Chapter 109

Chapter 109: Snape's Favor

For the rest of Potions class, Professor Snape kept praising Harry's work from time to time, remarking on how thoroughly the snake fangs were crushed and how precisely he weighed the dried nettles.

But Harry was confused. He had only followed the instructions written on the blackboard—there was nothing special about it. In terms of technique, Alexander's work was clearly neater and more precise.

Even Ron, Harry's lab partner, almost added the porcupine quills before removing the cauldron from the fire—a mistake that didn't even earn a comment from Snape.

And that was no small error.

Such a mistake would transform the potion into a corrosive liquid. The reaction would begin with a burst of acidic green smoke, followed by a loud hissing sound. Finally, the entire cauldron would begin to corrode and twist out of shape. If the potion spilled onto the stone floor, it would burn holes through everyone's shoes. Harry and Ron, being right in front of the cauldron, would've been the first to suffer—soaked in the volatile brew, breaking out in painful redness, swelling, and blisters. An entire afternoon in the hospital wing would be guaranteed.

Alexander couldn't help but sigh. This Potions class was boring, and everything was proceeding as expected. The dangerous scene he imagined never came to pass. Aside from Ron's near-miss, Snape's constant presence kept the rest of the students focused. No one dared mess around.

Even Neville, who in another world might have made a critical mistake, was spared from embarrassment. With Snape laser-focused on Harry, and with the added confidence Neville had gained since the start of the year, he managed just fine.

The Hufflepuffs were self-aware: although many failed to add ingredients precisely on time, none made any major blunders.

Thanks to the nightly cooking activities organized by upperclassmen, even Dudley—who in another timeline was a dreadful student—avoided any major mishaps.

Snape truly was a master of Potions. Anyone who might err was either corrected swiftly or harshly warned beforehand. Neville's past failures, Alexander thought, had a lot more to do with Snape's deliberate intimidation than actual incompetence.

It was no surprise, then, why Snape despised Gryffindors. Hufflepuffs may have been slow, but they were diligent and honest. Ravenclaws were arrogant, but generally smart. Slytherins were his own students and rarely caused trouble in class.

Only Gryffindors, with their unyielding bravery, often acted more like reckless daredevils than heroes. They would ignore warnings, take unnecessary risks, and inevitably cause trouble. It was only natural they lost points frequently.

In Snape's eyes, Gryffindors fit a frustrating mold:

> They don't listen when told. They don't understand when they listen. They do it wrong even when they understand. And when they're wrong, they won't admit it. Even if they do, they won't change. If they change, they still won't accept it. And if they don't accept it, there's no point explaining!

While Hermione was preparing ingredients nearby, she suddenly frowned. "Alexander, you're doing it wrong. The book says to stir counterclockwise three times before adding the tentacled slugs."

Alexander shook his head. "Hermione, the stirring isn't just about mixing ingredients—it's to help young witches and wizards focus. It encourages their subconscious to gather magic and guide it into the potion."

He continued calmly, "That's also why we use pewter cauldrons. Among the three common types—pewter, brass, and copper—pewter is the least efficient at brewing. But its slow heating makes it perfect for beginners, who need time to gradually infuse magic into the potion."

As he spoke, the potion he brewed turned the ideal shade of vibrant purple—the exact color described in Magical Drafts and Potions for a proper boil treatment.

Hermione's eyes widened. "That… can't be right. The book…"

"Books are written by wizards, Hermione," Alexander said gently. "And wizards aren't perfect. They make mistakes too."

By the end of class, Snape was still showering Harry with praise, while Alexander remained bewildered. What had Harry done to earn all this attention?

Even Snape didn't realize the full story himself.

As class ended, Snape lingered in the room. He hadn't returned to his office immediately, even though it was only down the corridor.

From the very start, he had disliked the boy—Harry looked too much like his father. Everything, except the eyes.

But this version of Harry hadn't been sorted into Gryffindor, but into Ravenclaw—a house that prized intelligence. He didn't cause trouble, and often kept to himself. Over time, Snape's deep-rooted resentment began to soften.

Later, as Snape browsed through Petunia's memories—fragments left behind from a broken magical bond—and saw the state of Harry's childhood, his heart ached. He realized that Harry's upbringing had been more miserable than his own.

And so, when he looked into Harry's eyes that one time, he couldn't continue reading the class list. He had paused.

Harry's quiet skill with potions reminded him of Lily. Her talent, her grace—Snape could almost feel her presence. Dumbledore's words echoed in his mind:

> "Do you think the dead we loved truly leave us? Do you think that in times of great trouble, they do not return to us, most clearly? Lily lives on in Harry—she protects him still."

"Harry Potter? No… Harry Evans... no… Harry Snape," Severus muttered under his breath.

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Alexander, meanwhile, had other things on his mind—namely, Mrs. Norris.

He adored cats. But not that cat.

Mrs. Norris, Filch's ever-watchful companion, was scrawny, with mottled gray fur and bulbous eyes that glowed in the dark like searchlights.

Worse than her looks was her behavior. Just like Filch, she was a tattle-tale. If a student so much as nudged the line of a school rule, she would silently vanish, only to summon Filch within minutes—no matter how far away he was.

Alexander himself was careful enough to avoid trouble. But Ravenclaw's first-years always traveled in groups. And in a group that size, someone was bound to misstep.

Mrs. Norris never missed it. And soon enough, Filch would appear wheezing through some secret passage, dragging them all into another tedious lecture or corridor cleaning.

He always muttered about locking them in the dungeons. Lately, his usual phrase—"those damn Gryffindor twins"—had been replaced by a new one: "those blasted Ravenclaw first-years."

Alexander was beginning to suspect that Filch's obsession with punishing students was the reason Harry and Ron were avoiding going out lately. With the constant group activities and Filch's targeting of new Ravenclaws, they were often caught in his line of fire.

Sure enough, as Alexander looked down the hallway, he spotted Harry and Ron again—cornered by Filch and Mrs. Norris.

He sighed and rolled his eyes. Here we go again...

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