Mixed Smells

At two in the morning, in Silas's dormitory at Ravenclaw Tower.

Silas Cyril jolted upright in bed as if something had pricked him. The force of the movement woke the Niffler in the cage beside him, and it squeaked twice in displeasure.

"Hungry... I woke up hungry..." He clutched his growling stomach, looking utterly lifeless. The few desserts from the opening feast were nowhere near enough to sustain a body that was still growing—and consuming magic.

Wide awake now, he simply rolled out of bed. In the darkness, he snapped his fingers, and a soft white "flashlight" glow appeared at his fingertips. With practiced ease, he dragged his brass cauldron out from beneath the bed and set it on the small enchanted stand built into the table in the middle of the dormitory. Then he skillfully cast an Ignition Charm—using his wand this time, lest he set off the fire alarm.

Next, as though performing a magic trick, he kept opening small portals and pulling ingredients from them: several fine pieces of beef brisket, carrots, daikon, a few tomatoes, a handful of scallions and ginger... even a small packet of dried shiitake mushrooms and several red dates.

"Ah," he sighed as he prepared the ingredients. "I used up all the chilies I bought last time. I'll just make do with a clear broth hot pot tonight. There's still a little dipping sauce left, anyway..."

He blanched the brisket, then tossed all the ingredients into the cauldron in one go, added water, and secretly sprinkled in some basic seasonings he had swiped from the kitchen. He did not dare use anything too complicated, in case the smells mixed. He put on the lid and let it simmer over a low flame.

Before long, an aroma entirely unlike anything from Potions Class began spreading through the small dormitory—a blend of savory meat, the natural sweetness of vegetables, and faint spices. The Niffler grew restless in its cage, clearly drawn in by the smell as well.

Silas sat beside it in satisfaction, using magic to control the heat while he pulled out a copy of Advanced Potion-Making to pass the time. An hour later, a steaming pot of clear-brined beef brisket stew, with a bright broth and wonderfully rich flavor, was ready.

He thoroughly enjoyed his midnight snack, even drinking every last drop of the soup. Then he carefully washed the cauldron and even used a powerful Cleaning Charm and Deodorizing Charm. Convinced that he had left no trace behind, he happily climbed back into bed and went to sleep.

The next morning, Silas woke up feeling refreshed. He raised a hand and drew a portal to the side entrance of the Great Hall, then went straight there for breakfast. Wisely, he avoided all the classic British dishes and only ate some fruit and bread.

Then he checked his schedule.

"First class... Potions. Tsk, the Black Bat King's class." He pursed his lips, but still packed his things and followed the crowd toward the dungeon classroom.

The Potions classroom was cold and damp, and the air was perpetually filled with the strange smells of various ingredients. Professor Snape glided silently through the room like an enormous bat, explaining the Scabbers Potion they would be brewing today in his low, silky, yet oppressively intimidating voice.

Silas took out his cauldron and ingredients, preparing to follow the instructions step by step. Though he knew plenty about advanced potions, he decided it was better to keep a low profile under Snape's watchful eye.

Snape prowled the classroom, occasionally criticizing a student's mistakes with cutting remarks. When he glided to Silas's workstation, however, his steps suddenly stopped.

His hooked nose twitched slightly. An extraordinarily subtle, nearly imperceptible change passed over his sallow face. He lowered his head, his cold gaze falling upon Silas's seemingly spotless brass cauldron.

The entire classroom fell silent at once. Everyone could feel a low-pressure atmosphere gathering around Silas.

In that distinctive voice of his, cold enough to freeze a person stiff, Snape slowly asked, one word at a time:

"Kirill..."

He paused, as though savoring the words that would follow.

"Explain... why the inner wall of your cauldron retains... an extremely faint, yet unmistakably non-potion-related... scent of food?"

Silas's hand, holding a porcupine quill, froze in midair. His heart skipped a beat.

"Uh..." He opened his mouth, his mind racing as he tried to come up with a reasonable excuse. Perhaps, Last night, while practicing the Cleaning Charm, I accidentally mixed in the smell of dinner? But as he looked into Snape's black eyes, which seemed capable of seeing through everything, he knew any lie would be futile.

It was over. His midnight snack had been exposed.

