At potions, Harry didn’t feel excited at all about anything. He simply sat there, staring at Professor Snape’s cauldron and scratching on one of the scars on his left forearm. The scar was hidden, but Harry felt it, if not stronger, when he couldn’t see it himself. He felt his uncle’s hands grasp a bit too hard around his arm; he could taste the blood from his lips when he had to bite hard to not make a sound; but worst of all, he felt watched. Like wherever he went, his uncle's eyes were digging holes in his backhead. Harry felt a cold breeze reach his neck when Professor Snape passed him to scold Neville Longbottom, a clumsy boy in his class. Harry shivered but grabbed onto the table to keep still, afraid any of the Slytherins would see his moment of shame.He felt Ron and Hermione’s glares and made a mental note to smile at them the next time one of the two said something; this would be a way of convincing them he was fine and everything was normal.