Reading Comprehension in Potions Class

Tom sat back down in his seat with a look of grievance, while Daphne, sitting beside him, looked on in a daze, her expression one of utter confusion.

Tom had clearly answered the questions in such detail, so why was the professor still so furious?

The young wizards looked at one another, then collectively turned their gazes toward the seething Snape.

Snape felt agitated under their stares and roared at the entire class, "What are you looking at me for? Is the answer written on my face? Hurry up and copy it down—do you want me to stuff it into your heads myself? A bunch of blockheads!"

The young wizards shivered in fright and hurriedly lowered their heads to scribble away. Snape caught a glimpse of the notes Nott was taking in the front row and nearly fainted from rage.

He bellowed at Nott, "Why are you writing down Riddle's nonsense? I told you to record the potion recipe! The recipe! Do you hear me!"

Nott's hand shook in terror, and his quill clattered to the floor. He scrambled to pick it up, wiped away what he had just written, and began recording the recipe anew.

Finally, Snape clutched his forehead and gritted out, "You are truly the worst group I have ever taught, without exception!"

Snape's temples throbbed with the irritation Tom had caused him. His dignified professor persona had been shattered by this brat, and having lost his composure twice in a row, his cold, aloof image had completely collapsed.

Yet, he was the professor; he could not admit defeat to a student. He could only seethe internally, determined to find a way to catch Tom in a mistake.

With a cold face, he flicked his wand, and dense lines of potion instructions instantly appeared on the blackboard: "The ingredients and steps for the Cure for Boils are all here. Pair up to collect your materials. Anyone who dares to waste them will be cleaning the classroom for a week!"

The young wizards dared not dally and scrambled to collect their supplies. Tom naturally paired with Daphne. Only a week into the term, the divide between Slytherin and Gryffindor was already stark, and as both houses had an even number of first-years, there wasn't even an excuse for mixed-house teams.

Within minutes, the Potions classroom felt like a steamer, with wisps of smoke drifting throughout the room.

Brewing simple potions was not much different from cooking, requiring only more precise ingredient preparation and stricter measurements. Tom glanced at the blackboard twice and was already proficient.

Snape drifted silently around the room like a bat, leaving the young wizards on edge, each terrified of being targeted.

Everyone soon realized that Snape was venting all his fury on Harry.

"Potter! If you don't know what 'diced' means, ask! You've turned the porcupine quills into dust? Ten points from Gryffindor!"

"Potter, Hogwarts really should hire you a language tutor so the Savior doesn't fail to understand a professor's notes and become the laughingstock of the school! Another ten points!"

"Potter, I told you to stew the slugs—did you? Potter! Are you deaf?"

Harry regretted everything, cursing Tom a thousand times in his heart: This brat was talking absolute rubbish! He'd said Snape was apologizing, but it was clearly deliberate targeting!

By the middle of the lesson, Gryffindor had already lost ten points. Hermione was so anxious she was practically pulling her hair out, wishing she could brew the potion for Harry herself.

After Snape had finished berating Harry and had tossed a few sarcastic remarks at Longbottom, reducing the chubby boy to tears, he finally turned his gaze toward Tom.

He couldn't bring himself to deduct points—after all, Tom was a Slytherin—but he wasn't afraid of a verbal spar. If he could just find a single flaw, he could make Tom hang his head in shame.

Yet, he stared at Tom for a long time, his face growing longer and longer, unable to find a single error.

The "problems" he tried to nitpick eventually turned out to be issues with the quality of the ingredients, which had nothing to do with Tom.

Ingredient quality naturally affected the potion's efficacy, requiring subtle adjustments during brewing—something a first-year student shouldn't even know.

But Tom followed every step on the blackboard with obsessive precision, weighing ingredients to the gram and timing the process to the second, which made Snape feel physically uncomfortable, as if he had a bone stuck in his throat.

Andros watched from the side, clicking his tongue in wonder. Talent aside, Tom's learning ability was absurd; he grasped everything at a glance and was frighteningly quick to master it.

Snape stared for a long time before finally catching sight of Daphne, who was staring blankly at her cauldron. He immediately roared at the top of his lungs, "Riddle! You're paired up so you can do the work, not to let Greengrass be a spectator! Just because you have a bit of talent, you're getting cocky? What are you so proud of!"

Having said that, he feared Tom might retort, so he didn't wait for a response and scurried away on his short legs.

Having lost two verbal exchanges in a row, Snape finally realized: if he wanted to keep Tom quiet, he should never give him the chance to speak.

Tom watched his retreating back with a smug expression, "As expected of the old bat, he's certainly practiced at finding fault."

Daphne, however, looked full of guilt, tugging on his sleeve to apologize in a low voice, "I'm sorry, Tom. It's all my fault for daydreaming, that's why the professor scolded you."

"Pfft, it's no big deal." Tom smiled and pushed the dried nettles toward her, his tone earnest and filled with feigned sentiment, "Maybe the professor feels sorry for me and wanted you to help share the load. Here, crush these into powder and toss them into the cauldron. It's all up to you, my little assistant."

Daphne's eyes lit up, and she obediently picked up the tool to grind the nettles, looking as serious as if she were completing a major mission.

When the bell rang, Snape didn't look at Tom again, but threw out a harsh ultimatum before leaving: "The essay must be sixteen inches long, due tomorrow morning. Not a word less!"

The whole class groaned, Tom included.

Other professors only required six inches, about fifteen hundred words. Snape had tripled it; the thought of a four-to-five-thousand-word assignment was enough to give anyone a headache.

Snape ignored their resentful glares and slammed the door behind him.

"Let's go." Tom pulled Daphne up, calculating in his mind: he had to get an auto-writing quill, or he'd be driven mad by this assignment.

The Cure for Boils was so simple that writing five thousand words was just making work for the sake of it; he wouldn't waste his time on that.

Taking a stroll with Daphne and watching her sweet smile—wasn't that better than banging his head against an essay?

What annoyed Tom even more was that Snape hadn't given him a single point all lesson! He was the face of Slytherin, after all; this treatment was far too dismissive.

Tom rubbed his chin, a mischievous glint in his eyes: he had to find a chance to turn up the heat on Snape and let him know who the real pillar of Slytherin was.

After lunch, Harry and Ron went to visit Hagrid's hut as planned.

The half-giant was as hospitable as ever, serving piping hot tea and rock cakes so hard they could chip a tooth, piling them high on the table.

Looking at Ron's red hair, Hagrid scratched his head, looking pained, "Another Weasley? I haven't had a good night's sleep in years trying to keep your brothers out of the Forbidden Forest; I've been on guard like I'm fighting off thieves every single day."

Ron gave a dry laugh and bit into a rock cake, nearly shattering his teeth. He hurriedly lowered his head and pretended to drink his tea to hide his embarrassment.

Harry silently set down his cake, blew on his hot tea, and began chatting with Hagrid about his impressions of his first week of classes.

For Harry, Hogwarts was paradise: comfortable dorms, plenty of food, a decent inheritance, and the ability to learn magic and make friends like Ron.

But Snape's harassment today had completely ruined his good mood.