Potion Class (Part 2)

Professor Snape possessed the same ability as Professor McGonagall—one sweep of his gaze was enough to silence the young wizards.

Yet their styles were completely different.

Professor McGonagall was stern and imposing, because she treated everyone equally and impartially.

But Snape...

When he lurked in the shadows, lightly pinching a sheet of parchment between his fingers, and expressionlessly called out the name "Harry Potter," his drawn-out tone sounded as though the words had been squeezed through clenched teeth.

It inevitably made people think of a venomous snake!

Snape took in the frightened expressions of the young wizards below, but he had no intention of concealing himself. His lifeless black eyes remained fixed on Harry.

"Yes, yes, the Boy Who Lived, the savior of the wizarding world, a famous figure!"

Anyone could hear the heavy sarcasm in his voice.

Harry's face stiffened. He felt baffled and a little wronged, then heard Professor Snape call Vaughan's name.

"Oh, Vaughan Weasley, the renowned potions genius. Another famous figure."

Vaughan rose and bowed. "Thank you for the compliment, Professor."

Harry suddenly envied his calm composure. Not everyone had the courage to ignore a venomous snake spitting poison.

Snape snorted. To Harry's relief, Snape finally stopped staring at him. After quickly finishing the roll call, he drifted among the students like a ghost.

"...Perhaps many of you do not believe that Potions is a branch of magic. I do not expect the foolish substance stuffed inside your thick skulls to immediately understand the beauty of this subject, to understand how the miraculous potions slowly simmered over a low flame can set one's heart racing and cloud one's will..."

His unhurried words echoed through the silent dungeon.

They seemed to drift nearer and farther away, until suddenly, at one moment, they rang out beside Harry's ear and startled him.

"Harry—Potter! Famous figure, tell me, what would I get if I added powdered asphodel root to an infusion of wormwood?"

What?

Harry glanced at Ron beside him. Ron wore the same blank expression.

Harry had certainly read Potions books before, but who would memorize every bit of material in an entire book that they had not yet studied?

Oh, except Hermione—her hand was raised high in the air.

Vaughan was trying to press her back into her seat. Behind them, Malfoy and his two lackeys covered their mouths and snickered.

"I don't know, Professor," Harry said stiffly.

Professor Snape's long face nearly hung over Harry's head as he gave a mocking snort. "Don't know... Hmph. It seems fame does not represent everything, Mr. Potter. Very well, let us try again..."

Humiliated, Harry's head buzzed. On impulse, he said, "Professor, why don't you ask Hermione? She definitely knows. Or ask Vaughan? He's been brewing potions since he was eight, and he's improved many recipes. Ron showed me the newspaper that published his paper. I think he's even better!"

After blurting all that out in one breath, Harry felt immensely satisfied.

For the past few days, Ron had been constantly bragging to him about how amazing Vaughan was at Potions. Harry thought Snape might very well be no match for Vaughan!

Because of Harry's words, the dungeon suddenly fell dead silent. Everyone saw Snape's face stiffen.

Snort...

Someone laughed out loud. It was Malfoy and his two lackeys.

That suicidal sound drew the attention of both Vaughan and Snape. Two identically cold gazes turned toward them.

Malfoy hurriedly shut his mouth.

Snape looked at Vaughan again. His icy expression gave no hint of what he was thinking. "It appears that Mr. Vaughan Weasley holds considerable weight among his classmates."

Vaughan resumed his smiling demeanor. "They are merely insignificant accomplishments, Professor."

"In fact, my main purpose in coming to Hogwarts was to learn Potions from you. I also have to thank you. When some members of the Extraordinary Potioneers Association criticized my approach to potions, it was you who published a paper speaking on my behalf."

The young wizards of Gryffindor and Slytherin felt they must have been frightened into hallucinating by the silence just now—they had actually seen Professor Snape seem to smile. Still, the atmosphere in the classroom undoubtedly relaxed considerably.

Snape asked no more questions, but before beginning the lesson, he mocked Harry once again. "Mr. Potter, there is no need for me to ask Mr. Vaughan Weasley such a simple question. Do you know why? His fame was earned through his own efforts, while you—tsk tsk... Two points from Gryffindor!"

Harry felt as though his face were on fire.

Vaughan silently sighed as well. Harry and Snape's tangled feelings were simply a complete mess.

Harry was undoubtedly very wronged. He had no idea why Snape disliked him so much. As for Snape... seeing the eyes of the person he loved most on the face of the person he hated most—how painful must that have been?

Outsiders had no place interfering in such complicated entanglements.

And so, everyone quickly discovered... Snape had merely spared Harry temporarily.

Throughout the lecture, he kept pacing around Harry's seat, questioning him from time to time.

This made life miserable for the people sitting beside Harry. Not only did they not dare lose focus, but a few unlucky students were always caught up in it.

By the practical portion at the end of class, it was even worse.

Snape practically seemed to want to glue his feet in front of Harry's desk. He could find fault with every movement Harry and those around him made.

"Longbottom, what exactly is inside that thick skull of yours? Flour and water? Does it turn to paste the moment you try to use your brain?"

"I have heard of your reputation, Finnigan. You can turn any accident into an explosion. But if you dare show even the slightest carelessness in Potions class, I will make you understand what punishment means!"

Occasionally, he would also walk over to Vaughan's side and watch in silence, without uttering a single cutting remark.

Of course, it wasn't because he favored Slytherin—though that was true—but because there was nothing wrong with Vaughn's procedure. Even though Hermione, his partner, felt that the way he handled the ingredients differed from the textbook.

The practical exercise was brewing a potion to treat boils, a very basic potion.

Vaughn had tried it long ago, but he did not cut corners just because the potion was so basic. As he brewed with focus and care, he explained to Hermione:

"...Potions do not have strictly controlled medicinal properties. They're different from Muggle chemistry. Chemistry emphasizes precise control over the quantities of materials, whereas with potions, rather than saying we're brewing medicine, it would be more accurate to say we're cooking up a pot of mysticism—brewing a spell!"

"You've noticed it, haven't you? The textbook recipes are all very vague about ingredient quantities. There are no grams or milliliters, usually just a few drops, a few leaves, or simply an entire ingredient. But in areas Muggles consider insignificant, such as stirring, potions strictly require a certain number of turns!"

"Hermione, you can view this entire process as a ritual—a ritual for calling upon the mysterious and constructing a spell."