Snape: Potter, Your Stupidity Leaves Me Speechless

Charms class ended with little Hermione blushing furiously.

As everyone left the classroom, Harry was still off to one side trying to persuade Ron.

"Ron, don't be impulsive. Lyon really is excellent. We shouldn't act like this."

"Harry! Even you're speaking up for Lyon? I just don't get what's so great about him!"

Lyon, however, paid no attention to them. Since the start of term had been busy lately, he had arranged with Flitwick to attend his lessons over the weekend.

The next class was Potions. Lyon led the Slytherin students to the Potions classroom ahead of time.

Yes, ahead of time.

By only an hour.

Lyon and Hermione sat quietly reading at their desks, while the little Slytherin snakes no longer dared disturb Lyon.

Lyon had just given an order: unless they wanted a Fiendfyre Curse sent their way, they had to open their textbooks and read.

Even Neville, usually the clumsiest of them all, had opened his book and was reading seriously.

At the head of the group, Lyon held a copy of Genesis Spells: A Master-Level Critique of Pure Spells, turning its pages one by one.

Professor Flitwick had lent him this book. Apparently, only those whose spellwork had reached a certain level could understand it.

No one knew how much time passed before the Potions classroom's dungeon door suddenly opened.

With a creak, Snape entered, dressed all in black with greasy hair.

The moment he stepped inside and saw the Slytherin House first-years sitting in neat rows, Snape felt that something about the atmosphere was off.

Even Snape, who had weathered countless storms, could not understand why this year's first-years were studying so voluntarily.

"Professor Snape."

Lyon looked up and met Snape's gaze, then rose to his feet and gave him a respectful bow.

Over a hundred first-years behind him followed suit, standing and bowing in unison.

"Good morning, Professor!"

Listening to the neat chorus behind him, Lyon had the strange feeling that Slytherin already belonged to Shelby.

"Cough, cough. Good morning," Snape said, feeling as though his years of composure had shattered at that moment.

He had never seen students greet him so proactively, let alone an entire House.

It was... unexpectedly rather flattering?

"Sit down."

"Lyon, what did you do to them?" Snape's eyes sharpened as he stared at Lyon. At a glance, he could tell these first-years all listened to him.

"Hm? I didn't do anything."

"Hm?" Snape did not believe him.

"If I did anything, I may have simply been a little stern and told them to read quietly," Lyon answered.

Snape looked toward the other first-years.

"Yes, yes, yes. The prefect told us to study hard."

"That's right. It definitely wasn't because we were afraid of the prefect's Fiendfyre Curse."

"We all love studying, don't we, Neville?"

As if startled into action, Neville shot to his feet. "That's right, I love studying. Studying makes Prefect Lyon happy."

Snape fell silent. The last time he had been this thrown off was the last time.

"Fine. Let's wait for the Gryffindor first-years."

The classroom remained quiet, with only the sound of Lyon and the others turning pages.

After a long while, the dungeon door finally opened.

"Creak..."

Several Gryffindor students rushed in. Sensing the unnaturally quiet atmosphere in the classroom, they swallowed, greeted Professor Snape, and sat down.

Soon, class time arrived, and nearly all the Gryffindors were present.

But Snape still showed no intention of getting up. Naturally, Lyon knew what he was waiting for.

Of course, he was waiting for Harry and Ron.

"Creak!"

"Oh, thank goodness that old bat Snape isn't here yet. I heard his class is terrifying. I... holy shit?"

Ron charged in first. He swept his eyes around, saw no sign of Snape, and had only gotten halfway through his sentence when Snape appeared in the doorway like a ghost.

Harry, behind him, had gone pale with fright and lowered his head blankly.

"I just heard someone call me an old bat?"

"For Mr. Weasley's disrespect toward a professor and his lateness, Gryffindor loses seventy points!"

"Oh, isn't this the famous savior, Potter? Do you think that because of your fame, you can arrive late to whichever class you please?"

"For your lateness, Gryffindor loses twenty points!"

"And for your arrogance, Gryffindor loses another twenty points!"

The corner of Lyon's mouth twitched. He remembered this had not happened in the original plot.

Damn, Gryffindor had lost 110 points before class even started.

So Harry and Ron were really racking up points for the team?

"Oh, why are you still standing there? Do you find this glorious?"

"For your shamelessness, Gryffindor loses another ten points!"

And there it was again!

Although Lyon did not care much about points, watching Snape deduct them made the scene strangely addictive.

Harry and Ron hurriedly took their seats. Snape shut the door, then turned to Harry again.

"Mr. Potter, do you think your fame is enough to allow you to sit down after arriving late?"

"Clearly, Mr. Potter thinks he can simply disregard the school rules. Because of your and Mr. Weasley's stupidity, Gryffindor loses twenty points!"

Again!

Harry's face darkened. He had the distinct feeling that the old bat at the front of the classroom was targeting him.

"I didn't. You never said I wasn't allowed to sit down."

The moment he said it, Harry regretted it.

We're doomed. The Gryffindor point-losing team is scoring big again!

"Oh, for talking back, Gryffindor loses twenty points!"

Again!

The corner of Lyon's mouth twitched. In just a few minutes, Gryffindor's score was about to become negative.

"Now then, class. You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making..."

"I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death—but only if you aren't as big a bunch of fools as I usually have to teach."

"Potter!" Snape suddenly called.

"If I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood, what would I get?"

Harry seemed not to have expected Snape to question him again. Confused, he blurted out, "What grass goes into what water?"

"Tsk, tsk... You have shown me the very bottom limit of stupidity. It seems fame cannot represent everything."

"Mr. Longbottom, you answer!"

Neville stood up in confusion, glancing awkwardly at Lyon before looking at Snape.

"Uh, it's a Draught of Living Death, Professor."

Snape nodded, narrowing his eyes as he stared at Potter.

"Potter! Do you know how Mr. Longbottom knew that?"

"I don't know, Professor," Potter said meekly, like a quail.

"Because every student in Slytherin House sat down an hour before class to prepare their lessons."

"Your stupidity leaves me speechless. Gryffindor loses twenty points!"

How many times had that been already...?