In the evening, sitting at the dinner table, Alistair glanced at the person at the staff table, lowered his head, and muttered to himself, "This is reality, not a novel. You can't keep mixing them up!"
Even if Snape turned out to be a good guy who saved the world and the savior in the end of the novels, right now, the man in front of him was a cold, miserable villain!
Alistair aggressively poked at the pudding in front of him, prompting the Weasley twins to finally speak up.
"What on earth is wrong with you, Ali?"
"If something's bothering you, tell us! We're best mates, aren't we?"
Alistair bit down on his fork, frowned, and asked, "If someone always acts disgusted with everyone, how do you figure out what kind of... person they really are?"
"That just makes them a reclusive, eccentric weirdo," Lee Jordan answered instantly. "Definitely not a good guy!"
"Lee Jordan, that's too absolute," Alistair retorted. "You can't judge something just by its surface."
"Are you trying to say that a guy who acts disgusted by everyone is actually a warm, good-hearted fellow on the inside?" Lee Jordan asked.
"Obviously not," Alistair shook his head. "He's not warm at all, but he isn't a bad person either."
"Him? If you think he isn't a bad person, then why are you asking all this?" Fred asked, looking puzzled.
"I... I suppose I want to get closer to him... or... change him." Alistair's voice trailed off, sounding rather lost.
Did he want to change Snape? Was it because Rowling had assigned him such a tragic life—never loved, misunderstood by everyone—that he hoped such a great yet tragic figure could find happiness? Maybe... yes, Alistair guessed.
"At least... make him a bit less reclusive."
"Make him less cold and reclusive?" George tapped his plate. "You want to get close to him? Obviously, the only way to deal with someone like that is to pester the life out of him."
Alistair let out a sudden snort of laughter. "Does that actually work?"
Fred raised an eyebrow. "Blimey! This is the first time I haven't seen eye-to-eye with George! You should trust him."
"Oh, Fred, don't tell me you're jealous?" George threw an arm around his good brother. "I'll always be the one who knows you best."
Alistair waved a hand, smiling as he explained, "Alright, alright, it's not that I don't believe you, I just feel like I'd be poisoned to death by his venom before I even got the chance to pester him."
"Never mind, let's drop it." Alistair finished the milky-white pudding, wiped his mouth and hands with a napkin, and said, "I'm heading back to the common room to do my homework. See you in the common room."
"Off you go, then. We're going to brainstorm some fun stuff with Lee Jordan," George waved at Alistair, then leaned over to whisper to Fred, "Look at that napkin, then look at Ali. I honestly wonder how he didn't end up in Slytherin or Ravenclaw."
Fred shrugged and smiled offhandedly, "Who knows?"
Back in the Gryffindor common room, Alistair found a seat in a corner.
He intended to write down everything he could remember about Harry Potter, because as time went on, he would inevitably forget a lot of things.
Alistair pulled out an unsigned diary and gave nicknames to the major characters: Harry as the Savior, Dumbledore as the Old Fox, Snape as Sev, Sirius Black as the Large Black Dog, Lupin as Moony, Hermione as the Know-It-All, and Ron as the Red-Haired Kid, among others.
Oh! Almost forgot Voldemort—abbreviated as Lord V, a pet name most people used simply because Alistair found it very easy to remember.
Alistair began jotting down the events from his memory one by one: the troll in first year, the Chamber of Secrets in second year, Sirius Black in third year, and Old V's seven Horcruxes...
He spent the entire night writing down everything he could remember, most of it lacking details because he genuinely couldn't recall them—like the night Arthur almost got hurt, or...
"Ali, wake up. How did you fall asleep here?" Everyone else had returned to the dormitories, leaving only a scattered few people behind. Lee Jordan had remembered that he left something in the common room and only then discovered Alistair slumped asleep over the corner table.
Alistair raised his head in a daze, blinking in disorientation as he realized he had fallen asleep halfway through writing. "Thanks. I can't believe I nodded off here."
He had a vague sense that he'd had a dream, but couldn't remember what it was about.
***
Friday morning meant a double Potions class. To avoid being sprayed with venom, Alistair arrived early at the dungeon classroom.
Because it was underground, the classroom received no sunlight, making it dark and damp with a lingering scent of wet earth.
Alistair frowned at the thought.
