18: Chapter 18 Snape's First Lesson

Potion Class was in the dungeon classroom.

This place was colder than the Slytherin Common Room, and rows of glass jars lined the walls, containing various things whose original forms were unrecognizable. Neville took one look as he entered and nearly dropped his book.

Goyle, on the other hand, was looking quite intently.

Crabbe asked, "What are you looking at?"

Goyle said, "Can you eat that?"

Draco was sitting in the front row, his face turning green. "Can you not ask questions like that in Potion Class?"

Allen chose a seat in the back.

It was far from the podium, not too close to the door, his right hand could reach his schoolbag, and his wand was in his sleeve. This position wasn't too conspicuous, nor was he deliberately hiding. For a freshman with "average grades, a lazy personality, and a tendency to be sleepy," it was just right.

Harry sat on the Gryffindor side, next to Ron. Hermione had her textbook arranged neatly and her quill ready. The way she looked, she didn't seem like she was here for class, but rather prepared to stuff the Professor's mouth.

The door opened.

Snape walked in, his black robes sweeping across the floor, and the sound in the classroom was suppressed.

He didn't take roll call, make small talk, or welcome the freshmen.

"There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations here."

Snape stood before the podium, his gaze sweeping over every face.

"I hope you understand that Potion is a precise discipline. It can fascinate, it can bewilder, and it can also let people die very quietly."

Upon hearing the word "die," Goyle sat up a bit straighter.

Crabbe whispered, "Sounds like it's not edible."

Draco closed his eyes, deciding to pretend he didn't know him.

Allen opened his textbook, but didn't read a single word.

He had already read this content over the summer. The troublesome part of Potion Class wasn't the theory, but the execution. The thickness of slices, the heat, the direction of stirring—missing a single step could turn the cauldron into an accident scene.

In Muggle schools, some people could memorize enough to get full marks on exams, but would still shatter beakers when they entered the lab. Potion was much the same.

Snape's gaze stopped on Harry.

The atmosphere in the classroom changed.

Allen lifted his eyelids slightly.

Here it comes.

If the old bat didn't give Harry a hard time in the first lesson, that would be the strange thing.

"Potter."

Harry looked up.

Snape looked at him, speaking slowly: "If I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood, what would I get?"

Harry was stunned.

Hermione's hand was raised high; she wished she could stretch her arm all the way to the ceiling.

Ron whispered, "Don't look at me."

Harry could only bite the bullet and answer: "I... don't know, Professor."

Snape didn't look at Hermione.

"It seems that fame doesn't teach one to preview the material."

Low laughter came from the Slytherin table. Draco laughed the most naturally; Crabbe and Goyle followed half a beat later, with poor results.

Snape continued to ask: "What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Harry's expression worsened.

Hermione was practically holding herself up like a specimen.

"I don't know, Professor."

"Then where does bezoar come from?"

"I haven't learned that."

Snape didn't rush to deliver his sarcasm. He waited half a second before speaking: "Before showing off your scar, try flipping through a book. Mr. Potter, one point from Gryffindor."

The Gryffindor side went quiet.

Harry lowered his head. Ron was so angry his ears turned red; Hermione lowered her hand, her expression also poor.

Having finished watching this old play, sleepiness welled up in Allen again.

Harry's ability to attract fire was reassuringly stable.

Snape wrote on the blackboard and began to explain the steps for preparing Boil Cure Potion. Allen listened to the beginning, confirmed it was about the same as the book, and pulled back half his attention, leaving the other half to the movements in the classroom.

His state looked terrible to outsiders.

Eyes half-closed, fingers pressing on the edge of the textbook, he could fall asleep at any moment.

Draco nudged him with his arm.

"Don't sleep, Professor Snape is not McGonagall."

Allen didn't look at him: "You should manage Goyle's knife first."

Draco turned his head.

Goyle was preparing to throw the whole porcupine quill into the cauldron.

"Stop!"

Draco lowered his voice and pressed his hand down before the disaster could happen.

Crabbe asked sincerely from the side: "Can't you put it in whole?"

Draco gritted his teeth: "The book says to chop it up."

Goyle looked down at the book: "Too many words."

Allen closed his eyes, resisting the urge to comment.

The future hope of Slytherin, at least their appetite was steady.

In front of the podium, Snape suddenly stopped.

"Allen Potter."

The classroom went quiet again.

Harry instinctively looked up.

Draco also looked at Allen, his expression conveying one sentence: You'd better not mess this up.

Allen opened his eyes: "Professor."

Snape stood by the podium, his black robes hanging down, his whole person showing no unnecessary movement.

"Since you are so sleepy you're about to fall off your chair, you might as well answer a question."

He picked up a piece of chalk and tapped it against the blackboard.

"In Boil Cure Potion, why must porcupine quills be added after taking it off the fire?"

This question wasn't hard, but it was easy to get wrong.

Many freshmen only memorized the steps, not the reasons. Hermione's hand went up again, though not as high as before; she also wanted to hear how Allen would answer.

Allen closed his textbook.

"High heat causes the active ingredients in the porcupine quills to release too quickly, causing the Potion reaction to go out of control. Adding it after taking it off the fire reduces splashing and allows the medicinal properties to remain in the finished product."

