𝗦𝗰𝗮𝗿-𝗖𝗿𝗼𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀 - 𝗬𝗲𝗮𝗿 𝗢𝗻𝗲

5 | Potions

Your P.O.V.

We're all sitting in potions, chatting.

Suddenly, Snape marches in and the room goes dead silent.

"There will be no foolish wand waving or silly incantations in this class," Snape says harshly. "As such... I don't expect many of you to enjoy the subtle science and exact art that is potion making. However," he glances at Malfoy who is now wearing a satisfied smirk, "for those select few who possess the predisposition..."

More commonly known as the students of Slytherin, I think.

"I can teach you 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." Malfoy raises his eyebrows.

I glance back at Potter who's taking notes.

My fingers are itching to do the same, but I know breathing too loud while Snape's talking is practically a death sentence.

"Then again... maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of such formidable abilities that you feel confident enough to not. Pay. Attention!"

Hermione nudges Potter and he looks up.

He's dead.

"Mr. Potter, our new celebrity. Tell me, what would I get if I added a powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" he asks.

Hermione's hand shoots up and so does mine, even though I know he won't let anyone but Potter reply.

It makes the Draught of Living Death, I think. Simple.

Of course, if I want to over analyze, it can also mean "I bitterly regret Lily's death."

But who's Lily?

Potter stays silent. "You don't know? Well, let's try again. Where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"

Mine and Hermione's hands shoot up again.

"I don't know, Sir," Potter replies.

"And what is the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?"

C'mon, Potter! You must know this!

"I don't know, Sir," he says again.

Honestly, the poor boy's clueless.

"Pity," Snape says. "Clearly, fame isn't everything, is it, Mr. Potter?"

He's going to kill me, but I can't just sit here. I've got to do something.

"He never said it was, Sir," I say calmly.

Malfoy snickers, knowing I'm dead, and Hermione gasps.

"Excuse me, Miss Roberts?"

Harry's P.O.V.

What is she doing?

"Excuse me, Miss Roberts?" Snape walks closer to (y/n) and his lips curl into a snarl.

"He never said fame is everything," (y/n) repeats. "In fact, if you look closer, I think you'll find Harry was taking notes."

"Miss Roberts, since when is it your business what other students are doing during class?" Snape asks. I can see the hatred in his eyes.

"Since you started picking on innocent children for doing the right thing," (y/n) says, her temper rising. "Isn't it your job to make sure we get a good education?"

How is she still alive?

"(Y/n) Roberts, I suggest you shut your know-it-all mouth before I do it for you!" Snape yells.