It took Harry and Ron a while to ge

It took Harry and Ron a while to get used to navigating their way around the castle. There were so many long stone corridors, winding this way and that like meandering rivers, and the stairs seemed to migrate from place to place. Some of the doors didn't open unless you said the right word, which Harry found very odd. Wouldn't it have been easier to put door knobs on?

Ron winced horribly every time he had to say the password to enter the Slytherin common room; for some reason, he seemed to have a violent aversion to saying the word Pureblood. Harry, who secretly thought it was rather silly to talk to doors when most of them didn't even talk back, took pity on his friend and showed him how to walk right through the wood of the door itself, without waiting for it to open when he spoke. It took Ron a little while to get the magic right, but he worked very hard at it when no one else was around to watch. Soon he was walking through the Slytherin common room door as easily as a fairy, muttering Godric or halfblood or other random things under his breath. He seemed to take particular pleasure in pretending that the password was Muggle whenever Draco Malfoy was nearby. Draco eyed Harry and Ron warily at times, but he remained very polite around Harry. He took a great deal of interest in Harry and asked him quite a few questions about fairies and how powerful they were. He often asked Harry how he had defeated the Dark Lord as a baby, but Harry really didn't have much to say, since he couldn't remember any of it.

The other Slytherin students seemed very nice and friendly as well, even if a few of them seemed a little nervous around Harry. Harry and Ron also made friends with students from other houses, such as Hermione, and Trevor's friend Neville.

There were all sorts of mysterious creatures roaming around the castle, and Harry loved getting to know them. He was very surprised to see pale mist-like wizards lingering in the hallways and on the stairs, and students walking right through them. "They are ghosts," explained Ron when Harry asked. "They are the souls of wizards who died long ago, but who weren't ready to pass on."

"Pass on to what?" asked Harry, fascinated, but Ron said he wasn't really sure; maybe they should ask Hermione some time, since she seemed to have read a lot of books. Harry quickly made friends with the Bloody Baron, a wispy nobleman who liked to haunt the Slytherin dungeons. He was very good at telling stories, although some of his stories were almost as sad as Shard's.

And then there was Peeves, who liked to pelt things at people. He was worse than a squirrel throwing nuts, and Harry had to speak sternly to him a few times about the dangers of taking people's eyes out. Peeves wasn't really a wizard, and not really a ghost either. Hermione, who seemed to know almost everything, said that Peeves was a poltergeist, but the word didn't mean much to Harry. But finally, after being doused with an unexpected bucket of dishwater, he realized that Peeves was just an elemental spirit of sorts, like the water sprites who liked to push fairies into the pond when they were fishing and laugh about it afterwards. The secret to getting elementals to behave was of course to bring them lots of buttons as presents; for some reason, elementals just adored buttons. Harry and Ron gave him as many buttons as they could spare, and Peeves was so pleased with his growing button collection that he began to act quite decently to both of them. He took his pent-up elemental frustration out on other random passersby instead, such as the cranky old caretaker named Filch and his very sarcastic cat. Harry soon ran out of buttons, but Ron took advantage of his newfound ability to walk through doors to borrow some more buttons from his brother Percy; he said that Percy had too many starched button-down shirts anyway.

...

Potions was the loveliest class Harry could imagine. He could smell plants and dried herbs from the moment he entered the dungeon with Ron, and he felt very excited at the prospect of learning to brew medicines. Leaf had taught him quite a bit, but Harry was sure that the pale dark-haired professor - whose name, Ron told him with a strange shudder, was Snape - must know even more.

Professor Snape must have been terribly eager to teach, for he went straight down to business as soon as he entered the classroom, without even stopping to greet the students first.

"There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class," declared the potions master, looking out over the class with his coal-black eyes. Harry couldn't help smiling in delight. Leaf and Twig had warned him that human wizards liked to wave their wands around a lot and say funny words when doing magic, instead of just relaxing and letting the magic flow through them - but apparently, this was not true of all wizards. Harry was relieved to have found a teacher who was as clever as a fairy about these things.

"As such," continued Snape, "I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making. However, for those select few..." He broke off and stared at Harry. "Why are you smiling, Mr. Potter?"

