Friday morning.
Ron poked at the sausages on his plate, in a rather gloomy mood: "Today is Potion class, and we have it with Slytherin. Harry, didn't you say Professor Snape doesn't like you?"
"I heard George mention that he's petty and always targets people he doesn't like. You'll have to be careful."
Harry nodded noncommittally.
When they reached the classroom and class began, Snape made no effort to conceal his emotions, laying bare his aversion and even hatred.
Snape walked in.
The already gloomy classroom instantly felt a few shades more oppressive.
Without a single opening remark, he tapped the podium: "Well, look who has graced my classroom."
"Harry Potter."
"The born Gryffindor, the legendary Savior who drew the Sword of Gryffindor at the Sorting Ceremony, the figure who stirred up a storm the moment he set foot in Hogwarts."
"Tch."
"Potter, didn't your father teach you to stand up after a professor calls your name?"
"Oh, how clumsy of me. I forgot you don't have a father."
A faint, sneering ripple of laughter rose from the Slytherin side.
The Gryffindor students looked at Harry with deep concern. Rumors had been rife, but seeing it with their own eyes still felt almost unbelievable—every professor adored Harry, even the stammering Quirrell.
Yet Professor Snape, the Head of Slytherin House, harbored such intense aversion and targeted him so blatantly.
Harry stood up: "Thank you for the reminder. Actually, my mother passed away as well, so truly, no one ever taught me such things."
The snickering from the Slytherin side grew a fraction louder.
Bang!
Snape slammed his hand down hard on the podium, teeth clenched: "Potter! I am not here to discuss your family background! Shut your mouth!"
"And the rest of you, is this amusing?"
"Shall I carve this knowledge into your troll-like brains, or... perhaps administer a Forgetfulness Potion so you can relive the joy?"
The little snakes instantly lowered their heads.
The Head of House was more toxic today than ever before.
Snape took a deep breath, his tone dropping back to its previous oppressive register.
"Other professors claim you perform brilliantly in their classes."
"But Potion is different. It is a precise art, not a place for you to spout clever remarks, nor somewhere your little tricks will serve you. Watch your tongue!"
"Very well, Potter—what do I get if I add powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
He abruptly changed the subject, firing off the question.
Suffering, struggle, and a trace of anticipation—hidden deep beneath all that malice, almost imperceptible, nearly escaping Harry's notice.
"Draught of Living Death, a very powerful sleeping potion."
Snape pressed on immediately: "And if I told you to go find me a bezoar?"
"Kill a goat, cut open its stomach, it's in the entrails," Harry replied.
Snape let out a scornful chuckle, unaware that his tone had softened slightly: "There is no need for you to take it upon yourself to add so many extra steps."
"You certainly have a touch of cleverness. Then, wolfsbane..."
He reeled off a series of further questions.
Hermione began anxiously drumming her fingers on the desk, while Ron stared in open-mouthed astonishment.
The questions covered nearly the entire first-year curriculum; even Hermione doubted she could answer some of them, yet Harry reeled off the answers fluently, without a moment's hesitation.
"You certainly have some cheap cleverness to get by." Snape glanced out the window, tapped the desk, his tone sinking heavily, "For your unauthorized alterations, Gryffindor loses o—"
Before the word "one" could fully pass his lips, Snape caught sight of Harry's cat-like, amber eyes. He clenched his jaw, hardening his voice: "Gryffindor loses five points!"
Hermione sprang to her feet: "Professor, that's not fair!"
"Harry answered so many questions! He could pass the first-year graduation exams right now. He's brilliant, how can you still dock points?!"
Snape smiled with contempt: "Miss Otter, are you questioning a professor?"
"No, I was just—" Hermione hurriedly shook her head.
Snape shook his head: "What is your name?"
"Hermione Granger."
"Splendid. Reckless, impulsive, a typical brainless Gryffindor miss. For talking back to a professor, Gryffindor loses one point!"
Hermione did not feel angry; she simply lifted her head, a dazed look in her eyes.
Harry performed brilliantly, yet lost five points.
She talked back to the professor, and lost only one point.
Did Harry and Professor Snape really have such deep enmity?
"Now, sit down!" Snape swept his hand through the air, "Some people have nimble tongues, but that is useless. A nimble tongue only makes an herbalist."
"Potion-making requires precise mastery of heat, the most harmonious magical cooperation, and the most delicate proportions. Without practical execution, everything else is empty talk."
Snape drew his wand and tapped the blackboard lightly.
Several lines of text materialized.
"Now, pick up your cauldrons, light your fires, and brew your potions." Snape's cold gaze swept over every student, "I have no theory left to teach you."
"Potions are learned through trial and practice, refined little by little."
"There are no clever shortcuts to success!"
"I trust none of you possess a trollish brain and will treat me to the spectacle of blowing up a cauldron on the very first day."
Neville shivered.
Seamus puffed out his chest, completely oblivious.
