People were always staring at Harry.
'There, look.'
'Where?'
'Next to the tall kid with the red hair. And the blond kid.'
'Wearing the glasses?'
'Did you see his face?'
'Did you see his scar?'
Draco noticed that whispers followed Harry from the moment he left his dormitory the next day. People queuing outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at him, or doubled back to pass him in the corridors again, staring. Harry, Ron and Draco wished they wouldn't, because they were trying to concentrate on finding their way to classes.
There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other and Draco was sure the coats of armour could walk.
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 waste-paper 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, Ron and Draco 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 which 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-coloured 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 lessons themselves. There was a lot more to magic, as the boys 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 learnt how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi and found out what they were used for.
Easily the most boring lesson was History of Magic, which was the only class 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 Emeric the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up.
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 lesson he took the register, and when he reached Harry's name he gave an excited squeak and toppled out of sight. This left Draco and Ron in fits of laughter.
Professor McGonagall was again different. Draco 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 had 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 realised they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After making 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 Defence 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 wher- ever 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 Draco, 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 Draco and 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 favours them – we'll be able to see if it's true.'
'Wish McGonagall favoured us,' said Harry. Professor McGonagall was Head of Gryffindor house, but it hadn't stopped her giving them a huge pile of homework the day before.
Just then, the post arrived. Draco had got 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. Draco was just as surprised as Harry when Hedwig, Harry's owl, brought him a letter.
Dear Harry, (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. Hagrid
Harry borrowed Ron's quill, scribbled 'Yes, please, see you later' on the back of the note and sent Hedwig off again.
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 register, and like Flitwick, he paused at Harry's name.
'Ah, yes,' he said softly, 'Harry Potter. Our new – celebrity.' 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 potion- making,' he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they 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 deli- cate 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, Ron and Draco 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, sir,' 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 it was obvious Harry didn't have the faintest idea what a bezoar was.
'I don't know, sir.'
'Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?' Harry forced himself to keep looking straight into those cold
eyes.
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 towards 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.
'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, criticising 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 some- how 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 were 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 the fire?'
Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.
'Take him up to the hospital wing,' Snape spat at Seamus.'Cheer up,' said Ron. 'Snape's always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come and meet Hagrid with you?'
'I'd like that too, if you wouldn't mind.' Draco muttered.
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 boarhound.
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 a 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 and Draco,' Harry told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes on to 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. And your last name is?'
'Malfoy, but please don't think of me in a bad way.' Draco instantly responded.
'I ain't gonna do no such thing, so yer a Malfoy, and yer in Gryffindor and friends with Harry Potter. Parent's must be pleased, ey?'
'I don't know, they haven't responded to my letters to be honest.'
The rock cakes almost broke their teeth, but Harry, Ron and Draco 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.
The boys were delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch 'that old git'.
'An' as fer that cat, Mrs Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang some time. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her – Filch puts her up to it.'
Harry told Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid, like Ron and Draco, told Harry not to worry about it, that Snape liked hardly any of the students.
'But he seemed to really hate me.'
'Rubbish!' said Hagrid. 'Why should he?'
'How's yer brother Charlie?' Hagrid asked Ron. 'I liked him a lot great with animals.'
Harry wondered if Hagrid had changed the subject on purpose.
While Ron told Hagrid all about Charlie's work with dragons, Harry picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cosy and showed it to Draco. It was a cutting from the Daily Prophet:
GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST
Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of dark wizards or witches unknown.
Gringotts' goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.
'But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you,' said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.
Draco remembered Ron telling Harry and himself on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but Ron hadn't mentioned the date.
'Hagrid!' said Harry. 'That Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday! It might've been happening while we were there!'
As Harry, Ron and Draco walked back to the castle for dinner, their pockets weighed down with rock cakes they'd been too polite to refuse, Draco thought that none of the lessons he'd had so far had given him as much to think about as tea with Hagrid. What did Hagrid know about that breakin? And Harry was definitely sure it was something, but what?