The Potions classroom was undeniably dark and damp.
Being down in the dungeons meant the lighting was dismal, and the moment Charlie stepped inside, he could feel the heavy, misty chill with every breath.
If it were the height of summer, this place would probably be suffocatingly muggy.
As for the glass jars lining the walls—filled with assorted, floating animal specimens—they only amplified the eerie, mysterious atmosphere of the already freezing basement.
For most of the young wizards, it wasn't exactly a welcoming environment.
They were sharing Potions with Hufflepuff. Judging by the size of the desks, they were meant to pair up.
Anthony, the resident social butterfly, was naturally booted out by his two roommates. Looking thoroughly utterly abandoned, he wandered over to the girls.
"Well, I've been outcast. Would you ladies mind if I shared your desk?" he asked.
"You can sit here," Padma offered.
"Thanks, you're as kind as you are beautiful." Anthony quickly slid into the seat next to her, tossing a smug wave back at Charlie and Hector.
Soon, the Hufflepuffs flooded in, and the classroom erupted into a chorus of chattering voices.
There was exactly one minute left until class started.
Click-clack-click.
The sharp, hurried sound of leather shoes striking stone echoed down the corridor.
With a loud bang, the classroom door swung open.
A professor with a sallow face, shoulder-length greasy black hair, and a pronounced hooked nose swept into the room.
Just as his footsteps had suggested, he walked incredibly fast. His black robes billowed out violently behind him, entirely unable to keep up with his pace, looking exactly like a giant bat spreading its wings.
Charlie couldn't help but wonder if Snape was even physically capable of smiling. From the welcoming feast to this exact moment, he hadn't seen the man's expression shift once.
Though, there was no denying that his permanently severe scowl commanded absolute terror and respect from the first-years.
The second his foot crossed the threshold, the chattering instantly died.
After finishing roll call, Snape set the register down and rested one hand lightly on the podium.
"Put your wands away. In this classroom, you are here to learn the subtle, exact science and strict art of potion-making."
He perfectly utilized the golden rule of intimidation: the quieter the voice, the heavier the presence.
He spoke at a volume barely above a casual chat, yet it forced every single person in the room to strain their ears in dead silence, terrified of making even the slightest sound.
"I don't expect many of you to truly appreciate the profound beauty of the softly simmering cauldron, or the sheer, undeniable power of liquids that creep through human veins and bewitch the mind."
"I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death. But there is one condition—you must not be the dunderheads I usually have to teach."
This bloke is going to be way worse than Professor McGonagall. The exact same thought flashed through the minds of every first-year in the room.
After his brief opening monologue, Snape's gaze drifted back toward his class list.
"Hannah Abbott."
Sitting just behind Charlie to his right, Hannah shot up out of her chair.
"In the Cure for Boils, to what extent must the snake fangs be crushed?"
The little girl's face flushed a deep crimson. She stood there paralyzed for a long moment before finally shaking her head helplessly. "I don't know, sir."
"Clearly, the concept of basic preparatory reading is lost on you." Snape looked entirely unsurprised. "One point from Hufflepuff."
"Michael Corner."
A boy sitting to Charlie's right stood up. He had sharp features, bright eyes, and medium-length, naturally wavy black hair that gave him a slightly brooding look, even at eleven years old.
"They must be crushed into appropriately sized pieces, while avoiding grinding them down into a fine powder," Michael answered.
"And what exactly constitutes an 'appropriate' size?" Snape countered.
Michael clearly hadn't anticipated a follow-up question. He scratched his head, frantically trying to recall the text.
But the textbook hadn't specified.
"One point from Ravenclaw. Sit down."
"Charlie Wonka."
Charlie let out a quiet breath. His luck really was abysmal today. He stood up.
"I'd say roughly the size of a sesame seed, sir. Snake fangs aren't particularly large to begin with."
"I did not ask you that question," Snape said coldly.
"In the Cure for Boils, how long must the horned slugs be stewed?"
"Three minutes, sir. We cannot allow the slugs to completely dissolve."
"And at the final stage of the Cure for Boils, what is the exact function of the porcupine quills?"
Charlie furrowed his brow. That was a genuinely difficult question.
The textbook mostly covered recipes and the standalone properties of ingredients. It almost never detailed the actual chemical reactions that occurred when they were combined.
After a moment of thought, he answered, "Are they a stabilizing agent, Professor?"
"I had assumed only Gryffindors were prone to spouting utter nonsense. One point from Ravenclaw," Snape sneered, locking eyes with Charlie.
"Questions that require merely a fraction of critical thought seem to leave you entirely baffled."
His gaze shifted away from Charlie, sweeping over the rest of the terrified room.
"Well, naturally, sir. If we already knew everything, why would we need to come to class?" Charlie offered a polite smile.
"Sit down. I did not give you permission to speak," Snape snarled softly.
Charlie's expression didn't shift. Keeping his easy smile, he offered Snape a small, respectful bow before taking his seat.
"Two more points from Ravenclaw for your blatant cheek."
"I think I earned about five points earlier this week," Charlie muttered under his breath.
"Talking in class. Another two points."
"We've got Herbology tomorrow. I should be able to win at least two back."
"Silence!" Snape finally raised his voice, looking genuinely furious.
Charlie's smile remained fixed. He simply nodded at the professor.
With that, the practical portion of the lesson officially began. Working in pairs under Snape's intense scrutiny, they started brewing the Cure for Boils.
Throughout the process, Snape and his billowing cloak swooped endlessly around the dungeon, lingering suspiciously often right in front of Charlie's desk.
Charlie knew exactly what the man was doing, so he focused entirely on his cauldron, determined not to give Snape a single opening to criticize him.
Naturally, he failed.
Even though he was following the textbook's instructions to the letter.
Snape was simply a master at finding faults, and when it came to Potions, the man undeniably knew his craft.
"Why do you think you are supposed to take the cauldron off the fire before adding the porcupine quills? You must wait until the potion ceases to boil before adding them!"
"The boiling liquid forces the quills to churn violently, completely ruining their reactive properties."
"Another point from Ravenclaw for your thoughtless, idiotic blundering."
"Ah, I see." Charlie nodded in understanding.
"To be perfectly honest, sir, whoever wrote this textbook might know how to brew a potion, but they clearly haven't the faintest idea how to teach it."
You've actually got that exactly right, Snape responded internally.
Charlie's complaint was entirely justified.
Just as he'd noticed earlier, the textbook completely failed to mention the chemical reactions between the ingredients, and its step-by-step instructions were dangerously vague.
If they weren't, Snape wouldn't have had any grounds to deduct points.
Not that Charlie actually cared about the House points.
In fact, he was thrilled. If anything, he hoped Snape would continue to aggressively supplement the massive gaps in the textbook's theory.
Having successfully docked another two points from Charlie, Snape finally looked satisfied and swept away, his cloak trailing behind him as he terrorized the rest of the room.
The young wizards felt exactly like the criminals of Gotham, utterly on edge. They had no idea which dark corner the bloody bat was going to leap out of next to deliver a lethal punishment.
If even Charlie was getting picked apart, the rest of them didn't stand a chance.
By the time Potions finally ended, the total casualties stood at Hufflepuff minus eight, and Ravenclaw minus eleven.
The moment they stepped out of the gloomy classroom and into the corridor, Anthony, Hector, and the rest of their Ravenclaw friends immediately swarmed Charlie.