Friday morning brought a drizzling chill that clung to the castle walls. The great stone corridors echoed with the shuffle of students headed for the dungeons—nerves buzzing, anticipation sharp in the air.
Potions class.
It was a subject many first-years approached with dread. The atmosphere in the Slytherin-Gryffindor shared class was charged, with each group eyeing the other warily as they descended into the cool, shadowy room below ground.
Elias entered alongside Hermione, Ron, and Harry, his eyes immediately sweeping over the rows of gleaming cauldrons and shelves lined with mysterious ingredients. He had studied this classroom in his past life through countless fan depictions and imagined scenes—but the real thing held a weight of presence. Dark. Ancient. Intimidating.
And at its center stood Professor Severus Snape.
Snape's black robes billowed with theatrical ease as he turned to the class. His voice came low and precise, slicing through the murmurs like a blade.
"There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class," Snape began, delivering the same introduction Elias remembered from the books. "As such, I don't expect many of you to truly understand the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making…"
Elias only half-listened. He'd already memorized this speech, after all. Instead, his focus shifted momentarily to the Fate Divergence System.
🟨 System Alert:
35 Fate Points available
❖ Recommendation: Upgrade Potioneering Tools – Tier 1 (Precision-Balanced Brass Scale, Stirring Rod of Even Distribution) – Cost: 35 FP
➤ Confirm Purchase?
He confirmed silently. A faint warmth pulsed through his fingertips. When he opened his supply satchel, the weight and feel of the new tools nestled inside—perfectly balanced, finely crafted—made him smile.
✔️ System Notification:
Potion Brewing tools upgraded. Brewing success rate +10%. Ingredient efficiency increased.
Snape's voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Potter!" he snapped suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry blinked, caught off-guard. "I… don't know, sir."
Snape's lip curled.
"Clearly. Let's hope your fame can survive your ignorance. Miss Granger?"
Hermione's hand shot up.
"I didn't ask you!" Snape hissed, cutting her off.
Then, his eyes landed on Elias. "Mr. Blake. Since the Boy-Who-Lived seems unprepared, perhaps you can enlighten us?"
Elias stood calmly. "You'd create the Draught of Living Death, sir. A powerful sleeping potion."
Snape's gaze sharpened. "And tell me, Mr. Blake, what is the purpose of a bezoar?"
"To counteract most poisons, especially those of magical origin. Typically found in a goat's stomach."
"Very well," Snape said, his tone unreadable. "Let's see if your practical skills match your book knowledge."
They began preparing the Boil-Cure Potion. Students paired off quickly, Hermione predictably working alone, Harry and Ron bumbling their way through measurements, and Elias deliberately choosing the edge of the classroom for quiet focus.
As ingredients were distributed, a faint smell of burnt porcupine quills filled the air.
Elias worked swiftly, grinding snake fangs into fine powder, heating the cauldron to just the right temperature. His new scale gleamed faintly as it gave exact measures—far more accurate than the school's default tools.
Midway through, a loud pop sounded from Neville and Seamus's corner. Their cauldron bubbled violently.
"Watch out!" Elias said quickly. He flicked his wand, muttering Protego just in time to shield nearby students from the hot, purple liquid that splashed out.
Snape turned instantly.
"What is going on—?"
Elias stepped back from the cauldron. "Seamus added the porcupine quills before letting it cool, Professor. I saw it boiling too rapidly. I intervened."
Snape glared, but the damage was minimal thanks to Elias's shield.
"…Five points to Gryffindor," he said begrudgingly. "Only because an actual disaster was avoided."
Neville looked pale, murmuring thanks to Elias.
Toward the end of class, Elias's potion shimmered with the perfect sky-blue color. Snape peered into his cauldron and said nothing for several seconds.
Then: "Excellent clarity… consistency is precise. Hm."
Snape lingered a moment longer before speaking just to Elias, voice lower than before.
"You remind me… of your father," he said finally. "Cassian Blake. Always precise. Always composed. of course. Though older than me—too proud by half."
Elias met his gaze calmly. "I'm not my father, sir."
"No," Snape said coolly, straightening. "You aren't. That remains to be seen."
Class ended shortly after, but not before a sealed letter was handed to Elias by an unfamiliar barn owl.
It bore his father's crest.
Cassian Blake's Letter:
Elias,
Your persistent rejection of what is right continues to embarrass this family.
Gryffindor? Do you realize what message this sends to our colleagues in the Ministry? To those who believed in the Blake legacy?
You are not a Weasley, Elias. You are a Blake. Start acting like one. I will not tolerate this charade any longer.
Fix this, or I will.
— Cassian Blake
Elias folded the letter slowly. The words stung, though less from their venom and more from their tired familiarity.
🟨 System Notification:
+5 Fate Points – Event Divergence: Snape acknowledges MC's talent; Parental Pressure intensifies.
He tucked the letter away, exhaled deeply, and made for the staircase out of the dungeons.