Breeze Likes Points

Soon, all the young wizards had found their places. As luck would have it, the Little Lions had pushed Harry Potter to the very front, right beside Malfoy and his companions. Even before Professor Snape arrived, the air between them was already charged with hostility. It was clear Potter didn't care much for Malfoy.

Strangely, Malfoy didn't fly into a rage. He merely stared down his nose at Potter with his usual arrogance. Breeze thought that was already an act of mercy on Malfoy's part.

"Clang!"

The large doors behind the young wizards suddenly flew open, and a tall man dressed in black strode inside. In the blink of an eye, he was at the front of the classroom. He moved even faster than Breeze, whose short arms and legs were further hindered by his age.

"Ah... yes, hm."

Snape steepled his fingers and slowly scanned the face of every young wizard in the dungeon. Then he gave a snort and picked up the roll book.

As he called the roll, the young wizards answered nervously. Even the Slytherins were no exception. Breeze found it amusing and put on a pitiful expression as he answered, prompting Snape to give him an extra glance.

However...

"Harry Potter."

Before long, Snape's attention was drawn to Harry Potter. His gaze suddenly sharpened as he stared straight at Harry's face, his expression deeply conflicted. To everyone else, though, his face looked even more gloomy, and the warmth the young wizards had brought to the classroom seemed to vanish.

Potter...

Snape thought, Those eyes are just like Lily's, but apart from them, there's not a trace of her in him. He's got nothing but that idiot James Potter's looks!

The long pause made Potter uneasy. He swallowed and ventured, "Is something wrong, Professor?"

At Potter's words, Snape came back to himself. Without betraying anything, he spoke in his uniquely oily, unsettlingly drawn-out tone, his voice cold and hollow. "Oh, yes."

Snape's voice rose from a low murmur.

"Harry Potter. Our new arrival—the famous Harry Potter."

Malfoy snickered at the jibe, and the other Little Snakes watched without taking their eyes off the scene. The Little Lions had heard that Snape was biased against Gryffindor. Now they could see it wasn't a rumor. Snape had already bared his fangs at their Savior—Potter!

But no one dared speak. The chill Snape brought with him was so oppressive that they didn't even dare look at one another.

Snape set down the roll book and looked at the young wizards before him. "You are here to learn the precise art and exacting craft of potion-making."

"Since this doesn't involve foolishly waving a wand, many of you won't believe it's magic. I don't expect you to truly understand the beauty of a gently simmering cauldron, its smoke curling into the air as a delicate aroma drifts out. You won't truly understand the subtle magic in liquids that flow through people's veins, enthralling their minds and clouding their wills. I can teach you how to enhance your reputation, brew glory, and even stop death—but there's one condition: you must not be the sort of troll I so often encounter."

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

"I don't know, sir."

Snape pursed his lips in displeasure.

"Tsk. It seems fame doesn't mean everything."

"Let's try another one..."

As Snape continued quizzing him, Potter didn't know the answer to a single question. Hermione, beside him, was practically about to break her arm from keeping it raised. Breeze watched enviously. He knew the answers! Surely Snape would give him points!

"Potter, I see you didn't open a single book over the holidays, did you? Hm."

Snape glanced at Malfoy and his companions, who were laughing so hard they could barely contain themselves, then swept his gaze over the others. Perhaps it was the intensity of Breeze's pure-black eyes that caught his attention.

He thought, Magic spilling out in abundance... pure-black pupils?

Snape grew curious. He glanced at Harry Potter, who had his head lowered, his face flushed with anger, then said, "Breeze Order, why don't you tell Mr. Potter the answer? Let's hope you don't have the same troll's brain he does."

Oh, he called on me?

Breeze didn't care what Potter was thinking. He answered at once, "Asphodel Root and Wormwood can be combined to make a very powerful sleeping potion—one dose of the Draught of Living Death..."

"Perfect answer, Order." Snape seemed to sneer at Potter's mortified expression, then awarded Slytherin five points without a trace of hesitation. He continued, "Why haven't you written any of this down yet?"

"Oh, because of Mr. Potter's stupidity, Gryffindor loses one point."

"Scratch, scratch..." Quills slid over parchment without pause. Even Potter, who had lost a point, didn't dare slack off. He might have resented it, but he had to admit he hadn't opened a book. Besides, he didn't know the answers to questions he wasn't supposed to have learned yet.

Meanwhile, Breeze narrowed his eyes and smiled as he calmly wrote in his notebook: Potions Class, +5...

Snape's lessons weren't actually boring—or at least Breeze didn't find them so. He still didn't like Potions as much as Charms class and Herbology, and even found it a little nauseating. But for the sake of the points, he had to pretend to pay close attention and write down every step and key detail Snape put on the blackboard.

