Are You Fucking Picking a Fight?

The History of Magic is a boring subject, and everyone at Hogwarts knows that.

After all, the professor who tells everyone the History of Magic is a ghost, a ghost who has lived at Hogwarts for nearly a thousand years.

Perhaps because he had been a ghost for so long, Professor Binns spoke with a wheezing, drawn-out tone that could almost certainly make someone drowsy within ten minutes; if the weather was hot, five minutes would be enough.

However, this is also a good thing for students who want to catch up on sleep, since Professor Binns only cares about lecturing and never cares what the students in the classroom are doing.

In other words, as long as they don't openly barbecue in class or do anything else excessive, Professor Binns will generally turn a blind eye.

Harry stayed awake for two minutes before falling asleep, while Ron, finding it too boring, dragged Seamus to play a game on a corner of the Parchment, while Hermione, standing nearby, kept scratching at their skulls with her sharp eyes.

If looks could cause harm, Ron and Seamus's skulls would probably be shaved shiny by now.

"I should say," Harry said, stretching lazily after class, "That History of Magic is definitely one of my favorite subjects. I swear, I can't fall asleep as fast in History of Magic class as I can in bed."

"I also really enjoy the History of Magic," Ron and Seamus said with a grin. "I prefer to call it 'study time.'"

On the podium, Professor Binns floated away through the blackboard.

"What would happen if I didn't lend you my notes this year?" Hermione asked Ron coldly.

"Our History of Magic O. W. Ls will fail," Ron said. "If you want to be tormented by your conscience, Hermione?"

"Hmph, that's what you deserve," she retorted sharply. "You weren't paying attention to his lectures at all, were you?"

"We've been trying," Ron said. "We just don't have your brain, your memory, your attention span—you're just smarter than us—can't you stop bringing up things we don't want to talk about?"

"Hmph, don't try to sweet-talk me." Hermione said this, but her expression betrayed her true feelings.

"I think she must be very happy right now," Harry said to Anne beside him in a low voice, turning his head.

"Oh—oh." Anne nodded, glancing at Hermione and then at Ron.

Although she was assigned to Slytherin, she still preferred to be with her old friends.

Whenever she wasn't in the dorm, Anne would always look for Harry.

The Slytherin students were already used to this; every transfer student was like this, from Miss Grindelwald at the beginning to Miss Malfoy, and now Miss Saru, as if that Scarhead boy from Gryffindor had some kind of magic.

Sometimes they wondered if Potter had sprayed some kind of permanent Love Potion on himself.

"So, did you take notes?" Harry asked Anne.

"I have Notebook," Anne said, handing it to Harry. "Would you like to take a look?"

"Oh, not for now," Harry said with a chuckle. "I can look into it before the exams, and besides, I've already taken the fifth-year O. WLs exam..."

"Yes," Anne smiled as well. "I remember Miss Cassandra was quite pleased when you got ten zeros."

"She's happy?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course," Anne said with a slight smile.

This was something Harry really didn't expect.

When get out of class ended, they planned to go outside the castle for some fresh air.

A light drizzle was falling from the sky; in Britain at this time of year, September was already quite chilly.

They found a secluded corner under a dripping balcony, turned up the collars of their robes to ward off the September chill, and discussed what homework Snape would give them in their first Potions Class of the school year.

"Have you finished your assignment?" Hermione turned to Ron and asked, "The one Professor Snape assigned you last semester?"

"Of course I finished it," Ron said proudly. "It's just homework! I finished it a long time ago!"

"You seem quite pleased with yourself." Hermione glanced at Ron. "I really hope you don't make the same mistake again this year. You should know that there seems to be something special about you, right? If you talk badly about Professor Snape behind his back, he'll definitely catch you."

"I know." Ron said dejectedly, "I will never say anything bad about him again, unless it's somewhere he can't go."

"So, the Gryffindor Common Room," Harry patted Ron on the shoulder. "From now on, if you want to say something bad, just say it in your dorm room. I don't believe he'll show up in our dorm room and catch you red-handed, what do you say?"

"I think so too," Ron nodded in agreement, but he still decided in his heart that his mother would never say anything bad about Snape again.

That saying is true: you can't teach someone everything, but you can learn something from experience. Anyway, Ron learned his lesson and got it right.

After getting some fresh air outside for a while, the school bell rang again.

"Time for class again," Ron sighed.

"We'll have to face it eventually; this is Potions Class," Harry said with a grin.

"Ugh—" Ron sighed, looking up at the sky, "I really don't want to go to this class—so, is there any other way for me to skip it, guys?"

"You should just go to class," Hermione said, shaking her head helplessly. "Whether you're happy or not, you still have to go to class, so you might as well go happily. What do you think?"

"You're right." Ron took a deep breath. "That's absolutely true—whether you stick your neck out or pull it back, you'll still get stabbed."

"Anyone who didn't know better would think you were talking about Louis XVI." Hermione's eyebrows furrowed into wavy lines.

"I think," Anne suddenly lowered her voice and said to Harry, "Harry, do you think Potions Class professors don't get along with anyone named Weasley?"

"Hmm?" Harry turned and glanced at her.

"Think about it, didn't Professor Sharpe always like to target Gareth Weasley?" Anne reminded her.

Harry thought about it and realized that it was indeed true.

"What you said actually makes some sense," Harry said in a low voice.

The Potions Class classroom was as cold and gloomy as ever; as soon as you entered, you could feel a chilling wind blowing in your face.

Anne tightened her robes; she had a feeling that the Potions Classroom was different from Professor Sharpe's classroom.

