The Potions Classroom bustled with activity, an array of cauldrons positioned meticulously along the length of the tables that stretched through the room, their gleaming surfaces catching the flickering light from ornate torches mounted on the stone pillars. Amidst this setting, Y/N found herself seated in the company of Draco and Aurora.
In a hushed tone, Y/N aired her grievances about a certain fellow student. "Honestly, Granger is a pain in the arse." she muttered, her discontent palpable. Draco couldn't help but suppress a mischievous snicker, finding amusement in Y/N's candid frustration.
Aurora inquired skeptically, "Are you sure she's that unbearable?" Y/N responded with a dismissive shake of her head, her expression set in determination.
"She's nothing more than an insufferable know-it-all, always currying favor with the professors," Y/N retorted with a hint of venom. As the trio chatted, Aurora's gaze drifted briefly behind them, resting upon Hermione, who was engrossed in a book, flanked by Ron and Harry.
"I think she might be able to hear you," Aurora remarked in a cautious whisper. Y/N's eyes rolled skyward, an unconcerned sigh escaping her lips.
"Good," she retorted sharply, a fiery glint in her eyes. "Perhaps it's high time she realizes how vexing she truly is." Her lips curled into a sneer, her frustration barely contained.
Draco's demeanor hinted at amusement, thoroughly enjoying the display before him. Meanwhile, Aurora, maintaining her equilibrium, simply shrugged in response before returning her attention to her own book, unfazed by the unfolding drama.
Their trio was abruptly jolted by the creaking door behind them, announcing the arrival of Professor Snape. He strode into the room with an air of authority, a murmur of discontent escaping his lips as he grumbled about the infringements of his rules.
His words were a whirlwind, barely decipherable as they rushed forth, detailing a prohibition on frivolous wand gestures and what he derisively referred to as 'silly incantations.' Y/N struggled to follow the rapid cascade of syllables, her attention divided between his words and the enigmatic presence he exuded.
Severus Snape, with a flurry of ebony robes, arrived at the front of the classroom, his gaze sweeping over the assembled students. His voice commanded attention, tinged with an air of both authority and disdain.
"In this discipline, I do not anticipate that many among you will grasp the intricate science and artistic precision that potion-making demands," he declared with measured emphasis.
"However, for those select few," Severus Snape's piercing gaze lingered upon Draco, capturing the essence of his self-satisfied expression, a smug grin that danced across his features.
The ever-observant professor didn't allow this display of satisfaction to pass unnoticed. With a deliberate pause, he adjusted the drape of his robes, his demeanor carrying an air of quiet assurance.
"I can impart knowledge to those who possess the predisposition," Snape's words floated through the room like a potent incantation, rich with promise. The fabric of his robes settled elegantly, an embodiment of his authority.
"I shall guide you in the art of bewitching the mind and ensnaring the senses," he continued, his voice lowering, drawing his students into a web of intrigue. His tone gained an almost mystical quality as it trailed off, a hint of enigma lingering in the air, as if the full extent of his knowledge were known only to him.
"I shall reveal the secrets of bottling fame, brewing glory, and even halting the relentless march of death itself," Snape's proclamation carried a weight that resonated throughout the room, an echo of awe that played upon the features of his attentive audience.
Draco's admiration was palpable, a sparkle of reverence shining in his eyes as he looked upon the man who held mastery over the arcane. Amidst this theatrical display, Y/N's gaze locked onto Snape, their eyes connecting in an intense moment.
"Then again," Snape's tone shifted, an undercurrent of scorn underscoring his words, "perhaps some of you have graced the halls of Hogwarts while perched atop a pedestal, beneficiaries of a storied family lineage and remarkable talents."
His words dripped with a sneer, his gaze piercing through Y/N, whose resolve only seemed to strengthen, her lips forming a subtle scoff. Snape's attention, however, shifted beyond her, encapsulating the entire scene.
"Alternatively," Snape's voice carried an edge, "perhaps a contingent among you possesses abilities so formidable that you have ventured here with a sense of unwavering confidence." His tone rose, infusing the room with tension, capturing the undivided attention of those present.
"To the point of," he continued with emphasis, "disregarding the very essence of learning!" His rebuke was sharp, his frustration palpable.
Y/N's gaze shifted towards Harry, who appeared engrossed in his own world, inscribing words onto parchment. A nudge from Hermione drew his focus momentarily, coaxing him back to the present. Snape's stern visage bore down on the scene, an embodiment of his stern expectations.
"Crimson," Snape's instruction rang out with authority, addressing Y/N by name. A reflexive urge to object emerged, but Snape's icy tone brooked no dissent.
"Take your place beside Potter," he ordered, leaving no room for debate. Y/N's lips parted, a protest forming, but Snape's unwavering gaze silenced her retort before it could take shape. His command hung heavy in the air, a reminder of the hierarchy that governed the classroom.
Seated at the table adjacent to Harry, Y/N's book met the surface with a resounding thud, prompting a slight start from the boy who sat with a newfound rigidity, posture ramrod straight. Snape's ominous approach sent a shiver through the air, his sneer a manifestation of his disdain.
