Chapter 224
The first task of the Triwizard Tournament had come to an end, and the second task would not take place until February. This meant that Hogwarts would return to its usual calm routine for quite some time.
At least, that was what most students believed—until that peace was quickly disrupted once again.
"Potter, answer my question. What is the alternative name of Ariot?" Severus Snape stood in the Potions classroom, holding a thick book in one hand while tapping his wand against Harry's desk with the other, producing a sharp knocking sound.
Harry Potter stood up immediately.
"I don't know, Professor," he said slowly.
"The more I think about it, the more I believe Mr. Potter's success in the first task was nothing but luck. He cannot even grasp the most basic Potions knowledge," Snape sneered, his gaze filled with mockery.
"This is knowledge used in advanced potion-making. It can hardly be considered basic, Professor," Hermione Granger said, standing up to defend him.
"I don't recall asking you to answer, Miss Know-It-All," Snape replied lazily. "Twenty points from Gryffindor—ten for ignorance, ten for arrogance."
"Disgusting," Ron Weasley muttered under his breath, sticking out his tongue behind Snape's back.
"To my students, this should be elementary. I do not tolerate mediocrity in my class," Snape continued, pacing slowly back to the front.
"And more importantly, this material was assigned for preparation last lesson. It is not difficult."
"Ignore him," Ron whispered to Harry. "You were busy preparing for the dragon. If it were him, his legs would've turned to jelly."
He quickly scribbled something on a piece of parchment and tried to pass it to Harry behind Snape's back.
Unfortunately, even the safest methods could fail.
"Another ten points from Gryffindor. Mr. Weasley, you will see me after class," Snape said coldly, having noticed the movement.
Hermione pressed her hand to her forehead in frustration.
"There is a leaf from this plant on your desks. Remember—Ariot is also known as the hyena tree. If you wish to become hysterical or lose control of your laughter, feel free to try it."
At that moment, Pansy Parkinson was holding a leaf up toward the faint sunlight streaming through the window, studying it carefully. Upon hearing this, she quickly dropped it back onto the table.
"If only your fear of alcohol could suppress your curiosity like this," Malfoy said quietly, watching her.
Pansy blinked at him in confusion, clearly not understanding the reference.
"Mr. Longbottom," Snape continued, turning toward Gryffindor with a malicious smile, "tell me—if someone accidentally ingests Ariot leaves, how would you treat them?"
Neville Longbottom's chair scraped loudly as he stood up. His usually round face was tense, his eyes wide with focus.
"Sir… heartstring vine," Neville said, cutting Snape off before he could finish his usual intimidation.
Snape froze, his expression darkening further.
"The syrup it produces can be used as an antidote," Neville added, trying to steady himself, though his trembling hands betrayed his nerves.
"Sit," Snape said after a long pause, forcing the word out through clenched teeth.
"Well done, Neville," Ron whispered excitedly once he sat down, patting him on the shoulder.
Neville turned and gave him a simple, slightly foolish smile.
Ron felt that even whatever punishment awaited him later would be worth it.
"Next, I will demonstrate how to use Ariot leaves to brew the Laughing Potion. Pay attention. I will only demonstrate once," Snape said coldly.
He then proceeded with the demonstration. As always, when immersed in potion-making, Snape shed all emotion. His movements were precise, controlled, and almost mechanical.
If not for his bias, he could have been considered an exceptional teacher.
Once the demonstration ended, the students began their own brewing.
Snape spent most of his time among the Slytherins, correcting mistakes and offering guidance. His tone remained cold, but noticeably less harsh.
"Miss Parkinson, adjust your stirring. Too vigorous, and you'll destroy the potion's effect," he instructed calmly.
"It is rare to see such refined technique," he added after observing Malfoy's work, the praise clearly genuine.
He then turned his attention toward the Gryffindors—particularly Neville, whom he still regarded with displeasure.
But something unexpected happened.
Neville's cauldron bubbled steadily with pale white foam. While it was unclear whether it was perfect, there was no explosion, no smoke—no disaster.
For Neville, that alone was remarkable progress.
It seemed that once a person overcame their fear, they could truly begin to improve.
"That concludes today's lesson," Snape announced after a final inspection. "Those who failed to complete their potions will not be punished. Their incompetence is punishment enough. Complete homework from pages 147 to 153."
Ron covered his mouth in shock. "Snape ended class early? Did he drink the wrong potion?"
"Students of Slytherin House, remain. I have something to discuss," Snape added.
The Gryffindors exchanged puzzled looks, but quickly left the classroom as if escaping.