The next day, Potions class.
Potions was held on Friday, which was the very reason why this day had slid from being Hector’s favorite day of the week to the one he dreaded most. Today, they had to go to the coldest classroom in all of Hogwarts, sit with the students from Slytherin—the house they got along with least—and attend a lecture by Snape, the teacher with the coldest temperament in the school, save for Professor Binns. And for the record, Professor Binns was a ghost.
At breakfast, Ron was eating his porridge while describing Snape to Harry. "Snape is the Head of Slytherin House. Fred and George both say he plays favorites with the students in his own house. We’ll see if that’s true today."
Harry, however, was thinking of that teacher with hair as greasy as oil, the one he felt was responsible for the throbbing of his scar. The owls arrived for the daily delivery of mail. Harry was surprised to see a note tied to the leg of his owl, Hedwig. She fluttered her wings and landed between the jam and the sugar bowl. Harry quickly took the note and glanced at it.
"Ron, Hector, Hagrid has invited me to his hut to hang out. Are you two coming with me?"
Ron nodded. Hector had been wanting to take Hermione—who had been pestering him to teach her spells—out for some fresh air, so he did not refuse Harry’s request.
"Can I bring someone along?" Knowing that Ron had always had strong opinions about Hermione, which in turn made Harry somewhat biased against her as well, Hector asked politely.
"Hermione? I suppose so." Harry had originally intended to refuse, but considering how generously Hector had shared his Transfiguration essay the night before, Harry agreed.
After finishing breakfast, they headed toward the basement where the Potions classroom was located.
The Potions classroom was much colder than the main castle. Glass jars lined the walls, filled with various animal specimens, many of which Hector couldn't even name. Long tables were set up in the middle of the room, crowded with cauldrons.
As usual, Hermione had saved a seat for her study partner. Hector hurried over and sat down next to her.
Not long after, a tall figure pushed open the door and walked in, arriving exactly on time.
Snape was draped entirely in black, including his deep, hollow eyes. His face was devoid of expression—it held none now, and likely never would, which caused an aura of icy coldness to radiate from him.
He swept his gaze across the room and quickly locked onto Harry, who was staring at him.
"Oh, yes," he said, his voice low. "Harry Potter. Our new... celebrity."
Malfoy and his two sidekicks, Crabbe and Goyle, covered their mouths and snickered. Hector had already lowered his head, hoping to avoid Snape’s gaze.
Of course, things did not go as planned. Snape immediately continued, "And I almost forgot—another Dumbledore." Snape’s black eyes fixed on Hector. "Gryffindor is truly brimming with talent this year."
Hector didn't dare to breathe; he kept his head down, avoiding eye contact with those cold, emotionless eyes.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," his voice was deep and quiet, yet clear enough for everyone to hear. The entire class was so intimidated by Snape's presence that no one dared to even breathe.
"I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle, beautiful, and precise craft of making potions," Snape paused. "However, for those few who are truly gifted, I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death."
Snape ended his brief opening remarks. The room fell into a dead silence, a strange, lingering pause.
"Potter!" Snape suddenly demanded. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry was completely bewildered. What root? What wormwood? Ron, sitting beside him with a blank expression, was clearly unable to offer any help.
Hermione’s hand shot up into the air, but Snape acted as if he didn't see her. He curled his lip in disdain, his eyes fixed solely on Harry.
"It seems that fame isn't everything," he sneered.
He continued, "Let’s try again, Potter. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
"I don’t know, sir."
"And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
Hermione’s hand was held high, and she was so anxious she almost stood up, making Hector—who was sitting next to her trying to minimize his own presence—feel very uncomfortable.
"I don't know, sir," Harry said quietly. "But I think Hermione knows the answer. Why don't you ask her?"
This remark shocked Hector; he felt the temperature in the room drop several degrees.
"Well, well. I suppose you didn't open a single book before arriving." Snape’s voice dropped even lower, barely above a whisper. "Then, Mr. Dumbledore, can you answer my question?"
Snape stopped targeting Harry and turned to look at Hector, who was silently staring at his own fingers.
