In Somnis Veritas

2

Harry sat in the dingy dungeon classroom beside Hermione, waiting for his first potions lesson to begin.

The start of his time at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was, so far, even better than he could have imagined it to be, and although he had never had a particular penchant for chemistry, he was mildly interested in what the first year potions might entail.

The doors of the classroom were flung open just then and Professor Snape stalked into the room, his deep voice echoing off the cold stone walls.

"There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class," the man said, reaching the front of the room and turning swiftly on his heel to face them. "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 who possess the predisposition... I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses..."

That sounded pretty cool. Harry whipped out his quill and began to write.

"...I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory and even put a stopper in death...."

He wasn't the best with a quill just yet, but his writing was definitely getting better.

"...Then again, maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough to not... pay... attention..."

A sharp nudge from Hermione brought Harry to his senses and he placed down his quill sheepishly, realising the professor's words were aimed at him.

The pregnant pause followed, before the man crossed the classroom into a more central position.

"Mr Potter. Our new celebrity," he began.

Harry frowned. Perhaps this wasn't the man from his dreams after all. He had never been so unkind.

"Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Snape asked.

Hermione's hand shot up in the air, but Harry simply shook his head, clueless.

"You don't know? Well, let's try again. Where, Mr Potter, would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"

Hermione's hand again, yet Harry was still none the wiser.

"I... I don't know sir," he said quietly, ignoring the pitying glances from Ron, two seats down.

"And what is the difference between monkshood and wolf's bane?" the professor asked.

Hermione's hand remained in the air.

"I don't know sir," Harry admitted, feeling utterly miserable.

"Pity," said Snape, flatly. "Clearly, fame isn't everything, is it Mr Potter?"

"Clearly, Hermione knows. Seems a pity not to ask her," Harry shot back, incensed.

A hum of laughter filled the classroom.

Harry knew he shouldn't have done it immediately, and he didn't know what had possessed him. He was taking it personally. Had he expected something different from the potions master? He wasn't entirely sure, though even he was old enough to know that dreams and reality were very, very different.

"Silence," Snape warned the other students.

And then he made his way over to the bench at which Harry sat, snatching a stool from the row in front and coming down to his level, ordering Hermione to put her hand down as he did.