It wasn't just Professor Lupin who felt a vague sense of unease—other professors shared the sentiment as well.
"It's time for class. Why isn't everyone here yet?"
Professor McGonagall stood at the podium, puzzled as she picked up the attendance register and adjusted her glasses to scan the list carefully:
"Mr. Weasley, Mr. Finnigan, Mr. Thomas... Where have they all gone?"
Harry and Neville, as their roommates, both lowered their heads.
Neville's face turned as red as a tomato, as if he were about to explode. He hastily tried to hide the gaming console he was holding within his textbook.
"Mr. Longbottom, do you know where your roommates have gone?" Professor McGonagall asked, frowning.
"Uh... they... uh..." Neville stammered, trembling so much that he looked like he might collapse.
Professor McGonagall gave him a suspicious look before setting down the attendance register.
"Mr. Potter, I believe you might be able to provide me with an explanation."
Harry also began to stutter, though his loyalty to his friends allowed him to speak more fluently than Neville. He quickly came up with an excuse to cover for his roommates:
"It's the flu. It spreads quickly in a dormitory. They've gone to Madam Pomfrey to get medicine."
Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow. It was hard to tell whether she believed him or not.
"Very well. I suppose I'll have to see them next class, then."
The same scenario played out in Professor Flitwick's and Professor Sprout's classes.
As for the elective courses, the attendance was even worse.
Only Professor Snape's class remained fully attended—his reputation for strictness ensured that no one dared skip his lessons. According to Ron, "Even if you've broken an arm or a leg, you'd better crawl into his dungeon!"
Yet even the Potions Master wasn't immune to the chaos caused by the gaming console.
That day, Snape stormed into the classroom, slamming a stack of parchment onto his desk with a resounding thud.
"Everyone whose name I call, stand up."
Though his tone seemed calm, the undertone of suppressed fury was unmistakable.
"Potter, Weasley, Finnigan, Thomas, Longbottom... Stand up. Yes, come to the front."
He rattled off seven or eight Gryffindor names in one breath, without a single pause.
Those whose names were called looked as if they'd been sentenced to execution. They shuffled forward hesitantly, their faces pale as they clung to each other for support, as if this might be the last class of their lives.
"Look at these brilliant minds!" Snape sneered. "Perhaps I should recommend to the Headmaster that you all start over as first-years. What do you think?"
He waved his wand at one of the parchments, enlarging it until it was as tall as a person.
"The famous Mr. Potter—so skilled at writing essays!" Snape announced, holding up Harry's parchment for the entire class to see.
Jane Yu recognized the essay—it had been assigned two weeks ago, on the principles behind the Shrinking Potion, with a required length of twelve inches.
She squinted at the parchment and saw that it was filled with content like this:
[Samuel Plunkett once said that a good Shrinking Potion is the most precious treasure; understanding the essence of the Shrinking Potion allows one to better grasp the field of Potions. Zygmunt Budge also remarked that the Shrinking Potion is far more subtle than many initially believe—it can regress a creature to a younger state. These two pioneers of Potions have inspired wizards, highlighting the potion's significance to the magical world. How does one achieve the shrinking of age? Why does it shrink age rather than increase it? These are profound questions. With these foundational inquiries, this essay aims to explore the key issues surrounding the Shrinking Potion. Solving the problem of age regression is of utmost importance.]
[How exactly should age regression be achieved? What happens if it isn't achieved? What happens if it is? What is the crux of the matter? These questions must be carefully considered. Once the key issue is identified, everything else will fall into place. The Tertius brothers once pondered this question, stating that although they were shrunk to a small size, it gave them a deeper understanding of the potion's essence. With these questions in mind, let's reexamine the Shrinking Potion: why does it shrink age rather than increase it? This is the key issue.]
...
[In conclusion, understanding what the Shrinking Potion truly represents may help wizards uncover why it causes age regression.]
An essay full of words that said absolutely nothing.
Jane couldn't help but feel impressed. She almost wanted to applaud Harry.
He had truly mastered the art of writing nonsense essays after spending half the summer with her!
Unfortunately, the consequence of this "masterpiece of absurdity" was a harsh reprimand from Snape.
"I assume you've all had the pleasure of reading Mr. Potter's magnum opus," Snape drawled, tearing Harry's parchment in half with deliberate disdain. "Utter drivel. I never thought, after so many years of teaching, that I would witness such a travesty defile my classroom."
He tossed the torn parchment to the ground and ground it under his heel.
Harry looked like he wanted to sink into the floor, and Ron, standing beside him, looked just as miserable.
But Snape wasn't about to let Ron off the hook just because his head hung lower than Harry's.
"Mr. Weasley, our savior's loyal sidekick—have you also mastered this technique?"
Snape pulled out Ron's parchment and enlarged it for everyone to see.
"Let us now admire Mr. Weasley's masterpiece—"
Ron's essay had its letters spaced so far apart that it was difficult to recognize them as complete words. The gaps between lines were so wide that they could have fit two bottles of Shrinking Potion. It was a blatant attempt to meet the twelve-inch requirement through formatting alone—a stroke of dubious genius.
Snape continued his scathing commentary, his voice dripping with sarcasm:
"What a clever little trick, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Potter."
"Your touching friendship is truly inspiring," he sneered. "I suppose you'll want to share your detention as well."
He tore Ron's parchment into shreds, letting the pieces fall onto Ron's head like confetti, before delivering his final verdict:
"Since you clearly dislike writing essays, I'm sure you'll enjoy cleaning the castle."
"Report to Filch—one month of detention."
But the trial wasn't over yet. Next came the public humiliation of their roommates, Finnigan, Thomas, and Longbottom.
"Why not use that walnut-sized brain of yours?" Snape sneered. "Especially you, Longbottom—your essay is riddled with spelling mistakes and grammatical errors."
He enlarged the three parchments and let them float in the air. Neville's essay, in particular, was a disaster, with three spelling errors in a single sentence and syntax that barely resembled English.
By now, all five boys at the front of the classroom had their heads hanging so low they nearly touched the floor.
Jane glanced over at the Gryffindor desks and caught sight of Hermione's face, flushed with anger and disbelief. She looked utterly appalled by the quality of the essays, as if she couldn't fathom that such abominations had been written by human hands.
Oddly enough, the Slytherins, who usually reveled in Gryffindor's misfortunes, weren't laughing. Only a few managed faint chuckles, while most wore grim expressions.
Finally, Snape moved on to the punishment phase, and this time, he was particularly ruthless:
"Fifty points... from each of you. I'm sure your classmates will be very proud."
The lesson ended in a heavy atmosphere, but the Slytherins seemed even angrier than the Gryffindors.
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