Harry had already tried brewing this potion many times over the summer, and this time it felt second nature.
Snape walked over several times looking for fault, but Harry's technique was orthodox and flawless, leaving the professor with nothing to do but let out a cold snort and look away.
Harry remained completely unaffected.
Neville, on the other hand, grew even more nervous beside him, trembling as he grabbed a handful of porcupine quills ready to drop them into the cauldron.
Harry quickly grabbed his hand: "Don't drop them in! Take the cauldron off the fire first, or it'll blow up."
Neville jumped violently, hastily pulling his hand back, and thanked Harry sincerely: "Oh, thank you."
"Mr. Potter, do you feel you have mastered the subject so completely that you can bestow favors upon your classmates and recruit a following?" Taken by surprise, Neville startled, his hand jerking and splashing half a pot of water over the side, though fortunately nobody was scalded.
"Idiot! How are you supposed to brew potions if your hands aren't steady?" Snape frowned. "Did a troll eat your brain and leave your limbs uncoordinated too?"
Neville looked on the verge of tears.
Snape let out a cold laugh. That pathetic sight... that shriveled, rat-like creature almost completely overlapped with Neville in his mind. "Potter, why didn't you be a thorough good Samaritan and remind him to keep a steady hand?"
"Because of your blunder, Gryffindor loses two points!"
Neville was too terrified to even process it.
He was the one who had splashed the hot water, yet in the end... why was Harry losing points?
Ron and Hermione sat stunned at the back of the room.
Harry's expression remained completely unchanged as he continued brewing his potion.
An hour later, the class ended, and the critique session began.
Just as Snape had stated, potion-making was an exquisite art; even with the detailed steps written on the blackboard, fewer than half the students managed to brew a successful batch.
Hermione and Malfoy were the best-performing students after Harry.
Yet they did not receive a single word of praise from Snape, nor even an extra glance—Snape's objective was blindingly obvious; he was gunning exclusively for Harry.
He picked up Harry's potion, swirling it, observing its color against the flickering firelight, and sniffing the aroma. His inspection was so thorough it exceeded the total time spent on all the other students combined.
"You do possess a certain talent for potions." Snape didn't look at Harry; he stared somewhat absentmindedly at the vial, his tone softening a fraction.
Ron and Hermione stared in utter bewilderment again.
Oh...
Was this really the venomous serpent Professor Snape, who had spent two whole periods picking faults?
Snape turned his head and looked at Harry, searching in vain for even the slightest trace of the person who should have been there, no matter how hard he tried.
Those amber, cat-like eyes.
That sudden mutation.
Snape's expression turned glacial in an instant. He set the vial gently back on the table, then brought his hand down hard on the surface: "And you think what you produced was exceptional?"
"Use that brain of yours, which is only slightly superior to a troll's, and think! Think carefully!"
"Why must the porcupine quills be added after the cauldron is removed from the heat? Once you understand that, why didn't you let the boiling water cool down just a bit more before dropping the quills in?"
"And the horned slug slime, I asked you about that ingredient. It is a dual-property material—which property does the anti-acne potion require?"
"Why didn't you slice away the irrelevant part before boiling it? This could have been a superb potion, but due to your carelessness, it can only be called barely passing."
"Potter, consequently, Gryffindor loses two points!"
The other students hastily pulled their hearts back into their chests.
Oh... that momentary gentleness from just now had definitely been an illusion. This was the real Professor Snape.
Snape averted his gaze and moved on to critique the next student.
"Harry, don't feel bad, you were already amazing." Hermione and Ron leaned in, offering words of comfort.
Harry looked puzzled: "Why would I feel bad?"
"The potion you brewed was better than mine, he was just nitpicking..." Hermione began.
Before she could finish, Harry shook his head and interrupted: "No, Professor Snape's delivery is harsh, but he's entirely right."
"Those really were the parts of the brewing process I didn't handle well."
Hermione opened her mouth, speechless.
One is willing to beat, the other is willing to suffer.
How... how is one even supposed to comfort that?
Snape whipped his head around, eyes narrowed, glaring fiercely at Harry: "Potter, is discussing the professor behind his back amusing to you? How arrogant. Gryffindor loses five points!"
Hermione looked startled, clenching her fists. When Snape turned away again, she apologized with deep guilt: "I'm sorry, I dragged you down."
Fourteen points docked in a single class.
Earth-shattering.
Harry shook his head: "I've gained nearly fifteen extra points in other classes this week, it's enough to cover it."
He paused: "You only lost one point, but you've earned ten in other classes, putting you up nine overall."
When the class dismissed, Ron packed his schoolbag and invited the young witch beside him: "We're going to Hagrid's place later—he's the giant who led us from the station to the Castle. Would you like to come along?"
Hermione standing up for Harry had caused his favorability toward her to skyrocket.
"Wait for me a moment, I have something to discuss with Professor Snape." Harry packed up his things, set his bag back on the table, and walked straight toward Snape.