"Longbottom!" Snape’s voice cracked across the room. "Are you attempting to poison us all, or rely display your incompetence in new and imaginative ways?"
"I—I’m sorry, Professor," Neville stamred, scrambling to collect the leeches.
"Sorry?" Snape sneered. "How generous. Perhaps we should all give thanks that your blundering hasn’t already reduced us to a pile of lted flesh. One more mistake, Longbottom, and I’ll have you testing your own potion."
Draco laughed openly, clapping his hands together once in mock applause. "Bravo, Longbottom."
"Quiet, Mr. Malfoy," Snape said, though his voice lacked heat. "Ten points to Slytherin for at least recognizing incompetence when you see it."
Eira leaned toward Tracey, lowering her voice so only she could hear. "Is our Head of House always this unfair? He just gave Draco ten points for laughing—loudly, at that. Shouldn’t he have been punished instead?"
Tracey smirked, whispering back, "Well, what can I say? Professor Snape hates Gryffindor. Anyti there’s a clash between them and Slytherin, he’ll twist it into an excuse to take points from them and toss them our way."
Eira’s eyes flicked toward Snape again, her expression unreadable, but a faint curve of amusent tugged at her lips.
She stirred her potion steadily, watching the liquid shift from murky green to a more translucent shade. She adjusted the fla with a precise flick of her wand, her expression calm. Tracey glanced at her work and whispered, "I think you’ve got it already."
Snape drifted closer, his robes brushing the floor. His eyes flicked down into their cauldron, and for the first ti, his expression shifted—just slightly. A faint, approving nod.
"It seems Miss White learned sothing of value at Beauxbâtons," he said coolly, his voice carrying across the room. "A rare occurrence, it would seem, for a transfer student not to stumble at every turn."
He paused, then added, "Ten points to Slytherin. Adequate work, Miss White. Davis."
Tracey bead, nudging Eira under the table. "Adequate," she whispered gleefully. "From Dean, that’s basically a standing ovation."
Across the room, Harry scowled down at his cauldron. The potion had turned thick and lumpy, the color sliding alarmingly toward a sickly sludge. He stirred harder, then tried lowering the fla, his jaw tightening in determination to set it right. But the brew only hissed, spitting angrily as a puff of acrid smoke curled upward. Harry coughed, his face tightening with disgust—not just at the sll, but at the professor looming nearby. Each ti he dared glance at Snape, Harry’s expression twisted, as though Snape’s very presence made the failure sting all the more.
Snape’s shadow fell across him instantly. "Potter," Snape said in a low, disdainful drawl. "Tell , is this concoction an actual potion or a personal attempt at sewage managent?"
Harry’s jaw tightened. "I followed the instructions—"
"Did you?" Snape’s silken voice cut across Harry’s protest, his black eyes narrowing. "Strange, because what I see before looks less like effort and more like the usual dunderheaded arrogance. Three years in this castle, Potter, and you’ve yet to grasp the basics of potion-making. Perhaps you imagine fa will stir the cauldron for you? Five points from Gryffindor."
"That’s not fair!" Harry snapped.
The room went still. Draco’s smirk widened with delight.
"Not fair?" Snape’s eyes glittered with quiet malice. "Life is not fair, Potter. Surely you’ve learned that by now. Ten more points from Gryffindor for your insolence."
Draco laughed aloud, his voice carrying. "Oh, this is too good. Go on, Potter, argue more. Let’s see if you can lose the entire house another twenty."
Harry glared at him, fists tightening on his quill. Hermione reached out, hissing, "Harry, stop it—don’t—"
Snape lood over Harry’s cauldron, his voice low and dripping with scorn. "Do us all a favor, Potter. If you cannot follow the simplest of instructions, at least refrain from wasting ingredients. This school is not run on your family’s vault at Gringotts. Unless, of course, you’d like to start donating to cover the costs of your incompetence."
He swept away, robes whispering against the floor, leaving Harry simring with frustration.
Eira returned her gaze to her potion, unruffled by the scene. She stirred slowly, her movents precise, adjusting the consistency until the liquid shimred with the correct hue. Beside her, Tracey nearly bounced in her seat, whispering, "He gave us points. In front of everyone! He never gives points."
Eira smiled faintly, her expression calm. "Then we should use them wisely."
At the far side of the room, Ron’s potion had begun to bubble alarmingly. Snape descended on him like a hawk, his voice dripping disdain.
"Weasley," he drawled. "Did you attempt to copy Granger’s work again? Or is this catastrophe entirely your own?"
Ron flushed scarlet. "I—I did it myself!"
Snape raised an eyebrow. "A miracle, then, that it is still so utterly incompetent. Perhaps you should return to relying on Miss Granger’s intellect. Clearly, your own is insufficient."
Hermione opened her mouth, but Snape’s gaze snapped toward her. "Silence, Miss Granger. I said he is to work alone. If you interfere again, I will take twenty points. From you."
Hermione’s face flushed angrily, but she said nothing.
By the end of the lesson, cauldrons lined the front table, so emitting faintly correct fus, others looking dangerously unstable. Snape inspected each one with rciless scrutiny. Draco’s potion received a curt nod, though not nearly as deep as the one Eira had been granted. Neville’s brew was deed "catastrophic," earning a threat of testing his own product next ti.
When he reached Harry’s cauldron, Snape’s lip curled. "Pathetic. Clean this up and start again. Perhaps one day you’ll manage to produce sothing that won’t land you in St. Mungo’s."
Draco’s laughter echoed as Harry scowled, gripping the edge of the table.
When the bell rang, the students scrambled to gather their things. Gryffindors looked miserable; Slytherins smug. Snape dismissed them with a wave of his hand.
As they filed out, Tracey leaned toward Eira, a teasing grin on her face. "Told you. Not exactly sunshine. But hey—you impressed him. Ten points, Eira. Not bad at all."
Eira let a small smile tug at her lips. "He notices competence," she said lightly. "Or maybe he’s just surprised soone can follow instructions without setting the cauldron on fire."
Tracey giggled, elbowing her gently. "Well, if that’s how you win his favor, maybe I should start practicing not burning everything too."
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