Once Snape finished writing on the board, Breeze began his first practical potion-making lesson.

A simple Cure for Boils. Breeze remembered the instructions well; this was what beginners like them were supposed to work with. The potion wasn't dangerous and was forgiving of mistakes, but getting a failed batch on your skin would only make things worse.

Breeze and Millicent Bulstrode worked well together—or, rather, it was enough for Breeze to do the work. Whenever he needed something, she only had to pass it to him, which was simple enough. At least she was a Slytherin. The two big fellows working with Malfoy and Nott were another matter. They were just bodyguards Malfoy's father had assigned to him.

"You're amazing, Order,"

Millicent Bulstrode whispered, watching Breeze work with admiration in her eyes. His movements were so smooth and effortless that he had almost finished preparing the potion in the cauldron. All that remained was the last ingredient: boiled slugs...

"You can do the next part. I can't selfishly keep all the learning to myself, dear Millicent." Breeze glanced at the slimy slugs writhing in their dish, along with the bubbles of slime they kept producing. Then he looked up a little and met Millicent Bulstrode's eyes. "Believe in yourself. Give it a try."

"All right. I mean, can I call you Breeze..." Millicent blushed a little, but her gaze grew more determined.

"Of course. You're a good girl, unlike anyone else."

With Breeze's "encouragement," Millicent soon boiled the slugs perfectly. Across the room, Malfoy also earned a point from Snape for boiling his slugs perfectly.

And then...

"Ah!"

"Idiot!" Snape had been looking for an opportunity to take points from Potter when he heard a strange cry from the Gryffindors. Neville had added Porcupine Quills while his cauldron was still on the fire, causing the potion to mutate and splash out. Now he was howling in pain, his arms and face covered in red, swollen boils.

The smoke billowing from the cauldron sent the young wizards into a panic. Snape reacted quickly, sweeping his wand to clear away the large spill of potion and the cauldron. The smoke overhead slowly faded.

Snape turned a cold face toward Neville's partner. "Take him to the Hospital Wing on the second floor."

Then he seemed to remember something and glared viciously at Potter. "Potter, why didn't you warn him not to add the Porcupine Quills? Gryffindor loses one point because of you!"

"That's completely unfair!" Potter couldn't help protesting.

Snape seemed to have been waiting for him to say that. He added lazily, "Talking back to a professor—another point off. If you don't learn your lesson, I'll take off ten more."

Potter's lips moved, but his partner, Ron Weasley, hurriedly held him back, and that was the end of it. Still, between this lesson and the earlier ones, Snape had probably taken seven or eight points from Potter by now, picking on him whenever he got the chance.

It had nothing to do with Breeze, but it made him dislike Snape a little more. Putting aside the question of right and wrong, Breeze thought Snape was indeed unfair. He disliked people and things like that, even if he had neither the right nor the duty to stop or change them.

"Put it in, Millicent, or our potion will be ruined too."

"Oh, all right."

Breeze lifted the cauldron off the fire and had Millicent pour in the boiled slugs. He stirred a few times, and the potion turned clear and bright.

"Excellent. Now we just need to pour it into a container."

Holding the Cure for Boils in his hand, Breeze could see its crystalline clarity in the lamplight. He was delighted, and Millicent beside him looked just as pleased.

"Mr. Order, would you please show me the potion you're holding?"

Breeze's clear movements had evidently caught Snape's eye. Snape never begrudged the Little Snakes their points. He was Slytherin's Head of House, and the House Cup awarded at the end of the year was an honor for him. It was his reward for tirelessly teaching a bunch of little trolls all year.

"All right, Professor Snape."

Breeze handed the potion to Snape, who inspected it carefully. He had been watching Breeze while looking for ways to pick on Potter, so he knew how much of the work Breeze had done and recognized his little trick. But that didn't matter. He cared about the result.

"Very good, Mr. Order—and Miss Bulstrode. You've made an excellent Cure for Boils. That proves you're not trolls with nothing but Fluxweed in your heads, so you deserve five points for Slytherin... Potter, where's your potion? Oh, it's gone bad in the cauldron. Very well, two points off Gryffindor, since your partner's portion is in there too."

Snape ignored Potter's angry glare and walked straight back to the front of the classroom.

"Now, hand in each of your potions, then go back and write a five-inch essay. It's due by next Wednesday."

"Potter, what are you doing? Are you trying to insult my eyes with the watery dregs in your cauldron? Clean it up and get out!"

Potter's face turned pale, then immediately flushed red. This was the worst day of his life. Snape followed up by accusing him of Gryffindor's ill intentions and taking off another point. Potter couldn't bear to face anyone. He hurriedly picked up his cauldron and dragged Ron Weasley out of the classroom.