He returned to his desk with quality ingredients while around him, students were already haphazardly throwing things into their cauldrons.
"We should start," Terry whispered nervously.
"In a moment," James said calmly. "Preparation matters."
He began by carefully crushing the snake fangs with his mortar and pestle, ensuring they were ground to a uniform powder. Too coarse and they wouldn't release their properties properly. Too fine and they'd clump. He worked methodically, ignoring the sounds of bubbling cauldrons around him.
Terry watched, then began imitating James's careful approach. "Should I crush mine like that too?"
"Yes. Uniform powder, no chunks."
They worked together, James leading and Terry following his example. When the fangs were properly prepared, James measured exactly four portions of water and added them to his cauldron. He lit the fire beneath with a controlled Incendio and monitored the heat carefully.
Around them, chaos was developing. One Hufflepuff's potion was already belching green smoke. Another had apparently added porcupine quills while the cauldron was still on the heat, and the resulting explosion sent boil-covered liquid splashing across her face. She shrieked, and Snape swept over with his wand, vanishing the substance from her skin.
"Ten points from Hufflepuff for not following instructions," he said coldly. "Start again. And this time, read the directions properly."
The girl fled to the ingredient cupboard, sobbing quietly.
James's potion turned the required blue color. He added the horned slugs, watching as they dissolved slowly, releasing their magical properties. The smell was unpleasant but not overpowering. When the mixture began to thicken slightly, he removed it from the heat and carefully added the porcupine quills.
"Wait," he said quietly to Terry, who was about to add his own quills. "Make sure it's off the heat completely first. If there's any residual heat, the quills will explode."
Terry jerked his hand back. "Thanks."
They both added their quills safely, then performed the required wand movement over their cauldrons. James stirred clockwise exactly five times, counting carefully. The potion's consistency began to change, becoming smoother.
He added the dried nettles, which dissolved immediately, releasing a sharp, medicinal smell. Three counterclockwise stirs, precise and controlled. Then he relit the fire, keeping it low and gentle, watching the color begin to shift from blue to a delicate pink.
Terry's potion was following the same progression, though his pink was slightly paler than James's. Still acceptable, but not quite perfect.
Snape prowled through the classroom like a dark shadow, examining potions with sharp eyes. Most received sneers and cutting comments. The Hufflepuffs seemed to be faring worse than the Ravenclaws, though several Ravenclaws had clearly rushed their preparation and were paying the price with substandard results.
Snape reached James's desk and stopped. He stared at the potion for three full seconds, longer than he'd looked at any other cauldron. The color was perfect, the consistency exactly right, the smell precisely what the book described.
Snape's expression didn't change, but James noticed the slight narrowing of his eyes. Surprise, perhaps.
Then Snape moved on to Terry's cauldron, examining it for a similar length of time. Acceptable but not exceptional. He gave Terry a curt nod and continued his rounds.
When the class period ended, most students had produced something approximating a Cure for Boils, though the quality varied wildly. A few potions had been complete disasters, requiring multiple restarts. Only James's potion was perfect, with Terry's coming in a close second.
"Bottle a sample of your work," Snape instructed. "Label it with your names and leave it on my desk. Clean your stations thoroughly. Dismissed."
James bottled his potion, and cleaned their workspaces with efficient scouring charms, and escaped the dungeons with relief.
"That wasn't so bad," Terry said as they climbed back toward warmer regions of the castle. "I mean, Snape didn't really yell at anyone. He was just... cold."
"He reserves his real anger for Gryffindors," James said without thinking.
Terry looked at him curiously. "How do you know?"
"Older students mentioned it," James lied smoothly.
They reached the Great Hall for lunch. Terry was chattering nervously, still coming down from the stress of Potions class. James answered with nods and noncommittal sounds, not really listening. He didn't have the heart to rebuff the boy's friendly overtures.
They sat together at the Ravenclaw table. The food appeared, and James filled his plate mechanically. Still bland and under seasoned, but he was getting used to it.
"We have a free period after lunch," Terry said. "Want to play wizard's chess? I've got a set in my room."
"Thank you for the invitation," James said politely, "but I want to spend some time in the library."
"Oh. Okay." Terry looked disappointed but not offended. "Maybe another time?"
"Sure."
After lunch, James left the Great Hall with purpose. But instead of heading to the library, he took a different route entirely, climbing staircases and navigating corridors until he found what he needed: an empty classroom.
It was on the third floor, dusty and clearly unused. The desks were stacked against one wall, and the windows offered a view of the Quidditch pitch in the distance. Perfect.
James locked the door with Colloportus, cast a silencing charm on the room to prevent noise from escaping, and pulled out his wand.
Time for focused practice.
He intended to work through every spell in the Hogwarts curriculum by the end of the year. Not just read about them, but master them. His eidetic memory gave him an advantage, but muscle memory and magical control still required repetition.
He started systematically with the first-year textbook, casting each spell in sequence. Most he'd already practiced at home, and they came easily now. Lumos in various intensities. Nox. Wingardium Leviosa on increasingly heavy objects, he transfigured. Alohomora on the classroom door, then re-locking it. Reparo on a broken piece of chalk he found on the floor.
The spells flowed smoothly, one after another. His wand movements were precise, his incantations clear. He could feel his magic responding eagerly, as if it had been waiting for this opportunity to stretch and grow.