“Put your wands away. You won’t need them in this class,” Snape said coldly as he strode up to the podium.
The Potions classroom was dimly lit, and Tris couldn’t see Snape’s face clearly for a moment, but judging by his expression, the professor seemed to be in an exceptionally foul mood.
*It doesn’t seem to be solely because of Harry’s arrival, does it?*
The other young wizards clearly lacked such keen observation skills.
Upon hearing that they wouldn’t need their wands, many of them felt a wave of disappointment.
So far at Hogwarts, none of the classes that didn’t require wands were considered fun by them.
History of Magic, Astronomy, Herbology—they were either overly tedious or downright troublesome, and none of them were interesting.
Even in the equally dull Defense Against the Dark Arts, at least the professor didn’t make them put their wands away, did he?
Now that Potions didn’t even allow them to hold their wands, the young wizards immediately relegated it to the same level as History of Magic.
Snape didn’t know what the young wizards were thinking, and even if he did, he wouldn’t care.
As the teacher with the least professional ethics at Hogwarts, he would only show a sliver of interest in guiding a student if they possessed truly exceptional talent and comprehension.
And he had already observed this year’s batch of students at the start of term.
In his eyes, as the youngest Potions Master, not a single one of them possessed any real talent for potions.
This was fine; he had no desire to waste his energy on matters he considered insignificant anyway.
Sweeping his gaze quickly across the classroom, he lingered briefly on Harry before swiftly looking away.
“Today, we will learn to brew a most simple potion. Any creature with a brain capacity exceeding that of a gnome should be able to complete it successfully…”
After that, Snape began his lecture in a flat, monotonous voice, delivering it in a tedious drone comparable to Professor Binns.
The other students didn’t think there was anything amiss.
After all, they had heard plenty of older students describe Potions over the past week as a complex and boring subject.
Only Tris had a flicker of surprise flash in his eyes.
*Wait, that was it?
The class is just starting like this?*
Where was that opening speech, half-boastful and half-descriptive?
Where was the trio of initial questions targeted at Harry?
All gone?
But no matter what Tris thought, Snape clearly intended to conduct the class according to his own plans.
In this first lesson, they were to brew a simple cure for boils.
Although it was called a simple potion, brewing it was by no means entirely effortless.
There were countless details involved in the preparation, processing, and brewing of the ingredients.
Compared to the high-level potions Tris had read about in books, this one at least didn’t require ingredients to be harvested at specific times or under specific weather conditions, nor did it require magic.
However, for young wizards handling physical potion-making for the first time, it still demanded absolute concentration to avoid mistakes.
Once Snape finished explaining all the key points, he sat at his desk, his cold, emotionless eyes scanning the classroom as he waited for the students to try brewing it themselves.
And that was when the chaos began.
Even though, as mentioned, the young wizards could avoid mistakes if they remained fully focused, maintaining complete concentration was no easy feat.
Focus was a trait not everyone possessed.
Soon, blunders began to occur one after another in the classroom.
“Foolish! An ogre’s movements are more delicate than yours.”
“Idiot! Your hands are shaking like a brainless zombie.”
“If your eyes are of any use at all, you should be able to see that your porcupine quills exceed the standard length.”
Although Snape sat at the front of the room, he clearly saw the issues each young wizard encountered.
Most of the time, however, he merely delivered scathing, derogatory sarcasms without pointing out exactly what the problem was.
*Could this be my influence?
Snape doesn’t seem as friendly to Malfoy as he was in the original plot,* Tris thought to himself as he carefully prepared his potion ingredients.
His movements were not fast—in fact, he was among the slowest of the twenty-one students in the class—but he was exceptionally precise.
Unlike the other young wizards who still needed to flip through their textbooks to double-check the preparation details—even though Snape had explained it thoroughly, people who could remember everything after hearing it once were rare—Tris worked slowly but steadily once he began, showing neither hesitation nor pause.
Even Hermione, who sat next to him, checked her book once more before preparing a few of the ingredients.
Tris didn’t know if Snape had noticed his performance, nor did he care much.
Although he knew from his past life that many online users loved Snape, Tris was not among them.
He simply brewed his potion step-by-step.
Knowledge was absolutely a good thing—though if this were a Cthulhu-esque world, he would have to be a little more careful about his intake.
Potions was a double period; after all, brewing potions took time, and the young wizards rarely succeeded on their first try.
The few exceptions were usually concentrated in Ravenclaw.
Today, however, Gryffindor and Slytherin happened to have one each.
One, without a doubt, was Tris.
Having memorized the contents of the beginner potions and herbology textbooks cover to cover, Tris could easily manage the brewing without any strain.
A flawless execution on his first try, resulting in a near-perfect outcome.
When Snape saw it, he gave a barely perceptible nod.
The other, however, was not Hermione, whom Tris had thought most likely.
