Looking at the gloomy expressions on the freshmen's faces, Truman shook his head with some sympathy. This was only the beginning; they had much more to endure later.
As Hogwarts' only Potions Professor and a world-renowned Potion Master, Snape could be described as the teacher who treated students with the most "impartiality." He berated and belittled students from every house equally, deducting points from all—except for Slytherin.
As a prefect, Truman had been at Hogwarts for five years, and during that entire time, Snape had taken a particular interest in him. Five years under Snape's scrutiny—can you imagine surviving that?
Fortunately, Hufflepuff had compiled a set of invaluable "survival experiences" to help students navigate the relentless torment of Potions class.
"Alright, does everyone remember the 'Potions Class Survival Rules' I mentioned last week?
First, arrive at the classroom immediately after breakfast. Being late is never an option.
Second, never talk back to the Professor. Whatever he says, lower your head and act like you admit your mistake.
Third, follow instructions to the letter. Unless you think your potion-making skills surpass Snape himself, obey even if his methods contradict the textbook.
Fourth, if you don't know the answer to a question, admit it honestly. Claiming it's beyond the syllabus or wasting time arguing will only make things worse.
…
Tenth, if you notice any issues with these rules, report them to the Hufflepuff prefect—that's me—so I can revise the guide.
Do you all remember them?"
Truman's words seemed meant to reinforce the rules for the freshmen, but his gaze lingered on Tom, clearly giving him a make-up lesson for missing the initial freshman training due to a week-long absence.
This setup… feels like one of those Rules Creepypasta novels I read in my previous life, Tom thought. He grumbled inwardly for a moment but nodded nonetheless.
[Don't worry, I've got it all memorized!]
Of course, understanding the rules was one thing, but whether to follow them was another. As a Cat, deemed by the Sorting Hat to possess traits from three houses, Tom had a rebellious streak.
Besides, the rules said: "Unless you think your potion level can surpass Snape." At least in that regard, Tom was confident.
And his skill in pharmaceutical crafting? Let's just say a single guess would leave you speechless. Legal or not, as long as the final product worked, he didn't care about following standard procedures.
Naturally, Truman didn't know what Tom was thinking. Seeing that Tom had understood the rules, he smiled with satisfaction.
"It's good that you remember. You should know, this is why Hufflepuff has consistently held second place in the House Cup for generations!
When all houses except Slytherin are docked points by Snape, the house that loses the fewest points will naturally take second place. We may never surpass Slytherin, but second place is a victory for us!"
Hearing Truman's "perfectly reasonable" explanation, Tom was momentarily speechless. Look at this—what has Snape turned these young wizards into? And what does he mean 'second place is winning'?!
But, he admitted, for Hufflepuff to consistently secure second place, there had to be some skill behind it. Their "Potions Class Survival Rules" were a treasure, and rare was the willingness of older students to continuously improve and share them with newcomers. This kind of solidarity was unmatched by other houses.
Though, with our classmate here, even if Gryffindor mastered these rules, it might not help much. Unless his name were Harley Potter instead of Harry Potter…
"Don't overthink it," Truman said, seeing Tom lost in thought. "You'll understand the details once class starts."
He patted Tom's shoulder. "For now, let's enjoy breakfast! This is an exclusive Hufflepuff perk~"
Clapping his hands, he called, "Henry, bring a standard breakfast today! And for the bread, whole wheat, not rye!"
Instantly, a house-elf appeared, holding a tray with orange juice, bread, and jam.
"Respected wizard, here is your breakfast. Please enjoy your meal."
Truman winked at Tom. "See? This is our house's unique advantage. You can call a house-elf at any time, and they'll bring whatever you need. Of course, for atmosphere, we usually still eat in the Great Hall unless in a hurry or for a midnight snack."
Truman frowned slightly. "Wait… why is there no bacon or milk today?"
Henry the house-elf began stuttering, then slammed his head against a pillar. "It's Henry's fault! Henry didn't prepare the ingredients, so the wizard sirs can't have a delicious breakfast! Henry is guilty!"
"Stop, stop, stop! I was only asking casually, not blaming you. Go back to work," Truman said quickly, sending the self-reproaching elf away.
He shrugged at Tom. "That's probably the only downside. When they fail, they punish themselves frantically. In these situations, you just need to excuse them. Want to try?"
Tom thought about his agreement with Ariana and was about to decline when a cheerful voice called from the wall:
"Which one of you is named Tom?"
The Hufflepuff ghost, the Fat Friar, poked half his body out, scanning the crowd until he spotted Tom. He floated over happily.
"You must be Tom! I'm the Fat Friar. Welcome to Hufflepuff!
By the way, Ariana from Gryffindor asked me to deliver a message. She's been 'sealed by the Quilt Great Demon King' and will likely miss your morning appointment. She hopes you understand.
Seriously, where did this 'Quilt Great Demon King' dark wizard come from, daring to cause trouble at Hogwarts?"
Ignoring the ghost's complaints, Tom thanked him and casually wrote down a house-elf's name, enjoying the breakfast delivered to him in the common room.
As expected, a beautiful magical life begins with a delicious breakfast (￣▽￣)
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