Snape's Potions Class

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

It was a deeply unpopular decision.

You could say that if any headmaster dared to do such a thing, then the very next day, every student and even the staff would be secretly cursing him.

But for the great Headmaster Phineas Black, this was only the tiniest drop in the ocean of unpopular things he had done during his time as headmaster. He had done plenty more.

This led to a very rare phenomenon: students' attitudes toward him didn't change at all before and after Quidditch was banned.

That only made him feel even more confident in his policy, and decide to double down.

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

On top of that, the sport had once driven the Golden Snidget to the brink of extinction, so he didn't think much of it.

Since Malfoy genuinely wanted to play, and Glenn had no desire to join the Slytherin Quidditch Team, doing him a favor seemed like a good idea.

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

Of course, the main reason was that Glenn had no interest in going head-to-head with an eleven-year-old.

It wasn't difficult. He only had to tell Madam Hooch and Professor Snape he wasn't interested, then recommend someone else.

Whether it worked or not wasn't his problem.

More than that, Glenn was a little more interested in finding out where the Hogwarts Kitchen was.

He had an idea about that.

He could catch—cough, ask—a Hufflepuff student.

Back when they'd been at school a century ago, Poppy could always pull out all kinds of food to share with him, even after mealtime was over.

Whenever he asked, she'd say it was because the Hufflepuff dormitory was close to the kitchen.

But if he asked where exactly it was, she'd say it was a secret belonging to their house and refuse to tell him—unless he went there with her.

Glenn had agreed at the time, intending to find an opportunity to go to the kitchen with her, but he'd gotten busier and busier and eventually had to let it go.

Now that he'd come to Hogwarts as a new student, there was no way he was passing up a trip to the kitchen.

With that in mind, Glenn had noticed another problem.

Maybe it was because Voldemort had once studied at Slytherin, but Slytherin's reputation these days was just so, so, so bad.

Never mind having a deep conversation with a Hufflepuff student and getting them to tell him where the kitchen was.

Even in ordinary conversations, they had to stay on guard and watch what they said, afraid of getting caught up in some scheme.

"So, what were you planning to say?" Malfoy asked, sensing the looks coming his way.

"I heard you challenged Harry to a midnight duel, but then planned to report them to Filch for leaving their dormitory during Curfew," Glenn asked seriously.

"So what?" Malfoy said matter-of-factly, leaning back in his armchair.

See? That was the biggest problem.

If he were a student from another house, he'd want to stay as far away from Slytherins as possible too.

"Tone it down," Glenn said succinctly.

At that, Malfoy snorted.

"It's my right."

"But your right is interfering with mine."

At least with his right to go in and out of the kitchen.

"If you keep dragging Slytherin's reputation down, I'll have no choice but to consider taking my undeveloped culinary talent to Quidditch," Glenn said, half joking and half serious.

If there were a better candidate, a more capable competitor, Malfoy's chances of joining the Slytherin Quidditch Team would drop considerably.

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

"All right. For the sake of a Quidditch player."

"Malfoy's a despicable little sneak!" Harry said in a low voice before Potions Class the next day.

"He said he'd duel me at midnight, but he secretly told Filch, so he'd come catch us at the place we'd agreed to meet!"

Hm?

Glenn was a little surprised, then glanced at Malfoy, who was sitting in the front row some distance away.

This was the first class shared by Gryffindor and Slytherin, and it was taught by Professor Snape, the head of Slytherin. It made sense that Malfoy would want to make a good impression on him.

"I don't think he was the one who told."

As Harry and Ron looked at him in confusion, Glenn offered the most direct and convincing evidence.

Malfoy and his two cronies had been with the main group of Slytherins all day the day before yesterday and yesterday.

During class, at breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and in their free time, they'd been exactly where they were supposed to be. They hadn't had any chance to go looking for Filch.

And knowing Malfoy's personality, if he really had been the one to tell, he'd have bragged about it all night in the Slytherin Common Room instead of keeping completely quiet about it until now.

"But if he didn't tell, Filch wouldn't normally have gone to the Trophy Room at that time," Ron added quickly. "George and Fred said so too. It couldn't have been some special school arrangement that just happened to send him there to clean, could it?"

As the biggest pranksters in all of Hogwarts, his twin brothers naturally had an unusually good grasp of the caretaker's whereabouts.

Glenn thought for a moment. "That really would be a coincidence."

The conversation didn't continue after that.

Of course, it wasn't because Glenn was defending Malfoy.

Harry and Ron understood that even though he was a Slytherin, they'd known their classmate longer than the Sorting Hat had.

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

The conversation stopped because their teacher for the 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 the roll.

When he got to Harry, he stopped. "Harry Potter. This is our new... celebrity."

Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle covered their mouths and snickered.

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

Maybe it was his imagination, but Glenn thought Snape's gaze seemed to wander between Hermione's hair, Ron's hair, and Harry's eyes.

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

"Since there's no foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic."

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

"I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death—but only if you aren't the kind of foolish dunce I so often have to teach."

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

Hermione Granger was perched on the edge of her chair, leaning forward, apparently eager to prove she wasn't a foolish dunce.

"Potter!" Snape said abruptly. "If I added Asphodel Root Powder to an Infusion of Wormwood, what would I get?"

"I don't know, sir."

"Good. Five points from Gryffindor!"