At precisely nine o’clock, Professor Severus Snape swept into the dungeon classroom.
His black robes billowed behind him like dark smoke, trailing across the stone floor as he strode toward the front of the room.
Watching him, Alvin found himself wondering whether Snape owned more than one set of robes.
They looked exactly like the ones he’d worn during his visit to South Kensington.
Then again, perhaps every outfit in the man’s wardrobe was identical.
Honestly, that seemed entirely plausible.
Without a word, Snape mounted the raised platform and turned to face the class.
His dark gaze drifted across the room.
It lingered on Alvin for three seconds.
On Harry Potter for five.
Neither boy found that remotely comforting.
The classroom grew noticeably quieter.
Snape opened the register.
Then began calling names.
His voice wasn’t loud.
Nor particularly harsh.
Yet somehow every student felt as though they were being personally criticized.
When he reached Alvin’s name, he paused.
Slowly, he looked up.
Their eyes met.
Alvin held his gaze calmly.
There was even a trace of apology in his expression.
After all, Snape had been the one to introduce him to the wizarding world.
The Potions Master had undoubtedly expected a Gaunt to join Slytherin.
Instead, Alvin had publicly rejected the House during the Sorting Ceremony.
It wasn’t difficult to imagine how that might have offended him.
Fortunately, Snape seemed to understand the sentiment.
After a brief moment, he continued.
Then he reached another name.
Again, he stopped.
“Oh, yes.” His voice became almost silky.
Dangerously silky.
“Harry Potter.” The room seemed to grow colder.
“Our new celebrity.” A few snickers immediately rose from the Slytherin tables.
Alvin glanced sideways.
Draco Malfoy and his two companions were trying—and failing—not to laugh.
Noticing Alvin’s gaze, Draco shot him a challenging look.
Alvin ignored him completely.
He had no interest in whatever rivalry Draco was attempting to manufacture.
Across the room, Harry looked distinctly uncomfortable.
Poor Harry.
He had no idea this was only the beginning.
Snape closed the register with a snap.
Then he began to speak.
“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making.” His voice flowed through the dungeon like cold water.
“There will be little foolish wand-waving in this class.” “So many witches and wizards never appreciate the delicate power of the craft.” The room gradually fell silent.
Even Alvin found himself listening.
Snape’s voice possessed a strange magnetism when he chose to use it.
“I can teach you how to bottle fame.” “Brew glory.” “Even put a stopper in death.” For a brief moment, every student sat utterly captivated.
Then Snape struck.
“Potter.” Harry visibly flinched.
“If I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood, what would I obtain?” Harry blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Nothing.
No answer.
No clue.
No chance.
Across the room, Hermione Granger’s hand shot into the air with enough force to qualify as a projectile.
Snape ignored her completely.
“Don’t know?” Harry looked miserable.
“No, Professor.” Snape’s lip curled slightly.
“Let’s try another.” “Where would you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?” Hermione’s hand somehow rose even higher.
Harry remained helpless.
“I don’t know, Professor.” “Interesting.” The word dripped with disappointment.
“What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?” Harry now looked as though he wished the floor would swallow him whole.
Meanwhile, Alvin was thoroughly entertained.
This was history in the making.
The opening skirmish in the legendary conflict between Harry Potter and Severus Snape.
A feud destined to last for years.
At the same time, another thought crossed his mind.
Back in his previous life, Harry Potter fans had spent decades analyzing these exact questions.
Especially the first one.
Asphodel.
Wormwood.
Neither ingredient had been chosen at random.
Asphodel symbolized regret.
Wormwood represented grief and bitter sorrow.
Together, they carried a hidden meaning.
I bitterly regret Lily’s death.
Alvin found himself looking at Snape differently.
The man standing before them wasn’t merely a terrifying professor.
He was someone trapped by old mistakes.
By guilt.
By loss.
By wounds that had never truly healed.
And despite everything, he was still trying to protect Lily Potter’s son.
There was something undeniably tragic about that.
Without realizing it, Alvin’s expression softened.
