After class was over, a tearful Hermione disappeared to the dormitory without giving anyone a chance to console her, a cloud of gloom hanging over her head.
Though she was a talented child, it was impossible for her to compare to Harry, who possessed an overflowing talent and had been receiving systematic education from me since he was seven.
And that's not to mention me.
Harry asked with a slightly worried expression.
"Master, I think she's hurt. Will she be okay?"
"...Even if you ask me, I wouldn't know. And are you going to hide your abilities just to be considerate of her?"
"Of course not."
"See. It can't be helped."
No, but isn't it a bit of a problem for you, Master, to show off your skills in such a dominating way?
Harry seemed to be saying something, but I let it go in one ear and out the other. There's no need to listen to things that are bad for my mental health.
As we were standing there thinking, Ron soon ran up to us and shouted.
"Harry, Aisen! That was amazing! You were brilliant!"
Ron grinned and whispered in a low voice.
"Especially, you did a great job putting that Granger in her place! That nag is always so bossy."
Harry shook his head at Ron's words and said.
"Ron, there's a problem with being happy that someone who didn't do anything wrong got hurt."
Ron, as if struck by the truth, blushed but raised his voice.
"O-of course I know that. I just mean, you're better than that bookworm..."
As Ron was speaking, McGonagall called out to us.
"Potters, if you are ready, follow me to my office at once!"
"Ron, it looks like we have to go. Let's talk later."
"Ah, right! See you! See you in the common room later."
Seeing Ron turn and leave with an awkward greeting, I said to Harry.
"Harry, it seems you made a kid cry, too?"
"...No way, at least he didn't cry, right?"
Anyway. We followed Professor McGonagall to her personal office.
There, McGonagall had us perform various Transfiguration tasks.
Transfiguration of an inanimate object into another inanimate object.
Transfiguration of an inanimate object into a living creature.
Transfiguration of a living creature into an inanimate object.
And the magic to make a living creature vanish (strictly speaking, this was also a subcategory of Transfiguration).
Step by step, McGonagall tested our abilities.
The result was, needless to say for me, that even Harry was able to almost perfectly execute the Vanishing Spell, which is a very high-level Transfiguration. Though I can't say it was without a few minor flaws.
McGonagall was so surprised at the sight that she said.
"Goodness me. Potter. Um, that is, Harry Potter."
"Professor, if it's alright with you, could you just call us by our first names when we're together?"
"Oh, yes. I think that would be better for now. In any case, Harry. Your skill in Transfiguration is truly remarkable! With this level of skill, you could get an 'Exceeds Expectations' in the practical section if you took the O.W.L. right now!"
However, McGonagall continued.
"But you'd struggle to get an 'Outstanding' because the theory part would hold you back. I don't know why, but your wand-waving technique follows a very old style. The exams these days are quite strict, so you'd have problems with the theory section."
Well, that's because he was taught by a 100-year-old person. It couldn't be helped. After a hundred years, minor differences in application are bound to arise.
It wasn't a big problem for me, as I wouldn't be taking the O.W.L.s again, and Harry still had a long time before he had to take them.
But still, to think his theory score would be docked that much.
It seemed the exams had gotten ridiculously strict over the past hundred years.
McGonagall asked Harry.
"Nevertheless, your skill is at a level that leaves me speechless. It's definitely not the level of someone who has just learned magic. Have you, by any chance, been taught magic somewhere?"
At those words, Harry glanced at me for a moment, and then, after I nodded, he said to McGonagall.
"Um, actually, Aisen is my magic teacher."
McGonagall was surprised at his words, but she soon understood.
McGonagall turned her gaze to me and continued.
"Ah... well, with that skill, it does make sense. Aisen Potter. You... are truly on a level that defies words. At that level, you would, without a doubt, get an 'Outstanding' not only on the O.W.L.s, but on the N.E.W.T.s as well!"
McGonagall's hands trembled as she said it, as if she herself couldn't believe it.
"I have no idea what I could possibly teach you within the Hogwarts curriculum. How on earth does a first-year have that kind of magical skill?"
After thinking for a moment, I shrugged and said.
"Um, I was actually a person who was called an archmage a hundred years ago, but I was researching ancient magic, and when I came to my senses, I was de-aged and had fallen into the 20th century. Then, I was scouted by the Headmaster and re-enrolled at Hogwarts."
At my words, McGonagall, in a rare break from her stern character, let out a small laugh.
"Pfft, Aisen Potter. Don't tease your professor too much. Still, that was the funniest thing I've heard in years. Then again, if you put it that way, it does explain everything. Even Harry's old-fashioned habits."
But it's true. She doesn't believe me. Hearing my words, Harry, next to me, barely managed to hold back his laughter.
McGonagall's expression turned worried again as she said.
"But, this does mean I don't know what to teach you. At your level of skill, no matter how I think about it, just listening to my class would be a waste of time."
At those words, a thought flashed through my mind, and I smiled and said.
"Um, Professor. Actually, there's a type of Transfiguration I've always wanted to learn..."
"Hmm? What is it?"
"Animagus magic."
Let's use this chance to level up.
After being promised special lessons from McGonagall, Harry and I continued our school life.
What I've learned so far from attending school classes is that, with the exception of the special Transfiguration lessons, there was nothing for me to gain.
So, if I had my way, I would have just ditched all the lectures and explored Hogwarts, but I was holding back with the thought of at least attending all the classes for one week.
And that ends today. Because today is Friday.
Harry, who was looking through the timetable he had received from Percy, said to me.
"Hmm, it says we have 'Potions' class with the Slytherins today. Come to think of it, I think this is the first time we're having a class with another house. What kind of house is Slytherin?"
