Snape sneered, "Hmph, you little pest, think I can't handle you?"
Back when Snape was a poor nobody, getting gold thrown in his face might've stung his pride. But now? The Potions Master could whip up a single potion and have Galleons spilling out of sacks if he wanted. Leon's antics? Utterly laughable.
Only those too weak to make their own fortune would feel humiliated by a shower of coins.
In the end, Leon kept his money, but his House points? Not so much. Snape, citing "disrespect to a professor," docked Gryffindor 20 points.
Leon put on a show of deep regret, but inside, he was snickering. Deduct all you want, Snape. Doesn't matter how many points you take—by the end of the year, Dumbledore will make sure Gryffindor gets them back. Our man Dumbledore would never let the Savior miss out on the House Cup!
The little pre-class drama passed, and Potions carried on. Snape, true to form, continued his usual routine: endlessly indulgent with Slytherin students, ruthlessly picky with everyone else. No wonder Slytherin House wasn't exactly everyone's favorite—Snape, their dear Head of House, was a major reason why.
He gave a quick rundown of the potion-making process, then paired everyone up to brew a simple Boil-Cure Potion.
Looking like he was auditioning for a Dementor role, Snape glided around in his long black robes, greasy hair swinging, mocking Gryffindors left and right and finding any excuse to dock points. Slytherins who messed up? He'd toss out a backhanded compliment but never took points.
He was particularly fond of Astoria Greengrass, praising her precise technique multiple times and awarding Slytherin nearly 10 points in no time.
And Leon? Oh, Leon wasn't about to let this slide. He decided to get even right then and there, planning something spicy for Snape.
He shoved all the ingredient prep onto Colin, freeing himself up to secretly watch the Slytherin students' progress. The potion called for one live ingredient: a tentacled slug.
It had to be dropped into boiling potion midway through. Leon kept a close eye on every Slytherin, timing the exact moment they added their slug.
The second a tentacled slug hit the bubbling potion—
[Petrificus Totalus]
Leon's eyes bulged as he channeled magic like a maniac. First slug? Petrified. Second? Nailed it. Third? Too far, missed.
He'd only recently mastered this Basilisk-like skill, nowhere near the level of turning people to stone with a glance. But slugs? Lowly creatures like that were easy pickings—no eye contact needed.
From his seat, a bit far from the Slytherins, Leon's success rate was about 50%. Not bad. He didn't need to petrify them for long—just enough to turn the slug to stone the moment it hit the boiling water, altering its properties and sabotaging the potion.
The results came fast.
Suddenly, the Potions classroom filled with ominous sizzling sounds. Several Slytherin cauldrons started bubbling wildly, puffing out smoke with a loud gurgle.
Leon had no clue what messing with the slug's properties would do to the final potion, but he was no stranger to chaos. Experience told him this was about to get big.
Seeing the cauldrons tremble and the liquid inside go haywire, Leon grabbed Colin, hit the stone floor, curled up, and covered his head.
"Enemy attack! Get down!" he shouted, ever the helpful soul.
BOOM!
The cauldron with the biggest slug exploded. The petrified slug, now an unmelting stone, shot to the ceiling, shattering into bits—perfectly destroying Leon's evidence.
Scalding potion sprayed everywhere, splashing a ton of students. Screams filled the air.
Before Snape could react, more cauldrons went off—Bang! Bang! Bang!
Greenish potion splattered like a tidal wave. Those too slow to duck got drenched. The screams were deafening.
Most of the class got hit. Only a few Gryffindors—either quick to heed Leon's warning or far enough to dodge—escaped unscathed.
The classroom was a disaster: steaming potion puddles, shattered cauldron pieces, and first-year students running around, crying, covered in red, swollen boils.
Even Snape wasn't spared. A splash of potion hit his hooked nose, sprouting a bright red boil.
"Pfft! Kukukuku…"
Leon peeked at Snape's misfortune and couldn't hold it in, letting out a muffled laugh. He quickly covered his mouth, sprawling on the floor, pretending to be gravely injured while shaking from suppressed giggles.
Too funny! That big, red, clown-like nose on Greasy-Haired Snape! Hahahaha!
Snape was furious, his limp hair practically standing on end.
"STOP! Everyone, STOP! No running!" he roared, trying to control the chaos.
"Those injured, line up quietly. I'm taking you to the Hospital Wing."
He covered his swelling nose-boil, his voice nasally and muffled.
"The rest of you, clean this up!"
He shot Leon a venomous glare. No proof, no clue how Leon pulled it off, and that innocent look on Leon's face—but Snape knew. This mess had Leon's fingerprints all over it.
Just like his no-good father.
Snape, never one for fair judgment, barked, "Green! Disrupting class, causing a magical accident, and injuring multiple students—Gryffindor loses another 20 points, and you're in detention for a week!"
"What?! I'm innocent! By Merlin's beard, by the Great Pumpkin Soup, I'm more innocent than a Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Bean!"
Leon's acting kicked into high gear, his voice cracking with fake tears, perfectly playing the poor little wizard persecuted by the evil Potions Master.
The first-years, even the badly injured Slytherins, thought Snape was being ridiculous. Leon, even if possessed by Merlin himself, couldn't have made multiple cauldrons explode at once.
He hadn't even touched their ingredients or cauldrons—how could he have done it?
Even if Leon was skilled enough to tamper with their potions remotely, wouldn't Snape, the brilliant Potions Master, have noticed? And if he noticed, wouldn't he say so?
It had to be a coincidence, right?
The battered little witches and wizards, groaning in pain, helped each other hobble out of the classroom toward the Hospital Wing on the second floor.
Leon, acting devastated, slumped over his desk, crocodile tears streaming, neatly dodging cleanup duty and slacking off until class ended.
The moment he left, he spread the tale across Hogwarts:
"This year's Slytherins are so incompetent, they blew up their potions!"
"Slytherin's Head of House was so embarrassed, he took it out on innocent Gryffindors!"
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