Unfortunately, Snape noticed immediately.
His eyes narrowed.
Whatever he saw in Alvin’s face, he clearly didn’t appreciate it.
The look resembled sympathy.
Or worse.
Pity.
And pity was perhaps the one thing Severus Snape would never tolerate.
His gaze sharpened.
“Mr.
Gaunt.” Alvin’s heart skipped a beat.
Ah.
That couldn’t be good.
“Perhaps you would care to answer Mr.
Potter’s questions.” So much for quietly observing.
Alvin rose from his seat.
“Powdered asphodel added to an infusion of wormwood produces the Draught of Living Death.” “A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and serves as an antidote to many poisons.” “And monkshood and wolfsbane are simply different names for the same plant—aconite.” The answers came without hesitation.
Years of accumulated knowledge settled naturally into place.
When he finished, Alvin offered a polite smile.
A mistake.
A terrible mistake.
Something in Snape’s expression suggested he had interpreted that smile as a challenge.
“Indeed.” The professor folded his arms.
Then fired another question.
“If I wished to brew an Invigoration Draught, how should the fig be prepared?” “The skin must be removed.” “What is moonstone most commonly used for?” “Calming Draughts.
Usually ground into a fine powder.” “The primary difference between a Dreamless Sleep Potion and the Draught of Living Death?” “The Dreamless Sleep Potion induces natural sleep while suppressing dreams.” Alvin paused briefly.
“Though if we’re discussing alterations to mental state, a comparison with Amortentia might be more informative.” Silence.
Absolute silence.
The entire classroom stared.
Most students had stopped understanding the conversation several questions ago.
Harry looked mildly traumatized.
Hermione appeared caught between admiration and outrage that another first-year was answering questions she couldn’t.
Even the Slytherins seemed stunned.
Meanwhile, Alvin and Snape had somehow wandered into territory that sounded completely alien to everyone else.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
At last, Snape drew a slow breath.
Then stopped asking questions.
Possibly for the sake of his own blood pressure.
“Remarkable.” His tone somehow transformed the compliment into an accusation.
“A true heir of the Gaunt family.” “You seem determined to display knowledge far beyond your year.” Alvin wisely remained silent.
Mostly because pointing out the obvious flaw in that statement seemed unwise.
You’re the one who kept asking the questions.
Apparently deciding that Alvin would be difficult to embarrass, Snape shifted targets.
Toward someone considerably easier.
Harry Potter.
“Do you hear that, Potter?” Snape’s voice dripped with disdain.
“Not every first-year arrives at Hogwarts as ignorant as you.” “Observe the difference.” Harry’s face turned bright red.
“Professor, I—” “Gryffindor loses one point.” Harry immediately closed his mouth.
Several Gryffindors looked personally wounded.
Then, to everyone’s surprise, Snape turned toward the Ravenclaw table.
“Ravenclaw gains one point.” A few Ravenclaws brightened.
The moment lasted approximately two seconds.
“However.” There it was.
The trap.
“Mr.
Gaunt failed to address me properly.” “Future answers should begin with ‘Professor.'” “Ravenclaw loses two points.” The smiles vanished instantly.
Alvin closed his eyes for a brief moment.
There it was.
The legendary Snape logic.
Award one point.
Deduct two.
End result: disappointment for everyone involved.
Truly, a master of his craft.
Wisely, Alvin kept his mouth shut.
Arguing with Snape would only create additional opportunities for point deductions.
The rest of the classroom sat frozen.
No one dared move.
No one dared speak.
Even breathing felt slightly dangerous.
Snape’s gaze swept across the room.
“Why are you all staring at me?” “Did the answers appear on my face?” Students scrambled for their quills.
The scratching of feathers against parchment erupted throughout the dungeon.
Snape watched them for a moment.
Then added coldly, “I swear.” “You are the worst first-year class I have ever taught.” A remarkable feat.
The school year had barely begun.
Most of them had been at Hogwarts for less than a week.
Yet somehow every student in the room felt personally insulted.