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"Explain," ordered Snape. "For your less educated peers." He sneered at a sulking Jim Potter as he said that.
"Well, a bezoar is a small stone formed of undigested plant matter and harvested from the stomach of a goat. The textbook said that it can counteract most poisons, although I don't believe it actually mentioned which poisons it would not cure."
"For future reference, Mr. Potter, it will not cure poisons derived from dragon's blood or basilisk venom, though thankfully those are rare. And my first question?"
"Er, yes sir. Adding powdered root of Asphodel to an infusion of Wormwood is the first step in the creation of a extremely powerful sleeping potion. I'm afraid I can't recall the exact name of it," he turned to look directly at his fuming brother, "but I do recall it was on the very first page of the assigned reading." And then he smiled. And it didn't hurt at all.
Curiously, Snape did not award Harry any points for his correct answers, even though he was notorious for favoring Slytherins in his Potions classes. The rest of the period passed relatively uneventfully, save for one hiccup. Snape did not allow Harry and Neville to partner as they had agreed. Instead, he placed Neville with Hermione and Harry with Theo. Neville was initially panicked at this change of plans until Harry reassured him that Hermione was probably better at potion-brewing than him anyway, and the four of them would be at adjacent cauldrons. There were a few near explosions, but Hermione kept Neville calm and on-task, and Harry was close enough to whisper some advice and words of encouragement. Eventually, Neville and Hermione produced an acceptable Boil-Curing Potion, as did Theo and Harry. Ron and Jim were less fortunate, their potion resulting in a thick black sludge that melted out the bottom of their cauldron. Finally, as everyone filed out, Harry told Hermione, Neville and Theo to head on without him as he had a personal matter to attend to.
When everyone else was gone, Snape looked up from his notes to see that Harry was still there.
"Class is over, Mr. Potter."
"I know sir. But I would like the opportunity to discuss some ... house matters with you. If right now isn't good, I would be happy to come back at some more convenient time. But I think it's important that we address with this immediately rather than just let things ... fester."
Snape snorted. "I was right. You are just as arrogant as your father and brother."
"Not at all. Before this summer, I literally didn't even know James Potter was alive or that I even had a brother. And I haven't learned anything since then to give me the slightest regard for him. I gather based on things he's said in our brief conversations that he bullied you when you were at school together. And I can see that he raised Jim to be an arrogant bully as well. But he didn't raise me. And I don't want to spend the next seven years feeling as though my head of house was an enemy just because he thinks he has grounds for hating my birth-father."
"I don't think anything of the sort, Potter!" spat the older man. "I know I have reasons to hate him."
"With respect sir, you really don't," said Harry with an eerie calm.
"Explain yourself!" Snape snarled.
"Harry Hunting."
Snape blinked in confusion at the odd expression. "What?"
"Harry Hunting. It's a game my cousin Dudley and his friends invented. They'd count to ten to give me a head start. And then they'd run after me. And if they caught me, they'd knock me to the ground and kick me until they got bored. They started playing it when I was six."
Snape said nothing, so Harry continued.
"In the summers, they had a special variation. Dudley's Aunt Marge would come to stay with us. She raised dogs and always came with a pit bull named Ripper. Instead of chasing me themselves, they'd just sic the dog on me. I have a bite mark I can show you from when I was seven and it got me before I was tall enough and fast enough to climb trees. From the age of about four, I cooked for the Dursley's, cleaned for them, did yard work for them. Sometimes, the Dursleys deliberately spilled things on the floor because I was done with my chores and they didn't want me to have any free time. At nights, I slept in a boot cupboard. My medical records include one broken arm, a fractured clavicle, and at least four cracked ribs. Until I started primary school at the age of six, I literally thought my name was 'freak' because that's what everyone called me. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had to sit me down the night before primary school started and explain that other people would call me 'Harry Potter' so I shouldn't act surprised by it, but in their house, I shouldn't expect to called anything but 'freak' or 'boy.' And as near as I can tell, all of that happened to me simply because James Potter and Lily Potter and Albus Dumbledore thought keeping me around was inconvenient and would complicate the more important task of raising the Boy-Who-Lived into the wonderful specimen of humanity he is today."
Harry stood and picked up his book bag. "I haven't told you any of this because I expect pity. And certainly not because I expect you to do anything about it. I've never met a grown-up who did anything to help me in any way. But I want you to understand one thing: You. Have. No. Idea. About what it means to hate James Potter." Then, he walked to the door and opened it. "Until next class, sir."
"Potter!" The boy turned back. Snape hesitated ... and then sneered at him. "Your hair looks ridiculous. Like some lazy Gryffindor who just rolled out of bed. Get it taken care of before you embarrass your house any more with it."
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