Chapitre 87: Are you Sure?
Vivian flinched, almost dropping the tweezers. Alex, however, remained calm. "Yes, Professor. I'm sure. Go ahead, Vivian."
Nodding, Vivian followed Alex's instructions, carefully dropping the puffer fish eyes into the potion. The dark blue mixture started to shift, slowly settling into a pale green.
Snape watched the reaction with a sharp, scrutinizing gaze before letting out a dismissive huff and walking away. "And as for the rest of you," he snapped, his voice cutting through the room, "stop stirring like brainless trolls! You're making a potion, not a pigsty!"
Vivian let out a quiet sigh of relief, flashing Alex an appreciative look. "He nearly scared me out of my wits," she whispered, sticking her tongue out in an exaggerated gesture.
Alex, unfazed, stayed focused. Blocking out the distractions, he completed his potion well before the others. His reward? A curt nod and a muttered, "Satisfactory," from Snape. It wasn't much, but Alex knew he'd done a good job.
As soon as class ended, students bolted from the room like prisoners set free. Even the Slytherins seemed eager to escape Snape's oppressive presence. Alex, however, lingered until the room was empty before approaching the professor. Better to handle things now than have Snape breathing down his neck for the rest of the term.
Snape looked up from his desk, his expression cold and impatient. "What is it, Mr. Wilson? Here to challenge me to a duel, perhaps?"
Alex ignored the jab and kept his tone steady. "Professor, I wanted to apologize for yesterday's incident. It wasn't my intention to be disrespectful. I… didn't fully understand your role here."
Snape scoffed, his lips curling into a sneer. "Spare me your excuses. I know who you are. The one who saved Sirius Black, wasn't it? As his friend, I'd expect nothing less than insolence. Only the foolish could befriend someone so thoroughly disgraced."
Alex's jaw tightened at the mention of Sirius, irritation flickering in his eyes, but he held his composure.
"I'm also a friend of Lily's," Alex said calmly, his voice firm. "Maybe her influence rubbed off on me more than you'd like. Does that bother you, Professor?"
Snape's expression darkened, his anger palpable as he stepped forward, his voice low and dangerous. "Mr. Wilson, I suggest you tread carefully when speaking to your superiors."
Alex met his gaze, confused but unwavering. "If I've offended you, I apologize," he said evenly. "But if there's something else behind this hostility, I'm not sure what I can do about it."
Snape's sneer returned, though his tone softened slightly. "Arrogant brat," he muttered, more to himself than to Alex. "Perhaps there's a flicker of sense in you after all. But tell me this—last night, while I was inspecting the Slytherin common room, your absence was conspicuous. Do you consider yourself too good to stay with your own house?"
Alex understood the accusation hidden in Snape's words. Choosing his response carefully, he said, "The reason I'm not staying in the Slytherin dormitory is for my own safety. You're well aware that I'm Muggle-born."
Snape's expression remained unimpressed. "Excuses," he said dismissively. "The Dark Lord is gone, and your so-called 'skills' are hardly remarkable. As head of Slytherin, I'm ordering you to return to the dormitory. I'll check it myself tonight, and I expect to find you there."
Left with little choice, Alex nodded, masking his frustration. As he left the dungeons, he mulled over Snape's stubbornness. Moving back to the dormitory wasn't a big deal. With the spell cards he'd accumulated, he felt more than ready to handle any pure-blood troublemakers.
Determined, Alex made his way to the Slytherin common room. The scene that greeted him was unexpected—a poker table set up in the middle of the room, surrounded by students engrossed in the game, while others watched with fascination. Apparently, poker had become a thing in Slytherin.
As Alex entered, younger students whispered among themselves, curious about the unfamiliar face. Despite wearing Slytherin robes, his rare appearances in the common room had clearly made him a stranger to many.
Among the crowd, Alex spotted a familiar face—a pure-blood named Travers, glaring at him with barely concealed hostility. Alex smirked, remembering how he'd outwitted Travers in the past. Travers's wallet had gone missing twice over the years, and Alex doubted he'd ever figured out who was behind it.
Travers stormed over, sneering. "Well, well, if it isn't Slytherin's ghost, finally deciding to haunt us. Maybe the Sorting Hat got it wrong—you don't belong here."
Alex chuckled, tilting his head. "Funny coming from you, Travers. Slytherin's supposed to be full of clever, dignified people. Yet here you are, proving otherwise. Do you ever stop and think before you talk?"
Travers's face turned red with anger, and he took a step forward, only to be restrained by his friends. Rozier held him back while Travers shouted, "Let me at him! This Mudblood needs to be put in his place!"
The commotion drew the attention of everyone in the room, including the poker players, who turned to watch. Before things could escalate, a senior student stepped in. Lavender Wilkes, a fourth-year with light brown hair and an air of pure-blood arrogance, pulled Travers back.
"Enough, Travers. Don't embarrass yourself," Wilkes said sharply. He turned to Alex with a forced smile. "Come on, we're all in Slytherin. No need for this kind of drama."
Alex raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. Adjusting his posture, he replied coolly, "You're making it sound like I'm the one starting trouble."
Wilkes's smile didn't falter. "Travers is the heir of an important family. Provoking him doesn't help anyone." His tone shifted to something more patronizing. "In Slytherin, having more friends than enemies is a smart move. Don't you agree?"
Alex crossed his arms, his smirk deepening. "What do you want, Wilkes?"
Wilkes's tone became businesslike. "You're a top student, respected by professors. We're offering you an opportunity. Support us, and we won't hold your Muggle heritage against you. Travers," he glanced at the still-fuming boy, "will forgive your… disrespect."
"Forgive this Mudblood? Why should I?" Travers snapped, his voice dripping with disdain.
"Enough, Travers," Wilkes said sharply, before turning back to Alex. "You're clever. Aligning with us would be in your best interest."
Alex's smirk faded, replaced by a look of icy disdain. They thought they could buy him off, make him bow his head in exchange for tolerance. They were sorely mistaken.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone