A Teaching Style That Left Much to Be Desired

In the staff room, Filch frowned and handed over a bandage.

"Why don't you go see Pomfrey?"

"No need. It's just a small wound." Snape took the bandage and answered casually.

"It doesn't look like it." Filch glanced at the blood-soaked, slightly blackened wound. "What exactly did you get yourself mixed up with? Something that could hurt you this badly... I thought there wasn't anything at Hogwarts that could harm you."

"Nothing. Just a dog." As the bandage tightened around his leg, a sharp pain shot through him. Snape cursed. "Damn thing. How could you possibly keep an eye on three heads at once?"

"What do you mean?" Filch asked, perplexed.

But Snape didn't answer. His pitch-black eyes, set beneath his hooked nose, snapped toward the door like a snake striking.

"Potter!"

As he shouted, he hurriedly lowered his robes to cover his injured leg.

Harry had seen for himself how angry Snape was. His face was almost twisted with rage.

After glancing at Glenn beside him, Harry found a little more courage, though he was still somewhat short of breath. At least he wasn't alone.

He took a deep breath and steeled himself before speaking. "I want to know if I can get my book back."

"Get out! Out!"

"Okay."

Harry immediately took several steps back, leaving Snape's line of sight.

It wasn't about having any backbone. Talking back to a professor was a major taboo, especially in a situation like this.

He had no doubt that if he didn't leave right away, Snape would invent some excuse to dock Gryffindor a good few dozen points.

Harry moved quickly, instinctively getting into a runner's starting stance—a move he'd often practiced at his aunt's house.

"Let's go..." He started to warn Glenn that Snape would soon come rushing out and take a hefty number of points from them.

But then he thought better of it. Surely Snape couldn't take points from his own House, could he?

At least, Harry hadn't seen him do that since the start of term...

"Go on. I'll get your book for you," Glenn said with a wave.

"Thanks." After leaving him with that, Harry didn't hesitate. He took off running.

The new Quidditch player certainly had a natural talent for sports.

So when Snape angrily limped out the door, he couldn't even see Harry's shadow.

"Runs fast, just like his awful father." Snape gave an irritated snort, as if he'd been reminded of some unpleasant memories.

First he'd been bitten by a dog, then Harry had come along to cause trouble, and now he still had to brew some antidotes and healing potions. The whole mess had put the professor in a truly foul mood.

"Mr. Howard, what are you doing here? If I recall correctly, curfew will be starting soon," Snape asked in his usual icy tone.

Filch and his cat, Mrs. Norris, had followed him out too. They eyed the student who had recently become the talk of the school with ill intent.

Although Filch got along best with Snape among all the Heads of House, he never went easy on students when it came to catching them breaking the rules and punishing them.

It was both his duty and his pleasure.

Faced with both of their gazes, Glenn remained calm.

"I came to ask for your advice."

Snape's bad mood eased slightly, but his tone remained cold. "It's too late now. Another day."

He turned to leave, but paused and asked, "What did you want to ask about?"

"The healing potion you mentioned in class." Glenn took a small box from an inner pocket of his clothes. Through the transparent glass, Snape could see that it was filled with Dittany leaves.

Perhaps because it had bathed in moonlight every day, a faint silver-white glow shimmered across the leaves.

"I grew some Dittany. Professor Sprout suggested I turn it into a potion while its medicinal properties are at their strongest."

At this, Snape seemed to take an interest. He looked back and forth between Glenn and the Dittany leaves.

After a while, he said flatly, "Then we'd better get started."

Then he headed toward the Potions Classroom.

"Be back in your common room before curfew, or you know what'll happen..." As Glenn followed Snape, Filch warned him in a low voice.

But they hadn't gone far when they reached a corner just out of Filch's earshot. Snape added, "Ignore him. If you get caught, give them my name."

"Okay."

The Potions Classroom was deep in the dungeons.

When Snape opened the door, a cauldron inside was already bubbling away, and a pungent smell hit them.

Snape drew his wand and tapped the cauldron a few times. The Bronze Stirring Rod on the teacher's desk flew over and began stirring the potion in a particular pattern.

"Sit at the front."

Once Glenn had taken a seat in the very front row, Snape began his lesson.

About half an hour later, Professor Snape stopped writing on the board.

The stone blackboard was already covered in densely packed instructions.

"A potion made by combining Dittany and Horklump Juice and then brewing them is called an Invigorating Potion. It isn't difficult to make. I think any student who's paid even a little attention in class should be able to follow the steps." Snape turned to Glenn. "So, Mr. Howard, did you understand?"

Glenn hesitated, but then nodded solemnly.

Of course, his solemn expression didn't mean he was pretending to understand.

He'd mastered the method for making Invigorating Potion a century ago. After brewing it hundreds, even thousands, of times, he'd even managed to improve on the original process.

So Snape's lesson was merely a formality. He could have ignored the whole thing and still been fine.

But out of respect for the professor, Glenn had listened to the entire lesson attentively—and then he realized there was a problem.

Could any student with no prior knowledge really understand his lessons?

From the details, Glenn could tell that Professor Snape was highly skilled at making Potions and had plenty of his own insights.

But when it came to teaching... that was another matter.

He wasn't even joking when he said that, for a moment, Glenn had wondered if he'd somehow given himself away.

But then he thought about it. He was genuinely eleven years old now and hadn't done anything out of the ordinary so far. How could he possibly be at risk of being exposed?

Yet when he met the Potions professor's gaze, Glenn understood from the serious look in his eyes: perhaps Professor Snape was simply bad at explaining things.

"Good, Glenn. It seems you have some talent after all." A rare note of approval appeared in Snape's dark eyes.

"On the left side of the classroom, second row, third column—there should still be some Horklump Juice. Make it for me."