Seeing Caelan walk over, a Slytherin student whispered in a mocking tone, “Look, the Chimera combo is back again.” “What’s the Chimera combo?” asked another student, playing the straight man.
“A composite beast made of a goat, a lion, and a snake.
Don’t you think it fits certain people perfectly?” The student speaking cast a cautious glance at Caelan.
Seeing that Caelan hadn’t noticed them, he put on an unbothered front and spoke to the others around him.
The few who heard him burst into laughter.
“The Chimera combo” was the secret nickname they had given to Caelan and Hermione to refer specifically to the two of them.
Although they had deliberately kept their voices down, Caelan had actually noticed them.
Eleven-year-old young wizards didn’t know how to hide themselves yet.
Even though Caelan hadn’t heard their exact words, he could tell from their expressions and the way they looked at him that they certainly weren’t saying anything good.
So, he flicked a slip of paper over.
However, the note wasn’t meant for the two talking, but for Chris Nott.
Ever since he lost his hair, Chris had taken to wearing his pointed hat everywhere, making him stand out dramatically.
He had been happily enjoying the show when he saw Caelan throw a note at him.
The smile instantly vanished from his face, and with trembling hands, he opened the paper.
Two simple sentences were written on it: “Mr.
Nott, I was wondering, has your hair grown back yet?
Also, if the two little mice next to you keep gossiping about me, I’ll have to ask you for a spell duel.” First asking about his hair, then bringing up a spell duel.
Combining the two was an obvious threat.
Nott felt a wave of tragic indignation.
*What does this have to do with me?
I was just standing here minding my own business watching the show!
Did I cross you?
I wasn’t the one talking!* Despite thinking this, Chris buckled under Caelan’s calm gaze.
He reached out and slapped the two boys, warning them through gritted teeth, “Shut up, both of you!” The two young wizards looked at Chris in confusion, thinking, *What’s gotten into this guy?
We weren’t talking about you!
Why are you throwing a fit?* Just as the two were about to snap back, they realized the classroom had suddenly fallen dead silent, and even the temperature seemed to drop several degrees.
Instinctively, they looked toward the doorway.
They happened to see a greasy-haired bat walking into the classroom in a menacing rush.
The two young wizards were instantly muted and obediently shut their mouths.
Snape kept his face tight and didn’t rush to speak, using silence to press down on the students’ nerves.
Only after the atmosphere was completely saturated by this heavy silence did he pull out the register and begin calling roll.
When he reached Harry, he paused as expected and read Harry’s name in a strange, drawling tone.
“Har-ry!
Potter!” “Ah, yes.
Our new…
celebrity.” Snape flicked his eyelids up, glinted a glance at Harry, and quickly finished calling roll.
“Potions is a very precise and rigorous discipline,” Snape said, his voice low, but every single person heard him clearly.
It was simply too quiet in the dungeon classroom.
“There will be no foolish wand-waving in this class, nor do I expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is the softly simmering cauldron, white smoke rising, wafting with delicate scents.” Snape drew his black robes around him with both hands, like a bat folding its wings.
“I can teach you how to…
bottle fame, brew glory, and even…
put a stopper in death.” By the end of his sentence, Snape had dragged his tone out nearly twice as long as usual.
The Slytherin students didn’t care.
They raised their heads high, as if doing so would earn his attention.
Snape twitched the corner of his mouth, casting a contemptuous gaze at the Gryffindor students.
“That is, provided you aren’t the usual dunderheads I so often have to teach.” Before the students could react, Snape suddenly fixed his gaze on Harry and asked rapidly, “Potter!
What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?” “I don’t know, sir.” “Tut, tut—fame clearly isn’t everything.” Snape curled his lip in disdain.
“Let’s try again, Potter.
Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?” “I don’t know, sir.” “Then tell me, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?” By now, Snape had walked up to Harry, staring intently into his bright green eyes.
Though he seemed to be looking at Harry, he was actually yearning for someone else.
In this moment, while his face remained tense, there was a subtle tremor in his cold eyes.
Caelan watched from the side with great relish.
This was a classic performance titled: *The Tattooed Ex-Gangster Hot-Tempered Teacher Meets the Lawless Scared Marked Problem Child*.
