In the end, Neville was sent to Madam Pomfrey's hospital wing. It wasn't for any other reason; Snape simply didn't want to look at his face anymore.
The more he looked, the angrier he got.
Once order had returned to the classroom, everyone resumed brewing their Potions.
Under Taylor's hands-on guidance, Luke quickly finished his own batch of potion.
Looking at the light brown liquid in the cauldron and smelling the rich medicinal scent drifting into his nose, Luke nodded in satisfaction.
Of course, that did not change his opinion of his own talent.
Because Taylor had still done most of the work on this potion.
"Your talent for Potions is amazing," Luke said to Taylor.
Taylor shook her head. "It's only decent. My grandmother said I shouldn't get too full of myself. She said my little bit of talent was still a little worse than hers back then."
Luke's mouth twitched at that.
Good lord. If her grandmother was joking, that was one thing. But if she meant it, what kind of Potions master was her grandmother?
"Have more confidence. If your talent were really only decent, the professor wouldn't keep looking over here," Luke encouraged her.
He was not lying. Snape's gaze either lingered coldly and emotionlessly on Harry's face, or turned toward Taylor with something that could already be called eagerness.
It was only a small potion, and the brewing process was not complicated. Still, even though Taylor had practiced at home, her brewing speed was only slightly slower than Snape's when he was not being particularly serious.
But Snape had been brewing Potions for far longer than Taylor had been alive. Besides, he had improved this potion formula himself.
Furthermore, the potion Taylor brewed had fully achieved the effect he had envisioned. She had extracted nearly