Disclaimer:
Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 21: Greengrass
The owlery was located at the top of the West Tower, a circular room with an exceptionally high ceiling.
Harry's legs began to burn as he climbed the last few steps, and then he pushed open the heavy wooden door.
The smell was the first thing that hit him...it was the smell of hay, feathers, and something much more unpleasant underneath.
The floor was filled with pieces of straw and bird droppings, and the walls were lined with wooden perches, each one occupied by an owl of a different size and colour.
Some were sleeping with their heads tucked under their wings. Others were watching him with their large, round eyes.
At the far end of the room, perched on a beam near an open window, sat Vesper.
Harry's dark grey owl tilted his head when he saw him, his amber eyes became locked on, and he clicked his beak once, as a greeting...or perhaps a reprimand for taking so long to visit.
"Hey, boy," Harry said while crossing the room. "Sorry, I haven't come sooner. It's been...very busy."
Vesper hopped down from the beam and landed on Harry's outstretched arm, his talons gripping gently onto him.
Harry stroked the owl's chest, feeling the soft feathers.
"I have a letter for you to deliver," Harry said, pulling a folded parchment from his pocket. "It's for Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. So you can go for a nice long flight. I bet you were looking forward to getting out of this room for a while."
Vesper bobbed his head up and down, and Harry interpreted that as a resounding yes.
He had written this letter the night before, carefully choosing every word.
There was nothing about Dumbledore or any of the things he had learned about this magical society.
Just simple, cheerful news: Classes are interesting. The food is good. I've made some friends. Dont worry about me. Everything is going great.
If the mail was being watched, and Harry suspected it was, he did not want to give anyone a reason to intercept his letters or worse...to visit the Durleys.
"I miss them already," Harry admitted quietly while stroking Vesper's feather. "Is it strange?. I have only known them for a month. But they had become the closest thing to a real family I've ever had..."
Vesper clicked his beak and pressed his head against Harry's cheek.
"Okay, take this to Pivet Drive," Said Harry, tying the letter to the owl's leg with a small piece of string. "Take your time to come back. Relax with the Durlesys for a few days and then come back with a response."
The owl blinked once and then launched itself through the open window, its dark wings cutting through the grey sky.
Harry watched him go until he was just a speck in the distance.
Then he turned and walked down the stairs...towards the dungeons.
<><><><><><><><>
Friday morning had a double session of potions.
The Slytherin first-years, along with the Gryffindors, walked into the dungeon classroom.
The room was long and had a low ceiling. It was well lit by torches that burned with green flames. Glass jars lined the shelves, filled with the preserved remains of creatures that Harry could not identify.
At the front of the room, behind a large oak desk, stood Professor Severus Snape.
He was dressed in black robes that seemed to absorb the torchlight. His long, dark hair framed a pale, angular face. His black eyes watched the students with an expression of gentle curiosity.
"Welcome," Snape spoke with a soft tone. "Please, find a seat. There is no need to rush. We have much to learn, but we have all year to learn it."
Harry chose a desk near the middle, not too close to the front but not too far back either. Draco sat to his right, Pansy to his left. Crabbe and Blaise found seats behind them.
Snape rose from his desk and walked slowly along the rows, his robes trailing behind him.
"Potions," he said, "are often misunderstood. Many students believe it is a simple matter of following instructions...of adding this ingredient, stirring that many times, waiting that many minutes. They are wrong."
He stopped beside a Gryffindor boy who had left his wand near the edge of the table and was about to fall. Snape gently picked it up and moved it closer to the boy. "You can all store your wands. You won't be needing them for this class."
Then he continued. "Potions are a form of art. They require patience, precision, and intuition. The best potion-makers do not simply follow recipes...they feel the magic in the ingredients. They know, instinctively, when to stir a little faster, or add a little less." He paused.
"I hope some of you will discover that feeling." His eyes rested for a moment on Neville Longbottom, and a subtle smile appeared on his face.
"The rest...will simply have to follow the instructions. There is no shame in that. Not everyone can be an artist."
The students exchanged glances.
This was nothing like the Snape Harry had read so much about. The sneering, cruel professor who terrorized his students was nowhere to be seen. This person seemed kind and passionate about his work.
'But this world is twisted,' Harry reminded himself. 'Nothing is what it seems.'
"Today," Snape said, returning to the front of the room, "we will begin with a simple potion: the Cure for Boils. It is not difficult, but it requires care. Pay attention to the instructions, and work carefully. Take your time with the process...I would rather you didn't finish the potion in time than have to take you to the infirmary."
"And if you have questions…" He smiled again. "I am here to help."
He waved his wand, and the instructions appeared on the chalkboard in neat, silver letters.
"You will work in pairs," Snape announced. "I will assign partners at random. This is not a choice...it is a lesson in cooperation. You will learn to work with whomever you are placed with."
Harry's stomach tightened. He glanced at Draco, who shrugged.
'What if he makes me work with Ron, or some of the other Gryffindors...we would likely end up killing each other before brewing a single potion.'
However, the professor had other plans.
Snape walked along the rows, pointing at students. "Malfoy, you are with Oliver Rivers. Parkinson, with Tracey Davis. Crabbe… you can go with Neville Longbottom."
One by one, the pairs were formed. Harry waited, his heart beating faster.
"Potter."
Harry looked up.
Snape's dark eyes met his. "You are with Miss Greengrass."
A girl rose from a desk near the window and walked towards Harry. She was tall for her age, with long, pale blonde hair that fell in waves around a sharp, aristocratic face. Her eyes were amber in color...strange and striking. She studied him with curiosity.
