[Is something wrong with my potion, Professor?]
Tom's innocent question appearing on the whiteboard interrupted Snape's increasingly frantic attempts to rationalize what he was witnessing.
He stood motionless for a moment, still holding the ladle of impossibly perfect potion, his mind was churning through theories and explanations and finding each one inadequate.
'How did he, what technique could possibly—'
Finally, after a silence that stretched so long several students began fidgeting nervously, Snape forced words through gritted teeth:
"Mr. Lovegood's potion is... successful. Extremely successful, in fact. The quality is..."
He paused, visibly struggling with the admission.
"...exceptionally high."
His dark eyes met Tom's yellow gaze for just a moment before sliding away, unable to maintain contact.
"Considering this represents your first attempt at formal potion-brewing, Hufflepuff will receive... five points."
The words emerged stiff and reluctant, dragged out of him like a confession under interrogation.
His entire posture screamed resentment and unwillingness. If this had been any other student, anyone except Tom, who held Lily's potential resurrection in his mysterious paws, Snape would have died before awarding points to a non-Slytherin.
But circumstances offered no choice. Tom had him cornered, completely at his mercy.
The classroom erupted.
"Wait—did the Professor just say, did he actually award points to Hufflepuff?!"
"That cat is incredible! I've never, not once in years heard Snape give points to anyone outside Slytherin!"
"How did he even brew that? I was watching, and I still don't understand what he—"
"ENOUGH!"
Snape's voice cracked across the rising chatter like a whip, silencing the room instantly.
"What are you all gawking at? Have your own potions suddenly brewed themselves? Get back to work! Hufflepuff loses three points for disruption! Ravenclaw loses three points for failing to maintain proper classroom focus!
Furthermore—" his smile turned cruel, "—anyone who fails to produce an acceptable potion before this period ends will remain after class for cleaning duty. I trust the prospect of scrubbing cauldrons until midnight will motivate improved performance?"
The threat worked like a Stunning Spell.
Students snapped back to their workstations with desperate urgency, suddenly hyper-focused on their own brewing attempts. The nervous energy in the room turned into frantic concentration.
Of course, nobody even considered attempting to replicate Tom's method.
The students who'd been close enough to observe his process in detail had watched with horror as Tom violated every conceivable rule of proper brewing.
They'd seen him dump unprepared ingredients into the cauldron like garbage into a bin. They'd witnessed the chaotic stirring, the seemingly random heat adjustments, the complete absence of any recognizable technique.
By every logical principle they'd learned, his potion should have failed spectacularly.
Except it hadn't.
It had somehow succeeded brilliantly, producing results that surpassed even careful brewing.
This paradox broke their brains somewhat. How could every step be wrong yet the outcome be perfect? It wasn't just non-magical, it was anti-magical!
The Ravenclaw students, prizing logic and rationality above all else, found this particularly disturbing. Several were shooting Tom looks of mingled awe and existential confusion, as though he'd just proven that two plus two could equal five under the right circumstances.
But none of them, not the clever Ravens, not the brave Lions (had any been present), and certainly not the loyal Badgers possessed any intention of trying to copy his approach.
The Hufflepuffs especially would stick religiously to Snape's instructions, following the textbook procedure with precision. This adherence to proper procedure represented their survival strategy, and they weren't about to abandon it based on one inexplicable success.
Snape noticed this joint restraint and felt a wave of profound relief.
'Thank Merlin this is a Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw session,' he thought. 'If this were Gryffindor... if those reckless idiots had witnessed this... half of them would be attempting to replicate his chaos right now. I'd spend the rest of the period preventing explosions and scraping melted students off the floor.'
The mental image them attempting Tom's technique made Snape's eye twitch.
'I'd have to cancel class and just escort the entire House directly to the Hospital Wing in bulk.'
With the other students properly intimidated back into obedience, Snape resumed his classroom rounds. But his focus had clearly fractured.
