Potions Class

Unlike other subjects, Defense Against the Dark Arts was the only class Eliana disliked, and she disliked it intensely.

That day, unaware of what was to come, she entered the classroom like any other, confidently taking the center seat in the front row, closest to the lecturer's desk, and waited eagerly for the professor to enter.

The professor for Defense Against the Dark Arts sounded like someone with strong combat abilities just by the name.

Indeed, they had strong combat abilities. The moment the professor entered, the rich, almost tangible scent of garlic they carried with them slapped her twice across the face!

She saw stars and almost fainted on the spot!

When she came to, she saw a huge, foul-smelling purple turban swaying in front of her—just looking at it made her eyes ache from the fumes.

By the end of the class, she felt as if her soul had been thoroughly beaten by some dark, evil force.

It was terrifying!

Uncharacteristically, she didn't find an empty classroom to review or practice Transfiguration during lunch that day. Instead, she took a nap in the Gryffindor common room—she didn't even go back to her dormitory.

How could she dare touch her fragrant bed when she reeked of garlic?

In comparison, even the tedious History of Magic seemed lovely; at least the ghost professor didn't have a smell!

Professor Snape, whom she had taken a liking to at the Welcome Feast, taught Potions Class. Her first lesson wasn't until Friday. Influenced by Professor Quirrell, Eliana hesitated for a long time when choosing her seat.

At the Welcome Feast, Professor Snape had sat with Professor Quirrell and even spoken to him. As the saying goes, birds of a feather flock together.

In the end, she steeled herself and still chose the seat closest to the lecturer's desk.

A Potions professor probably wouldn't need to use garlic to ward off zombies... right? They're likely support staff, not frontline fighters?

Her initial impression of the black-haired, black-eyed professor was very high.

With a thump, the arched door was opened, and Snape strode in, his black robes billowing like a fluttering banner in the wind as he walked.

Eliana immediately and cautiously twitched her nose, following the direction of the wind. Good, no garlic smell.

Her tense nerves relaxed, and her favorability towards this professor instantly returned to full and then some.

So when Snape called her name, she responded loudly in a high-pitched, eager, and cheerful voice: "Here!!!"

The underground classroom seemed to echo with her shout.

Snape's voice paused slightly as he called the roll.

Eliana's already straight spine straightened even further, her eyes shining like light bulbs.

Snape indifferently shifted his gaze. After calling the last name, he spoke in a low voice:

"In my class, you are not to wave your wands about or chant spells haphazardly—"

Eliana nodded and put her wand away, her lips pressed tightly shut.

"Not everyone appreciates the profound discipline of Potions, however, for those select few of outstanding ability—"

As he said this, his gaze swept towards Malfoy of Slytherin.

Eliana, who had been closely observing this seemingly formidable professor, was not pleased. She subtly shifted her backside, blocking that line of sight.

She was in the first seat in the center, and she had indeed managed to block it.

Professor, look at me, look at me—I think I'll be an outstanding student too. I think that lightbulb-head isn't as smart as me!

Her eyes sparkled with spirited pride.

Snape, his line of sight interrupted, seemed to twitch at the corner of his mouth.

He disdainfully averted his gaze, as if he had just seen a slug charging at him.

"I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—"

Snape's lingering words seemed to sink slowly into the classroom like silk. Harry turned to look at Ron, and from his eyes, he saw a look of stunned amazement mirroring his own. Then he turned back to Eliana.

—He was horrified to discover that Eliana's face was filled with excitement, her obsidian-like eyes almost emitting lasers, her pupils shaped like hearts.

Harry took off his glasses and wiped them vigorously—had he gone blind?

Eliana genuinely admired Snape.

Listen to that: fame, glory, immortality!

She loved every single one! She wanted every single one! How powerful must Professor Snape be to bring them these things!!

She just loved powerful people!

To the point where his dark expression was automatically filtered in her eyes. What if he didn't give them a good look? For someone so powerful, wasn't it normal not to give these clueless little brats a good look?

He was so capable, what was wrong with being a bit difficult and eccentric?

Isn't the point of striving to become stronger so you can afford to be temperamental without restraint?

How satisfying is it to be like this, where others can't stand it but have to put up with it!

He has a temper, even better!

Eliana seemed to have found her life's goal.

Sensing a gaze from behind, she turned her head slightly. Oh, it was Harry.

But at this moment, she couldn't even be bothered to spare him a glance. Like a sunflower that had found the sun, she turned back towards Snape, blooming brilliantly.

Harry's eyes widened, almost as much as his glasses.

He suddenly looked up at Professor Snape, who stood with his arms crossed, his stern face looking unapproachable. Then he glanced at Eliana, whose head had turned back but whose slightly curved lips still betrayed her joy. He couldn't help but shiver.

"It seems some students do not agree with my words," Snape said slowly, enunciating each syllable. "Our very famous—Harry Potter!"

As he spoke the last word, he suddenly raised his voice and barked, "If I were to add Asphodel roots powder to an infusion of wormwood, what would I get?"

Startled, Harry jumped to his feet, his eyes widening as he looked at Eliana. She and Hermione beside her had their hands raised high, like two perfectly aligned young poplar trees.

But he knew the answer to this question—he'd secretly flipped through it when Eliana had stumped Malfoy on the train!

"A, a sleeping draught, the Draught of Living Death, is, is that right, sir?"

Snape didn't answer. His expressionless face continued, "If you needed a Gorgon's eye, where would you look?"