The moment Snape walked into the classroom, he took a veiled, sarcastic swipe at him. "I do not wish to witness anything as idiotic as exploding cauldrons today. You'd all better use your brains, or don't complain when your house loses points! Class starts now!"
This was going to be awful. Alistair lowered his head, bracing himself for the Head of Slytherin's venom.
"Xina, I'll handle the assisting this time, you brew the potion." Alistair glanced at the floating text ahead of him and organized the required ingredients one by one.
The points Alistair had already lost had left the other Gryffindors displeased, and he was afraid of messing up again this lesson—especially since he wasn't even sure if the explosion on the first day of term had been caused by his own faulty technique.
After all, he always felt a bit strange lately.
Today they were learning the Draught of Peace. Made from narcissus root and wormwood, it served as a sleeping draft.
"Fine, but Ali, you'll have to find someone else to partner with next time," Xina whispered in reply.
Alistair was slicing the narcissus root, but he abruptly stopped and looked at her in confusion. "Why?"
Xina gave Alistair a speech-less glare. "I need to make friends too, cousin!" With that, she gestured toward a female classmate sitting nearby who was smiling at her.
"Oh," Alistair nodded. "Then I'll pair up with Civet next lesson."
Pausing for a second, Alistair looked back at Xina. "Is that your roommate?"
Xina nodded and whispered, "Her name is Angelina Johnson. She's interested in Eastern culture. We talked all night yesterday."
Alistair nodded; so the young lady wanted to hang out with a new friend.
Alistair glanced at Angelina a few times. First-year Angelina wasn't nearly as charming as the sixth-year described in the books.
Right now, she still looked like a little girl, her long black hair tied in a high braided ponytail, her brown eyes bright and lively. When she grew up, she would undoubtedly become a classic beauty.
The narcissus root needed to be ground into powder, and the wormwood pressed for its juice. Alistair prepared them all and handed them over for Xina to heat.
"Heat the wormwood juice first, stir three times, then add the narcissus root powder. Sprinkle the powder in slowly, stirring continuously." Since he wasn't the one brewing, the process went quite smoothly.
However, the result was mediocre. At least he didn't get chewed out by Snape again.
"Stirring speed too slow, narcissus root ground too coarsely. Barely a P." Snape merely glanced at their potion and handed down a direct grade. "The Draught of Peace is used as a sleeping potion, not something for you to drink for fun."
Alistair figured that not blowing up his cauldron like last time was already a huge win, yet Snape couldn't even spare a passing grade. Was he still holding a grudge about the time he blew up the cauldron in the potion stores?
Alistair watched as Snape handed out P (Poor) grades to one Gryffindor after another, with A (Acceptable) being the absolute highest, while several Slytherins got E (Exceeds Expectations)! Everyone knew just how hard it was to get anything above an A from Snape.
Like his fellow Gryffindors, Alistair felt deeply indignant over Snape's behavior, even starting to complain internally that Dumbledore shouldn't have hired such a biased teacher.
After grading all the potions, Snape finally waved his hand to dismiss the class.
Alistair lingered at the very back. Suddenly, he remembered that the bookcase in the corner of the potion stores held old textbooks from former students. Harry seemed to have found the Half-Blood Prince's copy of *Advanced Potion-Making* in there; perhaps he could find other books belonging to the Half-Blood Prince as well.
After tidying up the mess in the classroom, Snape noticed a little lion still wandering around and let out a cold snort of mockery. "Does the little blockhead with marsh gas for brains want to stay after class, Mr. Ruler?"
Enduring the professor's sarcasm, Alistair stammered slightly, "Professor, I'd like to borrow an old textbook..."
"So Mr. Ruler has been reduced to needing his son to come down to the potion stores to borrow an old textbook to pad his foolish brains?" Snape sneered. "Hmph. Clearly, your professor cannot be so heartless as to refuse a pathetic little fool the chance to insult his own intelligence."
Alistair frowned tightly, silently telling himself to ignore the insults. Boiled down, Snape's words meant he was allowed to borrow the books.
"Very well, Professor." Alistair walked over to the somewhat rotting bookcase and couldn't resist casting a 'Reparo' on it.
Snape's face darkened. As he reached the classroom door, he issued a cold warning: "I expect Mr. Ruler knows how to return things to their proper place. And—do not damage the property."
"Yes, Professor," Alistair muttered under his breath, already repairing the bookcase to make it easier to search through the junk for notes left by the Half-Blood Prince.