Where before he'd been ruthlessly attentive, catching every minor error and dispensing corrections with precision, now he drifted past workstations in a distracted haze.
Students made mistakes that would normally trigger immediate criticism and Snape simply... didn't notice but walked right past without comment.
The Ravenclaw students, being clever enough to recognize their unexpected amnesty, shot grateful glances toward Tom. In their estimation, they'd been spared Snape's wrath entirely because Tom's impossible success had broken the Professor's concentration.
As Snape continued his absent patrol, more and more students found themselves staring at Tom with expressions mixing gratitude, awe, confusion, and intense curiosity.
The weight of all those eyes made Tom's fur prickle uncomfortably.
He was extremely sensitive to being watched and this much focused attention felt like insects crawling across his skin.
Finally, unable to tolerate it any longer, Tom retrieved a spare cloth from somewhere in his undefined storage space, wrapped himself thoroughly until he resembled a small furry burrito, and planted himself face-down on the desk.
'If I can't see them, they don't exist. This is sound logic.'
This dramatic display of antisocial behavior naturally caught Snape's attention.
Under normal circumstances, such flagrant disregard for classroom decorum would earn immediate punishment.
But Snape's gaze flickered from the cloth-wrapped cat-burrito to the still-perfect potion sitting in Tom's cauldron, and he thought about Dumbledore's information regarding Tom's unique ability to retrieve souls from the afterlife...
And chose to permit it.
'Talent grants privilege,' Snape acknowledged reluctantly. 'Genius has always operated outside normal constraints. And if this cat truly is a genius—which that potion suggests then certain... eccentricities... can be overlooked.'
'Besides,' he continued his internal rationalization, 'even setting aside Lily's situation, maintaining good relations with someone of such obvious talent serves practical purposes. So long as he completes assignments competently and doesn't actively disrupt class... if he wants to wrap himself in cloth and pretend to be furniture, that's... that's acceptable. Probably.'
A pause.
'Though if he tries using a cauldron to cook hotpot, that's where I draw the line. It's absolutely non-negotiable.'
However...
Snape's gaze shifted to the numerous students who'd abandoned their own brewing, too distracted by Tom's presence to focus on their work. Several cauldrons were beginning to smoke ominously, their contents were forgotten and overheating.
His expression hardened.
'They need to learn that Potions class is not entertainment. Not an opportunity to gawk at unusual classmates.'
He said nothing. Simply observed with cold calculation as more and more potions began showing signs of neglect.
When the period finally ended and students began presenting their completed work, Snape's judgment was swift and merciless:
"Unacceptable. Detention—cleaning duty."
"Completely wrong color. Detention."
"This smells like burnt rubber and failure. Detention."
"Did you even attempt to follow the instructions? Detention."
Most of the Ravenclaws and a significant portion of Hufflepuffs found themselves assigned to cleaning duty for the foreseeable future. The only students who escaped were those few who'd possessed sufficient self-discipline to ignore Tom completely and focus entirely on their own work.
Snape's reasoning was ruthlessly practical: they'd been staring at Tom instead of monitoring their potions, losing track of critical timing and temperature controls. They were fortunate their failures had merely produced unusable potions rather than actual explosions or toxic fumes requiring Hospital Wing treatment.
They should consider this a lenient outcome, really.
The silver lining—if it could be called that was that the Potions classroom's cleanliness would be absolutely guaranteed for the rest of the term. So many students on punishment detail meant every cauldron would gleam, every surface would shine, and Snape wouldn't need to lift a finger.
Thus concluded Tom's first actual Hogwarts class. It was foreseeable that after this class, his name would soon resound throughout Hogwarts.
Because Tom had achieved something unprecedented in recent Hogwarts history: he'd openly challenged Snape's teaching authority, flagrantly ignored known potion brewing methods, succeeded despite violating every rule, emerged completely unscathed, and actually earned House points in the process.
