The castle's mood had shifted.
Today was Friday—the day when most of the seniors gleefully warned the first years about The Big Black Bat, the spectral creature that was said to lurk in the dungeons and devour unwary students.
The Great Hall buzzed with the warm hum of morning chatter—the clatter of cutlery, laughter, and the golden sunlight slipping lazily through the enchanted ceiling. At the Gryffindor table, Fred, George, and Lee Jordan were midway through their toast and pumpkin juice when a group of Hufflepuffs passed by, led by none other than Cedric Diggory.
Cedric's hair looked as if it had been combed by woodland fairies and sealed with unicorn tears. He gave a modest nod to a second-year girl nearby, who appeared so struck that she might faint at any moment.
Fred leaned back, smirking. "Did you see that?" he said loud enough for half the Gryffindor table to hear. "The sunlight actually paused just to admire him."
George placed a hand dramatically over his heart. "It's not fair. How does someone manage to smile like that this early in the morning? I looked in the mirror today—and it ran away."
Lee Jordan, always ready to add fuel to the fire, leaned in with mock seriousness. "You lot don't understand. Cedric doesn't sweat—he glistens. Like some Quidditch-playing angel."
Fred sighed exaggeratedly. "And have you heard how he talks to the teachers? 'Yes, Professor. Of course, Professor. Anything to help, Professor.' If he were any more polite, he'd apologize to the floor for walking on it."
George struck a heroic pose, mimicking Cedric's deep voice:
"No need to thank me, Madam Pomfrey. I simply rescued the kneazle from the burning greenhouse using nothing but a cauldron lid and my raw Hufflepuff nobility."
Lee snorted. "You forgot the part where he offered to regrow the greenhouse with compost made from his own tears. Which, naturally, make plants bloom faster."
Their laughter was so infectious that Fred nearly spilled his pumpkin juice. A few seats down, Angelina Johnson rolled her eyes but couldn't quite hide the smile tugging at her lips.
Fred suddenly turned serious, whispering with mock panic, "We shouldn't mock him too loudly."
George leaned in, catching the joke immediately. "Why?"
Fred glanced around theatrically before stage-whispering, "Because if he hears us, he might smile at us again—and then we'll forget who we are. Poof. Just standing there, grinning like bewitched flobberworms."
Lee nodded solemnly. "That's how it starts. First, it's admiration. Then, next thing you know, you're in Hufflepuff robes volunteering at the owlery."
"THE HORROR!" the twins groaned in unison, collapsing in exaggerated despair over their breakfast plates.
Just then, Cael arrived at the table.
"Today's Potion class, right?" Fred asked him with a sly grin.
"Yeah," Cael replied, "but I heard Snape's very strict with Gryffindors."
Lee grinned wider. "Survival tips. Rule Number One: Do not provoke Professor Snape."
Fred slung an arm around Cael's shoulders, lowering his voice to an ominous whisper. "Snape's Hogwarts' resident bat."
"Lives in the dungeons, feeds on student confidence," George added. "Hasn't smiled since 1427."
"Rumor has it he once worked in a potion lab so dark he forgot what light looked like—and now it physically hurts him."
Cael raised an eyebrow. "That's not how light works."
"Says the kid who hasn't met him yet," Lee whispered.
Fred nodded solemnly. "First years are his favorite prey. You see, he can smell fear—"
"—and shampoo," George interrupted. "That's why we never use it on Potions days."
Cael stared at them. "You three are mental."
"Correct," Fred said brightly.
"But helpful," George added.
Lee pulled out a piece of parchment covered with a crudely drawn figure labeled "Snape," complete with jagged fangs and a cape that might have been seaweed. Arrows pointed to danger zones—Snape's Desk: Do Not Breathe Here, Explosion Radius: 12 feet.
"You'll want to sit right here," George said, tapping a spot farthest from the cauldron. "That's where the burn marks on the floor are faintest."
"And don't make eye contact," Fred warned gravely, "unless you're into soul possession."
Cael took the parchment, staring at it as if it might combust in his hands. "Is this… legal?"
"Oh, probably not," Lee said with a grin. "But you'll thank us after your first lesson."
"And if you survive," Fred added, "we'll let you in on the secret Butterbeer ice cream recipe."
George nodded enthusiastically. "And maybe—just maybe—how to prank Peeves without ending up covered in green goo."
Cael gave them a blank stare.
Then he said, "…I'm sitting next to the Gryffindor ghost."
"Brave lad," Lee murmured with respect.
The three Gryffindors vanished up the staircase, leaving Cael holding the ridiculous map and feeling the creeping dread settle in. He muttered, "I hope I don't get Targeted by Snape like Harry will be ."
After the Breakfast , students buzzed with excitement as they hurried through corridors toward their class . But their joy dimmed the moment they reached Hogwarts' lower levels—where warmth gave way to shadows, and the air grew colder, damper… older.
