Investigation into the Heir (6)

Severus Snape was already standing in front of him.

No one knew when he had arrived. He walked without a sound, like a black shadow, gliding Silencio from the podium to Harry's desk. His black robes halted beside Harry's desk like a black wall, blocking the torchlight.

The classroom fell silent.

Everyone was watching.

Ron sat beside Harry, his expression carefully mixed—nervousness, concern, and a trace of helpless resignation that said, "Here he goes again." He wasn't looking at Harry, but at Snape, his lips slightly parted as though he wanted to say something but did not dare.

Seamus and Dean exchanged a glance from their seats in the back. Harry knew that look all too well—it wasn't sympathy or curiosity, but a smug confirmation that said, "See? I told you he couldn't handle it."

Neville sat farther away. His cauldron had turned into a bubbling, suspiciously colored time bomb that could explode at any moment, yet he paid it no attention at all. All his focus was on Harry. Worry covered his round face, and his lips moved soundlessly, as though saying, "Careful. Careful."

Snape lowered his head and looked at Harry's "masterpiece," a cauldron of thick brownish-green sludge.

He looked at it for about three seconds.

Then he raised his head. His black eyes, like two bottomless ice caves, stared directly into Harry's.

"Potter," he said in a low, slow voice, every word seeming to have been dragged from an ice cellar, carrying a bone-chilling cold, "is that head of yours, empty except for Quidditch and causing trouble, incapable of even the most basic clockwise stirring?"

He did not wait for Harry to answer—he never waited for Harry to answer.

He reached out and lightly tapped the rim of the cauldron with the tip of his wand. The