"Mr. Potter," his voice dripped with condescension, the single word a calculated barb. But Snape's attention didn't waver as he pivoted to Y/N. "Miss Crimson," he appended her name, each syllable a brushstroke of irony.
"Our latest pair of celebrities," he jeered, savoring each syllable as it left his lips, the pauses between them laden with tension. The furrow of Harry's brow betrayed his confusion, while Y/N's gaze held a hint of bewilderment as she exchanged a fleeting glance with him.
"Indulge me," Snape's inquiry began, his voice a spider's thread of curiosity, "What might one glean from the union of powdered root of asphodel and an infusion of wormwood?" His presence leaned menacingly over a stone pillar, a sinister silhouette cast by the torchlight.
Hermione's hand shot up, a beacon of knowledge yearning to be acknowledged, while Harry and Y/N stared back at Snape like blank canvases splashed with perplexity. "I'm afraid I don't know, sir," Harry admitted, his voice edged with genuine puzzlement.
The question found its way to Y/N, Snape's gaze resting upon her. With nonchalant aplomb, she propped her hand atop the table, "A sleeping potion, Draught of Living Death" she replied.
Simultaneously, Hermione's hand reached for the skies, an eager testament to her thirst for knowledge. Draco and his lackeys, true to form, erupted in chuckles, their mirth like a chorus of mocking bells. Aurora, ever an amused observer, cast a sidelong look towards Y/N, a blend of support and mischief twinkling in her gaze.
"Well then, Mr. Potter," Snape pressed on, a challenge lacing his words, "Should I ask you to direct me to a bezoar, where would your search lead you?" Hermione's hand, an ever-eager presence, remained lofted in the air, ignored by Snape's dismissive demeanor.
Nonchalantly, Y/N's hand joined the fray, resting upon the table's surface as if she were casually offering her expertise. Meanwhile, Hermione's hand reached the zenith of its extension, a testament to her unwavering determination to contribute.
"I don't know, sir."
"And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"
Severus Snape's voice sliced through the air like a blade, the question he posed hanging heavily, a challenge that demanded a response. Hermione surged from her seat with an abruptness that bespoke her eagerness. Her hand shot skyward, an arrow of knowledge reaching its zenith, her fingertips grazing the chamber's ceiling.
"Pity," Snape's sneer followed, dripping with sarcasm, the words a subtle strike aimed at Harry's non-compliance.
"It seems," he taunted, "that not everything bows before the altar of fame." The silence held for a breath, the pause pregnant with implications. His gaze then pivoted with a feral grace, like a predator scanning the field, fixing on the boy seated beside Hermione. "Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Potter?"
"Clearly, Hermione knows. Seems a pity not to ask her." Harry's retort, delivered with a hint of defiance, sliced through the tension, as he dared to challenge Snape's taunt.
The room quivered with suppressed laughter, a wave of amusement rippling through the ranks of the students. Snape, the orchestrator of this intellectual theater, seized control once more, his footsteps measured and deliberate as he moved towards Y/N and Harry. The very air seemed to grow taut as he drew near, a palpable tension encasing the duo like a shroud.
The meeting of gazes between Y/N and Snape was electric, a silent challenge and an unspoken exchange of wills. As Snape leaned over the table, his presence loomed like an ominous specter, his intent clear: to provoke submission.
"Put down your hand, you silly girl!" his command resonated with the weight of his displeasure. Hermione's hand descended with reluctant obedience, a concession to Snape's demand.
With a sneer etched into his features, Snape resumed his pedagogical role. "To enlighten you, Potter, Crimson," he declared, a sense of condescension lacing his tone. Y/N's stare, once defiant, hardened further in response.
"Your answer, while correct, lacks nuance. Asphodel and wormwood, when united, birth a sleeping potion of such potency that it earns the moniker 'Draught of the Living Death'," he spat, the words delivered with a venom that underlined their gravity.
Severus Snape's knowledge flowed like an ancient river, coursing onward. "In the realm of antidotes, a bezoar is a life-saving gem, extracted from the belly of a goat, capable of countering a multitude of poisons." His tone remained as icy and authoritative as ever. "Monkshood and wolfsbane," Snape continued, "aliases of the same botanical entity, also known as aconite."
The tension in the room intensified, Harry's gaze sharpening into a glare that sought to pierce the veil of Snape's demeanor. The professor's lips parted, his voice carrying an almost theatrical inflection.
"Now," he declared, "Why, pray tell, are you not committing this to parchment?" The exasperation in his voice was mirrored in the frenzied rustling of pages as students scrambled to document the knowledge that had been unveiled.
"And Gryffindors," Snape's voice rang out, like a judge delivering a verdict, as he assumed his seat and reached for his quill, "shall experience a deduction of five points from your houses, a penalty for your classmate's audacity."
His words were like stones cast into the waters of the classroom, causing ripples of discontent that emanated from the Gryffindor table. "Meanwhile, Ravenclaws," his gaze flickered, "shall forfeit a solitary point." Y/N's lips quirked in a subtle scoff, her defiance undiminished. The room emitted a collective groan of frustration, Gryffindors and Ravenclaws united in their resentment, casting daggers of reproach towards Y/N and Harry.
"Fucking arse."
TO BE CONTINUED...