"Potions-making isn't cooking!"
Snape's thunderous bellow echoed across the classroom.
Despite the noise, the students were merely silenced by intimidation, not because they agreed.
"Look what you've done!"
He was already regretting having Ian participate so directly. Some knowledge didn't need to be demonstrated—he shouldn't have let that idler undermine everyone else's mindset.
Observing Ian's end product,
Snape still had complaints about Ian's attitude, furious at how the boy's remarks had steered so many classmates astray. Nevertheless, he had to acknowledge that Ian's work was done well.
"Acceptable—though it lacks a potion's true essence. You show no respect,"
Snape muttered through gritted teeth. Even so, his furrowed brow relaxed somewhat, the dark scowl on his face reverting to a more impassive look.
Though still annoyed,
he seemed almost relieved, as if a weight had lifted. Ian, meanwhile, wasn't certain if it was just his imagination.
"I don't want to see you lazing about again next time, or hear any more of your nonsense. A potion made with genuine care is infinitely superior,"
Snape added, giving Ian a perfunctory scolding. Then he grabbed Ian's warm potion, stalking to the front of the room.
"Most of you have disappointed me. Some couldn't manage the simplest brew—I even saw a hideous orange goo that looked like dung."
His gaze swept around, then he raised Ian's potion high.
"Though this is stiff and mechanical, adhering strictly to the instructions, it's still leagues above you dunderheads' messes. Take a good look at the color a Boil-Cure Potion should have!"
"Stop showing me your weird, rainbow concoctions—especially you lot!"
He glared harshly at the Slytherin side.
"You can't even match that lazy fellow's attempt. You're the worst year of Slytherins I've had in decades—no trace of your House's reputed pride and excellence!"
His lashing words prompted the Slytherin first-years to hang their heads.
Right then, a sulfuric odor—like rotting eggs—spread from the Slytherin section, making many sniff in alarm.
Snape smelled it, too. his expression shifted sharply.
"Damn it!"
Before he could leap off the podium—
Bang!
the potion exploded.
A Slytherin student's cauldron blasted its contents skyward, a fountain aimed at the ceiling. Swiftly, Snape whipped out his wand, casting a midair Suspension Charm.
A torrent of fluid hung in midair,
averting the dreaded "potion rain" that would have drenched everyone.
"Giggs! Singed! What idiocy did you attempt?!"
he yelled, angered and alarmed—his wand hand visibly trembling. Clearly, if that potion had fallen on the students, the consequences could have been disastrous enough to force him out of Hogwarts and into a Diagon Alley shop.
"We… we tried to innovate, Professor. My family's old potions notes—"
stammered a boy with bomb-like hair.
"Is the textbook insufficient? Are my lessons too trivial for you?"
Snape waved his wand to banish the suspended liquid.
He resembled an enraged serpent with nowhere to strike.
"I… I recall you mentioning we shouldn't be too rigid or mechanical, so I improvised,"
admitted another bald-headed boy, face contorted in dismay.
"…"
Snape's own words had come back to bite him—
he was momentarily speechless.
Still, there was a difference between Snape and some other professors:
"Right now, immediately—pack your things and go to Gryffindor!"
he roared, making the smaller wizards recoil in terror.
"But I—"
"No, please…!"
The two little Slytherins flushed, shaking their heads. Of course, Snape had no power to switch them to another House; it was just a menacing ploy to divert attention.
"Let this be a lesson to everyone. Anyone who pulls a stunt like that again—pack up and get out, never to step foot in my classroom."
This warning was entirely serious.
After that, he proceeded with extreme caution, monitoring the last handful of lagging brewers:
"That color's off—toss it and start anew!"
"Look at this bizarre hue—fools!"
"Didn't you watch Prince? Redo it!"
"This is barely acceptable. Go practice more at home until you reach this standard."
…
Holding Ian's potion, Snape walked between the two Houses until the final group managed a barely passable concoction.
"Clearly, none of you have any real talent. This soulless, mechanical brew ended up top—Slytherin's performance, in particular, is a letdown."
He raised Ian's potion with a scornful look. Coming back to Ian and Aurora's table, he set it down in front of Ian.
"This reward is yours, Prince. It was intended for someone truly outstanding, but it lands in the lap of a disrespectful, lazy nobody."
He dropped a small pouch onto the desk.
"Also, five points to Ravenclaw. Though it irks me, I uphold the principle of punishment and reward,"
he said, pointedly loosening the pouch's drawstring.
Some curious students peered over.
"It's Felix Felicis! My dad owns a vial,"
someone exclaimed, wide-eyed.
At once, the room buzzed with chatter.
"Indeed—Felix Felicis. In potions, it's the threshold of mastery. Don't expect any of you to taste its secrets by brewing it yourselves,"
Snape announced with loftiness, surveying the class. Spotting Ian grinning over the bag, he turned and headed for the podium.
"Class dismissed!"
Already stifled by Snape's scolding, the students gladly packed up and fled. Snape tidied his papers, intending to return to his office to recuperate.
But upon exiting the classroom,
he spied Ian and Aurora still standing in the corridor.
"I did promise to give you a gift. Originally, I wanted to learn Alchemy and craft some super-powerful weapon, but this is also good—my hard-won fruit of labor,"
Ian said, rummaging within the pouch of five or six vials of Felix Felicis. Selecting the largest, he pressed it into Aurora's hands.
"??????"
Just a short distance away at the door,
Snape, hearing Ian's words, felt veins bulging on his forehead.
Hard-won fruit of labor?
I spent half a year brewing that, you little swindler!
Could you be any more shameless?
Yes, Hogwarts had surely admitted a real dog this year!
"I don't want that. I want the super-powerful weapon you mentioned—really that powerful?"
Aurora, intrigued, tried handing back the Felix Felicis.
But that gesture
seemed the final straw for Snape:
"Hahaha—turns out there are two dogs!"
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