Although Hermione had finished before the end of class, she had run into a minor issue midway through, which she fortunately caught and corrected in time.
The final result was comparable to Tris’s, but she took much longer.
One had to keep in mind that Tris had intentionally slowed down his pace.
The other person who made zero mistakes throughout the entire process and successfully brewed the potion on the first try was actually Neville.
Tris was utterly bewildered.
Wasn’t Neville an absolute disaster in Potions?
One of the worst performers in the entire year?
The reason was that he was so terrified of Snape that he would get nervous, confused, and shaky-handed in Potions class.
Yet now, he was the only other student besides Tris to complete the potion on his first try.
Tris couldn’t wrap his head around the reason for this sudden change.
Judging by his behavior on the Hogwarts Express, Neville should still be the clumsy, scatterbrained boy from his memories.
Why the sudden shift?
Had he been transmigrated into or possessed by an outsider?
Tris thought, deeply suspicious.
By the end of class, Snape awarded Slytherin five points for Tris’s nearly perfect potion, and deducted seven points from Gryffindor—two points for Harry and Ron’s abysmal work, and five because Seamus Finnigan had blown up his cauldron…
Had Seamus “Demolition Expert” Finnigan revealed his talents this early?
Tris was a bit surprised.
There was actually some time left before the double period officially ended, but Snape clearly had no intention of continuing.
“I have seen enough to gauge your abilities.
Just as I expected, they are mediocre at best.
It is obvious that you possess no talent for this exquisite and curious art. This story is hosted at g.com.
“Perhaps it is for the best. It means my N.E.W.T. class might have fewer eyesores next year.” With that, he turned and swept out of the classroom without looking back.
Something was wrong.
Something was very wrong!
Tris felt he needed to find an opportunity to test Neville.
If Neville really had been transmigrated into, he had to go identify his fellow countryman.
Although Neville was one of Tris’s favorite Harry Potter characters, a fellow transmigrator was definitely a far more appealing prospect.
Back in the real world, meeting a fellow countryman brought tears to one’s eyes; how much more so in an alternate world?
But while Tris was still pondering how to go about it, Ron and Harry stopped him.
“Tris, do you have classes this afternoon?” Ron asked.
“No,” Tris shook his head.
“Hasn’t Madam Hooch still not returned? Flying Class hasn’t resumed yet.”
“Oh, right, we’re in the same Flying Class,” Ron said, slapping his forehead.
Then he added, “In that case, do you want to come with us to Hagrid’s this afternoon? He invited Harry over for tea, so we’re going to pay him a visit.”
“I don’t mind,” Tris nodded.
“But what about your homework? Are you going to be okay?”
Although Snape’s behavior in class differed greatly from the original plot in his memory, there was absolutely no change when it came to homework.
The volume and complexity of the assignments remained staggeringly high.
Even Tris, who had already finished most of his other homework, couldn’t help but grimace, to say nothing of the others.
Tris was certain that, apart from himself, the number of first-years who could enjoy themselves over this first weekend of term without worrying about homework could be counted on one hand out of the forty-one students in their year.
“Well… every cloud has a silver lining, doesn’t it? There’s always a way,” Ron said, scratching his head.
Tris smacked his lips.
The idiom Ron used meant that there was a good side to even the worst situations, or something to take comfort in even in dire straits.
In comparison, a phrase like “we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it” would actually have been more appropriate.
But Tris figured that Ron probably felt the homework load was already too overwhelming to complete, so he had adopted a sort of devil-may-care, self-abandoning attitude.
Tris didn’t plan to offer any additional advice.
It was the same old truth: words of advice often fell on deaf ears, but a single harsh lesson would teach a person for life.
Once Ron and the others suffered the consequences, they would learn that homework was something they needed to prepare in advance.
With that, Tris nodded and said, “Sure, let’s go together. I just hope Hagrid won’t mind hosting a Slytherin like me.”
“Of course not,” Harry said quickly.
“We all know you’re a good guy, Tris. Being sorted into Slytherin must have been an accident. Actually… well, I was almost sorted into Slytherin too.”
“Really?” Ron asked, his face full of surprise.
Harry nodded and explained how he had conversed with the Sorting Hat in his head when he wore it.
“No wonder it took you so long with the Sorting Hat,” Ron said with a look of realization, then added with a hint of regret, “How come nothing like that happened when I wore the Sorting Hat?”
The Sorting Hat hadn’t even fully settled on his head before it shouted Gryffindor.
Among this year’s young wizards, Ron was one of the two fastest students to be sorted.
The other was Draco, who was sorted into Slytherin almost instantly.
“Oh, right,” Ron said, looking at Tris thoughtfully.
“I remember when you wore the Sorting Hat, it seemed to take a pretty long time too. Did you bargain with it?”
“Yes,” Tris said, his face darkening.
“But I failed.”