"I'm just excited about this class," said Harry eagerly.

"Really?" Snape's black gaze lingered on Harry's face. "Mr. Potter. James Potter's long lost son. Our new... celebrity." He spoke in a funny way, as if he had a slight toothache.

Harry had no idea what a celebrity was, but he felt too shy to ask. Snape drew closer. "Perhaps you can tell me, Mr. Potter, what I would get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

For some reason, Hermione began to wave her arm in the air.

Harry thought about it for a moment. "A really bad-tasting stomach medicine? You need to add quite a bit of peony root to it, of course, or it will make you frightfully sleepy. And I would add a lot of honey to that."

Snape sputtered. "You would... add honey? To the Draught of Living Death?"

Harry nodded, pleased that he knew the answer. "Yes. It's terribly bitter, especially without lily..."

"What-?" Snape turned a deadly pale now. "Especially without... Oh, you mean the asphodel. Yes, the asphodel is a lily, of course. For a moment, I thought you were talking about..." He was beginning to look a little unwell, and Harry wondered if the master couldn't have used a little wormwood infusion himself at that moment.

"But if you add asphodel to the wormwood, that will help the bitterness a little. The peony will help you stay awake, and with a dash of honey, you should be able to swallow it." Harry beamed up at the potions professor. "It should make even the worst stomach ache go away."

"The Draught of Living Death will make a stomach ache go away?" The professor seemed strangely confused for a moment; maybe he really did need some medicine. "Tell me then, Mr. Potter," he said with an odd little growl in his voice, "where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

A bezoar? Oh, no! Now Harry realized that the poor master must be terribly ill. He must have eaten something tainted, if he wanted Harry to find him a bezoar. No wonder his voice sounded snarly! Harry leapt up from his desk and approached Professor Snape. If the master was really that sick, there was no time to go looking for goats. Harry hadn't even seen any of them around the castle so far. This called for a more direct approach.

Harry placed his hand soothingly on Snape's stomach and focused all his magic on helping the poor master feel better.

Snape gasped. "What... what are you doing, child? And what is that? That curious sensation, flowing through me..." He stared, wide-eyed at Harry.

Harry smiled up at him. "There. Are you feeling better now?"

"Feeling... better?"

"Does your stomach still hurt?"

Snape looked at him blankly for a moment. Then the slightest hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his thin mouth. "I didn't want you to go looking for a bezoar because I needed one, Mr. Potter; I merely wanted to see if you knew the answer to my question."

"Oh." Harry flushed and looked down. Well, how could he have known that?

"But I do feel a great deal better, now that you mention it," said the potions master quietly. "What sort of magic was that?"

"Fairy magic," whispered Harry.

"I see." The master looked at him for a long time. "It seems to heal a great deal more than stomach aches, Mr. Potter. Perhaps it is even enough to cure the bitterness of wormwood..." Changing the subject abruptly, he said softly: "How odd... You really do remind me a great deal of your mother, Harry. It must be your eyes."

...

Harry gazed, baffled, at the dozens of broomsticks that were lying in the grass. His class schedule had said that they were going to have flying glass next, but the teacher seemed to have changed her mind and decided to begin with a little house cleaning instead. But why were they going to sweep outside?

"Ever done any flying before, Harry?" whispered Ron.

"Flying? Yes, a bit," said Harry. "But it seems that we are going to clean something first." He brightened. "Or maybe we are supposed to bring the brooms with us when we are flying, and clean the school from the outside? Perhaps Madam Hooch wants to get rid of some of the cobwebs under the eaves?"

Ron stared at him for a moment. Then he giggled. "Oh. I forgot that you wouldn't know about brooms. We fly on the brooms, Harry."

"On the brooms?" Harry glanced down at his school broom. "Why?"

But before Ron could answer, Madam Hooch blew her whistle; she sounded like a hawk who meant business.

"Step up to your brooms, everyone," she said briskly. "Now, hold out your hands and command the brooms to rise. When it's high enough, grasp it with your hand, and mount your broom carefully."

Harry glanced around, baffled. Draco barked something at his broom, and the wooden shaft rose slowly into the air. Draco sat down on his broomstick with a small smile.

Hermione must