Hogwarts Castle, Eighth Floor Corridor, After Curfew.
The corridor was dark and cold.
Wind gusted along the walls, blowing hard enough that if any leafy trees had been there, they would have lost most of their foliage.
Pure moonlight streamed through the huge windows as shadows danced in its glow.
In contrast, a few scattered torches burned on the walls, not nearly enough to chase away the night’s darkness.
Countless living portraits lined the walls.
Some depicted famous figures from the magical world, others showed people unknown to most.
Every portrait was unique.
One showed a knight on a loyal steed, mid-chase.
Another showed ancient sages studying countless manuscripts or writing their own.
But something was strange about them.
Everyone in those portraits was asleep.
Yes, truly asleep.
Isn’t that amazing?
They were literally alive.
Some muttered in their sleep.
Others couldn’t stay still.
All of them were moving, even if only a little.
Only one painting stood out from the rest.
It wasn’t alive.
It showed a middle-aged man, probably a wizard, teaching ballet to a real troll.
The troll itself was dressed in a ballerina’s tutu.
Strange combination, don’t you think?
Right in front of this painting, a mysterious figure stopped.
Why mysterious?
Because it was impossible to make out the face or see what house they belonged to.
The person wore baggy clothes and was about the height of a fifteen or sixteen year old teenager.
A deep hood hid the face so completely that even the chin was invisible.
If anyone had managed to look under the hood, the only thing they would have seen were two bright amber eyes.
Right now, the figure stopped in front of that notable painting.
After standing there for a few seconds, they began pacing back and forth in a straight line along the wall.
After walking three times, they stopped.
The moment the figure stopped, a door appeared to the right of the painting.
It looked like any ordinary door in the castle: massive, thick, solid.
After standing there for about a minute, the unknown visitor opened the door and entered the room behind it.
*
*
*
September 8th, Early Morning, Hogwarts Castle, Ravenclaw Dormitory Room.
Sitting by the fire early in the morning with a book in my hands, I thought things over.
The first week of my time at Hogwarts was almost over.
Now I could take stock of that first week without including tonight.
I had other plans for tonight.
Over this week, I’d formed an initial opinion about both the education and the life here.
First, I should make something clear: Hogwarts is a boarding school.
Kids live here most of the year, so they need things to do.
Lessons don’t fill the time, and that’s actually on purpose.
So what do the kids do?
Most of them just waste time.
A lot of Muggle-born students leave Hogwarts as empty shells.
Exactly as it sounds: they aren’t suited for life in either the magical world or the ordinary one.
In contrast, the children of aristocrats know exactly what they’ll do after Hogwarts.
You can see it in them.
Of course, there are exceptions.
Some Muggle-born students try to achieve more.
They work their tails off from the very beginning just to get somewhere.
I like to think I belong to that last group.
Plus, I have complete knowledge of both the school curriculum and medical university materials.
What can I say?
A productive childhood in a family of top-level doctors pays off.
Maybe I should devote more time to my education.
***
September 3rd, Morning, Hogwarts Dungeons.
That’s the best description I could give for the Potions room.
It was a cold, large space.
One wall had counters with cauldrons, the other had cabinets of books and probably ingredients.
The center was filled with student worktables.
Across from them were three things: the teacher’s desk, a blackboard, and charts.
That was pretty much it.
Right now, the student tables weren’t empty.
Representatives from two houses sat there: the Ravens and the Badgers.
***
Walking into the classroom near the end of the crowd (this time both houses entered together instead of separately), I found myself in the Potions room.
My first impression: it followed safety rules.
Enough space between counters and tables, plus protective charms on the workstations.
In my mage sight, they glowed brightly against the background.
At least, I hoped they were protective charms.
While I was looking around, all the other kids had already taken their seats.
Looking around, I headed for a specific table.
A slightly chubby boy sat there, nervously scanning the room.
It was Neville Longbottom.
“Hey, mind if I sit here?” I asked as I walked up.
Looking at me nervously, he answered, “S-sure, have a seat.”
Sitting down, I continued, “My name is Kael Massimo.
You’re Neville, right?
I think Professor Sprout called you that.” I offered my hand.
“Y-yeah, that’s right.
I’m Neville Longbottom.
Nice to meet you, Kael.” He gave an uncertain smile and shook my hand.
“Nice to meet you too, Neville.
Would you mind if we call each other by our first names?
We’ll be studying together for at least five years.
Last names aren’t very convenient, don’t you think?
So, is that okay?” When he nodded, I went on, “Great.
Then call me Kael, or Kal.
That’s what my family calls me.
I’m used to it.”
“Then you can call me Nev.”
“Perfect.
I’ll call you Nev too.” My face spread into a smile, or something like it.
That’s how our friendship began.
Our conversation didn’t last long.
Just as we introduced ourselves, the bell rang.
With the bell, Professor Severus Snape walked into the room.
What can I say about him?
He looks a lot like his movie version.
