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Chapter 27 — Potions, DADA and Astronomy
Breakfast in the Great Hall feels unusually loud that morning, not because anyone is shouting, but because every conversation carries the same nervous edge. Before I even sit down, I hear students whispering frantically about Professor Snape. Some insist he can read your mind as easily as reading a grocery list. Others claim he once turned a student's hair green for breathing too loudly. A first-year swears she heard he transformed a whole class into flobberworms for talking during a lecture. I am fairly certain none of this is true, but the crowd around the Hufflepuff table seems determined to terrify itself.
I take my seat quietly and begin stirring my porridge. Jack, looking half-awake, drops down beside me with a sigh heavy enough to flatten a pillow. Corin and Brookshire join us a moment later. The four of us exchange looks that say everything: today is Potions, and no one feels ready for it. I should probably be as anxious as everyone else, but a calm sits in me like a well-kept secret. There is no reason for me to fear Snape, though I will never mention that to the others.
A memory drifts into my thoughts about our previous dealings. First, at the time of Lily and James's farewell, when Snape helped us to see them for a last time. And later, just last year, when I sought his assistance privately. He questioned me but never hesitated. He simply helped. He is sharp and mean but that is just a mask for the world. He has even kept it secret for all I know about him, which I am quite sure as it concerns Lily's son.
Breakfast disappears from the plates, and the hall begins to empty. We gather our things and walk toward the dungeons together. The deeper we descend, the colder and stiller the air becomes, until sound feels like something we should avoid disturbing. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students are already clustered outside the Potions classroom. No one stands still; they shift from foot to foot, whispering as if the stones themselves might be listening.
Jack leans close to me and asks, "He can't be as bad as they say… right?"
Corin gives him a helpless shrug. Brookshire mutters something about rewriting his will. I simply tell them, "We'll know soon enough."
Before anyone can add to their panic, the classroom door swings open on its own.
A soft but commanding voice calls out, "Enter."
We step inside. The room is dim, its ceiling low enough to make the space feel heavier. Shelves filled with jars line the walls. Their contents float, curl, or twitch in ways I would prefer not to examine closely. The air holds the scent of damp stone, sharp herbs, and something metallic that lingers at the back of the tongue.
Professor Severus Snape swept into the room like a cold wind. His black robes trailed behind him, moving without sound. He reached the front desk, turned sharply, and looked out over us with those dark, unreadable eyes.
"Welcome to Potions," he says, his voice steady but cold.
No one moves.
"There will be no foolish wand-waving," he begins, the line sharp and familiar, "or silly incantations in this class. Many of you will find it difficult to believe that what we do here is magic at all. I will teach you the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. I can teach you to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you are not the usual dunderheads I am forced to teach."
He lets the silence stretch before adding, "If you prove capable."
He flicks his wand, and the blackboard fills with his instructions, "Today you will attempt a simple starter: the Cure for Boils." These were not the same ones from the textbook. The Boil-Cure Potion sits neatly at the top of the list, its ingredients and steps written with the precision of someone who expects perfection.
Someone behind me whispers, "These steps are little different than the book."
I reply quietly, "He's a Master Potioneer. He uses his own methods."
Snape's attention snaps toward me so sharply it feels like a gust of cold air. "Correct, Mr. Dursley," he says, "though your commentary was unnecessary."
A few students let out nervous sounds, somewhere between laughter and panic.
"Pair up," Snape instructs. "One cauldron per two."
Corin and I take the front-right table. Jack and Brookshire settle in behind us. Soon the room fills with the sounds of chopping, grinding, and bubbling. It is surprisingly calming once everyone begins working. Corin focuses on chopping snake fangs, while I crush dried nettles into powder. We move in quiet rhythm, glancing at the board every few seconds to ensure we follow Snape's precise order.
Snape circles the room like a storm cloud, silent and unpredictable. He stops beside Beatrice Haywood, who freezes under his gaze.
"Miss Haywood," he says, "does the instructions tell you to shred the porcupine quills before adding them?"
She shakes her head. "No, Professor."
"Then begin again without the theatrics."
Her cheeks redden as she nods and restarts her potion.
A few minutes later, he inspects Priya Chowdhary's cauldron. "Miss Chowdhary," he says, "your mixture is so thin it may attempt to escape. Fix it immediately."
Priya apologizes frantically and tries to thicken her brew.
I keep stirring ours, watching the color shift carefully. Eventually, the potion turns the warm orange we want. Corin gives me a small, relieved smile.
Snape appears behind us without any warning. He peers into the cauldron and says in his usual tone, "Acceptable. Barely. One point to Hufflepuff."
Corin beams openly while I tried to hide my smile.
Class ends with Snape snapping his book shut. "Bring your samples to the front. Clean your tables. And please try to avoid injuring yourselves on the way out."
We bottle our potion and leave the dungeon. The corridor outside feels pleasantly bright, as if we have escaped a storm.
After lunch, the four of us spend an hour in the library reading ahead for tomorrow. The quiet settles our nerves.
---
The next morning brings Defence Against the Dark Arts, and the classroom feels completely different from the dungeon—warm, sunlit, and open. Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw sit together again, but instead of tension, there is an easy curiosity in the air.
Professor Eldric Thorn stands at the front of the room. He is tall, composed, and carries himself with the sort of calm that makes other people straighten their backs without realizing it. There are faint streaks of silver in his hair, which somehow make him look wise rather than old.
"Good morning," he says with a welcoming smile. "I am aware of the rumors surrounding this position. I intend to remain here longer than my predecessors."
A laugh ripples across the room.
He launches into a clear explanation of dark creatures—what they are, how they behave, and how to recognize danger before it becomes a real threat. His tone is steady and patient, never dramatic. Afterward, he guides us through basic defensive stances, teaching us how to hold our wands correctly and how to keep our balance.
At one point, Gabriel Iglesias loses his footing and nearly topples over. Thorn chuckles gently and says, "Feet first, wand second, Mr. Iglesias."
The lesson passes smoothly, and it is almost relaxing. No surprises, no explosions, and no shouting. When the bell rings, Thorn reminds us to bring our textbooks next time for simple defensive spellwork.
We leave the classroom chatting quietly, pleasantly surprised by how calm the lesson felt.
---
Night brings us to the Astronomy Tower. The air is crisp, and the sky looks impossibly wide. Lanterns glow softly around the platform, casting warm halos that contrast with the cool night. Students huddle together for warmth as they gather their star charts.
Professor Sinestra gestures gracefully toward the heavens. "Tonight, we will track the motion of Mars and observe changes in its brightness. Please mark your charts carefully."
Mars shines boldly against the dark sky, small but determined. I sketch its position in slow, deliberate strokes. Corin squints at the stars, tilting his head dramatically as he tries to match the angles. Jack mutters that his fingers might freeze off. Brookshire insists he can identify every constellation and points them out with far too much enthusiasm.
Sinestra moves gently among us, her presence calm and encouraging. When she stops near my chart, she nods approvingly. "Good work. Keep your lines steady. Astronomy requires patience, not speed."
As the hour passes, the tower fills with soft whispers and the faint scratching of quills. The moon drifts higher, and the cold nips at our cheeks, but none of us seem to mind. There is something peaceful about watching the sky together.
By the time we descend the long staircase back into the castle, my eyelids feel heavy in the most comforting way. It is a tiredness that settles warmly, reminding me I am living the life I have dreamed about for years.
When we reach the common room, the fire still glows in the hearth. I sit near it for a moment, letting the warmth soak into my hands before heading to bed. It has been a long day, but a good one.
End of Chapter 27 — Potions, DADA and Astronomy