The Potions classroom felt exactly as one might expect from a dungeon. It was dark, damp, and desperately lacking in natural light. The moment Charlie stepped over the threshold, he could feel the moisture heavy in his lungs with every breath. He could not help but wonder if the place turned into a sweltering, humid swamp during the height of summer.
The glass jars lining the walls did nothing to improve the ambiance. Pickled animal specimens floated in cloudy liquids, adding a layer of eerie mystery to the already freezing, subterranean room. Naturally, most of the young wizards found the atmosphere incredibly oppressive.
They were sharing this class with Hufflepuff. Judging by the size of the heavy wooden desks, they were meant to pair up.
Anthony, the resident social butterfly, was promptly booted from Charlie and Hector's desk. Looking thoroughly betrayed, he wandered over to the girls' side of the room.
"Oh, the absolute agony of rejection. Ladies, would you be so kind as to take in a poor outcast?" he asked dramatically.
"You can sit here," Padma Patil replied with a roll of her eyes.
"Thank you. Beautiful and compassionate, a truly rare combination," Anthony answered smoothly. He took the seat next to Padma and threw a cheeky, triumphant wave back at Charlie.
The room quickly filled with Hufflepuffs, and the nervous chatter rose to a chaotic buzz. One minute remained until the bell.
Clack, clack, clack.
The sharp, hurried sound of leather boots against stone echoed through the corridor. The heavy wooden doors slammed open with a deafening bang.
Professor Snape swept into the room. He had a prominent hooked nose, sallow skin, and shoulder-length greasy black hair. He walked so briskly that his dark robes billowed out behind him like the wings of an overgrown, terrifying bat. Charlie wondered if Snape possessed the facial muscles required for a smile. From the opening feast to this very moment, the man's expression had remained locked in a perpetual scowl.
Undeniably, it worked. The moment his boots crossed the threshold, every single whisper in the room evaporated.
After a brisk roll call, Snape paused, placing one pale hand delicately on the edge of his desk.
"Put away your wands. You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. Yet, it carried a heavy weight that commanded total silence. "I do not expect many of you to appreciate the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, or the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind and ensnaring the senses."
He paused, letting his dark eyes sweep over the terrified faces. "I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper in death. That is, assuming you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
Wow, he is definitely worse than McGonagall, thought every first-year simultaneously.
After his brief, chilling introduction, Snape's gaze darted to the roster.
"Hannah Abbott."
Hannah, sitting just behind Charlie, jolted upright as if struck by lightning.
"When preparing a Cure for Boils, exactly how finely must the snake fangs be crushed?"
The poor girl turned the color of a ripe tomato. After several agonizing seconds of silence, she shook her head. "I don't know, Professor."
"Clearly, the concept of opening a book before class is entirely foreign to you all," Snape sneered, looking incredibly vindicated. "One point from Hufflepuff."
"Michael Corner."
The boy sitting to Charlie's right stood up. With his sharp features, bright eyes, and slightly wavy black hair, Michael had a naturally brooding look that suited the dungeon perfectly.
"They must be crushed into appropriately sized pieces, avoiding the formation of dust," Michael answered confidently.
"And what exactly defines 'appropriately sized'?" Snape countered smoothly.
Michael blinked. He clearly hadn't anticipated a follow-up question. He scratched his head, desperately trying to recall the textbook text, but the book offered no such detail.
"Another point from Ravenclaw. Sit down."
"Charlie Wonka."
Charlie sighed softly. His luck was abysmal today. He stood up and answered the previous question. "Roughly the size of sesame seeds, sir. Snake fangs aren't particularly large to begin with."
"I did not ask you that question," Snape said silkily. "In a Cure for Boils, how long should the horned slugs be stewed?"
"Three minutes. We need to soften them, but we cannot let them melt completely."
"And what is the precise function of the porcupine quills at the end of the brewing process?"
Charlie frowned. That was a genuinely difficult question. The standard textbooks listed ingredients and basic properties, but they almost never explained the complex chemical reactions between them. Taking a calculated guess, he said, "Are they a stabilizing agent, Professor?"
"I was under the impression only Gryffindors babbled nonsense. One point from Ravenclaw," Snape said, his dark eyes locking onto Charlie. "A question that requires a mere ounce of logical thought seems to leave you all entirely paralyzed." He swept his gaze across the room again, relishing their fear.
"Well, with all due respect, sir, if we already knew all the answers, there wouldn't be much point in us attending the class, would there?" Charlie asked, offering a bright, polite smile.
"Sit down. I did not give you permission to speak," Snape snarled.
Charlie's expression didn't waver. He maintained his polite smile, gave a respectful little bow, and took his seat.
"Two points from Ravenclaw for tremendous cheek," Snape added.
"I think I earned five points earlier this week," Charlie muttered to himself, just loud enough to be heard.
"Talking in class. Another two points."
"We have Herbology tomorrow, I can definitely earn those back," Charlie reasoned quietly.
"Silence!" Snape bellowed, finally losing his cool.
Charlie just nodded agreeably, his smile firmly in place.
Next, the practical portion of the lesson began. Working in pairs, they attempted to brew the Cure for Boils under Snape's hawkish supervision. Snape and his oversized cape swooped around the dungeon, but he seemed to hover exceptionally close to Charlie's cauldron.
Charlie knew exactly what the man was doing. He was waiting for a mistake. Determined not to give him the satisfaction, Charlie focused intensely, following the textbook's instructions to the absolute letter.
Naturally, he still failed.
"Why, pray tell, are you adding the porcupine quills while the cauldron is still on the fire?" Snape hissed, appearing seemingly out of thin air. "You must take it off the flame and wait for the potion to stop boiling first! The boiling motion causes the quills to tumble erratically, completely ruining their intended effect! Another point from Ravenclaw for your spectacular lack of common sense."
"Ah, I see. Thank you for the correction, sir," Charlie nodded thoughtfully. "It seems the author of our textbook might know how to brew a potion, but they are utterly hopeless at teaching others how to do it."
You actually got that right, Snape thought grudgingly, though his face remained a mask of pure disdain.
Charlie's observation wasn't just empty sass. The textbook completely skipped over the reactive nature of the ingredients and failed to emphasize critical safety steps. If it had been written properly, Snape wouldn't have had the excuse to deduct points.
Not that Charlie cared about House points anyway. On the contrary, he secretly hoped Snape would continue to critique him. It seemed to be the only way to squeeze the unwritten, advanced knowledge out of the grumpy Potions Master.
Having successfully deducted a handful of points from Charlie, Snape finally moved on, his robes billowing as he terrorized the rest of the room. The young wizards felt like petty criminals in Gotham City. They were completely terrified, constantly looking over their shoulders, wondering when the overgrown bat would drop from the shadows to punish them. If even Charlie could be singled out and dismantled, the rest of them stood no chance.
By the time the bell mercifully rang, the final casualty report was grim. Hufflepuff had lost eight points, and Ravenclaw had lost eleven.
As soon as they escaped the dungeon and made it a safe distance down the corridor, Anthony, Hector, and the rest of the Ravenclaw crew immediately swarmed Charlie.