Chapter 68: Truly Can’t Understand You Slytherins

In the blink of an eye, the new school term began as scheduled.

Most students were listless and unmotivated, still lost in the afterglow of the holiday—except for a few academic overachievers like Hermione.

The teachers, however, were much the same as ever, especially Professor Snape, who seemed to be in far better spirits than he had been over the break.

This was evident from the steadily dwindling number of rubies in the Gryffindor hourglass.

But there were exceptions.

During the first Potions class after the holiday, under Snape’s watchful eye, Harry skillfully completed a cauldron of potion.

"Not bad potion-making skills," Professor Snape remarked from behind him.

Harry turned, feeling a slight discomfort in his shoulder. He reached up with his other hand to rub it, his face partially obscured by his arm, leaving only a pair of green eyes visible.

Was it an illusion, or did Snape’s expression soften—perhaps even show a trace of satisfaction?

“Three points to Gryffindor for your potion skills,” Snape declared.

Ron, seated nearby, gawked in shock before his eyes quickly narrowed.

Merlin’s socks! Snape… gave points to Gryffindor?!

What in bloody hell? Had the sun risen in the west today?

He stole a glance upward, wondering if Snape had, by some miracle, washed his hair that morning.

No such luck. The greasy strands remained as unkempt as ever, perfectly matching his usual demeanor.

Draco Malfoy’s expression darkened. He sneered but said nothing.

By lunchtime, all of Gryffindor was buzzing about this unprecedented event.

“My word, Snape actually gave us points!” Ron exclaimed, still incredulous. “Merlin knows Gryffindor hasn’t earned a single point in Potions since he became a professor!”

“Forget about Snape for a second!” Hermione whispered urgently. “Before the holiday, I asked you two to find out what Fluffy is guarding. Don’t tell me you spent the entire break with nothing to show for it!”

Had Snape not been mentioned just now, she might have forgotten about the matter entirely.

“Uh…” Ron hesitated, suddenly at a loss for words. Over the holiday, aside from staying at the Grangers’ house, he’d been preoccupied with devouring extra drumsticks and playing wizard chess.

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As for finding out what Fluffy was guarding… that had completely slipped his mind.

Come on, I barely had any free time before the holiday. Was I supposed to have none during it either? What kind of break would that be?

“What about you, Harry?” Hermione turned to him expectantly.

Harry cleared his throat. Over the holiday, he had been engrossed in reading Cassandra’s notes—or perhaps her diary—and hadn’t given Fluffy much thought.

But in a pinch, inspiration struck.

“Remember how Dumbledore mentioned that room on the fourth floor at the start of the school year?” Harry said in a low voice. “If my guess is correct, that abandoned classroom must be where Fluffy is.”

“How can you be so sure?” Hermione frowned.

Meeting her skeptical gaze, Harry replied evenly, “Because it’s the one place Dumbledore expressly forbade us from visiting. Either way, we’ll know for sure if we check it out.”

“No way,” Hermione said, pursing her lips. “You know it’s strictly off-limits. I’m not getting expelled just because of your hunch.”

“She’s right, Harry,” Ron added in a hushed voice. “Dumbledore must have his reasons.”

“Yeah,” Harry conceded, dropping the subject. He didn’t want to drag his friends into anything dangerous anyway.

He’d wait until his next detention with Snape—then, he’d sneak off to investigate alone.

As long as he protected the Philosopher’s Stone, he could borrow it from Flamel over the summer, and everything would be fine.

By then, he would be able to enter the Chamber of Secrets without issue.

“At least you’ve got it easier now,” Ron said. “Snape won’t be as hard on you during detention. That photo really worked wonders.”

“What photo?” Hermione asked, puzzled.

“Harry’s aunt sent him a few pictures of his mum from her school days. One of them was a photo of her with Snape,” Ron explained. “Harry picked that one and gave it to him as a gift. Got a vial of Felix Felicis in return.”

“It seems your hunch was right, Harry,” Hermione admitted, though she was still curious. “But why was there a photo of your mum with Snape, but not one with your dad and Snape?”

“No idea,” Harry said with a shrug. “Maybe the ones with my dad and Snape are hidden somewhere else.”

“That must be it,” Ron agreed. “Snape must’ve been pretty touched to get that photo.”

Indeed, he had been.

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That evening, when Harry arrived at Snape’s underground office for detention, the professor didn’t make him handle unpleasant potion ingredients as usual. Instead, he had him brew a potion.

“Thunderbrew,” Snape drawled in his slow, silky tone. “When thrown, it conjures a lightning storm to strike your enemies. The recipe, by the way, was…”

Snape hesitated mid-sentence.

“What is it, Professor?” Harry asked.

“…Discovered by your mother in a lost text,” Snape said, his voice unexpectedly gentle. “With your potion skills, I suppose you’re ready to learn it.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry replied dutifully, though he thought to himself: We used Thunderbrew all the time back then…

It had been Gareth’s favorite potion, the ingredients frequently pilfered from Professor Sharp’s stores.

But the true master of Thunderbrew had been Cassandra.

The Malfoys certainly lived up to their reputation as a platinum-tier family. Cassandra’s supply of Thunderbrew had seemed endless—no one quite knew how many magical items her tiny pouch could hold.

“Two ounces of leech juice, two shriveled fig fruits, and three and one-third ounces of corpse stench,” Snape dictated slowly. “Typically, corpse stench can be found on wights. But I wouldn’t recommend you face those creatures at your age—after all, wights aren’t something a young troll like you could handle.”

“Understood, Professor,” Harry replied, deliberately ignoring the “young troll” comment.

After demonstrating the proper brewing technique, Snape dismissed him unceremoniously.

When Harry stepped out of the office, a freshly brewed vial of Thunderbrew was clutched in his hands.

Truly can’t understand you Slytherins, Harry thought.

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