Hogwarts: Through the Veil of Time

The professor immediately turned around and headed towards the podium. The students had a hard time figuring out who was sitting where. Those who were stunned by such changes and couldn't find a place for themselves looked at the professor with a silent question, and he, like an experienced conductor, with short gestures and glances seated them. In principle, there was no particular mixing of faculties. And in general, as I see, there are quite a few of us - not even thirty people. There were even some empty seats left.

The brunette who sat next to me was clearly and obviously displeased. This was evident at least in the jerky movements with which she took out her textbook, notebook, and parchment scroll. It was good that the inkwell for the pen was already on the table, otherwise the ink would have simply scattered from such movements. In fact, in addition to this, there were cauldrons, cutting boards, silver and wooden tools on a special canvas, wooden and translucent sticks for stirring potions on the table.

"Hector Granger," I introduced myself, only causing a sharp, blue-eyed response from the brunette.

Silence. She sighed imperceptibly.

- Daphne Greengrass. Stay out of my way and do as I say. Everything will be fine.

- Hm. I guess I'll make you very happy, but I've never brewed a potion in my life.

Oh, what a gorgeous look! But from that same look it is clear that she had already thought of this, putting "two and two" together, and the reminder only caused even greater dissatisfaction with the situation.

- So, - the professor began, and everyone immediately fell silent. - I hope that over the summer you learned not only to eat with your head, but also to think with it, which means you noticed small changes. By some unknown, but in principle understandable whim of the headmaster, you were combined into one class. In his opinion, over the past two years you have fully realized the severity of the consequences of not following instructions, and worse, mischief. This especially applies to you, Longbottom, Weasley, Goldstein.

Snape looked at the students he had named with a heavy gaze, and they seemed to be impressed. True, Weasley, it seemed to me, only nodded his red hair like a Chinese dummy.

"If, Merlin forbid," the professor continued, looking between them, "you even try to do something stupid, or because of your stupidity you cannot follow a simple step-by-step instruction, then believe me, it will not end with just washing the cauldrons. Potter!"

The professor's sharp shout made the poor bespectacled man almost drop something from his hands.

- Minus point for Gryffindor.

- But for what, Professor Snape? I didn't do anything!

- For idleness in my class.

Professor Snape, although I now know his last name, glanced around at those present.

— I hasten to please you. From studying the methods of cutting various ingredients and the various sequences of their use through the unsystematic preparation of potions according to the Ministry program, from this year you will move on to studying potions by the types of final effect. The first type is sedatives, sleeping potions and antidotes. Your task for today is to prepare the simplest classic Sleeping Potion and Awakening Potion.

"Two for a lesson?" Weasley said indignantly. "What nonsense."

- Minus one point to Gryffindor, Weasley, for shouting from your seat. Recipes on the board, ingredients in the pantry, get to work.

The professor waved his hand and chalk notes appeared on the board, containing potion recipes. I immediately noticed small differences with the recipes that were written in the textbook.

- Sit down, I'll take it myself. Otherwise you'll make a mess.

Daphne, without waiting for an answer, got up from the table and headed for the pantry, which one of the doors in the office led to. In fact, most of the students headed there. The girl returned rather quickly and laid out two batches of various ingredients on the table, immediately began to do the housework in full swing, arranging the bowls with ingredients in an order known only to her and carefully reading the recipe from the textbook, I could not help but draw her attention to the fact I had noticed.

"There's a slightly different recipe on the board," I whispered quietly, drawing attention to myself.

"I know. The professor always gives out recipes that he has personally revised. I check them, looking for specific changes," she answered dryly.

— The recipes are for the first course.

Daphne looked at me piercingly. It seemed she had already recovered from the professor's obvious set-up.

- It was two years ago. It seems the professor decided to do it instead of a test.

The rest of the work was done in silence. They decided to prepare the potions sequentially, fortunately there was very little time, provided that nothing would be spoiled. The cutting and preparation of the ingredients was divided between the two of them - I pounded all sorts of crap, chopped it up, and Daphne measured it out on the scales and prepared a mixture of herbs for the standard base of sleeping potions and antidotes to them.

What did I understand in the process of preparation? Nothing. Well, that is, the magic from the ingredients somehow mixes and interacts with the material base, changing and forming a substance in the process of preparation that has a strictly defined magical property, and the material component changes in a way that completely contradicts any chemistry. But, nevertheless, from the material I have read, I can say that Potion-making is almost the only discipline that even slightly fits the concept of science. There are clear and unchanging tables of interactions and compatibility of ingredients, the dependence of the reaction on proportions, the order of mixing, the temperature of preparation, etc., and stirring with a special stick or waving a magic wand over a cauldron only saturates the potion with neutral magic to fuel the reaction.

We met the deadline exactly and it is worth noting that not many students completed the assigned task properly. The professor allowed only half of the potions to be assessed, and the remaining dubious products of the young geniuses were rightly rejected at the root. Having poured the samples into the given vials and signed them, we left the class with a clear conscience, and I was immediately dragged away by the guys from the faculty.

"Okay, next class is History of Magic," Zachariah read from the schedule as our small group of six Hufflepuffs walked through the castle corridors. "We can safely skip it."

"What's going on?" I asked a reasonable question.

"Oh, that's not a lesson," Hannah waved it off, but continued, explaining. "History is taught by a ghost. Doesn't mark attendance, quotes the textbook down to the comma. You can just read it."

- So what are we going to do?

"Justin whispered to us that you need spell practice?" Zachariah chimed in again, ruffling his blond hair. "So let's go to some unoccupied classroom."

So we did, collapsing into one of the classrooms on the second floor near the main tower. The unused auditorium was nothing special. Empty and dusty tables with benches, an old chalk board, empty stone walls without a single trace of decoration, slightly dirty windows - that's all you can find in such a room.