The first messenger owl flew out of the Owlery as the first ray of orange sunlight climbed the spires of Hogwarts Castle.
The corridor grew lively again, filled with a stream of young wizards making their way down the spiral staircase to the dungeons.
"I heard the Potions professor is Professor Snape," Michael muttered, rubbing his sleepy eyes and stifling a yawn. He had spent half the night tinkering with a quill.
"It's a rumor I overheard in the Ravenclaw common room. The older students say Professor Snape is the most..."
He stopped on purpose, making Terry crane his neck closer. Even the whispers of the other first-years nearby died down.
"He's the professor who deducts the most House Points in all of Hogwarts."
His voice shook as he spoke, and with the dungeon air growing steadily colder, the first-years' faces went pale.
In that deliberately stoked tension, they arrived at the Potions classroom.
It was an underground room, several degrees colder than the castle above. Even during the day, little sunlight reached it, relying instead on floating candles for light.
Glass jars lined the walls, each containing some strange animal specimen suspended in liquid.
Sean chose a seat not far from the specimens; by just turning his head, he could see bat spleens floating in a jar. These were ingredients for brewing potions, specifically swelling solutions.
As soon as he sat down, a boy with dimples dropped into the seat beside him.
"Sean, I knew you'd come early."
Justin grinned warmly, then pulled glass vials from his bag and lined them up neatly on the table.
Michael, who had been aiming for the seat next to Sean, blinked in disbelief. "Is this an illusion? When did he get here?"
Grumbling, he gave up and plopped into another seat.
Soon, all the students had arrived. Whether it was the chill in the room or the fearsome reputation of Professor Snape, not one dared to raise their voice.
And then
Bang!
The dungeon door slammed open. A man with sallow skin and a hooked nose swept into the classroom.
His long black cloak billowed out like the wings of a great bat. With a few swift strides he was at the podium, his movements sharp, assured, and unnervingly precise.
"Listen."
His voice was cold and cutting.
"This class does not require you to chant spells mindlessly or wave your wands foolishly. So I suspect few of you will grasp the subtle science and exact art of potion-making.
However, for those select few who possess the ability..."
His eyes glinted as they passed over the rows of wide-eyed students.
"I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses."
"I will teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory... The only condition is that you are not the sort of dunderheads and fools I so often encounter!"
His voice rang deep and powerful, silencing the room in an instant.
"Hannah Abbott! Tell me how should slugs be treated?"
His sharp gaze swept the classroom like a storm until it fixed on the small witch with plaited hair.
Under that piercing stare, Hannah's voice quavered. "Steaming, Professor."
She had clearly read ahead in the textbook. Even though it was only material from the first chapter, her preparation spared her from embarrassment.
"Sit down!"
Snape's expression did not soften.
"Sean Green! Tell me, how would you prepare a horned slug?"
He leaned forward, blocking the glow of the candles.
"Steam it for a longer time about three minutes, Professor," Sean answered at once.
"Not bad."
Snape shifted away in a swirl of black robes.
"Wayne Hopkins! What is a bezoar?"
He loomed over Wayne like a thundercloud, and the short-haired boy's reply was forced out in a strained whisper. "I... I don't know, Professor."
"If your troll-sized brain were still functioning, you would know that a bezoar is a solid mass taken from the stomach of a goat. It serves as an antidote to most poisons."
Snape's deathly glare pinned Wayne in place until the boy shook with fear.
"Sit down! Hufflepuff loses one point, thanks to Wayne's empty head!"
His cold eyes swept the classroom again, and not a soul dared meet them.
"The rest of you why aren't you writing this down?"
At once, quills scratched furiously against parchment as though the students could escape the storm by sheer speed. Yet Snape's relentless roll call continued.
"Ernie Macmillan!"
…He was like a merciless machine built for deducting House Points. By the end of his questioning, Ravenclaw had already lost six points, and Hufflepuff had lost twelve.
Naturally, this led Sean to a conclusion: Slytherin's streak of six consecutive House Cups was surely not unrelated to Professor Snape's efforts.
In the original tale, Professor Snape even wrote down every student's name just to make it easier to dock points.
Professor Snape really was…
But then Snape's next words made Sean sit bolt upright, listening intently.
"Listen carefully. If anyone dares to alter a potion recipe, or add or remove steps without permission "
Professor Snape's eyes swept grimly across the classroom, pausing long enough on each face to ensure no one dared let their attention wander.
Then he began to demonstrate the brewing of Murtlap Essence, a simple remedy for boils.
The cauldron before him hissed and steamed, the mixture bubbling and thickening until, within a few short minutes, it had become a dark green potion.
"I do not expect any of you to succeed quickly. I only hope some dunderheads do not manage to create danger. Well? What are you waiting for? In pairs begin!"
Justin's face drained of colour. He tried to appear calm as he followed the instructions.
Sean was no more at ease not because of Snape's oppressive presence, but because he was anxious to discover what talent, if any, he had for potion-making.
"Slugs, dried nettles, crushed snake fangs, porcupine quills... Sean, these are right, aren't they?"
Justin glanced nervously at the ingredients Sean was arranging, his voice tight. But seeing Sean's steady expression, he relaxed a little.
"Mm."
Sean nodded and continued preparing the ingredients precisely as the textbook described. "Let's follow the steps. We'll process the slugs first."
Justin caught on quickly and bent to light the flame beneath the cauldron. The book had warned that the cauldron needed to be preheated.
"Shall we use mine?" Justin asked quietly.
Sean glanced at Justin's polished silver cauldron, then nodded.
The quality of the cauldron did not drastically affect the potion's result, but Justin's silver cauldron was certainly finer than the battered brass one Sean had bought with clenched teeth. It might even raise their chances of success if only in their minds.
It was rather nice, Sean thought, to have a hidden rich classmate seated beside him.