"Blaise," Sean said, a hint of amusement in his voice as they stood outside the Potions classroom door, "you actually misread the timetable!"
Blaise shrugged, unfazed. "Anyway, we're not late, just a little early. Can't we just wait inside the classroom?"
Sean sighed. "We can wait for other classes, perhaps. But have you forgotten what class this is?"
"What class is this? This class isn't…" Blaise began, then trailed off, his eyes widening slightly as realization dawned. He couldn't quite finish the sentence because he remembered exactly what class this was. "If I remember correctly," he said, his voice dropping a notch, "this should be… our Head of House's class?"
Sean nodded, a look of helpless resignation on his face. "That's right. This is Potions."
"Uh…" Blaise shifted uncomfortably. "We're not Gryffindors, so being early shouldn't be a problem… right?"
Even the young wizards of Slytherin themselves couldn't help but approach classes with their own "Snake King" with a certain degree of caution. Snape's power to intimidate underage wizards was legendary, and it certainly didn't discriminate based on house affiliation.
Blaise looked at Sean, coughed lightly, and said, a touch of embarrassment coloring his tone, "How about… the two of us just go back to the Great Hall and wait for a bit?"
After a moment's thought, Sean shook his head. "Forget it, we're already here. Let's go in and find a seat. At worst, we can read a book first. And if the Professor asks questions, I might even be able to earn some points."
Blaise managed a sheepish grin. "Heh heh, sorry about that. It won't happen again next time, I promise."
"It's okay, it's not a big deal," Sean replied, though he didn't sound entirely convinced. "Our Head of House wouldn't deduct points from his own house just because we arrived a little early, would he?" Besides, Sean added silently to himself, Snape might not even be in the classroom yet.
With that somewhat optimistic thought, Sean and Blaise pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped into the Potions classroom.
However, as soon as they crossed the threshold, their eyes fell upon a familiar, imposing figure standing at the front podium, meticulously processing Potions ingredients. Hearing the sound of the door creaking open, Snape's famously empty, obsidian eyes immediately flicked towards them. The intensity of that gaze caused both Sean and Blaise to shiver involuntarily.
He was here.
Blaise opened his mouth, but no words came out. Sean, however, took a shallow breath and addressed their professor. "Professor, we seem to have misread the time and arrived early. We were planning to wait here quietly, if that's alright. Of course, if we're disturbing you, we'll leave immediately and come back when the class is scheduled to begin."
Snape looked at Sean, his expression unreadable, though Sean thought he detected a fleeting memory of how Sean had rather neatly sidestepped a confrontation the previous day. The corner of Snape's eye twitched almost imperceptibly. "Suit yourselves," he said, his tone cool and devoid of any discernible emotion.
After uttering those two words, Snape lowered his head and resumed grinding the ingredients in the mortar before him, his movements precise and economical.
By this time, Blaise had already retreated to a seat in the back of the dungeon classroom. Sean was about to follow him, but then, after a moment of internal debate, he turned and walked towards Snape's podium. Under Blaise's visibly surprised gaze, Sean addressed their professor again. "Professor, if you wouldn't mind, may I try?"
Stopping his rhythmic grinding, Snape looked up at Sean, his eyes briefly scanning him from head to toe. "Processing Potions ingredients requires unwavering patience and absolute focus," Snape stated, his voice a low drawl. "Dividing ingredients also demands a considerable degree of accuracy. If you fail, and ingredients are wasted, even I will be forced to deduct points from my own House."
Sean met Snape's gaze. His understanding of the Potions Master was, up until now, primarily shaped by the literary works he had consumed in his previous life – works that were almost exclusively presented from Harry Potter's perspective.
Now, interacting with Snape as a Slytherin student, Sean found that Snape, while still possessing his signature cold demeanor and an almost palpable aura that kept people at a distance, also exhibited a surprising degree of patience when dealing with students from his own house.
"Professor," Sean said respectfully, "I read a number of Potions-related books before the start of term. I wouldn't presume to speak about more complex concoctions, but I believe I have a reasonably thorough understanding of the Boil Cure Potion."
Sean wasn't exaggerating. Nearly half of the content in Gavin's meticulously kept notes pertained to Potions. Gavin, it seemed, had been deeply immersed in the art of brewing, spending countless hours perfecting his craft. Sean had a feeling that if Gavin were here now, he and Snape would find a considerable amount of common ground.
