"Harry Potter and the Shadows of Merlin"

Over the next few days, Dana came to deeply understand what Professor McGonagall meant when she said, "the Professors will take care of you." The teaching staff would go to great lengths to award him points—even Professor Cuthbert Binns, the ghostly lecturer who normally just read from textbooks, granted him two points because Dana "didn't sleep and listened attentively." Hermione was understandably green with envy—she, after all, had been paying attention too!

But the professors' intentions were clear. It wasn't just about Gryffindor's temporary lead in the House Cup. It was about how Gryffindor's students viewed Dana. In just two days, he had earned nearly twenty points for Gryffindor, and that slowly began to break the ice. Though they still eyed him warily, the other first-years no longer treated him like a pariah.

Dana was grateful—especially to McGonagall. She orchestrated the point-giving specifically so he would be accepted. Strict on the outside, soft on the inside—exactly what Dana felt about the deputy Headmistress.

At last, the day of their first-ever Potion Class together arrived. The first-year Gryffindors were jittery. Every warning from older students had them convinced that Snape would pounce at the first sign of ineptitude, deducting points like manna from the heavens. With Gryffindor currently in the lead, the pressure weighed heavily on them.

The class was joint with Slytherin—the second of its kind this week. Snape glided in as always, called out names as he always did, and launched into his lecture exactly as in canon. Then he fixed his gaze on Harry Potter.

"Potter! What would I get if I added powdered asphodel root to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry froze, glancing at Ron for help, but Ron looked just as clueless. "I don't know, sir."

Snape snorted. He ignored Hermione's eagerly raised hand. "Fame isn't everything, it seems."

He pressed on. "And where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"I don't know, sir."

"You haven't opened a book before term, Potter?"

Harry tried to keep his temper. Hermione's raised hand was rock solid. Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson on the Slytherin side tittered like they'd just heard the joke of the year.

"Potter, what's the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Hermione shot up—so quickly Harry thought she'd grow wings. Harry wanted to jump in, but the moment stretched… and Snape smacked down on Hermione: "Put your hand down, you silly girl!"

Then he turned to Dana: "Emrys, you answer."

Dana looked startled—he hadn't been expecting this. He'd been buried in his book, skipping ahead in the plot he already knew too well.

"Draught of Living Death, a goat's stomach, no difference."

"Very good, concise and completely correct—Gryffindor gains one point."

Huh? Across the room, heads turned. Even Harry and Ron blinked in surprise. Snape awarding Gryffindor points?

But of course, balance was needed.

"Potter spoke back to a Professor—Gryffindor loses two points."

In canon, Snape only docked one, but here two vanished.

Then Snape moved on to the practical potion: students were tasked with brewing a cure for boils. They paired off—Dana remained alone, while Hermione grudgingly teamed up with her roommate.

Snape singled Draco out. "Malfoy did well; observe his handling of the slugs—Slytherin gains a point." Draco puffed up with pride and shot Dana a smug glance.

A loud sizzle echoed—thick green smoke billowed. Neville, as expected, had botched Seamus's cauldron into a misshapen, abstract mess. The liquid seeped across the table and dripped onto the floor.

"Idiot!" Snape barked. He rushed to clean up and reprimand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills without removing the cauldron from the fire, didn't you?" Neville winced, scorched and steeped in pain.

"Finnigan, escort Longbottom to the Hospital Wing," he ordered. The classroom fell silent under the weight of his anger.

"Potter! Why didn't you warn Longbottom against using porcupine quills? Think it'd make you look good? No—because of you, Gryffindor loses two more points!"

Harry squared his shoulders. He knew better than to retort. Two deep breaths. Fred's warning echoed: "Snape's unreasonable and he singles out Gryffindor." Snape dared not be provoked—or more points would be lost.

Then, from the back row, Snape's voice cut through: "Emrys's potion is very well brewed! This is nearly a high‑quality finished product. Clearly, Emrys was serious in class. Gryffindor gains one point."

Harry's jaw dropped. Hermione and Ron mirrored his shock. Gryffindor had never earned points from Snape in potion class—yet today, Dana had racked up two!

Snape wasn't done. "Compared to a certain very famous gentleman, diligent people like Emrys are the models you should emulate. Potter, you are far behind Emrys—he may lack your fame, but he does everything better."

Harry nearly choked. Dana was from Azkaban—of course fame surrounded him. He was destined for legend! Yet that comparison sting was sharp. Snape's praise had inevitably planted rivalry between Harry and Dana—one-sided as it was.

Young friendships are fragile, built on shared trials. Harry wanted to include Dana in an outing to Hagrid's that afternoon… but suddenly, his enthusiasm dimmed. Maybe Snape had a point.

Harry and Neville were an odd pair—capable versus inept. But what about Harry and Dana? Friendship needed more than just acceptance; it needed time.

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