Just as tall, thin (maybe even bony, though his robe hides his figure well), greasy hair down to his shoulders, incredibly dark eyes that looked like tunnels in his pale face, a black robe that billowed behind him like a cloak when he moved.
The Terror of Hogwarts, or the Vampire.
That’s what they call him at Hogwarts.
I have to say, those nicknames fit.
Stopping at his desk, Snape looked over us and said, “Welcome, all of you, to Potions class.
My name is Severus Snape.
I am both the Potions professor and the head of Slytherin House.
You may address me as Professor or Professor Snape.” He paused for a moment, letting us absorb what he’d said, then continued.
“You are here to master the subtle art of potion making,” he began.
He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but every student caught every word.
Snape knew how to hold an audience.
He didn’t have to try at all to keep the room dead silent.
“Since there’s little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will assume this isn’t real magic.
I don’t expect you to truly understand the beauty of a softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, enchanting the mind, heightening the senses.
I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper on death, if you aren’t as much of a pack of idiots as I usually have to teach.”
After that unquestionably important and well-rehearsed speech, he fell silent.
Turning to the blackboard, he waved his wand and wrote “Potions” on it.
“Potions,” Snape continued in that same quiet, deep voice.
“Many consider this undoubtedly important science useless or the domain of weak wizards.
That claim can be seen both ways.” Turning to face us, Snape stood behind his desk.
Every recipe also has ordinary instructions, so anyone can brew them.
But.” His voice cracked like a shout because of the quiet tone and the silence floating through the room.
“But…you will never succeed in the field of potion-making if you don’t study the material thoroughly and understand the very process of brewing itself.
This is a separate branch of art, not just of magic, but of nature itself.”
The class fell silent.
Everyone stared at the professor, intrigued.
His words left no one unmoved.
Something stirred in every soul.
Even in mine, even though I’d already read the same things in both potion books and the ones Lord Black had given me.
A grunt sounded.
“I see my speech affected you.
I hope at least one of you learned something new or important for yourselves.
Now, let’s get down to the subject itself.
Open your textbooks to chapter one, which is both the introduction and the complete list of safety rules you must follow when brewing potions.
And heaven forbid that you don’t memorize these rules by heart.
But if such individuals do appear…well, I always have plenty of worms for dissection, and you have your evening time, don’t you?” Nodding to his own words, he walked back to the blackboard.
“Write this down.
The basic postulates of potion-making…”
The rest of the lesson passed under the noise of the professor’s voice and the scratch of quills on parchment.
***
From those first Potions lectures, I could draw one conclusion: Snape deserved the title of Potions Master.
Just talking about them, he seemed to recall the best moments of his life.
Every word was filled with emotion and meaning.
Also worth noting: he presented knowledge in a clearer way than the books and gave more information than they did.
That was appealing.
Take hair, for example.
The rules say, “Prevent any outside charms from affecting your work.
Also, letting hair fall into the cauldron is forbidden on pain of death.
A standard example: Boil-Cure Potion.
Hair will cause a spontaneous explosion.
Charms will nullify all your efforts.
Be careful.” Then there’s a footnote with ways to prevent hair from falling in: a cap and charms.
The professor mentioned, though only in passing, that anti-hair charms could also affect potions, especially the more magic-sensitive ones.
That’s why most Potions Masters use a special hair gel.
It’s magically inert, and it’s actually a direct product of potion-making itself.
That’s what wins you over.
That information isn’t exactly secret, but it’s not commonly spread around either.
And Snape shared it easily, in passing.
That deserves respect.
His teaching style deserves a separate mention.
It fits university students better than schoolchildren.
That’s why his subject isn’t very popular.
Not every seventeen year old can handle a university style of teaching, let alone younger kids.
At the end of the lesson, Snape demonstrated his mastery in potion-making using the very first potion from the textbook: the boil cure potion.
His brewing… It wasn’t just a dance.
It was his way of “communicating” with the world using magical flows that he controlled inside the cauldron.
At that moment, I used my mage sight to the fullest.
I had never been so fascinated.
Snape’s magic intertwined with the liquid just like Nev’s magic intertwined with plants.
Only, while Nev unconsciously shared his magic and then received it back, the professor CONTROLLED the whole process.
Every turn of magic, every flow.
Every action of his created both a fireworks show and a whirlwind of magic.
It enveloped both the professor and the cauldron.
Mixing multicolored currents created newer and newer colors, which then created others.
And that process seemed like it would last forever.
Unbelievable.
At the end, all the magic split into two parts.
The first was absorbed by the professor.
His aura “exploded” with power.
Even the spot on his left arm, where some kind of parasite (the Mark) was located, the mana in his aura began to flow a little faster, and even began to slightly heal the damaged parts of his aura, of which there were definitely too many for an “ordinary” school professor, even a magical one.
The second part of the mana enveloped all the liquid in the cauldron, then, as if condensing all the potion’s properties, merged with it.
The end result was a finished boil cure potion, undoubtedly of the highest quality.
The liquid itself, in mage sight, looked like phosphorescent fluid that glowed on its own.
That day pushed me to study magic even more deeply.