Hermione sohow detected a sudden scent of dead silence in the air. She sniffed carefully and finally traced the source: it was the sll of Kane's long-deceased hope.
"Why do you look like you're about to face a firing squad?" Hermione asked, frowning.
Kane said nothing. Beside them, Harry and Ron were watching Hermione with intense interest. If all went as expected, Hermione would soon share that exact sa "dead inside" expression.
Snape stood at the front of the room. He began a demonstration, moving from the selection of ingredients to their preparation, lighting the fire, brewing, and finally bottling.
The entire process was fluid, devoid of any chanical stiffness; instead, it had the effortless grace of an artist painting a masterpiece.
"Just now, you have witnessed the most standard thod of brewing a Cure for Boils," Snape said. With a casual flick of his wand, the ingredient cabinets at the back of the room burst open, and sets of supplies flew onto each group's table.
"I shall give you forty minutes. A competent wizard requires only ten." Snape began to prowl the classroom like a lion surveying his territory.
Kane took a deep breath and whispered, "I'll handle the ingredient processing. You control the cauldron."
"No problem," Hermione nodded, lighting the fire beneath their cauldron. As the witch-hazel solution began to simr, Kane deftly handed over the powdered dragon claw.
"You can just put it in the cauldron yourself, you know," Hermione reminded him.
"No, we agreed on the division of labor." Kane insisted, moving on to prepare the white rose petals, snake fangs, porcupine quills, and frog legs.
"You are as rigid as a German in this regard, Mr. Heath," Snape's voice drifted from behind him. He offered a cold comntary: "Potions is not rely simple replication. If a wizard can only do that, I would be better off commissioning an alchemy golem."
Snape then glided over to Harry's table. Seeing Harry and Ron attempting a bit of "creative flair," he barked, "You two are different. In fact, I do not believe wasting ti on 'innovation' in Potions will yield any positive feedback from you. You need only act as brainless alchemy robots. That will suffice."
Kane's lip twitched. Perhaps because they had t briefly before school started, Snape seed to show him a tiny bit of... favor?
Suddenly, he felt a wave of guilt. If Snape had targeted him as ruthlessly as he targeted Harry, Kane could have "crafted" a pot of ribs in peace.
But if Snape actually harbored so unrealistic expectation that Kane was a "promising talent" and put effort into teaching him, only for Kane to deliver a "masterpiece" of Constant logic...
rciful rlin, I apologize for the psychological trauma I am about to inflict on Professor Snape, and I have no intention of paying for the therapy.
"See? Even Professor Snape said you should innovate. Don't be a machine," Hermione said, pushing the cauldron slightly toward Kane. She didn't want him to spend the whole lesson just being a prep cook.
Kane, however, was vehently resistant to her kindness.
"Why? I'm doing this for your own good!" Hermione said, frustrated.
"Please, dial back the motherly nagging. Thank you." Kane's bluntness left Hermione in stunned silence; for a mont, she seriously considered slamming the cauldron onto his head.
For the next half-hour, Hermione operated the cauldron while Kane prepared the ingredients, the literal "man behind the brewer."
Around them, other students were quietly making disasters while Snape slowly sprayed his verbal venom, imrsing everyone in the unique linguistic knives of the Slytherin Head.
Naturally, the favorite target was Harry Potter. After this class, Harry likely wouldn't be pestering Kane about going back to the Dursleys for the holidays. The knife only hurts when it cuts your own skin—Harry was learning that lesson the hard way.
"Good heavens, Mr. Potter. In all my years at Hogwarts, I have never seen a student process ingredients with such... personality." Seeing that Harry didn't look sufficiently devastated, Snape added, "Do you think I am complinting you?"
Harry shook his head. "No, of course not."
Snape allowed a small, cold smile to touch his lips. "Regrettably, Mr. Potter, you are wrong. I was complinting you. As punishnt for your incorrect guess: five points from Gryffindor."
Hermione's hand slipped, nearly ruining the potion. "Easy now. It's just points," Kane whispered. "You can't eat them, you can't spend them. They're useless."
"It's not the points! It's the way he's targeting Gryffindor!" she hissed.
"True," Kane agreed. Snape spent most of his ti hovering around the Gryffindor side, looking for trouble.
Speak of the devil—near them, Neville and Seamus's cauldron began to react like a deep-fried waterlon. "Volcanic eruption" didn't quite cover the sight of the bubbling ss or the boils breaking out on Neville's face.
Snape swept over. "Ten points from Gryffindor!" With a wave of his wand, he vanished the ss. "You two, to the hospital wing. Harry Potter! Why are you staring? Does your classmate's misfortune make you feel lucky? Another ten points from Gryffindor!"
By the end of the hour, Gryffindor's points had plumted. Kane and Hermione stared at their cauldron.
"I am walking on thin ice with this brew. Do you think I can make it to the end of class?" Kane whispered.
Before Hermione could answer, Snape appeared behind them. "The answer is no. And I must remind you, this is Potions class, not Ingredient Processing 101. If you do not personally operate the cauldron, I fear Gryffindor will have no points left at all."
Gulp.
Kane swallowed hard. Even Hermione was paralyzed by Snape's aura.
"Professor... you really want to do it?" Kane turned to Snape, looking for a legal waiver.
"Unless you wish to fail," Snape said icily.
With the look of a man heading to the gallows, Kane took the stirring rod. He picked up the final ingredient from the table—the dried frog legs—and dropped them into the cauldron.
Instantly, the potion emitted a bizarre, glowing light.
Harry and Ron, observing from the sidelines, both slapped their foreheads in perfect synchronization.
It's over. It's all over.
Kane stared at the Frog Leg Sandwich slowly manifesting inside the cauldron and muttered, "It's over. It's all over."
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