Most classes at Hogwarts carried a certain degree of danger, and Potions was no exception.
One student, perhaps gifted in all the wrong ways, had a knack for turning potions into explosives, practically earning the title of the wizarding world's Nobel. Harry had to step in to stop him just in time.
Naturally, Snape still docked points, claiming Harry wasn't focused on brewing his potion.
"You're so eager to win people over, Potter," Snape sneered. "Students should act like students. Your task is to brew potions properly. Gryffindor loses another point for your distraction."
"Act like students" was a line Harry imagined Snape saying. Returning to this world had been jarring. One moment he was back in China, roped into watching a wildly popular drama called Laba Baba Great Magic Fairy with his adopted sister, and the next, he was whisked back to Hogwarts with a special admission to Tsinghua University still fresh in his mind. He hadn't even finished the show.
Damn, that drama was utterly ridiculous, but for some reason, Harry found it oddly captivating. Especially the scene where the Great Magic Fairy and the Dark God Laba Baba transformed simultaneously and clashed in an epic beam struggle—Harry was practically buzzing with excitement.
Epic! Awesome! Too damn cool!
Was his intelligence really only suited for this kind of nonsense?
No! It just proved he, the mighty king, still had a childlike heart.
He wondered if, after squatting in this world for a decade or two, he'd meet someone here with a strange accent, speaking subpar Mandarin, wielding a gun as a wand cooler than any wizard's, and wearing a ridiculous mask like some kind of amusement park princess.
Speaking of which, the plot of Roar of Blood and Water from that world lined up surprisingly well with A Song of Ice and Fire. Maybe he should dive into more Muggle literature. If he crossed over again, it might give him a strategic edge.
Snape kept circling Harry like a vulture. Ron nearly lost his temper multiple times, but Harry held him back. Ron might not have the guts to defy a professor on his own, but when it came to protecting Harry from humiliation, he'd muster the courage.
Harry could tell Snape wasn't truly angry—at least not as much as he had been at the start of class, once he noticed Harry's talent for Potions.
Midway through, Harry had to intervene again to stop the "Nobel" student—Seamus Finnigan, that was his name—from turning his potion into an explosive concoction.
This guy was a real piece of work! Was he doing it on purpose or just that careless?
The British version of "Thunderbolt" Ling Zhen, brewing alchemical bombs with potions, no less.
Both of them got points docked. Fine for Seamus, but Harry, who prevented a disaster, getting penalized repeatedly? No wonder Snape had a terrible reputation. His bias was blatant.
Of course, Harry knew that if he hadn't intervened, Snape would've said something like, "Think you're better because he messed up? Why didn't you stop him?" No matter what Harry did, Snape would find an excuse to dock points.
It was wildly unfair. Ron was about to speak up for Harry again, but Harry kicked him under the cauldron.
"Don't push it," Harry whispered. "He's not listening to reason right now. Words won't change his mind."
Harry noticed that when he focused on brewing, Snape's mood seemed to soften.
His affection increased.
By the Seven, this guy's a creep.
Harry would rather wrestle the Giant King than be stared at like that by Snape.
The torturous Potions class finally ended. It was the first time both Hermione and Harry had lost points, having been Gryffindor's main point-earners until now.
Harry didn't care much, but Hermione was devastated.
All those hard-earned points, gone in a single class! The more she thought about it, the more upset she became.
My points!
A week's worth of effort for a dozen points, and five were wiped out in one lesson. And they expected her to just laugh it off?
"Cheer up," Harry said, trying to console her. "You've earned way more points than you've lost. Five points is nothing. I checked—Snape docks Gryffindor points all the time. We're usually at the bottom for the House Cup anyway. Can't fall lower than fourth. Just lower your expectations, and it's fine. No one's blaming us."
Hermione wasn't listening. She steeled herself, resolve hardening.
If she got the chance, she'd win every House Cup single-handedly.
She'd restore Gryffindor's glory—it was her duty!
"Alright, that's the spirit!" Harry said.
Though his words didn't quite convince her, they achieved the desired effect. Harry loved seeing kids brimming with enthusiasm.
Around three o'clock, the trio left the castle, crossing the grounds toward Hagrid's hut.
Earlier that day, Hagrid had invited Harry to visit his cabin, and Harry brought along his two trusty sidekicks.
Originally, he'd planned to use Ron and Hermione as extra brains—purely utilitarian. But after spending time with them, he found their personalities clicked with his. Shame they didn't always get along with each other.
Then there was the Snape problem, which Harry couldn't wrap his head around alone. It was too bizarre to share with kids, though—Snape's inexplicable fondness for him would probably terrify them.
Hagrid lived in a small wooden cabin at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, with a crossbow and a pair of rubber boots by the front door.
When Harry knocked, they heard a frantic scuffle inside, followed by a few low barks.
Then came Hagrid's voice: "Back, Fang! Back!"
Hagrid cracked the door open, his bearded face peeking out.
"Wait a sec," he said. "Back, Fang."
Hagrid let them in, struggling to hold the collar of an enormous black boarhound.
Harry crouched down and gave Fang a pat with such authority that the dog couldn't resist. Fang immediately calmed down and curled up in a corner.
"Good dog, just a bit timid," Harry said.
"Oh, Harry, you've got a knack for dogs!" Hagrid beamed.
"I'll let you in on a secret—not to brag, but I've got a talent for taming dragons too!" Harry replied, grinning.
He and Hagrid hit it off, chatting animatedly.
Having sat on the Iron Throne, Harry could force himself to endure tedious formalities, but he never enjoyed being a king. He preferred dealing with straightforward people.
His happiest times were as a mercenary commander, earning a few gold dragons a month.
In the world of A Song of Ice and Fire, whenever he brought this up, Tyrion Lannister always looked like he was suppressing a laugh.
Hmph, he doesn't get me.
After crossing into China, Harry came across a poem by a ruler named Cao Cao that captured his feelings perfectly:
Sing with wine, for life is brief.
Like morning dew, days vanish swiftly.
Be bold and fervent, let sorrows fade.
How to ease the heart? Only with wine.
O azure collar, my heart yearns for you.
Harry's Chinese wasn't great, but he could sense the poem's themes: the fleeting nature of time, grand ambitions, a thirst for worthy companions, and a touch of loneliness.
At the top, it's cold. Who can understand my heart?
Cao Cao's poem was brilliant, but it wasn't quite the same as Harry's own experience.