Targeted by Snape

The moment the bell rang, Professor Baker hurried out of the classroom, leaving a crowd of first-years chattering among themselves.

"Did the professor mean he's stronger than Mr. Lockhart?"

"Of course! Only weak people need to rack their brains to figure out how to solve a problem. A powerful wizard can take care of everything with a single spell!"

"But that's Lockhart we're talking about, the famous adventurer!"

"That doesn't mean he's the strongest. He's certainly no match for Professor Dumbledore, is he? Besides, Lockhart's only an honorary member of the Defense Against the Dark Arts League, while the professor's on the board. He outranks Lockhart by several levels!"

Avada: ...

Sure enough, power-scaling arguments were unavoidable in every world and every field.

Though there was hardly anything to argue about here. Lockhart was a fraud who craved fame. Avada's schedule included a plan to find a way to expose him once he started teaching, see that he received the justice he deserved, and return the credit to his victims.

And Professor Baker was the real deal, too. Avada could sense that his vitality and mental strength were extraordinarily powerful, putting him on the same level as established powerhouses like McGonagall and Flitwick, and just below Dumbledore.

Still, perhaps it was just his imagination, but there seemed to be something odd about the structure of Professor Baker's mental strength. He couldn't put his finger on what was wrong.

"Hey, K!"

His dormmate Joel Stebbins, seated beside him, poked him and asked, "What's next? I forgot my timetable."

Avada took out his timetable and checked. "Potions, with Slytherin."

"Oh, great. Just our luck."

Stebbins put a hand to his forehead. "I heard from the older students that the Potions professor is Slytherin's Head of House. He's not only strict and demanding, but really favors his own house. Apparently, Slytherin's won the House Cup every year since he started teaching!"

Avada rolled his eyes. Even Hufflepuffs, who didn't like gossiping behind people's backs, had that kind of opinion of Snape. Whatever he was like as a person, he clearly wasn't cut out to be a teacher.

"Relax. At least we don't have to face him as Gryffindors," Avada said reassuringly. He slung his bag over his shoulder, left the classroom, and headed for the Potions Classroom.

The Potions Classroom was in the dungeons beneath Hogwarts. It was said to have been converted from a dungeon cell. The room was dark and damp, and much colder than elsewhere. Specimens preserved in liquids of unknown origin lined the walls, making for a rather unsettling sight.

"Tell me, why would they use a place with almost no ventilation as a Potions Classroom? Aren't they worried that some student might slip up and create a poisonous gas, wiping out everyone in the room?"

While they waited for Snape to arrive, Avada nudged Baron beside him and asked in a low voice.

"Who knows?" Baron replied helplessly. "This place is still all right. Our common room and dormitories are even worse. They're right at the bottom of the Black Lake. Now that's what I call cold, damp, and airless. I reckon I'll come down with rheumatism after a year there!"

"Then perhaps you should try a Wiggenweld Potion, Mr. Shafiq. If you'd bothered to read through the first-year textbooks before term began, you might have remembered it."

A low, toneless voice sounded without warning above Avada and Baron. They both shuddered, then sheepishly looked up and met a pair of black eyes hidden beneath greasy hair.

"And the Potions Classroom has comprehensive safety measures. So please don't use those ignorant heads of yours to make thoughtless judgments about things you don't understand. Hufflepuff, minus one point."

Avada's eye twitched. That was more like it.

Still, Snape had only taken one point. He must have been holding back. If Harry had dared to criticize his classroom to his face, Gryffindor would probably have become Gryffindamn on the spot.

Avada and Baron were seated in the front row, so the rest of the class only realized Snape had arrived after he finished reprimanding them. Everyone hurriedly sat in silence. It was their first lesson, but they'd already heard something of the professor's "reputation," and they were all rather more subdued.

"Now, attendance."

At some point, Snape had produced a sheet of parchment. He stared down at it, his brows drawn tightly together, making him look almost fierce—a look none of their previous professors had worn.

"...K!"

He practically ground out the name through his teeth.

Oh, no!

Avada's eyes widened as he remembered that his name was apparently the second reason Snape had lost the love of his life!

He'd been glad earlier that he wasn't a Gryffindor, thinking Snape might be a little kinder to him. Instead, he'd gone straight to hellish difficulty—and might even get the special treatment reserved for the Chosen One.

"...Here."

He answered in a trembling voice.

Snape gave a snort through his nose. He seemed to remember that there was no point taking his anger out on an innocent child who was a victim himself, and his expression softened as he continued, "Baron Shafiq!"

"Here!"

"John Macnair!"

"Here!"

Once he'd confirmed that everyone was present, Snape put away the roll and slowly swept his intimidating gaze over every student in the room.

"Potions," he began softly, but in the silent classroom, every word carried clearly to everyone's ears, "is a precise and scientific art. I know that in your previous lessons, every professor did their utmost to showcase the appeal of their subject and kindle your interest..."

"But in my class, I'm afraid I don't believe most of you will ever appreciate the appeal of this art. Since it often requires no wand, some of you may not even believe it's magic."

"I don't expect you to truly appreciate the wonders of a cauldron simmering over a low flame, sending up wisps of white smoke and wafting out a delicate fragrance. Nor will you truly understand the marvelous power of a potion flowing through one's veins, stirring the heart and clouding the mind... But I can still teach you how to enhance your reputation, brew glory, and even put a stop to death..."

"On one condition: that you aren't the kind of talentless fools I so often encounter."

That unprecedented opening speech left the entire room utterly silent.

"K!" Snape suddenly called Avada to his feet. "Answer me this: what's the recipe for Wiggenweld Potion?"

Here we go.

Avada rose in despair, answering as he tried to remember. "Fire Salamander blood, cabbage, kudzu root..."

Then he got stuck. He'd spent most of the summer studying spells, Transfiguration, and the jinxes in his Defense Against the Dark Arts textbook. He'd done his best to memorize the material on potions and herbs, too, but his ordinary memory hadn't been up to memorizing the whole book in the time he had.

"And Fire Crab shell powder!"

Snape shot him a glance. "You can't answer even such a basic question. Sit down."

Unexpectedly, Snape didn't deduct any points from him. Perhaps it was because he wasn't a Gryffindor.

"This lesson, we'll be studying the Cure for Boils Potion. It's a very basic, yet classic potion recipe. The principles and techniques involved are used in the preparation of almost every potion."

Snape finally began the lesson in earnest. He took a cauldron, scales, and various other utensils from beneath the lectern, along with an assortment of bottles and jars. "First, I'll explain the process, then demonstrate it myself. After that, I'll pair you up so you can practise on your own."

"This potion requires Porcupine Quills, snake fangs, dried nettles... The proportions are... Be careful when crushing the snake fangs, as they may... There's also a specific order for the three separate times you boil the slugs. If you reverse the order, it will... And if you don't let the potion cool after the first boil, it will..."

Snape quickly and methodically filled the board with notes. The students below scribbled them down anxiously, afraid of missing even one detail and drawing his displeasure.

"...So, the slugs counteract the conflict between the properties of the Porcupine Quills and the snake fangs. But according to Beaumont's First Fundamental Law, their own properties alone aren't enough to... That's why they must be boiled three times and combined with..."

At last, Snape had finished explaining the process and principles behind the Cure for Boils Potion. He placed the cauldron in the center of the lectern. "Now I'll demonstrate it myself."