“I don’t know, sir,” Harry said softly.
“Hermione clearly knows the answer.
Why don’t you ask her?” Snape slowly shifted his gaze away, turning to glare at Hermione, who had been raising her hand for so long she was practically standing up in her urgency.
“Put it down!” “Mr.
Silas Prewett.
Oh…
how could I forget you?
The star figure of our Slytherin.” After stealing one last lingering look at Harry’s eyes, Snape turned to Caelan.
“Why don’t you teach our famous Savior?” *Wait, me too?* Caelan, who was happily watching the show from the sidelines, found himself suddenly called upon.
He sat up straight and spoke unhurriedly.
“Asphodel powder and wormwood combined produce a powerful sleeping potion—the Draught of Living Death.
A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat, which acts as an antidote to most poisons.” “As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the exact same plant, collectively known as aconite.” “It seems not everyone with fame is an empty fraud.” Snape took another subtle jab at Harry before a mocking smile touched his face.
“A good answer.
However, if anyone had bothered to read the textbook in advance, they would know just how simple a question this is.
Only a fool would fail to answer it.” “Five points to Slytherin.” Snape was clearly unsatisfied with just answering, taking the opportunity to sting Harry once more.
Then he turned to glare at Hermione and Caelan.
“However, Prewett, perhaps you can explain why you are sitting with a Gryffindor student?” Several nearby students who had long found Caelan and Hermione eyesores looked on with gloating satisfaction.
Finally, a professor had noticed this problem!
Caelan looked up, meeting Snape’s gaze.
“Professor Snape, Hermione is my friend.
Does attending class and studying together violate school rules?” “Don’t you have good friends in Gryffindor, Professor?” His rapid questions caused the corner of Snape’s mouth to twitch.
A good friend in Gryffindor?
Although he had suffered endless torment from Gryffindor students during his school days, his best friend had also been a Gryffindor.
Except…
he had lost her.
He fell motionless and silent, to the point where the students began to wonder if Snape had been hit with a Body-Bind Curse, before he finally forced out a phrase through his teeth.
“Begin the lesson!” Snape paired them off and handed out the ingredients.
He even deliberately assigned Caelan and Hermione to the same group.
To ensure sufficient materials, Snape had prepared three sets of ingredients for every pair.
Yet when he reached Caelan, he handed him only two.
“I heard a spell genius joined Slytherin.
On his first day, he was already dueling classmates.
Well then, Mr.
Prewett…
perhaps you’re a Potions genius as well.
Why don’t you let me see for myself?” “Missing just one set of ingredients couldn’t possibly make things difficult for you, could it?” Snape said.
Some students began to jeer quietly.
“For the famous Mr.
Prewett, this must be a piece of cake, right?” “One less set of ingredients means one less chance.
That Slytherin is probably going to make a fool of himself,” Ron muttered with a hint of schadenfreude.
Hermione frowned, looking worried.
“Are two sets of ingredients enough?
What if we fail…” “It’s fine, two sets are more than enough,” Caelan said with a smile as he picked up the ingredients.
“With the two of us working together, how could we fail?” Snape was right—he really did have the [Potion Genius] trait.
“That’s true.” Hermione regained her confidence.
Ever since before, the two of them working together had never failed.
Not even once.
The students began brewing their potions, while Snape dragged his black cloak behind him as he paced back and forth across the classroom.
Whenever he saw a student making a mistake, he never withheld his harsh criticism.
“Oh, dear me.
I truly hope you can squeeze your meager brains hard enough to wring out even a drop of intelligence, so as not to turn potions into…
whatever this is!” “What is this supposed to be?
Syrup?
Start over!” “The color isn’t pure enough.
Pour it out and start over!” Snape patrolled every corner of the classroom like a giant bat, leaving a trail of quiet groans and wails wherever he passed.
However, he did express considerable praise for Malfoy’s method of stewing horned slugs.
Before anyone could take a closer look, a cloud of thick green smoke suddenly burst from Neville’s cauldron, followed by a harsh sizzling sound.
Almost instantly, his cauldron warped and melted from the heat, and the liquid inside violently exploded outward, splashing directly toward Caelan’s side.