As soon as the class bell rang, Professor Baker turned briskly and hurried out of the classroom, leaving behind a crowd of chattering first-year students deep in animated discussion.
"Doesn't the professor mean that he's stronger than Mr. Lockhart?"
"Definitely! Only weak people have to rack their brains figuring out how to solve problems. A truly powerful wizard can resolve everything with a single spell!"
"But that's Lockhart we're talking about—he's a famous adventurer!"
"That still doesn't prove he's the strongest. At the very least, he's nowhere near as strong as Professor Dumbledore, right? Besides, Lockhart is just an honorary member of the International Dark Magic Defense Alliance. The professor is an actual council member—several ranks above him!"
Avada: …
As expected, power-scaling arguments were unavoidable in any world, in any field.
Even though there was really nothing worth arguing about here. Lockhart was nothing more than a fame-hungry fraud. On Avada's own schedule was a plan to expose him once he began teaching at Hogwarts, ensure he received the judgment he deserved, and return those stolen honors to their rightful victims.
And Professor Baker's strength was undeniably genuine. In Avada's perception, Baker's vitality and mental power were exceptionally robust—on the same level as veteran powerhouses like Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick, second only to Dumbledore himself.
Still, for some reason, Professor Baker's mental structure seemed oddly unusual. Avada couldn't quite put his finger on what was wrong.
"Hey, Ken!"
His seatmate, Joel Stebbins, nudged him with an elbow. "What's next period again? I forgot to bring my timetable."
Avada took out his schedule and glanced at it. "Potions, together with Slytherin."
"Oh… that's unfortunate."
Stebbins clutched his forehead. "I've heard from the older students that the Potions professor is the Head of Slytherin. He's extremely strict and notoriously biased toward his own house. Apparently, ever since he started teaching, Slytherin has won the House Cup every single year!"
Avada rolled his eyes. Even Hufflepuff, a house that disliked gossiping behind people's backs, could agree on such an assessment of Snape. No matter his personal character, his teaching reputation clearly left much to be desired.
"Relax. At least we're not facing him as Gryffindors," Avada said comfortingly. Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he left the classroom and headed for the Potions dungeon.
…
The Potions classroom was located deep beneath Hogwarts, rumored to have been converted from an old dungeon. It was dim, damp, and noticeably colder than the rest of the castle. Along the walls stood shelves lined with specimens soaked in unknown liquids, giving the room an unsettling air.
"Seriously, why is a place with almost no ventilation used as a Potions classroom?" Avada muttered in a low voice, poking Baron beside him. "A single slip of a hand, and someone could brew some toxic gas and wipe out everyone in here."
"Beats me," Baron replied helplessly. "This is already considered decent. Our common room and dormitories are even worse—built directly beneath the Black Lake. That's the real definition of cold, damp, and airless. I swear, if I live there for a semester, I'll end up with rheumatism!"
"Perhaps you should try a Pepperup Potion, Mr. Shafiq. If you had read through your first-year textbooks before term began, you might have remembered it."
A low, flat voice sounded without warning above their heads.
Both Avada and Baron jumped, then stiffly looked up—straight into a pair of black eyes half-hidden beneath greasy black hair.
"And another thing," the voice continued icily, "the Potions classroom is equipped with comprehensive safety measures. So refrain from using your provincial minds to pass judgment on things you do not understand. Hufflepuff, minus one point."
Avada twitched at the corner of his eye. Now that's the authentic flavor.
That said, only one point deducted—Snape was being merciful. If Harry Potter had dared to comment on the classroom like that to his face, Gryffindor would probably have been reduced to rubble on the spot.
Since Avada and Baron were seated in the front row, Snape's reprimand made the rest of the class realize that he had already arrived. They hurriedly fell silent and sat up straight. Though it was their first lesson, his "fearsome reputation" was already well known, making everyone notably restrained.
"We will now take attendance."
A parchment appeared in Snape's hand at some point. He stared at it, his brows knotted tightly together, his expression almost twisted—something none of their previous professors had shown.
"…Ken!"
He practically ground the name out between his teeth.
"Oh no…"
Avada's pupils shrank violently as he suddenly remembered—his name was essentially the second direct cause behind Snape's greatest personal loss!
He had been congratulating himself earlier for not being in Gryffindor, thinking that might spare him some of Snape's hostility. Instead, he'd walked straight into nightmare mode—with the added possibility of receiving "Chosen One–exclusive treatment."
"…Here," he answered shakily.
Snape snorted through his nose. Perhaps remembering that he shouldn't vent his anger on an innocent child who was also a victim, he restrained himself and continued in a flat voice, "Baron Shafiq!"
"Here!"
"John McNeill!"
"Here!"
…
Once he had confirmed everyone was present, Snape put away the roll and slowly swept his gaze across the classroom, his scrutiny oppressive enough to make throats tighten.
"Potions," he began softly, yet clearly enough for everyone to hear, "is a precise and scientific discipline. I am aware that in your previous classes, each professor has done their utmost to showcase the charm of their subject and stir your enthusiasm…"
"But here, I regret to inform you that most of you will be incapable of appreciating the true elegance of this art. In fact, as it often requires no wand at all, some of you may not even believe it qualifies as magic."
"I do not expect you to understand the subtle beauty of a simmering cauldron exhaling pale steam and fragrant vapors. Nor will you truly grasp the wondrous power of liquids that flow through the veins, leaving the mind enraptured and the will adrift…"
"Nevertheless, I can teach you how to brew fame, bottle glory, and even put a stopper in death itself…"
"Provided that you are not the sort of talentless dunderheads I so frequently encounter."
The unprecedented opening speech plunged the entire classroom into dead silence.
"Ken!" Snape suddenly called on Avada. "You. Tell me the ingredients for a Pepperup Potion."
So it begins.
Avada stood up in despair, racking his memory as he replied, "Salamander blood, cabbage, kudzu root…"
And then his mind went blank.
During the summer, he had spent most of his time studying spellwork, Transfiguration, and the darker jinxes recorded in the Defense Against the Dark Arts textbooks. He had made an effort to memorize Potions and Herbology as well—but with an utterly average memory, there simply wasn't enough time to cram the entire book.
"And powdered Fire Crab shell," Snape added coolly, shooting him a glance. "Sit down. If you can't answer even such a basic question, there's no point standing."
Somewhat unexpectedly, Snape did not deduct points—likely because Avada wasn't a Gryffindor.
"Today, we will be learning the Cure for Boils," Snape said. "It is a basic but classic potion. The principles and techniques involved permeate nearly all potion-making."
He finally began teaching in earnest, producing cauldrons, balances, and various instruments from beneath the lectern, along with an array of bottles and jars. "I will explain the process first, then demonstrate it personally. Afterward, you will work in pairs to practice."
"This potion requires porcupine quills, snake fangs, dried nettles… The proportions are as follows… Take care when crushing the snake fangs, as it may… Also, the technique for boiling horned slugs three times—and the order of those steps. Reverse them, and you will trigger… And if you fail to cool it after the first simmer, then…"
Snape wrote rapidly and methodically on the board. Below, the students took notes with anxious intensity, terrified of missing a single detail and provoking his displeasure.
"…Thus, the horned slug serves to mediate the conflict in properties between the porcupine quills and the snake fangs. According to Beaumont's First Fundamental Law, its innate characteristics alone are insufficient, which is why it must be boiled three times and supplemented with…"
At last, Snape finished explaining the theory and procedure of the Cure for Boils. He set the cauldron firmly at the center of the lectern.
"Now," he said coldly, "I will demonstrate."
(End of Chapter)