Hannah nodded. "Yes, he mentioned it to everyone at breakfast in the Great Hall…"
"Five points to Hufflepuff," said Professor McGonagall, awarding the points with a gentle nod. "Just be patient—there's no need to rush."
Hannah managed a small, awkward smile. "Alright… Professor McGonagall!"
As Professor McGonagall continued her rounds, her mind wandered to the layout of the Great Hall. On either side of the Ravenclaw table sat the Slytherin and Hufflepuff tables.
No wonder Ravenclaw had performed so exceptionally well this morning…
Deep in the dungeons of Hogwarts, the Potions classroom was as chilly and dim as ever.
"Luna Lovegood?"
"Present!"
Snape turned his head, his dark gaze sweeping over Luna, who had just lowered her hand. He continued roll call with his usual icy detachment.
Once finished, he launched into his customary opening speech, chilling the classroom's mood until it matched the cold stone walls. Most students sat rigid and tense, eyes fixed on the podium, fear and anxiety etched on their faces.
But Luna seemed immune to the atmosphere. Her eyes were wide and curious, taking in every detail around her as though the dungeon's gloom couldn't touch her.
Snape's gaze flicked to the book on Luna's desk—a familiar, hand-illustrated textbook. He remembered Wyzett having the same one last year.
His eyes narrowed, lips curling in a silent sneer. "Tsk…"
A shiver ran through the class; somehow, the air felt even colder.
The lesson moved on. Snape outlined the ingredients for the Boil-Cure Potion and wrote the brewing process on the blackboard, pausing now and then to call on students at random.
"Mr. Bulstrode, how many slugs, and how should they be prepared?"
"P-Professor Snape… three… steamed…"
"Three horned slugs, steamed. Two points from Ravenclaw."
…
"Miss Dougal, how do you prepare the snake fangs?"
"Professor Snape! You grind them up."
"As finely as possible. Are you blind to the words on the board? Two points from Hufflepuff!"
…
After several rounds of questioning, Snape seemed to relax, his gaze finally settling on Luna.
He opened his mouth, hesitated a moment, then continued, "Miss Lovegood, what is the purpose of the Boil-Cure Potion?"
Luna stood, her voice clear and dreamlike. "Professor Snape, it's used to treat all sorts of skin conditions—pustules, rashes, boils… Oh! It works on plant diseases too. It's very effective!"
"Plant diseases?" Snape raised an eyebrow, probing further.
"Yes!" Luna replied brightly, eager to share. "It helps with powdery mildew and black spot—both respond really well."
Snape's eyes narrowed. "You've tried it?"
"I have!" Luna nodded enthusiastically. "Last year, Wyzett used to send me some. It worked just as well as the carbendazim we used before."
At the mention of Wyzett, Snape's jaw tightened, his voice dropping even lower. "That's because you haven't considered the cost. A single bottle of Boil-Cure Potion is worth three bottles of carbendazim. Sit down."
"Thank you, Professor Snape!"
Luna sat, her classmates casting curious glances her way. So far, she was the only one who'd answered without losing points.
"Since the textbook doesn't mention this, why not write it down?" Snape rapped the podium with his knuckles. "Or do you need me to take notes for you?"
The scratch of quills filled the room—then faded as he tapped the podium again. "Now… pair up and prepare your ingredients. I expect a finished potion from each group before the bell!"
He hadn't even finished speaking before the students burst into action, some in a frantic scramble.
The dungeon's chill lingered, undisturbed by the flickering cauldron fires. Only Luna seemed untouched, humming softly as she worked, unhurried and serene.
Her calmness rubbed off on her partner, Amica Miller, who began to grind snake fangs with growing focus. Amica was also Luna's dorm-mate—a girl with a black headband, brown hair cut to her shoulders, and skin a shade darker than Luna's porcelain.
Snape stalked among the desks, arms folded, black robes billowing behind him. His footsteps seemed to echo in time with the students' nervous heartbeats—whenever he stopped, someone surely skipped a beat.
"Stir your cauldron! Are you waiting for it to burn?"
"Grind those fangs! These are still chunks—are you saving them for your end-of-year exam? I can give you a 'T' right now!"
"This smells like troll! Do you know what steaming means? Why is there no water? Are you hoping to taste roasted slugs?"
…
His voice was as cold and sharp as ever, each rebuke followed by a flurry of panic.
After a circuit of the room, he stopped at Luna and Amica's table.
Their ingredients were all prepared and added, and they were stirring the cauldron clockwise. The potion's color looked just right. But when Snape glanced at their timing chart, his brow furrowed.
Unlike the orderly steps on the blackboard, their chart was a chaotic jumble—almost as if they'd followed their whims. And the ingredient jars were arranged in a curious constellation around the cauldron.
The potion simmered, shifting from murky to clear. A puff of pink smoke rose.
Amica lifted the cauldron from the flame.
Luna added porcupine quills, which dissolved into sparkling motes. She traced a line above the cauldron with her wand, then sprinkled a pinch of snake fang powder evenly across the surface.
Another pink puff. The potion cleared even further.
It might not match the batch Wyzett had brewed before, but it was already better than anything else in the room.
Luna gave the cauldron a final stir. "I think… this is as good as we're going to get."
Amica cast a nervous glance at Snape. "Professor Snape… is this acceptable?"
Snape replied curtly, "Bottle it, write your names, hand it in."
As Amica hurried to the front, Snape fixed Luna with a searching look. "Why didn't you follow the steps on the board?"
"Because I didn't prepare the ingredients properly," Luna said, her gaze dreamy, as if she'd just wandered back from some distant world. "Wyzett is much better at it than I am."
"So you added ritual magic?" Snape frowned. "Is this a workaround Wyzett taught you?"
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