Snape's brief and cold opening remarks fell, and the classroom plunged into a dead silence, as if even the air had frozen.
However, the silence was quickly broken by loud applause from the Slytherin long table.
Nios was clapping vigorously, completely oblivious to his surroundings, a dazzling smile plastered across his face.
The little snakes, who had originally intended to remain silent, were swept by Nios's seemingly casual but in fact extremely oppressive gaze, and like being whipped by an invisible whip, they all joined in, and the applause instantly became enthusiastic and orderly.
How could the little lions of Gryffindor show weakness?
Seeing this, they immediately started clapping, and the applause in the classroom instantly became sparse and confrontational.
Harry and Ron exchanged a "here we go again" look, raising their eyebrows helplessly.
Hermione painfully covered her face with her hands, a blush of shame and anger showing through her fingers, wishing she could disappear on the spot.
Azazel tugged at Neville's robe with his small claws, leaning close to his ear and whispering, his voice full of the vicissitudes of an experienced person: "See that, kid? To be his friend, you need a big heart and a thick skin, always ready to be pushed out as a target."
Neville could only scratch his head awkwardly, unsure how to react.
After the classroom quieted down,
"Potter!" Snape's voice, like a poisoned icicle, pierced the lingering echoes of applause.
His hollow black eyes fixed on Harry, "Tell me, what do you get if you add powdered asphodel root to an infusion of wormwood?"
What powder added to what liquid? Harry's mind went blank.
He instinctively looked at Ron, who also had a bewildered expression, clearly just as stumped by the question.
Hermione's arm was raised high like a flagpole, but she clearly hadn't recovered from the public humiliation Nios had caused, her lips tightly pursed.
"I… I don't know, sir," Harry answered, steeling himself.
Snape's thin lips curved into a sneering arc, as if he were enjoying a clumsy performance.
"Tut, tut… It seems that fame cannot compensate for a lack of common sense."
He completely ignored Hermione's stubborn arm.
"Let's try again. Potter, if I asked you to find a bezoar, where would you look?"
Harry didn't even know what a bezoar was.
He forced himself to meet Snape's cold, lifeless eyes, trying not to imagine the mocking expressions his classmates might be making.
"I don't know, sir," his voice was even smaller.
"I suppose," Snape's voice dragged, laced with viscous malice, "before school started, you probably didn't even touch a book cover, did you, Potter?"
Harry felt a surge of anger rising in his chest.
At the Dursleys, he had clearly read through all his textbooks! Did Snape expect him to memorize that brick-thick "One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi" word for word?
"Potter, last question, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
Hermione squirmed in her seat, her arm raised even higher.
"I don't know," Harry's voice carried a hint of suppressed irritation, "but, clearly, Hermione knows the answer, why don't you ask her?"
A few students couldn't help but chuckle.
This laughter, coupled with Nios's provocative leading of applause just now, was like adding fuel to the fire.
Snape looked at Harry's face, which closely resembled his father's, and the disgust churning in his eyes almost materialized.
"Put it down!" he roared at Hermione, his voice making the glass jars hum.
He snapped back to Harry, speaking rapidly like a machine gun: "I'll tell you! Asphodel root powder and wormwood make a powerful sleeping potion, the Draught of Living Death! A bezoar, taken from a goat's stomach, is a potent antidote! Monkshood and wolfsbane are the same thing, both called aconite! Understood?! Why aren't you writing any of this down?!"
The classroom instantly filled with the rustling sound of students frantically searching for parchment and quills.
Amidst the chaotic noise, Snape's cold voice came like a verdict: "Potter, for contradicting a Professor, Gryffindor will lose one point."
Harry felt a surge of repressed anger shoot to his head! Nios was the one who caused trouble! Why was it counted against him?!
Potion Class continued in a tense atmosphere.
Perhaps due to displaced anger, or perhaps simply due to Snape's dislike of Gryffindor, the subsequent practical session became a disaster.
Snape, dragging his long black robes, moved like a grim reaper surveying a battlefield, weaving among the cauldrons emitting strange odors.
He criticized almost everyone: the measurements of dried nettles were imprecise, the technique for crushing fangs was crude… Harsh scolding was incessant.
