Snape leaned closer.
Watching Lily freeze up completely, he asked with feigned confusion,
"Why aren't you drinking, Lily? Don't tell me you've got so little confidence in your own work?
Sure, there's a chance it might make you belch foul gas, or maybe sprout some lovely pimples full of pus—but don't worry, I promise I won't laugh at you!"
"...You're awful. Fine, I give up!"
After a long, anxious pause, Lily simply couldn't muster the courage to taste the potion that now looked far too suspicious for comfort. She shot Snape an indignant glare, placed her hands on her hips, and huffed,
"Happy now?"
"You said it yourself."
Under her astonished gaze, Snape calmly picked up the bottle of *Babbling Beverage* she had brewed—with no hesitation whatsoever. He took a swig, swallowed, murmured something unintelligible under his breath, and then smiled lightly.
"Tastes good. In fact, it might even be better than the one I made. But since you forfeited, that's your 1,146th loss."
"Impossible!"
Lily gaped at him. The brew hadn't failed—it was *better*! For the first time, it seemed she had outperformed her supposedly unbeatable rival!
After tasting both potions again, the result was undeniable: hers was indeed superior.
But before she could celebrate, realization hit—and with it, despair.
He had tricked her *again*.
Her eyes filled with murder.
"You said it yourself. Next time, have a little more faith in your abilities," Snape replied coolly, utterly unashamed of his manipulative victory over a small girl.
In truth, Lily possessed the *Master Craftsman* specialty.
Unless Snape intentionally activated *Precision Brewing*—which traded rarer ingredients and extra time for stronger results—any potion they brewed under equal conditions would inevitably favor her.
His own *Artisan's Insight* simply favored innovation and comprehension.
He could easily master new brews Lily hadn't yet studied—after all, he'd already created *Scar-Be-Gone* and *Focus Elixir*, potions that didn't even exist in the wizarding world before him.
Meanwhile, Professor Slughorn—finally having restored order in the chaotic classroom—turned his attention toward Snape, the student in whom he had placed such high hopes.
"Let's see here... Hm, color looks perfect."
Remarkably agile for his size, the professor waddled forward with surprising speed.
Lily barely noticed before he was suddenly beside them, beaming from ear to ear. Seeing the neatly prepared pair of potions on their table, his eyes lit up like gemstones.
He dipped a finger into one of the drafts, took a tiny taste, and broke into an even broader smile.
"A textbook example!" he declared. "No missteps whatsoever. Ten points to Slytherin!
And to think, you even had time to make an *extra* batch—your talent is greater than I imagined!"
"Professor, the other one was Lily's," Snape said evenly.
"Oh?"
Startled, Slughorn turned to the red-haired girl. He tasted her potion cautiously—then his smile grew even more delighted.
"Ah-ha! Well now, it seems this year has produced *two* little prodigies! Ten points to Gryffindor as well!"
Unlike the quiet Slytherins, the Gryffindor students erupted in cheers loud enough to lift the ceiling.
"Mr. Snape, Miss Evans," said Slughorn warmly, lowering his voice in intrigue, "might the two of you have time to drop by my office sometime soon? I assure you, it's for a good reason—an *excellent* reason!"
His mysterious tone made both Snape and Lily glance at each other.
In the end, Snape gave a polite nod. "Of course. And if the visit includes some further instruction in potion-making, all the better."
He smiled courteously.
He could already guess what the professor wanted—and naturally, extended his hand.
Beaming, Slughorn clasped it firmly, shaking up and down with unrestrained enthusiasm.
"Splendid, splendid! I promise you won't be disappointed. I've quite a collection of rare brews in my office. I'll have an owl send for you once everything's prepared!"
As he spoke, Snape's gaze flickered—and there, in his *system vision*, six golden specialties gleamed brilliantly across Slughorn's profile.
***
Across the room, James Potter suffered his *sixth* failure in a row.
His cauldron emitted a scorched, acrid smell, with solid clumps forming where liquid should have been.
Beside him, Sirius was frantically flipping pages, muttering curses under his breath.
Peter had already given up entirely, slumping in his seat and staring into space with a vacant grin.
Only Lupin still soldiered on, his face smudged with soot and frustration as he tried—unsuccessfully—to determine where he kept going wrong.
"Bloody Potions class," James growled, earning scattered sounds of agreement.
"Why would Hogwarts make us learn this disgusting rubbish?"
Then his eyes slid sideways.
There—Snape, standing with the professor's full attention, basking in admiration.
A cruel smile crept across James's face.
He leaned close to Sirius, whispering, and moments later, both exchanged devilish grins.
Under Snape's and Slughorn's preoccupied conversation, James slipped away, quietly snatching a failed potion from a Slytherin boy's table.
At a subtle signal, Peter flicked his wand, and—fumbling slightly—executed a *Levitation Charm* just well enough to swap the bottles without sound or notice.
A few students saw it.
Lupin's eyes widened in horror. He ran a trembling hand through his hair, then hastily folded a parchment into a paper airplane.
When James and his friends weren't watching, he flicked it hard.
The paper glided along the rows of desks, bending perfectly between cluttered textbooks until it aimed straight for Snape's leg.
But, just before impact—Snape shifted his weight lazily to one side.
The little plane grazed past, fluttering harmlessly to the floor.
Before Lupin could react, Peter completed the swap without a hitch, earning grins from Sirius and several other Gryffindor onlookers eager for trouble.
James's grin broadened. He could already see it—Snape's humiliation.
He cleared his throat theatrically, eager for the moment.
"Professor!"
The call broke through the murmur of the class, drawing every eye.
"You once said the mark of a true Potions Master is confidence—to personally drink what they've brewed, right?"
Slughorn paused, intrigued.
James turned to Snape, voice dripping with false innocence.
"Since you think you're so much better than the rest of us, surely you wouldn't mind a little demonstration—right, genius?"