"That's the one. Richie, do you know him?" the Indian woman replied.
"I just heard about him," Richard said politely. "He's a fairly well-known businessman in certain circles, after all. How long ago did you move to the UK?"
"We moved to England when my sister and I were five," Padma said. "We live outside London most of the time, and only occasionally fly to India for holidays. Richie, you're that Rich, right?"
- That one! The one and only.
Suddenly, a dark storm burst into the office. It was Professor Severus Snape.
- Take your seats!
A quiet voice with commanding notes forced everyone to take their places and become quiet.
Snape began his lesson by opening the journal and introducing himself to the students. He soon came across Richard's name.
- Rich.
Richard stood up from his desk.
- It's me, sir.
"Sit down," Snape said and continued the roll call.
After introducing himself to the class, the Potions professor delivered a fiery speech about the importance of his subject. He spoke in a whisper, but the students heard every word. Snape had a talent for effortlessly controlling the class. No one even considered whispering or minding their own business. It seemed this stern teacher would burn a hole in any intruder with his gaze.
Soon Snape gave a lecture on safety precautions and gave the task of brewing a simple potion for boils.
Richard stared in horror at the dried nettle leaves, snake teeth, and porcupine quills. He couldn't imagine drinking the concoction that would be made from these ingredients. What horrified him even more was the realization that all of this would have to be prepared somehow. HOW?!
Richie had never touched a stove in his entire life, except to reheat a cooked meal. The same horror was evident on Justin's face.
In his past life, Richard ate processed foods that simply needed to be placed in a microwave-like oven to cook. So, in his past life, he had no cooking experience.
"Richie, you know what to do with all this, right?" Finch-Fletchley whispered hopefully.
"Where from?" Richard replied, also in a quiet whisper. "Like you, I grew up surrounded by servants, and I feel like a tourist in the kitchen. Go ahead, crush the snake teeth in the mortar, and I'll try chopping the nettles. I know how to use a knife, after all."
Snape circled the classroom, his long black robes rustling, watching the students prepare potions. He suddenly appeared in different parts of the room, criticizing each one.
"Cut more straight, Mr. Rich," came an irritated hiss in Richard's ear. "You're not a lumberjack putting logs like that into a potion!"
- Thank you, sir.
Richard remained calm and began chopping the nettles more efficiently. Justin grew nervous and began working the mortar more quickly.
An hour later, the students crawled out of the dungeon, squeezed out like a lemon in a Jewish family.
"Snape's a beast!" Justin said. "It's not that, it's not like that, it's just a potion, a swill, good only for poisoning enemies..."
"Jass, look at it from a positive perspective," Richard replied. "But now you know a recipe for poison using simple ingredients. He was a decent teacher, and he even made relevant comments. You have to admit, we're just as great potion makers as we are brilliant cooks. It's just not our thing. Where have you ever seen a lord cooking or simmering magical concoctions in a cauldron?"
"I'm afraid all Potions lessons will be like this," Justin said sadly.
"What else can we do? We'll brew some magical swill, if that's what it takes. I'd rather hire a talented potion maker, or even several, than brew the potion myself. Everyone has their own strengths."
The History of Magic lessons turned out to be the most dreary imaginable. They were taught by a ghost who droned on monotonously. It took a tremendous amount of willpower to stay awake.
Richard's Transfiguration lesson was disappointing. The class was taught by the strict Professor McGonagall, who constantly picked on Richard and Justin. The lesson required turning a matchstick into a needle, but only Michael and Terry managed to sharpen the stick. Richard, however, tried as he might, couldn't achieve anything.
Only the spell promised to be captivating. But even here, Rich was to be disappointed.
The Charms teacher turned out to be an elderly dwarf, just over a meter tall-Filius Flitwick. He gave the children exercises to develop their hands and promised that they wouldn't begin learning their first spell until the end of October.
Professor Quirinus Quirrell, who taught Defense Against the Dark Arts, turned out to be a terrible teacher. He wore a purple turban, stuttered, and reeked of garlic. The only thing Richard noticed was that he was a talented wizard, judging by Madam Marchbanks's classification. After all, Quirrell performed his spells nonverbally.