Only Draco and Nios, this "pair," were spared. Draco, relying on his pure-blood family's extensive knowledge, performed somewhat decently, while Nios was completely hands-off, leaning leisurely against the back of his chair, watching Draco frantically complete all the steps alone, even with a look of enjoying the show on his face.
Just then,
"Screech—bang!"
A piercing explosion accompanied by a strong acidic smell suddenly erupted! A thick, foul-smelling green smoke billowed from Neville and Seamus's cauldron!
Neville's mistake caused the potion in the cauldron to instantly boil, deform, and finally completely lose control! Scalding corrosive liquid splashed out, spreading across the floor like green venomous snakes, hissing and instantly burning through the soles of several unlucky students' shoes! And the cauldron itself twisted into an unidentifiable mass of scrap metal!
Neville, being the closest, bore the brunt, drenched by the scalding potion!
He let out a piercing shriek, and his exposed arms and legs rapidly swelled with red, oozing boils before their very eyes, the intense pain almost making him lose his balance.
"Idiot!" Snape's roar was like thunder, and with a wave of his wand, the potion on the floor instantly vanished, but Neville's terrible condition and the pungent smell in the air could not be erased.
"Did you throw porcupine quills in without taking the cauldron off the fire?!"
Neville was in so much pain that tears and snot streamed down his face, and even the tip of his nose sprouted several swollen boils, making him look pitiful and horrifying.
"Send him to the infirmary!" Snape commanded Seamus, who was pale with fright.
However, a figure moved faster than Seamus.
Nios, like a phantom, moved through the chaotic crowd and went directly to Neville, who was curled up on the ground, groaning in pain.
"Chaos!" Snape's brows knitted into a tight knot, his voice filled with alarm and undisguised disgust, "What do you want?"
"Azazel!" Nios's voice was not loud, but it carried an undeniable command.
Azazel, who had been squatting at Hermione's feet, heard this, flapped his small wings, and swooped over like lightning.
He unceremoniously grabbed Neville's collar with his claws, trying to lift him, but accidentally brushed against several of the swollen boils on his body, eliciting another painful whimper from Neville.
Nios lightly tapped his wand, and a Levitation Charm cleared a small area of clutter on the ground nearby.
Then, he calmly took out the intricately patterned transmutation circle from his robes, the very same one he had used to reshape his own body.
He neatly spread it out on the ground.
Azazel cooperatively placed the boil-covered, suffering Neville in the center of the transmutation circle, then landed at Nios's feet, his small eyes vigilantly fixed on his master.
"Go easy this time… Holy crap!!!"
Azazel's complaint instantly turned into a piercing shriek! The fake wand in Nios's hand instantly transformed, becoming a small, gleaming hacksaw!
He mercilessly clamped Azazel's head under his arm, and with a swift motion, sawed down on the small demon horns atop his head!
The grating sound of metal rubbing, accompanied by Azazel's heart-wrenching wails, echoed through the cold underground classroom!
Sparks even flew from the point where the saw blade met the horn! Some timid girls covered their eyes, afraid to look at the cruel and bizarre scene.
Even Neville, in the transmutation circle, was so startled by the sudden bloody scene that he forgot to cry, his eyes wide with terror.
Nios was expressionless, his movements precise and cold, as if he were processing an irrelevant material.
Soon, a small section of demon horn, streaked with dark red blood, was sawed off.
Nios casually tossed the unconscious Azazel aside like trash.
Holding the warm horn, he walked to the edge of the transmutation circle and carefully placed it on a specific runic node.
Then, he turned to the terrified Neville in the circle, his tone as calm as if discussing the weather:
"Close your eyes." He paused, looking at Neville's boil-covered face, seemed to think of something, and added, "By the way, is there anything you're dissatisfied with about your current appearance? For example… parts other than these boils?"
Neville's mouth opened, but due to the intense pain and shock, he couldn't make any meaningful sound.
Looking at the unable-to-answer Neville, Nios shrugged indifferently: "Alright, then next time. This time… just keep your original appearance."
As his voice fell, Nios firmly pressed his hands onto the runes at the edge of the transmutation circle