The afternoon sunlight had turned pale by the time Cassius descended into the dungeons for Potions.
The air grew cooler with every step, damp and heavy with the earthy scent of moss and old stone.
Torches sputtered fitfully along the corridor, their flames burning green from enchantments that never seemed to die.
Entered the classroom quickly finding himself a seat at the back once more.
The air in the classroom was palpable, but not because of Snape, the professor hadnt arrived yet, instead it was the inborn hatred and rivalry between Griffindor and Slytherin who had the class together.
But before the enmity could spill over, the door opened with a clatter and Professor Snape strode in, robes fluttering behind him like he was a bat.
"There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class."
His words resounding throughout the room as he came to a stop at the lecturn on the raised platform a the front of the room.
"As such, i dont expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making. However for those select few."
His head scanned the room before locking eyes with Cassius.
"Who possess, the predisposition... I can teach you have 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."
His words cut off at this point as his focus shifted to another in the room.
The scratching of quill on parchment being the draw to his focus.
"Ah. Mister Potter, our... new... celebrity."
"Tell me, Potter," Snape said, folding his arms behind his back. "What would I get if I added a lock of hair to an infusion of Peppermint and rose thorns?"
Harry blinked, clearly searching his mind even though nothing regarding potions was there.
"Uh… I don't know, sir."
A few of the Slytherins chuckled.
"Let's try again," Snape went on. "An easier question this time perhaps? What Mr. Potter is primary use for Syrup of Hellebore?"
Silence.
Harry looked lost.
"A… a...?"
Snape's voice was silk and poison. "Evidently, you do not read ahead either."
He paused for effect, his eyes glinting.
"One last chance, then — what do you get if you incorrectly brew Felix Felicis?"
"I—don't know," Harry stammered.
Snape's voice sharpened like a knife.
"Ten points from Slytherin for your lack of preparation."
Gasps filled the air.
The Griffindors snickered behind their hands.
Cassius sat perfectly still, observing.
This was the other face of Severus Snape — the cutting tongue, the cold authority, the fierce expectation of competence.
A man who wielded cruelty not for pleasure, but for precision.
Ok fine he probably enjoyed that as well, to be honest.
Though to be fair to Potter, most of those questions are from 5th year and up.
"Perhaps someone else has managed to open their books," Snape said softly, scanning the room. "Mr. Snape."
Every eye turned toward Cassius.
He met his father's gaze evenly.
"The answer to your first question," Cassius began without hesitation, "Is a love potion capable of ensnaring whomevers hair you brewed the potion with, assuming you could get the target to also consume the potion, as for Syrup of Hellebore" he continued, "that would be a draught of peace. A potion of superior effect to the daught of calming, capable of relieving anxiety and agitation. As for Felix Felicis Professor, brew it wrong and you get a disaster, a potion that would make all your worst nightmares comes true."
A heartbeat of silence followed.
Then Snape's lips curved faintly — a ghost of approval.
"Five points to Draconis," he said.
It was so quiet one could hear the students' collective confusion echo off the dungeon walls.
The Gryffindors gaped.
The Slytherins looked horrified.
Their own Head of House — the famously biased, unyielding Professor Snape — had just rewarded points not to Slytherin, but to his son's house, right after having taken points from Slytherin...
Malfoy looked like he'd swallowed a lemon.
Harry looked murderous.
And Ron, well he just looked jealous.
"Very well," Snape continued as if nothing unusual had happened. "Now, we shall begin with something simple — a Cure for Boils potion, the recipe for which you can find on the board."
The shelves at the back of the room opened with a low hum.
Rows of jars gleamed in the dim light — Snake fangs, Slugs, Mucus, even porcupine quills.
The students surged to their feet, rushing to gather ingredients like a pack of hungry scavengers.
Cassius didn't move.
He sat quietly, letting the crow move away first before standing up and approaching the supplies provided.
As everyone else had pair up and taken a station Cassius was just now collecting ingredient, his senses pushed to the extreme as he felt the magical content of each, only selecting the very best or ones that were within the same range of one another.
A few Slytherins watching from the corner snickered.
"Look at him," whispered Pansy Parkinson. "Afraid to even start. Must not know what he's doing."
Cassius said nothing, just continued to collect his ingredients as Professor Snape had already started to make his rounds causing students to grow uncomfortable and make mistakes under his keen eyes.
Each mistake of course followed by a deduction of house points.
Finally Cassius reached the remaining brewing station, before pulling out his Copper Cauldron, and getting a fire going
He began slowly — grinding, making sure to reduce the snake fangs to their finest point, until the mortar looked like it had fine sand it.
The same treatment and care went into every one of the ingredients he chose.
Once the potion was underway, Cassius using a Self-writing quill recorded everything he saw on the blackboard into a blank notebook, never even bothering to crack his beginners potion book.
Knowing full well that what was taught in the book was not the best way Professor snape had already found better methods decades ago during his school days.
Every motion exact.
Every stir deliberate.
The cauldron before him shimmered from murky green into a clean, soft red.
Snape moved through the aisles, robes whispering.
His sharp eyes scanned each cauldron in turn — scorched, bubbling, wrong hues, wrong textures.
He paused beside Cassius.
Just as the boy lifted his cauldron off the fire, before adding in the final ingredient of porcupine quills, then waving his wand over the cauldron.
A puff of pink smoke rose from the cauldron signifying success.
And Snape lean in to check it out, as Cassius was the first to complete the potion successfully.
The potion was immaculate.
Smooth.
Glassy.
For a long moment, Professor Snape said nothing.
In his mind however he was trying to determine if even he himself could have brewed as good a potion as this child... no his son before him now.
His own reflection shimmered faintly in the potion's surface.
He turned to Cassius.
"Bottle a sample, it's... passable."
Cassius complied, his movements crisp and practiced.
The rest of the potion was taken away by the professor to be given to Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing, after which the cauldron was returned to Cassius for cleaning.
"Five points to Draconis for a successful brewing."
Another silence.
And then — chaos.
The Slytherins erupted in low whispers.
Five more points?
To him?
Cassius inclined his head politely, though the faintest spark of amusement danced in his eyes.
Even he knew what this looked like — favoritism so blatant it would ripple through the school by dinner.
~
"Class dismissed," Snape said curtly. "If i find you havent fully cleaned your workstations when you leave you'll get a weeks detention."
Students scrambled.
Gryffindors muttered bitterly.
Slytherins whispered theories in tight huddles.
Harry stalked past Cassius, jaw clenched, ignoring everything around him.
As Cassius packed away his now cleaned cauldron, he caught his father's gaze once more.
There was no warmth there.
But neither was there indifference.
Just quiet acknowledgment.
As Cassius left the classroom he couldnt help but chuckle at his Simp of a father.
Thinking back to the questions Snape had asked Harry at the start of class.
As it was in the origional works the meaning behind the questions was: He regrets Lily's death.
But this time around instead it could instead mean: I still love lily, with luck she'll be mine, and then i'll finally have peace.