Snape's black-hole-like eyes locked onto Silas. The classroom was so quiet that even the faint clinks from trembling hands stirring cauldrons could be heard clearly. The crushing pressure was nearly enough to suffocate the nearby Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students.

Silas's skin crawled beneath that stare. In his panic, some wire in his brain seemed to have crossed—or rather, his damned urge to make snide remarks once again overpowered his survival instincts. He opened his mouth, and a spectacularly ill-timed, practically suicidal line slipped out:

"Um... Black Bat King... no, no, no! Professor Snape!" He nearly blurted out the nickname he had given Snape in his head, then hurriedly corrected himself. "Since your nose is so sharp... sharp enough to smell such a tiny trace in my cauldron... then why don't you wash your hair? Aren't you... aren't you afraid of choking yourself with the smell?"

"Gasp—"

A chorus of sharp inhalations instantly echoed through the dungeon classroom! Every Hogwarts student, even the famously brave Gryffindors, would have been scared out of their wits by those words!

Justin Finch-Fletchley, the Hufflepuff first-year sharing Silas's table, went pale at once. He lowered his head desperately, wishing he could bury himself inside his cauldron. In his heart, he was already viciously cursing the foolish version of himself from several minutes ago, the one who had thought, This Ravenclaw looks pretty capable. Maybe brewing potions will be easier if I sit with him! Merlin above! Would he be dragged down by this loose-tongued lunatic and turned into potion ingredients by Snape too?!

Professor Snape's body visibly stiffened. His face changed from sallow yellow to iron blue, his lips pressed so tightly together they turned white, and the cold radiating from him nearly froze the air solid. He stared at Silas, suppressed rage and disbelief churning in his eyes, as if he could not believe what he had just heard.

Five whole seconds of silence passed. To everyone in the classroom, those five seconds felt as long as a century.

Finally, Snape announced in an icy voice that could almost freeze one's soul, speaking one word at a time. His voice was not loud, yet every word struck clearly against everyone's heart:

"Mr. Kirill. For your extremely disrespectful remarks toward a professor... Ravenclaw loses one hundred points."

One hundred points! On the first day of school! In the first lesson! A full hundred points gone just like that!

Every Ravenclaw student's vision went dark, as if their House Point Hourglass had instantly been drained to the bottom. Even the students from the other houses were stunned.

Hearing that number, Silas froze for a moment. Then, almost instinctively, he protested with a touch of innocence and a reminder in his voice. "Professor... school has been open for less than half a day. Our house... doesn't seem to have earned any points yet? Isn't it a little too hasty to deduct them now?"

He was right. The House Point Hourglass was indeed empty.

Snape: "..."

Silas's perfectly justified reminder left him momentarily speechless. Of course he knew the hourglass was empty. He had intended to use that enormous deduction as punishment to intimidate this lawless brat, while also saddling Ravenclaw with a heavy burden so that they would forever "remember" this first-year's "great achievement."

But after Silas's "reminder," he realized that deducting points that did not exist did indeed seem rather... ridiculous and powerless.

Snape's expression shifted constantly as he stared daggers at Silas, his chest rising and falling slightly. At that moment, he dearly wanted to put this brat in detention for an entire year and make him handle the most disgusting slugs and frog brains every day! But then he thought of Dumbledore's smiling face, and of all the headache-inducing "special circumstances" surrounding this boy...

In the end, Snape forcibly suppressed the urge to erupt on the spot. He gave Silas a deep, vicious glare filled with a clear Just you wait, then forced out through clenched teeth:

"Continue... brewing your potions. If anyone makes another foolish mistake..." He did not finish, but the unspoken threat made everyone shudder.

With that, he whipped his black robes around and turned toward the podium like a dark cloud, leaving Silas where he stood. He did not mention the point deduction again, nor did he immediately assign detention. But in the little grudge notebook in his heart, specially reserved for Silas Cyril, he ruthlessly added another entry in large, bold letters.

Watching Snape's retreating back, Silas let out a breath of relief, patted his chest, and muttered softly, "That scared me to death... Good thing he's reasonable..."

Beside him, Justin Finch-Fletchley nearly fainted upon hearing that. Reasonable? Merlin's beard! He began seriously considering whether he should apply to change seats... At the next Potions Class, he absolutely had to grab a seat as far away from Silas Cyril as possible!