Hogwarts: Through the Veil of Time

"You are not particularly courageous either," Severus remarked with a grin, finishing the remaining firewhiskey in his glass. Lucius, having completed his drink, summoned the bottle with a flick of his wand, rectifying the unfortunate state of empty glasses.

"I prudently avoid unnecessarily challenging situations. Fudge is terrified of his own shadow. He is so fearful that Sirius might tarnish his reputation and that of the Ministry that he would be willing to eliminate him on the spot, without a trial. Under the pretense of pursuing Potter, he has unleashed those wretched creatures upon Hogwarts and refuses to exchange them for Aurors, regardless of any monetary compensation, services, or promises."

"After all, people are prone to gossip, and Merlin forbid they begin conversing with Black."

"Precisely. I would appreciate it if you could convey my urgent request to Draco. He must not entertain the idea of wandering the castle alone or even in a small group."

At this point, Lucius appeared to recall something and regarded the potion maker with a sly smile. "I have heard that you were seen conversing with a certain lady in Diagon Alley."

"Are you surprised that I am capable of conversation? And is our current dialogue merely a product of an alcohol-fueled mind?"

"He conversed for an unusually long time, even feigning something more than a grin, yet less than a smile. Pray tell me…"

Another school day—soon I shall finally acclimate to the routine and cease counting them.

The standard procedures of exercise and washing proceeded without incident, and upon my return to our room, the others were already fully awake—the alarm clock works wonders.

Breakfast in the Great Hall, amidst friendly company, was punctuated by discussions regarding upcoming classes, accompanied by the eagerness of classmates to swiftly return to club activities.

"What clubs are available at Hogwarts?" I inquired, surprising everyone with my enthusiasm for consuming porridge with raisins.

"Well, there aren't many," Justin replied with a shrug, prompting the girls to feign indignation.

"Hey, what do you mean 'not many'?"

"Isn't that right, Hannah?"

"Of course! In addition to clubs for every subject except Potions, there is a choir supervised by Professor Flitwick, a dance club—though it exclusively features classical music—and a chess club. Are you familiar with wizard chess?"

"I observed them playing in the common room," I nodded. "However, I did not pay much attention to it. Chess, in general, is familiar and comprehensible to me."

"The rules are the same," Hannah affirmed with a smile. "Only the pieces are enchanted and animated. The most sophisticated sets even possess behavioral models, sometimes quite advanced. Naturally, chess sets vary in materials, designs, and intricate behavioral matrices."

"You articulate so well that it is difficult to cease listening," Ernie's friendly teasing elicited an equally warm smile from Hannah in response.

"It simply sticks in one's memory when one reads descriptions in store catalogs and examines the accompanying images."

"Do they move on their own?" I continued the conversation, finishing the juice in my glass.

"Well, yes," the girl nodded. "They can, should they deem the player incompetent or lacking in self-confidence. They may offer advice, negotiate, and engage in various intrigues."

"And there are also various handicrafts," Susan added with enthusiasm, albeit slightly embarrassed.

"You might as well remind me about the Gobstones Club," Ernie chuckled.

"What? I enjoy crafting. It relaxes me."

"Gobstones?" The absurd name piqued my natural curiosity.

"Ah," Justin waved his hand dismissively. "It's a rather silly game, in my opinion."

"But, but," Zakhary, who had not actively participated in the conversation, protested. "It is a splendid game, and most importantly, it is beneficial."

"And odorous," the girls grimaced in unison.

"It serves as an incentive to succeed," Zachary nodded importantly. "My uncle adores Gobstones and has little regard for Quidditch players."

"And what do you intend to pursue?" I inquired, looking at the young man.

"Quidditch, of course."

Zachariah's response elicited laughter from the boys, and after our amusement subsided, we gathered our belongings and proceeded to the dungeons for Potions. The morning was upon us. Were my colleagues aggrieved? Certainly. Not by the Potions themselves, but by the fact that, due to the Dementors, the classes were conducted alongside Gryffindor, and Snape exhibited an unsettling reaction to them, rendering the lesson tense and mentally taxing—Snape flitted about the students like a black raven, instilling fear with his mere presence. The boys understood rationally that they were not in danger beyond a verbal reprimand, yet they remained anxious and apprehensive.

To the relief of many, Snape chose not to display his ill temper in the morning—there was a recipe on the board, along with references to useful material in the textbook and additional literature, which, surprisingly, almost no one possessed. That was it—prepare the potion.

What could be simpler than preparing the ingredients according to the instructions and subsequently adding them to the cauldron while performing all the necessary actions? Of course, this task is not particularly difficult, although it demands attention and concentration—qualities I demonstrated while cutting, chopping, and crushing various roots, leaves, peels, and other components. Yet even in such a straightforward endeavor, there were those who either could not manage or intentionally sabotaged their efforts, regardless of whether it was for experimentation or mischief.

"This is intolerable…" Daphne muttered just above audibility, glancing at the ingredients I had provided.

"Is it truly that bad?"

"Better than average, but not sufficient."

I understood why it was highly desirable to prepare the potion collaboratively—one simply would not have enough time alone to sequentially prepare the ingredients and then brew the potion. It could be done in parallel, but that necessitates significantly more experience.

"I have yet to determine how to practice Potions outside of class."

"Conversations, Mr. Granger," Snape's quiet voice emerged from the side, moving silently around the classroom like a shadow.

Naturally, I opted not to provoke him—it would be a futile endeavor. Instead, I returned to the quiet and methodical preparation of the ingredients that the equally composed Daphne utilized for the potion.

"It should turn out splendidly," she nodded, observing the gently bubbling liquid.

"Longbottom!" Snape's quiet yet harsh voice captured the attention of most students. "It appears that even Miss Granger's constant supervision of your actions is insufficient to rectify your remarkable ability to transform a decent-looking potion into a substance of mass destruction with a single deft movement."

With a flick of his wand, Snape cleared the contents of Longbottom's cauldron, which had begun to exhibit suspicious activity, attempting to escape and crawl away as far as possible.

"Mr. Finnigan," Snape found another target after taking just a few steps. "Why do I see you at the cauldron rather than at the chopping board?"

Seamus Finnigan, I believe that was the name of the young Irishman with short, somewhat unruly brown hair, regarded the professor with indignation.

"I believe I made it clear, Mr. Finnigan, that you were not to approach the cauldron during the active cooking phase. What part of 'keep away from the cauldron' eludes your understanding?"

"None, sir."

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