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HRA# 37. Gryffindor, Twenty Points!
🕑 Added 2025-02-06 20:29:16 +0000 UTCAlright, the main reason was that after witnessing how fiercely wizards guarded their personal collections, Harry wasn’t entirely sure how well Dumbledore, the master of Hogwarts, protected the books in the Restricted Section.
Besides, books that were placed in the Restricted Section obviously had their reasons for being there. They were definitely not suitable for the average student. Considering his apparent age and how Dumbledore might react...
Harry really didn’t want Dumbledore to get the idea that he was plotting to become the third Dark Lord and then go all out to counter him—he just wanted to spread the way of the shaman and revive the elements, that’s all. No malicious intent whatsoever.
So, he might as well take the proper route.
Becoming a professor would even allow him to bypass all the restrictions placed on students, giving him legitimate access to the books in the Restricted Section. After all, given his level of intellect, the books currently available to first-year students were far too elementary for him.
—At Hogwarts, students of different years had different levels of access to library materials; the higher the year, the fewer the restrictions. Madam Pince, the librarian, had eyes sharper than a hawk’s and kept a strict watch over this rule all day long.
Harry fell into deep thought, contemplating the feasibility of this plan and how to go about it.
Naturally, the course he would teach wouldn’t be Defense Against the Dark Arts, but rather his old profession—Shamanism.
Thinking along those lines, the idea of a Shaman Club suddenly seemed rather trivial... No, not exactly. At the very least, it could help him build some reputation among the students and let them see that he had real skills.
That way, when he eventually introduced a new course as a professor, the students wouldn’t be completely lost or resistant to it.
The more Harry thought about it, the more he saw potential in this idea. If he could become a professor while still in school, he could start cultivating allies early on, selecting promising students suited for shamanic practices, and assessing their character and abilities.
That way, when the time came for him to leave Hogwarts and establish the Earthen Ring, he would already have a group of capable followers. It was practically perfect.
To be fair, if someone else had come up with this idea, Harry would have found it unlikely. But if it was himself... Well, he did have a solid foundation of prestige to work with.
It all came down to this: the name Harry Potter held great sway in the wizarding world, and the existence of magic made this community particularly superstitious.
So what Harry needed to do was simple—keep reinforcing that influence, making wizards feel that what they had always believed in was true. There was no need to break their illusions.
Something like—Ah! See? I was right all along! Harry Potter was never meant to be an ordinary person!
Harry fully understood now.
This wasn’t about cunning, selfishness, or manipulation. Even the most mild-mannered Tauren would give their all for their ideals and goals.
Tauren weren’t slackers. They never believed in merely going with the flow.
—After all, the Tauren had no ill intentions.
When Harry first came to Hogwarts, his sole purpose had been to study the magic of this world, so he had no interest in mingling with the other children. But now, things were different.
If he originally joined the Quidditch team out of obligation to Professor McGonagall, then now, he was playing to quickly amass prestige—without breaking the rules by using magic to cheat, of course. Other than that, he was determined to go all out.
Building prestige was as normal as it got.
Ultimately, the goal was simple: make everyone react to him the way Ron did!
With that in mind, Harry glanced at Ron—his mouth was stuffed with pastries, and he was gulping down butterbeer.
“...What?” Ron mumbled through his full mouth, looking puzzled. “Honestly, Harry, you’re looking kinda weird right now—almost like a Slytherin.”
The kid could be oddly perceptive sometimes.
--
First-year students only had two Potions classes per week, both scheduled for Friday morning. And, conveniently—or not—those were the only classes they had that day.
Maybe it was to give the Potions professor ample time to keep struggling students after class, so they could spend the entire afternoon and evening brewing until they got it right.
Potions class was held in one of Hogwarts’ underground classrooms. Unfortunately, it was another joint session with Slytherin.
The events of yesterday’s flying lesson were still fresh in everyone’s minds, as was the fact that both Gryffindor and Slytherin had lost House points. To be honest, the upper-year Gryffindors had already warned the first-years during last night’s celebration in the common room about what to expect today.
Things like—Snape’s nitpicking, Snape’s sarcasm, Snape’s incredibly sharp words—he just wanted to provoke you so he could justify taking away more points.
That was just how Snape was. As the Head of Slytherin, he was nothing less than an annoying, hateful old bat to Gryffindors.
Especially since Slytherin had lost face yesterday. The old bat was bound to be in a foul mood and would definitely take it out on them today.
The older students had shared countless horror stories of Snape’s past deeds, scaring the first-years half to death. In fact, most of them had come to class today fully prepared to die, swearing to themselves that no matter what Snape said, they would not react.
Harry had wanted to say something in Snape’s defense, but years of firsthand experience from upper-year students were simply too convincing. There wasn’t much he could do.
As the main participant in yesterday’s conflict, Harry had been repeatedly advised to keep his cool and not lose his temper.
Honestly, the tension in the Potions classroom was already thick before class even started. Maybe it was because they felt like they were finally on home turf, but the Slytherins, while not overtly aggressive, were clearly taunting the Gryffindors.
Except for Malfoy.
Did he know something? Or had he realized that Snape’s attitude toward Harry was different from how he treated regular Gryffindors?
Unlike his housemates, who were eager to see Snape put Gryffindor through hell, Malfoy didn’t look the least bit excited or expectant. He just sat there expressionlessly, completely disconnected from his surroundings.
It was clear that Malfoy was being isolated. The only ones still sitting with him were Crabbe and Goyle.
Snape entered the Potions classroom right on time. Today, he wasn’t just wearing a new robe (still black, of course), but his hair was noticeably neater and cleaner than usual.
This confused some of the first-years. According to what the older students had said yesterday, Snape was supposed to be a greasy-haired, unwashed mess.
Yet today, as Snape strode into the classroom, billowing his robes, those sitting closest to him swore they caught a faint scent of soap—not overpowering, but subtly clean and fresh.
Like Professor Flitwick, Snape also began his class with roll call. He went through the names quickly, and once he confirmed that no one was absent, he set the roster aside.
"You are here to learn the precise science and exacting art of potion-making," Snape said swiftly and in a low tone. His voice wasn’t loud, yet every student could hear him clearly.
It was somewhat reminiscent of Professor McGonagall—without much effort, Snape maintained order in the classroom, keeping even the most unruly students in check.
"Since there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I do not expect you to truly understand the subtle beauty of a simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, ensnaring the senses and bewitching the mind… I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death—provided, of course, that you are not the usual bunch of dunderheads I so often have to teach."
By the time he finished speaking, it wasn’t just the Gryffindors— even the Slytherins were a little intimidated, holding their breath and not daring to make a sound.
To be fair, Harry could understand why Snape deliberately created such an atmosphere. The Potions classroom itself was set up to be as eerie as possible—shelves lining the walls held jars of various sizes, filled with unknown animal organs and strange specimens, while the entire room was bathed in a dim, eerie green glow.
It was all just to scare the first-years a little.
After all, based on Harry’s experience with alchemy, the real danger in this field was losing one’s sense of caution and vigilance. Every year, there were cases of apprentices accidentally turning healing potions into poison and killing themselves—it wasn’t even uncommon.
And first-year students… well, especially those from Muggle families, were at an age where ignorance and recklessness went hand in hand. Some of them would genuinely dare to brew a potion and drink it themselves.
"He’s really amazing!" Hermione whispered excitedly beside Harry. "I did some research on all our professors' achievements—Professor Snape is the youngest Potions Master in the entire wizarding world! He’s improved many traditional potions and even wrote The Nature of Potions, which is supposed to be incredibly profound. He became Hogwarts’ Potions Professor almost immediately after graduating!"
In the otherwise silent classroom, even whispers stood out, and Harry had already noticed Snape’s sharp gaze flicking toward Hermione.
"But most importantly, he’s a gifted teacher, Harry!" Hermione continued, undeterred. "It’s said that if you attend Professor Snape’s Advanced Potions class, there’s a high chance you’ll be invited to join the Extraordinary Potioneers’ Society after graduation!"
Well, Snape’s gaze had moved on.
"Potter?" Snape suddenly called out, his voice soft. "What would I obtain if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
"A powerful sleeping potion, Professor," Harry replied. "Also known as the Draught of Living Death. It’s sold in Diagon Alley’s apothecaries for one Galleon per bottle."
"That is the work of mediocrity," Snape shook his head slightly. "A true Potions Master’s Draught of Living Death starts at ten Galleons a bottle."
"I’ll do my best, Professor."
"Good." Snape gave a look of apparent satisfaction. "How can one maximize the effects of dittany?"
"For shallow wounds, consuming it raw is sufficient, but extracting it into an essence enhances its healing properties."
"What do you know about Murtlap tentacle essence?"
"It’s used to treat cuts and abrasions and can soothe the pain from such injuries, but it must be properly filtered before use."
"…"
The exchange between Harry and Snape was rapid, with each question immediately met with an answer—there was no hesitation, no need to pause and think.
For most students in the classroom, their conversation had already veered into completely incomprehensible territory from the very first question.
But for Hermione, who had studied the first-year textbook in advance, it was a different story.
At first, she could still keep up, recognizing the topics from her studies. But Snape’s questions jumped rapidly between subjects, quickly surpassing anything she had read. Before long, he had moved on to topics she had never even encountered—eventually reaching questions like:
"What are the consequences of overdosing on Veritaserum?"
"…As for the methods of treatment and symptom relief, I don’t know yet, Professor," Harry admitted, shaking his head. "With my current level of knowledge, I can only describe the effects it has on the victim’s body."
"That is sufficient."
Even the Slytherins, reluctant as they might have been, had to admit that the expression on Snape’s face at this moment could only be described as pleased—though very subtly so. He quickly pressed his lips together, smoothing out the expression before it could linger too long.
"Gryffindor, twenty points," Snape said, almost regretfully. "For your advanced knowledge. I would have given you more, but Professor McGonagall doesn’t seem to approve of such generosity from me."
Then, suddenly, Snape turned on the rest of the class, his tone sharp and demanding.
"Why aren’t you all writing this down? Have you already mastered it?"
A flurry of movement followed as students scrambled for their quills and parchment, the sound of frantic scribbling filling the air.
The Potions lesson continued. Per Snape’s instructions, the students were split into pairs to brew their first potion.
For their first-ever Potions class, today’s assignment was a simple Cure for Boils—useful, really, given that Hogwarts was full of students, and children were particularly prone to skin conditions.
It probably wouldn’t be long before these potions found their way back to the first-years…
Assuming, of course, that they weren’t botched beyond use.
