Professor, May I Take Your Class Again?

"I swear Snape hates me," Harry said gloomily as he climbed the stairs out of the dungeon classroom. "It's only the first week of school, and I've already cost Gryffindor points."

"Don't think like that, Harry. Losing points is perfectly normal. Fred and George cost Gryffindor points every week," Ron said, trying to comfort him. "Even Eliana lost points, and she's brilliant. She lost them in both Transfiguration Class and Potions Class."

"And she's got it worse than you. She has to stay behind and clean the classroom."

Harry felt a little guilty for taking comfort in that, but he did feel better.

"Poor Eliana," he said.

Ron nodded emphatically. "Right? We've all left, and she's stuck facing Snape alone. She can't even use magic."

Harry's spirits sank again. "If I were the one being punished, Snape wouldn't even have to say that. I wouldn't know how to clean with magic anyway."

"Neither would I," Ron reassured him. "It's fine. Hardly anyone does."

That was true. Harry realized there wasn't much difference between him and the others. Even Ron, Seamus, and Malfoy, who had grown up around magic, didn't have much of an advantage. They were all equally outclassed by Eliana and Hermione.

Maybe young Wizards from Muggle families were smarter after all.

Thinking of Eliana brought Harry down again. Who knew what his friend was going through right now?

At that moment, Eliana, whom the two boys pictured as a helpless little victim, was cheerfully wiping down the tables in the Potions Classroom. It looked like a punishment, but seen another way, it was a perfect chance to make an impression on the professor.

She had asked around. Professor Snape taught Potions Class to the entire school. With so many students, and with him being a Potions Master, there were bound to be all sorts of people trying to get close to him. If she didn't make herself memorable, he might not even remember her by graduation!

She scrubbed diligently, finishing the tables farther away before gradually working her way toward Snape at the front of the room.

Snape was grading the Scabbers Potion they had made. Now Eliana was even more interested. She craned her neck, wiped the table twice, glanced at Snape, wiped twice more, and glanced over again.

One very murky potion got a P. Eliana nodded to herself. It didn't look like much; a P seemed fair.

Next came a potion like wet cement. Eliana recognized it as Harry's. Snape seemed to recognize it too. Frowning in disgust, he gave it a T.

The next bottle held a clear, pale-blue potion. Eliana recognized her own. Fighting back her excitement, she pretended to focus on the table, though her eyes strained so hard toward the tip of Snape's quill that they nearly rolled out of their sockets.

"Miss Richie."

The low voice rang out in the quiet classroom. Eliana, who had been staring intently at her grade, jumped so hard she nearly dropped her rag. "Ah—what?"

Snape looked with satisfaction at Eliana, who had startled like a chick. Even his voice sounded a little brighter. "I believe you were given detention to clean, not to destroy school property. Spare that poor table. You're about to rub a hole through it."

Eliana looked down. Sure enough, she had polished the table until it almost shone. It stood out among the other dingy, timeworn tables.

"Haha. There was a stain here that wouldn't come off, and I got a bit carried away."

It was a feeble excuse.

Embarrassing someone seemed to put Snape in an even better mood. He said nothing more, but deliberately set aside the potion he had yet to grade and moved on to the others.

Watching Eliana squirm with impatience without daring to make a sound, he gave the assignment in his hand a P with relish.

Tormenting these little Noggails—stupid, incapable of following instructions, and somehow able to make exactly the mistakes he had warned them against despite having every step written on the blackboard—was the perfect cure for the damage teaching them had done to his soul.

After grading every other assignment, he finally picked up Eliana's bottle. Under her desperate gaze, he drew a swift mark in the grade column.

Judging by the path of his quill, it was probably an E.

At any rate, it wasn't the round shape of an O.

Eliana forgot all about being embarrassed. She darted to Snape's side. "Professor Snape, why didn't my potion earn an O?"

She had meant to ask what she needed to do to earn an O, but in her haste, she hadn't chosen her words carefully. It sounded as though she was unhappy with her grade.

At least, that was how Snape took it.

