Friday afternoons were always the most difficult time for the students of Ravenclaw.
Before they could enjoy the comfort of the upcoming weekend, they first had to endure Professor Snape's increasingly volatile moods in the cold, dimly lit underground classroom. The dungeon seemed even more oppressive this week, as if reflecting the sour temper of its master.
The reason was no secret.
News had spread throughout the school that Snape had been bitten by the three-headed dog on the fourth floor. The rumor had quickly gained traction, largely thanks to enthusiastic promotion from Gryffindor students. The Weasley twins, in particular, had turned the situation into an opportunity. They had set up bets on whether Snape's injured leg would heal by Monday and had already made a tidy profit in both gold and magical materials. They strutted around the castle with smug grins, clearly pleased with themselves.
The situation escalated until Professor McGonagall caught wind of the gossip. Furious, she severely reprimanded those responsible for spreading the rumor, including the twins, and deducted a significant number of points from Gryffindor. Only then did the whispers gradually fade.
Unfortunately, this did nothing to improve Snape's mood.
Throughout the lesson, his voice cut through the air like a whip. Every mistake, no matter how minor, was met with biting sarcasm or harsh criticism. The classroom atmosphere was suffocating, and even the most confident students found themselves on edge.
By the end of the class, Hufflepuff had lost five points, while Ravenclaw had lost seven.
Snape, however, seemed particularly interested in one student—Ryze.
Throughout the lesson, his gaze repeatedly drifted toward Ryze's cauldron. A week earlier, Ryze's first attempt at brewing a Love Potion had drawn attention. Now, Snape was clearly watching to see whether that performance had been a fluke or something more substantial.
This time, Ryze did not disappoint.
With steady movements, he guided his wand above the cauldron. The final infusion of magic was executed smoothly, without hesitation. Almost immediately, the potion shimmered with a pearlescent glow, its surface reflecting soft, shifting colors like mother-of-pearl.
Even before examining it closely, Snape could tell the quality was exceptional.
Judging by the aroma and the faint spirals of steam rising from the cauldron, the potion had reached at least the same standard that Penelope had achieved the previous week.
Snape stepped closer, leaning over to inspect it in silence.
His expression was complicated—part suspicion, part scrutiny, and part irritation.
"It seems you are capable of keeping up," he said finally, straightening. His tone remained cold and sharp. "In that case, I will hold you to a higher standard. I expect you to maintain this level tomorrow morning."
He paused briefly, his eyes narrowing.
"Now take your things and disappear from my sight."
Ryze simply nodded and began packing up.
Once they had left the classroom, the tension immediately lifted.
Terry leaned in with a grin, unable to contain himself. "Did you see his face? He was staring at your cauldron like he'd swallowed a toad."
Anthony let out a long breath, still shaken. "You're unbelievable. You actually made Snape angry enough that he couldn't even scold you properly. That's a rare talent."
He shook his head, recalling his own close call. Earlier, his brewing process had nearly gone wrong, but Ryze had intervened just in time, correcting the mixture with a method Anthony couldn't even comprehend. It had all happened so quickly that Snape hadn't noticed.
"Getting yelled at right before the weekend is the worst," Anthony added with a sigh.
Ryze only smiled faintly, saying nothing.
With the combined enhancement of the Juicer rune and his growing divination ability, he had developed an almost instinctive understanding of potion-making. It was no longer just a task—it had become something he genuinely enjoyed.
At this point, it would not be an exaggeration to call him a budding potions prodigy.
As long as he could secure enough resources to register for the upcoming Potions Tournament, Snape's attitude was irrelevant.
The three of them were heading back to the common room when something unexpected happened.
A flash of white cut through the corridor.
A snowy owl swooped down gracefully and landed squarely on Ryze's shoulder.
Ryze recognized it immediately.
It was Hedwig, Harry's owl.
He gently untied the letter from her leg and opened it. Inside was only a single line:
Dumbledore's reply has arrived. We're at Hagrid's hut.
Ryze folded the parchment and turned to his friends.
"I need to go to Hagrid's hut," he said, handing them his belongings. "You two head back."
Without waiting for a response, he tightened his wizard robes and set off.
The weather had turned sharply colder in November. A chill wind swept across the grounds, biting through layers of fabric. Ryze raised his wand and cast a Warming Charm, a faint glow enveloping him as the cold receded.
Taking advantage of the speed-enhancing enchantment on his shoes, he moved quickly toward the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
Hagrid's hut soon came into view.
From the outside, it looked much the same as always. However, the rice paddy nearby had changed dramatically. The crops were thriving, their growth unaffected by the harsh weather. Clearly, the magical rice seeds were extraordinary.
Of course, Hagrid's careful attention played a major role as well.
Despite his rough appearance, Hagrid was remarkably patient when it came to tending magical creatures—or plants.
Inside the hut, a fire burned brightly in the fireplace, likely enhanced with magic. The room was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the cold outside.
Hagrid stood near the fire, busy preparing roast meat. After months of observation, he had finally realized that his young visitors enjoyed themselves most when food was involved.
Harry, Hermione, and Ron were seated on the edge of the bed, keeping a safe distance from the intense heat.
As soon as Ryze entered, Hermione stood and handed him a piece of parchment.
"This is Dumbledore's reply," she said. "We've read it, but… we're not sure what he really means. You should take a look."
Ryze accepted the letter and quickly scanned it.
Dumbledore's handwriting was elegant and precise.
Dear Miss Granger,
Thank you for your detailed letter. It brings me great pleasure to see such keen observation and a strong sense of responsibility for the safety of our school in a first-year student.
Your words remind me of my own youth, when I was filled with curiosity about every corner of the castle—though I must admit, such curiosity often caused me to miss dinner.
Regarding the incident with Mr. Potter's broomstick, I have already informed Minerva, and I trust she is conducting a thorough investigation.
As for your concerns about Professor Severus Snape, it is true that his demeanor and behavior can sometimes give the impression that he is involved in questionable activities.
However, I would like to offer this perspective: trust is not always built through explanation, but through consistent dedication over time. I believe that Severus has not strayed from his duties.
Please remember that every professor at Hogwarts has their reason for being here.
As for our dear Hagrid, I must emphasize that he is someone I trust completely—with both my life and my possessions.
While his sincere nature may occasionally lead him to reveal more than he should, it stems from the trust he places in those around him.
Such honesty is a rare and valuable quality.
Therefore, I do not fault him for his openness. Instead, I hope that you, as friends he trusts, will help him safeguard this particular secret.
The matter concerning the "small object" transferred from Gringotts is not something that should be widely known.
Rest assured, however, that its safety is well accounted for.
Sometimes, the best protection is not to hide something away, but to place it in a position where it is visible, yet remains beyond reach.
Finally, please extend my regards to the young wizard who suggested you write this letter.
I have often wished I could predict what dessert will be served after tomorrow's dinner, so that I might better pace myself during the meal. Alas, I always guess incorrectly—a failure I find most regrettable.
Yours sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
Ryze finished reading and lowered the letter slowly.
The room fell into silence.
The others were watching him closely, clearly waiting for his interpretation.
Dumbledore's words were, as always, layered with meaning—polite on the surface, but far from straightforward.
And somewhere within that carefully constructed response lay the answer they were searching for.
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