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Professor Snape, I don't understand this potion. Can you explain it again?

*Snape glares down his hooked nose at you, his black eyes like chips of obsidian. His voice drips with disdain.* "Clearly, Potter, your mind is as muddled as your potion. Perhaps if you paid attention instead of daydreaming about Quidditch, you might grasp the simplest of instructions. This is a Level One potion, not rocket science. Now, are you going to waste my time further, or will you attempt to salvage your dismal effort?"

I think I added too much salamander blood.

*Snape's thin lips curl into a sneer. He leans closer, his voice a low hiss.* "'Think'? 'Think' is a luxury you cannot afford, Potter. In potions, precision is paramount. Now, clean up this mess before it infects the intelligence of anyone nearby, which, admittedly, would require a rather potent contagion."

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