Chapter 43
To be honest, for Devero, the most dreaded class was Defense Against the Dark Arts, mainly because Quirrell always filled the room with the stench of garlic. The second, without a doubt, was Potions. Despite Devero's potion-making skills far surpassing his peers, he should, in theory, enjoy the class. After all, it was a chance to show off. In the future, with the Slytherin Heir trait equipped, any honors he earned could boost his abilities. But Snape gave him no chance to shine, treating him like he was invisible in class. Snape's eyes were only on...
"Potter! If I add asphodel powder to an infusion of wormwood, what would I get?"
Indeed, it was the first Friday of Devero's first week at Hogwarts, and the morning's first class was Potions. The scene unfolding was the classic "Potions Class Three Questions" routine. Seeing Hermione's hand shoot up high, Devero couldn't help but give a wry smile and shake his head. At times like this, it was best not to interrupt their little "duo act."
Beside him, Neville was clearly terrified by Snape's severity, ducking his head under the table, dreading being called on next. Anticipating Neville's potential struggles, Devero had chosen to sit with him. Thanks to Devero's reputation, a Slytherin sitting with a Gryffindor didn't raise eyebrows. No Slytherin would criticize him for it.
Surprisingly, Malfoy seemed uninterested in this public humiliation of Harry. He and his two lackeys sat in a corner, eyes glazed over. Few students sat near him, whether Slytherin or Gryffindor. Yesterday's flying lesson must have hit him hard. Even some older Slytherins were starting to turn on him. After all, when they stepped out that morning, they saw Slytherin's house points hourglass completely empty! It was a tough pill to swallow. In the common room the previous night, some were already lamenting that Slytherin might lose the House Cup for the first time in seven years.
As a transmigrator, Devero knew the House Cup was already destined for Gryffindor, preordained by Dumbledore for the next seven years. So, he didn't bother fighting it. He felt no resentment toward Malfoy, only hoping he'd stay quiet—which he was, perfectly meeting Devero's expectations. With that sullen expression, Malfoy was clearly shaken.
Meanwhile, Snape's torment continued. "Tch, tch… it seems fame isn't everything." He walked right past Hermione, whose hand was practically touching the ceiling, his eyes fixed on Harry's face. "Let's try again, Potter. If I asked you to fetch me a bezoar, where would you look?"
"I don't know, Professor."
"I suppose you didn't open a single book before term started, did you, Potter?"
What followed was a series of answers spilling from Snape's mouth as he sharply scanned the onlookers. Except for Devero, everyone who met his gaze shrank back.
"Understood? Why aren't you writing this down?!"
The classic three questions left the students too scared to breathe. The sound of quills scratching filled the air. Devero, propping his chin, watched boredly. Honestly, this was basic knowledge he'd mastered six months ago, even before awakening his system. With the Potions Spirit trait, it was child's play. Unfortunately, Snape only had eyes for Potter during class. After docking points from Harry for talking back, the lesson finally reached the part Devero had been waiting for.
He'd forgotten his potion-making tools, which Snape had given him, leaving them in Errol's stomach. When he tried to retrieve them two days ago, they were covered in mysterious slime. He'd cleaned them and left them to dry, meaning he hadn't touched potions all week. Today, he could finally get to work!
Snape paired them up to brew a simple potion for curing boils. Naturally, Devero teamed up with Neville, who was sitting beside him. Honestly, Neville was a bit clumsy. Even with Devero's help, he nearly added the ingredients in the wrong order—partly because Snape kept lurking behind them. Under Devero's protection, they were among the only two in class not scolded by Snape. Even Malfoy, Snape's usual favorite in the original story, got a quiet reprimand for being distracted.
Despite Neville's occasional fumbles, Devero's extraordinary potion-making intuition and a touch of mystical finesse allowed them to complete the potion using only two-thirds of the materials. While others were still weighing dried nettles, their classmates turned to gape at the clear, steaming green potion in Devero's cauldron.
"Good heavens! It hasn't even been three minutes, and Alexander's done?"
"No way! I haven't even crushed my snake fangs, and he's finished brewing? Is this guy really in our year?"
"I bet Devero comes from a pure-blood family in France! He must've had top-notch magical education from a young age!"
"Exactly! And he's so polite and refined—he's definitely from nobility!"
These were the whispers from the Slytherins, reaching Devero's ears and making him chuckle. Nobility? He'd just gone through nine years of standard education. Being a normal person who didn't spew trash talk made him a noble? Though, the part about a solid potions education was true—Snape himself had taught him, albeit through a rather grueling process.
"Enough. No unnecessary noise here," Snape's low voice, slightly louder than a whisper but clear to all, cut through. "Or do you think you've already mastered this potion?"
His venomous gaze swept over the students who'd been chattering, silencing them instantly. He approached Devero and Neville's desk, staring at the cauldron of clear, flawless potion. Snape stood motionless, his eyes boring into it. Devero knew that look—Snape was searching for a flaw to criticize. But obviously, Devero wasn't going to mess up such a simple potion.
Tch! A faint, almost imperceptible sound of Snape clicking his tongue escaped. Devero's lips curled slightly.
"Very standard, even perfect work, Mr. Alexander. For your performance, Slytherin gains five points."
With a dark expression, Snape turned to head back to the front. Then, Devero suddenly stood up.
"Professor Snape, you've awarded too few points."
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