Harry wholeheartedly agreed, but when he saw Ivan relentlessly feeding Bertie Bott’s Every Fvor Beans to Scabbers, he couldn't help but speak up.

  "Ivan, if you keep feeding him like this, Scabbers is going to burst."

  Hearing Harry’s words, Hermione, who had been about to ask another question, shifted her attention to the rat in Ron's hands.

  The once scrawny, matted-fur rodent looked completely different now.

  After darting around their dorm and getting covered in dust, Ron had given Scabbers a thorough scrubbing with a brush. On top of that, he’d been well-fed these past few days. The result? The rat was noticeably plumper.

  "How could that be? This is the normal feeding amount. Scabbers was starving before—he needs extra meals!" Ivan insisted and once again held out a bean to Scabbers.

  "Besides, this is my way of apologizing," Ivan added.

  Scabbers, however, was in no mood for forgiveness. He gred at Ivan furiously, using his tiny paws to shove the offered treat away with as much dignity as a rat could muster.

  Only when Scabbers realized that his tiny strength was no match for Ivan’s persistence did he begrudgingly take a bite of the bean.

  Well, since it was right in front of his mouth anyway… No matter how angry he was, food was food, right?

  It’s not like he could resist, anyway.

  And actually, aside from the occasional nasty fvor, Bertie Bott’s beans weren’t half bad.

  Noticing Scabbers’ decreasing resistance, Ivan couldn't help but marvel at how well Peter Pettigrew had honed his survival instincts.

  Just a few nights ago, he’d been hunted down in his worst nightmare by the person he feared most. But after just one night? He was back to stuffing his face.

  Of course, that nightmare had been engineered, but still.

  This also confirmed something—Peter had no knowledge of the obscure Dark spell Curse of Dread. He likely just assumed Ivan had used some kind of magic to turn his sweet dreams into a horrifying nightmare.

  After all, how could an eleven-year-old wizard possibly know what had happened eleven years ago? And how could he possibly know that Sirius Bck’s Animagus form was a giant bck dog?

  "If he gets too fat, what do we do then?" Ron asked, watching Ivan’s "special care" for Scabbers with growing concern.

  "Don't worry. It’s not like Scabbers delivers mail. A little extra weight will just keep him from running off," Ivan reassured him.

  Privately, Ivan had a different thought.

  If not for Peter Pettigrew, Voldemort’s resurrection wouldn’t have been so easy.

  If he fattened Scabbers up into a little ball, let’s see if he could still escape when Crookshanks and Sirius came after him.

  The group continued chatting as they made their way toward the Potions cssroom in the dungeons.

  The moment they stepped inside, Harry and Ron became even more convinced of the rumors that Snape was a Dark wizard.

  The room was small, but the atmosphere was eerie and oppressive. Gss jars lined the walls, filled with blue-green liquids, some containing vaguely visible preserved creatures floating within.

  Combined with the fact that the cssroom was underground, if this weren’t Hogwarts, Ivan would have assumed they had walked into a Dark wizard’s secret boratory.

  "Hurry and find a seat. We’d better be careful in this css," Ron whispered.

  By now, he had no doubts about what George had told him earlier. He quickly pulled Ivan, Harry, and Hermione to a table, hoping to avoid giving Snape any excuses to deduct points.

  Ivan, however, knew better. Even if they sat quietly the entire css, Snape would still find a reason to nitpick.

  BANG!

  Just as the students had settled, the heavy wooden doors suddenly swung open with a resounding crash. The echoing thud filled the room.

  A tall, gaunt figure swept inside. His sallow skin was barely visible beneath the folds of his long, bck robes. His cold, piercing gaze swept across the css, lingering briefly when it nded on Harry.

  With his hooked nose and the way his robes billowed as he moved, he looked like a giant, human-sized bat.

  Snape strode to the front of the room and flicked his wand. The cssroom’s curtains snapped shut.

  The already dimly lit room darkened even further, the st traces of daylight disappearing.

  As the shadows deepened, Ivan noticed Snape’s tense expression rex ever so slightly.

  Once the room was as he preferred it, the Potions Master picked up the css roster and swept his gaze across the now-silent students.

  "Next, I will take attendance," Snape announced coldly. "I sincerely hope no one dares disappear from my css."

  His low, ominous voice sent shivers down the spines of the young wizards. Even the usual troublemakers were unnervingly quiet. Only Draco Malfoy managed to smirk.

  "Neville Longbottom."

  "Ivan Hals."

  "Harry Potter."

  When he reached Harry’s name, Snape’s tone shifted slightly.

  "Ah, yes… I nearly forgot," Snape said ftly, though his words carried a hint of mockery. "We have a celebrity in our css."

  At once, heads turned toward Harry. Draco and his cronies snickered.

  Harry felt a wave of discomfort wash over him. He had no idea why Snape was targeting him like this, but what he didn’t know was—this was only the beginning.

  Snape turned his gaze away from Harry, addressing the entire css instead.

  "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making."

  "Since this requires no foolish wand-waving, many of you will hardly believe this is magic at all. I do not expect you to truly understand the beauty of brewing powerful potions."

  He paused, then continued in a tone almost… entranced.

  "Imagine, if you will… the delicate simmering of ingredients… the wisps of steam curling into the air… the power to influence the very essence of a human being through a single sip. I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even… stop death itself—if you are not as dim-witted as the idiots I have previously taught."

  After that dramatic speech, Snape suddenly switched gears.

  "Potter," he snapped. "What happens when powdered root of asphodel is added to an infusion of wormwood?"

  Harry was utterly lost.

  What was asphodel? What was wormwood?

  He turned to Ron for help, but Ron looked just as bewildered.

  Hermione’s hand shot up high, but Snape ignored her completely.

  Sitting a few seats away, Ivan silently mouthed two words: Draught of Living Death.

  Harry was desperate, but under Snape’s scrutinizing stare, he didn’t dare look too long at Ivan’s direction. In the end, he had no choice but to mutter, "I don’t know, Professor."

  Ivan sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead.

  He had tried his best.

  But even if he had given Harry the answer in advance, it wouldn’t have mattered. Unless Harry memorized every single potion in the textbook, Snape would always find a way to pick on him.