POTIONS AND DEFENSE CLASS "𝖢𝖾𝖽𝗋𝗂𝖼 𝖣𝗂𝗀𝗀𝗈𝗋𝗒'𝗌 𝖽𝖾𝖺𝗍𝗁 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗀𝗂𝖼 𝖺𝖼𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍."
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
—ALEXANDRIA SAT DOWN NEXT TO HER PARTNER— DRACO— WITH A SIGH. "Before we begin today's lesson," said Snape, sweeping over to Harry Potter's desk and staring around at them all, "I think it appropriate to remind you that next June you will be sitting an important examination, during which you will prove how much you have learned about the composition and use of magical potions. Moronic though some of this class undoubtedly are, I expect you to scrape an 'Acceptable' in your OWL, or suffer my... displeasure."
His gaze lingered this time on Neville Longbottom, who gulped.
"After this year, of course, many of you will cease studying with me," Snape went on. "I take only the very best into my NEWT Potions class, which means that some of us will certainly be saying goodbye."
His eyes rested on Harry and his lip curled.
Harry glared back, feeling a grim pleasure at the idea that he would be able to give up Potions after fifth year.
"But we have another year to go before that happy moment of farewell," said Snape softly, "so, whether or not you are intending to attempt NEWT, I advise all of you to concentrate your efforts upon maintaining the high pass level I have come to expect from my OWL students. Today we will be mixing a potion that often comes up at Ordinary Wizarding Level: the Draught of Peace, a potion to calm anxiety and soothe agitation. Be warned: if you are too heavy-handed with the ingredients you will put the drinker into a heavy and sometimes irreversible sleep, so you will need to pay close attention to what you are doing. The ingredients and method are on the blackboard and you will find everything you need—" Snape flicked his wand "—in the store cupboard. You have an hour and a half. Start."
♡
Just as Alexandria and almost all the other students had predicted, Snape could hardly have set them a more difficult, fiddly potion.
The ingredients had to be added to the cauldron in precisely the right order and quantities; the mixture had to be stirred exactly the right number of times, firstly in clockwise, then in anti-clockwise directions; the heat of the flames on which it was simmering had to be lowered to exactly the right level for a specific number of minutes before the final ingredient was added.
It was a good thing that Alexandria had gotten Salazar's love of potion-making, or else she would've surely gotten the potion wrong.
"A light silver vapour should now be rising from your potion," called Snape, with ten minutes left to go.
Harry, who was sweating profusely, looked desperately around the dungeon. His own cauldron was issuing copious amounts of dark grey steam; Ron's was spitting green sparks. Seamus was feverishly prodding the flames at the base of his cauldron with the tip of his wand, as they seemed to be going out. The surface of Hermione's potion, however, was a shimmering mist of silver vapour, and as Snape swept by he looked down his hooked nose at it without comment, which meant he could find nothing to criticise.
