The first Potions class last week had left a memorable impression; Snape's imposing, natural authority had branded a heavy mark on the young wizards' minds.
However, Harley felt no resistance toward Potions class. On the contrary, she found Snape quite reasonable—no different from other professors, really, just a bit fiercer. If you made a mistake, you'd get scolded; he was simply even stricter than Professor McGonagall.
Especially today.
Snape was already waiting in the classroom, his face drawn tight. A dark thundercloud seemed to hover over his head, crackling with lightning and fury.
The young wizards in the classroom were trembling. During the few minutes waiting for the bell to ring, seconds felt like years.
Meanwhile, walking down the corridor and not yet in the classroom, Draco was grinning and chatting with his two lackeys, Crabbe and Goyle. After more than a week, he had concocted what he believed to be a flawless plan.
To be honest, Draco didn't want any physical conflict with this guy who was suspected of being able to bend steel pipes. He wasn't sure if what he saw back then was a magic trick or reality, but even if Lynn didn't have that much strength, he didn't want to taste the weight of the guy's fist.
As a traditional Slytherin, he had learned enough operational "techniques" from his father since childhood—framing people, stabbing them in the back, filing false complaints, slinging mud. This was a family tradition. Although he was just a beginner, he was very confident.
He intended to teach Lynn a good lesson in this Potions class. After all, Snape was the Head of Slytherin House, and his father had a good relationship with him. Before he came to Hogwarts, his father had greeted Snape. The points added in the first Potions class confirmed this—Lynn, that guy, hadn't gotten a single point.
That foul Gryffindor dog! Just wait and see today!
Excitedly pumping his fist, a sly sneer curled on Draco's face. He swaggered into the classroom, but suddenly, he felt a cold gaze fix upon him.
It didn't come from the young wizards ahead, but from the podium to the side.
Draco's body went rigid instantly. The class bell rang at that exact moment, and the atmosphere in the room dropped to freezing point. He shrank his neck, wanting to walk quickly to his seat.
"In my class, I do not allow anyone to be late."
Snape's grim, cold voice rang out, sending cold sweat down people's backs.
"Draco Malfoy."
Directly named, Draco tensed up instantly, but a trace of confusion flashed through his mind. Turning around with that confusion, Draco met a pair of cold, deep black eyes.
"Perhaps I should teach you, on your father's behalf, what respect is."
"Twenty points from Slytherin. Get over there and stand."
Hearing this, let alone Draco, even the little snakes of Slytherin were dumbfounded. When had their Head of House become so... so... impartial? Even Professor McGonagall wouldn't deal such a fatal hand to a Gryffindor, would she?
Standing punishment was one thing, but deducting twenty points... Did Draco violate a decree from heaven?
"But, Professor Snape—"
Draco panicked and wanted to explain. If these twenty points stuck, given the internal culture of Slytherin House, even with the Malfoy family as his backing, he would inevitably face petty persecution. Half the wizards from pure-blood families were in Slytherin; while there weren't many who didn't care about the Malfoy family, there were certainly quite a few, and there were definitely people who didn't get along with them.
"Did I let you speak?"
Snape glanced at Draco, looking at him as if he were a disgusting maggot. "Why don't you take the initiative to handle the horned slugs needed for this lesson for your classmates?"
"And you two idiots, what are you standing there for?!"
Glared at by Snape, Crabbe and Goyle instantly shrank two heads shorter, bowing their bodies as they scuttled to the last row of the classroom to sit down.
"Now turn to your books. In this lesson, we continue learning how to brew a qualified Cure for Boils. If anyone hasn't improved in today's class, I'll make you drink it!"
Only the shivering bodies of the young wizards remained in the classroom swept by the cold wave. Even those without eyes knew that Snape was likely going through a mood today—his temper was explosive. One slight touch, and he would blast people to smithereens.
No one wanted to taste their own brewed Cure for Boils, so the young wizards in the classroom were one hundred and twenty percent focused, terrified of missing a single word Snape said while explaining the potion.
A massacre began. Whether Gryffindor or Slytherin, everyone was ravaged and left battered in today's slaughter. The two consecutive Potions periods added up to a full four hours: half the time brewing the potion, the other half listening to explanations and processing ingredients. But these four hours felt as long as four centuries.
As composed as ever, Lynn was the first to complete the Cure for Boils fifteen minutes before the end of class. Snape stood beside him, leaning down slightly to gaze at the potion in the cauldron. The potion presented a bright acid green, even possessing a gem-like luster. Even with Snape's critical eye, he couldn't find anything to nitpick.
"Very good." Snape nodded slowly. "It seems you have learned a bit of the technique for brewing potions. The magical harmonization is decent."
A flash of memory passed through the depths of his eyes, as if he saw his former self.
"Five points to Lynn."
Snape stood up and looked no longer at Lynn's cauldron.
He walked to the other side, to Harley's side. The potion in Harley's cauldron was also acid green, but the color wasn't very bright. This was due to not mastering the best heat control during brewing, and the magic fusion was relatively unskilled. But as long as the brewing process was followed, if no mistakes were made, a first-year freshman could achieve this level. Hermione, who was with Harley, had a potion of the same color.
"Improved." Snape nodded slightly. Although hard to detect, his gaze upon Harley was much softer. "Ten points to Harley. Perhaps you should all take a look at what a qualified Cure for Boils looks like."
The Gryffindor students let out a sigh of relief, but before they could fully exhale, they swallowed it back into their stomachs.
"But clearly, some people not only don't use their brains, but their eyes and hands are also just decorations."
"Now tell me, Weasley, what is that dog shit in your cauldron?"
Ron's face went pale. The potion in his cauldron had completely turned into a burnt-brown, sticky substance at this point, not much different from a pot of heated dog poop.
"I hear you have a unique hobby of eating excrement that differs from normal people?" A sarcastic sneer curled at the corner of Snape's mouth. "Then you may start now. Taste it—the delicacy you made with your own hands."
"Because of your dog shit, five points from Gryffindor."
The Reaper's roll call began. Any student who failed to complete the potion had at least three points deducted, some up to five. In less than ten minutes, Gryffindor had forty-three points slashed away. Slytherin was even worse—because of Crabbe and Goyle. Those two guys had burned a hole right through their cauldron and were deducted a full twenty points by a murderous-looking Snape.
This great massacre, which targeted no specific house, almost drained the spirit and energy of the young wizards.
In class, Draco, who had been fiddling with slugs for over half an hour, was pale. The potion in his cauldron was pale green; compared to those students who failed the brew, this result was barely passable. After all, although the efficacy was a bit poor, it barely had some effect.
"I asked you to process slugs, not let the slugs replace your brain, Malfoy."
Snape stood in front of Draco, looking at him with eyes one would use to look at a dead man. "Perhaps I should let you taste it personally."
Draco trembled, shaking his head slightly. He felt he was not far from death.
Snape scooped up a spoonful of potion and poured it back down over the cauldron, splashing up pale green droplets.
"What delusion makes you think————that you have any superiority or greatness over others? Is it your brain that has been violated by a troll?"
"You aren't even comparable to that Gryffindor over there."
This comment, which counted as the ultimate humiliation in Slytherin House, left Draco paralyzed in his chair. The verdict spoken by his own Head of House nailed him to Slytherin's pillar of shame.
"Detention starts this weekend and lasts until Halloween."
"Class dismissed."
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