Hermione caught a whiff of something deathly still in the air. She sniffed carefully, finally pinpointing the source: Kane's long-dead hope.
"Why do you look like you're about to pass out?" Hermione asked, frowning.
Kane said nothing, but Harry and Ron beside him had plenty of time to watch Hermione with gleeful interest.
If everything went according to plan, Hermione would be wearing that same about-to-pass-out expression in a moment.
Snape returned to the front of the classroom and began his demonstration.
From selecting ingredients to processing materials, lighting the fire, brewing the potion, and finally bottling it, he moved through each step with fluid precision.
There wasn't a trace of mechanical repetition in his movements. Instead, there was an artist's grace, smooth as a painter's brushstroke.
"You have just witnessed the standard method for brewing a Boil-Cure Potion," Snape said.
With a casual flick of his wand, the ingredient cabinet at the back of the Potions classroom flew open. Batches of potion ingredients floated through the air, landing on each group's desk.
"You have forty minutes. Under normal circumstances, brewing a Boil-Cure Potion takes only ten minutes."
After speaking, Snape began prowling around the classroom like a lion surveying his territory.
Kane took a deep breath and muttered, "I'll handle the ingredients. You control the cauldron."
"No problem." Hermione nodded, pulling out her wand to light the fire under the cauldron.
As the witch hazel solution inside began to bubble, Kane efficiently passed her the dried nettle powder.
"You can just put it directly in the cauldron yourself, you know," Hermione reminded him.
"Can't. We agreed on a division of labor," Kane said, continuing to process the white rose petals, snake fangs, porcupine quills, and frog legs.
"In this regard, you're as rigid as steel," Snape's voice came from behind Kane, commenting in a ghostly tone.
"Potions isn't simple replication. If a wizard can only manage that much, I might as well order an alchemical puppet."
After finishing, Snape glided swiftly toward Harry, sharply berating him and Ron, who were attempting some creative flourish.
"You two are different.
In fact, I don't believe wasting time on potions will provide you any positive feedback whatsoever. So all you need to do is play the role of two brainless alchemical robots."
Kane's mouth twitched. Perhaps because he'd met Snape at Hogwarts before starting school, the professor had developed a bit of... favoritism toward him?
Ah, suddenly he felt a twinge of guilt about his bizarre talent.
If only Snape would treat him the way he treated Harry, then when Kane eventually pulled off his iron-pot-turned-ribs trick, he could do so with a clear conscience.
The scary part was that Snape might harbor some unrealistic expectations about him.
What if he thought Kane was a promising student, devoted time and effort to teaching him, and then Kane blindsided him with something absolutely catastrophic?
Merciful Merlin, I apologize in advance for any psychological trauma I may cause Professor Snape and have no intention of paying compensation.
"See what Professor Snape just said? You should be more creative instead of acting like a machine," Hermione said, pushing the cauldron toward Kane.
This was a practical assignment, after all. She couldn't be the only one operating it, or Kane's attendance at this class would be completely pointless.
However, Kane flat-out rejected Hermione's kind intentions.
"Why? I'm doing this for your own good," Hermione said, confused.
"Could you dial back the mom energy a bit? Thanks."
That one sentence left Hermione speechless. For a split second, she even wanted to slam the cauldron over Kane's head.
For the rest of the class, Hermione continued operating the cauldron while Kane prepared the potion ingredients for her, truly embodying the man who stands behind the potioneer.
As for everyone else and Snape, the young witches and wizards caused trouble peacefully while Snape leisurely sprayed venom, immersing each student in the Slytherin Head's signature cutting remarks.
And among them, the target Snape valued most: Harry Potter himself.
After this class ended, Harry probably wouldn't be pestering Kane about going back to the Dursleys' during holidays anymore.
You never know how much it hurts until the blade cuts you. Harry now had a deep understanding of that saying.
"My goodness, Mr. Harry Potter, in all my years teaching at Hogwarts, I have never seen a student process ingredients quite so... uniquely as you."
After finishing, Snape noticed Harry hadn't displayed that look of James-just-died despair and grew displeased. "Do you think I was complimenting you?"
Harry shook his head. "No, of course not."
Snape slowly broke into a smile. Just thinking about what he was about to say made it hard not to laugh.
"Unfortunately, Mr. Potter, you guessed wrong. I was indeed complimenting you just now. As punishment for your incorrect guess, five points from Gryffindor."
Hermione's wand-stirring motion jolted to a halt, nearly ruining the entire batch of potion.
"Relax. They're just points. They don't count toward your final grade, you can't eat them or spend them, they're only for show. Completely useless," Kane whispered in consolation.
"It's not about the points. It's about how much Snape singles out Gryffindor," Hermione said indignantly.
"Yeah, that's true." Kane had no objection to that statement. Unlike the calm waters on the Slytherin side, Snape spent most of his time hovering around Gryffindor, looking for trouble.
Speak of trouble and trouble arrives. Not far in front of Kane, Neville and Seamus's disaster exploded like deep-fried watermelon on ice.
Calling it a volcanic eruption couldn't capture the shocking scene, which was best described by Neville's face, now resembling the surface of the moon.
Snape strode over quickly. "Ten points from Gryffindor!" Then, with a flick of his wand, he forcibly suppressed the erupting cauldron.
"You two, go to the Hospital Wing and see Madam Pomfrey. Harry Potter, why are you standing there staring blankly without a shred of sympathy?
Does your classmate's misfortune make you feel lucky? Another ten points from Gryffindor!"
In just one class, Gryffindor had already transformed into Gryffin-less. Kane and Hermione kept their eyes on the cauldron in front of them.
"Brewing this potion, I'm walking on thin ice. Tell me, do you think I'll make it to the end of class?" Kane said gloomily to Hermione.
Before Hermione could answer, Snape's voice emerged from behind them.
"The answer is no. And I should remind you that you're attending a Potions class, not an ingredient-processing class.
If you don't personally operate the cauldron soon, I'm afraid Gryffindor's points will be completely wiped out."
Gulp!
Kane slowly swallowed. Beside him, Hermione was also frozen in place by Snape's oppressive presence.
"Professor, you... really want me to operate it?" Kane turned to look at Snape, seeking a liability waiver.
"What else?" Snape said coldly.
With the resolve of a man facing execution, Kane took the cauldron, picked up the last ingredient on the table (a dried frog leg), and tossed it in.
Instantly, the potion in the cauldron emitted a strange glow.
Harry and Ron, observing from the sidelines, simultaneously raised their hands and smacked their foreheads in unison.
We're screwed. We're screwed.
Kane stared at the frog leg sandwich slowly materializing in the cauldron and muttered, "We're screwed. We're screwed."