Snape "After this year, many of you will no longer qualify to study under my tutelage."
Snape continued with cold satisfaction:
Snape "I accept only the most exceptional students into my sixth and seventh year N.E.W.T. advanced classes. This means certain individuals may bid me a permanent farewell."
His gaze swept past Orli and settled predatorily on Harry. Orli maintained perfect composure, but Harry was transparently eager for that blessed day of liberation from Snape's presence.
Snape "However, we still have an entire year before our mutually agreeable parting."
Snape turned his contemptuous stare away from Harry's face:
Snape "Therefore, regardless of whether you intend to pursue Potions N.E.W.T., I strongly advise dedicating adequate effort to this subject."
Snape "Today we shall brew a potion frequently featured in O.W.L. examinations—the Calming Draught. A remedy designed to pacify and soothe agitation and anxiety. However, particular caution is required: excessive quantities of certain ingredients will plunge the imbiber into profound, sometimes irreversible stupor."
Snape paced deliberately across the classroom, his footsteps echoing against stone. As he passed Orli's table, he paused—so briefly it might have been imagination.
Orli's thoughts spiraled back to her first day at Hogwarts, when she'd collapsed immediately after the Sorting Ceremony. Snape had later questioned her in the Hospital Wing about various potions, including the Calming Draught.
Perhaps Snape remembered that day too, but he merely slowed his stride fractionally before continuing his patrol.
Snape "Ingredients and methodology are displayed on the blackboard."
He flicked his wand with practiced precision. Lines of elegant script materialized across the dark surface.
Snape "The supply cupboard contains everything required."
Another wand movement sent a corner cupboard door springing open with a sharp crack.
Snape "You have thirty minutes. Begin—"
Orli silently joined the queue of students, collecting precisely measured ingredients from the supply cupboard. Every corner bore traces of her former work—dried herbs she'd prepared last term, binding knots tied by her own hands. Stone powder she'd ground herself stood in neat, orderly rows. The Billywig sting slime needed replenishing, and one bottle bore a small chip—probably damaged by careless younger students...
Her mind automatically catalogued the assistant's responsibilities, then crashed into hollow realization. These concerns no longer belonged to her—the very day she'd returned from France, Snape had dismissed her from such menial tasks, ending her assistant duties entirely. Which also meant their private weekend afternoons together had been permanently severed.
She redirected her focus to the cauldron before her. Though she could brew this potion effortlessly, she treated every preparation with meticulous care. Hermione proved an excellent partner—precisely measured ingredients appeared at exactly the right moments. The mixture swirled within the cauldron, first clockwise, then counterclockwise. Orli needed only to regulate flame temperature and ensure proper timing for each addition.
Snape "At this point, your cauldrons should emit luminous silver vapor."
Ten minutes later, Snape announced with characteristic authority.
Orli gazed down at their cauldron. She and Hermione's technique was flawless—misty silver steam wreathed with ethereal light rose steadily from the perfect mixture. Others were clearly struggling: acrid black-gray smoke billowed from Harry and Ron's cauldron, while violent green sparks erupted from Neville and Seamus's disaster.
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