Kyle hadn't expected Zhang to be so adept at brewing potions. Every step, from boiling the nettle solution to grinding snake fangs, was completed methodically. Kyle, having little to contribute, found himself merely sitting idly by, staring at the simmering cauldron, while Zhang effortlessly worked through the processes. He realized there was no room for him to help, and Potions, like other classes, required a lot of waiting. Once the ingredients were prepared, most of the time was spent simply watching the concoction brew.
It reminded him of making soup: ten minutes of preparation followed by two hours of simmering. Of course, this only worked if everything went smoothly; otherwise, even creating a standard nettle extract could occupy someone for the majority of the class. Kyle glanced at the two Slytherin students sitting to their left, who had already returned to the cupboard seven times to fetch more nettles. With every visit, Snape's expression grew darker, as if he couldn't decide whether he was more upset about the nettles or his students' incompetence.
Kyle smirked to himself when one of the students stood up yet again, marking their eighth trip. Snape finally snapped, fixing his cold gaze on them. "Vlada, Walker, use what little brainpower you have left. If you don't produce a proper yellow-green solvent this time, I will personally dunk your heads into the cauldron!" he barked.
The two Slytherins paled, especially the one heading back to retrieve the nettles, who walked as if he were being sent to the gallows. Snape glared at them, his robes billowing dramatically as he swooped toward another unfortunate pair of students.
"What is this—licorice syrup? Start over!" he snarled. "The color isn't yellow enough. Throw it out and start again!" His irritation seemed to grow with each failed attempt, and the classroom was filled with groans as cauldrons were emptied and refilled, over and over again.
Snape's bat-like figure flitted from table to table, issuing orders and reprimands. Wherever he passed, students scrambled to avoid his wrath, making the air thick with tension. Kyle, however, remained calm and attentive, waiting for the right moment. As soon as the solution in their cauldron shifted from yellow-green to light yellow, he reduced the flame's intensity. Zhang, perfectly timing her next move, added the ground snake fangs to the mix.
The two worked in perfect synchrony, and soon, an unpleasantly sweet and fishy odor wafted from their cauldron. "Perfect," Kyle murmured, turning the heat back up. Then came the familiar waiting period once again.
Curiosity piqued, Kyle asked, "Have you brewed potions before coming to Hogwarts?"
Zhang blinked, somewhat surprised by the question. "No," she replied, shaking her head. "Why do you ask?"
Kyle chuckled. "You have a natural talent for it. When most first-years brew potions for the first time, it's a complete disaster—explosions, fumes, you name it."
Zhang raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Explosions? You're exaggerating, right?"
Kyle simply gestured for her to take a look around. With a dubious glance, Zhang finally lifted her head from her work and surveyed the chaos that had erupted around them. The other young wizards were rushing back and forth between their cauldrons and the storage cabinets, their faces streaked with soot and their robes singed or tattered. Some even had wisps of smoke rising from their hair.
The Potions classroom was a battlefield, with colorful clouds of smoke billowing up from many of the cauldrons, creating a hazy, gray-brown cloud that hung ominously near the ceiling. The stench was unbearable—an acrid mix of burning wool and rotten eggs.
Zhang covered her nose in disgust. "How is this even possible? The potion is so simple…" she muttered. Her gaze drifted toward the Slytherins, hoping for some semblance of order among them. But her hopes were dashed when she turned just in time to witness something utterly unforgettable.
The cauldron at the neighboring table erupted in a spectacular explosion of foam. The potion, once liquid, had rapidly expanded, bubbling over and shooting toward the ceiling in a frothy cascade. The sheer volume of foam was staggering, and it filled the air like a geyser.
Snape's voice, laced with fury, rang out. "Vlada, Walker, you fools!"
Despite his simmering rage, Snape's instincts as a professor kicked in. Rather than berate the two Slytherins immediately, he whipped out his wand and pointed it at the overflowing cauldron. "Whirlwind Sweep! Cleaned up!" he commanded, the foam dissipating almost instantly under the force of his magic.
Once the chaos subsided and it was clear no one was harmed, Snape turned his ire on the two offending students. Without so much as a warning, he grabbed each by the collar and physically hauled them out of the classroom. "Detention! Go find Filch!" he snarled.
The room fell into an uneasy silence after Snape's outburst, with every student too terrified to make a sound. Kyle, who had been relatively idle up to this point, decided it was wise to appear busy. He began preparing the porcupine quills they would need for the next step.
Though "Magical Drafts and Potions" didn't explicitly require the quills to be cut in a specific way, Snape had insisted on a precise, narrow slit along the side. Furthermore, the slugs had to be steamed before use, though Snape had never explained why. One of Kyle's classmates had asked out of curiosity, only to have three points deducted from Hufflepuff for his trouble.
Kyle selected a porcupine quill and began carefully slicing it, opting to work slowly to avoid any mistakes. It took him over ten minutes to cut a quill no longer than thirty centimeters, but his caution only served to draw unwanted attention.
Snape, as silent and menacing as ever, appeared beside him. He picked up one of the quills from the table and sneered. "I asked for a straight line. What is this? A shriveled philoprogenitive caterpillar? Or do you not understand what 'straight' means?"
Kyle blinked, taken aback. He stared at the crooked quill in Snape's hand, then down at the one he was still working on. It didn't make sense—he had been meticulous.
"Professor..." Kyle began, but before he could finish, Zhang, trembling beside him, raised her hand and stammered, "I—I cut that, Professor."
(End of Chapter)
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