When Snape heard Sean correctly identify the potion he was preparing ingredients for – the Boil Cure Potion – his hand movements paused almost imperceptibly. He looked at Sean carefully, a flicker of something unreadable in his dark eyes. Without saying another word, he took a deliberate step back, ceding his position and the equipment on the podium to Sean.
Sean cast a quick glance at the dumbfounded Blaise, then took the heavy pestle Snape had just been using. He began to grind the dried snake fangs in the mortar, maintaining a steady, clockwise motion, just as he had read.
Standing silently behind Sean, Snape observed for a while, his expression unchanging. He watched as Sean meticulously ground the snake fangs, one by one, into the standard, powdered consistency required for the potion. When Sean moved on to processing the porcupine quills, and Snape confirmed that Sean was handling them correctly and without error, he seemed to make a decision. Without a word, Snape completely relinquished the task to Sean, turned on his heel, and swept out of the Potions classroom, his black robes billowing behind him, leaving Sean to wonder where he had gone.
Seeing Snape depart, Blaise quickly moved from his seat at the back and came to stand beside the podium. He looked at Sean, whose forehead was now beaded with fine droplets of sweat from the concentration and effort, but Blaise didn't disturb him. Instead, he quietly watched Sean process the ingredients, a new level of understanding and respect for his newly acquainted friend dawning in his eyes.
Originally, Blaise had sought out Sean primarily because he admired the audacity and courage Sean had shown in physically confronting Malfoy.
However, through their interactions today, Blaise was discovering that his new friend possessed not only the admirable spirit that had initially caught his attention but also a considerable degree of underlying talent and diligence. For example, the fifth-year prefect, Samuel, had made a point of seeking Sean out at lunchtime, clearly looking to get acquainted and make a small, early "investment" in a promising new Slytherin, precisely because of Sean's excellent and unexpected performance in Transfiguration class.
There was a not insignificant pile of ingredients on the podium. If Snape himself had been processing them, it would not have taken him very long to complete the task. Although Sean was capable of processing these ingredients correctly, his proficiency and speed were, understandably, far behind those of the experienced Potions Master. Consequently, before Sean could finish preparing all the necessary components, the other first-year students from both Gryffindor and Slytherin began to file into the Potions classroom, their chatter gradually filling the usually somber space.
When the arriving students saw Sean standing in front of the podium, perched on the small step usually occupied by their formidable professor, and diligently processing ingredients, a collective look of surprise spread across their faces. Beyond the initial shock, those who harbored no particular ill will towards Sean, like Harry and Ron, wore expressions of open admiration. Know-it-alls like Hermione Granger showed an eagerness to try such a task themselves, their eyes gleaming with intellectual curiosity. Conversely, the faces of Malfoy and Millicent became noticeably gloomy, their expressions tinged with resentment and disbelief.
Just as Sean finished processing the last of the porcupine quills, ensuring each one was perfectly trimmed and bundled, Snape happened to return to the classroom.
He entered with his characteristic dramatic flair, his black robes sweeping behind him like a storm cloud. Taking three long strides that covered the distance in two, he arrived at Sean's side. He carefully, almost critically, inspected the array of ingredients Sean had finished processing. After confirming that each component was prepared to the correct standard, he announced in a low, resonant voice that carried throughout the silent classroom, "The ingredient processing is… quite standard. I am very pleased that this year's Slytherin intake includes such a… diligent student. Therefore, I will award ten points to Slytherin!"
Upon hearing this, Sean glanced at Snape, offered a slight, respectful nod of acknowledgement, then turned, stepped down from the podium, and took the empty seat beside Blaise.
Sean secretly exhaled, rubbing his right hand, which was beginning to ache from the repetitive motions of grinding and chopping.
The first day, he mused, was indeed proving to be a good opportunity to earn points. He had gained points in Transfiguration, and now in Potions. Next on the schedule was Charms class.
Just as Sean was mentally strategizing how he might continue his point-earning streak, Snape, standing at the podium, began his customary introductory address to the class. And, just as Sean vaguely remembered from the books, he immediately began to make things difficult for Harry Potter.
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