The ghosts didn't help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them
glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Nearly Headless Nick was
always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right direction, but Peeves the Poltergeist
was worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you met him when you were late
for class. He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your
feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your
nose, and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!"
Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch.
Harry and Ron managed to get on the wrong side of him on their very first morning.
Filch found them trying to force their way through a door that unluckily turned
out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. He wouldn't
believe they were lost, was sure they were trying to break into it on purpose, and
was threatening to lock them in the dungeons when they were rescued by Professor
Quirrell, who was passing.
Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-colored creature with bulging,
lamp like eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule
in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd
appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school
better than anyone (except perhaps the Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly
as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition
of many to give Mrs. Norris a good kick.
And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the classes themselves.
There was a lot more to magic, as Harry quickly found out, than waving your wand
and saying a few funny words.
They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at
midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets.
Three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology,
with a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take
care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for.
Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only one taught
by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old
indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up next
morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they
scribbled down names and dates, and got Emetic the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed
Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was a tiny little wizard who had to stand
on a pile of books to see over his desk. At the start of their first class he took
the roll call, and when he reached Harry's name he gave an excited squeak and toppled
out of sight.
Professor McGonagall was again different. Harry had been quite right to think
she wasn't a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the
moment they sat down in her first class.
"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn
at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come
back. You have been warned."
Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed
and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized they weren't going to be changing
the furniture into animals for a long time. After taking a lot of complicated notes,
they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the
end of the lesson, only Hermione Granger had made any difference to her match; Professor
McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy and gave Hermione
a rare smile.
The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the
Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom
smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met
in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His
turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you
for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed this
story. For one thing, when Seamus Finnigan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had
fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather;
for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the
Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell
was protected wherever he went.
Harry was very relieved to find out that he wasn't miles behind everyone else.
Lots of people had come from Muggle families and, like him, hadn't had any idea
that they were witches and wizards. There was so much to learn that even people
like Ron didn't have much of a head start.
Friday was an important day for Harry and Ron. They finally managed to find their
way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once.
"What have we got today?" Harry asked Ron as he poured sugar on his porridge.
"Double Potions with the Slytherins," said Ron. "Snape's Head of Slytherin House.
They say he always favors them — we'll be able to see if it's true."
"Wish McGonagall favored us, " said Harry. Professor McGonagall was head of Gryffindor
House, but it hadn't stopped her from giving them a huge pile of homework the day
Just then, the mail arrived. Harry had gotten used to this by now, but it had
given him a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly
streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw
their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps.
Hedwig hadn't brought Harry anything so far. She sometimes flew in to nibble
his ear and have a bit of toast before going off to sleep in the owlery with the
other school owls. This morning, however, she fluttered down between the marmalade
and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto Harry's plate. Harry tore it open at
once. It said, in a very untidy scrawl:
I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup
of tea with me around three?
I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig.
Harry borrowed Ron's quill, scribbled Yes, please, see you later on the back
of the note, and sent Hedwig off again.
It was lucky that Harry had tea with Hagrid to look forward to, because the Potions
lesson turned out to be the worst thing that had happened to him so far.
At the start-of-term banquet, Harry had gotten the idea that Professor Snape
disliked him. By the end of the first Potions lesson, he knew he'd been wrong. Snape
didn't dislike Harry — he hated him.
Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than
up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled
animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.
Snape, like Flitwick, started the class by taking the roll call, and like Flitwick,
he paused at Harry's name.
"Ah, Yes," he said softly, "Harry Potter. Our new — celebrity."
Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands. Snape
finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like
Hagrid's, but they had none of Hagrid's warmth. They were cold and empty and made
you think of dark tunnels.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," he
began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word — like
Professor McGonagall, Snape had y caught every word — like Professor McGonagall,
Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little
foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't
expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with
its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins,
bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses.... I can teach you how to bottle fame,
brew glory, even stopper death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as
I usually have to teach."
More silence followed this little speech. Harry and Ron exchanged looks with
raised eyebrows. Hermione Granger was on the edge of her seat and looked desperate
to start proving that she wasn't a dunderhead.
"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of
asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Powdered root of what to an infusion of what? Harry glanced at Ron, who looked
as stumped as he was; Hermione's hand had shot into the air.
"I don't know, sit," said Harry.
Snape's lips curled into a sneer.
"Tut, tut — fame clearly isn't everything."
He ignored Hermione's hand.
"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving
her seat, but Harry didn't have the faintest idea what a bezoar was. He tried not
to look at Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were shaking with laughter.
"I don't know, sit." "Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"
Harry forced himself to keep looking straight into those cold eyes. He had looked
through his books at the Dursleys', but did Snape expect him to remember everything
in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi?
Snape was still ignoring Hermione's quivering hand.
"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
At this, Hermione stood up, her hand stretching toward the dungeon ceiling.
"I don't know," said Harry quietly. "I think Hermione does, though, why don't
you try her?"
A few people laughed; Harry caught Seamus's eye, and Seamus winked. Snape, however,
was not pleased.
"Sit down," he snapped at Hermione. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and
wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living
Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you
from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which
also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"
There was a sudden rummaging for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape
said, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor House for your cheek, Potter."
Things didn't improve for the Gryffindors as the Potions lesson continued. Snape
put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils.
He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush
snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like.
He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Malfoy had stewed his horned
slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Neville
had somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion
was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds,
the whole class was standing on their stools while Neville, who had been drenched
in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang
up all over his arms and legs.
"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of
his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off
Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.
"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on
Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.
"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 another point you've lost for
This was so unfair that Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Ron kicked him behind
"Doi* push it," he muttered, "I've heard Snape can turn very nasty."
As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Harry's mind was
racing and his spirits were low. He'd lost two points for Gryffindor in his very
first week — why did Snape hate him so much? "Cheer up," said Ron, "Snape's always
taking points off Fred and George. Can I come and meet Hagrid with you?"
At five to three they left the castle and made their way across the grounds.
Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow
and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.
When Harry knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming
barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "Back, Fang -- back."
Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.
"Hang on," he said. "Back, Fang."
He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black
There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling,
a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive
bed with a patchwork quilt over it.
"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight
at Ron and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce
as he looked.
"This is Ron," Harry told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large
teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.
"Another Weasley, eh?" said Hagrid, glancing at Ron's freckles. I spent half
me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest."
The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke their teeth,
but Harry and Ron pretended to be enjoying them as they told Hagrid all about their
first -lessons. Fang rested his head on Harry's knee and drooled all over his robes.