Harry Potter and the Cataclysm

"It seems that someone thinks their fame allows them to ignore a professor's lecture," Snape said coldly, his dark, piercing eyes fixed on Harry.

Hermione quickly nudged Harry with her elbow. Harry snapped out of his note-taking trance and looked up, only to meet Snape's cold, scrutinizing gaze.

Here it comes. Carnie had been expecting this moment. His small piece of parchment was ready, eager to fulfill its mission. He didn't bother trying to memorize everything in the book—after all, Snape could ask anything at random, and trying to prepare for every possible question would be futile. But being a modern student had its advantages.

Carnie could already picture Snape's expression—just like during the Sorting Ceremony, when his face twisted at the sight of Harry. Now, that same expression was back.

"Potter," Snape continued in a dangerously soft voice, "what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Carnie smirked inwardly. The first strike of the "Harry Trio Combo."

Harry froze. He had no idea what Snape was talking about.

As expected.

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

Snape's lips curled slightly, as if he had expected no less.

"Well, let's try again, shall we?" Snape drawled, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Potter, where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"

Harry had no idea. His mind raced, but it was useless.

"I… don't know, sir," he admitted again.

Snape's eyes narrowed.

"Really? And what is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Harry desperately wished he had read more of his textbook.

"Er—I don't know," he said, feeling increasingly frustrated.

Snape let the silence hang in the air for a few moments, savoring the discomfort.

"Pity," he said, his voice dripping with disdain. "It seems that fame does not equate to intelligence."

Malfoy and his cronies snickered loudly.

Carnie decided now was the perfect moment.

Raising his hand lazily, he said, "Professor, I know the answers."

Snape turned to him, his expression unreadable. "Do you, Mr. Strann?"

Carnie nodded. "Asphodel and wormwood together make the Draught of Living Death, a powerful sleeping potion. A bezoar is found in the stomach of a goat and is an antidote to most poisons. And monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant; its other name is aconite."

Snape's eyes flashed slightly. He had been expecting the class to remain silent, but this Gryffindor had prepared.

He walked toward Carnie and looked down at him, arms folded. "Correct. However, I did not call on you, did I, Strann?"

Carnie grinned. "No, Professor. But since Potter didn't know, I thought I'd help out a fellow Gryffindor."

A few Gryffindors chuckled quietly.

Snape's expression darkened slightly. "Ten points from Gryffindor for speaking out of turn."

Carnie shrugged. "Worth it."

Some of the students gasped. Speaking like that to Snape was a death sentence.

Snape's lips curled ever so slightly, though it was hard to tell if it was amusement or irritation. He turned away sharply. "Let's see if you can back up that knowledge with your brewing, Strann."

And so, the class moved on to their first potion-making attempt.

As expected, Neville's potion was a disaster. By the time Snape arrived at his cauldron, it was bubbling aggressively and turning a sickly shade of green. Snape sneered.

"Longbottom, you truly are your grandmother's grandson," he said, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "Five points from Gryffindor."

Carnie sighed. Neville had been doomed from the start.

Meanwhile, Carnie had carefully followed the instructions, ensuring his potion turned out as expected. He wasn't about to let Snape find a single fault with his work.

When Snape reached his cauldron, he gave it a slow, evaluating stir. The potion shimmered correctly.

After a long pause, Snape simply muttered, "Acceptable," before moving on.

That was high praise coming from Snape.

By the time class ended, Gryffindor had suffered a few more point deductions—mostly from Snape's selective criticisms—but at least Carnie had avoided any personal losses.

As they left the dungeon, Ron muttered, "I swear, that guy just wakes up every day thinking, 'How can I ruin a Gryffindor's day?'"

Harry sighed. "I should have read the book."

Carnie clapped him on the back. "Don't sweat it, Harry. Snape was always going to hate you. But hey, at least we survived our first week."

Ron groaned. "Barely."

Carnie stretched lazily. "And next week, we have flying lessons. That should be interesting."

The first week had come to an end. Carnie was satisfied with his progress so far. He had improved his magic, successfully pulled off a potion without disaster, and even begun his own strange form of "cultivation."

The road ahead was long, but he had a feeling things were only going to get more interesting.

And if Snape kept being Snape?

Well, that was just another challenge to deal with.