Cael followed the Gryffindors down a narrow stone staircase into the dungeons. Flickering torches along the walls cast long, twitching shadows. Even his System, lively earlier, seemed to pause.
System: "Ugh. This place smells like someone bottled sarcasm, dust, and bat wings into a hallway. This guy must be a 30+ year old virgin."
At the bottom, they faced a heavy black door.
They waited.
Then, with a soft creak, it opened inward—without a touch.
From within came the dry, whispered voice of their professor.
"Enter."
They filed in. Gryffindors joined their Slytherin counterparts along two long rows of tables flanked by iron cauldrons and tall shelves crammed with mysterious bottles. At the front, a chalkboard displayed the date. Standing beneath it was a tall, black-robed figure—Professor Severus Snape.
Younger than the ghost stories suggested, but no less intimidating. His shoulder-length black hair framed a pale, expressionless face. His eyes were sharp, dark, unblinking—like they could pierce secrets straight from your mind.
He offered no greeting.
Instead, he moved to the center of the room with the quiet poise of a stalking panther.
"You are here," he said softly, "to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making."
He paced slowly between the tables, hands clasped behind his back.
"There will be no foolish wand-waving here… no noisy incantations. Instead, I will teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death—if you aren't a bunch of dunderheads."
Several students straightened immediately.
Cael kept his gaze steady, watching Snape glide like smoke.
Snape's eyes narrowed slightly as they landed on the Gryffindor side.
"Let us see," he continued, walking past nervous students who watched him as if he were a slithering serpent, "Who among you can tell me what I'd get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Silence.
Cael's hand hovered, but another shot up first—Cassandra Vole's.
Snape's eyes flicked to her lazily. "Miss Vole."
"Okay, sir," she said quickly. "You'd get the Draught of Living Death. It's a powerful sleeping potion."
Snape's expression remained unreadable. "Correct. Ten points to Slytherin."
Turning to the blackboard, he drew a neat diagram of a bubbling cauldron and a list of ingredients.
"Today, you will be making something significantly simpler," he said dryly. "A Cure for Boils. Not elegant, but useful—especially for those who brew incompetently and burn their hands."
He faced the class. "Instructions are on the board. Cauldrons to simmer in eight minutes. No talking."
The classroom erupted into quiet motion.
Cael found himself paired again with Katie Bell, while Cassandra worked with a Slytherin companion. He studied the recipe carefully:
Boil-Cure Potion
Dried nettles (6 pinches)
Crushed snake fangs (2 pinches)
Stewed horned slugs (4 measures)
Porcupine quills (added at the end, after removing from flame)
Katie stirred as Cael measured ingredients. "Not quite the glamorous start to potion-making," she muttered.
"Better than learning through boils," Cael replied, watching the mixture.
Nearby, a cauldron bubbled suspiciously green. Snape appeared beside them silently, his black eyes gleaming with disdain.
"Three stirs clockwise, Mr. Macy," he said in a voice like silk over glass. "Not… six."
Another table hissed as smoke rose from a melted ladle. Snape turned his head lazily. "Miss Staicy, your slugs are stewing—not dissolving. Do try to read the instructions next time."
Cael caught Cassandra's eye across the room. She looked radiant, measuring nettles with a precision that would have impressed a lab technician.
Snape prowled back toward Cael and Katie.
Cael stiffened.
Snape stopped behind them, peering into their cauldron. A faint wisp of steam curled from the surface—light blue, just as described.
"Acceptable," Snape said with the faintest tilt of his head. "Although if you stir even a second longer than instructed, Miss Bell, you'll turn your partner's hand into a rash the size of a grapefruit."
Katie gulped. "Yes, sir."
Cael gave her a quick thumbs-up as Snape glided away.
End of Class
Most students had produced something close to the Cure for Boils potion, though two cauldrons were declared "hazardous" and vanished with a flick of Snape's wand.
He addressed the class with his usual flat tone.
"Bottles on the front desk. Label your names. Homework: one roll of parchment on the properties of nettles and porcupine quills, due Thursday."
He paused.
"And do try not to explode anything by then."
Outside, Cael exhaled deeply.
"Well," he muttered, "that wasn't so bad."
Katie laughed softly. "Says the boy who didn't get called a dunderhead. I think I held my breath the whole time."
Cael raised an eyebrow. "apparently I was the one Shaking too ."
System: "Snape's sarcasm output is about 73% above human average. Definitely not a Muggle."
Even as they walked away from the cold stone walls, Cael felt a strange satisfaction.
Potions, despite the sarcasm and shadows, had a rhythm to it—like music made from sharp ingredients.
And though he wouldn't say it aloud, Cael was already curious what Snape might throw at them next.