Today, Slughorn spent the first half of the class getting everyone accustomed to using potion equipment.
He explained the proper way to handle cauldrons, knives, mortars, pestles, scales, and the various ingredients we’d be working with throughout the year.
He also introduced us to several basic potions and began asking questions about their ingredients and effects.
I immediately raised my hand whenever I knew an answer.
I wasn’t trying to appear ridiculously intelligent just yet, but there was no reason to deliberately look stupid either.
Every correct answer earned Slytherin a few house points, and Slughorn seemed increasingly pleased with me.
Eventually, after he was satisfied that most of the class understood the fundamentals, Slughorn clapped his hands together.
“Very good, everyone!
I think it’s time we attempted our first proper potion.
Turn to the appropriate page in your textbooks.
Today, we’ll be brewing a Cure for Boils.” I immediately turned toward the relevant page, although I hardly needed the book.
Thanks to my eidetic memory and the mental library I had been building ever since receiving the system’s enhancements, I could recall practically everything I’d already read.
Slughorn instructed everyone to work in pairs, and I immediately looked toward Arnold Prince.
“Would you like to work together?” Arnold nodded.
“Of course.” It was an obvious choice.
Why wouldn’t I partner with the most talented potioneer among the first-years?
I wanted to see exactly how much talent the Prince family possessed, and more importantly, I wanted to establish a relationship with Arnold early.
If his descendants inherited even a fraction of his talent, then the Prince family could eventually produce someone extraordinarily skilled in potion-making.
The two of us immediately began working together, and I quickly discovered that my assessment had been correct.
Arnold was genuinely talented.
His movements were precise, his understanding of ingredients was excellent, and he possessed a natural instinct for potion-making that couldn’t simply be learned from a textbook.
I could understand why someone from his bloodline could eventually produce a potion master like Severus Snape.
Arnold wasn’t at that level yet, obviously, but for an eleven-year-old he was remarkably good.
I wasn’t going to underestimate him merely because I currently possessed superior knowledge.
My own advantages were enormous: eidetic memory, enhanced intelligence, excellent magical control, and the knowledge I’d already acquired from my previous life.
Even so, Arnold was talented enough that I could see him eventually becoming a genuine master if he continued studying.
Slughorn wrote the instructions on the board and began explaining the brewing process.
The Cure for Boils was a relatively simple potion, but it still required precision.
We needed six snake fangs, four horned slugs, and two porcupine quills.
The instructions were straightforward: crush six snake fangs into a fine powder, add four measures to the cauldron, heat the mixture to a high temperature for ten seconds, wave the wand over it, and allow it to brew for forty-five minutes.
After that, four horned slugs and two porcupine quills had to be added before stirring the potion five times clockwise and completing the brew with another wand movement.
For most of the class, this was probably going to be difficult.
For me, it was mostly a matter of precision.
I began crushing the snake fangs, carefully reducing them into a fine, uniform powder.
Arnold worked alongside me, preparing the other ingredients.
Neither of us needed to say much.
We seemed to naturally understand what the other was doing, and before long our cauldron was simmering exactly as it should.
I carefully measured the required amount of powdered snake fang and added it to the cauldron.
I controlled the heat precisely, maintaining the temperature for exactly the required amount of time before giving my wand the necessary wave.
The potion began changing colour as the brewing process continued.
Forty-five minutes later, Arnold and I added the horned slugs and porcupine quills at precisely the correct moment.
I stirred the potion five times clockwise, each movement measured and deliberate, before giving the final wand wave.
The potion settled.
I looked down at it.
Perfect.
Well, perhaps not absolutely perfect.
I was only eleven, after all.
But it was about as close as I could reasonably get without spending years refining my technique.
Slughorn eventually made his way around the classroom, inspecting everyone’s work.
Some potions were too thick.
Others had the wrong colour.
One cauldron was producing an unpleasant smell that caused several students to recoil.
Slughorn patiently corrected them, offering advice wherever necessary.
Then he reached our table.
He stopped.
His eyes widened.
“Good heavens.” Arnold and I exchanged a glance.
Slughorn leaned closer to the cauldron, examining the potion from several different angles.
He even took out his wand and performed a diagnostic charm before his expression transformed into a broad smile.
“This is excellent!” His voice was loud enough that several students turned toward us.
“Mr.
Prince, Mr.
Riddle, this is one of the finest first-year Cure for Boils I’ve seen in years!” I maintained a modest expression.
“Thank you, Professor.” Slughorn’s smile widened.
“Don’t thank me, Mr.
Riddle.
You’ve earned the compliment.
Your ingredient preparation was remarkably precise, your temperature control was excellent, and your timing was practically flawless.” He turned toward Arnold.
“And you, young Prince!
My goodness, you’ve inherited your family’s talent.
Your father wasn’t this good at your age!” Arnold looked slightly surprised by the praise.
“Thank you, Professor.” Slughorn nodded approvingly before looking between the two of us.
“Keep working like this and I suspect I may have a pair of future potion masters on my hands.” I noticed the subtle change in his expression when he said that.
Interesting.
This wasn’t merely a teacher complimenting talented students.
He was evaluating us.
Slughorn had spent decades surrounding himself with talented, influential, wealthy, and well-connected individuals.
The famous Slug Club was essentially his network of promising students and influential connections.
If I wanted a political career in the future, Slughorn was exactly the kind of person I wanted on my side.
And apparently, I had just given him a reason to remember my name.
Slughorn lowered his voice slightly.
“Mr.
Riddle, Mr.
Prince, I do hope you’ll continue producing work of this quality.
Students who demonstrate genuine promise often find themselves receiving a little extra attention from me.” His eyes twinkled.
“Perhaps you’ll even have the opportunity to join me for one of my little gatherings someday.” There it was.
My first opening.
I gave him the polite smile of an innocent eleven-year-old.
“I’d be honoured, Professor.” “Excellent!
Excellent!” Slughorn returned to the front of the classroom, looking considerably more cheerful than before.
I glanced at Arnold.
He seemed pleased with himself.
I was pleased as well.
Not merely because I’d demonstrated that I possessed exceptional talent in Potions.
I’d just taken the first step toward gaining access to one of the most useful social networks in the British wizarding world.
And if Slughorn wanted to make me one of his favourites, I certainly wasn’t going to discourage him.
As I returned my attention to the potion, a familiar thought entered my mind.
The original Tom Riddle had already understood the value of Slughorn’s connections.
But unlike my future self, I intended to exploit those connections long before I actually needed them.
I wasn’t going to wait until I was a teenager to begin building my influence.
I had already started.
And apparently, becoming the professor’s favourite was going to be easier than I expected.