As Harry gradually shut down under Snape’s relentless questioning, Ivan suddenly recalled a theory he had read in his past life.

  Each of Snape’s questions carried a deeper meaning beneath the surface.

  The most obvious was the mention of asphodel, which in Latin was interpreted as "My regrets follow you to the grave."

  Wormwood, on the other hand, symbolized pain and remorse.

  It was hard for Ivan to imagine the brooding, perpetually grim-faced Snape standing before him, questioning Harry with what emotions lurking beneath.

  Was it guilt for leaking information that led to Lily’s death? Or was it the sorrow of losing the one he loved, a grief so deep he would have rather died with her?

  As these thoughts ran through his mind, Ivan’s gaze softened with a hint of sympathy.

  “Ivan Hals!”

  Perhaps noticing something off in Ivan’s expression, Snape suddenly turned his wand in his direction after finishing his interrogation of Harry.

  “You will answer these three questions next!”

  Ivan was momentarily taken aback, not expecting Snape to call on him. But he quickly regained his composure and responded smoothly,

  “Mixing powdered asphodel root with wormwood essence creates the Draught of Living Death, a powerful sleeping potion. Bezoars are found in the stomachs of cows, and monkshood and wolfsbane refer to the same pnt.”

  Having read the original books, Ivan wasn’t fazed by these questions. However, he still felt uneasy, fearing Snape might ask something beyond what he had prepared for.

  Even though he had gone over the Potions textbook several times before this css, Snape clearly didn’t follow the standard curriculum—none of the questions he had asked Harry were even part of the first-year sylbus.

  *[Ding! You have correctly answered three challenging questions prepared by the professor. Answer streak: 3. Accuracy: 100%. Awarded: 9 Academic Points.]*

  An unexpected system notification chimed in Ivan’s mind.

  His expression instantly shifted from worry to shock, then to unrestrained delight. All concerns were promptly thrown aside.

  Bring it on! Ask away! If I so much as frown, I lose!

  Ivan straightened his posture, his gaze resolute. A true warrior never feared a challenge!

  He hoped Snape would throw ten, maybe even twenty questions his way—there was no way he couldn’t answer at least a few. Any academic points were better than none!

  Ivan’s rapid shift in expression left a sting impression on his fellow students.

  But to his surprise, Snape didn’t spare him another gnce. Instead, he turned back to Harry, his face as cold and indifferent as ever.

  “Did you hear that, Potter? Seems like not every first-year is as foolish and ignorant as you.”

  “Professor, I—”

  Harry shot up from his seat, anger burning in his eyes, but Snape cut him off sharply.

  “Potter! Because of your performance, Gryffindor loses one point.”

  Snape delivered the verdict like a final sentence in court before mercilessly turning back to the lesson. Harry, face flushed red with frustration, had to be physically restrained by Ron to stop him from lunging forward.

  Meanwhile, Ivan—who had been fully prepared for more of Snape’s torment—was left bewildered by the sudden ck of attention. After casting a brief sympathetic gnce at Harry, he resigned himself to simply paying attention to the lesson.

  Still, he held onto hope that Snape would resume grilling him.

  To his disappointment, the rest of the css passed without incident. Snape seemed to forget Ivan’s existence entirely. Apart from occasionally berating students who fumbled their potion-making steps, his sole focus remained on Harry.

  Like a moth drawn to a fme, he hovered around Harry’s workstation, scrutinizing every step of his potion-making process. At the slightest mistake, a fresh wave of scathing insults would follow.

  Unfortunately, Ron suffered colteral damage by merely sitting next to Harry. Worse still, his pet rat, Scabbers, was seized by Snape, who dangled it by the tail in front of the entire css, decring it the perfect test subject for their experimental potions.

  Ron was on the verge of tears.

  Scabbers’ shrieks of terror were downright pitiful.

  Had it not been for Neville accidentally melting his cauldron, which disrupted Snape’s foul mood, Scabbers would have been forced to drink Ron’s murky, dung-colored concoction with unknown side effects.

  Ivan cast a sympathetic gnce at the limp, trembling rat, silently menting Peter Pettigrew’s misfortune. Barely a few days into the school year, and he had already endured two traumatic scares.

  For most students, the hour-long Potions css was pure torment. When the bell rang, they fled the dungeon as if escaping from prison.

  “My God, how did Dumbledore ever think hiring Snape was a good idea? He nearly killed Scabbers!”

  Ron raged as he clutched the still-shivering rat, clearly ready to punch a hole through the nearest wall.

  Harry nodded vehemently in agreement. After being singled out on the very first day of css, he found Snape’s btant favoritism impossible to tolerate.

  “What did I even do to make Snape hate me this much?” he muttered in frustration.

  “Harry, if you studied more before css, you wouldn’t have struggled to answer Snape’s questions.”

  Hermione, ever the voice of reason, sighed. Then, gncing at Ivan, she added,

  “See? Ivan answered perfectly. Snape left him alone because he knew Ivan was well-prepared.”

  Ivan nearly broke into a sweat at Hermione’s words. If not for his knowledge of the plot, he wouldn’t have been able to answer those questions either.

  “Hermione, not everyone can memorize an entire textbook in just a few days. Besides, the questions Snape asked weren’t even in the first-year sylbus,” Ivan pointed out with a sigh.

  Hermione pursed her lips but didn’t argue. She had witnessed Snape’s unfairness firsthand during css. However, her instinct to respect authority made her instinctively defend the professor when Ron ranted.

  Ron and Harry were clearly unhappy with Hermione siding with Snape. The three of them bickered all the way to Hagrid’s hut, only calming down thanks to Ivan’s mediation.

  “Hagrid! We came to visit!”

  Harry knocked on the door, and soon, the sound of barking and hurried footsteps echoed from within. Moments ter, the door swung open, revealing the towering figure of Hagrid.

  “Ah, Harry! You lot made it! Come on in!”

  Hagrid beamed as he waved them inside, struggling to keep his oversized boarhound, Fang, from jumping all over them.

  Ivan followed Harry into the cozy little hut.

  The single-room cabin was cluttered but homey. Dried meats and ham hung by the windows, and a rge firepce crackled at the front. A pot of boiling water sat atop it, while a patched-up bed rested against the far wall.

  It seemed they were in for a cssic Hagrid-style visit.