Harry's gaze drifted to Eliana again—she had asked this question too! On the boat!

No wonder she liked Snape, they had such good chemistry.

Perhaps because he stared for too long, Snape's gaze followed forward—and met Eliana's directly.

Eliana had turned like a sunflower ever since Snape had begun pacing over to Harry.

Making eye contact with the teacher, she excitedly raised her hand: Teacher, pick me, pick me! I know all of it, I even know which page it's on in the textbook!!

Snape sneered, "What, does the famous Harry Potter need a classmate to answer such a simple question for him?"

"Ah, no, Professor, I know. It's in a goat's stomach," Harry replied, snapping back to attention.

Eliana lowered her raised hand, and in frustration, she slapped herself on the mouth. Harry hadn't known on the train, it must have been because she asked!

Damn it! Why am I so talkative!

—Otherwise, I'd be the one showing off in front of Professor Snape right now.

It's the first question of the term, I could have made a great impression.

Eliana regretted it deeply.

But it seemed Snape didn't have a good impression of Harry just because he answered the question.

His face showed an expression like he'd swallowed a fly, like a hunter who had confidently set a trap only to find no wild boars had fallen in, and was annoyed.

"Sit down!" he barked at Harry, his gaze sweeping chillingly around the classroom. "I assume you're not taking notes because you all remember it perfectly?"

The students all lowered their heads in unison, the classroom becoming like a field of ripe, bowing wheat. Then, the rustling sound of note-taking began, like wind blowing through a wheat field.

After theory came practice. They were learning the Scabbers Potion.

Eliana studied very seriously. She first memorized all the steps on the blackboard in her mind, then quietly recited them twice fluently. Once she was sure there were no mistakes, she began.

Cutting the dried nettles into perfectly equal segments and weighing them was no difficulty for Eliana. The orphanage sometimes had fruit, and when dividing this rare delicacy among the children, one had to be extremely fair.

They would absolutely compare every angle, every side, and every direction. Even the slightest difference would make them cry out louder than a rooster crowing in the backyard, and they would roll, jump, and flail.

Unfortunately, Eliana was responsible for this head-splitting task.

So, when Snape, who had criticized almost the entire class, walked sinisterly to her side, Hermione next to her stiffened, but Eliana proudly looked up at Snape, waiting for praise.

There was no praise.

Snape glanced indifferently at the things on her desk and walked away without a word.

In less than a second, Eliana found a reason for him: Indeed, in the eyes of a potion master like him, my childish efforts are nothing.

Besides, he scolded the whole class, but not me, and didn't find fault.

That means the steps I'm currently taking are acceptable in his eyes.

My steps are acceptable in the eyes of a picky potion master!

Eliana coaxed herself into a smile.

She happily began grinding venom and steaming slugs—then she heard Snape praising Malfoy.

She glared over with knitted brows.

Malfoy's chest, which had been puffed out proudly from the praise, shrank slightly under Eliana's gaze. Then, feeling his pride wounded, he thrust it out even further.

Eliana didn't care whether the bracket of a platinum light bulb was convex or concave. Her large eyes, like searchlights, scanned the slugs on Malfoy's table and his actions with the cauldron.

Alright, it was indeed a little different.

It seemed these old wizarding families still provided some pre-school training for their children.

Eliana wasn't so arrogant as to think she was the best in the world. Especially when others truly displayed their strengths, she would learn diligently.

—However, she confidently believed that these people just knew some things earlier than her. Once she learned them, she wouldn't be worse than anyone!

She carefully followed Malfoy's method to process the slugs, steaming and boiling—adding—turning off the heat—adding porcupine quills—the potion turned into a pale pink smoke, just as described in the book, and the liquid gradually turned pale blue.

It was still perfect—especially compared to Harry's mud.

But, she pursed her lips with slight dissatisfaction. She felt it was a shade lighter than the standard color in the book.

Why?

She recalled her steps, wondering if it was because the slugs were initially prepared using her own method, but later she learned Malfoy's, and the two batches had slightly different ingredients put into the cauldron.

She intended to redo it.

Just as she was thinking, a thick smoke suddenly erupted in the classroom, and Eliana instinctively jumped onto the table.

Neville hadn't turned off the heat before adding the porcupine quills, and the potion sprayed out like a fountain. He was already soaked and covered in large welts.

But Eliana didn't have time to worry about him. Neville was sitting directly behind her, and the deadly liquid spraying from his cauldron was heading towards her—especially her cauldron!

Her assignment! Her grade! She might not have enough time to finish a second batch, but the potion was due for grading at the end of class!

She would rather die and jump off from here than get a zero!

Desperate, Eliana grabbed her cauldron and, with a swift move, jumped onto the podium.

The students in the classroom were suddenly all shorter than her.

Below, a collective hiss of indrawn breaths could be heard, as if everyone's cauldron had instantly become like Neville's.

Professor Snape vanished the potion from the floor, roared at Neville, told someone to send him to the hospital, and deducted a point from Harry. Then, he turned his head and met Eliana's gaze. She stood on the podium table, holding her cauldron, looking at him with excitement.

"Miss Richie, are you expressing your dissatisfaction with me?" he hissed softly. Before Eliana could react, his volume suddenly increased, "Get down!"

"Because you disrespect the professor, another point is deducted from Gryffindor!"

Eliana, who had been admiring Professor Snape's seamless handling of the mess and found his scolding style magnificent, was secretly learning from him in her heart: Huh???

If you like this book, remember to add it to your bookshelf so you don't lose it next time.