The high-pressure Potions classroom was in full swing again. While everyone was actually brewing, Snape prowled between the tables like a bat on a mission, finding something wrong with literally every single student.
"Your Professor McGonagall says Transfiguration takes patience," he sneered. "Clearly she's been using all of hers just to put up with how thick you lot are."
"Weasley," he snapped, looming over Ron, "tell me—if I dumped what passes for your brain into a cauldron and stirred it, would you finally notice you're stirring the wrong direction?"
"I—I—I don't know…" Ron stammered, going white as parchment.
"Even if you haven't got a brain, you're not supposed to be blind too. Gryffindor loses one point."
"Longbottom!" Snape whirled toward Neville next. "If I were you, I'd reread the instructions. Again."
"You're supposed to take the cauldron off the fire before you add the porcupine quills," Hermione whispered to Neville, who was sitting right beside her.
"Maybe you should've reminded him sooner, Miss Granger," Snape said silkily. "Real genius doesn't wait until after the disaster to speak up. Or were you hoping his cauldron would explode and splash boils all over your face?"
"Gryffindor loses two points. One for Longbottom's idiocy, one for your untimely arrogance."
The Gryffindors looked ready to cry. The Slytherins were practically glowing with second-hand glee. Sure, they'd gotten snapped at too, but at least they hadn't lost any points.
Some of them even earned points. Draco Malfoy, for example, got praised (and five points) for how neatly he handled his horned slugs.
"Professor?" A soft, polite voice suddenly piped up from the back. "Should the snake fangs be crushed into powder or left a little coarser?"
Snape spun around so fast his robes billowed, then answered in an almost normal tone, "Fine powder, Hallie."
"Thank you, Professor," Hallie said with a sweet smile.
"Maybe the rest of you should try asking questions when you don't know something," Snape said coolly, though his voice sounded just a hair less icy than usual. "Five points to… Hallie."
"But—" Seamus started.
Snape's glare could've frozen lava. "You address me as 'Professor' before you speak, Mr. Finnigan. Gryffindor loses another point."
Seamus shut his mouth so fast he nearly bit his tongue. In that moment he realized the gap between people could be bigger than the gap between people and dogs.
When the bell finally rang, every student felt like their robes were soaked with cold sweat—especially the Gryffindors sitting anywhere near Hallie. One tiny mistake and Snape's terrifying black eyes locked onto you like a curse. Even Hermione's hands had shaken from the tension.
Miraculously, nobody's cauldron exploded.
"I don't expect you to actually learn how to think," Snape said as he inspected the finished potions with his usual look of disgust. "I just want you to run things through your head once before your hands get involved. Look at these potions—what's the difference between them and pig slop?"
He paused beside Hallie's cauldron on his way back to the front. "Acceptable. At least it looks more like a real potion than the rest of this swill. Five points to Hallie. The rest of you—try checking every single step instead of using your eyes for decoration."
"Class dismissed. Lynn, stay behind."
Seamus, Dean, and Neville shot Lynn the classic "good luck, mate, we'll save you some dinner" look before bolting out with everyone else.
"You guys go on to the Great Hall," Lynn said while cleaning up his station. "Don't wait for me."
"Okay, I'll save you a seat. Hurry up, though!" Hallie nodded and left with Hermione and Padma.
Pretty soon the dungeon was empty except for the two of them.
Snape sat at his desk. Lynn walked up.
"Did you need something, Professor?"
Potions was honestly easy for Lynn—really easy. He had every recipe and ingredient order memorized, and stirring (the real heart of potion-making) was his strong suit. His control over magic was way above the rest of the first-years. Knowing exactly when and how hard to stir decided whether a potion was perfect or garbage.
If ten points was a perfect potion, Lynn's Boil-Cure Potion today would've scored at least a nine. Hallie's—with his quiet tips and the freedom to ask Snape directly when she wasn't sure—probably hit an eight. She was talented; that wasn't the issue.
"Your work was… acceptable," Snape said.
Coming from Snape, "acceptable" meant "seriously impressive," especially to a Gryffindor.
"Compared to the usual idiots, you actually use your brain."
