A Ghost Story: Snape Gives Gryffindor Five Points

"Potion-making requires precision, science, and rigorous craftsmanship. Since none of you are foolishly waving your wands about here, many of you probably think this isn't magic."

As soon as Potions class began, Snape dropped his smile, pulled a stern face, and began his lecture.

"I do not expect you to truly understand the beauty of cauldrons simmering over magical flames, emitting white smoke and waves of fragrance. Nor will you truly comprehend the wondrous magic contained in those liquids that flow into a wizard's veins, bewitching the mind and clouding the will."

"I can teach you how to improve your reputation, brew glory, and even stop death—but only on one condition: that you are not the sort of hopeless fool I so often encounter."

That classic opening line sent Zhang San straight back to his previous life. He had read plenty of Harry Potter fanfiction back then, and the things that had stuck with him most were the Iron-Hat King Hannah and Snape's opening speech.

This was the right flavor. This felt good. This was the Professor Snape he remembered. That guy who had been smiling so broadly his face was full of wrinkles had definitely been a Boggart in disguise. If Zhang San could use a wand, he would have cast Riddikulus on him without hesitation.

"Oh... we have a celebrity in our classroom... Harry Potter..." Professor Snape drawled in a soul-crushingly long tone, turning his dead, hollow gaze upon the bewildered Harry.

Zhang San only wished he had a watermelon in his hands to gnaw on. At last, it was time for the iconic scene of Snape persecuting Potter.

Though the first film had been released earliest, it was also the one Zhang San remembered most vividly. Comparatively speaking, he had forgotten the least about the first Harry Potter story.

Yet that was completely useless. The plot of the first book had already veered wildly into the unknown after Zhang San's sudden death, Professor Quirrell being hauled off to Azkaban, and Voldemort turning into a black mist and fleeing. The Philosopher's Stone Dumbledore had borrowed was still there as bait, but the fish—Professor Quirrell, or rather Voldemort—was gone.

So all Zhang San had left to look forward to in his first year was checking off iconic scenes. Now that he had witnessed the first clash between Harry Potter and Snape, his transmigration had not been entirely in vain.

"Potter!" Snape suddenly said. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry's eyes held the clear innocence of someone untouched by knowledge. "Sorry, Professor, I don't know."

The know-it-all girl in the back row frantically raised her hand. Hermione Granger was trying to salvage Gryffindor from losing points. The poor girl had no idea that Gryffindor's reckless brutes did not care about House points at all. Otherwise, Slytherin would not have monopolized the House Cup for so many years.

To Zhang San, the House Cup was basically an annual reward skin. Eating beneath green decorations was no big deal; at least it was easy on the eyes and relieved visual fatigue, wasn't it?

But the know-it-all girl, who always had to be first in everything, did not see it that way. Her intense sense of responsibility and honor made her care about every single point. Hermione longed to answer every tricky question the professors asked perfectly.

Unfortunately, this was a little game exclusively for Snape and Harry. Poor Hermione had not even entered Professor Snape's field of vision.

"Clearly, fame isn't everything." Snape curled his lip in disdain. "Let us try again... Potter, where would you look if I told you to fetch me a bezoar?"

Harry Potter was numb. Was this professor sick? Why was he relentlessly targeting a poor student?

A rope always snapped at its thinnest point, and misfortune always found the most miserable people. Harry Potter guessed that spending too much time around ghosts had ruined his luck.

The three young Slytherin masters beside him were nearly laughing themselves sick. The famous Harry Potter had been stumped by their great Head of House. Was there anything more delightful?

Harry Potter looked as though a female ghost had drained all strength from his body. He answered weakly, "Professor... I don't know."

He was already starting to give up entirely. Once Harry learned of his fame in the wizarding world, he knew Hogwarts could never expel him. So he was tired. Let it all burn!

He would just endure being bullied by the professor. As long as he was thick-skinned enough, the hard days would eventually pass. He had survived far worse times at his aunt's house; how long could Potions class possibly last?

Snape seemed to have seen through Harry's thoughts. The man was a master of Legilimency; he did not even need to use the skill. Just by reading Harry's face, he could guess what Harry Potter was thinking.

He was furious inside! You were Lily's child—how could you, how dared you, not study Potions properly?

Training. He absolutely had to train him hard. Otherwise, how would he face Lily in the future?

But too much was as bad as too little, so Snape decided not to push Harry Potter too hard for the moment. He turned to someone else instead. "Oh... there is another special student in Potions class today, Mr. Silde the ghost."

Zhang San, who had been happily watching the show, instantly became a Muggle. How did this involve him? He was just a harmless little ghost. Shouldn't he have been somewhere else—at the bottom of the lake, perhaps?

"Please answer the previous two questions," Snape said.

Zhang San blinked. "Sorry, Professor. Since I died once and became a ghost, my mind isn't very clear right now. But please give me a chance. After class, I will carefully read all of One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi and submit the answers to your questions to you in the form of an essay."

Snape smiled and nodded. "What a polite gentleman. It is most regrettable that you died under the curse of a Dark wizard. I hope you can begin your new life as soon as possible... Five points to Gryffindor!"

The instant he finished speaking, the Potions classroom fell utterly silent.

Zhang San: "Huh?"

Harry Potter: "Uh... uh... uh..."

Malfoy: ???

Snape did not care in the slightest about the shock caused by his award of points. He continued, "Powdered root of asphodel and wormwood combine to make a powerful sleeping potion known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from a goat's stomach. It has extremely powerful antidotal properties; even Muggles can use it."

Looking at the students, who were all frozen in shock, Snape said unhappily, "Why aren't you writing this down?"

Everyone snapped back to their senses, and the classroom filled with the scratch-scratch-scratch of quills. Even Malfoy took notes seriously. He could not quite make sense of the situation either. Their Head of House giving points to Gryffindor was more absurd than the sun rising in the west.

Everyone attended the two Potions lessons in a state of fearful tension, as though walking on thin ice. No one knew what sort of madness Professor Snape had been afflicted with. Professors had their reasons; students like them could only endure it.

After leaving the dark, cold Potions classroom, Harry and Ron flanked Zhang San, who floated in midair between them.

"What's wrong?" Zhang San asked, puzzled.

Ron put on a serious face. "Professor Snape gave you points."

"Yeah. So?" Zhang San asked again.

Ron said in horror, "Do you realize that if George and Fred find out about this, they'll be scared stiff?"

Harry looked thoughtful. "Snape... Silde... are you related? You both have black hair!"

"No, man. He's a British wizard, and I'm a Chinese ghost. We're not even remotely connected. How could we be relatives?" Zhang San was speechless. It would be a shame if Harry did not go write novels with an imagination like that.

Ron folded his arms. "Anyway, you have to explain it to us. Why does Professor Snape see you differently?"

"Maybe because I'm more pitiful? You're all struggling to live, while I died peacefully?" Zhang San said with a shrug.

"Guys, the important thing now isn't whether Professor Snape and I have some unspeakable relationship. It's getting to the Great Hall to eat. We've got something big to do this afternoon. Tomorrow's the weekend, you know!"

Harry and Ron suddenly came to their senses and hurried upstairs toward the Great Hall.

Time would answer every question. Whatever shady connection Zhang San had with Professor Snape, it would surely show itself eventually.