The bell signaling the end of class rang out, and a collective sigh of relief swept through the students. Instantly, everyone clustered around Wyzett, eager to speak.
"Planning to stay behind and tidy up the classroom, are you?" came the frigid voice of Snape, his eyelids half-lowered, each word dripping with slow, icy sarcasm.
The crowd scattered like startled birds, frantically stuffing books into bags and jostling one another in their rush for the door.
Without warning, Snape intoned, "Wyzett, you stay and clean up."
Michael and the others shot him looks that said "good luck, mate," waving as they made their escape.
Hannah hesitated, her cheeks flushed crimson. "Um... may I stay and help too?"
A cold snort from Snape—no answer, but no objection either.
Wyzett waved her off. "Honestly, there isn't much to clean. I can handle it."
"If it weren't for you, I never would have finished my potion," Hannah insisted, rolling up her sleeves and getting to work wiping down the tables.
"Thank you," Wyzett said softly, grabbing a broom and dustpan from the corner. He swept up the scattered fragments of snake fangs and dried nettles from the floor.
Thud... thud... thud...
The rhythmic sound of a pestle grinding snake fangs echoed through the classroom. Snape, oblivious to everyone else, was already preparing ingredients for another batch of Boil-Cure Potion.
Cleanup went quickly. Soon, Wyzett found himself at the teacher's podium, quietly observing Snape's brewing technique.
Every movement was measured, no gesture wasted. With barely ten strokes, Snape reduced the snake fangs to the finest of powders.
When it came to the slugs, he didn't bother with tweezers—just pinched them between his fingers and dropped them into the steamer.
The entire brewing process flowed seamlessly. With a master's confidence, Snape used a fierce flame to cut down the brewing time.
In just ten minutes, a plume of pristine pink smoke blossomed from the cauldron like a flower—proof of a potion perfectly made.
Snape looked up, his gaze icy. "What did you see?"
Wyzett considered for a moment, then answered clearly, "Your familiarity with every ingredient. Whether you were grinding snake fangs or preparing dried nettles, everything was perfectly precise."
"You judged the quality of the slugs by touch, so you never needed to open the lid, yet still ended up with the best possible specimens."
"And before adding the porcupine quill, you scraped away its surface impurities, making the potion flawless. That's the detail that impressed me most."
"Not bad. Seems you're not entirely hopeless," Snape murmured, his tone unreadable. "Talent sets your ceiling, but Potions is no simple subject."
"Experience matters just as much. If you want to go further in this field, learn to judge ingredients by experience as well as instinct... Five points to Ravenclaw. You may go."
Hannah stared in disbelief, her hand flying to her mouth.
"Thank you, Professor Snape. We'll be going now," Wyzett said, glancing at Snape—and for the briefest moment, he thought he saw a flicker of approval in the professor's eyes.
But it vanished so quickly, he wondered if he'd imagined it.
...
At the entrance to the Great Hall, Hannah was still dazed. "That's the first time I've ever heard Professor Snape say so much—and he gave you five points! Five!"
"Doesn't he usually?" Wyzett asked, puzzled. "I remember Cho Chang telling me every professor can award or deduct points."
"Professor Snape's different..." Hannah glanced over her shoulder, then lowered her voice. "He only gives points to Slytherin. The rest of us—he just takes points away."
"Is that so?" Wyzett smiled. "Guess I'm luckier than I thought."
...
After a morning in Potions, Wyzett had earned more than a few grateful looks from the Hufflepuff first-years. As he passed their table, they greeted him with shy but genuine smiles.
And as Madam Pomfrey had promised, a lunchtime meditation left him feeling refreshed and ready for the afternoon.
The History of Magic classroom, on the castle's second floor, was neat and orderly, its windows letting in a flood of afternoon sunlight. The air was bright and calm, lending the room a quiet warmth.
As the only ghostly professor at Hogwarts, Professor Binns always made a unique entrance. When the bell rang, he drifted straight through the wall and floated to the lectern.
"Time's up—let's begin," he intoned.
No roll call. He didn't even glance at the students, just launched into his lecture in that famously flat, droning voice.
"There was once a period of stable prosperity between wizards and Muggles... Wizards lived among Muggle villages, trading potions and healing magic for necessities..."
"The demon Emeric rose in southern England, establishing a reign of terror... The appearance of this Dark wizard was the spark that set off the Muggle witch hunts..."
"Relations broke down. Wizards withdrew from Muggle villages... While Muggles couldn't threaten adult wizards, they could target young wizarding children..."
The warm sunlight and monotonous delivery made it almost impossible not to doze off.
Around Wyzett, even his most studious roommates succumbed, their heads bobbing like sleepy chicks.
Before long, only two sounds filled the classroom: Professor Binns's endless monotone and the scratch of Wyzett's quill as he took notes.
History of Magic was a brick of a book. Even after copying it out by hand, Wyzett couldn't hope to memorize it all.
But Professor Binns didn't just recite from the text—he distilled and summarized, offering insights that Wyzett found invaluable.
Unfortunately, those gems were buried in a sea of monotony, requiring the patience of a gold prospector to sift out the true wisdom.
Professor Binns continued, "Some wizards, driven to extremes by the deaths of their children, began to take revenge on Muggles..."
"The rise of these Dark wizards only deepened Muggle fear, fueling even more brutal witch hunts and leading to further tragedies..."
"Wizards developed methods to keep Muggles at bay—Muggle-Repelling Charms, anti-Muggle doorknobs. These innovations further reduced contact between the two worlds..."
History is a mirror, revealing the rise and fall of societies.
Through Professor Binns's lectures, Wyzett gradually pieced together why wizards had chosen isolation, creating a world of magic apart.
Wizards, born with magic in their veins, saw the world differently from Muggles. Faced with problems, their first instinct was to solve them with magic—hence the invention of Muggle-Repelling Charms and enchanted doors.
But in the end, both worlds were shaped by their own tools—Muggles by invention, wizards by spellcraft.
The more he thought about it, the more Wyzett felt the true allure of magical history.
When the bell rang again, his roommates blinked awake, hastily wiping drool from their chins.
Terry rubbed his eyes, still groggy. "Ugh... Wyzett, how are you still so lively?"
"I was taking notes," Wyzett replied, still caught up in the excitement. "History of Magic is just so fascinating!"
Michael gaped, then slapped his own cheeks. "Maybe that's what being a real Ravenclaw is—studying hard even in History of Magic!"
Wyzett only smiled, turning to gaze out the window at the sunlit grounds.
Suddenly, writing letters home didn't seem daunting at all. There were simply too many interesting things to share.
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
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