Chapter 26: Potions Class and the Half-Blood Prince

Chapter 26: Potions Class and the Half-Blood Prince

"Powdered root of asphodel added to an infusion of wormwood makes a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death," Leon replied concisely.

A strange light flickered in Snape's eyes. He pressed on. "And where... would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and will save you from most poisons. It would even be an effective antidote to the draught you just mentioned."

"Then, what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?" Snape did not let up.

Leon answered, his voice calm. "There is no difference. They are the same plant, which also goes by the name of aconite."

He had, of course, studied all the first-year materials long before coming to Hogwarts. His years leading a gang had taught him the importance of improving one's strength better than anyone.

"It seems, Mr. Shelby, that while you are hopeless with a wand, your memory is... adequate," Snape sneered. "Two points to Slytherin. Don't look so pleased with yourself. You still have forty-eight points to make up. Oh, wait. Ninety-eight."

Leon just shrugged, not bothering to correct the maths.

The rapid-fire questions and answers had stunned most of the first-years in the room—all except for a certain bushy-haired witch who had been bouncing in her seat, her hand thrust in the air, desperate to answer. She was now fuming at the missed opportunity to earn points for Gryffindor and made a mental note to sit at the front in the future.

"And now," Snape bellowed, "you will pair off. I will be instructing you on how to brew a simple Boil-Cure Potion."

Snape swept around the dungeon in his long black cloak, pausing to hurl insults at students for their poor technique. Listening to the creative and varied put-downs, Leon confirmed one thing in his mind: with the exception of Harry, the greasy-haired professor hated everyone equally.

"With a talent for insults like that, it's a shame our Head of House isn't a professional sadist," Leon muttered, casually stirring his cauldron. He then offered a compliment to his partner. "Draco, your technique for stewing those horned slugs is perfect."

A few drops of cold sweat immediately appeared on Malfoy's forehead. He had no idea what Leon was talking about, and he was even more baffled as to why this lunatic insisted on dragging him into everything. If he could go back in time, he would have given his past self a solid slap across the face before he ever uttered that first taunt on the platform.

With Leon supervising and Malfoy not being entirely useless, their potion was soon finished. Snape inspected it, clearly desperate to find fault, but could not. He grudgingly awarded Slytherin another two points.

Fortunately, the rage he'd been unable to vent on Leon soon found another target.

For some unknown reason, Neville and Seamus, a true dynamic duo, had partnered up. One was missing a few marbles, and the other was a budding genius of magical explosions. Putting them together was a guaranteed disaster.

Neville somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron. The potion spilled across the floor, hissing and eating holes in the stone.

Seamus, in a stroke of genius, decided to fix it. He'd learned a few spells before coming to school, so he whipped out his wand and, with a few sputtered words, tried to magic the spill away.

And, as the saying goes: art is an explosion.

The potion, which had previously only been a danger to the floor, detonated with a loud BANG, spraying the entire room like a firework.

The students it hit reacted immediately. Angry, red boils erupted wherever the potion touched their skin, and they began to howl in pain. In an instant, the dungeon was filled with shrieks as students panicked and ran for cover.

"Silence! SILENCE!" Snape, whose expression rarely changed, was forced to raise his voice, but it had no effect. His students were harder to control than a herd of pigs at slaughter, and they were squealing even louder.

Leon, having no intention of joining the squealing, had drawn his wand at the first sign of trouble and shielded himself. His partner, Malfoy, was not so lucky and got a face full of the potion.

Finally, faced with the out-of-control class, Snape had to flick his own wand, casting several silent spells to restore order.

"Idiots!" he hissed, the contempt dripping from his voice. "Are your heads filled with nothing but slug mucus? Settle down!"

After his roar, he fixed his cold, black eyes on Neville. "You, Longbottom. I'll wager you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire, didn't you?"

He then whirled on Seamus. "And you, you arrogant fool! If you ever so much as touch your wand in my class again without permission, I swear I will have you expelled!"

Finally, not even The Boy Who Lived could escape his wrath. "And you, Potter. Our celebrity. Why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Did you think letting him fail would make you look better?"

"Five points from Gryffindor!"

"All of you, follow me," he sneered at the afflicted students. "Up to the hospital wing. Now."

And with that, the Potions lesson was over. Leon, completely unscathed, packed his bag, happily preparing to head to the library. If he remembered correctly, the Restricted Section had some very powerful books, well worth a look.

"Shelby!" Snape's head suddenly reappeared from the doorway. "You will stay and clean this mess. Then you may leave. Or have you forgotten? You have a month of detention, starting now."

Looking at the perfectly clean and untroubled Leon only seemed to infuriate Snape more, but there was nothing he could fault him for. He couldn't very well berate Leon for successfully defending himself.

Frustrated, Snape turned and saw Harry, lingering at the back of the line.

"Potter! Get a move on!" he roared. "What are you dawdling for? Are you a sloth? Can't even dodge a simple splash of potion? I am ashamed to even look at you!"

Listening to Snape's tirade against Harry, Leon shook his head. The greasy-haired man was an incredibly difficult and complicated person. Even his words of concern came out as insults.

Instead of starting on the mess, Leon's eyes suddenly lit up. He walked to a supply cupboard in the corner of the classroom and began to rummage through it.

It didn't take long. He pulled out what he was looking for—a tattered, heavily-used, and very old textbook.

The title: Advanced Potion-Making.

And on the bottom of the front cover, in a small, spidery script, were the words:

"This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince."