Looking at the cauldron in front of her, bubbling with blue-purple froth and emitting an indescribably eerie stench, Hannah felt a pang of regret for the first time about knowing Tom.
She had already heard about Neville's "feat" in Gryffindor's Potion Class last week. But even then, Neville had only burned the cauldron out of shape. Now, looking at the chaotic brew before her, Hannah's heart nearly leapt out of her chest. Could she be the next Neville?
Hannah's talent in Potions was mediocre at best, but as a Hufflepuff, she possessed one invaluable trait: obedience. Even if she didn't understand why a certain ingredient had to be added at a precise moment, or why certain steps were necessary, she could perform admirably by simply following instructions to the letter.
For this class, Snape hadn't assigned any new task. Instead, he had instructed them to review and re-brew the "Cure for Boils" from the previous lesson. As an obedient student, Hannah remembered the brewing steps well. Some details were hazy, but she was confident she could handle the general process.
Since Tom had missed the last class, Hannah suggested he handle the operation while she provided reminders and guidance. This way, she could consolidate her own knowledge, help Tom get started quickly, and prevent any major mistakes—a win-win. Tom had eagerly agreed at the time.
However…
"(☉□☉) Wait! Tom, what are you doing?!"
Hannah had only glanced away for a moment, and in that instant, she saw Tom tossing all sorts of unprocessed ingredients into the cauldron at once, as if dumping dumplings into a pot.
It wasn't just a matter of dosage—many of these ingredients hadn't been pre-processed according to the instructions. It was too late for regrets.
Following Tom's method, the cauldron boiled over in an instant, spewing a frothy white foam. As time passed, the foam gradually morphed into a blue-purple haze.
Hannah wanted to salvage the potion, but looking at the near-ruined cauldron, she had no idea where to start. Should she start over? There wasn't enough time. Watching Snape, who was critiquing other students while steadily approaching, Hannah felt her blood run cold.
Upon seeing the eerie liquid in the cauldron, Snape nearly choked with rage. He attempted to reason with himself: "It's just a cat; it's normal for him not to understand a profound subject like Potions." Then he reminded himself, "According to Dumbledore, he is the only one who can save Lily."
Relying on these two thoughts, he barely suppressed his fury and asked in a relatively steady voice,
"So, Mr. Lovegood, can you tell me what you are doing right now?"
Me? Brewing a potion, of course~
Tom stirred the cauldron with one hand while casually pulling out a whiteboard with the other, as if this were perfectly natural.
Snape's eyes narrowed. Where did that whiteboard come from? And when did he write on it? His gaze swept between Tom and the whiteboard, instinctively trying to uncover the secret behind this unusual behavior. As a Potion Master, he had an almost uncontrollable urge to investigate, but now was clearly not the time.
"Brewing?" Snape's tone rose a few degrees.
"Are you sure you're brewing a potion? I distinctly emphasized the proper preparation, proportion, and timing of each ingredient. Throwing everything in at once—do you think the potion classroom is a kitchen?"
Snape could see the essence of this cauldron at a glance. His anger surged. He had intentionally slowed the pace of the lesson, letting the students review the most basic potion—the Cure for Boils—which even a troll could brew successfully. Yet, this "cat" had managed to disrupt even this simple task.
Had it been any other student, Snape would have unleashed a torrent of venom. But this one… this one could save Lily. He forced himself to calm down.
Just as he was about to instruct Tom to dump the potion and start over, he noticed the words on the whiteboard:
[Otherwise, what did you think I was doing, Professor? Cooking a hot pot? (￣▽￣)~*]
"(╬￣dish￣)"
Seeing Tom's self-satisfied, cheeky expression, Snape almost lost all reason. In all his years as Hogwarts' Potions Professor, no student had dared speak to him in such a tone. Even the slyest Slytherins hadn't been so bold.
Yet, his longing for Lily prevailed. He clenched his teeth and said,
"Fine. You say you're brewing a potion. Then tell me: why did you add all the ingredients at once? What principle guided you? What's the basis? In which classic text did you read that such behavior is acceptable?"
[I don't know, Professor.]
Following the fourth rule of the Hufflepuff Potion Class Survival Guide, Tom replied righteously:
[I reckoned it should work this way, so I added them all at once~]
To Tom, Potions didn't need complicated rules. As long as you knew the ingredients, you could throw them in, control the heat, and stir according to intuition. Over the years, this method had produced countless magical potions—even in the chaotic world of Tom and Jerry, he had relied on this approach successfully.
[You could say I'm following the principles of 'The Power of My Reckoning' and 'The Sixth Sense is Absolutely Correct.']
"Good, good, good," Snape muttered through gritted teeth, laughing out of sheer exasperation. He didn't even bother continuing his patrol. He conjured a high-backed chair with his wand and plopped down, staring at Tom.
"I'll just see what monstrosity you can brew according to your 'principles'! It better burn the cauldron like Longbottom's, so he remembers that Potions aren't a joke!"
Yet, as time passed, Snape's mocking gaze slowly shifted. His hand, resting on his wand, unconsciously rose to rub his throbbing temple.
Merlin's beard… how is this possible?
Under his nose, Tom casually stirred the cauldron. The previously chaotic, frothy liquid calmed down. The murky blue-purple haze faded, leaving a clear, transparent potion.
Snape didn't wait for Tom to speak. He quickly scooped a small amount, inhaled its aroma, and even rubbed a bit on his fingertips. Confusion etched his face. The potion matched the Cure for Boils perfectly—if anything, it was purer than Snape's memory of the standard.
The classroom fell silent. Every student held their breath, watching the Potion Master struggle to process what he was witnessing: a perfect potion, created by what appeared to be reckless chaos.
It was the first time in his long career that Snape was completely speechless, staring at a cauldron that should have been a disaster. And at the center of it all sat Tom, the self-proclaimed cat, smiling cheekily as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
FOR MORE CHAPTERS
patreon.com/Tonystarc961