I went back inside the castle, quickly finding my way to my next class as lunch was ending.
"Potions is next…" I mumbled, remembering to bring a cauldron along with my textbook.
I took my seat on the Slytherin side of the classroom, making sure to sit at the edge so I wouldn't be surrounded. I noticed Pansy taking the spot beside me, with Malfoy next to her.
"I didn't think a walk would take most of lunch," she said, glancing at me while keeping her head forward, waiting for class to begin, prim and proper.
I mirrored her posture, not wanting to invite any form of friendship.
"This place is massive. Looking around takes a while," I replied concisely.
The chamber door suddenly slammed open, revealing Professor Snape, who briskly walked to the front of the class. The room fell into a tense silence, like rabbits hearing a distant twig snap.
"There will be no foolish wand waving or silly incantations in this class," Snape declared commandingly.
I breathed a sigh of relief, hoping this would be one of the classes where I could fade into obscurity. Snape continued his speech, standing on his podium, his sharp gaze sweeping across the students, seemingly judging each one in mere moments.
"As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making. However…"
His eyes landed on me as he spoke the last part.
"To those select few… who possess the predisposition… I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses. I can tell you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper in death."
At first, his promises to the 'select few' didn't interest me. I had always been more drawn to magical creatures. Potions, much like wizarding history, seemed bothersome and unneeded. Even though the beginner potions books were the only ones available at home, I had viewed the subject as too time-consuming for fieldwork. Charms were far more practical—they could light my way or protect me from danger with a simple flick of the wand. Potions, on the other hand, required preparation and patience, and I had little knowledge of how long they would preserve or how much time each one would take to brew.
I had no desire to bewitch people—especially not creatures. Nor did I care about fame or glory. My disinterest grew, until Snape uttered his final words.
My eyes lit up slightly. Put a stopper in death.
That was different. That meant there was a way to keep death's chilling touch from taking Valdemar or Abarrane. I refused to let that haunting image—the one that still lurked in the back of my mind—become reality again.
The corner of Snape's mouth twitched ever so slightly upward before he returned to his usual scowl, shifting his gaze to another student.
"Then again… there may be some of you who possess abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough to not 'pay' 'attention!'"
He emphasized the last words, snapping my attention toward the student in question. Hermione shook Potter's shoulder, causing him to drop his quill and look up, only to meet Snape's withering gaze.
Snape's robes billowed slightly as he stalked toward Potter.
"Mr. Potter… our new celebrity. Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Hermione's hand shot up instantly, her arm trembling slightly with the eagerness to answer. Meanwhile, Potter shrank slightly into his seat, clearly unsure.
"You don't know?" Snape asked, his tone filled with disdain.
Potter shook his head quietly, confirming Snape's suspicion.
Surprisingly, Snape's eyes then fell on me.
"Mr. Peterson?"
I blinked, confused that he would call on me instead of Hermione, who was nearly begging to be chosen. I quickly shook off my surprise and considered the answer.
"I don't have enough information to make a completely accurate response," I began carefully, "but I know that powdered root of asphodel can affect the drinker's energy. It's most likely used for Vitamix, but it may also be part of a potion that induces a terrifyingly deep sleep."
The last part was conjecture, but I was familiar with the properties of basic potion-making, thanks to my father's influence. Even though I hadn't been interested in the subject, being surrounded by potion books at home had left some knowledge ingrained. I wasn't exaggerating about the potential danger of such a potion. If combined with an already potent sleeping draught, it could leave the drinker comatose for who knew how long.
A single clap from Snape drew me from my thoughts.
"A correct answer, Mr. Peterson. Five points to Slytherin."
Draco smiled and gave me a congratulatory pat on the back, while the other Slytherins whispered their compliments.
Snape turned back to Potter, clearly eager to continue humiliating him.
"Let's… try again, Mr. Potter. Where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"
Potter shook his head silently once more, while Hermione strained her hand even higher into the air.
"Mr. Peterson?"
Snape called on me again. This time, I genuinely knew the answer—it involved animals and magical creatures, subjects I was more familiar with, though the bezoar's origin was admittedly disgusting.
"The stomach of a goat," I answered confidently.
Snape gave a curt nod, barely sparing me a glance.
"Correct again, Mr. Peterson. Five more points to Slytherin."
The Gryffindors were clearly displeased with Snape's favoritism, but he seemed indifferent, content to lower Potter's status.
"Pity… clearly, fame isn't everything, is it, Mr. Potter?"
Pansy kept glancing at me as I scribbled down notes in my potions book. After witnessing my unexpected knowledge of obscure potion ingredients, she seemed to be reevaluating me. Was he somehow collaborating with Snape? she wondered.
Could they be working together—asking bizarre, specific questions to boost his influence in the dorm?
The thought had merit. It would explain a lot. Still, Pansy knew it was only speculation. She had no proof—only theories.
I have to investigate faster.
After diligently taking notes, suddenly far more interested in potions than before, class was dismissed.
As the students filed out, Snape remained silent, scribbling on a piece of parchment.
"Mr. Peterson, if you could stay for a moment?" he requested, his eyes still fixed on his work.
I froze slightly but left my things at my desk.
"I can take those back to your room for you," Pansy offered, lingering behind the rest of the class as they headed to the dorms to drop off their cauldrons.
I hesitated for a moment before giving a curt nod. At the very least, I need fake friends in Slytherin.
"Very well. Thank you," I said dismissively before walking toward Snape's desk.
He continued writing as I stood in front of him, waiting patiently, recalling my mother's etiquette lessons about not interrupting when someone was working.
Finally, he set down his quill and fixed his dark eyes on me. He was silent for a moment, scrutinizing me, before speaking.
"Why are you most interested in stopping death, Mr. Peterson?"
I was surprised by how easily he saw through me and wondered why he was so curious. Wouldn't everyone want to stop death?
"I don't want things important to me to die before their time," I replied carefully.
Snape narrowed his eyes slightly, a flicker of hostility passing over his features, before his expression returned to its usual stern scowl.
"Very well. You may leave now."
I did as instructed, heading for my next class. However, just as I reached the doorway, I paused. My mouth moved faster than my mind, voicing the question that burned in my chest.
"Can you really teach me to stave off death?"
The room was deathly silent for a moment. I felt a chill in the air as Snape's voice cut through it.
"I say nothing that isn't truth. Now, go."
He sounded more agitated this time, so I left without another word. Yet as I walked to my next class, I felt a new determination stirring in me.
I had to learn more about potions. I had to protect Val and Abarrane—from everything. Even death itself.