His reputation preceded him—his dark aura, biting insults, and ever-present scowl made every young wizard uneasy in his presence. And under such pressure, mistakes became inevitable.
"I originally thought that not all of you were incompetent," Snape said as he stalked around the classroom, his tone dripping with disdain. "That maybe, just maybe, one or two of you might prove passable. But I didn't expect all of you to be fools and idiots."
Returning to the platform with a dark expression, he delivered his final verdict.
"You could be said to be the worst class I have ever taught."
Ethan almost burst out laughing. Apparently, this kind of berating wasn't exclusive to Muggle teachers; even in the wizarding world, it was a classic line.
By now, the potion ingredients had been properly processed and were already simmering—no, stewing. Most of the hands-on work had been done by Michael, with Ethan assisting. Still, Ethan's talent in potions was undeniable.
Meanwhile, Snape resumed patrolling the classroom, his robes billowing ominously as he moved. He soon arrived at Cassandra's station. A soft pink mist floated above their cauldron, and the potion had transitioned from a cloudy shade to a bright azure. Snape's expression lightened ever so slightly.
Leaning in, he fanned the air above the potion and sniffed carefully.
A charming aroma—of rotten eggs.
"Slytherin, twenty points," Snape announced as he straightened up.
Cassandra shot a triumphant look at Ethan. Her provocation was obvious.
Ethan wasn't surprised. Ever since they met on the Hogwarts Express, he had known Cassandra's personality: proud, competitive, and secretly soft underneath her cold demeanor—a classic tsundere.
If Ethan had truly wanted to finish the boil-curing potion first, he could've done so easily. The process wasn't that difficult. Michael's steps were accurate but far too cautious, which slowed their progress. Still, it didn't matter—it was nearly done.
Sizzle!
Bang!
A loud noise erupted behind Snape—a brewing accident had occurred.
Neville and Seamus, having messed up the order of ingredients, caused their potion to bubble over violently. The cauldron warped, then tipped over as a panicked Neville stumbled.
Neville took the worst of the splash, and Snape—who had his back turned—wasn't spared either.
No one had expected this. Mistakes were one thing—but tipping the whole cauldron?
Chaos exploded in the classroom. The incorrectly brewed potion was corrosive, and students scrambled onto benches to avoid the mess. Neville, meanwhile, was howling in pain as his skin broke out in angry red boils.
"Idiot! Let me guess—you didn't take the cauldron off the fire before adding the porcupine quills, did you?!"
Neville was sobbing uncontrollably, unable to answer. Boils were even swelling on his face.
There wasn't much more Snape could say. The culprit was clearly suffering enough. He sent Seamus to escort Neville to the hospital wing.
In truth, Snape should have been grateful Neville made the mistake. If it had been Seamus, the entire cauldron might have exploded—injuring everyone nearby.
Still seething, Snape redirected his fury at Harry.
"Five points from Gryffindor! For not reminding your partner!"
Harry clenched his fists but said nothing. His resentment toward Snape deepened.
Ethan, thankfully, had been seated further away and was unaffected.
He calmly removed the cauldron from the flame, extinguished the alcohol lamp, added the porcupine quills, and stirred five times clockwise.
With a puff of pink mist, his potion was completed.
At that moment, a notification appeared.
[Potion]
A liquid that makes the heart flutter and clouds the mind. Yes, it's a potion.
Achievement Goal: Brew one potion.
Reward: Random Potion Recipe.
Wait—weren't those energy cubes I made before also potions? Ethan thought. I used a cauldron too.
And this time it was a team effort. Does that still count?
Apparently, it did.
His reward? A recipe for Baruffio's Brain Elixir.
A potion to enhance brainpower. In games, it removed a wrong option during questions. But in the real world? It could improve thinking ability, memory, and spell-learning speed. Even after the potion wore off, anything learned during that time would stay.
A powerful potion indeed.
Even better, the recipe was simple and cheap: just frog brains and oil.
"Thank you, D.H. Shaowei, for the monthly ticket; thank you very much!"
Chapter 39: Harry and Petunia
After class, Harry trudged out like a wilted plant.
"Ethan, I'm sorry," he said glumly. "I dragged you down."
He looked genuinely ashamed. Snape had clearly targeted him, and Ethan had been pulled into it. Fortunately, Ethan had answered the question, so no points were lost.
Harry also felt guilty about the earlier incident with Hermione that cost them a point. Was that his fault too?
"It's not your fault," Ethan said. "It's Snape's."
He almost added, 'The sins of the father are visited upon the son.'
After all, Harry's father had stolen Snape's first love and humiliated him in school.
"I don't know why," Harry muttered, "but from the first time I saw Snape, I felt like he hated me. Especially today—he looked like he wanted to gouge out my eyes."
"He does," Ethan said casually. "You should ask your aunt about it."
"My aunt?" Harry was confused. "What does she have to do with Snape?"
"She might know more than you think."
Snape was once the "freak" Aunt Petunia referred to. They had grown up in the same town. Petunia definitely knew about Snape's feelings for Lily.
"But… they're from totally different worlds. My aunt's a Muggle. Snape's a professor at a magic school."
"But you said it yourself—he hated you before he even knew you. So where did that hatred come from?"
Harry frowned, thinking it through. "From my parents?"
"Exactly," Ethan confirmed. "Your parents were wizards, probably classmates of Snape. If there's a grudge, it likely started back then."
"You really think my aunt knows something?"
"Probably. And no one at Hogwarts will tell you the truth. Petunia might be your only lead."
"But… she won't talk to me. She never liked me."
"I get that," Ethan said. "But think about it: she's not your mother. Raising you cost her money and effort, and she got nothing in return. Yet she still raised you instead of sending you to an orphanage."
"But they were awful to me!" Harry protested. "They locked me in a cupboard and spoiled Dudley!"
"You have something they don't—magic. That makes them scared. Maybe even jealous."
Ethan continued, "But even then, they didn't abandon you. Your aunt's sister—your mum—died in a dangerous world. Your aunt knew that, and still took you in."
Harry was silent.
"Anyway," Ethan said, "next time you go home, bring some gifts. Not magical ones—just small things like Chocolate Frogs. Show some appreciation. It might help."
"…Okay. I'll think about it."
"By the way," Harry perked up, "want to visit Hagrid this afternoon?"
"Sure," Ethan said. "Let's go."
Chapter 40: Honest Hagrid
That afternoon, a little before 3 p.m., Ethan met up with Harry and Ron in the entrance hall. Together, they headed across the lawn, around the Black Lake, and toward Hagrid's hut.
A massive crossbow and a pair of rubber boots sat outside the door.
"This is it," Harry said. "Hagrid said he's the only one living out here."
He knocked.
Knock! Knock! Knock!
Inside, they heard a crash, followed by a deep bark.
"Back, Fang! Back!" came Hagrid's booming voice.
A moment later, the door creaked open. Hagrid appeared—disheveled, his beard tangled, and a large black dog held back by a collar.
"Back, Fang!" he repeated, pulling the hound aside.
The trio entered.
Inside was a single room. Hams and pheasants hung from the ceiling. A copper kettle bubbled over the fire. In the corner was a bed covered in a patchwork quilt.
Among the clutter, Ethan's sharp eyes caught unusual details: a white blanket woven from unicorn hair, feathers from Diricawls and Augureys, and huge unidentified fangs.
As expected, Ethan thought. Hogwarts' hidden tycoon indeed. Hagrid's wealth runs deep.