Harry Potter 01 - Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

bezoar?’
    Hermione stretched her hand as high into the air as it would go without her leaving her seat, but Harry didn’t have the faintest idea what a bezoar was. He tried not to look at Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, who were shaking with laughter.
    ‘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. He had looked through his books at the Dursleys’, but did Snape expect him to remember everything in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi?
    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; Harry caught Seamus’s eye and Seamus winked. Snape, however, was not pleased.
    ‘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 somehow 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. Then he rounded on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.
    ‘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’ve lost for Gryffindor.’
    This was so unfair that Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Ron kicked him behind their cauldron.
    ‘Don’t push it,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve heard Snape can turn very nasty.’
    As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Harry’s mind was racing and his spirits were low. He’d lost two points for Gryffindor in his very first week – why did Snape hate him so much?
    ‘Cheer up,’ said Ron. ‘Snape’s always taking points off Fred and George. Can I come and meet Hagrid with you?’
    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,’ Harry told