Lost and bound | Mattheo Riddle

Chapter 8: Curious Gazes

The dungeon corridor leading to the Potions classroom was dark, damp, and smelled of pickled things and damp earth. A palpable tension hummed amongst the first-years gathered outside the heavy wooden door. It was a different tension from the excited buzz before Charms. This was the quiet, anxious dread of approaching a trial.

Celestia stood with Pansy and Daphne, her fingers tracing the rough grain of her blackthorn wand in its holster. Across the hall, the Gryffindors were a splash of nervous red and gold. She saw Hermione Granger frantically reviewing notes, while Harry Potter and Ron Weasley looked like they were marching to their doom.

The door swung open with a creak that seemed to echo for too long. There, silhouetted against the flickering greenish light of the dungeon, stood Professor Snape. He was paler than the moon, his black hair framing a face that seemed carved from stone. His eyes, black and cold, swept over them like a bird of prey sighting a field of mice.

"Inside" he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, yet it carried an immense, chilling weight. "Do not touch anything until instructed."

They filed in. The Slytherins, with ingrained instinct, took the seats on the left side of the classroom, near stores of ingredients. The Gryffindors shuffled to the right. Celestia found herself at a desk with Theo Nott, who gave her a brief, grim nod.

Snape swept to the front of the class and launched into his roll call. His tone was dismissive until

"Ah, yes," he said, his voice dripping a false, oily warmth. "Harry Potter. Our new... celebrity."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Snape's eyes lingered on Harry's lightning scar with a look of such profound contempt it was almost physical. He then finished the list and began his speech, his voice a low, hypnotic drawl about the subtle science and exact art of potion-making.

Then came the questions. Designed not to teach, but to humiliate.

"Potter!" Snape snapped. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry stared, bewildered. "I don't know, sir."

Snape's lips curled. "Tut, tut. Clearly, fame isn't everything." His black eyes flicked to Hermione, whose hand was straining so hard it was practically pulling her out of her seat. He ignored her.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find a bezoar?"

Ron Weasley was muttering under his breath. Celestia sat perfectly still, her own knowledge screaming the answers in her head. (The Draught of Living Death! A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons!)

The public flaying of Harry Potter was uncomfortable to watch. It was raw, personal, and vicious. A surge of something—not her magic, but her temper stirred uncomfortably in her chest.

Finally, Snape set them to work on a simple Cure for Boils. "Partners will work together. You will find the instructions on the board. Fail to follow them precisely, and your partner may well be the one requiring the cure."

Theo, ever efficient, immediately began measuring out the dried nettles. "I'll prepare the ingredients. You manage the cauldron temperature. Keep it at a steady simmer, not a boil."

Celestia nodded, grateful for his calm competence. She focused, her entire being poured into the gentle heat of the flame. Across the room, she heard Malfoy's loud whisper, "Look at Potter, probably doesn't know one end of a cauldron from the other." A few Slytherins snickered.

She kept her eyes down. Control. Not suppression.

Their potion was progressing perfectly, turning the precise shade of turquoise described in the instructions. Theo allowed himself a small, satisfied nod.

Then Snape was there. He moved like a bat, silent and sudden, hovering over their desk. His black eyes scrutinized their brew.

"Adequate, Nott" he murmured. Then his gaze fell on Celestia. It was like being doused in ice water. "Lupin. An.... uncommon name."

Before she could form a response, his attention was snatched away. A loud, acidic hiss and a puff of yellow smoke erupted from the Gryffindor side. Neville Longbottom had somehow managed to melt Seamus Finnigan's cauldron, and the failed potion was now seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in shoes and robes. Chaos ensued.

Snape descended on the scene like a thundercloud, deducting points from a terrified Neville with a relish that was horrifying. As he turned, his robes swishing, his eyes fell on the next cauldron over Harry and Ron's. It was a murky, unpleasant brown.

"Pathetic, Potter" Snape sneered. "Clearly, talent isn't genetic." The cruelty of the blow, aimed at Harry's dead father, hung in the air.

It was then that Snape's tour brought him to the front of the Slytherin rows. He stopped before Mattheo Riddle and Draco Malfoy's desk. Their potion was a perfect, shimmering turquoise.

"Excellent, Riddle" Snape said, and for the first time, his voice held a note of something resembling genuine respect. "A flawless brew. Your father had a singular talent for concoction. It appears his.... precision.... has been inherited." He said the word 'father' with a weight that made the air feel heavy.

Mattheo didn't smile. He gave a slight, arrogant incline of his head. "Thank you, Professor. The instructions were.... elementary."

Snape's thin lips almost twitched into something like a smile. He then moved to the next desk: Celestia and Theo's. He peered into their cauldron. His eyes narrowed.

The potion was no longer turquoise.

A reaction, subtle and unseen, had taken place. Perhaps it was the intensity of her focus, the latent power she poured into maintaining the perfect heat. The potion now swirled with a deep, liquid silver, shimmering with an inner light like captured moonlight. It was more beautiful than the textbook version. And it was utterly, completely wrong.

Theo stared at it, baffled. "Sir, we followed the instructions exactly-"

Snape held up a hand, silencing him. He leaned closer, his hooked nose almost over the cauldron. He was so close Celestia could smell a faint hint of herbs and something darker on him. He stared at the silver potion for a long, long time. The entire classroom had gone quiet, watching.

Finally, he straightened up. His black, unreadable eyes locked onto Celestia. There was no praise. No criticism. Only a deep, unnerving intensity.

"Curious" he said, his voice so low only she and Theo could hear. The word was not a compliment. It was a threat. An assessment. A promise of future scrutiny.

He turned and swept away without another word, leaving Celestia with a heart hammering against her ribs and a potion that shimmered with a secret she didn't understand. The lesson ended without further incident, but as they filed out, Celestia felt a new weight upon her.

Snape's favoritism had been made clear. His contempt for Harry was a public spectacle. His reverence for the Riddle name was a chilling fact.

And his curiosity about her was a storm cloud on her horizon, dark and full of unknown danger.