As with the first class of every semester, Snape would always stride in from outside, his long black robe billowing.

"Quiet," Snape said coldly, closing the classroom door behind him.

In fact, he didn't need to order everyone to be quiet at all. As soon as the door slammed shut, the whole class fell silent, and all their little movements stopped.

Generally speaking, Snape's mere presence was enough to silence the entire class.

This is the formidable power of Old Bat; even a professor might not possess such power.

At Hogwarts, everyone gives a thumbs-up whenever Professor Snape is mentioned—of course, a thumbs-down.

Even Slytherin like Draco sometimes couldn't help but want their Headmaster, let alone others?

Of course, it's possible that some people might be masochists.

"Before we begin our lesson today," Snape strode to the podium, looking sternly at them, and said, "I think I need to remind you that next June you will be taking an important exam, where you will prove how much you have learned about Potion Making and potion-using. Although there are a few of you in this class who are indeed quite slow-witted, I expect you all to barely 'pass' the O. W. L. exam, or I will—be very angry."

His gaze fell on Neville's face this time, and Neville gasped in fright.

"I was referring to the intellectually dull ones," Snape added, "Specifically the three Gryffindor Troll brothers."

The students chuckled softly, mostly the gloating laughter of the Slytherin students.

Since it was Slytherin Head of House's class, he wouldn't deduct points from the Slytherin, so the Slytherin should relax a little in class.

It's not that tight.

"Quiet!" Snape said again, and the classroom immediately fell silent once more, with only the students' even breathing.

"Of course, after this year, many of you will no longer be able to attend my classes," Snape continued. "I only select the best students for my NEWTs Potions class, which means some of us will have to say goodbye."

As Professor Snape spoke, he picked up his wand and tapped it on the blackboard.

"Of course," he said. "That happy farewell is still a year away before I can stop seeing you silly little Troll."

"But I need to warn you that if you can't study hard and achieve a satisfactory grade above 0. WLs, then I suggest that you try not to reveal the name of your poor old professor when others ask who your Potions professor is."

Harry knew Snape was serious. After all, it was indeed embarrassing for a Potions Master to have students who failed their exams.

You'll be lucky if they don't reveal your old professor's name if you embarrass yourself in the future.

A short burst of giggling laughter came from the classroom, but it quickly disappeared.

Professor Snape grunted and tapped the blackboard with his wand again.

"The medication you need to prepare today is Calming Draught, which can soothe and relieve agitation and anxiety. Note: If the ingredients are mixed carelessly, the person taking the medication may fall into a deep, sometimes irreversible, drowsy state."

Therefore, you need to pay extra attention to your behavior.

Professor Snape's voice was loud, and towards the end, he emphasized "pay extra attention" and turned his gaze to Harry, who was lost in thought.

"Potter!" Snape suddenly mentioned Harry's name.

"Huh?" Harry didn't react for a moment, but Anne reminded him in a voice barely above a whisper.

He then stood up and looked at Professor Snape, wondering why the other man had suddenly called his name.

"Potter, tell me!" Snape said in a calm voice, "What are the effects of the Calming Draught?"

"It can calm and soothe feelings of irritability and anxiety," Harry replied, repeating the precautions Snape had just mentioned.

Snape laughed, clearly in pain.

"Trying to be clever, two points deducted from Gryffindor!" he said slyly. "Skipping out in class, another three points deducted from Gryffindor!"

Harry: —.

Are you trying to pick a fight?

But despite thinking it, Harry couldn't bring himself to say it, after all, Snape was the professor.

Oh well, what's wrong with letting him say a few words? It's not like he'll lose anything. Let him say whatever he wants!

"If you don't sit down," Snape said, looking at Harry was still standing like a pine tree, "I'll deduct a few more points from Gryffindor."

Harry didn't say anything and just sat down.

"Does he have a grudge against you?" Anne asked in a low voice.

"Let's talk after class," Harry replied to Anne, squeezing out a sound through his teeth.

He really didn't want Snape to find any more fault with him, that old man!

On the platform, Snape was explaining in detail how to make the Calming Draught.

Below the podium, Harry was resting his chin on his hand, lost in thought. After all, he had learned how to brew the Calming Draught from Professor Sharpe.

After Snape assigned the task of brewing potions in class, Harry and Anne worked together and quickly brewed a potion of Calming Draught.

Seeing Harry stop what he was doing, with a pot of potion already brewed in front of him, Snape quickly walked over, stirred the pot in Harry's pot, smelled it with his fan spell, and looked at Harry with his hawk-like eyes.

"Gryffindor loses two points for not following the correct steps in brewing the potion." Snape's sinister voice rang out again.

Harry:?

He really couldn't hold back anymore, but considering it wasn't appropriate to reprimand the professor in Potions Class, he forced himself to restrain himself.

He realized that Snape had come here today to deliberately cause trouble!

Harry was the first to rush out of the classroom after finally getting through class.

I don't want to stay in classroom B for even a minute longer.

However, as soon as he stepped outside, he saw Hedwig waiting for him at the classroom door with a letter in her mouth.

He stepped forward, picked up the letter, and discovered it was written to him by Sirius.

When Harry opened it up, he almost fainted.

"No wonder Snape was targeting me like this!" Harry gritted his teeth as he looked at the letter. It turned out that his Godfather had specially mailed Snape a photo album of Lily and James, along with some old photos.

Oh, it's a photo of James, the other three, and Snape hanging up. It's pretty damn wicked.

Damn it, you need pig's heart for cardamom?

For a moment, Harry suddenly understood why Snape had suddenly targeted him.