Chapter 352: Slughorn Talks History
The afternoon Potions class met in the dungeon classroom, Slytherin and Gryffindor together.
The air carried the permanent residue of years of simmering brews. Green flames burned in the hearth, making it marginally warmer than the corridor, but only marginally. The young witches and wizards pulled their robes tighter.
Long tables ran from the lectern to the back wall, each fitted with two cauldron stands, a basic tool kit, and a pile of ingredients. Slytherin sat on the right, Gryffindor on the left, several empty tables between them. Same as last term. Same as the term before that.
Something was off on the Slytherin side.
Several Pure-bloods still hadn't recovered from the morning's class. Cuthbert sat with Alex, muttering under his breath. His expression carried the same knotted tension from earlier, brows pinched, mouth pulled down at the corners. In the row ahead, another Pure-blood boy had his arms folded across his chest, staring at the desk, weighed down by something he couldn't shake.
The entire Slytherin half of the classroom radiated a brooding, serious energy. Nearly every face said the same thing: We are contemplating matters of real importance.
Gryffindor had no idea what was going on.
They hadn't been in that History of Magic session; the schedules were different. All they saw was a cluster of Slytherins looking grim, whispering to each other like some kind of secret council, the air around them thick with tension.
A Gryffindor boy cocked his head at the Slytherin side and muttered something to his deskmate, who snickered.