Snape's Potions Class

During Headmaster Black's tenure, Quidditch was banned at Hogwarts.

It was an extremely unpopular decision.

One could say that if any headmaster dared to do such a thing, the very next day they would face the silent contempt of all students and even the faculty.

But for the great Headmaster Phineas Black, this was merely a drop in the bucket of his time in office; he had done plenty of unpopular things.

This created a rare phenomenon—his students' attitude toward him didn't change at all before or after the Quidditch ban.

Which further led him to feel quite pleased with this policy and decide to double down.

In the environment of a hundred years ago, Glenn had often heard of Quidditch but didn't know much about it.

Coupled with the fact that the sport had once directly driven the Golden Snidget to near extinction, he had no fondness for it.

Since Malfoy had a genuine need, and Glenn had no desire to join the Slytherin Quidditch team, doing him a favor was a decent move.

After all, sowing division within Slytherin wasn't a good choice.

Of course, the main reason was that Glenn had little interest in locking horns with an eleven-year-old.

It wasn't difficult—he just needed to express his refusal to Madam Hooch and Professor Snape, and recommend someone else in his place.

As for whether it succeeded, that wasn't his concern.

Compared to that, Glenn was more curious about where Hogwarts' kitchens were.

On this point, he had a certain idea.

Namely, to grab—cough—ask a Hufflepuff student.

Back when he was at school a hundred years ago, even after meal times had passed, Poppy could always pull out all kinds of food to treat him.

Whenever he asked, she would say it was because the Hufflepuff dormitory was close to the kitchens.

But when he pressed for the exact location, she would say it was a secret of their house and refuse to reveal it, unless he accompanied her there himself.

Glenn had originally agreed, planning to find a chance to go to the kitchens with her, but unfortunately, he got busier and busier and had to drop it.

This time, arriving at Hogwarts as a new student, he was determined to visit the kitchens.

With this thought in mind, Glenn discovered another problem.

Perhaps because Voldemort had once studied in Slytherin, the reputation of Slytherin nowadays was just too, too, too terrible.

Forget deep conversations with Hufflepuff students to get them to reveal where the kitchens were.

Even normal exchanges required constant vigilance; they dared not say much, afraid of being caught up in some scheme.

"So, what are you trying to say?" Malfoy said, feeling the gaze on him.

"I heard you challenged Harry to a duel at night, but planned to report him to Filch for leaving the dormitory after curfew," Glenn asked seriously.

"So what?" Malfoy leaned back in his armchair, speaking as if it were only natural.

See, that was the biggest problem.

If he were a student from another house, he too would choose to stay as far away from Slytherins as possible.

"Tone it down," Glenn said succinctly.

Hearing this, Malfoy snorted coldly.

"That's my freedom."

"But your freedom is interfering with mine."

At least, the freedom to get in and out of the kitchens.

"If you keep dragging Slytherin's reputation down, I'll have to consider channeling my undeveloped culinary talent into Quidditch," Glenn said, half-joking, half-serious.

If a more suitable candidate, a stronger competitor, actually appeared, Malfoy's chances of joining the Slytherin Quidditch team would drop significantly.

After a few seconds of hesitation, Malfoy gave his answer.

"Fine, for the sake of the Quidditch player."

"Malfoy is such a sneaky git!" Harry said in a low voice before the next day's Potions class.

"He said he'd duel me at midnight, but then he secretly tipped off Filch to catch us at the meeting spot!"

Huh?

Glenn was a bit surprised, then glanced at Malfoy sitting in the front row.

This Potions class was the first joint lesson between Gryffindor and Slytherin, taught by the Slytherin head, Professor Snape, so it was only natural that Malfoy wanted to make a good impression on him.

"I don't think he was the one who tipped them off."

Under Harry and Ron's puzzled looks, Glenn offered the most direct and solid evidence.

Malfoy and his two cronies had stuck with the main Slytherin group the entire time, both the day before and the day before that.

During class, breakfast, lunch, dinner, and free time, they were exactly where they were supposed to be, with no opportunity to seek out Filch.

And given Malfoy's personality, if he had been the one to leak it, he would have bragged about it all night in the Slytherin common room, not stayed completely silent on the matter until now.

"But if it wasn't him who tipped Filch off, there's no way Filch would've been at the Trophy Room at that time." Ron followed up. "George and Fred said the same thing. It's not like the school specially arranged for him to clean there that day, is it?"

His two older twin brothers, as the most mischievous pranksters in all of Hogwarts, naturally had an unusual understanding of the caretaker's movements.

Glenn paused thoughtfully. "That really is a coincidence."

But the conversation didn't continue.

Not because Glenn was defending Malfoy, of course.

Harry and Ron understood that even though he was a Slytherin, they had known this classmate long before the Sorting Hat did.

There was no reason to believe Glenn would lie for Malfoy.

The reason the topic didn't go on was because the teacher for this class—Snape—had arrived.

He was a professor with a hooked nose and greasy hair. Almost as soon as he entered the classroom, he began calling roll.

When he reached Harry's name, he paused. "Harry Potter... our new... celebrity."

Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle snickered behind their hands.

After finishing the roll call, Snape raised his cold, empty eyes, like two pitch-black tunnels.

Whether it was an illusion or not, Glenn felt his gaze linger briefly between Hermione, Ron's hair, and Harry's eyes.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began, his voice barely louder than a whisper, yet every word was perfectly clear to everyone.

"As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic."

"I don't expect you will truly understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses...

"I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death—but only if you aren't the sort of dunderheads I usually have to teach."

After he finished his opening speech, the entire class fell silent.

Hermione Granger was practically leaning forward on the edge of her seat, clearly eager to prove she wasn't a dunderhead.

"Potter!" Snape said suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Clearly. Five points from Gryffindor!"