The first class of the day was potions. The professor swept into the room, his black cloak billowing behind him. He was thin and his face sallow with greasy jet black hair, but he had a presence to him that seemed to silence the idle chatter. He gave a little speech about the importance of potion making. Saying it was an exacting science and how he wouldn’t accept mistakes.
But Harry could only focus on one thing. A potions recipe was scrawled on the board, and Harry had to start reading it now if he hoped to end up not looking like an idiot in front of his three new friends Ron, Neville, and Hermoine. He focused intensely and sounded out each of the sounds slowly as he made his way down the steps. Professor Snape's gaze scanned the room.
“Potter!”
Harry didn’t look away, trying to read as much as he could.
“Yes, Professor?”
“What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”
Harry stopped reading and tried to remember the textbook he had started reading for the class. He had only been able to read two chapters after getting access to his books. This one had been in the middle of the first chapter.
“The Draught of Living Death, sir.”
Professor Snape didn’t look happy at the answer.
“Correct. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?”
Harry searched his memory. This one had been near the end of the second chapter. The very end. “The stomach of a goat.”
Snape’s face twisted into an ugly expression for a moment before his face snapped back into place. Harry wondered what he had done to set him off. Harry only had a few steps left to read from the board, so he shouldn’t look too stupid when he went to finish reading it when things started.
“So Potter, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”
Harry tried to remember but panicked when he couldn’t come up with anything. It must have been in a later chapter. “I don’t know, Professor.”
Snape sneered a bit, but it didn’t seem as vicious as before.
“At least you know some of the basics, Potter. But don’t think that will carry you far here if you do not work. So I’d suggest you pay attention to your professor next time.”
Oh, that was it. Professor Snape noticed Harry reading and was offended he wasn’t paying attention.
“Yes, Professor.”
“For the record, the names both refer to the same plant also known as Aconitum. Useful in many potions.”
He glanced at the rest of the class.
“Well? Why aren’t you writing this down.”
Suddenly there was a rustle of books as everyone took out parchment and quills and began writing. Harry took out his parchment too. Professor Snape kept speaking and Harry pretended to write things down, but he just scribbled random shapes and symbols instead. It wasn’t like he could write fast enough to keep up with Professor Snape’s words anyway.
After a few minutes, he finished his lecture and gestured to the board.
“Here is the recipe for the Draught of Living Death. Take out your cauldrons and follow this recipe exactly. I will be grading your potions personally to assess your abilities. Supplies are laid out on your tables. Begin.”
Everyone spread out, and Harry saw Draco Malfoy and two fat unfamiliar boys standing with him sneering at Harry. Harry ignored him and spent two minutes or so reading the last few lines of the instructions. Then, Harry went over to Neville Longbottom’s table while Hermoine and Ron each spread out and found their own partners. Harry thought Neville seemed the most nervous of Snape, so Harry could be nearby to correct him on the steps with his perfect memory.
They began their potions side by side as the Professor began to circle the room and berate those who incorrectly read the steps. Especially the Gryffindors. He took house points from Gryffindor. He berated the Slytherins too, but never took house points no matter how bad their mistake was. The only person he ignored was Draco Malfoy, who he passed without criticism. Only a brief word of praise of the potion had Draco straighten his back in pride and left him smiling as the professor continued onwards.
“Oh, Neville. You have to crush them, not cut. And it's five beans, not four.”
Neville squinted at the board as Harry threw in his crushed beans and began stirring counterclockwise. “You’re right, Harry. Thanks, that could have been bad…”
Harry finished his stirring and moved on to the next ingredient. Based on the timing so far, it would be close to the end of class before he could finish this. But it was similar to cooking although far more exacting. Harry thought he liked it. He had been working on identifying his feelings this morning, and he thought he could determine what at least some of them were now. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t believed he had any emotion for all of these years. It was nice to know that he shared more than he thought with other people. That didn’t often happen to him.
Harry finished the potion with five minutes to spare and shifted to assisting Neville. Harry had corrected him if he was going to make a massive mistake, but now that Harry was done he could help Neville with preparing the ingredients as well.
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“Potter!”
“Yes, Professor?”
“Ignore Longbottom, worry about your own potion first.”
Harry gestured towards his cauldron. “It’s done, professor. Are we not allowed to help each other?”
Professor Snape swooped in and drew a vial of Harry’s bubbling black potion from the cauldron. He cast a series of spells on it, the tip of his wand lighting up several times as he muttered. He stopped and just stared at it for a moment.
“This is your potion, Potter?”
“Yes, Professor.”
Snape met Harry’s eyes and suddenly it felt like someone ran a brush across his scalp.
“Very well. Satisfactory. But don’t think I didn’t see you helping Longbottom every step of the way. That potion is as much yours as Longbottom's.”
Professor Snape waved his wand and Neville’s potion disappeared and he smirked as Neville looked crestfallen.
