Hogwarts: My Grandmother is the Queen

Chapter 128 The Black Prince's Badge (Fourth Update)

Professor McGonagall smiled and nodded, a rare occurrence for her.

"Excellent, Miss Granger, and ten more points for Gryffindor."

Harry's is good too. Although the lid is a bit crooked, at least you can't see any signs of mice.

Professor McGonagall nodded and gave her a good grade.

When it was Draco's turn, he waved his wand with confidence. The mouse twisted and turned into a box—a box, square and gleaming silver—but upon closer inspection, there seemed to be a few tiny hairs on the lid.

Professor McGonagall took a closer look.

"Mr. Malfoy, what is this?"

Draco's face froze.

"—Beard?" His voice was so soft it was like a mosquito's buzz.

"Correct." Professor McGonagall straightened up. "Good."

When Draco returned to his seat, his expression was as if he had just eaten a whole sour pop candy.

Henry was the last one.

He walked to the table and looked at the mouse. The mouse was looking at him too, and shook its whiskers.

Henry raised his wand and flicked his wrist slightly.

The mouse disappeared.

A box appeared on the table.

No, it can't be called a box—it's more like a work of art.

The rosewood has a warm, jade-like texture. The lid is inlaid with the Prince of Wales' coat of arms, made of silver wire, with three ostrich feathers protruding from the crown, below which is the German motto "Ich Dien" (I serve).

(Edward the Black Prince's old stuff)

(Prince of Wales coat of arms)

Professor McGonagall was stunned.

She walked over, picked up the box and examined it carefully, turning it over and over, holding it up to the light, and even tapping it gently with her finger.

The classroom was completely silent; everyone was looking at Professor McGonagall.

"Mr. Wells," Professor McGonagall finally spoke, "is this the first time you've conjured something like this?"

"Yes, Professor," Henry said.

Professor McGonagall looked at him, a rare hint of admiration flashing in her eyes.

"Perfect, absolutely perfect. Not only is there absolutely no trace of a mouse, but also—" She paused, then looked at the badge again, "this detail—you did it on purpose?"

"The Prince of Wales' coat of arms, Professor." Henry smiled slightly. "I thought that since it's a snuffbox, it should have some personal style."

Professor McGonagall smiled for the first time, and gave Henry a slight nod of approval.

"Slytherin gets 20 points, Outstanding!"

A low gasp rippled through the classroom, and Ron's jaw nearly dropped to the floor.

Draco whispered to Pansy, "See that? That's His Highness's power!"

Pansy and Daphne nodded vigorously, completely agreeing with Draco's words.

The Potions exam was on Wednesday afternoon in the damp, cold underground classroom, which was as dimly lit as ever.

On the walls around the classroom were jars filled with all sorts of strange things, making the whole classroom look like an altar for some kind of evil ritual.

Snape stood on the platform, his black robe trailing to the ground, like a giant bat.

His gaze swept across the classroom, and wherever it fell, the students lowered their heads, none daring to meet his eyes for even a second.

too frightening.

"Prepare the potion of forgetfulness." His voice was low, but every word pierced everyone's ears clearly. "The steps are on the blackboard; one wrong step and you're doomed."

He curled his lips in a disdainful smile.

"You don't want to know the consequences of making a wrong move."

The classroom erupted in a chorus of swallowing sounds; no one wanted to know what the serious consequences would be.

Harry even maliciously wondered to himself, "If Professor Snape asked you to wash his hair, would you want to experience this?"

The crucible is set up, the flame is lit, and the materials are arranged.

The only sounds in the classroom were the chopping of materials and the occasional rustling of someone turning pages.

Snape began to walk around the classroom, his steps very light, but every time he passed a cauldron, the owner of that cauldron would freeze.

Ron was chopping grass roots, cutting them into different sizes, some like beans, some like fists.

Snape floated past him and came to a steady stop.

"Mr. Weasley."

Ron's hand trembled, and he almost cut his finger.

"W-what is it, Professor?"

Snape looked down at his crucible, then at the grass roots he had cut.

"Are you cutting valerian roots, or are you murdering them?"

Ron opened his mouth, but didn't know what to say.

Snape stretched out his finger, picked up the largest blade of grass, and held it up in front of Ron.

"This is a grass root, not a potato. Do you know what color your potion will turn if you throw it into the cauldron?"

Ron shook his head.

"Green," Snape said, "and then purple, and then blow your cauldron to smithereens—if you're lucky, you'll only have to spend a week at Mrs. Pomfrey's."

After saying that, he threw the grass root back onto the table.

"Re-cut".

Ron's face was as white as a ghost.

Snape continued walking, and as he passed Neville's cauldron, Neville was secretly flipping through a book, his hands trembling.

Then Snape stopped behind him, said nothing, and just stared at him.

Neville's back stiffened noticeably as he felt the old bat's death stare.

"Mr. Longbottom," Snape finally spoke, "what's on page twenty-three, paragraph three?"

Neville's mind went blank; he felt like his brain no longer belonged to him.

"Close the book," Snape said.

Neville did as he was told and closed the book.

"Now tell me, what is the third paragraph about?"

Neville opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, but he couldn't utter a single word.

Snape leaned down, close to his ear, and said slowly and greasyly in a voice only the two of them could hear, "If you do it wrong, your potion will turn into poison, and I'll make you drink it all, not wasting a single drop—want to try?"

Neville almost burst into tears on the spot; in fact, it was quite remarkable that he managed to hold back his tears.

Snape smiled with satisfaction, straightened up, and continued walking forward.

Hermione's potion had turned a perfect pale pink and was slowly bubbling.

Snape glanced at it without saying anything, but that was the greatest confirmation he could give.

Indeed, not deducting points from Grando is already considered a score.

Draco's movements were precise, following the instructions in the book step by step, but he never dared to relax, because Snape was right behind him.

He could even hear Snape breathing, and the way Snape stared at him was truly unsettling.

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape's voice suddenly rang out.

Draco's hand trembled, and he almost spilled too much of the Sleepy Bean's juice.

Stir clockwise, not counterclockwise.

Draco looked down and realized that he had indeed been spinning counterclockwise.

He quickly corrected it, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

Snape grunted in satisfaction and continued walking.