As they walked down the corridor towards History of Magic, Harry was met with suspicious or openly mocking looks from passing students, accompanied by hushed whispers.
The back of his neck prickled, and irritation bubbled and churned in his chest.
"Why are they all looking at me like that?" Harry muttered angrily, clenching his fists at his sides. "Does the word 'liar' appear on my face?"
"Don't mind them, Harry," Hermione tried to comfort him, her voice remaining calm.
"Easy for you to say!"
Harry turned sharply towards her.
"You're not the one everyone thinks is mad!"
"Hey!" Ron said, sounding displeased.
"Don't take your anger out on us, Harry," Hermione said. Her voice was still calm, but there was a softer note in it now. "We're on your side. We always have been."
The words were like a small needle piercing the swollen balloon of Harry's anger.
Shame and gratitude immediately flooded through him.
Of course he knew that Ron and Hermione were his strongest supporters. He should not have taken the pressure he was under out on them.
"...Sorry."
His voice dropped, and he stared at the moving stone floor beneath his feet.
"I just... don't feel very good."
"We know." Ron patted him on the shoulder, his tone softening.
After walking in silence for a while, Hermione quietly brought up another subject that had been troubling them.
"I checked the library again last night. About... time magic."
There was a trace of helplessness in her voice.
"But it's the same as before. The records are either vague or nothing more than theoretical speculation. Truly advanced time magic is completely beyond anything we can access at our level. Unless we could get into the Restricted Section..."
"No. If that woman catches us, we'll be expelled!"
Harry and Ron immediately cut her off.
"If Umbridge finds out, we're finished. Absolutely not!"
"Oh..."
Hermione visibly deflated, a rare trace of emotion entering her voice.
"I really don't understand why Professor Dumbledore agreed to let that woman into Hogwarts, let alone teach two subjects."
"Don't even mention her," Ron said. "I haven't eaten enough to have anything to throw up."
Then he changed the subject.
"What do you think? Could Professor Dumbledore and Hagrid have gone looking for Professor Greengrass?"
"Possibly, but I don't think it's very likely..." Harry thought for a moment. "I think they might have gone to investigate something else."
"What?" Ron asked curiously.
"Didn't there used to be rumours that there was a large-scale breakout from Azkaban?" Harry said. "I heard Sirius say that someone from outside damaged Azkaban's anti-magic stone walls."
"But didn't the Ministry of Magic say those were only rumours?" Ron asked, looking puzzled.
"You'd rather believe the Ministry of Magic?"
Hermione gave him a blank look.
"Or do you actually think they'd tell the truth?"
"Right!"
Ron slapped his forehead.
"If they say it didn't happen, then it probably did."
"If only Professor Greengrass were here..." Harry said again.
Ron and Hermione could only sigh.
They had never stopped privately searching for clues about Professor Greengrass's whereabouts, but time magic was one of the most mysterious and dangerous branches of magic, and the relevant knowledge was tightly controlled.
With the abilities and resources available to three fifth-year students, they had no idea where to begin.
The three of them walked silently towards Professor Binns's dull and tedious History of Magic class, their minds weighed down by countless worries.
Professor Binns droned on about the Giant Wars in his flat, sleep-inducing voice.
Harry and Ron struggled to keep their eyes open, but their thoughts had long since wandered elsewhere.
When the bell finally rang, the two of them almost numbly followed Hermione out of the classroom.
"What if I don't lend you my notes this year?" Hermione asked coldly, looking at their barely awake faces.
"Then we'll fail our History of Magic O.W.L.s," Ron said matter-of-factly. "And your conscience would bother you. You wouldn't do that, would you?"
"You'd deserve it," Hermione retorted sharply. "You weren't even listening to Professor Binns, were you?"
"Of course we were listening," Ron said. "We just don't have a brain like yours, or a memory like yours, or attention like yours. You're simply smarter than us. It's obvious."
"Don't try to flatter me," Hermione said, though her expression softened slightly as she led the way into the damp courtyard.
"Hurry up."
Hermione urged them sternly as she checked her timetable.
"We only have ten minutes to get to the dungeon classroom. Snape will never tolerate us being late!"
The three of them broke into a jog, hurrying down several flights of stairs towards the foul-smelling Potions classroom.
The students settled into their seats, and Snape swept silently into the room like a giant bat.
Everyone immediately fell quiet.
"Silence."
His voice made the already quiet classroom even more deathly still.
"Today, we will be brewing the Calming Draught."
Snape wasted no time on pleasantries and went straight to the lesson.
"The recipe and instructions," he said, tapping his wand against the blackboard, where a dense block of text instantly appeared, "are on the board."
"The ingredients you require," he continued, flicking his wand again as a cupboard door opened by itself, "are in the cupboard."
His tone was concise and cold.
"I do not wish to see anyone... ruin them."
His gaze swept meaningfully across the classroom before lingering on Harry for a moment.
"What are you waiting for? Must I light your fires myself?"
The classroom immediately erupted into hurried movement.
Harry tried to concentrate, carefully following the instructions.
He weighed the moonstone powder, added it to the cauldron, stirred clockwise...
Yet an hour later, disaster still struck.
Snape approached Harry and Ron's table silently, like a shark that had caught the scent of blood.
"Ten minutes remaining. Your potion should now be giving off a silvery-white vapour," Snape said.
He looked down at Harry's cauldron, which was producing a decidedly wrong-looking pale blue steam, and a cold smirk appeared on his lips.
"Potter," Snape said slowly, his malice undisguised, "perhaps you would care to explain to the class what, exactly, you are brewing?"
Harry stared at his cauldron, his cheeks burning.
"Calming Draught, Professor," he said quietly.
"Is that so?"
Snape leaned closer as though to smell it, disgust crossing his face.
"Judging by the colour and the odour, I would have assumed you had invented an entirely new poison. So tell me, why has your potion acquired such a distinctive shade?"
"I... I might have added too much moonstone powder, or stirred it at the wrong speed..." Harry said defensively.
From the corner of his eye, he could see Seamus's cauldron giving off strange purple smoke, while Neville's potion had solidified into a hard lump.
Snape ignored both.
"Might?"
Snape repeated softly, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"What a wonderfully precise term for potion-making. Let us review the basics. What is the first step?"
"Grind the moonstone into a fine powder, then add it to the cauldron..." Harry answered stiffly.
"Second step."
"Stir clockwise three times, then boil for seven minutes..."
"It seems your memory is not entirely useless," Snape interrupted, his voice turning even colder. "Unfortunately, your practical ability appears to have failed you completely, seeing as after an entire hour, you have managed to produce nothing more than a cauldron of rubbish."
Harry pressed his lips into a thin line.
He knew his technique had indeed been flawed, but anger still surged in his chest.
Ron's cauldron was giving off green sparks. Crabbe's potion had boiled over and burned holes into the robes of the students beside him.
You are ignoring them all just to pinpoint me! Harry thought bitterly.
Suppressing his anger, Harry remained silent.
Snape straightened triumphantly and addressed the class, though his words were clearly aimed at Harry.
"A reminder to you all. You will be sitting your O.W.L.s this year. They will serve as something of a... filter."
His gaze swept over Harry again.
"For some of you, this may mark the end of your journey in the subtle art of potion-making. Students who fail to achieve an Outstanding will not be permitted to continue into my N.E.W.T.-level class."
He paused.
"For some, that may even come as a relief."
The unspoken words, like you, Potter, seemed to echo through the silent classroom.
"So enjoy what may very well be... your final year together."
Harry gripped the pestle in his hand so tightly that his knuckles turned white, barely resisting the urge to look up and glare at Snape.
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