Trelawney turned.
She crossed toward their table, stopping beside Hermione.
"You doubt," she said.
"I think interpreting tea leaves isn't a reliable method of predicting anything," Hermione said.
Trelawney looked at her for a moment.
"You do not possess the Sight, my dear." Her voice stayed soft. "Many brilliant minds are closed to what lies beyond logic. It is simply a limitation."
"With respect," Hermione said, "there's no empirical evidence that—"
"My great-great-grandmother," Trelawney said, cutting across her gently, "was Cassandra Trelawney. One of the most gifted Seers this world has ever known." She straightened slightly.
"Her predictions are documented. Verified. They came to pass exactly as she foresaw." Her eyes moved across Hermione's face.
"Divination is not a theory, child. It does not submit to evidence. It simply is — and it has been long before any of us arrived to question it."
Hermione opened her mouth.
Closed it.
Trelawney held her gaze a moment longer, then moved away.
Victor said nothing this time.
Hermione looked down at the cup in front of her, then pushed it slightly to one side.
"I don't want to agree with her," Victor said, "but some of her predictions are genuine."
Two of them had actually come true. The first was the prophecy about Harry and Voldemort — the one that set everything in motion.
The second was this year: master and servant reunited, which meant Peter Pettigrew finding his way back to Voldemort, and Voldemort returning. Both had landed exactly as she foresaw.
Everything else she did in this classroom was performance. But those two were real, and that was the uncomfortable part.
Hermione's instinct that she was a fraud wasn't wrong. It just wasn't the whole picture.
The afternoon was Potions.
The dungeon was cold as it always was, jars lining the walls, the smell of something burnt underneath everything else. Snape was already at the front when they filed in, robes still, expression flat.
"Settle down," he said, though no one was particularly unsettled.
He moved through the lesson the way he always did — deliberate, unhurried, stopping where he chose. It took approximately four minutes before his attention found Harry and Ron.
"Potter." Snape stopped beside his table. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry hesitated.
"I don't know, sir."
"Clearly." Snape's eyes moved to Ron, who was staring at the desk. "And where would I look if I needed to find a bezoar?"
Ron said nothing useful.
Two years. They'd had two full years in this dungeon, knowing exactly how this went, and had apparently arrived at the same conclusion they always did — that it wouldn't happen to them today. Some things didn't change.
Hermione's hand was up before Snape finished the question. He looked past her.
She kept it up.
"Put your hand down," Snape said, not looking at her. "I did not ask for input from those who cannot contain themselves."
Her hand stayed up another second. Victor reached over and pulled it down without a word.
She exhaled quietly and said nothing.
Snape moved to the front, robes settling around him.
"Today we will be brewing the Shrinking Solution," he said. "The recipe is on page one hundred and eight. You have until the end of class." His eyes moved across the room. "I would not expect spectacular results."
He stepped down from the front and began moving between the tables, hands clasped behind his back.
"The Shrinking Solution is one of the more complex potions you will attempt at this level. Properly brewed, it will reduce the target to its infant form. Incorrectly brewed—" he paused beside Neville's table without looking at him, "—the results will be considerably less controlled."
Neville went slightly pale.
"Shrivelfig must be peeled before use. Rat spleen, leech juice, and caterpillar legs are added in sequence — the sequence matters. The color at completion is a vivid, poisonous green. Anything other than that is wrong."
He moved on, stopping beside Seamus.
"Finnigan." He looked down at the ingredients in front of him.
"I will say this once. This is not your first year, and I have no interest in watching you blast another cauldron across the room." His eyes moved to Seamus's face.
"Try not to explode anything near your face. At the very least, consider your future prospects. No one will marry a man without eyebrows."
A few students kept their heads down.
Seamus said nothing.
"Begin," Snape said, and moved on.
By the end of class most cauldrons held something — just not what they were supposed to. The dungeon smelled worse than when they'd started.
A handful of students had managed the correct vivid green, but the rest ranged from a murky violet to a deep black to colours that had no business coming out of a potion at all.
Snape surveyed the room without expression.
"Now," he said, picking up a vial of violet potion from the nearest table, "you will see what happens when you brew incorrectly."
He crossed to the front where a toad sat on the desk. He tipped the vial in.
The toad melted completely, into a small puddle on the stone.
The room was very still.
"That," Snape said, setting the empty vial down, "is what your incompetence produces." His eyes moved across the cauldrons.
"Most of you have demonstrated today that you have no talent for this whatsoever. I will also add — do not consider using any version of this potion on a human being."
"Even a correctly brewed Shrinking Solution produced by a trained Potions master carries significant risk to a person. It is intended for animals and objects." He paused.
"I trust none of you are foolish enough to require that spelled out further."
Nobody said anything.
"Clean up and get out."
*****
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