Chapter 10: Potions Class

The first messenger flew out of the owlery, and the first rays of orange sunlight climbed the spires of Hogwarts Castle.

The corridors grew lively once more, as a large crowd of young wizards made their way toward the dungeons along the spiral staircases.

"I heard the Potions professor is Professor Snape," Michael said, rubbing his sleepy eyes. He had spent half the night researching a quill and was still yawning. "It's a rumor I heard in the Ravenclaw common room; those older students said Professor Snape is the entire Hogwarts..."

He paused deliberately, prompting Terry to crane his neck and lean in to listen, even causing the whispers of the surrounding young wizards to quiet down.

"...the professor who deducts the most house points in all of Hogwarts."

His voice trembled slightly, and coupled with the increasingly chilling environment, the faces of the young wizards turned quite pale.

Amidst this artificially manufactured atmosphere of tension, they arrived at the Potions classroom.

It was an underground classroom, several degrees colder than the castle above. Even in the daytime, very little sunlight reached this place, relying entirely on floating candles for illumination. Glass jars lined the walls, containing various preserved animal specimens. Sean chose a seat not far from these specimens; if he turned his head, he could see a bat's spleen—an ingredient used to make Swelling Solution.

Just as he sat down, a boy with dimples sat beside him.

"Sean, I knew you'd be here early." Justin offered a warm smile, then took his glass vial from his bag and placed it neatly on the desk.

Michael, who had been attempting to sit next to Sean, widened his eyes and looked again in disbelief. "Is this a hallucination? When did he get here?" He then muttered to himself and found a random seat.

Soon, the students were all present. Perhaps due to the cold environment or the terrifying legends of Professor Snape, not a single young wizard attempted to shout or make noise.

In the midst of this silence—

*Bang!*

A loud noise erupted from the dungeon door. A man with a sallow complexion and a hooked nose strode into the classroom. His cloak billowed like the wings of a black bat, and he stepped onto the dais with agile, precise, and decisive movements.

"Listen—"

His voice was cold and low.

"This class does not require you to chant spells aimlessly or wave your wands about recklessly... So I presume that many of you will not know how to appreciate the profound science and precise artistry of potion-making. However, for those few who truly have the intention, I will teach you how to bewitch the mind and deceive the senses. I will teach you how to win fame and forge glory... On one condition! That you are not the kind of idiot fools I frequently encounter!"

His voice was dark and powerful, quickly commanding the entire room.

"Hannah Abbott! Tell me, how should slugs be prepared!"

His gaze was sharp, sweeping toward the young witch like a sudden storm. Staring into those eyes, the little witch with braided hair spoke with a trembling voice: "Boiling, Professor."

Hannah had clearly read the textbook ahead of time, even if it was only the first chapter, so she luckily escaped unscathed.

"Sit down!" Snape's expression did not improve. "Sean Green, tell me, how would you prepare a slug with tentacles?"

He leaned forward slightly, obscuring the candlelight.

"Boil it for a longer time, approximately three minutes, Professor," Sean answered immediately.

"Not bad," Snape said, instantly moving on. "Wayne Hopkins! What is dungstone?"

He loomed over Wayne like a dark cloud. The short-haired wizard's voice sounded as if it were being squeezed out: "I don't know, Professor."

"If that troll-like brain of yours were capable of functioning, you would know that dungstone is a solid substance taken from the stomach of a goat, used as an antidote in potions."

Snape's deathly stare remained fixed on Wayne, and the short-haired wizard began to tremble.

"Sit down! Hufflepuff loses one point because of your classmate Wayne's empty head!" He scanned the room; no one dared to meet his eyes. "The rest of you, why aren't you writing it down!"

In the oppressive atmosphere, the young wizards scribbled furiously, as if they could escape the storm unleashed by Professor Snape through their pens. And Professor Snape's deadly roll call continued.

"Ernie Macmillan!"

...

He was like a ruthless, heartless house-point-deduction machine. By the time the questioning session ended, Ravenclaw had lost six points, and Hufflepuff had lost a full twelve.

This naturally brought a hypothesis to Sean's mind: Slytherin's six-year winning streak seemed... inextricably linked to Professor Snape's efforts.

In the original story, Professor Snape had memorized every student's name to make deducting house points more convenient. Professor Snape, he really...

The following words from Professor Snape made Sean listen intently.

"Listen carefully. If anyone dares to arbitrarily alter a potion recipe or add or subtract steps without permission—"

Professor Snape scanned every face gloomily, ensuring no one dared to be distracted. Then, he began teaching the steps for Scabbed Potion, a simple remedy for boils. The cauldron in front of him simmered, producing bubbles within minutes and transforming into a thick, dark green liquid.

"I do not expect any of you to succeed quickly; I only hope that certain idiots do not cause any danger—What are you waiting for? In pairs, begin!"

Justin's face had turned pale; he forced himself to remain calm and began following the steps. Sean was not doing much better, not because of the low pressure brought by Professor Snape, but because of his nervousness regarding his unknown talent for potions.

"Slugs, dried nettles, crushed snake fangs, porcupine quills... Sean, is this correct?" Justin asked with lingering dread as he watched Sean arrange the materials. Seeing the other's calm face, he relaxed a bit.

"Yes." Sean nodded, then proceeded to process the materials according to the textbook standards. "Let's follow the steps; we'll start with the slugs."

Justin understood immediately and began lighting the fire under the cauldron. The book stated that the cauldron needed to be preheated.

"Use my cauldron?" Justin asked softly.

Sean looked at Justin's silver cauldron and then nodded. The quality of a cauldron wouldn't significantly affect the quality of a potion, but Justin's silver cauldron was indeed much better than the third-grade brass one Sean had gritted his teeth to purchase. It could provide a bit of a success rate, even if only psychologically.

*It's quite good to have a hidden wealthy person sitting next to me,* Sean thought.

(End of Chapter)