Hogwarts' Golden Glory

A low murmur rippled through the classroom.

Harry paused, then looked at Kane. Kane's expression remained unchanged; he simply stood up, picked up the materials, and walked towards Harry's workbench.

Draco glanced at his brother, his lips twitched, but he didn't say anything.

He was assigned to a group with Simo—someone he absolutely did not want to work with.

"Begin." Snape's command came like a whip.

The classroom immediately became a hive of activity. The "crackling" sound of the chemandrake roots rose and fell, some people frantically stirred the crucibles, and others coughed from the choking on the moonstone powder.

Kane moved quickly, but never hastily.

His knife skills were precise; each slice of mandrake root was cut to an even thickness. He pushed the cut material in front of Harry. "Grind. Fifty turns clockwise, thirty turns counterclockwise. No more, no less."

Harry took the mortar and pestle and began grinding. He stole a glance at Kane. Kane was processing Sleepy Beans, the silvery liquid dripping from the tip of his wand into the bottle, not a drop more, not a drop less.

"You and Ron..." Kane suddenly spoke, his voice so low that only Harry could hear him.

Harry paused for a moment. "They're arguing."

"I can tell," Kane said calmly.

Harry didn't say anything.

He continued grinding, applying more pressure than before.

"He is indeed a bit stupid."

"After all, only a fool would lose a friend because of jealousy," Kane added, then fell silent.

Snape began his rounds in the classroom. His steps were light, but the rustling of his black robes sent chills down everyone's spine. He paused as he passed Neville's cauldron.

"Longbottom," Snape's voice was icy, "what color is your potion?"

"Uh... Blue, Professor." Neville's voice trembled.

"Blue," Snape repeated, a cruel smile curving his lips. "The Living Hell Potion should be pale purple. You've probably mistaken the color in your head for the standard. Five points deducted from Gryffindor."

Neville lowered his head, not daring to speak.

Snape continued walking forward, stopping as he passed Harry's control panel.

He stared at Kane's cauldron for a few seconds, then at Harry's mortar for a few seconds. His dark eyes darted back and forth between the two boys, as if assessing something.

"Potter." Snape's voice was soft, but every word was like a needle pricking.

"Professor," Harry said, trying to keep his voice steady.

"I heard you put on a circus show in the Great Hall yesterday," Snape said sarcastically, "with Drian Pursey—a sixth-year who can't even hold his own wand properly. It was absolutely spectacular. Gryffindor will probably erect a statue of you."

Harry's face flushed red. "I didn't perform—"

"No?" Snape interrupted him. "You were standing in the middle of the Great Hall, wand in hand, surrounded by people clapping. What do you call that? If not a performance, what do you call it?"

Harry gripped the mortar and pestle tightly.

"However," Snape changed the subject, his dark eyes fixed on Harry with something indescribable in them, "now that you are a champion, Potter—a champion of the Triwizard Tournament—perhaps you should shift your attention from the Great Hall Circus to something more useful."

He paused.

"For example, why not get roasted or torn apart in the first project?"

The classroom fell silent for a moment.

No one expected that Snape would utter such a vicious curse.

Kane rolled his eyes.

If you want to tell someone that the first project is about dragons, you can just say it secretly.

After all, almost every school now knows what the first project is.

But Snape used this sharp-tongued approach to remind Harry.

"Your potion," Snape glanced at Harry's mortar and pestle, "is being ground far too slowly. The mandrake root juice will oxidize and become ineffective. If you're this slow during the competition, you'll be dead already."

He turned and walked away.

His black robe billowed behind him like a black wind.

Harry looked down at the mortar and pestle. He realized he was grinding far too slowly.

He didn't know if Snape was deliberately nitpicking or cursing him, but he sped up.

Just then, the classroom door was pushed open.

Colin Crevey stood in the doorway, holding his camera, his face beaming with excitement.

"Professor Snape!" Colin's voice was high-pitched and urgent. "Professor Dumbledore sent me to fetch Harry and Kane!"

Snape turned around, his dark eyes filled with murderous intent. "Crivy. Class is in session."

"I know! But Professor Dumbledore said it's urgent—"

Colin shrank back slightly, but was still excited. "We need to check the warriors' wands! It's a routine check for the first item!"

Whispers broke out in the classroom again.

The first project. Wand inspection. Warrior.

All eyes were on Harry and Kane.

Harry put down the mortar and pestle and wiped his hands. Kane poured the potion from the cauldron into a crystal bottle, labeled it, and put it back in the materials cabinet.

His movements remained unhurried and unhurried, as if he were oblivious to the gazes of everyone around him.

"Go," Snape's voice was as cold as ice. "Don't linger in my class."

Harry stood up and walked out of the control panel.

As he passed Ron, he glanced at him. Ron, head down, stirred his cauldron and didn't look at him.

But Harry noticed that Ron was stirring in the wrong direction—counterclockwise, while the procedure required clockwise.

He stopped. "Ron, you're going the wrong way."

Ron paused for a moment.

But he didn't change the direction of stirring.

Harry felt that something bad was about to happen to Ron.

Harry walked out the door, and Kane was already standing next to Colin.

Igor flew down from Kane's shoulder and landed on Colin's camera, tilting his head to look at the lens.

Colin was so excited he almost pressed the shutter, but Kane stopped him with a look.

"Let's go," Kane said.

Harry nodded. The two followed Colin out of the classroom.

The door closed behind them.

The classroom erupted in whispers immediately.

"What do you think their first project will be like?" Dean asked in a low voice.

"Kane will definitely be fine," Seamus said. "He can even suppress magic. What's a dragon compared to that?"

"What about Harry?"

Simo paused for a moment. "He beat Derian. Maybe he really does have the ability."

Ron didn't say anything.

He looked down at the strangely colored liquid in the crucible, and he knew he had made a mistake.

He threw the spoon into the crucible with a dull thud.

"Five points deducted from Gryffindor for whispering in class!"

Snape walked over and glanced at his potion. "Weasley. What color is your potion?"

"...Green, Professor."

"Green," Snape repeated, a cruel smile creeping across his face. "The Living Hell Potion is pale purple. You made green. That means your brain is probably green. Ten points deducted from Gryffindor."

Snape turned and walked away. His black robes billowed behind him.

Ron closed his eyes. He didn't want to admit it, but he knew what bothered him. Not the potion. It was Harry.