The final class was Potions.
The one in charge was Professor Snape, who also served as the Head of Slytherin House.
Whether it was his personal taste or not, the classroom walls were lined with countless glass jars. Inside them, animals preserved in alcohol floated gently.
"Uh, this is just gross."
Pansy's face stiffened, and Daphne let out a small scream. Typical girls.
In contrast, Draco and Millicent stared at the jars with sparkling eyes. Definitely boys.
After a while, students from Gryffindor began filing in. It seemed Potions was a joint class with them. I spotted Harry and the others and gave a light nod. They returned it with somewhat awkward expressions.
Seeing this, Draco moved closer and whispered in my ear.
"Elaina, you should stop hanging around with those Gryffindors."
"Even if you say that…"
I knew Gryffindor and Slytherin didn't get along, but as far as I was concerned, none of them had picked a fight with me yet.
"Don't worry. If I throw the first punch, I lose, so I won't start anything. But if they pick a fight with me, I'll gladly accept."
"I don't think that day is very far off."
At the same moment Draco shrugged, the door burst open with a loud bang, and Professor Snape strode in. Professor McGonagall's entrance had been shocking too, but this carried a different kind of intensity.
"In this class, you will learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making."
With a long black cloak fluttering like an overgrown bat, Professor Snape advanced to the front of the classroom, turned around, and began speaking in a flat tone.
"In my class, there will be no foolish wand-waving. The softly simmering cauldrons, the gently rising steam, the delicate magical power of liquids coursing through human veins… I do not expect you to truly understand the magnificence of it."
He wasn't speaking loudly, but his words carried an undeniable pressure. In an instant, the students realized, Ah, this is the kind of teacher you shouldn't oppose.
"What I can teach you is how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death itself… provided, of course, that you are not as hopeless as the dunderheads I have taught before."
But is this going to be a long speech after all?
"I do not expect everyone to understand. Only those with true talent will be taught how to manipulate the mind and befuddle the senses."
When Professor Snape finished speaking, the dim classroom fell completely silent. As the stillness took hold, his gaze fixed on a single point.
"Potter!"
Professor Snape's sharp voice echoed through the dungeon, and I saw Harry jump as he was suddenly singled out.
"What do you get if you add powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
That was an absurdly difficult question, more like sixth-year material. For someone like Harry, who grew up in the Muggle world, this was probably brutal. No, definitely brutal.
In times like this, having wizard parents could give you an advantage, with old magic textbooks lying around at home. A bookish child might end up memorizing things just by reading them as a hobby. Yes, just like me.
Looking at the table where the Gryffindors were gathered, it seemed Hermione had memorized it as well. She shot her hand up energetically, but Professor Snape ignored her. Harry clearly didn't know the answer, and Ron weakly shook his head.
"…I don't know."
"Tut, tut. Fame alone doesn't seem to help much, does it? Very well, another question. Where would you look if I told you to find a bezoar?"
The trusty bezoar. Since it acts as an antidote to many poisons, if a test asked for the name of an antidote, writing "bezoar" would usually get you through. I remembered seeing a scribble like that in my father's textbook. When I glanced at Harry, he shook his head again, looking helpless.
"I don't know."
"So you didn't think to open your textbook before coming to class, Potter, hmm?"
As Professor Snape sneered at Harry for failing to answer, Hermione continued holding her hand up without wavering.
I had heard that she passed Professor Flitwick's charms and Professor McGonagall's match-to-needle task on her first try.
(I can't afford to lose to her.)
I raised my hand as well, determined not to be outdone. Professor Snape's gaze shifted to me.
"Oh? Does Celesteria know the answer?"
Ignoring Hermione entirely, Professor Snape directed the question only at me. That was the moment the rumors of his favoritism toward Slytherin were proven true.
"Yes. First, when asphodel is combined with wormwood, it creates a powerful sleeping potion. It appears as clear and transparent as water, but if the concentration is too strong, it can cause someone to sleep for the rest of their life, so extreme caution is required when handling it. As for the second question, a bezoar is a brown, fibrous stone resembling shriveled internal organs, taken from a goat's stomach. It is difficult to obtain, but it serves as an antidote to many poisons."
"Excellent. A perfect answer. Four points to Slytherin."
Hmph.
