It was Friday. Several days had passed since that night's "study session," and the quintet still appeared inseparable on the surface, but even bystanders could feel the low pressure permeating the group.
After understanding the true nature of the demons that night, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville fell into continuous internal conflict.
They understood that Nios's creation of the demons seemed to be a kind of "last resort," but the hurdle named "morality" deep in their hearts remained difficult to overcome.
Ron's attitude was the most resolute.
He firmly believed that demons were the embodiment of evil; even if half of "virtue" existed within them, thoroughly changing their essence required the moral elevation of all humanity, not the wishful thinking of a few young Wizards!
Hermione, on the other hand, displayed her usual rationality and desire for control.
She believed that since Nios could create demons and impose restraints, it proved that with enough knowledge, power, and will, one could, like Nios, firmly control this power and turn harm into benefit.
Shy Neville, however, posed a question that silenced the other three: Why did Nios choose them? Was it because of trust? If they continued to hesitate, would Nios lose patience and seek others to "manage" the demons?
The tension between Hermione and Ron also grew stronger day by day.
Hermione habitually guided others, which provided a sense of security for Neville, who had a poor memory and was prone to mistakes, saving him a lot of trouble.
However, Ron was extremely repulsed by this. He always felt Hermione's demeanor was too arrogant, especially when she was directing him; it was a challenge to his self-esteem!
Hermione, on the other hand, felt that Ron was taking his advantages for granted, having the background of a Wizard family but being lazy and undisciplined, not knowing how to cherish and utilize it, which was simply a waste of talent.
Harry, caught between the three, felt his head was about to explode from these conflicting viewpoints.
Ron's pessimism, Hermione's radicalism, and Neville's worries clashed and swirled in his mind like three turbulent currents, giving him a splitting headache and preventing him from making a decision.
At breakfast, Hagrid's invitation letter felt like a lifeline.
Harry felt a wave of relief.
Hagrid was an adult, knew about Nios, and was reliable enough! He decided to go to Hagrid for advice.
The only problem was how to cleverly avoid Nios?
Neville watched his friends sink into their respective whirlpools of trouble, feeling a sense of helplessness.
He wanted Nios to say something to ease the atmosphere, but he knew deep down that Nios was the source of this turmoil.
He could only silently watch his friends torment each other, and himself, his small face filled with worry.
During this period, the only course that held Nios's slight interest was Professor Binns's History of Magic.
Examining historical events from a Wizard's perspective, especially those parts covered up or distorted by Muggle records, gave him much inspiration regarding humanity, faith, and the operation of power.
However, he was not in a hurry to start research immediately.
Today was Friday, and it was also the first Potion Class shared with Slytherin.
Nios intended to experience all the basic courses first, then decide which areas of knowledge were most valuable to him.
In the afternoon, he planned to explore Hogwarts' famous library, which was said to house not only rare books difficult to find elsewhere but also numerous private donations from pure-blood families and outstanding graduates.
Of course, what attracted him most was the mysterious Restricted Section, rumored to contain powerful magic texts and little-known historical secrets.
The Potion Class classroom was located on the first floor of the Castle's deep dungeon.
It was cold and damp, filled with a pungent smell of strange herbs, pickled creatures, and embalming fluids.
Huge glass jars lining the walls contained various oddly shaped plant and animal specimens, casting distorted shadows in the dim light, making the entire space more like a gloomy underground crypt or morgue.
When the quintet arrived, the young Wizards of Slytherin were already sitting upright at the long table on the other side of the classroom, unusually quiet.
A suffocating silence permeated the air.
When Draco noticed Nios entering, his gaze instinctively darted over quickly, then swiftly dropped, staring intently at the desktop in front of him, as if there was something extremely captivating there.
Ever since Lucius pulled him aside that day and sternly warned him about Nios's true identity, Draco had been ordered: absolutely, absolutely, absolutely no conflict of any kind with Nios!
It was best to make the other party completely ignore his existence! Because no one could predict whether this fellow, who carried the blood of a witch hunter, would suddenly "awaken" one day and resume his ancestors' terrifying "career."
Nios's gaze swept over the unusually quiet Slytherin long table, and a playful arc appeared at the corner of his mouth.
He suddenly turned his head and whispered to Neville beside him, "I'm going to find some fun."
Before Neville could react, he saw Nios walk straight towards the Slytherin side.
The little snakes' nerves instantly tensed! Seeing Nios approach, they instinctively wanted to retreat, their bodies leaning back slightly, yet they were as if nailed to their seats by invisible nails; fear suppressed the instinct to flee, and they could only remain stiffly in place, not daring to breathe.
