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Chapter 617: Bonus Points in Potions Class?
🕑 Added 2025-03-14 12:47:28 +0000 UTCWeekends always seemed to pass in the blink of an eye.
By Monday morning, sunlight streamed through the dormitory window, waking Kyle naturally instead of an alarm clock. Mikel and Ryan were still fast asleep, their breaths slow and even. Not wanting to disturb them, Kyle dressed quietly and slipped out of the dormitory.
On his way to the Great Hall, he encountered Filch. After last year's events, the castle caretaker seemed like a completely different person. Gone was the tyrannical enforcer eager to drag rule-breakers to the dungeons for punishment. Instead, he now appeared timid and wary.
Whenever he crossed paths with someone, his first instinct was not to reprimand them but to retreat, often hiding behind a piece of armor. Only when he recognized Kyle did he step out cautiously, visibly relaxing. It seemed that being knocked unconscious by Barty Crouch Jr. had left a lasting impression on him.
Still, this change had its perks—Hogwarts students no longer had to worry about being scolded for something as minor as speaking too loudly.
The first class of the morning was Defence Against the Dark Arts. After breakfast, Kyle headed to the classroom with Kanna.
Initially, Kanna felt a bit uneasy, worried that Kyle might pick another argument with Professor Umbridge, as he had during the last lesson. Though she didn’t like Umbridge either, the professor’s position made such confrontations risky for a student.
To her relief—and everyone else’s surprise—Kyle remained quiet throughout the entire class. Even Professor Umbridge seemed to have moved past the previous incident, acting as though it had never happened.
This turn of events came as a relief to Kanna, but it left some students disappointed. Sharing the class with Hufflepuff, they had eagerly anticipated seeing Kyle make a scene, especially after hearing the stories about him storming out last time. For these students, the dull, repetitive lessons full of reading and note-taking offered little excitement, and they had hoped Kyle might liven things up.
The lesson, however, proceeded without incident. In fact, what shocked everyone even more was that toward the end of class, Professor Umbridge awarded the Hufflepuffs five points when Kyle correctly answered a question.
This unexpected turn of events left some students wondering if the infamous "door-slamming" incident had been nothing more than a rumor spread by Hufflepuff and Gryffindor to make fools of others. To them, the lesson seemed no different from the usual tedium.
The only noticeable change was Umbridge's habit of occasionally rubbing the back of her hand. Whether this was due to an injury or some other reason remained a mystery.
...
Defence Against the Dark Arts was followed by the advanced Potions class.
This time, there were more students than in Transfiguration, a total of sixteen, though half of them were Slytherins. Kyle doubted that all of them had achieved the necessary O.W.L. scores, given what he knew about Slytherin's former big spenders. Many of them were average at best in Potions—not exactly terrible, but far from exceptional. Their presence here spoke volumes about Snape's enduring partiality.
The Dungeon was as cold as ever, and Snape’s expression matched the atmosphere. He looked even more pallid and worn than usual, with deep-set eyes that suggested several sleepless nights.
As two Ravenclaw students prepared to sit together at one of the tables, Snape’s voice sliced through the air.
“Sit separately,” he commanded icily. “You don’t think you’ll manage to brew a potion together in advanced classes, do you? If you can’t complete a potion on your own, you’d best leave now.”
One of the Ravenclaws hesitated before quickly stepping away to another table. The rest of the class got the message and spread out, each claiming a table for themselves. Although the Dungeon was limited in space, the small class size ensured that there were enough cauldrons for everyone.
Snape began his lecture in his typical monotone.
“Advanced classes,” he said, his cold voice carrying easily in the quiet room. “You are all the most outstanding students I have selected…”
He paused deliberately, his gaze sliding toward Kyle, who was sitting quietly in a corner.
“But…” Snape continued, tearing his eyes away, “I hope you can prove yourselves worthy of the selection. My standards will be strict, and I expect no foolish mistakes in this class. Otherwise, I will be… very angry.”
His eyes swept the room again, lingering briefly as if to hammer the point home. The Slytherins immediately sat up straighter, their postures rigid with a desire to impress. Yet Snape wasn’t even looking at them.
