Everything Matches!
22: Chapter 22: It Matches!
Everything Matches!
Chapter 22: It Matches!
Everything Matches!
One had to admit, the concoction Neville had managed to create was the true definition of a Cure for Boils–or rather, a cause for them.
The moment the liquid splashed, anyone it touched broke out in angry, fluid-filled pustules.
Worse still, it was highly acidic; the stray droplets had even burned gaping holes through the shoes of several nearby students.
*It might be utterly useless as a healing draft,* Silan thought to himself, *but it certainly makes for an excellent weapon.* Pulling Hermione back a step to avoid the spray, they both smoothly drew and whipped their wands.
“Scourgify!” “Idiot!” Snape roared at Neville.
“I take it you failed to move your cauldron from the flame before adding the porcupine quills, is that correct?” Neville was completely terrified.
With boils already erupting rapidly across his face, he could barely squeeze out a coherent word.
“Take him up to the hospital wing!” Snape barked, snapping his head toward Seamus.
Then his dark eyes locked onto Harry.
“Potter!
Why didn’t you tell him not to add the porcupine quills?” Snape truly had an unparalleled gift for pinning absolutely anything on Harry.
“Did you think his mistake would make you look good?
That’s another point lost for Gryffindor, thanks to you!” The entire dungeon fell dead silent.
Nearly every student sat completely frozen, staring blankly at Snape like a flock of terrified little chicks.
“What are you all gaping at?
Are you waiting for me to brew your potions for you?” At Snape’s sudden roar, the rest of the class frantically snapped back to work.
“Silan, I think our potion is ruined,” Hermione said, looking down at their cauldron with a thoroughly disheartened expression.
A few stray droplets from Neville’s exploding potion must have contaminated their mixture, rendering it completely useless.
They were down to their very last set of ingredients.
Snape stood near the front podium, looking down at them coldly without making the slightest move to offer any replacements.
Meanwhile, the Slytherin students who had been gossiping about Silan before class looked over with smug satisfaction, silently praying that their cauldron would blow up next and cover their faces in boils.
“Looks like we only have one shot at this,” Silan said, casting a brief glance toward Snape.
“Can we do it?” Hermione asked, a hint of nerves in her voice.
“As long as you’re here, we can,” Silan replied, handing her the tools from the desk.
“Let’s prep the ingredients together.” The Cure for Boils was an elementary potion.
The ultimate key to success lay in controlling the heat and timing the additions perfectly.
Having memorized the textbook cover-to-cover, Silan knew exactly what to look for; they just needed to get the components ready.
Silan set to work crushing the snake fangs into a fine powder.
Hermione used a pair of tweezers to lift the horned slugs, placing them into a separate container to stew while carefully regulating the flame beneath with her wand.
Once she retrieved the stewed slugs, Silan emptied the main cauldron and placed it back over the fire to reheat.
In the meantime, Hermione finely chopped the dried nettles, setting them aside for later.
Soon, white steam began billowing from the cauldron.
Watching the timing perfectly, Silan added the powdered snake fangs and the chopped nettles.
He gave the mixture a precise stir according to the textbook’s instructions, causing the nettles and snake fangs to dissolve rapidly into one another.
The liquid turned a deep, heavy black.
Right at that moment, another thick cloud of green smoke erupted from across the room.
Someone yelled, “Blimey–get back!” followed by the painful wails of several students being burned by flying liquid.
Snape’s expression darkened considerably when he saw it was a pair of Slytherins.
Having such empty-headed fools in his own house disgusted him.
If they belonged to any other house, he would have fiercely docked points on the spot.
With two accidents occurring back-to-back, the remaining students felt their nerves fraying.
Even Hermione couldn’t help but feel anxious.
They were on their final set of ingredients; there was absolutely no room for error.
If this attempt failed…
Hermione shook her head to clear the negative thoughts, carefully lifting the cauldron away from the flame.
“Be careful, Silan.” “Don’t worry.” Silan stared intently at the bubbling liquid.
Suddenly, a flash of pure intuition struck his mind.
Instead of immediately tossing in the porcupine quills as the textbook dictated, he hesitated.
“What’s wrong, Silan?
The book says to add the quills immediately,” Hermione urged, her anxiety spiking.
Silan remained perfectly calm.
He counted down three seconds in his head before dropping two porcupine quills into the brew, giving the potion a deliberate, measured stir.
The moment he finished, the contents of the cauldron transformed completely.
A soft plume of pink smoke drifted upward, and the thick, pitch-black liquid shifted into a brilliant, rich jade green.
“Is that…
a success?” Hermione asked, extinguishing the flame beneath the stand and letting out a breath.
Silan flipped through the text, finding the exact description for the Cure for Boils.
“Pink smoke, green liquid.
Yes, this is it.” [Successfully brewed a perfect Cure for Boils] [Potions Genius: Proficiency +2] The two of them carefully ladled the completed potion into an ingredient vial.
Hermione held it up to the light, comparing it directly to the book’s description.
She couldn’t help but marvel, “We did it!
We got it perfectly on the very first try!” Across the room, Snape–who had just finished reducing another group of students to tears–noticed they had completed their work.
