Days at Hogwarts

Third-year Defense Against the Dark Arts class had just ended, and Professor Quirrell was hastily making his way to the dining hall, head bowed low. Behind him, George and Fred Weasley trailed stealthily.

Loren and the others watched as one of the twins discreetly drew his wand and muttered, "Accio scarf!"

The purple scarf wrapped around Professor Quirrell's head suddenly began to untie itself magically, fluttering upwards from the exposed end.

Quirrell reacted quickly, clutching the scarf desperately back onto his head and glancing around for the prankster.

The twins, well practiced in mischief, immediately flanked Ron on either side, hands on his shoulders, pretending to chat loudly.

"Oh, Ronnie, I heard you wet the bed again last night!"

"The last time was just last week!"

All eyes turned to Ron, a mixture of surprise and sympathy from those who knew the twins' tricks.

Ron's face flushed bright red. "I won't let you get away with this, George!"

He lunged at the brother on his right, but Fred's long arms easily wrapped around him. "Look, our baby Ronnie's angry," he teased, then grinned, "But I'm Fred, and that one's George!"

George laughed from the other side. "You're our younger brother, yet you can't tell us apart—how sad!"

Quirrell ignored the bickering trio and continued walking away.

George and Fred exchanged glances. "Looks like the flying curse doesn't work on the human-shaped dung egg's scarf."

"We'll have to try something else."

"Maybe a sneak attack during class."

"Goodbye, Ronnie."

They released Ron and sprinted off.

Harry laughed. "When do you think Ron'll wet the bed next?"

"Harry, enough!" Ron grinned, and the group headed off to lunch.

Later, Snape handed Loren a list of twenty-five books. Loren had already read four and reviewed them carefully.

He pondered how to approach Snape, but no perfect answer came to mind.

After dinner, Loren made his way to Snape's office.

Located in the dungeon near the Slytherin common room, the office was dark and somber—its walls adorned with deep green reliefs tinged with black.

Before Loren could knock, Snape's low voice invited him in: "Come in."

The room was dimly lit, Snape bent over grading homework.

Without greeting, Snape resumed his work, while Loren's eyes roamed the office.

Rows of glass jars lined the shelves—eyeballs of strange creatures, a toad the size of a human head, venomous snakes with bizarre patterns—floating in eerie liquids.

The jars gave the room a chilling, macabre atmosphere.

"I expect you to tell Harry Potter and his little follower Ron Weasley that if their homework looks that similar again, I'll have them copy it a hundred times over," Snape said calmly without looking up.

"Understood, Professor," Loren replied obediently.

Snape finally looked up, locking eyes with Loren. "From the start, I suspected you had other reasons for coming. So tell me—Mr. Morgan, what do you want from me?"

Loren met his gaze steadily. "Wolfsbane Potion, Professor."

Surprise flickered in Snape's eyes. "A werewolf? You?"

"No, my grandfather is a werewolf," Loren said bluntly, not bothering with games.

"I need wolfsbane potion to ease his suffering."

Snape's eyes darkened with a mix of pity and recollection. "Pathetic and pitiful…"

He thought of another werewolf he once knew, the enemy he almost died facing in the Shrieking Shack, saved only by James Potter.

After a pause, Snape wordlessly led Loren to a hidden room off his office.

Inside, Snape opened two boxes—one empty, the other writhing with dozens of black-backed, green-striped venomous snakes. Loren's skin crawled.

"A bite from a green-striped viper never heals. The wound festers endlessly," Snape explained, extracting a snake and coaxing venom from its fangs into a test tube.

He returned the venomous snake to the empty box, which it tried to escape, only to stiffen and collapse when touching a gold wire ring lining the box's rim.

"I want you to collect venom from this box," Snape said coldly.

Loren shivered but forced a reply. "I understand, Professor."

Snape left the storage room and resumed grading.

Though Loren had faced many dangers before, this was new. He steadied himself, reminding himself that Snape would never truly put a student at risk.

With a deep breath, Loren plunged his hand into the writhing snakes. The wet, cold scales overwhelmed his senses.

Despite the chill, none of the snakes bit. Whenever they crossed the gold wire barrier, they stiffened instantly.

Loren carefully repeated the motions, gradually becoming expressionless and even managing to admire the snakes' patterns.

Finally, exhausted and pale, Loren emerged. "Professor Snape, it's done."

Snape didn't look up. "Go back."

Anger welled up inside Loren, then faded into helplessness. His spirit was drained. He said nothing and left.

"Come here every Friday night from now on. Wolfsbane potion must be drunk a week in advance. It's already too late this month," Snape's voice called after him.