Chapter 20: Acing Potions Class

Potions class took place in a dungeon classroom within the castle. The room was cold and damp, as if even the brightest sunlight couldn't pierce the grimy frosted glass windows. Narrow shelves were crammed with strange jars, animal specimens, and odd-smelling concoctions that sent shivers down the spine. In a cauldron, an unidentified potion bubbled ominously under the stir of a metal rod, releasing eerie pops and hisses. With a few minutes left before class, every student—Slytherin and Gryffindor alike—hurried to their seats. As the bell rang, the door slammed open with a thud, and Professor Snape strode in, his black robes billowing. The classroom, already quiet, fell deathly silent. "This class doesn't require you to wave your wand like fools or mumble nonsense incantations," Snape said, leaning against the podium, his hawk-like black eyes scanning every student's face. For a brief moment, Edward felt Snape's gaze linger on Harry. 101 Reading: 101kan.com, fully handwritten, error-free site. Edward followed Snape's eyes to Harry's striking green ones. Is there something weird on Harry's face? "I doubt many of you will understand—or appreciate—the subtle science and exacting art of potion-making," Snape continued, his gaze briefly settling on Malfoy, who sat closest to him. "But for the rare few who truly have the inclination..." "I can teach you how to bewitch the mind, ensnare the senses. I can show you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even cheat death." His tone shifted abruptly. "That is, if you're not the usual dim-witted fools I'm forced to deal with." The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Almost every student inched forward in their seats, sitting ramrod straight, eager to prove they weren't idiots. Even Daphne's eyes gleamed with anticipation. Edward, however, remained unfazed. Potions were fascinating, sure, but nowhere near as grandiose as Snape made them sound. In war, potions were mostly supplementary—Polyjuice to infiltrate enemy ranks, Felix Felicis, Pepperup, or Ironclad Draughts to boost soldiers before battle. The catch? In magical warfare, both sides typically used the same tricks. If both drank Felix Felicis with equal potency, it canceled out. "Don't overestimate your enemy's potions, as long as you've taken your own," Merlin had written in the Magical Knight's Handbook. But if one side's potion-maker was more skilled, crafting purer brews, that was a game-changer. As for immortality? That was more alchemy's domain. Snape surveyed the room, seemingly pleased with the students' rapt attention, but his eyes soon locked onto Harry again. "Now, some of you may have arrived at Hogwarts with... extraordinary abilities and enough arrogance to think you can ignore my lessons," he said, narrowing his eyes, emphasizing the last few words. Harry was scribbling furiously, clearly taking notes, oblivious that Snape's jab was aimed at him until Hermione nudged him with her elbow. Flustered, Harry looked up, meeting Snape's piercing, judgmental stare. "Mr. Potter," Snape said, descending from the podium to loom over Harry. "Our new... celebrity." "Tell me, what happens if I add powdered asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Harry froze, clearly not even grasping the question. Beside him, Hermione's hand shot up. "Tch, tch, tch. Fame isn't everything, is it? Let's try again," Snape said, completely ignoring Hermione as if she didn't exist. "Mr. Potter, if I asked for a bezoar, where would you find one?" The classroom's tense atmosphere began to stir. Most Slytherins were eagerly awaiting the show, especially Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, who were shaking with suppressed laughter. Every Gryffindor held their breath, hearts in their throats. Snape's bias was infamous, and Harry had just become his scapegoat. Edward was the only Slytherin not smirking. His brow furrowed tightly. Any respect he'd had for Snape evaporated. What is this? A teacher bullying a student? Even a kid raised in a wizarding family would struggle to memorize every detail of potion ingredients. Snape was acting like failing to answer was some unforgivable sin. A thirty-something professor humiliating a student in class? Edward could only think of one reason: personal grudges. What, did Harry defeating Voldemort make him Snape's mortal enemy? Or did Harry's parents have some beef with him back in school? Whatever the reason, it didn't justify Snape's vindictive behavior. As a teacher, his job was to educate, not settle scores. Edward could stay out of it and let this play out, but his conscience wouldn't allow it. This kind of treatment could crush a good student's passion for learning and poison the teacher-student relationship. He couldn't just sit there and let it happen. "Are you insane? Disrupting Snape's class? Even being a Slytherin won't save you!" Daphne, sensing Edward's intent, whispered urgently, grabbing his sleeve to stop him from doing something reckless. "Has Potter saved your life or something? Is he worth sticking your neck out for?" "He didn't save my life—he saved all of ours," Edward replied without hesitation. "If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be sitting here, happily attending class." Daphne's grip on his sleeve loosened. Snape was already on his third question. "And what's the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?" "They're the same plant, highly toxic, commonly called aconite, sir," Edward's voice rang out from the side of the classroom. Snape whipped around, his eyes narrowing as if he'd spotted something repulsive, especially when he realized a Slytherin—his student—was standing up for Gryffindor's Harry Potter. "Asphodel powder and wormwood infusion combine to make the Draught of Living Death, a powerful sleeping potion." "As for a bezoar, it's a stone taken from a goat's stomach, highly effective as an antidote." Edward didn't pause, answering all three of Snape's questions with ease. Thanks to his blessing-enhanced memory, basic potion knowledge was second nature to him. The classroom, previously filled with stifled giggles and whispers, fell dead silent. All eyes darted between Snape, Harry, and Edward, unsure of what would happen next. But whether Slytherin or Gryffindor, they all seemed to share a quiet anticipation.