“I expect you to remake that potion by the end of class or expect to receive a failing score, Longbottom.”
Harry began to grow angry. Was the Professor hurting his friend's feelings?
“Professor, I know you’re biased against Gryffindor. But isn’t that too much? I was not subtle when I helped him. If you had told us earlier he would have had enough time to finish it. By now it’s too late and you’ve essentially given him a failure because of my help. That hardly seems fair.”
The room went silent as everyone stopped and stared at the confrontation as Professor Snape and Harry continued their staring contest for a moment. Harry's scalp kept crawling.
“I misspoke. Mr. Longbottom will reschedule and remake the potion under my personal supervision. And you, Mr. Potter, will remain after class so we can discuss your upcoming detentions due to your disrespect.”
Neville looked like he would sink into the floor at the statement he would have to be one on one with Professor Snape. But Harry couldn’t really argue with the professor's words. It should have been clearly stated initially, but if help was disallowed then Harry had been in the wrong here.
“Yes, Professor.”
— — —
After class, it was just Harry and Professor Snape left. His friends had shot him worried looks, but he had smiled to reassure them. That had seemed to work and they had left with the rest of the students. The Professor's words were not what Harry had been expecting.
“Mr. Potter. Your potion today was excellent work for a first year. Maybe too good. I will provide you with a much simpler potion recipe, something that shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes or so to create. If you create this potion successfully, then I will believe you created the potion today. Otherwise… I will have to assume you cheated somehow.”
Harry’s heart sank as Professor Snape handed Harry a piece of paper with what Harry presumed was the potion recipe. It probably would take him five minutes or more just to read this thing, he would have no time for the potion. He squinted and began reading, mouthing the words again as he slowly made his way through.
“Are you illiterate, Potter?”
Harry looked up to see Snape frowning at him deeper than usual.
“No Professor. Reading and Writing are just… hard for me. Always have been. That’s why I was distracted at the beginning of class. I was trying to read the potion recipe so no one would notice it was taking me so long once we started.”
Professor Snape looked confused. “Then how were you able to complete the potion if your reading ability is so abysmal?”
Harry shrugged. “I have a perfect memory. I’m lucky I only have to read things once. It would be very painful if I had to read anything more than that.”
There was a long silence. “Did you read the textbook’s first chapter?”
“Yes, Professor.”
Professor Snape pulled out the textbook from under the desk and flipped to one of the earlier pages and slid his finger on the page. Once he found the line, he made sure to maintain eye contact with Harry and the tingling on his skull returned.
“What is the fifth sentence on page twenty-five, Potter?”
“This Potion can be used directly on various burns or other scarring of the skin for the greatest effect.”
He flipped more pages and then looked up. “Page thirty-two, sentence ten?”
“Spider venom is hard to extract due to their cannibalistic nature hindering farming and their massive colonies in the wild preventing isolation of a single individual from the pack.”
“Page Four, Sentence three?”
“Potion Making is precise, but it also requires creativity to draw the most from its ingredients.”
Snape shut the book with a thump.
"I will accept your claim for now. You say your writing is similarly affected too? Here, write down something for me.”
He produced a parchment and quill from his desk and shifted them over to Harry. Harry took the quill and focused down. He started to write, carefully making a mark each time.
“My naame is Harry Potter. I am writtinig four Profffesor Snape.”
Snape’s eyebrows rose at seeing Harry’s slow pace.
“And what of the notes you were taking during my lecture? How was that accomplished?”
“Well...”
Harry pulled out his parchment from the bag and handed it to Snape. It was a series of geometric shapes connected with various swirling lines. He had written it in a series of lines to mimic notes from afar.
“Just scribbles Professor. I can remember everything, so I just have to pay attention if someone tells me verbally.”
Professor Snape inspected the paper closely.
“This is a language. Not random scribbles. Do you mind if I keep these?”
“Uh, Sure Professor. A language?”
The Professor tucked away Harry’s scribbles.
“Yes. Everything you described is very similar to a very specific ancient type of curse. Quite obscure these days. Used by illiterate wizards to ironically curse their foreign educated rivals. It forces people to read and write only in the language known by the caster until it is dispelled. A weaker version would match what you describe, impairing your ability to do such things normally while allowing you to easily write in…”
He gestured to Harry’s strange notes. “...Whatever language this is.”
Harry’s eyes widened as shock rocketed through his body enough to display a large bodily reaction.
“You’re saying… That if this curse was removed, then I could do these things normally?”
Professor Snape nodded and the corner of his lips twitched upwards. “I don’t wish to get your hopes up, but I will discuss it with your head of House Professor McGonagall and Headmaster Dumbledore. Wouldn’t do to lose such a promising potions student to something so mundane after all.”
“Thank you, Professor. This has held me back for years. I never believed that it was something that would be fixed.”
Snape nodded. “Now go, there should still be time for you to make it to your next class Potter.”