Ron Weasley X Reader 1 | A Wild World, A Wad of Wizards, And A Wonderful Weasley

Chapter 14

Potions class wasn't exactly enjoyable. In fact, it could compete with the level of horrible that I felt from being whispered about in the halls.

Not only were we down in the dungeons—which was a bad enough start already with how dark, gloomy, and cold it was—but we were also being taught in a classroom that had pickled animals floating around in glass jars all along the walls.

Professor Snape started his class the same way as Professor Flitwick had—with roll call. He reached the name that came right before 'Potter,' and I was hoping he didn't have much of a reaction to me or Harry. Sadly, that was not the case. In fact, he said our names together.

"Ah, yes," he spoke softly, though there was a bit of venom in his voice, "(Y/n) and Harry Potter, our new. . . celebrities."

Malfoy and his two friends—Crabbe and Goyle—snickered behind their hands, as if that was blocking anything. Still, Professor Snape didn't seem to notice them as he continued calling names. Once he finished roll call, he looked up at the class, and I noticed his eyes were the same dark shade as Hagrid's.

There was one big difference. Hagrid's were warm, welcoming, and friendly. Professor Snape's were. . . quite the opposite. They were cold, empty, and shallow.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," he began, his voice as quiet as a whisper, yet still commanding enough that no one seemed to be struggling to hear him, especially not with how silent the rest of the classroom was.

"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 stop death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach," he didn't seem to have much faith in us.

Nothing but silence followed his speech. Each one of the Gryffindors looked intimidated—I knew I was. Each one of the Slytherins looked impressed. But still, there were a few odd ones in each bunch; for example, Hermione was sitting on the edge of her seat, looking desperate to prove herself.

"Potter," Professor Snape snapped suddenly, staring down at Harry, "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Hermione's hand flew up in the air as Harry hesitated to respond, "I don't know, sir."

Professor Snape's lips twisted into a mocking smile, "Tut, tut—fame clearly isn't everything."

"Let's try again," he hummed, ignoring Hermione's hand, "Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Hermione sat stiffer in her chair, stretching her hand as high into the air as she could without leaving her seat, but Harry didn't answer. Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were all shaking with laughter.

"I don't know, sir," Harry responded, looking nothing more than lost.

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?" I knew for a fact that Harry did look through his school books. He'd done it back at the Dursleys' when we had nothing better to do.

Professor Snape moved on to his next question, still ignoring Hermione's hand, "What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?" Hermione shot out of her seat at this, and I nudged her curiously.

"Isn't one," she whispered to me as she stood, still stretching out her hand as far as it would go.

"I don't-" "There isn't a difference," I spoke straight over Harry, standing up out of my own chair. Professor Snape's head slowly turned in my direction, "I don't believe I asked you, now did I?" "Well, you said Potter, didn't you," I shot back, gulping nervously, "You said Potter, and I knew the answer."

"Miss Granger knew the answer," Professor Snape snapped at me, "You did not. Sit down, both of you."

Hermione and I listened, both falling down into our seats. She sent me a scolding look—she seemed disappointed that I'd used her answer to call out. Still, even if it hadn't worked, trying to help Harry was worth it.

Professor Snape continued talking, turning back to my brother, "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 indeed the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite."

He paused before glaring over the students in his classroom, "Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?" Everyone—including me—quickly went rummaging through our bags for a quill and a bit of parchment.

Professor Snape turned to me as I scrambled to write down all that he'd said, still speaking loud enough the entire class could hear, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter."

Nothing improved for us Gryffindors as the lesson continued on. Professor Snape had us all paired up with our seat partner, and he set us up to mix a simple potion to cure boils.

My job was easy; I practically just had to do whatever Hermione told me to. Still, the fact that Professor Snape was sweeping around the room in his long black cloak, watching us all go about our assignment and criticizing every little thing we did—the only one he didn't criticize was Malfoy—didn't get any less unsettling as time went on.

He was actually going about telling the entire class to look at the way Malfoy had perfectly stewed his horned slugs when a loud hissing sound filled the dungeon.

That's when I noticed how Neville had managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a black blob with their potion stewing out onto the stone floor and burning holes into people's shoes.

Soon enough, we were all standing on our stools to avoid the toxic goo while Neville moaned in pain on the floor with angry red boils springing up all over his limbs.

"Idiot boy," Professor Snape shouted at him as he cleared the spilled potion away with one swift wave of his wand, "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

To me, this didn't seem like a time to be asking questions. I reckoned he should've been helping Neville instead of leaving him to whimper on the floor. Eventually, he, too, seemed to think that that was a good idea, "Take him to the Hospital Wing."

Then, he rounded on Harry and Ron, who had both been working at the desk next to Neville and Seamus's, "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 Potters have lost for Gryffindor."

Harry and I opened our mouths at the same time, both probably going to argue the fact that that was unfair. Me losing a point for my attitude might have been justified, but this certainly wasn't.

However, before I could say anything at all, Hermione nudged me gently with her elbow, shaking her head as she leaned in with a whisper, "You shouldn't argue with a professor. Besides, I hear Professor Snape is one of the most strict ones."

"Right," I huffed, leaning back in my chair as I glared over at Professor Snape. Hopefully, he'd become more tolerable as the year went on.

Word Count: 1301