When I sat down with a smug expression, I saw Draco and the other Slytherins pumping their fists as if to say, "Well done!" I could feel resentful glares from Gryffindor, but if they had complaints, they should take them up with Professor Snape.
"Now then, lastly, Potter. What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
Harry seemed unable to answer even the final question, and I could feel the gazes around the room naturally turning toward me.
"......…."
With a soft thump.
I sat down calmly. Professor Snape seemed to understand.
"…What is it, Millicent? If you have something to say, go ahead."
"Just now, it was totally set up for Elaina to answer all three, wasn't it…"
"I actually don't like things going exactly as planned."
Over in Gryffindor, Hermione stood up and raised her hand, clearly seizing the moment. Despite being ignored repeatedly, her mental toughness was impressive, very much befitting a bold and fearless Gryffindor.
As I was thinking that, Harry, apparently annoyed by Snape's continued disregard for Hermione, fired back with a provocation.
"I don't know. It looks like Hermione knows, so why don't you try asking her?"
A few students laughed at Harry's remark, but the sound died out almost immediately under Professor Snape's displeased glare.
"Sit down, Granger. Now then, let us go over the answers. As a supplement to the first potion, it is also known by the alias 'Draught of Living Death.' As for the bezoar, Celesteria's answer was perfect. And finally, monkshood and wolfsbane refer to the same plant, aconite. It is also called aconitum."
That last question was practically trivia. More to the point, how did Hermione even know that? As long as you know the commonly known name, aconite, it doesn't really feel necessary to memorize all its other aliases.
"Why are none of you writing this down?"
At Professor Snape's words, we hurriedly began scribbling onto our parchment with quills.
Come to think of it, this has nothing to do with the lesson itself, but why does Hogwarts insist on using quills and parchment for notes? They're hard to write with, impossible to erase, and incredibly bulky. I'm not asking for mechanical pencils, but at least take a page from the Muggle world and use loose-leaf paper.
"Also, Potter, one point will be deducted from Gryffindor for your rude attitude."
Well then.
Despite the initial disturbance, the rest of the lesson was actually quite high in quality.
Like Professor McGonagall, he was strict, but he covered the key points thoroughly and summarized them concisely. As long as you took proper notes and memorized them, earning a passing grade was perfectly achievable.
After that, Professor Snape divided the students into pairs, and the practical potion-brewing exercise began. It was a potion for curing boils. The brewing process wasn't particularly difficult, but making a mistake could be fairly dangerous.
I paired up with Millicent. My criterion for choosing a partner was simple: a handsome one who looked like he'd be willing to handle the horned slugs for me.
"So, Millicent, I'll measure out the dried nettles. While I do that, could you take care of the horned slugs?"
"Sure thing."
Without the slightest hint of reluctance, Millicent casually grabbed the slimy, palm-sized horned slugs and dropped them one by one into the boiling cauldron. What a heartthrob… She was worlds apart from Pansy and Daphne next to us, who were shrieking and trying to shove the slugs onto each other.
Then, just as Professor Snape was saying that Draco had boiled the horned slugs perfectly and that everyone should take a look, an incident occurred.
A vivid green smoke billowed up throughout the classroom, accompanied by a loud hissing sound that echoed everywhere. I hurriedly covered my nose and mouth with my robe and looked around. The source was the cauldron belonging to Neville and the sandy-haired boy.
"Idiot!"
Professor Snape shouted, and with a single flick of his wand, the spilled potion vanished without a trace. Subtly impressive.
"You must have added the porcupine quills before removing the cauldron from the fire, did you not? Finnegan, take Longbottom to the hospital wing."
With a bitter expression, Professor Snape ordered the sandy-haired boy to do so, then abruptly turned his ire toward Harry and Ron, who had been working beside Neville.
"Potter! Why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Were you hoping that if he made a mistake, it would make you look better by comparison? Gryffindor loses another point."
That felt blatantly unfair, but being someone who can read the room, I whispered with Daphne.
"I've kind of noticed this for a while, but doesn't it seem like Professor Snape really hates Harry?"
"Boys tease the ones they like the most."
"Daphne, that's deep."
"No, that's not how it works."
Millicent had just finished stirring clockwise five times. When I gave a final flick of my wand, a puff of pink smoke rose, and the boil-curing potion was complete.
This time, we were much faster than Hermione. Even Professor Snape looked pleased.
(End of chapter)
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