16 Potion class

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making." Snape's voice echoed through the dungeon classroom, dripping with disdain as he surveyed the students at his entrance, his robes billowing behind him in a sinister fashion.

Tracy leaned in and whispered to me, "That's the smoke funk dark magical style. Featured in Witches Weekly as one of three iconic styles of all history. Though it may be classic, he should get with the times."

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Snape is a wizarding fashion trend follower? Seriously?

Snape shot a sharp glance in my direction, and I hastily looked away. Hey, it's not me, dude.

"As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic," Snape continued, his tone dripping with contempt. "I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through the human veins, bewitching the minds, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually must teach."

He then proceeded to take attendance, a process that brought back memories of my college days, where professors used it as a tool against me.

"Ah, yes," Snape said softly, his gaze falling upon me, "Harry Potter. Our new celebrity." His black eyes lost all warmth, turning cold and empty.

Draco Malfoy and his cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, sniggered behind their hands. While I admired Snape's skills in potions and magic, I knew there was more to his animosity toward Harry.

A child born from the woman he loved all his life and the bully who tormented him throughout Hogwarts.

In a side note, I believe that the bullying from Marauders pushed him toward the Death Eaters, the only ones openly hostile to the Potters back then.

In the end, this child was also the one prophesied to end a Dark Lord. Snape who had discovered the prophecy, has relayed it to the Dark Lord.

Voldemort then targeted child, in the process the love of his life and the bully. Faced with the choices of either love or revenge. Snape ultimately betrayed the Dark Lord and begged the headmaster for a chance to save his love.

After Voldemort killed both the parents and he himself disappeared, Snape who was first to the scene discovered Harry. Based on the canon, he swore a vow on his life that he will protect Harry

So all these circumstances together, Snape doesn't know where to place Harry in his mind.

I couldn't help but reiterate: Snape had serious issues regarding Harry.

"Potter!" Snape's voice sliced through the air like a blade. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry glanced at Ron, who looked just as stumped as he was; Hermione's hand shot up into the air.

"I don't know, sir," Harry admitted. Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "Tut, tut – fame clearly isn't everything." He brushed off Hermione's raised hand. "Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Hermione's hand was still in the air, practically reaching the dungeon ceiling.

"I don't know, sir."

"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"

As if to prove a point, Hermione's hand remained steadfastly raised.

"I don't know," Harry confessed quietly. "I think Hermione does, though. Why don't you try her?"

A few snickers rippled through the classroom. Harry caught Seamus's eye, and Seamus winked. Normally, I'd give someone a pat on the back for making a joke at the teacher's expense. But now, I couldn't shake off the worry.

Yup, I was sure Snape's mental scale had settled on Harry as James Potter's son. And thus, any hope of a decent relationship between them was shattered.

"Sit down," Snape snapped at Hermione. "For your information, Potter, asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat, and it will save you from most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite. Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"

There was a sudden scramble for quills and parchment. Over the noise, Snape announced, "And a point will be taken from Gryffindor house for your cheek, Potter."

As the Potions lesson continued, Snape paired us off and set us to work mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He prowled around the classroom in his long black cloak, watching as we weighed dried nettles and crushed snakes.

This was the textbook recipe, but I hadn't spent the entire night in the Room of Requirement for nothing. After instructing Jakrey, I had spent the entire night adding advanced Potions books to my collection. One of them, a tome by Zygmunt Budge, contained compositions of particularly potent and complex potions.

It was a shame I couldn't read the original; it supposedly had equipment worth thousands of Galleons and even acted as a Portkey upon full mastery, transporting the reader to an enchanted garden filled with rare magical ingredients. The book could even convey the smells and textures of potions created by the original author.

But the original was locked away in the restricted section of the Hogwarts library, while the Room of Requirement could only copy knowledge and not unique features of such books. Most of the volumes banned by the Headmaster weren't even accessible in the Room of Requirement.

With the AI's help, I compiled a new recipe based on my current skills.

Potion making was like chemistry with a touch of pharmacology, mixed with magic and additional properties to ingredients.

I immediately started gathering the materials, each prompt helping me identify the best-quality ingredients and committing them to memory.

Flobberworm Mucus, for instance, was the slimy green substance exuded from the Flobberworm, often used to thicken potions.

The new recipe incorporated pungent onions to catalyze the reaction between snake fang and dried nettles, reducing the time but increasing the volatility. Flobberworm mucus was added to reduce volatility and increase the duration of mixing. Ginger, shark spines, and stewed horn slugs increased potency, while porcupine quills were added to re-increase volatility after removal from the flame. The wave of the wand completely fused the remaining parts and magics of the ingredients.

Potion equipment for potion masters was in high demand, each customized to remove entire parts of the recipe from the process and aid in potion-making.

I soon completed the potion and awaited Snape's inspection. But instead, I watched as he berated the Gryffindors. Though their mistakes were genuine, Snape's delivery was far from suitable for children. Neville, in particular, seemed to bear the brunt of Snape's wrath.

Neville had managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the entire class was standing on their stools, while Neville, drenched in the potion, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Idiot boy!" Snape snarled, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpered as boils started to pop up all over his nose.

"Take him up to the hospital wing," Snape spat at Seamus. Then he rounded on Harry and Ron, who had been working next to Neville.

"You – Potter – why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you? That's another point you've lost for Gryffindor."

This was so unfair that Harry opened his mouth to argue, but Ron silenced him and muttered something to pacify him.

Snape cleaned the room with a single wave of his wand and began checking the students' progress again. Even the Slytherins weren't spared his lashes, though he refrained from deducting points from their house.

As he approached my table, where I sat alone with my completed sample, Snape's eyebrows lifted slightly. He sniffed the potion and even ingested a bit. Then, he nodded at me.

"Twenty-five points for Slytherin for making a perfect cure for boils."

Thanks to my AI, my talent for potions was on par with Snape, the youngest potions master in the long history of wizards.