HP: Pure-Blood Glory

Luke sat in the dim and cold Potions classroom. The shelves around were lined with specimens of magical and non-magical creatures, all preserved in jars, adding a rather lifeless atmosphere to the room.

The classroom smelled strange. Any hope of fresh air or a pleasant aroma of herbs was out of the question.

There was a musty scent mixed with something unidentifiable—it was not a pleasant environment.

"What's wrong?"

Taylor asked, looking at Luke curiously.

Luke took a deep breath and shook his head. "I'm not good at Potions. Apart from memorizing recipes and procedures, I'm not good at much else."

Taylor smiled at his honest yet helpless expression, covering her mouth to stifle her laughter.

"It's fine. I'm fairly good at Potions. If we're working in pairs, I'll help you out."

Luke glanced at Taylor, a bit surprised, but quickly relaxed. Of course, it made sense. Kids from wizarding families often had a natural talent for Potions. Even if they weren't as gifted as Snape, regular practice usually ensured they were competent.

While Luke and Taylor were chatting, Snape suddenly pushed open the door and strode into the classroom, his cloak billowing behind him like bat wings.

"There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class. As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making. However, for those select few... Who possess, the predisposition... I can teach you how 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-[notices Harry scribbling on his paper]

Then again, maybe some of you have come to Hogwarts in possession of abilities so formidable that you feel confident enough to not pay attention!"

He walked forward as he spoke, and as he finished his last sentence, he reached the front of the classroom. Spinning sharply, he surveyed the students with a cold indifferent gaze.

Luke thought Snape was really pushing his image to the max.

Of course, if only his hair didn't reflect the light, he'd be even more imposing.

But the young witches and wizards, already intimidated, certainly didn't care about such small details.

The Slytherins looked at their Head of House with a hint of admiration, and even the Gryffindors had to admit that, of all the teachers so far, Snape had the most commanding presence—even if he didn't seem particularly friendly.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

His sharp, knife-like gaze was fixed on Harry, who looked completely lost. Meanwhile, Hermione had her hand raised high, eager to answer.

Luke, noticing the situation, let out a soft cough.

Hermione glanced at him, and after seeing his silent signal, she lowered her hand.

"Do you have a sore throat, Mr. Gaunt?"

Snape asked, his words sounding like concern, but with a chilling undertone that made it feel more like he was addressing someone already dead.

"Apologies, Professor, I do have a slight discomfort"

Luke replied, straightening up with an apologetic expression.

Snape stared at Luke for a long moment before saying, "If needed, you may visit Madam Pomfrey."

"I will, if necessary, Professor"

Luke responded politely.

He had expected that his interruption would stop Snape from testing Harry further, but to his surprise, Snape was quite persistent.

After finishing his exchange with Luke, Snape turned back to Harry.

"I don't know, sir," said Harry.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer.

"Tut, tut-fame clearly isn't everything."

Even someone who wasn't particularly observant could see that Snape had it out for Harry.

Harry, on the other hand, had no idea why Snape held such hostility toward him, and he now looked a aggrieved.

"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Hermione looked like she was itching to answer, but Luke's earlier glance had stopped her. Now that she wasn't overcome by her desire to respond, Hermione could sense that something was off with Snape.

What was he trying to do? And why?

Harry searched his mind for an answer but came up empty.

"I don't know, sir," he repeated.

Some of the Slytherins, like Malfoy, looked like they wanted to laugh. However, seeing Luke's indifferent expression, they held back their urge to mock Harry and instead adopted similarly cool expressions.

The Slytherin students, refraining from openly laughing, briefly chuckled but then seriously considered Snape's questions.

Meanwhile, a few Gryffindors who had started to laugh quickly fell silent, sensing the heavy atmosphere in the room.

Snape narrowed his eyes. The class atmosphere was a bit beyond his expectations, and he found himself glancing at Luke again.

Could Filius have been right?

Snape scrutinized Luke for a moment before turning back to Harry. "One last question, Potter."

Without anyone mocking him, Harry managed to summon some resolve, determined to at least try to answer this final question.

"What is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Harry's face fell again, looking defeated.

"I don't know, sir…"

But Snape's gaze was no longer on Harry. It had shifted to Luke, as if he was trying to figure something out about him.

Luke, however, paid no mind to Snape's stare. His focus remained on Harry.

To be honest, Luke had heard countless interpretations about these three questions in his past life. Some said they foreshadowed future events, like how a bezoar would later save Ron's life.

Others speculated that the questions hinted at Snape's unresolved feelings about Harry's mother.

And of course, some believed Snape was simply bullying Harry.

Luke thought all these theories had merit. But now, faced with Snape directly, Luke felt that only Snape himself truly knew the answers—or if there even were deeper meanings.

"What a pity, Potter," Snape said coldly. "Well then, Mr. Gaunt, why don't you stand and share your insights?"

Luke furrowed his brow for a brief moment but quickly relaxed. These three questions were ones he had heard many times before. Even if Snape picked something new from the textbook, Luke was confident he could answer.

"For the first question, the answer is Draught of Living Death, also known as the Sleeping Death potion. It's a powerful sleeping potion. The second answer is, a bezoar, found in the stomach of a goat. And the third answer is that there's no difference between monkshood and wolfsbane; they're both names for aconite."

Snape nodded.

"Slytherin, three points," he said, then turned to Harry and the rest of the class. "Why aren't the rest of you writing this down?!"

The classroom was soon filled with the sound of quills scratching across parchment as the students hurried to take notes.

It was rare to see such focused dedication among first-year students.

Yet despite the scene of intense concentration, Snape seemed a bit frustrated.

He cast a long, thoughtful look at Luke, his mind working on something unknown.

*****

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