The afternoon arrived, and Vale descended into the dungeons with measured steps, feeling the air grow colder with each level. The potions classroom smelled of strange herbs and preserved specimens, an aroma that seemed to seep from the very stone walls.
Professor Snape hadn't arrived yet, so, by impulse, he grabbed something on his way to his desk.
This time, Vale chose a seat in the middle of the classroom, giving himself a clear view of both the teacher's desk and his fellow students. The Slytherins clustered together on one side, while Gryffindors filled the opposite half.
Potter entered with Weasley, both looking apprehensive. Vale observed Potter's nervous glances around the room, clearly sensing the hostility emanating from the Slytherin side, refreshed from the lunch just before.
Granger followed shortly after, clutching her potions textbook as if it were a shield. She seemed riled up.
Draco arrived flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, his confidence seemingly restored after his embarrassment in Charms. He sneered at Potter before sliding into the seat directly behind Vale.
"Windrow," Malfoy said, just loud enough for nearby students to hear. "My father says your name isn't on any of the sacred twenty-eight families. Curious, isn't it?"
'Didn't he use this already?' Vale turned slightly, his expression neutral. "I find family trees boring, Malfoy. Talent speaks for itself, and it's clear that… I feel you are lacking."
Nott, sitting nearby, smirked at Vale's response while Parkinson whispered something to Millicent Bulstrode, both glancing nervously in Vale's direction.
The dungeon door banged open and Professor Snape swept in, his black robes billowing behind him.
—Hush!
The room fell instantly silent. Vale noted how Snape's eyes lingered momentarily on him before moving to Potter with unmistakable dislike.
Vale couldn't help but smile. 'Here it comes,'
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," Snape began, his voice barely above a whisper yet carrying to every corner of the room, just like this morning.
"I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses..."
Vale listened intently, recognising the speech from the books but finding it far more compelling in person. He watched Snape's graceful movements, the precise control in every gesture. This was a man who understood power—and the importance of restraint.
Therefore.
The dungeon fell silent as Snape continued his opening speech. Vale watched the professor's movements with calculating interest, noting how the man's presence alone commanded respect—or perhaps fear.
"Potter!" Snape suddenly barked. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"
Harry looked stunned. Hermione's hand shot into the air, but Snape ignored her completely.
"I don't know, sir," Harry replied.
Snape's lips curled into a sneer. "Fame clearly isn't everything."
Vale leaned forward slightly, observing the interaction with detached fascination. The tension between Snape and Potter was palpable, just as he'd expected.
"Let's try again. Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"
Hermione stretched her hand higher while Harry remained clueless. Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle shook with laughter behind Vale.
"I don't know, sir."
"Thought you wouldn't open a book before coming, eh, Potter?"
Vale's eyes flickered between them, seeing the perfect opportunity forming.
When Snape asked his third question about the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane, Vale raised his hand—not eagerly like Hermione, but with casual confidence.
Snape, after dismissing Harry's continued ignorance, finally acknowledged Vale with a nod.
"Mr. Windrow?"
"They're the same plant, Professor," Vale answered smoothly. The transmigrator within him was speaking.
"Also known as aconite. And if I may—" he continued without waiting for permission, "—a bezoar is found in the stomach of a goat and will save you from most poisons. Asphodel and wormwood create the Draught of Living Death."
Snape's eyes narrowed slightly, but he nodded. He didn't remember teaching Vale this one.
"Correct. Five points to Slytherin for being prepared." His gaze swept the room. "Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?"
As quills scratched against parchment, Vale caught Harry's frustrated glance. He offered the Gryffindor boy a small, ambiguous smile — neither mocking nor sympathetic — before turning back to his notes.
Draco leaned forward.
"Show-off," he whispered, though Vale detected a hint of reluctant admiration.
"Just playing the game, Malfoy," Vale murmured back. "Isn't that what Slytherins do best?"
Vale watched with mild interest as Snape divided them into pairs for brewing a simple potion to cure boils. He found himself conveniently partnered with Nott, while Malfoy worked with Crabbe at the table beside them.
"Precise measurements," Vale murmured to Nott as they began crushing snake fangs. "Snape values control above all else."
That word was becoming a trigger for him.
Nott gave him a sideways glance. "You speak as if you know him."
"I observe," Vale replied simply, measuring the crushed fangs with perfect precision.
Across the dungeon, Potter and Weasley were struggling with their potion. Vale noticed Weasley's reddening face as Snape swept past their cauldron with a disapproving sneer.
"Look at Potter fumbling like a first-year Muggle," Malfoy snickered loudly enough for the Gryffindor table to hear. "Can't even tell dried nettles from porcupine quills."
Weasley's head snapped up, his face flushing deeper. "Shut it, Malfoy."
"Five points from Gryffindor for disrespect, Weasley," Snape said without turning around.
Vale almost laughed. He had to do his best to rein it in, else he mess up his measurements.
Thus.
Vale stirred their potion counterclockwise, the liquid turning the exact shade of blue described in the textbook. He caught Granger watching him from across the room, her eyes narrowed in concentration as she compared their progress to her own.
"Your technique is flawless, Windrow," Snape commented as he passed their table. "Another five points to Slytherin."
Vale inclined his head slightly. "Thank you, Professor."
As Snape moved away, Vale felt Malfoy's glare burning into his back.
"Neville, no—!" Hermione's voice rang out too late as Longbottom's cauldron melted into a twisted blob, their potion seeping across the stone floor.
Chaos erupted as students jumped onto their stools. Neville, drenched in the potion, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up on his arms and face.
"Idiot boy!" Snape snarled, clearing the spilled potion with a wave of his wand. "Take him to the hospital wing," he spat at Seamus Finnigan.
Vale watched Neville's face contort with pain as angry red boils erupted across his skin. The boy's whimpers echoed through the dungeon as Seamus helped him toward the door. Something twisted in Vale's chest—an unfamiliar sensation that wasn't entirely unpleasant.
"Pathetic," Draco muttered behind him. "Longbottom can't even brew the simplest potion without disaster."
Vale's fingers tightened around his stirring rod. He remembered Neville's nervous smile on the train, the way he'd talked about plants with such genuine enthusiasm.
The boy who'd been kind to him without agenda.
"Hmm… Well, accidents happen," Vale said quietly, just loud enough for those nearby to hear. A little bit of smoke leaked out of his mouth as he spoke.
"Even to purebloods. Malfoy, you better be careful, lest you embarrass yourself even more."
He slipped his hand into his pocket, feeling the small vial of dittany he'd pocketed from the supply cabinet earlier while waiting for Snape — an instinctive theft he hadn't questioned at the time.
Now he recalled why.
As Seamus guided Neville past their table, Vale deliberately knocked his textbook to the floor. In the moment of distraction as he bent to retrieve it, he pressed the vial into Neville's trembling hand.
"Hospital wing," he whispered, his eyes meeting Neville's pain-filled ones for just a second. "Three drops."
Neville's fingers closed around the vial, confusion momentarily replacing pain in his expression before Seamus pulled him through the doorway.
Vale straightened, face impassive once more, and returned to his perfect potion as if nothing had happened.
Nott raised an eyebrow beside him. "Interesting," he murmured, too low for anyone else to hear, but enough for his partner.
Vale chuckled.
"There are many layers to the world, Nott. Our chess game has more than just two dimensions."
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