Of course. Even when these Gryffindor cubs looked well-behaved, they were still stupid, reckless, arrogant, insufferable little Noggails.

"How's that? Does Miss Richie believe her potion is flawless?" He gave a cold laugh, then launched into a rapid-fire critique.

"Suppose you had taken more care grinding the snake fangs—crushed them first, then gone over them with the back of your knife. Perhaps the finer powder would have blended better with the potion? When choosing slugs, perhaps you could have picked ones of a more uniform size. Or do you find mismatched sizes more aesthetically pleasing? And some of the slugs were prepared barely adequately, while others were handled very crudely. What, did you dislike the look of those particular slugs... What are you doing?"

He stopped.

"I'm writing down what you're saying!"

Eliana's quill flew across her textbook. She wrote so fast, as though afraid of missing a single point, that ink splashed onto the tip of her nose.

She wiped her nose without a second thought, smearing it green. Her eyes still shone eagerly. "Professor Snape, is there anything else? You're incredible! You can tell so much just from a finished potion!"

Snape went still.

He was widely considered a vicious, mean-spirited, scheming, detestable professor. Of course, he disliked these students too—and didn't care what they thought. That made it easy for him to tell that the student before him was, astonishingly, sincere.

Had the fumes from Longbottom's exploding cauldron got to her head?

Snape considered whether fumes from ruined potions could affect the human brain.

When he showed no sign of continuing, Eliana put her quill away with some regret. Then a thought struck her, and she spoke up again with fresh enthusiasm.

"Professor Snape, I remember you have Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff this afternoon. It's their first lesson too, so you'll be covering the same material as you did with us, right?"

"What's this? Must I submit my lesson plans to you for approval, Miss Richie?" Snape asked with his usual sarcasm.

Eliana wasn't fazed in the slightest. She edged closer, smiling sweetly. "Professor, I don't have classes this afternoon. Could I join them and take your class again?"

In all his years of teaching, Snape had never heard anyone so eager to subject herself to another lesson with him. For a moment, he was stunned.

Good. He didn't immediately tell me off. There's a chance!

Eliana seized the opportunity, caught the corner of his cloak, and gave it a little tug as she pleaded softly. "Please, Professor Snape. I really like your class, and I love Potions. Please let me take it again."

"I think you teach wonderfully. Now that you've pointed out so many things I did wrong, I want another chance to practice and see if I've improved."

The sweet talk poured out of her.

Snape stared at Eliana as if she were a Troll performing ballet.

Eliana looked up at him with earnest, hopeful eyes.

Snape yanked his cloak free as though she were a brazier that had burned him, then strode toward the classroom door.

His black robes billowed like waves as he tossed a cold remark over his shoulder.

"If you show off in class because you've already had the lesson once, Miss Richie, I'll throw you straight out."

Eliana ignored the barbs. He said yes!

She scrubbed the tables even harder. Spotting the graded potions on the lectern, she called helpfully after him, "Professor, shall I carry those assignments to your office for you?"

The bottles and jars vanished in an instant.

Oh. He didn't need help.

Eliana smacked her lips regretfully, then slapped her forehead.

Right. There was something else.

Professor Snape had said some of her slugs were prepared properly and others weren't. That meant the method she had learned from Malfoy really was useful.

Of course it was. The Malfoys were an old Wizard family. Malfoy might look a little inept, but he must have picked up quite a bit growing up.

Perhaps she could sit with Malfoy in future Potions Classes and learn from him up close.

As for whether Malfoy wanted to—she could just drag him over before class. Those scrawny arms and legs didn't look capable of much of a fight. Why should she care whether he liked it?

With another matter settled, Eliana hummed happily to herself.

In the Slytherin Common Room, Malfoy sneezed twice in quick succession. A sudden chill ran down his spine.

"Is there a leak somewhere? Why does it suddenly feel so strange in here?" He looked around, found nothing, and sat back down with a scowl. "These buildings are almost as old as Merlin. Can't Hogwarts maintain them properly?!"