Potter, Penalty, Penalty Penalty! (Seeking Investment, Seeking Follow-up Reads)

Friday morning.

Ron poked at the sausages on his plate, his mood rather sour: "We have Potions today, and we're sharing it with Slytherin. Harry, didn't you say Professor Snape doesn't like you?"

"I heard George mention it; he's incredibly petty and always targets those he doesn't take a shine to. You need to be careful."

Harry nodded noncommittally.

Once they reached the classroom and the lesson began, Snape made no effort to hide his emotions, laying his disgust—and even hatred—bare.

Snape walked in.

The already gloomy classroom felt even more oppressive.

Without a single word of introduction, he tapped the lectern: "Oh, look who has graced my classroom."

"Harry Potter."

"The natural-born Gryffindor, the legendary savior who drew the Sword of Gryffindor at his sorting ceremony, the figure who stirred up the winds the moment he entered Hogwarts."

"Tsk."

"Potter, did your father never teach you that you are expected to stand when a professor calls your name?"

"Oh, my apologies, I forgot you have no father."

A ripple of snickering broke out from the Slytherin side.

The Gryffindor students looked at Harry with concern. They had heard the rumors, but seeing it with their own eyes was still hard to believe—every other professor adored Harry, even the muddled Quirrell.

Yet Professor Snape, the Head of Slytherin House, was so full of loathing and spite.

Harry stood up: "Thank you for the reminder. Actually, my mother has passed away as well; truly, no one has ever taught me these things."

The snickering from the Slytherins grew louder.

Bang!

Snape slammed his hand onto the lectern, teeth gritted: "Potter! I am not here to discuss your family situation! Keep your mouth shut!"

"And the rest of you—do you find this amusing?"

"Would you like me to carve these lessons into your Troll-like brains, or perhaps... administer a Draught of Forgetfulness so you can experience the joy all over again?"

The little snakes immediately lowered their heads.

The Head of House's toxicity was higher today than it had ever been.

Snape took a deep breath, reverting to his previous, oppressive tone.

"Other professors have claimed you perform admirably in their classes."

"But Potions is different. It is a subtle science and an exact art; it is not a place for your witty remarks, nor is it a place where your little cleverness will serve you. Keep your mouth shut!"

"Very well, Potter—if I were to add powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood, what would I get?"

He shifted the topic abruptly, firing the question at him.

There was torment, struggle, and a tiny sliver of anticipation hidden deep beneath all the malice—so faint it was almost imperceptible, nearly escaping Harry's perception.

"Draught of Living Death, a very powerful sleeping potion."

Snape immediately pressed on: "And if I were to ask you to find me a bezoar?"

"Kill a goat, cut open its stomach, and find it inside," Harry replied.

Snape let out a scoff, though he didn't even notice his tone soften slightly: "There is no need for you to take it upon yourself to add so many unnecessary steps."

"You certainly have a bit of cleverness. Now, monkshood..."

He proceeded to ask a barrage of questions.

Hermione began anxiously tapping her desk, and Ron stared, dumbfounded.

The questions covered nearly the entire first-year curriculum. Some of them, Hermione admitted to herself, she wouldn't have been able to answer, yet Harry responded fluently, barely needing to think.

"You do possess a certain cleverness to scrape by," Snape said, glancing at the window and tapping the desk, his voice turning dull again. "For those self-important, unnecessarily added steps of yours... Gryffindor loses one—"

The word "one" had barely left his lips.

Snape caught sight of Harry's cat-like, amber eyes, gritted his teeth, and deepened his tone: "Gryffindor loses five points!"

Hermione stood up abruptly: "Professor, that's not fair!"

"Harry answered so many questions; he could pass the first-year final exam right now. He's brilliant, how can you still take points away!"

Snape gave a contemptuous smile: "And you, Miss Otter, are you questioning a professor?"

"No, I just..." Hermione shook her head hurriedly.

Snape shook his head: "What is your name?"

"Hermione Granger."

"Very well. Reckless, impulsive, a typical brainless Gryffindor-style girl. For back-talking a professor, Gryffindor loses one point!"

Hermione wasn't angry; she looked up, her eyes filled with confusion.

Harry had performed brilliantly, yet he lost five points.

He had talked back to the professor, yet only lost one point.

Was the grudge between Harry and Professor Snape really that deep?

"Now, sit down!" Snape waved a large hand. "Some of you have glib tongues, but that is useless. A glib tongue can only make you a herbalist."

"Potions require precise control of heat, the most compatible magical synergy, and the most ingenious proportions. Without practical application, everything else is just empty talk."

Snape drew his wand and tapped the blackboard lightly.

Several lines of text appeared.

"Now, pick up your cauldrons, light your fires, and brew your potions." Snape watched all the students with cold eyes. "I have no theory to teach you here."

"Potions are all about trial and practice, improving bit by bit."

"There are no shortcuts to be gained by being clever!"

"I hope none of you have a brain like a Troll or a Mountain Troll, making a fool of yourself by blowing up your cauldron in the very first lesson."