Hearing Harry's question, I thought for a moment. Ah, Slytherin. A fine house.
After a moment of thought, I answered.
"Well. They have a lot of pure-bloods, but it's not a bad house. Maybe because it's a house that a lot of ambitious kids go to, there are a lot of proud kids. Still, it was a house that had a lot in common with Gryffindor."
And that thought of mine was shattered to pieces in the first Potions class.
Because the moment we met the Slytherins, they started a fight with us.
A boy with white-blonde hair walked up to Harry. I'm sure I've seen him somewhere, but I couldn't quite remember.
The boy introduced himself and spoke to Harry.
"You're that famous Harry Potter, aren't you?"
"Yeah, that's me."
"My name's Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. You've heard of the Malfoy family, of course?"
Malfoy looked behind Harry, and upon seeing the red-haired Ron and the other students, he sneered and said.
"Potter. You might not know this, but in the wizarding world, there are classes even among the same pure-blood families. You'd be wise to choose your friends carefully."
Like me, for instance.
Harry, who had been staring with his mouth agape at Malfoy as he said this, nudged me and said.
"...I thought you said the Slytherin kids were nice?"
"...I thought so too?"
What in the world happened in a hundred years? What's more, looking behind Malfoy, everyone was nodding with a sneer, as if they all agreed with him.
Merlin's beard. How did Slytherin end up like this?
Malfoy, who must have interpreted the speechless Harry's reaction as an affirmation, grinned and returned to the Slytherin table.
...But Malfoy. I've heard that name somewhere.
Malfoy, Malfoy. Ah.
I had blurted out the words before I even knew it.
"Isn't the Malfoy family the one that went bankrupt after their vault exploded?"
"...What?"
Hearing that, Malfoy's face instantly turned red, and he looked like he was about to charge at me, but at that moment, the classroom door burst open and the professor entered, so he couldn't act on it.
Malfoy's face was flushed red and blue as he glared at me.
I might have been a bit thoughtless with my words, but wasn't he the one who started it?
And it's not like I said something that wasn't true.
...Though I was the one who blew up the vault.
I suddenly feel a little sorry.
Meanwhile, the professor who had entered with clacking shoes. His name was, I'm sure, Severus Snape.
He was a professor with a prominently hooked nose, greasy hair, and sharp eyes.
Harry, who was sitting next to me, flinched at Snape's jet-black eyes.
The voice that came from his seemingly frivolous appearance was surprisingly deep.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
As he spoke, Snape's cold eyes swept across the classroom.
And for a moment, Snape's eyes fixed on one spot.
His two black eyes were looking directly at Harry. To be precise, at Harry's two green eyes.
After looking at Harry's eyes for a moment, Snape said.
"Well, well, our new celebrity. Is it not Harry—Potter."
Snape's lips twisted as he continued.
"Potter. Let's see if you live up to your name. What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
The students looked bewildered at Snape's question. With the exception of Hermione, whose eyes were sparkling, it was clear that no one knew.
If Harry had come to Hogwarts through the normal route, he probably wouldn't have known the answer either.
However, the Harry Potter, my disciple, standing here, was a monster created by advanced placement.
"A powerful sleeping potion, known as the Draught of Living Death. Though the brewing method must be precise."
As if he had never expected Harry to answer the question perfectly, Snape paused for a moment.
Slowly raising one corner of his lip, Snape said.
"Not bad, Potter. Then, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
"As the name suggests, you can take it from the stomach of a goat."
For the record, Harry had been forced to learn that knowledge in the field. He had been poisoned by a viper and had to take a bezoar from a goat to survive.
A warm feeling spread through my heart as I saw my teachings blossom.
But then, he shifted his gaze from Harry to me.
"Then, let's ask the other Potter here one more thing. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
Though I was puzzled as to why the arrow was suddenly aimed at me, I answered without issue.
"They are all the same plant, Professor."
"Then what potion can be made using it?"
"Uh..."
I was momentarily at a loss for words. What, was there something like that?
Though I had made all sorts of potions, I had no idea. Was there a potion where aconite was the main ingredient?
I could see even Hermione, who had been ready to raise her hand a moment ago, rolling her eyes.
I really don't know.
But to say I don't know here, with Harry watching, would be a blow to my dignity as a master.
If so, then it would be right to ask someone who knows, wouldn't it? And needless to say, the person here who would know the most about potions would be that ill-tempered professor over there.
It's a simple three-step syllogism. If you don't know, ask someone who does. The professor knows the answer. Therefore, if you don't know, ask the professor for the answer.
In any case, following some logic or other, I asked Snape for the answer.
With a very polite method called 'Legilimency.'
The moment I looked into Snape's eyes and tried to search his memory, I felt a slight resistance.
This is, Occlumency.
For Occlumency to react even when I was only skimming the very surface of his memory meant that his Occlumency skills were extremely outstanding.
Even I would not be able to probe his tightly defended deep memories.
But I could easily find the answer to the current question. For now, let's be satisfied with this.
Anyway, the Wolfsbane Potion. This was a brand new potion that had been out for less than fifty years. That's why I didn't know.
Besides, this wasn't even in the first-year textbook.
To ask a first-year student something like this, that professor seemed to be quite shameless. Hmm, good. I don't feel sorry at all for using Legilimency.
In any case, the time it took to search Snape's memory was a mere three seconds.
I answered confidently.
"The Wolfsbane Potion, which controls the sanity of a werewolf, Professor."
"...Very impressive, Potter. The Wolfsbane Potion isn't in the first-year textbook. I don't know where you learned of it."
Where did I learn it? In your head.
I looked at Snape with the most innocent eyes I could muster.