"Is that it? I thought we'd get to see something fun."
Outside the white circle, several younger students stood on tiptoe, pouting in disappointment.
All over the field, people were wobbling unsteadily.
At first, everyone had been excited about the legendary art of Apparition. But after seeing the sixth-years standing stiffly in place, swaying from side to side with faces redder than dragon's blood, the onlookers quickly lost interest and began drifting away in small groups.
Just then, two students accidentally jumped into the same wooden ring. They immediately began blaming and shoving each other, shouting accusations back and forth.
"It's your fault! You made me fail the Apparition!"
"You stepped into my circle!"
"Well, this is entertaining enough!"
The younger students who had been about to leave stopped in their tracks, laughing so hard they nearly fell over.
If the Heads of House hadn't intervened in time, the day would likely have ended in a brawl between upperclassmen and underclassmen.
Elsewhere, more students spun in place until they were dizzy, staggering clumsily as they tried to regain their balance.
Then, toward the end of the lesson, a serious accident occurred.
A sharp, high-pitched scream suddenly pierced the air. Everyone turned in horror to see Wormtail swaying inside his wooden ring, his empty sleeves flapping in the wind. The two hands that were supposed to Apparate with him were still lying motionless on the grass.
The Heads of House rushed to his side. With a loud bang and a puff of purple smoke, the scene cleared to reveal Wormtail sobbing uncontrollably. His hands had reattached, but his face was chalk-white, his eyes filled with terror.
"Splinching," said Wilkie Twycross calmly, wand in hand. "That's when part of the body fails to make the journey. It happens when one's determination falters. You must keep your focus on your destination, don't panic, remain calm... like this."
Twycross took a few graceful steps forward, spread his arms, and spun lightly in place, his robes billowing as he turned.
In the blink of an eye, he vanished before their eyes, and reappeared a moment later at the edge of the circle.
His flawless demonstration did nothing to lift anyone's spirits.
"I think I hate him," Abbott muttered to Snape. "Every teacher who says 'It's easy once you know how' should seriously reconsider their career."
"Agreed," Snape said, equally exasperated by his own lack of progress. "He makes it sound like all you need are hands, but judging from what we've seen, being handless might actually be safer."
Though he hadn't managed to Apparate, Snape was privately grateful to remain fully intact. Compared to being splinched, standing still was a small victory.
Twycross, however, seemed unfazed by his students' complaints and failures.
Fastening his cloak with deliberate care, he looked around the group and said slowly, "See you all next Saturday. Don't forget the three Ds, Destination, Determination, and Deliberation."
Because of their humiliation in class, the students had come to loathe those three Ds. In their minds, they stood for something entirely different: "Dumbass," "Dog-breath," and "Dung-head."
Despite the mishaps, the weekend passed quickly enough.
The following week, during Care of Magical Creatures, Snape nearly dropped his quill in disbelief at what Professor Kettleburn was teaching.
It was a rare indoor lesson, a theory class. Professor Kettleburn, with his remaining arm, was gesturing toward a large blackboard illustration of a basilisk.
"The basilisk, also known as the Serpent King or the King of Serpents," Kettleburn began, "is a massive, bright-green serpent that can reach up to fifty feet in length.
"The basilisk's fangs contain extraordinary venom of immense destructive power. Even the ground it slithers across can become tainted with a poisonous slime.
"However, its most deadly and direct weapon is its gaze. Anyone who makes direct eye contact with those yellow eyes dies instantly."
"Yes," thought Snape, "extraordinary venom indeed. Even a basilisk's fangs long after death are potent enough to destroy a Horcrux."
Kettleburn continued his lecture, his voice echoing around the quiet classroom.
"The first recorded basilisk was bred by a Greek dark wizard named Herpo the Foul, a Parselmouth. These creatures live exceptionally long lives. It's said that Herpo's basilisk survived for nearly nine hundred years.
"After many experiments, Herpo discovered that placing a chicken egg beneath a toad and allowing it to hatch would produce a serpent of immense magical power and unmatched danger..."
Snape's eyes widened further with every word. Wait... is he actually teaching us how to handcraft a basilisk? This is insane.
"Professor," he finally interrupted, unable to keep quiet any longer. His tone was that of someone listening to instructions for building a nuclear bomb in one's garage. "Are you certain this is something we're supposed to be learning?"
"No, " Kettleburn let out a heavy sigh, looking helpless. "I'm not, Severus. But it's right there in the Ministry's N.E.W.T. syllabus. Hasn't been updated in over two hundred years."
"This was written back when Perseus Parkinson was Minister for Magic," Kettleburn muttered under his breath. "The same idiot who tried to pass a law banning marriages between wizards and Muggles..."
"Now then," Kettleburn said, his voice turning stern again, "while I am required to teach you about basilisks, I must emphasize, creating one is illegal."
"More importantly, though the method sounds simple, I sincerely hope none of you ever attempt it.
"Basilisks obey no one except Parselmouths, and even then, that bond is dangerous. If you ever get the urge to breed one, believe me, your basilisk will be far more interested in you than you are in it."
"And," he added after a pause, "history records several Parselmouths who were eaten alive, or petrified first and then swallowed, by their own basilisks."
Staring at the lifelike image on the blackboard, Snape suddenly found his mind wandering.
He imagined himself seated regally upon a throne bristling with wands, radiating power and authority.
Before him writhed a horde of basilisks, their eyes covered, slithering restlessly. Tom Riddle was bound nearby, gagged tightly. Under Riddle's furious gaze, Snape tossed the Horcruxes one by one, while Dumbledore directed the basilisks to destroy them one after another...
Fortunately, the bell rang just then, snapping him out of his fantasy. Daydream time was over.