Hannah stared at the cauldron in front of her. It was bubbling with strange blue-purple foam and giving off a smell so weird she couldn't even put it into words. For the first time, she regretted ever meeting Tom.
She had already heard about Neville's "legendary disaster" in last week's Gryffindor Potions class—but even then, Neville had only managed to melt his cauldron a little.
But this?
Looking at the cauldron now made her heart practically leap into her throat. Was she about to become the next Neville?
Hannah wasn't particularly gifted at Potions, but as a Hufflepuff, she had one redeeming trait: she followed instructions.
She didn't always understand why she had to add certain ingredients at certain times or why certain steps mattered, but as long as she followed the directions exactly, she usually did fine.
And today, Professor Snape hadn't assigned anything new. He only wanted them to review and re-brew last lesson's "Boil-Cure Potion."
As a good student, Hannah still remembered most of the steps. She'd forgotten a few details, sure, but nothing critical.
Since Tom had missed last class, she had even suggested that he do the brewing while she stood by to guide him.
It would help her review, let Tom catch up, and—most importantly—prevent anything from going horribly wrong.
Tom had agreed.
But then—
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING, TOM?!"
She had only turned her head for a second, and when she looked back, she saw Tom tossing ingredients into the cauldron like he was making soup—unprocessed, unmeasured, and all at once!
Forget the wrong ratios—he hadn't even prepped any of the ingredients properly!
Too late for regrets now.
As Tom stirred, the potion began boiling violently, overflowing with white foam that slowly shifted into an alarming blue-purple color.
Hannah wanted to fix it, she really did, but staring at the cauldron—now basically a lost cause—she had absolutely no idea where to even begin.
Should she just re-brew the whole thing? But there wasn't enough time!
Then she saw Snape heading their way while lecturing another group, and her stomach dropped.
Snape took one look inside their cauldron and nearly fainted from rage.
He tried to comfort himself with thoughts like "It's just a cat. Of course it doesn't understand advanced Potions."
And, "According to Dumbledore, this creature is somehow the only one who can save Lily."
Clinging to those thoughts like a lifeline, he managed to—barely—contain his fury. His voice was low, but tight:
"So, Mr. Lovegood… would you care to explain what exactly you think you're doing?"
[Me? I'm brewing a potion, obviously～]
Tom was stirring the cauldron with one paw and holding up a whiteboard in the other, looking very proud of himself.
Snape stared.
Where did that whiteboard even come from? When did he write on it? How?!
As a Potions Master, he wanted to analyze the situation—but this was too ridiculous even for him.
"Brewing?" Snape's voice shot up several octaves.
"You call this brewing? I explained the proper ingredient preparation, the correct ratios, the timing—everything. And you throw everything in at once like this is your personal kitchen?!"
Snape saw through it instantly.
Which, honestly, only made him angrier.
He had slowed down the lesson on purpose, choosing the simplest possible potion—something even a troll could brew—so this cat could start from the basics.
But this was the result?
If it were any other student, he would have scorched them with a verbal tirade so vicious it would leave emotional scars.
But now…
Calm down, Severus. Calm down. He's the only one who can save Lily.
Just as he finally suppressed the urge to explode, Tom flipped the whiteboard again:
[What else would I be doing? Making stew? (￣▽￣)~]
Snape's face twitched so hard it nearly folded in half.
If not for Lily, he might have thrown the cat out the window.
Teeth clenched, he hissed:
"Fine. If you're really brewing, then explain why you dumped all the ingredients in at once. What principle? What theory? What book told you to do this?!"
[I dunno, professor.]
Tom wrote confidently:
[According to Hufflepuff Survival Rule #4: If it feels right, do it～]
To Tom, Potions didn't need rules. You just threw the ingredients in, mixed by instinct, and controlled the fire "by vibe."
He'd done this for years—even in the cartoon world he came from—and somehow always ended up creating functional, if bizarre, concoctions.
[If you must ask, I guess I followed "the power of intuition" and "my sixth sense is always right."]
Snape laughed.
Not a happy laugh.
A "I'm two seconds away from committing a crime" laugh.
He conjured a high-backed chair, sat down, crossed his arms, and glared:
"Wonderful. Fantastic. I'd love to see what your 'sixth sense' produces."
Hopefully the cauldron explodes like Longbottom's, he thought darkly. Let him learn that Potions are not a joke.
But then… something happened.
The chaotic bubbling slowed.
The foam dissipated.
The blue-purple filth cleared, becoming transparent.
Snape jerked upright.
He grabbed a ladle, scooped some out, sniffed it, rubbed a drop between his fingers—
And froze.
The entire class held their breath.
Snape, the legendary Potions Master, stood speechless as he stared at a cauldron of perfect—no, purer-than-standard—Boil-Cure Potion…
…brewed completely at random by a cat.
Everyone waited.
Snape said nothing.
Because even he couldn't process the scientific impossibility he'd just witnessed.
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