After dinner, Loren and Hermione were about to head to the abandoned Potions classroom they'd used before for Transfiguration practice, when Harry, Ron, and Neville blocked their way.
This time Harry was the one leading the charge. During dinner, he had noticed Professors McGonagall and several others whispering together at the staff table—including Professor Snape.
Sensing something suspicious, Harry immediately thought back to the recent changes in Flitwick's and McGonagall's teaching styles. Coupled with Snape's cold nods of agreement, Harry was convinced something was brewing. And with two double-period Potions classes with Slytherin scheduled the next morning, it could only mean trouble.
Harry had wanted to tell Ron first—his best friend and closest confidant. Besides, Ron was right beside him, while Loren and Hermione were sitting further away, in what had essentially become the Gryffindor couples' section. Surrounded by young pairs, all the single lions had wisely left that corner to the romantics.
At the time, Ron was caught up in what he thought was a contest with Neville—who could eat more. Of course, Neville wasn't competing at all; he was simply eating normally. Thanks to the enchanted training gear, Neville's appetite had grown noticeably, which Ron misinterpreted as a challenge. He wasn't about to lose to Neville at the dinner table, so he wolfed down his food even faster.
Harry, intending to raise the matter, turned and saw Ron practically inhaling food, while Neville kept pace without even trying. Sighing, Harry slid a pumpkin juice closer to Ron in case he choked, then ended up eating faster himself, spurred on by their frenzy.
After ten minutes or so, Neville finally stopped, clearly full. Ron slumped back, belly round and groaning. Harry, who had long since finished, seized the moment to speak.
"Ron, I saw Professors McGonagall and Snape whispering together earlier. Something's going to happen tomorrow in Potions."
"Oh, Merlin's socks!" Ron gasped, nearly leaping despite his stuffed stomach. "My brothers warned me—Snape always picks on Gryffindors. Tomorrow we're doomed!"
Neville, catching their talk, added nervously, "Maybe it'll be like Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall's classes—finish the task, no homework; fail it, double assignments."
"That must be it," Ron agreed at once. "That greasy bat will definitely make things hard for us. What do we do, Harry?"
After a round of frantic brainstorming, the three decided the only solution was to ask Loren for help.
When Harry explained, Loren looked at Hermione. "Do we still practice Transfiguration tonight?"
"No," Hermione said firmly. "Harry's right. We should study Potions instead. Better to be prepared than give Snape an excuse to target us." She was no naïve bookworm—she'd heard enough about Snape from upper-year Gryffindors to take the threat seriously.
So Loren led them all to the abandoned Potions classroom and began their crash course.
"Snape can test you in two areas," Loren explained. "One: theory. Two: practical brewing. You'll have to study the theory in your own time, but tonight, I'll show you how to brew the first potion in the textbook."
He pulled several cauldrons and ingredients from his robe. Harry, Ron, and Neville gawked, astonished at how he could pull such large objects from seemingly nowhere. Loren's robe had already become something of a legend among the students—ordinary in appearance, but somehow endlessly stocked.
Hermione quickly explained about the Undetectable Extension Charm, calming their awe.
Loren carefully laid out the cauldrons and materials, then demonstrated step by step, following the textbook exactly. Once he had produced a correct potion, he let them try in pairs: Harry with Ron, Hermione with Neville.
With Loren's guidance, they managed to brew acceptable potions before curfew, though it cost Loren five sets of ingredients and much patience. After all, these were children who had neither cooked nor run experiments before—he couldn't expect perfection.
…
The next morning, after training at the Black Lake, Loren, Hermione, and Neville returned to the common room to find every first-year poring over Potions and Herbology textbooks.
The reason soon came out: the previous night, Ron and Harry had been spotted studying in the common room. The Weasley twins, suspicious of their usually book-averse brother, pressed them for answers. Harry explained about Snape, and the news spread like wildfire. Now, with Potions looming, every Gryffindor first-year was cramming desperately.
Loren didn't disturb them. After washing up, he and Hermione headed for breakfast, then to the library for more books.
By 8:30, they were in the Potions dungeon. The underground classroom, close to Slytherin's common room, was chillier than the upper floors, its walls lined with jars of preserved creatures that made many students shiver.
Loren, however, examined the specimens with keen interest, only taking his seat when Snape swept into the room.
Like Flitwick, Snape began with roll call. When he reached Harry's name, he paused. Flitwick had nearly toppled over with excitement; Snape, by contrast, sneered, just as in the original story, before continuing.
Harry braced himself. He knew Snape would test him, so he frantically reviewed his notes.
Once names were done, Snape's cold eyes swept the class. He began in his silken whisper:
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making.
As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you to truly appreciate the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you are not as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
The words stirred Loren's blood—not as a wizard, but as a cook. To him, Snape's speech sounded like the philosophy of a chef.
"Softly simmering," "shimmering fumes," "enchanting aroma"—wasn't this describing a soup stock? And "liquids flowing through the veins, stirring the spirit"—it sounded like a gourmet review from *Cooking Master Boy*.
Even "bottle fame, brew glory, stopper death" could be seen as culinary ambition: elevate one's reputation, create immortal dishes, invent recipes that save lives from hunger.
Every sentence screamed "chef," Loren thought. Snape didn't belong in the dungeon—he belonged in Hogwarts' kitchens. If that were the case, Loren would happily challenge him to a Shokugeki, let him taste the brilliance of glowing cuisine.
"Potter!" Snape's sudden bark cut off Loren's musings. "If I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood, what would I have?"
The sudden question jolted Loren back to the present. He sat up, ready to witness a famous scene—this time, with a Harry he had trained.
Unlike in the original, Harry stood and answered calmly:
"I don't know, sir."
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