Harry Potter, the... brother of the BWL?

Chapter 11: Confrontations

Author's Note is at the end. For now, let's jump into the story!

        Harry was up early; after all his excitement he had slept very soundly. He slipped out of the dorms to find Hermione anxiously rereading the textbooks. He shook his head fondly, and glided down the stairs silently, a mannerism that came instinctually after so much practice.

        Hermione shrieked as she slipped off her chair, startled by the touch on her shoulder. Whipping her head, she relaxed when she caught sight of Harry, her first friend. Huh, she never thought she'd get the chance to think that. Hermione smiled at Harry as she put her books into her schoolbag. 

        Together, they walked to a mostly empty Great Hall for breakfast. When they sat down, Harry noticed a hook-nosed man staring at him almost curiously, as if unsure what to make of the young boy who bore the last name of a renowned alchemist who was well over 500, let alone the age where he could have a son. Harry stared back impassively and continued to eat. He was glad that they had missed the main meal time when dear Lucas was surely going to show up.

         Unfortunately for Harry, the confrontation was only delayed, not avoided completely. Harry's first class was potions with the strange man who had been staring at him earlier. The Ravenclaws entered the classroom with the Hufflepuffs and sat down nervously.

          Professor Snape. Say what you want about the man, but he knew how to make an entrance. Complete with the billowing robes and trademark sneer, he swept into the classroom and shut the door with a loud slam, making the students jump in their seats. "You are here to learn the exact art of potion making," he said quietly, but he did not need to make himself heard. The class was entranced already by the words and their hypnotic quality. "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."

        Harry was fascinated by the speech. Potions had been an interesting subject for him since he liked to experiment with the way different magical ingredients reacted. Professor Snape had barely ended his monologue before he whirled on Harry. "Flamel, what is the product of powdered root of asphodel and an infusion of wormwood?"

         Harry knew the answer to this, and thus answered, "It would make the Draught of Living Death, sir." Professor Snape eyed him before choosing a different target: "Macmillan, where would I find a bezoar?"

          Harry sighed in relief before pulling out parchment and taking notes. The rest of class passed without incident, except for an irritable Snape snapping at random students for the slightest blunder.

           Hermione, Harry, and Terry walked out of class and to the Great Hall for lunch after an exhausting morning. They would get no rest there, though, as strutting up to them was none other than Lucas Potter. "You!" he said loudly, attracting attention. "So..." He looked down at Harry's robes, curling his lip. "A Ravenclaw, huh? Off to the library to bury your face in books? It's where you people belong, isolated from contaminating us."

           Dumbledore watched the confrontation carefully, as did Professors Evans, Snape, Flitwick, Quirrel, and McGonagall. The rest of the hall was slowly becoming aware of the fight as well, and more people were turning to look.

         Lucas seemed to notice that, and he called his lackeys to him, trying to look bigger and meaner. Ron Weasley, Dean Thomas, and Seamus Finnegan came to stand behind Lucas Potter, all facing the Ravenclaw table, squaring for a fight.