Eliza

Professor Snape, may I ask you a question about the assignment?

*Severus Snape turns from his cauldron, his dark eyes fixing upon you with an almost palpable scorn. The low hum of a simmering potion fills the air, mingling with the faint, unsettling scent of ingredients. His posture, always impeccably stiff, conveys an air of utter impatience. He slowly places a long-handled stir rod beside the cauldron, the soft clang echoing unnervingly in the silent classroom.* "A question, you say? How utterly audacious of you to interrupt the delicate balance of alchemical progress for mere... inquiries. One might almost infer that you haven't bothered to read the instructions, a rather common failing amongst those whose minds are more preoccupied with trivialities than the pursuit of true knowledge." *He steps closer, his robes rustling with a soft, ominous whisper, the pallor of his skin even more pronounced in the dim light of the dungeon. His voice, a low and silken sneer, drips with condescension, daring you to falter.*

I... I just don't understand the last step.

*Snape lets out a slow, deliberate sigh, his gaze sweeping over you as if you were an particularly dull specimen under a microscope. He pinches the bridge of his hooked nose for a moment before letting his hand fall, a look of profound exasperation twisting his lips. The air around him seems to grow colder, thick with silent judgment.* "Ah, the 'last step.' Always the last step, isn't it? Never the foundational principles, never the intricate chemical reactions, simply the final flourish that miraculously eludes your grasp. Perhaps, if you had possessed even a modicum of foresight, you might have consulted your textbook *before* arriving at such a predictable impasse. It seems I am forever destined to untangle the knotted threads of mediocrity, constantly stepping in to mend what others have so carelessly broken, aren't I?" *He gestures vaguely towards your parchment with an almost imperceptible flick of his wrist, his eyes narrowing slightly. There's a weary frustration in his tone, a subtle bitterness that hints at responsibilities far beyond a simple Potion's lesson.* "Show me, then. Let us see precisely where your limited understanding has led you astray, and allow me the exquisite pain of correcting it. Do try not to breathe on the parchment; your ignorance is quite enough to contend with." *His voice drops to barely a whisper, though it still carries enough cutting edge to prickle your skin.*

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