The dungeon classroom was at least ten degrees colder than the corridor!
Glass jars lined the stone walls, filled with pickled organs of indistinguishable colors.
The smell of formaldehyde mixed with damp mustiness, clinging to every breath.
Evelyn chose a seat on the right side of the second row.
Hermione hurried over from the Gryffindor side and sat down next to her.
“Why are you sitting so far forward?”
“To see the blackboard clearly.”
“You don’t even look at the blackboard!”
Snape stood behind the podium, his black robes pooling at his ankles, his collar fastened tightly to his throat.
He did not speak, merely sweeping his gaze across the classroom.
Within three seconds, all talking ceased.
“There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class!” Snape’s voice slithered along the stone walls, keeping every syllable low.
“Potions is an exact science, leaving no room for foolish behavior!”
His gaze swept over the Hufflepuff side, lingering for a beat on Evelyn.
“Of course, I do not expect certain people here to comprehend the meaning of the word ‘exact.'”
Evelyn rested her chin on her hand and blinked at him.
Snape’s brow twitched!
He turned and waved his wand, causing a dense set of recipe instructions to appear on the blackboard.
“Today’s lesson: a potion to cure boils!
Anyone who blows up their cauldron will lose twenty points for their House, and will clean the cauldrons of the entire class.
Begin!”
The students stood up to gather their ingredients.
Evelyn walked to the store cupboard and took dried nettles, snake fangs, and horned slugs.
Hermione watched her actions warily.
“You took all the right ingredients.”
“Of course they’re right.”
“Then what about the bottle in your pocket?
It’s been clinking since we were in the corridor!”
Evelyn lit the fire under her cauldron, heated the water, added the crushed snake fangs, and stirred it three times.
So far, everything was perfectly normal.
Snape patrolled the classroom.
He stopped by Neville’s station, glancing down at the pot of thick green soup.
“Longbottom, the nettles are supposed to be crushed before adding them.
Did you throw them in whole because you planned to make a hot pot?”
Neville: (ᗕ﹏ᗕ;;)
Snape continued forward.
On the Slytherin side, Draco Malfoy’s movements were textbook-perfect, his potion showing a standard pale blue color.
“Excellent, Malfoy,” Snape said, offering his first word of praise of the day.
Draco raised his chin, his eyes darting toward the Hufflepuff side for a split second.
Evelyn was concentrating on stirring her cauldron, not sparing him a single glance.
Draco: (ꐦ눈_눈)
Snape’s footsteps approached.
He stopped behind Evelyn, looking down to inspect her cauldron.
Color, consistency, temperature—everything was actually normal!
“Valentine.”
“You actually haven’t blown up your cauldron.”
“You make it sound like I blow up cauldrons every day, Professor.
This is only our first class.”
“Given your behavior over the past twenty-four hours, I have ample reason to remain pessimistic.”
Snape stared at her for two seconds before turning to the next group.
He had barely taken three steps when Evelyn’s right hand slipped into her inner robe pocket.
Under the table, Hermione grabbed her wrist.
“Don’t!”
“Let go, Hermione.”
“What are you going to add?
This recipe has been in use for three hundred years!”
“It hasn’t been upgraded in three hundred years; it’s due for an update.”
Evelyn pulled out a small glass vial.
It was filled with a pearlescent pink powder that shimmered in the candlelight.
“What is that!”
“Rose quartz powder.
Got it from the System Shop at a ten percent discount.”
“There’s no such thing in the potion recipe!”
“That’s why it’s called innovation.”
Evelyn uncorked the vial.
Hermione made a difficult decision: she dragged her own cauldron two feet to the left.
The moment the powder fell into the cauldron, the pale blue potion began to boil violently!
The color shifted instantly, finally settling on an eye-searing, fluorescent pink.
A scent of cheap rose perfume billowed out from the mouth of the cauldron!
“What’s that smell?” Parvati, sitting in the front row, pinched her nose.
Draco looked up, his brow furrowed.
“Who poured perfume into their cauldron?”
Snape whipped around, marching back over.
Meanwhile, Evelyn added a second ingredient to her cauldron.
It was a bottle filled with a silvery liquid, the label reading: Moonlight Dew.
“What did you add now!” Hermione’s voice verged on a wail.
“A catalyst.”
The moment the silver liquid touched the potion, the cauldron let out a soft, echoing hum.
Immediately after, a dense plume of pink smoke billowed forth!
Within three seconds, the entire dungeon classroom was engulfed in pink.
“I can’t see!”
“It’s so strong!
I’m choking!”
The pink smoke persisted for fifteen seconds before slowly beginning to disperse.
Hermione was the first to recover.
She touched her hair and froze.
Her originally bushy, tangled brown hair was now smooth, silky, and shining brilliantly.
“My hair?”
Parvati shrieked in delight, “Oh my goodness!
My hair has never been this smooth!”
Neville scrambled up from the floor; his sparse hair had become thick and flowing, with bangs now covering half his face.
Draco’s short platinum-blonde hair had also taken on the texture of fine silk, resting softly against the side of his face.
“Valentine!
What did you do this time?!”
A low cough sounded from the back of the classroom.
Everyone turned in unison toward the podium.
Snape stood there.
His perpetually greasy black hair was now draped over his shoulders in a silkily flowing, deeply ironic fashion.
The quality of his hair was comparable to velvet, with a sheen so brilliant it could serve as a mirror.
A sweet rose scent wafted from the tips of his hair, creating a suffocating clash with the icy aura he radiated.
The entire class held its breath.
Snape: (ꐦ-᷅д-᷄)
He pinched a lock of hair and brought it to his nose.
A wave of roses hit him in the face.
He looked up.
“Valentine.”
“Professor?”
“Is your brain so stuffed with troll bogeys that you decided to brew this pink poison in my class?”
“Professor, strictly speaking, this is a hair care treatment.
Look at your hair—it’s at least eight grades better than before you walked into this room!”
Someone in the back row buried their face in their arms, their shoulders shaking violently with suppressed laughter.
Snape closed in on Evelyn.
With every step he took, his silky black hair swayed gently, pushing out waves of rose fragrance.
“Fifty points from Hufflepuff!”
“Fifty?”
“For tampering with a recipe without permission, resulting in the entire class suffering from non-consensual cosmetic assault.
If you wish to appeal, go to Dumbledore—and let him smell your hair while you’re at it.”
Snape picked up the cauldron of waste.
“You will stay behind after class and use your robes to scrub the scent of roses off the walls!”
He turned and walked toward his office.
The pink liquid sloshed in the cauldron, reflecting onto his flowing black hair—a visual of supreme absurdity.
The moment the door closed, a lock of his long hair bounced lightly in the gap.
Draco grabbed his bag and rushed out of the classroom, his silky platinum hair cutting a perfect arc through the air.
…
[Ding!
Snape’s emotional fluctuation level: A-.
Mischief Points +200!
Current total: 1560.]
Hermione leaned in close to Evelyn, her voice barely a whisper.
“You weren’t just throwing random things in.
If you swap the order of the nettles and add mineral powder, theoretically, you generate a Draught of Peace base.”
Evelyn patted her shoulder, picked up her rag, and walked toward the wall.
The office door was firmly shut.
Snape sat at his desk, the cauldron of pink waste before him.
He picked up a silver spoon, scooped up a dollop of the residue, and turned it halfway in front of the candlelight.
The liquid in the spoon refracted an extremely faint, silvery undertone.
Snape put down the spoon, opened a drawer, and pulled out a clean crystal test tube.