Nios walked calmly and finally stopped behind Draco.
He extended both hands and gently rested them on Draco's stiff shoulders.
Draco felt like a frog targeted by a venomous snake; all the blood in his body froze, he dared not move, not even breathe.
Nios did not look at Draco; instead, he slowly turned his head to Crabbe, who was sitting next to Draco, his voice not loud, but clearly penetrating the deathly silent classroom:
"Excuse me, classmate, could you please move? I'd like to sit here."
Crabbe's massive body trembled violently, almost springing up, moving stiffly to an empty seat nearby, his head down, not daring to look at Nios.
Nios then sat down in the spot Crabbe vacated, and then very naturally extended his arm, wrapping it around Draco's tense neck, pulling him closer. Draco's body was stiff as a stone.
"Dear Draco..." Nios's voice carried a chillingly intimate tone as he leaned close to Draco's pale ear, "Why haven't you come to find me since the Welcoming Feast? Wasn't our conversation quite pleasant?"
Draco felt as if the arm around his neck was a cold iron band; he didn't even have the courage to shift his eyes, only managing to squeeze out a few broken syllables from his throat: "I... I..."
Nios seemed not to care about his answer, continuing on his own: "Today, we'll be desk-mates. I believe..." The arm around Draco's neck seemed to subtly tighten a fraction, "...we will definitely become the best partners in this class. Right, Draco?"
Draco felt a suffocating pressure, as if the shadow of death instantly enveloped him! He hastily, with a tearful voice, panicked and replied: "Yes... yes! Of course! Definitely... definitely!"
Hearing a satisfactory answer, a brilliant smile bloomed on Nios's face, and the pressure from his arm eased, as he nonchalantly picked up "One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi" from Draco's desk and began to flip through it.
Draco felt as if he had been granted a great pardon, gasping for breath, his forehead covered in fine cold sweat, his entire body almost collapsing from exhaustion.
The four little ones at the Gryffindor long table witnessed the entire scene. Watching Draco's terrified look, Harry, Ron, and Neville unexpectedly felt a subtle sense of... sympathy? Even Hermione's tightly furrowed brows relaxed slightly.
Only Azazel, squatting by Harry's feet, picked his teeth with a small paw and scoffed dismissively: "Tsk, pity him? Save it! Be careful Nios gets bored with you guys later and comes to play with you!"
Nine o'clock sharp.
"Bang—!!!"
The classroom door was violently pushed open with a rough force, slamming hard against the stone wall, creating a deafening crash! All the young Wizards of Gryffindor and Slytherin jumped in fright, uniformly looking towards the doorway.
Professor Severus Snape swept in, bringing with him a cold gust of wind.
His black Wizard's robes billowed and swelled like giant bat wings as he strode quickly towards the podium.
Pale, waxy skin, greasy hair clinging to his scalp, and thin, tightly pressed lips beneath a hooked nose combined to form a cold, harsh, and scrutinizing face.
Like Professor Flitwick, Snape picked up the roll call and began.
And like Professor Flitwick, when he called out the names "Nios Chaos" and "Harry Potter," he would pause for a moment, his deep, bottomless black eyes sharply scanning the person called.
When Nios's name was called, Snape's gaze swept over the Slytherin long table, and his brow instantly knitted into a tight knot.
"Chaos." His voice was like a poisonous snake slithering across ice, cold and slow, "Explain, why are you sitting in a Slytherin seat?"
Nios looked up, a harmless, brilliant smile on his face: "Because my good friend Draco cordially invited me, Professor Snape." He said, nudging the pale-faced Draco beside him intimately with his elbow, "Right, Draco?"
Draco could only force out a bitter smile, uglier than a cry, and stiffly nodded at Snape.
Snape's cold gaze swept back and forth between Nios and Draco, finally saying nothing and continuing to finish the roll call.
After calling the roll, he closed the register and slowly raised his eyes, his gaze like solid ice, sweeping over the hushed young Wizards below the podium.
Snape's eyes were like two cold, hollow, lightless black tunnels leading to an abyss; merely being looked at was enough to send a chill to one's bones.
"You are here to learn the precise science and exact art of Potion-making."
His voice was barely louder than a whisper, but everyone heard every word he said.
Like Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape also possessed the intimidating power to effortlessly bring order to the classroom.
"As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic."
"I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of a gently simmering cauldron, emitting white smoke and a delicate fragrance; you won't truly comprehend the marvelous magic of the liquid that flows into people's veins, making hearts flutter and wills wander..."
"I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—provided you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I generally have to teach."