He strode over, his boots clicking sharply against the stone floor, and peered down intently at the cauldron and the vial.
To a Potions Master like Snape, brewing a perfect Cure for Boils was child’s play.
However, many first-years had never even touched a potion ingredient prior to entering Hogwarts.
Even if they succeeded, the quality of their drafts was usually mediocre at best.
Yet Silan and Hermione had produced a brew that could only be described as flawless.
A flicker of genuine surprise flashed through Snape’s mind.
Hermione clutched the vial tightly, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Snape had already driven out two pairs of students and humiliated several others.
If their potion fell short, they were bound to catch the exact same treatment.
“Adequate.
It barely passes as acceptable,” Snape drawled, dragging out his words with visible reluctance.
“One point–to each of you.” The rest of the classroom instantly erupted into a low buzz of disbelief.
Everyone knew that Snape *never* awarded points to Gryffindor students.
Today, he had completely broken his own rule.
Though it was only a single point, the precedent had been shattered.
This was massive news.
The Slytherin students looked at Silan with a bitter sense of envy.
They had fully expected Snape to use his terrifying authority to crush the boy’s arrogance, but they never anticipated Silan would possess such an undeniable talent for potions as well.
It left them feeling deeply frustrated.
Chris Nott tried to shrink back into the crowd, attempting to make himself as invisible as possible.
It didn’t do much good, considering his pointed hat stood out like a beacon.
He felt a wave of relief washing over him, silently thanking his stars that he had listened to the warning on Silan’s note.
Draco Malfoy glared at Silan with pure irritation.
His own potion was finished too, but he had been a step slower than Silan, meaning Snape hadn’t paid him the slightest bit of attention.
“Thank you, Professor Snape,” Silan said with a polite smile.
“The two of you worked well together.” “It was mostly Hermione’s doing, Professor.
Her ingredient preparation was absolutely flawless,” Silan said, gently pulling Hermione forward.
“If I hadn’t been working alongside her, I wouldn’t have been able to pull it off.” “No, we prepped the materials together, and Silan managed the timing perfectly,” Hermione interjected quickly.
“It wasn’t just me.” Professor Snape shifted his gaze from Silan to Hermione.
The corner of his mouth twitched, a biting sneer forming on his lips as he prepared to deliver a sharp, sarcastic retort.
But the words died right in his throat.
He knew, deep down, that Hermione was an incredibly intelligent girl.
Brilliant, hardworking…
just like Lily had been.
At that exact thought, Snape abruptly clamped his jaw shut, a sudden, violent tremor striking his heart.
He felt a chilling wave of realization sweep over him: from a certain perspective, the girl standing before him shared an uncanny resemblance to Lily.
The blood status, the house, the natural academic brilliance…
Once the thought took root, it spread through Snape’s mind like Devil’s Snare, coiling tightly around his consciousness, refusing to let him break free.
With immense effort, Snape forced his eyes away.
Yet, as his vision shifted, the sight of Silan and Hermione standing side-by-side filled his field of view.
The image hit his mind with the force of a physical blow.
Behind the two children, he suddenly saw the ghosts of two entirely different figures.
One was himself.
The other was the girl he pined for every single day, the one he could never forget.
Lily and Hermione were too alike.
Both born to Muggle parents, both exceptionally brilliant, both sorted into Gryffindor.
He and Silan were too alike.
Both half-bloods, both possessing a natural genius for potions, both sorted into Slytherin.
It matched.
Everything matched perfectly.
His mind spun into a chaotic whirlwind.
He whipped around violently, not daring to look at the two children for another second.
“For your…
seamless cooperation…
an additional five points to each of you,” Snape forced out, fighting to keep his voice completely flat and deadpan.
An agonizing thought pierced his heart: *If I had never uttered that one unforgivable word…
perhaps Lily and I would have been exactly like Silan and Hermione are right now.* Though he knew it was an absolute impossibility, Snape couldn’t stop himself from projecting his deepest, unfulfilled longings onto the two students.
The surrounding class was utterly flabbergasted.
In the span of a single lesson, Professor Snape had awarded six points to Gryffindor!
*Six points!* A solitary thought echoed through the minds of everyone present: *If I tell anyone about this outside of this room, they are going to think I’ve gone completely mad.* “Oh, brilliant.
Now the two of them are going to be insufferable,” Ron muttered under his breath, his face dark with resentment.
“I seriously wish that guy wasn’t my cousin.
Associating with a Slytherin makes my skin crawl.” As Snape glided past their table, his eyes caught the sharp outline of Harry’s facial structure–the spitting image of James Potter.
A wave of intense irritation swept through him.
“Mr.
Weasley!” Snape barked loudly.
“Since you clearly have enough time to chat, perhaps you care to explain why your own draft is not yet complete?
Five points from Gryffindor!” Just like that, a grand gesture of giving points was instantly balanced out by a deduction, maintaining the house disparity.
Ron truly had the worst luck.
Not only was he sitting directly next to Harry, but he had chosen that exact moment to complain about Hermione.
He couldn’t have provided a better trigger for Snape’s psychological projection if he tried.