Potions Class (Part 2)

The Potions class continued, with Snape dividing the students into pairs and instructing them to brew a simple Scabbers Potion.

Snape swept through the classroom in his long black cloak, watching them weigh Dried Nettle and crush Snake Fangs. Nearly every student received criticism, with only Malfoy and Damon spared. Even so, Snape's gaze at Damon remained as venomous as a serpent's, as if he were ready at any moment to lash out with sarcasm and ridicule.

Just as he was pointing out how perfectly Malfoy was steaming the Horned Slugs, Damon suddenly reached out and firmly locked onto Neville's plump hand—the one holding a Porcupine Quill.

"Wait, Neville." Damon's voice was calm and steady. "You need to take the cauldron off the fire first, then add the Porcupine Quill."

Neville jumped, quickly letting go, his face a mix of panic and gratitude. "Oh, goodness, thank you, Damon! I almost messed it up!"

Indeed.

If Damon hadn't been keeping an eye on Neville, this other Boy Who Lived would have knocked over the potion, broken out in red, swollen sores all over his body, and screamed in pain.

"Oh, Mr. White, it seems you're quite eager to 'help' your classmates."

Snape's tone was utterly devoid of warmth, dripping with sarcasm.

"But have you forgotten that you are not the teacher of this class? How dare you interrupt my lesson?" He paused, savoring the moment of cold mockery. "If you're so proficient in Potions, perhaps I should consider letting you take over the class and see what you can do for us."

The atmosphere in the classroom froze instantly. None of the students dared to make a sound, except for Malfoy, who let out a snicker.

Harry frowned and was about to speak up for Damon when Ron kicked him from behind the cauldron.

"Don't be stupid," he whispered. "I hear Snape is especially unreasonable."

Damon didn't respond immediately. Instead, he silently glanced at the cauldron of steaming potion.

Then, he said softly:

"Professor, since your standards are so strict, I naturally won't disappoint your expectations."

He walked to the potion table, elegantly picked up the ladle, and began from the start. His movements were fluid and seamless, without a single pause.

Snape stood nearby, his gaze as sharp as a blade, watching Damon's every move, as if waiting for him to make a mistake.

Yet, every action Damon took was flawless.

Minutes later, with the final step—adding the Porcupine Quill to the cauldron and stirring quickly three times—the solution gradually turned a moderate green, emitting a faint herbal scent.

Damon poured the potion into two vials, put one away, and handed the other to Snape.

"Professor, your guidance, please."

Snape stared intently at the vial Damon handed him, examining the nearly perfect, blemish-free potion. His brow furrowed slightly, and his voice was low with a hint of displeasure:

"I don't recall saying you could take the potion from here."

Damon gave a faint smile, as if entirely unaffected by Snape's words:

"This is the first potion I've brewed, a milestone on my journey to becoming a Potions Master. Please allow it, sir."

Potions Master.

Snape's mouth twitched. He silently picked up the vial, swirled it, and carefully observed the potion's texture and color.

After a minute, he finally set the vial down. His face remained expressionless, but a trace of barely perceptible approval flickered in his cold eyes.

After a moment of silence, he finally spoke, his tone still icy, as if unwilling to appear too generous:

"Remember, next time, don't casually take your potion away unless you can achieve perfection."

"...Also, Gryffindor gains one point, for your passable Scabbers Potion."

"Now, your Potions class for today is over. Leave my classroom!"

"As you wish, sir."

Damon packed up swiftly and left, leaving a group of young witches and wizards with jaws dropped.

"What are you all standing around for! Are your potions finished?! Neville Longbottom, join Mr. Potter's group and learn from them properly. If I catch you making a similar mistake again, I'll deduct ten points from Gryffindor directly!"

"Yes, Professor!"

Neville shrank his neck and scurried over to Harry's side, but his gaze couldn't help drifting toward the classroom door, where Damon had just exited.

By the time class ended, Gryffindor, which had been slightly ahead in the House Cup, had lost twelve points to various reasons Snape had concocted.

Meanwhile, Slytherin students had gained ten points for various reasons.

The Gryffindor students were deeply dissatisfied, but the only response they got was, "Talk back to the professor, deduct two more points."

Once the young witches and wizards, holding their tongues, stepped out of the classroom, they erupted into loud chatter. Besides the unfair grading by Professor Snape, the main topic was Damon's performance.

"I heard Professor Snape almost never gives points to students outside Slytherin. Damon actually managed to get points back after losing them to him!"

"And he took his own potion with him, man! You didn't see the look on Snape's face when I tried to take mine! I bet if he'd stared at me two seconds longer, I'd have pissed my pants!"

"Looks like only Damon can keep that unfair professor from finding fault! I bet Gryffindor's in for a rough time from now on!"

Hermione walked among the chattering students, her expression downcast.

She had lost. Lost badly!

Snape hadn't praised her potion, hadn't allowed her to take it away, and had even used Damon to mock her harshly!

She tried to hide her emotions, but Harry and Ron quickly noticed her unusual state—especially her unconsciously lowered head and slightly drooping shoulders.

They exchanged a glance, both clearly aware of her mood.

"Hey, Hermione, what's wrong? You look a bit off."

Harry walked over to Hermione, trying to break her silence with a light tone.

Hermione glanced at Harry, pursed her lips, said nothing, and walked straight away.

"Mate, why bother? Look at her—clearly she thinks she's no match for Damon and got knocked down."

Watching Hermione's retreating figure, Ron found the girl utterly tangled up, silently grumbling to himself that she belonged in Ravenclaw rather than Gryffindor. Still, he spoke up to change the subject:

"But I'm more curious—why doesn't Damon care at all about Snape's jabs?"

"See that? Snape's tone was practically hostile, and Damon wasn't fazed at all. He even said, 'As you wish, sir.' Could he be related to Snape somehow?"

"No, Damon said he's Muggle-born. No way he's connected to Snape."

"Then that's weird." Ron thought it over, couldn't figure it out, and gave up immediately. "Anyway, we've got the next two and a half days free. Time to enjoy our holiday!"