The first messenger owl flew out from the owlery as the first rays of orange sunlight climbed the spires of Hogwarts Castle.
The corridors were bustling once again.
A large group of young wizards was descending the spiral staircase towards the dungeons.
"I heard the Potions teacher is Professor Snape," said Michael, rubbing his sleepy eyes. He had stayed up half the night studying a quill and was still yawning. "A little birdie told me, I heard it in the Ravenclaw common room. The older students say Professor Snape is the one in all of Hogwarts..."
He deliberately paused, making Terry beside him stretch his neck and lean his ear closer. Even the hushed whispers of the other young wizards around them grew quieter.
"...He's the professor who deducts the most house points in all of Hogwarts."
He added a tremolo to his voice, and combined with the increasingly chilly environment, the faces of the young wizards grew noticeably paler.
Amid this artificially created tension, they arrived at the Potions classroom.
It was an underground classroom, several degrees colder than the castle above. Even during the day, very little sunlight reached this place, relying entirely on some floating candles for illumination.
Glass jars lined the walls, filled with specimens of various animals soaking in liquid. Sean chose a seat not far from these specimens; by turning his head, he could see a bat spleen—an ingredient used in magical potions, useful for making Swelling Solution.
No sooner had he taken his seat than a boy with dimples sat down beside him.
"Sean, I knew you'd be early."
Justin's face was lit up with a warm smile as he took his glass vials from his bag and arranged them neatly on the desk.
Michael, who had been trying to sit next to Sean, widened his eyes in disbelief and looked again. "An illusion? When did he get here?" he muttered, then grumbled and found a random seat.
Soon, all the students had arrived. Perhaps because of the chilly environment, or perhaps because of the terrifying legends about Professor Snape, not a single young wizard attempted to shout or make a racket.
It was in this blanket of silence that—
BANG—
A loud noise came 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. With a few agile, precise, and sharp movements, he ascended the podium.
"Listen—" His voice was cold and low. "There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class..."
"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—"
"On one condition! That you aren't the dunderheads I usually have to teach!"
His voice was cold and low, and it quickly cowed the entire room.
"Hannah Abbott! Tell me, how should one treat a slug?"
His sharp eyes swept over like a storm towards the young witch.
Stared down by such a gaze, the little witch with braids answered in a trembling voice, "You stew it, Professor."
Hannah had clearly read the textbook in advance, even though this was only the first chapter's content.
Thus, she was lucky enough to escape unscathed.
"Sit down!" Snape's expression did not improve.
"Sean Green! Tell me, how would you handle a slug with tentacles?"
He leaned forward slightly, blocking out the candlelight.
"Stew it for a longer time, about three minutes, Professor," Sean answered immediately.
"Tolerable," Snape said, and then he was gone, sweeping away like a gust of wind.
"Wayne Hopkins! What is a bezoar?"
He loomed over Wayne like a dark cloud. The short-haired young wizard's voice seemed squeezed out: "I don't know, Professor."
"If your troll-sized brain were functional, you would know that a bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat, and that it will save you from most poisons."
Snape's death glare remained fixed on Wayne. The short-haired young wizard had begun to tremble.
"Sit down! One point from Hufflepuff, for your classmate Wayne's empty head!"
He scanned the room; no one dared to meet his gaze.
"Why isn't everyone else writing this down?"
In the oppressive atmosphere, the young wizards scribbled furiously, as if this could help them escape the storm whipped up by Professor Snape.
But Professor Snape's relentless roll call continued.
"Ernie Macmillan!"
...
He was like an unfeeling point deduction machine. By the time the questioning session ended, Ravenclaw had lost six points, and Hufflepuff had lost a whopping twelve points.
This naturally led a thought to cross Sean's mind:
Slytherin's six consecutive House Cups seemed... inextricably linked to Professor Snape's "efforts."
In the original story, Professor Snape even memorized every student's name just to deduct points more efficiently.
Professor Snape, he really...
Sean then focused intently on Professor Snape's next words.
"Listen carefully. If anyone dares to arbitrarily alter a potion's recipe or recklessly change the steps—"
Professor Snape's gaze swept over every face, ensuring no one dared to be inattentive.
He then began teaching the steps for the Cure for Boils, a simple potion for treating boils.
The cauldron in front of him steamed, bubbling within minutes and producing a pot of thick, ink-green liquid.
"I don't expect any of you to succeed immediately. I only hope certain idiots don't create a danger... What are you waiting for? Pair up and begin now!"
Even Justin's face had turned pale. He put on a brave face and began following the steps.
Sean wasn't faring much better, not because of the low-pressure atmosphere Snape created, but because he was nervous about his own unknown potion-making talent.
"Slugs, dried nettles, crushed snake fangs, porcupine quills..."
"Sean, that's right, isn't it?"
Justin, watching Sean arrange the ingredients, asked with lingering trepidation. Seeing Sean's calm expression helped settle his own nerves.
"Mm," Sean nodded, then continued preparing the materials according to the standard textbook procedure. "Let's follow the steps. We'll handle the slugs first."
Justin immediately understood and began lighting the fire under the cauldron. The book said the cauldron needed preheating.
"Use my cauldron?" Justin asked softly.
Sean looked at Justin's silver cauldron and nodded.
While cauldron quality doesn't drastically affect the potion's outcome, Justin's silver cauldron was undoubtedly superior to the third-tier brass cauldron Sean had scrimped to buy.
It might offer a slightly higher chance of success, if only psychologically.
It's not bad having a hidden rich kid sitting next to you, Sean thought.