To be honest, Potions class really does have a way of waking you up.
Early in the morning, inside the cold, damp Potions classroom, the bell had just rung.
The young wizards, exhausted from getting up so early, jumped when the classroom door suddenly slammed open.
"Potions class is not your dormitory!"
Professor Snape, dressed in black robes, walked to the front of the room. His eyes swept across every student in the classroom, and wherever his gaze landed, students immediately straightened their backs.
"Congratulations, Hufflepuff. Because your posture was unacceptable, two points are deducted."
A few Hufflepuff students trembled. They wanted to defend themselves, but Snape's presence crushed the thought immediately.
"You're here to learn Potions—an exact science built on precision and strict technique."
Snape didn't speak loudly, but every word reached every ear clearly.
"In my class, you won't get the chance to foolishly wave a wand or mutter incantations—so many of you don't believe this is magic at all. That's why I don't expect anyone here to truly appreciate the simmering cauldron, the pale steam rising from it, the subtle fragrance… "
"None of you will truly understand the kind of power that flows into the veins, intoxicating the mind and clouding the senses—"
"But if—by some miracle—there are a few among you who possess the right traits, I can teach you how to influence the human mind, how to brew prestige, glory… even delay death itself. On one condition: you are not the usual idiots and fools I encounter!"
The classroom fell silent. Snape's aura made it feel like winter had arrived early.
Everyone sat quietly, listening. It was far worse than the warnings upperclassmen had given them about Potions.
"Yesterday, in this very classroom, I witnessed a performance by Mr. Potter that could only be described as a disaster. So…"
At that moment, Rock felt something was wrong.
He looked up—and Snape's gaze was locked on him.
What was going on?
"Ah, Mr. Rock," Snape said, eyes narrowing slightly. "I heard that yesterday in Charms and Transfiguration, you were… quite impressive."
His voice was low and smooth, like he was commenting on the weather.
But Rock didn't feel that way at all.
He forced a smile but didn't respond. Wasn't praise like this supposed to be reserved for Harry Potter? Someone please explain what was happening!
"Good," Snape continued quietly. "That proves that, at least in subjects that rely on quick hands and a bit of cleverness, you have some talent."
His black robes rustled as he moved toward Rock, steps gliding like shadows.
"So let's see how you perform in a discipline that truly tests intelligence and rigor."
"Mr. Rock—tell me: in a Boil-Cure Potion, why must nettles be completely dried and ground before use?"
Rock took a deep breath and stood, giving Snape a respectful nod.
"Professor, fresh nettles contain active properties," he said.
"These properties tend to stimulate and irritate, which is the exact opposite of what the Boil-Cure Potion aims to do—soothe, absorb, and purify. Only by thoroughly drying the nettles, removing their moisture, and—most importantly—neutralizing the traits that conflict with the potion's purpose—"
"—do we end up with dried nettle, which becomes a neutral, effective carrier and buffering ingredient."
"And if the preparation is done incorrectly, the potion can be contaminated. At best, the effects become unstable. At worst, it may worsen the inflammation of the boils."
The room went dead silent.
Snape stared at Rock with a blank expression. Theo, sitting beside Rock, felt goosebumps.
After a few seconds, Snape finally spoke, dragging his words as always:
"Clearly…"
"Someone bothered to read the ingredient processing guidelines after the introduction in Magical Drafts and Potions, instead of just memorizing the steps."
He turned back to the front, robes sweeping dramatically.
"But that only elevates you from ignorance to… 'passing.' Don't think that gives you any right to show off at a cauldron."
Rock raised an eyebrow, nodded politely again, and was about to sit down—
but of course, Snape wasn't finished.
"Mr. Rock, to reinforce this rare bit of knowledge, you will prepare an additional paper. Explain in detail the difference in stability between improperly processed nettles and properly dried nettles—and why. I expect it before next class."
"Yes, Professor," Rock replied, bowing slightly before sitting.
At this point, he didn't have time to wonder why Snape was treating him like this—because glowing text was already pulsing in front of his eyes.
[You've gone beyond the limits of textbooks, demonstrating knowledge of ingredient handling. Potion Arc unlocked!]
[Successfully explained the core material in a high-pressure environment. Professor's approval earned. Potion Arc Affinity +20]
[Action aligns with the core philosophy of Potions: Preparation and Adaptation.]
[New skills unlocked: Ingredient Processing Lv.0 (0/100), Heat Control Lv.0 (0/100), Magic Infusion Lv.0 (0/100)]
Wow. So this is the real Snape!
"Ravenclaw does not earn points. Showing a basic level of knowledge in my class is your responsibility, not a reason for reward."
"And—do I need to remind you? Or do you all believe you already possess this level of understanding and don't need to write it down?"
A rapid series of sharp questions sent everyone scrambling for their quills.
Rock closed the panel with satisfaction. One answer had unlocked so many branches—totally worth it.
He felt someone poking him. Turning, he saw Theo, still writing, silently giving him a thumbs-up.
Rock smirked and looked back to the front.
Potions really wasn't like Transfiguration. After the students copied Rock's answer, Snape had them all stand and start brewing.
"Pair up. You'll be making Boil-Cure Potion. And no—you won't be starting from raw nettles."
Snape couldn't help throwing one more jab on the way.
The classroom exploded into motion. Rock reviewed the entire brewing process from Magical Drafts and Potions in his mind.
"Theo, I'll prep the ingredients. You get the tools ready," Rock said as he opened his eyes.
"No problem."
Rock nodded, grabbed six snake fangs from the pile, dropped them into the mortar Theo set out, and, with a steady and even motion, began grinding them into powder.
His movements were fluid and precise.