Hector had no choice but to stand up, feeling completely baffled. He could attribute Snape's deep-seated resentment toward Harry to the fact that Harry bore a striking resemblance to James Potter, Snape's old rival in love. But Snape's resentment toward Hector seemed utterly baseless—it wasn't as if Hector looked like James Potter, too. Unless, of course, Snape just had a grudge against Old Dumbledore.
Hector decided he would find an opportunity to report Snape's malice to his grandfather.
"Powdered root of asphodel and an infusion of wormwood combine to make the Draught of Living Death, a very powerful sleeping potion. A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat, which has strong antidotal properties. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, also known as aconite." Although Hector had no interest in potions, the weight of Snape’s reputation had forced him to skim through the textbook in his spare time between practicing charms and Transfiguration.
"Hmm, correct. Though knowing what is in the book is not enough," Snape said, looking at Hector with a face devoid of any expression.
"Why aren't you all writing this down? Or have you all committed it to memory?"
The young wizards immediately lowered their heads and hurriedly transcribed the points just mentioned. For a while, the only sound in the classroom was the scratching of quills against parchment.
"Hector, congratulations. At least you’ve proven you aren't a complete fool," Snape’s voice echoed eerily. "Ten points to Gryffindor."
Before the little Gryffindor lions could even celebrate, Snape added in his icy tone, "As for Potter, for your insolence toward a teacher, five points from Gryffindor."
Next, Snape divided them into pairs. Today’s lesson was to brew a simple cure for boils—or, in Snape’s words, a potion so incredibly simple that even a Muggle could make it.
It was indeed simple, but Snape kept prowling around the classroom, stopping behind a "lucky" student every now and then to apply an "ice-cold debuff." Any student he loomed over would inevitably commit some minor error, for which he or she would then be treated to a round of Snape’s biting sarcasm.
"I can find eighteen things wrong with the way you're weighing those nettles." Snape seemed particularly fond of nitpicking Harry; he criticized him so often that Hector felt quite sympathetic.
"Potter, are you incapable of understanding? I asked you to crush the snake fangs, not pulverize them into dust!"
Just as Harry was enduring Snape’s relentless barrage, Neville managed to melt his cauldron. Seamus, paired with him, tried to salvage the situation. The moment Hector saw him pull out his wand, he grabbed Hermione and dived under the table.
With a loud *bang*, the red-hot cauldron exploded. A whole pot of boiling potion sprayed everywhere like fireworks. Snape, standing next to Harry, took the brunt of it. Hector swore he had never seen anyone move as fast as Snape, who had whipped out his wand the instant the cauldron burst to cast a *Protego* charm on himself, leaving only a few drops on his robes.
"Idiot!" Snape roared. He flicked his wand, clearing the potion from the tabletop, and watched as the students nearby, splashed by the brew, quickly broke out in red, swollen boils. As for the two culprits, their faces were covered in them.
"Did I not say no reckless wand-waving and ridiculous charms?" Snape glared at Seamus. "And you! Did you not remove the cauldron from the fire before adding the porcupine quills?"
"Take them to the hospital wing upstairs," Snape said sharply, looking at the unscathed Hector and Hermione. "Just the two of them."
Hector stood up, and Hermione followed behind him. They each supported one of the boys and climbed the stairs out of the dungeon. Even as they reached the door, Hector could still hear Snape’s angry voice:
"Potter, why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Did you think that if he messed up, it would make you look better? Five more points from Gryffindor because of you."
Hector could see that Hermione’s face was bright red with indignation. Neville and Seamus kept their heads down, walking silently.
"Why is Snape picking on Harry like that? It’s so unfair!" Hermione was completely unable to fathom Snape's behavior, and Hector couldn't explain it to her.
What could he say? That Snape had been secretly in love with Harry’s mother for years, and Harry just happened to look exactly like his love rival? If Harry looked like Lily, the story might have ended with Snape single-handedly taking down Voldemort.
"Who knows? At least the fresh air is nice." Hector walked out of the dungeon and took a deep breath of the crisp air, feeling much better.
Life was still wonderful—it would be even better if it weren't for Potions class.