Chapter 42: Snape's Favoritism

In the brightly lit underground corridor, various oil paintings hung on both sides. Walking further ahead, wooden barrels could be seen stacked against the wall.

Hufflepuff students greeted Rogier in a friendly manner, tapping the barrels with their wands without the slightest concern that Rogier might steal the method for entering their common room.

"Want to try?" Susan pointed at the row of barrels, looking at him with anticipation.

"What happens if you get it wrong?" Rogier asked cautiously. Jessica had told him that the badgers protected their den exceptionally well, making it completely impossible for outsiders to get in.

"You'd probably get doused in vinegar." Seeing him shake his head, Susan covered her mouth and giggled.

"Our common room doesn't cast repelling charms on intruders, really won't you give it a try?" Susan encouraged, "Who knows, you might be the first guest in a thousand years."

Faced with Susan's invitation, Rogier solemnly refused: "No, we must respect school rules and not wander aimlessly into other houses' common rooms."

The surrounding badgers burst into laughter. It was the first time they had ever heard of a little snake wanting to follow school rules—how very un-Slytherin.

Rogier didn't mind at all and rubbed his stomach: "Miss Susan, please take me to the house-elves' kitchen, I'm starving."

"Alright then, follow me." She pointed across the common room, where a fruit painting hung.

"Here, Rogier. Make the pear giggle, and you'll find the kitchen."

"Thank you, Miss Susan!" Rogier quickly expressed his gratitude. He gently tickled the pear, which let out a snicker and transformed into a green door handle.

"Have a good appetite, Mr. Rogier, and enjoy your meal." Surprised that Rogier figured out the method so quickly, Susan waved goodbye, tapped the barrels, and burrowed inside.

Pushing open the wooden door, dozens of elves were busy inside. They were preparing ingredients for dinner, roasting and stewing in a bustling atmosphere.

The founder of Hufflepuff House had brought a batch of house-elves when Hogwarts was established, and most of the elves in the kitchen were descendants of that original group.

"Welcome, welcome, Master Travis." Seeing Rogier, the elves respectfully bowed and greeted him.

"Is there anything we can do for you, Master Travis?" An elf wearing a carrot-shaped hat ran over, looking at Travis with eager anticipation.

"You know my name?"

"Of course, Master Travis. Your hearty appetite yesterday was the greatest praise for us. All the house-elves at Hogwarts thank you for your appreciation."

"I need some food, is that alright?" Rogier nodded, never expecting that having a big appetite would have this kind of effect.

"Of course! Serving you is Period's joy!" the elf said cheerfully, "Please give your orders."

"Roasted meats, plus some fruit." Rogier nodded, stating his request.

"Don't worry, Master Travis, it'll be ready right away." Period moved like a miniature fiery wheel, quickly filling the table in front of him with food.

"Good job." Rogier praised casually, and tears instantly welled up in Period's eyes. This was the best praise for them; house-elves didn't need a "thank you."

Rogier happily tucked into the feast. A single bite of the freshly baked lamb chops flooded his mouth with juices, the meat tender, smooth, and delightfully springy, leaving one completely satisfied. He ate at lightning speed while Period whirled around like a top, serving dishes in a whirlwind.

Half an hour later, a towering stack of plates had accumulated on his left. All the house-elves in the kitchen watched in a daze; although the badgers occasionally came in for extra meals, only Rogier's voracious appetite truly made them feel a sense of fulfillment.

"So happy, Period is so happy." Period kept bowing, "Thank you for your recognition, Master Travis."

As house-elves of Hogwarts, they could only toil away where young wizards couldn't see them, such as cleaning up late at night or cooking in the subterranean kitchen. Now, witnessing firsthand Rogier's appreciation for their labor, all the elves' eyes brimmed with tears of happiness.

"This is the best meal I've ever had." Rogier did not stint on his compliments, "Period, could you help me prepare two bento boxes?"

Rogier checked his pocket watch; the afternoon Potions class was about to begin.

"Of course, it is my honor to serve you." Period quickly packed the food up, thoughtfully including silver cutlery as well.

Down in the Hogwarts dungeons, Hermione and Daphne looked around anxiously. Class was about to start, so why hadn't Rogier arrived yet?

Ron looked very excited upon noticing this, "Harry, Slytherin's Rogier is going to be late—you know, that bottomless freak."

Hermione glared at Ron angrily, "How can you say that about him?"

"Why can't I? Slytherin wizards are all..." Before Ron could finish his sentence, the little snakes turned their heads and stared at him with unfriendly glazes.

Especially Malfoy, who wore a faint, ambiguous smile, as if waiting for Weasley to finish his sentence. Ron blushed, then turned his head to glare furiously at Hermione for defending Rogier.

"You will not need to foolishly wave your wands or chant incantations in this class." Snape strode into the room, completely oblivious to the fact that someone was late and had even sneaked in behind him.

"In fact, I don't really expect any of you to truly appreciate..." Snape turned around, his black eyes fixing firmly on Rogier, "...the precise science and strict craft of potion-making."

Under the stern gaze of his Head of House, Rogier took his seat next to Daphne and covertly handed them their bento boxes.

"However, for the select few elites who possess genuine talent..." Snape lowered his head, staring at Malfoy as if pointing directly at him, "...I can teach you how to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses."

"I can teach you how to bottle fame... and even put a stopper in death." His voice was soft, but every single word was clearly audible.

"Then again, some of you may have come to Hogwarts possessing abilities so formidable, and confidence so absolute, that you feel..." Snape scrutinized every student's face before fixing his gaze on Harry's obnoxious mug and Rogier, who was dozing with his head on the desk.

"...you needn't pay attention." Snape glanced casually at Rogier before training his full, intense focus on Mr. Harry Potter, who was scribbling away below.

"Potter," Snape said, unbuttoning his cloak and speaking in a low voice, "our new celebrity."

His aversion to Harry Potter was purely subjective emotion, untainted by an ounce of objectivity or reason; merely uttering that surname made him feel nauseous—a sickness that made him want to vomit up his bile.

Harry raised his head, looking at Snape, who was inexplicably mocking him.

Snape gazed into those eyes, identical to Lily's, and could not help but soften his tone slightly: "Potter, answer me. What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Beside him, Hermione frantically raised her hand. Slytherin was already leading Gryffindor by 10 points!

"Don't know? Well, let's try again."

"Potter, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

"I don't know, sir," Harry answered honestly.

"And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

At Snape's questions, Hermione was practically pulled off her feet by her raised arm, yet Snape had eyes only for Harry.

"I don't know, sir." Harry could tell Snape was targeting him, his tone laced with defiance.

"Pity," Snape said, his cold tone concealing a deep sense of lamentation. Lily's son was an absolute fool who hadn't inherited even a shred of talent for potions.

Fearing he might betray his emotions, he quickly added, "Clearly, fame isn't everything."

"Hermione obviously knows, why don't you ask her?" Harry demanded angrily, prompting the surrounding classmates to chuckle.

"Silence!" Snape's merciless eyes swept the room, and the young wizards quickly shut their mouths.