“Today,” he announced, “we will be preparing the simplest potion in Advanced Potion-Making: the Draught of Living Death. Does anyone know what this potion is?”
Nearly every hand in the room shot up, but Snape chose Kanna without hesitation.
“The Draught of Living Death,” Kanna recited, “also known as the Draught of the Living Dead is a powerful sleeping potion that can send the drinker into a deep sleep within a minute.”
“Half a minute, to be precise,” Snape corrected, though his tone held a rare note of approval. “An excellent answer. Five points to Hufflepuff.”
The class remained unfazed by this favoritism; Snape’s bias toward certain students was well known.
“Although it is the simplest potion in Advanced Potion-Making,” Snape continued, “it is more complex than anything you have brewed before.”
With a sharp tap of his wand, instructions appeared on the chalkboard, listing the ingredients and steps for brewing the potion.
Kyle recognized the Draught of Living Death immediately—he had successfully brewed it years ago in a previous Potions class. However, the steps written on the board differed slightly from the ones he remembered.
In Snape’s old textbook, root grass and lionfish bone powder were key ingredients. But here, both had been replaced by dried Belladonna flowers. The substitution made the process simpler; Belladonna required only light grinding before being added to the cauldron, with no special preparation.
Kyle gathered his ingredients and followed the updated instructions. By the halfway point of the lesson, the potion in his cauldron had transformed into the expected well-mixed brownish-red liquid.
Kanna had also achieved the same result.
The rest of the class wasn’t so fortunate. The potions brewed by the other students varied in color and consistency, with some too dark and others visibly uneven. None of them matched the standard set by Kyle and Kanna.
“The Valerian root is not cut to the same size...”
“Who told you to throw the Belladonna flowers in whole...”
“Mix less—half a turn...”
Snape paced through the classroom, his sharp tone slicing through the air as he called out mistakes without the slightest hesitation or mercy.
Yet, he never once approached Kyle’s table, as though Kyle didn’t even exist.
Snape stopped next to a Gryffindor student, frowning deeply at the murky contents of the student’s cauldron. He opened his mouth, ready to deliver a scathing remark, when the Dungeon door creaked open.
Before Kyle could turn to see the newcomer, the unmistakable high-pitched voice answered the question for him.
“Professor Snape, I hope I’m not interrupting,” came Umbridge’s sugary tone, though it was clear she had no qualms about doing exactly that.
Snape’s eyes twitched, and his lips pressed into a thinner line as he moved to the door. Without a word to the class, he stepped outside to meet her, though his irritation was palpable.
After a brief pause, Snape’s restrained voice could be heard. “Professor Umbridge, what can I do for you?”
“I think it’s best we speak in private,” Umbridge replied, casting a cursory glance at the students in the classroom.
Snape nodded curtly and followed her out.
When he returned a few minutes later, his expression had soured even further. His usual disdainful sneer now carried a tinge of something darker—resentment, perhaps. Muttering under his breath, he grumbled, “Why don’t you go to the Hospital Wing? I’m not a Healer...”
His low, bitter complaints continued as he resumed his pacing.
For the rest of the lesson, the students worked in silence, treading carefully so as not to provoke their already irritable professor. Every glance, every sound was measured, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife.
Another half hour passed in this uneasy quiet.
“Time’s up,” Snape announced abruptly. “Everyone stop casting your Charms and cease stirring.”
He began his inspections, moving from table to table. As he scrutinized each potion, Snape’s criticisms were biting, his mood clearly unsoftened by even minor successes.
Kyle glanced around the room. Following Snape’s instructions from the chalkboard, most students had managed to produce a potion that turned a pale pink after the final stir. While the shades varied slightly—some darker, some lighter—none of the differences appeared significant enough to impair the potion’s functionality.
Snape, however, seemed unimpressed. He pointed out flaws in almost every cauldron, his remarks landing like blows. To him, successfully brewing the Draught of Living Death on the first try wasn’t an accomplishment; it was the bare minimum he expected.
Finally, Snape approached Kyle’s table.
Kyle’s potion was flawless, its consistency and color exactly as it should be.
“Not bad,” Snape muttered through gritted teeth, as though it physically pained him to acknowledge the success. “One point to Hufflepuff.”