Snape didn't say right, nor did he say wrong.

He switched to another one: "What would happen if a student added it prematurely?"

Allen glanced at Goyle's cauldron.

"At best, it would smoke; at worst, the whole table would sprout boils. It depends on the amount added, and how stupid he is."

Crabbe looked down at his own hands.

Goyle moved the porcupine quills a bit further away.

Someone in the classroom stifled a laugh, not daring to make a sound.

Draco blocked half his face with a book, his shoulders shaking.

Snape's expression didn't change.

"Mr. Potter, you have indeed read the books."

"I just happened to flip through them before enrollment."

"Happened to?"

Snape stared at him.

"Yes, Professor."

This answer was too steady. No showing off, no playing dumb, just like a freshman answering a classroom question.

But Snape didn't like "happened to."

He had seen too many students. True idiots would be in a rush to prove themselves, while truly smart people would hide a part of their ability. This Potter in front of him was absurdly sleepy, yet could give an answer immediately after being called upon.

What was even more eyesore was that he was also a Potter.

Snape's gaze bore down.

Allen didn't dodge.

The next moment, something brushed against the edge of his consciousness.

Very light, very thin, hidden behind the classroom questioning. Not a violent intrusion, more like a probe reaching in through a crack, trying to pry open surface memories.

Legilimency.

Allen's fingers stopped on the textbook, not moving.

The interdimensional layer on the outside of his soul closed on its own.

No rebound.

No fluctuations.

That probe was swallowed, then sent back to a clean, empty space.

All Snape saw was a blank.

Not a hole from a Memory Charm, not a wall roughly built by Occlumency, nor the chaotic thoughts of a nervous student.

It was too clean to be an eleven-year-old child.

Snape's pause was very short.

Short enough that no one in the classroom noticed.

But Allen noted that half-second.

The old bat had made a move.

Sooner than expected.

Snape withdrew his gaze, turned around, and added a line of text on the blackboard.

"One point to Slytherin. Mr. Potter, since you have flipped through the books, don't waste your time sleeping."

Draco let out a sigh of relief.

Crabbe whispered, "Points added."

Goyle nodded seriously: "You can even get points for sleeping."

Draco cursed in a low voice: "Shut up."

Allen reopened his textbook, his tone low: "Don't copy me."

Goyle asked, "Why?"

"After you fall asleep, the cauldron will wake up first."

Crabbe looked at his own cauldron and turned the heat down a bit.

The class continued.

Snape had students brew Potions in groups. Problems arose on the Gryffindor side before long; Neville's cauldron began to emit strange colors, Ron was flustered, and Hermione was correcting them while anxious to take over the whole group's work.

The Slytherin side wasn't very steady either.

Crabbe chopped porcupine quills like he was cutting roast meat, the thickness depending entirely on his mood. Goyle was responsible for stirring; after stirring three circles, he asked, "Which way is clockwise?"

Draco slammed his silver knife on the table: "Both of you go wash the cauldron."

Crabbe protested: "It's not finished yet."

"Exactly because it's not finished yet, there's still time to save it."

Allen took over the remaining ingredients and pushed the steps back half a step.

He didn't appear too skilled. He was deliberately slow when slicing, and when weighing, he left room for the hesitation a normal freshman would have. The final color of the Potion was upper-middle; not fighting for first, but not embarrassing either.

Hermione's group finished the best.

She received a "barely acceptable" from Snape, and her expression was more pained than if she had been deducted points.

Draco looked at Allen's cauldron and lowered his voice: "You could clearly do better."

Allen bottled the Potion: "If you can get full, don't lick the plate clean."

"What kind of saying is that?"

"Orphanage experience."

Draco choked and stopped asking.

When the bell rang, the students in the classroom packed up as if they had been released.

Harry had been deducted points by Snape and was still tight-faced when walking out of the classroom. Ron complained all the way about Snape's favoritism, while Hermione tried to explain bezoars and monkshood, but no one wanted to listen.

Allen left a step behind.

He put his textbook into his bag, his wand still in his sleeve. When passing the podium, Snape was still grading records.

"Potter."

Allen stopped.

Snape didn't look up: "Next class, I don't want to see you sleeping in my classroom."

"I will try my best, Professor."

"Trying your best is not an answer."

Allen paused: "Then I will sit more steadily."

Draco at the door almost laughed out loud, but forced it back in.

Snape finally looked up.

Allen met his gaze, his face without extra expression, and the sleepiness didn't look faked.

A moment later, Snape lowered his head and continued writing.

"Get out."

Allen turned and left.

In the corridor, Draco caught up, his tone very low: "You really dared to say that."

"He said not to let me sleep."

"So you said sit more steadily?"

"Isn't that cooperating?"

Crabbe nodded: "I think that makes sense."

Draco glanced at him: "Don't you think."

Goyle rubbed his stomach: "Is there food in the next class?"

"No." Draco answered wearily.

Allen walked at the very front, the drowsiness on his face unchanged, but his mind was clear.

Snape's probe had failed.

But failure didn't mean the end.

A student who could make Legilimency read only a blank, in Snape's eyes, wouldn't be safer, just more worth watching.

In the first Potion Class, he had gained one point.

And also received a mark from the old bat.