Neville shivered.

Seamus stood with his hands on his hips, completely unaware of himself.

Harry had already tried brewing this potion many times over the summer, so this time, it was second nature.

Snape came over several times to find fault, but Harry's technique was textbook perfect, leaving no room for criticism, which only made him snort coldly and turn his head away.

Harry remained completely unaffected.

On the contrary, Neville, sitting nearby, became even more nervous; he was trembling so much that he grabbed a handful of Porcupine Quills and was about to toss them into the pot.

Harry quickly grabbed his hand: "Don't put them in. Move the cauldron away first, or it will explode."

Neville gave a violent start, hurriedly pulled his hand back, and thanked Harry sincerely: "Oh, thanks."

"Mr. Potter, do you feel that since you have no problems yourself, you can bestow favors upon other students and recruit followers?" Suddenly, Neville was startled, his hand jerked, and half a pot of water splashed out. Fortunately, it didn't scald anyone.

"Idiot! How can you brew potions with such unsteady hands!" Snape frowned. "Has a Troll eaten your brain, leaving you without even basic physical coordination?"

Neville was on the verge of tears.

Snape sneered. This appearance... that shriveled, rat-like thing almost overlapped with Neville: "Potter, why didn't you finish your good deed and remind him to keep his hand steady?"

"Because of your mistake, Gryffindor loses two points!"

Neville couldn't even bring himself to be afraid.

It was clearly he who had splashed the hot water, so why... why was Harry the one who lost points?

Ron and Hermione, sitting behind them, were completely dumbfounded.

Harry's expression didn't change at all as he continued to brew his potion.

An hour later, the lesson ended, and it was time for the final critique.

Just as Snape had said, potion-making was an exquisite art; even with the steps written in detail on the blackboard, less than half of them managed to brew a successful batch.

Hermione and Malfoy were the best students aside from Harry.

Yet they didn't receive a single word of praise from Snape, nor even a moment of extra attention—Snape's goal was clear: he was targeting Harry.

He picked up Harry's potion, swirled it, observed the color against the firelight, and sniffed the scent. The inspection was so detailed that it exceeded the combined time spent on all the other students.

"You do indeed have a bit of talent for Potions." Snape didn't look at Harry; he stared at the potion, slightly distracted, his tone softening a little.

Ron and Hermione were stunned again.

Oh...

Was this still the venomous Professor Snape who had been nitpicking for two whole lessons?

Snape turned his head to look at Harry, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't see the traces that should have been there—not even a hint of the other person.

Those amber cat-like eyes.

A sudden mutation.

Snape's expression turned cold in an instant. He placed the potion gently on the table, then slammed his hand down hard: "But do you think what you've done is excellent?"

"Use that brain of yours, which is only slightly better than a Troll's, and think—think carefully!"

"Why must the Porcupine Quills be added only after the cauldron is moved away? If you understand that reason, then why didn't you wait for the boiling water to cool down a bit more before adding the quills?"

"And the Stewed Flobberworm—I asked you this question before. It is a material with complex medicinal properties. Which part of those properties does the Boil-Cure Potion require?"

"Why didn't you cut that part away before stewing it? It should have been an excellent potion, but because of your mistake, it can only be called barely passable."

"Potter, for this, Gryffindor loses two points!"

The other students shrank back in fear.

Oh... that moment of gentleness just now must have been an illusion; this was the real Professor Snape.

Snape turned his head away and continued to critique the next student.

"Harry, don't be sad, you were already great." Hermione and Ron leaned over to comfort him.

Harry was confused: "Why would I be sad?"

"The potion you brewed was better than mine; he was just nitpicking..." Hermione began.

Before she could finish, Harry shook his head and interrupted: "No, Professor Snape just has a sharp tongue, but he was right."

"Those were indeed the parts of the potion I didn't brew well."

Hermione opened her mouth, momentarily at a loss for words.

One is willing to hit, and the other is willing to take the beating.

This...

How is one supposed to comfort him?

Snape whipped his head around, eyes narrowed, and glared viciously at Harry: "Potter, is gossiping about a professor behind their back amusing? How arrogant, five points from Gryffindor!"

Hermione was stunned, clenching her fists, and once Snape turned back around, she apologized with deep guilt: "I'm sorry, it's my fault you were penalized."

In one class, fourteen points deducted.

Earth-shattering.

Harry shook his head: "I've gained nearly fifteen points in other classes this week; it's enough to make up for it."

As he spoke, he paused: "You only lost one point, but you've earned ten in other classes, so you're still up by nine."

When the lesson ended.

Ron packed his bag and extended an invitation to the young girl beside him: "We're going to Hagrid's place later—the big guy who led us from the train station and brought us to the castle. Do you want to come with us?"

Hermione had stood up for Harry.

This made his favorability toward her soar.

"Wait for me a moment, I have something to ask Professor Snape." Harry finished packing his things, set his bag on the table, and walked straight toward Snape.

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