While Harry slowly shut down under Snape’s relentless questions, Ivan found himself remembering an old theory from his previous life.
Each of the questions Snape had thrown at Harry carried a second, heavier meaning.
Asphodel, in the old Latin, was linked to the phrase “My regrets follow you to the grave.” Wormwood had long stood for bitterness and sorrow.
Ivan studied the gaunt, bitter face at the front of the classroom and wondered what exactly Snape felt when he looked at Harry.
Guilt for the information that had helped kill Lily?
Or the kind of love that would rather follow her into death than remain behind?
A thin thread of pity entered his gaze.
Snape noticed.
“Ivan Hals.” The wand swung toward him the moment the third question to Harry was finished.
“You will answer the same three questions.” Ivan blinked, then recovered at once.
“Powdered root of asphodel mixed with an infusion of wormwood produces the Draught of Living Death, a powerful sleeping potion.
A bezoar comes from the stomach of a goat.
Monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant.” He knew the answers from the original story, but a flicker of unease remained.
Snape had already proven he did not limit himself to first-year material.
Ivan had read the textbook several times before the lesson, yet none of the questions Snape had chosen appeared in it.
[Ding.
You answered three difficult questions carefully prepared by the professor.
Accuracy: 100%.
Reward: Academic Points ×9] The system chime hit him like a private victory.
Worry vanished, replaced by sharp, almost greedy excitement.
Come on.
Ask more.
Wrinkle that forehead even once and I lose.
He met Snape’s eyes with the calm of a man who had decided fear was optional.
Ten questions, twenty—he would take every point available.
The class watched his rapid shift in expression with open fascination.
Snape did not even glance at him again.
He turned back to Harry with the same flat voice.
“Did you hear that, Potter?
It seems not every first-year is as ignorant as you.” Harry shoved his chair back, face flushing.
“Professor, I—” “Potter.
One point from Gryffindor for your performance.” The words landed like a sentence.
Snape turned away at once and continued the lesson.
Ron had to drag Harry back into his seat.
The boy’s cheeks were still burning.
Ivan, primed for further interrogation, was left oddly deflated.
He shot Harry a brief look of apology and settled back into listening, half-hoping Snape would decide to test him again.
Snape did not.
For the rest of the double period he circled Harry like iron drawn to a magnet, examining every movement of the cauldron with cold attention.
The slightest mistake earned a cutting remark.
Ron suffered by proximity.
Snape eventually discovered Scabbers, lifted the rat by the tail in full view of the class, and announced him as a convenient subject for testing the finished potion.
Scabbers’ scream was pure misery.
Ron looked ready to cry on the spot.
Only Neville’s cauldron melting through the table and spraying boiling potion across the floor interrupted the demonstration.
The distraction saved Scabbers from being forced to drink the uncertain yellow liquid Ron had produced.
Ivan glanced at the limp rat with mild sympathy.
Pettigrew’s luck had been exceptionally poor these past few days.
Two separate terrors in less than a week.
When the lesson finally ended, the first-years poured out of the dungeons like prisoners released.
“How did Dumbledore ever hire that man?” Ron fumed, cradling the still-trembling Scabbers.
“He nearly killed him!” Harry nodded hard.
Being singled out so openly in the first proper Potions class was something no one could simply swallow.
He still could not understand the depth of the hatred.
Hermione had a different view.
“Harry, if you had read more before class you would have been able to answer.
Professor Snape left Ivan alone because he knew Ivan could answer.” The praise made Ivan uncomfortable.
Without the plot knowledge he was not certain he would have succeeded either.
“Hermione, not everyone can memorise an entire textbook in a few days,” he said quietly.
“And those questions were not in the first-year book at all.” Hermione pressed her lips together and said nothing more.
She had seen Snape’s behaviour as clearly as the others; habit alone had made her defend the professor earlier.
The three of them walked in tense silence for a while.
Ivan’s quiet mediation gradually eased the worst of the friction before they reached the edge of the grounds.
“Hagrid, we’re here!” Harry knocked.
Heavy barking and the thud of large paws answered from inside.
A moment later the door swung open and a massive figure filled the frame.
“Harry!
Come in, the lot of you.” Hagrid’s voice was warm.
He reached down to calm the enormous black dog that tried to surge past his legs.
Ivan followed the others into the single room.
Dried meats and hams hung near the window.
A large fireplace held a kettle already on the boil.
A patched bed stood against the far wall.