"Everyone, pay close attention!" boomed Professor Slughorn, after wrapping up a lengthy explanation of Golpalott's Third Law. "Each of you come up to the desk and collect a vial. You are to brew an antidote to the contents before the end of class. Good luck—and don't forget your protective gloves!"
The students stood and rushed forward in a clatter of boots and whispers.
Snape approached the desk calmly, plucked a vial from the tray, uncorked it, and poured the vivid bluish-purple liquid into his cauldron. With a sharp flick of his wand, a cool blue flame sprang to life beneath the cauldron.
He began muttering the incantation for Scarpin's Revelaspell. As the spell took hold, ghostly shadows of individual ingredients began to separate themselves within the mixture, flickering just beneath the surface. With intense focus, Snape scrutinized the reactions, systematically dissecting the brew's complex layers to isolate its concealed components.
When Slughorn made his first circuit of the classroom and glanced into Snape's cauldron, his eyebrows rose in visible awe. But the admiration vanished as quickly as it came, and he moved along, hands clasped behind his back, face once more stern.
"You fallen from grace?" drawled Ebor, who had already vanished the sulfurous mess in his own cauldron and now loitered idly, glancing around. "Old Snot Snout didn't even give you a pat on the head."
"Show some sympathy for the elderly, Ebor," Snape replied without looking up, still waving his wand in precise arcs above the cauldron. "It's a miracle he can still teach at all."
Wisps of pale smoke curled upward, carrying with them a surprisingly pleasant aroma. Snape's antidote was nearing completion. Its rich, complex hue hinted at the meticulous care he'd put into balancing all eighty-one ingredients.
"Do you want to actually pass this class?" Snape asked, turning to Ebor. "Fetch a bezoar from the supply cabinet. Slughorn can't resist giving points for that."
"A bezoar?" Ebor frowned. "What's that good for?"
"Merlin's beard," Snape said as he carefully decanted the antidote into a crystal phial. "You read so much and don't know this? A bezoar is a stone taken from a goat's stomach—it's a universal antidote."
"You mean like from Magical Drafts and Potions or Advanced Rune Translations?" Ebor scratched the back of his neck, looking sheepish. "I only bought those covers from the school black market. Inside it's all Playwizard Weekly."
"What?" Snape's face twisted in offense. "You've been hoarding a treasure like that all to yourself? And here I thought we were friends."
"Two minutes left, everyone!" Slughorn called out.
"I'll show you the issue when we get back," Ebor promised, sprinting toward the storage cabinet. He flung aside bundles of dried herbs and containers of crushed beetle shells until he found a small cardboard box tucked in the far corner.
Inside were clusters of shriveled, kidney-shaped brown bezoars. Ebor grabbed one and scrambled back to his workstation.
"Time is… up—"
BOOM!
A deafening explosion cut Slughorn off mid-sentence.
Pandora's cauldron had erupted like a geyser, sending scalding potion in every direction. Students shrieked and ducked as droplets of the volatile brew rained down on robes and faces.
"Silence!" Slughorn bellowed, raising his wand.
With a flash of white light, all traces of potion vanished from students, floor, and walls alike.
"Ravenclaw, minus fifty points! Prefects, escort the injured to the Hospital Wing! This lesson is over!"
Slughorn rushed off, supporting a dazed student with one arm, followed by several prefects tending to the wounded.
Snape, Ebor, and Pandora emerged from beneath their table unscathed.
"My points!" Ebor cried, watching the professor vanish through the door.
"That was terrifying," Pandora said, still catching her breath. "Good thing I ducked right away."
"Good thing we saw you duck and followed suit," Snape said, eyeing the shattered remains of her cauldron. "Where did you buy that?"
"It was imported," Pandora explained. "The bottom's a bit thin, but it's way cheaper than domestic ones."
"These cheap imported cauldrons are a menace," Snape muttered, shouldering his satchel as he headed for the door. "But no one's bothered to write a proper report on cauldron-bottom thickness, so you'll just have to keep suffering for it."
Days passed, and February arrived without warning.
Hogwarts began to stir from its winter slumber. The snow melted into budding green shoots, and the grounds grew soft and dry beneath cheerful skies. White clouds rolled lazily across the ceiling of the enchanted great hall, occasionally scattering to reveal swaths of blue.
The weather was improving, and with it came something the sixth-years had been eagerly anticipatin.
The first Apparition class was held right out on the lawns in front of the castle. It had been scheduled on a Saturday morning to avoid interfering with the regular curriculum.
Eager to begin, the sixth-year students had arrived early and gathered within a large circle marked out on the grass with thick white ropes. Outside the circle, a crowd had formed—students from other years, craning their necks and whispering excitedly, curious to witness the elusive and advanced bit of magic in action.
After a few moments, the massive doors of the castle swung open. Out stepped the four Heads of House, flanking a diminutive wizard who must have been the Ministry instructor brought in for the lessons.
As the group approached, the students quickly broke into their House lines, assembling before Professors McGonagall, Slughorn, Flitwick, and Sprout in neat formation.
The visiting wizard looked almost spectral in the morning light. His skin was pallid to the point of translucence, his lashes so pale they were nearly invisible, and his hair was fine and wispy like gossamer. He seemed so delicate it was as though a stiff breeze might lift him straight into the sky.
"Maybe all that Apparating has made him like that," muttered a Gryffindor boy to his mate.
"Or maybe that build's exactly what makes him good at it," his friend replied, adjusting his glasses with a thoughtful frown.
"Good morning," the wizard said once the students were quiet and properly lined up. His voice, though soft, carried surprisingly well across the grounds. "My name is Wilkie Twycross.
"For the next twelve weeks, I will be your Ministry-appointed Apparition Instructor. My task is to prepare you for the official Apparition Test. I sincerely hope that many of you will be ready to sit it by the time we're done."
He paused, letting the anticipation settle. Then he continued, "As I'm sure you've all heard, under ordinary circumstances, Apparition and Disapparition are strictly forbidden on Hogwarts grounds."
Twycross glanced around the circle of attentive faces.
"However, to allow you to practise, the Headmaster has agreed to temporarily lift the protective enchantments—for one hour only, and only within this designated area."
His tone sharpened, suddenly firmer. "Let me be absolutely clear: no one, under any circumstances, is to attempt to Apparate outside the white boundary line. Anyone foolish enough to try it might want to schedule a visit to St Mungo's for a cranial evaluation."