At that moment, Professor Slughorn was giving a farewell speech from the podium in the Great Hall. It was clear he was quite happy with the arrangement. About to officially retire, he chuckled as he bid farewell to the students, who returned the gesture with enthusiastic applause. In terms of teaching, Slughorn was very popular; he was a good-natured man who, aside from a touch of vanity, always treated his students with the demeanor of a kind elder.
Meanwhile, Professor Snape sat at the faculty table, his eyes narrowed as he stared at Alan. The gaze was so intense it made Alan uneasy. He lowered his head, inwardly cursing his luck; it seemed he was in for a difficult time.
"Hey, Alan, do you know the new Head of House? He seems to like you a lot—he won't stop staring," Vivian whispered, craning her neck to get a better look at Snape.
"Heh." Alan glanced up, finding the dark eyes still fixed on him. "I'd rather not be 'liked' in that particular way."
"Where have you been these past two days? You wouldn't believe how lively the castle has been. Everyone is celebrating, and even the feast has gotten much better," Vivian said cheerfully.
"I haven't been in much of a mood for it. By the way, how have the pure-blood fanatics been taking the news?" Alan was curious; without a clear leader, what kind of trouble were they stirring up?
"What else would they be doing?" Vivian glanced toward the older students' section. "They were dejected at first, but yesterday Rory Yaxley started shouting again. He's claiming that Voldemort isn't really dead and that he'll continue to 'defend the dignity' of the pure-blood families."
"In a sense, he isn't entirely wrong," Alan muttered. Although he didn't know the full details of the future, he could infer that a force like Voldemort wouldn't simply vanish overnight.
"Then he had another massive row with Vanessa. But things have been quieter lately. Why don't you move back into the dormitory? Isn't it lonely staying out there by yourself? You're missing all the school news," Vivian said.
She knew that many Slytherin pure-bloods disliked Alan and slandered him behind his back, always looking for an opening to cause trouble. However, Alan never gave them the opportunity, having moved out of the common room months ago. Most of them didn't see him once a day, though the atmosphere in the house was shifting.
"Let's wait and see. Some people don't need a reason to do evil; they just do it for its own sake and find the excuses afterward," Alan said noncommittally.
The feast ended in peace and joy for most, but Alan's mood the following morning was far less pleasant. His first class was Potions, taught by the new Head of House: Snape.
Alan and Vivian sat together at their workstation, waiting in the heavy silence of the dungeon. Soon, a dark figure appeared. Black robes, black hair, black eyes—Snape moved like a silent bat, flashing past the rows of students. He crossed his arms over his chest and coldly scanned the room, his gaze finally locking onto Alan.
"I do not know how much you have learned in your previous Potions classes, nor do I care to know. Professor Slughorn, while possessing extensive knowledge, was always far too lenient—tolerating idiotic individuals who made the same mistakes repeatedly."
Snape looked around the room, enunciating each word with icy precision.
"Potion-making is a subtle science, a precise art. For those few, truly dedicated individuals, I can teach you how to bewilder the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper on death."
"Speaking of which," Snape said, his eyes drilling into Alan. "Perhaps some people believe they already possess extraordinary abilities and are quite confident in themselves."
"Mr. Wilson." Snape walked directly to Alan's desk.
*Here it comes,* Alan thought. He steeled himself and stood up. "Professor."
"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Snape asked coldly.
"You would produce a powerful sleeping potion known as the Draught of Living Death."
Snape's face remained a mask of indifference. "If I intended to brew a Euphoria Potion, how should the main ingredients be prepared?"
"A cauldron of Euphoria requires two Mandrake fruits: one whole and unpeeled, and one peeled and sliced," Alan answered calmly.
"And if I had a batch of contaminated dragon's blood, what potion could it be used for?"
Alan frowned; the question was well beyond the standard curriculum, but he reached into his memory. "To my knowledge, contaminated dragon's blood can be used as a base for the Dragon's Frenzy Elixir, though the potion is known to drive the consumer mad."
"Perhaps you only need to answer the question directly; there is no need for superfluous warnings." Snape continued to glare. "It seems some people indeed have the capital for arrogance."
Alan didn't respond. He simply sat down.
"What are you waiting for? Write all of this down," Snape barked, returning to the podium.
Snape's presence instantly cowed the class, and the frantic scratching of quills filled the room.
"Merlin, I thought he liked you," Vivian whispered, leaning over her parchment. "What did you do to him? He looks like he wants to bite your head off."
Alan shook his head. If the Professor intended to make his life miserable, he'd have to figure out a way to manage it—perhaps a bit of strategic humility was in order.
The class continued in an oppressive silence. Snape moved through the room as they brewed a Swelling Solution.
"Have the puffer-fish eyes ready. After I stir the cauldron three times, drop them in one by one," Alan instructed Vivian softly.
A shadow glided behind them. "Are you quite certain your timing is precise, Mr. Wilson? Perhaps you should double-check your work?"
Vivian jumped, nearly dropping her tweezers at the sound of the voice over her shoulder. But Alan didn't flinch.
"Yes, Professor, I am certain. Now, Vivian."