On the first day!"
"Apparently he hates everyone who isn't a Slytherin," Anthony Goldstein added. "My older brother warned me about him. Says he's been awful for years."
"What class do we have with him?" Su Li asked, pulling out her schedule.
"Double Potions," Terry Boot said glumly. "So many hours with Professor Snape."
The collective groan was audible.
James listened with amusement. Snape's reputation clearly preceded him, and the other students were already dreading their first Potions class. James couldn't blame them.
Even knowing Snape was actually on the right side, the man was still deeply unpleasant to be around.
He had a quick breakfast, eating efficiently while the other Ravenclaws picked at their food with nervous energy. James took his time, he ate eggs and toast, drank water, and tried not to think too hard about the fact that he'd be spending hours in a classroom with Voldemort's shade attached to one professor and a Death Eater teaching another class.
The irony of his situation was not lost on him.
At eight-fifteen, the first-year Ravenclaws gathered themselves and made their way to the dungeons. The route took them down, and down, through corridors that grew progressively colder and darker. The stones here were older, damper, with a perpetual chill that no amount of torches could fully dispel.
The Potions classroom was located at the end of a particularly gloomy corridor. The Hufflepuffs were already there, clustered nervously outside the door. The two groups exchanged quiet greetings, unified in their shared anxiety about what awaited them inside.
At precisely eight-thirty, the door swung open.
Professor Severus Snape stood in the doorway, his black robes billowing despite the lack of any breeze. His sallow face was expressionless, and his pitch black eyes cold and assessing as they swept over the assembled students.
"Enter," he said, his voice soft but carrying perfectly in the stone corridor.
The students filed in quickly, trying not to draw attention. The Potions classroom was dim and cold, lit by flickering torches that cast dancing shadows across walls lined with glass jars containing pickled specimens of varying grotesqueness.
Desks were arranged in rows facing the front, where Snape's desk sat on a raised platform like a throne. A blackboard covered the wall behind it, and to the left, a door led to what must have been the ingredients storage cupboard.
James found a seat near the middle, not too close to draw attention but not so far back as to seem like he was hiding. Terry Boot slid into the seat beside him, looking pale.
Snape closed the classroom door with a soft click that somehow sounded ominous. He walked to the front of the room, his footsteps silent, and turned to face them. For a long moment, he simply stared, his expression suggesting that the students before him were a profound disappointment.
"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...," Snape began, his voice barely above a whisper but commanding absolute attention. "Who possess the predisposition... I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death."
James found it slightly amusing that Snape was apparently giving the same speech to all first years. He'd probably refined it over years of teaching, perfecting the delivery to maximum intimidation effect.
"If you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
Several students shifted uncomfortably. One Hufflepuff girl looked close to tears already.
"Potions," Snape said, his tone becoming more businesslike, "is the art of combining ingredients in precise ways to achieve specific magical effects. The ingredients themselves possess inherent magical properties. Your task is to unlock and direct those properties through careful preparation, exact measurements, and proper technique."
He waved his wand, and words appeared on the blackboard:
Cure for BoilsIngredients:
6 snake fangs
4 horned slugs
2 porcupine quills
Dried nettles
Method:
1. Crush snake fangs with mortar and pestle
2. Add to cauldron with 4 measures of water
3. Heat until mixture turns blue
4. Add horned slugs
5. Remove from heat, add porcupine quills
6. Stir clockwise 5 times
7. Wave wand over cauldron
8. Add dried nettles
9. Stir counterclockwise 3 times
10. Heat gently until potion turns pink
"You will brew this potion," Snape said. "The ingredients are in the cupboard. Collect what you need and begin. You have one hour and forty-five minutes."
The students rushed to the ingredients cupboard in a disorganized mob, grabbing whatever they could reach, not bothering to examine the quality. James waited, watching the chaos with internal amusement. When the crowd thinned, he approached the cupboard carefully.
The supplementary Potions books he'd bought in Diagon Alley had been clear about this: ingredient quality mattered enormously. A potion was only as good as its components. Using fresh, properly prepared ingredients was half the work of creating a perfect potion.
James examined the snake fangs carefully, selecting six that were intact, uniformly sized, and free from cracks. He chose horned slugs that were plump and moist, not dried out. The porcupine quills needed to be straight and sharp, and he found four that met those criteria. The dried nettles should be green, not brown, with their magical properties intact.