Moriarty's outstanding performance in Transfiguration class had made him the center of attention. The students of all four houses were eager to see how he would fare in other subjects.
When Potions class began, the atmosphere in the dungeon was entirely different from McGonagall's classroom. There was no need for stern reprimands or point deductions—Professor Snape's mere presence was enough to keep the students silent.
His reputation as an intimidating and highly skilled Potions Master preceded him, and the combination of his sharp features, black robes, and the way he moved—graceful yet imposing—made him seem like a giant bat gliding through the dimly lit room.
As he reached the front of the classroom, the Slytherins and Gryffindors alike sat rigidly, awaiting roll call.
When Moriarty's name was called, Snape paused, his dark eyes locking onto him with a cold, unreadable expression.
"The famous Mr. Moriarty," he murmured, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "You should know that carrying the name of Slytherin comes at a cost."
Moriarty caught something in Snape's words—an unspoken truth buried beneath his usual disdain.
"Of course, those who bear it have also achieved great things," Snape continued slowly. "But you… you are different. Consider how much effort and sacrifice will be required for you to be worthy of the name Slytherin."
Moriarty noted that Snape was testing him, perhaps even warning him. But rather than feeling intimidated, he found it fascinating.
Snape's voice turned sharper. "If it weren't for your surname, I wouldn't bother with these words. Understand this, Mr. Slytherin?"
"Understood, Professor," Moriarty responded firmly. "And I know exactly what I'm doing."
A flicker of something—approval, perhaps—passed through Snape's eyes before he moved on. "Very well. Let's see if Mr. Slytherin is truly a Slytherin."
Without warning, Snape took a seat directly in front of Moriarty, his gaze scrutinizing. "Tell me, what do you get when you add powdered Narcissus root to a wormwood infusion?"
"A Draught of Living Death," Moriarty answered without hesitation.
Snape's tone remained emotionless. "What are the most common ingredients used in a Swelling Solution?"
Moriarty recognized the question as second-year material, but he answered anyway. "Puffer-fish eyes are the most common."
"Who invented the Shrinking Solution?"
That was a third-year question. Moriarty smiled. "Sigmund Budge, Professor."
The questions increased in difficulty, jumping from fourth-year to sixth-year material, but Moriarty answered each one with clarity and precision.
When the exchange ended, the classroom was silent. Snape did not speak immediately. He simply stared at Moriarty for five full minutes, his dark eyes betraying no thoughts.
The other students held their breath, waiting for the verdict.
Finally, Snape spoke. "Five points to Slytherin."
Then, as though nothing had happened, he rose to his feet and swept toward the front of the room. "The Draught of Living Death is the first potion you will learn today. Do not make me repeat myself."
The sound of frantic note-taking filled the classroom. Moriarty's lips twitched slightly—so the Draught of Living Death had been the lesson all along, and yet no extra points were awarded?
Snape certainly had a unique approach to teaching.
"Aren't you going to take notes, Mr. Moriarty?" Lilith asked in a low voice.
Moriarty shook his head. "The best way to learn is through practice."
With that, he began preparing the ingredients. His hands moved with practiced ease as he followed Snape's rapid-fire instructions.
"Arrogant genius," Snape sneered suddenly, and as if to challenge Moriarty, he accelerated his explanation, spitting out steps like a machine gun.
The other students paled. Jericho stopped writing entirely, choosing instead to watch Moriarty work. Lilith, however, kept up, her quill moving swiftly across her parchment in elegant script.
"I've been copying laws and regulations since childhood," she muttered. "This is nothing."
Meanwhile, Moriarty's brewing process had been drastically shortened thanks to Snape's rapid instructions. As he ground the Narcissus root into fine powder, he was only one step away from completion.
Jericho whistled. "Hey, Mr. Moriarty, maybe you don't need to attend class at all. Just show you the potion's steps, and you'll master it instantly!"
"Mr. Blanche," Snape's cold voice rang out, "why are you not writing down my instructions? Have you somehow mastered potion-making? Three points from Slytherin."
At that moment, Moriarty completed his potion, adding the powdered root to the wormwood infusion. The potion turned the correct shade, signaling success.
Snape observed the result and, after a long pause, gave a curt nod. "Five points to Slytherin."
"Thank you," Moriarty said smoothly. "A most unique reward system, Professor."
A few of the Slytherins chuckled under their breath. It was rare to see Snape acknowledge two Slytherins in one lesson.
Lilith, refusing to be outdone, called out, "Mine is almost finished, and I don't believe it's any worse than his."
Moriarty glanced at her cauldron. Her Draught of Living Death was textbook-perfect, though slightly slower in preparation.
When Snape examined her potion, he stated, "Three points to Slytherin."
As Snape moved on to inspect the Gryffindors, Lilith huffed. "Only three points? How stingy."
Jericho, ever cheerful, shrugged. "Hey, at least it's something. You wouldn't want to compare yourself to Moriarty, would you?"
Lilith's eyes flashed, but she didn't respond. Jericho, sensing an opportunity, grinned. "I mean, Mr. Moriarty has earned us sixty points in just two classes! You, on the other hand… only three."
Lilith shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass.
Moriarty chuckled. "Careful, Jericho. Push her too far, and she might come up with a hundred ways to get back at you—without breaking a single rule."
"Hmph." Lilith crossed her arms. "At least someone here has a brain."
Moriarty smirked, watching her reaction with amusement.
Jericho, meanwhile, turned his focus back to his potion. His movements were surprisingly precise as he measured ingredients and stirred his cauldron.
Moriarty observed him with interest. "Jericho, your technique is quite refined. Have you been practicing?"
Jericho grinned sheepishly. "Not exactly. I just copy your movements because they look cool."
"Excellent memory and imitation skills," Moriarty noted, studying him thoughtfully. "I wonder how many other surprises you have in store."
Lilith, who had been listening, suddenly interjected, "Wait until Flying class. That's when he'll really shine."
Jericho groaned. "Lilith, you'd make an excellent reporter. The Daily Prophet, perhaps? Or maybe The Quibbler?"
Lilith scoffed. "Please. I wouldn't waste my talents on such drivel."
Jericho sighed. "Right. So you just collect information on everyone at Hogwarts for fun?"
Lilith's eyes gleamed. "Not for fun. For strategy. Information is power, after all."
Moriarty chuckled. "And do you consider our third-year peers part of your grand strategy?"
Lilith tilted her chin up. "They're a different challenge altogether. But I'll figure them out soon enough."
Moriarty watched her with amusement. "Do you worry about not being as mature as them, or are you more concerned with surpassing them?"
Lilith rolled her eyes. "Neither. I simply don't like being underestimated."
Jericho sighed dramatically. "Ah, the burdens of genius."
Moriarty smiled. Hogwarts was becoming more interesting by the day.