Chương 43: Chapter 44 : Snape, The Deductor

Every head turned toward the entrance. A moment later, a tall man in flowing black robes walked in. He had shoulder-length black hair, a sallow face, and a hooked nose. His skin was pale enough to put vampires in dark romantic dramas to shame, while his greasy hair looked as though it hadn't seen shampoo in years. As one would expect of him, Professor Snape wore the expression of a man whose wife had just run off with the milkman that very morning.

As he walked, his black robes billowed behind him so much that Tyson genuinely wondered if the old bat had enchanted them. Without a word, Snape walked to the front of the classroom, placed a thin stack of parchment on his desk, and slowly turned to face the class. His black eyes, stripped of any warmth, swept over the room. Then Tyson saw a flicker of disappointment in them, probably because no one was late.

'What an asshole.'

"You are here," he began, his low, cold voice echoing through the classroom, "to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. Since there is no foolish wand-waving here, most of you will not even think this is magic. I do not expect you to truly appreciate the beauty of a softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind and ensnaring the senses…"

His eyes swept over the crowd, lingering on every face just long enough to make them uncomfortable.

"I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death… if you are not as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

'Put a stopper in death?' Tyson resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

'Sure, buddy.' Although he understood the speech was meant to impress first-years and make Potions sound mysterious, that particular line felt a little too ambitious. If Snape could truly "put a stopper in death," Voldemort wouldn't have gone through the trouble of tearing his own soul into seven pieces in pursuit of immortality. And even after all that, the Dark Lord had still died in his seventies, which was barely half the average lifespan of a wizard. Fate had truly done Voldemort dirty.

"Miss Abbott!" Snape's tone suddenly sharpened. Two tables away, a girl with pigtails shot to her feet so abruptly that her quill slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the stone floor.

"Y-Yes, Professor?" she stuttered, looking absolutely terrified.

"What is the purpose of a Boil-Cure Potion?" Hannah stared at him as though he had just asked her to derive the fundamental laws of magic. Her mouth opened, closed, then opened again.

"One point from Hufflepuff," Snape said disdainfully.

"If you had bothered to open the textbook, you would have known that a Boil-Cure Potion is used to cure simple boils. What is even more remarkable is that the answer is contained within the title itself. Even a troll would have been able to deduce that. But it would seem that I have severely overestimated the average first-year's ability to draw conclusions from painfully obvious information." Hannah's eyes immediately reddened. She lowered herself into her seat with her head bowed, clearly fighting back tears.

Snape's gaze drifted over the rest of the class.

"I trust the remainder of you possess sufficient powers of observation to avoid repeating Miss Abbott's rather public demonstration of intellectual bankruptcy." Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. A wave of tension spread through the classroom. Every first-year instinctively sat a little straighter, trying to appear less conspicuous so as not to become Snape's next target. Unexpectedly, Snape's gaze drifted toward Tyson's row.

All four boys instinctively stiffened.

"Mister Corner!" Snape's sharp voice echoed throughout the classroom. The sleepy boy jumped to his feet so quickly that his chair scraped loudly across the stone floor. For the first time since Tyson had met him, Michael looked completely awake. His eyes were as wide open as they biologically could be.

"How many horned slugs are required for a Boil-Cure Potion?" Michael swallowed hard.

"I… I don't know, Professor."

"One point from Ravenclaw." Snape's expression remained unchanged as he delivered the verdict.

"If your troll-sized brain can retain information, the answer is four."

"And you had better wipe that vacant expression off your face," Snape warned.

"If I see it again, you will spend every evening this semester scrubbing cauldrons until you learn to present yourself properly. Am I understood?"

"Y-Yes, Professor." Michael nodded vigorously. When Snape's gaze moved away from him, he practically collapsed back onto the bench, wiping the cold sweat from his brow.

"Mister Goldstein." Anthony rose without hesitation.

"What is the correct order for adding the porcupine quills when brewing a Boil-Cure Potion?"

"They are added only after the cauldron has been removed from the fire, Professor," Anthony answered precisely, his voice filled with confidence. Snape didn't even bother acknowledging the correct answer. He simply moved on to his next victim. Anthony sat back down awkwardly. Snape continued without pause, selecting students seemingly at random. Only a handful of Ravenclaw girls and a few particularly studious Hufflepuffs managed to answer his questions correctly.

The rest merely watched their House points disappear one by one. This continued for another five minutes. Then Snape fell silent. A collective sigh of relief swept through the classroom. At last, everyone thought, the interrogation was over. Then Snape's gaze drifted back toward Tyson's table.

"Mister Steward." Tyson froze for a long second before rising to his feet. Inwardly, he cursed his rotten luck. Seriously. There were over 40 students in the classroom right now, yet Snape had already questioned two of the four boys at their table, and he was the third. Either their luck was utterly abysmal, or they stood out according to whatever parameter Snape used to decide whom to question. Snape regarded him coolly.

"What would happen if the crushed snake fangs are added to the water before the cauldron has been heated?" Tyson's brows furrowed as if he were in deep thought. After several long seconds, his eyes lit up with sudden realization.

"Of course, Professor," he said confidently.

"Isn't it obvious?" Snape's eyebrow lifted slightly. Tyson looked him straight in the eye and answered with the certainty of someone who believed he was factually correct.

"The fangs would get wet!" The classroom went dead silent. Snape stared at him. For a long moment, the only sound in the classroom was the soft trickle of water from the gargoyle basin. Then Snape's expression darkened so much that, for a brief moment, Tyson wondered if he had somehow wandered into that new TV series everyone was talking about.

"Five points from Ravenclaw," his voice was cold enough to make Tyson's ass clench, "for failing to provide a correct answer. And five more for the unnecessary display of insolence." Ten points were gone just like that. Tyson calmly sat back down. The moment he did, he felt dozens of gazes boring into him from all directions. Naturally, the Ravenclaws were pissed that he had cost them so many points just to land a joke. The strongest glare, however, came from the person sitting right beside him.

Anthony's expression could have melted steel. Tyson simply shrugged. The unspoken rule about revising and arriving ridiculously early had genuinely annoyed him. Pulling Snape's leg for once seemed like fair compensation, right? To be honest, Tyson had never understood Hogwarts students' obsession with House points. It would have made sense if there were some tangible reward for winning—say, Galleons or special privileges, like being allowed to take third-year electives in first year—but there was no such thing.

The only reward was a useless trophy and a year's worth of bragging rights. One would think an entire House of supposedly intelligent people would eventually realize they were competing for little more than collective ego. But no. Eleven-year-olds were still eleven-year-olds. In that sense, Tyson felt he was the only true Ravenclaw, if only because he recognized how utterly pointless House points were. Unfortunately, Snape didn't seem interested in hearing Tyson's thoughts on the matter.

After finding his final victim, the viva they hadn't signed up for finally came to an end. By the time the professor was finished, Hufflepuff had lost nine points, while Ravenclaw was down sixteen. Snape finally turned away from the class and approached the blackboard. With precise, slanted handwriting, he wrote out the instructions for the Cure for Boils.

"You will brew this potion today. The ingredients can be found in the supply cupboard to your left. I do not expect any of you dunderheads to succeed, but do keep in mind that anyone incompetent enough to melt a cauldron will spend the remainder of this double period scrubbing the floor with a toothbrush." He stepped back and looked over the class.

"Now… in pairs. Begin!"