The story would spread like wildfire. Within days, every student from first-years to seventh-years would know about the cat who'd brewed a perfect potion using techniques that shouldn't work, who'd talked back to Snape with impunity, who'd somehow transformed the most terrifying professor in school into someone almost... tolerant.
Furthermore, given the dramatic change in Snape's demeanor during this lesson compared to previous sessions, and considering that Tom represented the only variable between those sessions, students would naturally conclude that Tom's presence somehow influenced Snape's behavior.
But all that was future gossip.
For now, as the period officially ended and students began fleeing the classroom with evident relief, Tom prepared to join the departure—
"Mr. Lovegood."
Snape's voice cut across the room with intensity.
"My office. Now."
No explanation. Just that flat command before Snape turned and swept from the classroom in a swirl of black robes, leaving Tom sitting frozen on the desk.
'(;゚Д゚) I... I didn't do anything wrong, did I?'
He exchanged a quick, worried glance with Hannah, who looked like she wanted to offer comfort but had no idea what to say.
Then, moving with the reluctant shuffle of a condemned prisoner approaching the gallows, Tom made his way toward Snape's office.
Snape's private office perfectly embodied every stereotype Tom had ever encountered regarding wizard laboratories in fairy tales and fantasy novels.
Shelves lined both walls, crowded with glass jars of varying sizes.
Within those jars floated preserved specimens in amber liquid—eyes (some human-sized, some larger, some disturbingly small), wings (bat, bird, insect, and things that defied classification), gnarled roots, fragments of bone, organs that Tom couldn't identify and didn't particularly want to.
'If I'd appeared here when I first arrived in this world,' Tom thought with black humor, 'I'd have assumed I'd landed in some evil witch's cottage from a Grimm fairy tale. Probably would've bolted immediately.'
"The Headmaster has informed me of your requirements."
Snape's voice emerged from the shadows, he'd been standing motionless in the corner, nearly invisible in his black robes against the dark stone making Tom's fur stand on end.
"Whatever you need—" Snape continued, moving into the wan light cast by a few floating candles, "—simply provide me with names and descriptions. I can acquire anything. Anything."
As one of the world's foremost Potions Masters, possessing connections throughout the international magical ingredients trade, Snape had every right to such confidence. Rare components, restricted materials, items that existed in only one location globally, if it had a name, Snape could find it.
"Of course, if you truly can resurrect the dead..."
He hesitated, something vulnerable was flickering across his usually emotionless face.
"No. Forget I said anything."
'Not yet,' Snape told himself firmly. 'Wait until you've confirmed he genuinely possesses the ability to restore life. Wait until you've seen proof. Then and only then—ask him about Lily.'
As for why he wouldn't start by requesting Tom locate Lily's soul in the afterlife first?
Simple: he knew with absolute certainty that if Lily's soul returned, her first demand would be bringing back James Potter's soul as well. She'd beg, plead, bargain, promise anything to reunite with that git.
And Snape would rather saw off his own arm than help resurrect that arrogant bastard.
"That's all I needed to say. If you have no questions, compile a detailed list of everything you require and deliver it to me at your earliest convenience."
He paused, then added with difficulty: "Also... if you maintain today's level of potion quality, I'm authorized to exempt you from all Potions homework assignments going forward. Permanently."
Another pause.
"I have... other matters requiring attention. You're dismissed. The Great Hall is—you know where it is."
Without allowing Tom time to respond or ask questions, Snape quite literally shooed the cat toward the door and shut it firmly behind him.
Tom found himself standing in the corridor, slightly bewildered but mostly relieved.
'Well. That could have gone much worse.'
Although he didn't know what Snape wanted, Tom was still very happy to receive this promise and be exempt from Potions homework. Therefore, he generously decided not to argue with Snape, swishing his tail and happily walking towards the Great Hall.
As for what Snape did afterward, he had no idea.
He only heard from Gryffindor students gossiping that afternoon that someone had seen Snape's robes covered in holes, as if they had been burned.