"Hogwarts participates in inter-school competitions with other wizarding schools," Snape continued. "Outstanding students get to compete—things like the annual Potions Championship against schools like Castelobruxo, Ilvermorny, Koldovstoretz, and others."
"Usually it's fifth-years and up who get picked, but there have been exceptions from lower years."
Lynn nodded. It made sense that Hogwarts would do stuff like that. Staying completely isolated would've been weird for a famous international school.
Still, he had concerns.
"If I wanted to enter, would I need to start preparing now?"
"Yes," Snape said.
"Would it take up a lot of time, Professor?"
Snape's lip curled. "If you think you can coast in and still beat the best students from other schools…"
"Oh, I get it," Lynn said lightly.
He could finish Snape's unspoken thought: Get in over your head, kid, and I'll work you to death. Plus, there were geniuses everywhere. Some might burn out later, but right now they were brilliant, and you didn't underestimate brilliant.
"I'll pass, Professor. I'm not entering the Potions Championship."
Snape opened his mouth—probably to snap—but Lynn kept talking, calm and respectful.
"Please hear me out for a second."
Snape gave the tiniest nod.
"I'm way more interested in wandcraft than potions. For the past two months, ever since the holidays, I've been working hard to prepare for formal study in that field. Mr. Ollivander has been a huge help. He's even willing to sponsor me and guide me down what'll probably be a lifelong path of research."
"I'm really grateful, and I want to pay that back by actually contributing something to wandlore someday."
"A person only has so much energy. Once I commit to wandcraft, I won't have the time or focus to go deep into potions too. It's just as complex a subject."
He met Snape's eyes. "But there are other students with real talent in potions, right? Like Hallie—she did great today."
Snape's face didn't change, but Lynn knew he agreed. Hallie was good. Not just because she looked almost exactly like Lily had at eleven; she had the same spark Lily did when she first came to Hogwarts.
"I do have one question I've been wondering about, Professor."
"Do you actually know Hallie's mom? Were you… good friends?"
Snape's voice dropped about twenty degrees. "Do I owe you an explanation?"
"I think you do," Lynn said evenly. "Otherwise, as Hallie's friend, I'll have to bring it up with Professor Dumbledore—get a clear answer about whether you've got some kind of… inappropriate interest."
Snape shot to his feet. His robes billowed like a storm cloud. The air in the room felt ten times heavier.
"I know exactly what it looks like when a man sees someone he cares about," Lynn said, completely unfazed. "That time you looked at Hallie? It was way over the line, Professor."
"If you hadn't whispered 'Lily' instead of 'Hallie' right then, you'd already be having a very different conversation with Dumbledore."
"So I need to hear it from you—are you Lily Potter's old friend, or not?"
The words hit Snape like a gong. For a second his brain went totally blank.
"Or better yet," Lynn continued quietly, "promise me it's her mom you cared about. Not Hallie. That you're not using an eleven-year-old girl as some kind of stand-in."
"You're accusing me of—" Snape practically hissed, shaking with rage.
"Am I?" Lynn smiled, small and cold. "Maybe I should double-check with the headmaster."
He turned and took three calm steps toward the door.
"Stop."
Lynn turned back.
Snape reached slowly into his robes and pulled out an old, yellowed Muggle photograph. He flipped it around.
It wasn't moving—definitely Muggle. A pretty red-haired girl sat on a swing, laughing. Little Lily Evans looked almost identical to Hallie. On the back was a torn scrap of letter with "Lily" signed in familiar handwriting.
"I knew Hallie's mother long before we came to Hogwarts," Snape said, voice low, eyes distant. "We were… very good friends once."
"Like you and Hallie are now."
He closed his eyes for a second, lost in memory.
"I understand, Professor," Lynn said softly. "Your secret's safe with me."
"And I'm sorry for the accusation. Hallie's my best friend. It's my job to protect her."
Snape just gave a tiny nod.
"But while we're talking," Lynn added, almost casually, "there's something the Slytherin head of house should probably know."
"Some of your students have been saying things they shouldn't to Hallie. Things like 'stinking little Mudblood.' I already taught the kid a small lesson, but I'm not sure he'll remember it forever."
Snape's eyes flashed red.
"Who."
"Draco Malfoy."
"You may go," Snape said, flicking his sleeve so hard it sent a gust of cold air across the room.
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