"Hello," she said, sliding into the seat beside him. "I'm Daphne Greengrass."
"Harry," he replied. "Harry Potter."
"I know who you are." She did not say it with awe or disdain. Simply as a fact. "Well, not you. But I know a bit of the Potter House."
"Okay..." He wasn't sure what to respond to that. He knew little of the Potter House, if he had to be honest.
But it wasn't like he had a lot of time to learn about it.
Daphne nodded, and then she turned to the ingredients laid out before them.
"Have you brewed a potion before?" she asked.
"No," Harry admitted. "This is my first time."
"Then watch me first, I have some experience. You can assist with the chopping, and I'll do the stirring."
It was not a suggestion. But it did not feel like an order either. The girl clearly knew how to get her point across without sounding overly harsh.
Harry had made sure to read the book before coming to Hogwarts, but even then...the art of potion-making was proving to be more complex than he had anticipated.
Daphne worked with quiet efficiency...her movements were precise and slow. She measured ingredients with a steady hand, crushed roots with controlled force, and stirred the cauldron in exactly the number of strokes the instructions required.
Meanwhile, Harry struggled with the chopping board. His root pieces were uneven; some were too thick, others too thin. He could already feel sweat forming on his forehead.
"You're gripping the knife too tightly," Daphne said, not looking up from the cauldron. "Relax and focus...the root will not bite you."
Harry loosened his grip, and the next cut came out cleaner.
"Better," Daphne said.
Across the room, Draco was working with Oliver Rivers. The Weasley's minion kept glancing at Draco with barely concealed disdain, but Draco paid him no attention, focusing on his potion.
Pansy was with Tracey Davis, another Sltyherin girl he had not yet met in person. She was a dark-haired girl with sharp eyes. They seemed to be getting along well. Tracey made a joke, and Pansy laughed quietly.
Crabbe was paired with Neville Longbottom. The large boy worked in silence, ignoring Neville's attempts at conversation. Neville's serene smile never wavered, but his eyes were cold.
Harry watched Snape move between the desks, offering quiet words of encouragement. He paused beside a Ravenclaw girl whose potion had turned orange instead of pink.
"A common mistake," Snape said softly. "You added the snake fangs before the root, not after. The order matters." He reached over and adjusted the flame under her cauldron. "Do not despair. You can still salvage it."
The girl nodded, looking relieved.
But as Snape turned away, Harry saw...a flicker of impatience in his dark eyes. A flash of something cold. It lasted only a moment, and then the kind look returned.
'And there it is,' Harry thought. The mask.
He had seen the same thing in Dumbledore's eyes, in McGonagall's, in the Weasleys' cruel smiles. A mask of kindness hiding something far darker.
Snape is just better at hiding it than the others.
"The potion is ready," Daphne announced, bringing his attention back to the task at hand.
"A-already?" He looked at the liquid inside the cauldron. It had turned into a perfect shade of pink, just as the book described.
Snape appeared beside them, examining the potion with a nod of approval.
"Excellent work, Miss Greengrass. And you too, Mister Potter...your chopping got better at the end. Continue to practice." He moved on.
Daphne ladled a sample into a glass vial and labelled it with their last names.
"Sorry...you had to do all the work." Harry felt bad. He had only chopped a few things, but Daphne had done all the brewing.
"It's okay," she responded. "I like making potions. It runs in my blood."
Harry felt like he wanted to learn more about this girl and her wizard house. The original story didn't say much about the Greengrass House. They were basically a blank slate. Which made it impossible for him to even attempt to guess what kind of person she was.
On the surface, she seems kind and hardworking. At least, that is the first impression she gave him. But he was not going to lower his guard so easily.
After class, as the students packed their cauldrons, a girl approached Harry's desk. It was the same girl who got paired with Pansy.
"Tracey Davis," She waved her hand at him.
"Ehm...Harry Potter."
"I know, people have been talking about you a lot."
"What?...why?" Harry asked.
"They said that you got called into the Headmaster's office on your first day," Tracey commented. "When the Headmaster calls someone, that usually means-"
"Tracey," Daphne interrupted her. "Said too much."
"Right..." Tracey scratched her head. "Well, anyway. It was nice to meet you, Potter. See you."
Daphne looked at him. "Goodbye, Potter. Try not to cut your fingers off before Monday."
"Well, well," Pansy said, appearing at his side. "Daphne Greengrass. You've made quite an impression."
"An impression?" Harry glanced at her. "We only made a potion together," he paused. "Okay...she mostly made the potion herself."
"It's not that, I was just surprised she said so much to you." Pansy shook her head. "I've met her a few times at the Ministry. She rarely talks to anyone, except for Tracey. Greengrass always keeps to herself. Her family had a lofty reputation...old blood, but they lost a lot of status during the last war. After..." she stopped.
"What happened?"
Pansy sighed. "Sorry, Harry. But that is not for me to say..."
Harry nodded, not wanting to press further on what sounded like a difficult topic. "I understand. Some things are not mine to know."
Pansy gave him a grateful look. "You're more understanding than most. Come on, we should head to the common room. Transfiguration homework won't write itself."
Draco and Crabbe soon join them, and they all walk together through the cold stone corridors of Hogwarts.
The torches flickered as they passed. Harry's mind was full of questions.
It was obvious that the wizard war that started before he was born and ended soon after his parents' deaths had also affected many other wizard families. Even old ones like the Greengrass.
'I think it's time to learn more... hopefully the library will have what I need.'
Now that the first weekend has finally arrived, he will have a bit of free time on his hands.
And he already had a good idea of how to make use of it.
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