Professor Snape possessed the same ability as Professor McGonagall; with a single sweep of his eyes, he could reduce the young wizards to terrified silence.
Yet their styles were entirely different.
Professor McGonagall was stern and imposing, a demeanor born of her absolute fairness and impartiality to all.
But Snape, however…
As he stood shrouded in the shadows, lightly holding the parchment with his fingers and tonelessly calling out the name “Harry Potter,” his drawn-out cadence sounded as though it were being squeezed through his teeth.
It instantly brought to mind a venomous snake.
Snape took in the fearful expressions of the young wizards below, but he had no intention of masking his malice.
His lifeless, pitch-black eyes remained fixed on Harry.
“Ah, yes.
The Boy Who Lived.
The Savior of the wizarding world.
Our new…
celebrity.”
Anyone could hear the dripping sarcasm in his voice.
Harry sat stiffly, feeling utterly bewildered and slightly aggrieved.
Then, he heard Professor Snape read out Vaughn’s name.
“Oh, Vaughn Weasley.
The famous Potions genius.
Another celebrity.”
Vaughn stood up and gave a polite nod.
“Thank you for the compliment, Professor.”
Harry suddenly envied his poise.
Not everyone possessed the courage to casually ignore a venomous snake spitting its venom.
Snape gave a soft snort.
To Harry’s immense relief, Snape finally stopped staring at him.
Instead, he quickly finished calling the roll and began to glide through the room like a specter.
“…Perhaps many of you do not believe that potion-making is a form of magic.
I do not expect the foolish contents of your thick skulls to immediately grasp the beauty of this subject—to understand how a delicate, simmering potion can bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses…”
His slow, deliberate words echoed in the silent dungeon.
Sounding now distant, now close, they suddenly rang right next to Harry’s ear, giving him a fright.
“Harry Potter!
Our new celebrity.
Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”
What?
Harry glanced at Ron beside him, whose face was just as blank as his own.
Harry had certainly skimmed his Potions textbook, but who on earth memorized things they hadn’t even been taught yet?
Well, except Hermione—her hand had shot high into the air.
Vaughn was currently trying to pull her hand back down.
Behind them, Malfoy and his two cronies snickered behind their hands.
“I don’t know, Professor,” Harry said flatly.
Professor Snape, whose long face was practically looming over Harry’s head, sneered.
“You don’t know…
Hmph.
It seems fame isn’t everything, Mr.
Potter.
Very well, let us try again…”
Feeling humiliated, Harry felt his head buzzing.
In a fit of impulse, he blurted out, “Professor, why don’t you ask Hermione?
She’s bound to know.
Or why not ask Vaughn?
He’s been brewing potions since he was eight and has improved lots of recipes.
Ron showed me the newspaper with his published paper, and I reckon his level is much higher than this!”
Having spat everything out in one breath, Harry felt a wave of relief wash over him.
Over the past few days, Ron had been boasting in his ear about how incredible Vaughn was at Potions.
Harry genuinely felt that Snape might not even be as good as Vaughn!
The dungeon fell into a sudden, dead silence at Harry’s words.
Everyone could see Snape’s face stiffen.
*Pfft…*
Someone let out a snicker.
It was Malfoy and his two cronies.
This death-seeking noise drew the attention of both Vaughn and Snape, who directed matching cold glares at them.
Malfoy quickly shut his mouth.
Snape looked back at Vaughn, his icy expression giving nothing away.
“It seems, Mr.
Vaughn Weasley, that you hold quite a bit of sway among your peers.”
Vaughn resumed his smiling demeanor.
“Only some minor achievements, Professor.”
“In fact, my primary reason for coming to Hogwarts was to learn Potions from you.
I must also thank you.
When some members of the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers criticized my approach to potion-making, you were the one who published a paper defending my views.”
The Gryffindor and Slytherin students felt they must have suffered a collective hallucination induced by the tense silence—they actually thought they saw Professor Snape crack a faint, fleeting smile.
Regardless, the atmosphere in the classroom instantly softened.
Snape did not ask any more questions, but before beginning his lecture, he took one last jab at Harry.
“Mr.
Potter, there is no need for me to quiz Mr.
Vaughn Weasley on such elementary matters.
Do you know why?
His reputation was earned through his own hard work, whereas yours—tsk, tsk…
Two points from Gryffindor!”
Harry felt his face burning.
Vaughn sighed inwardly.
The emotional knot between Harry and Snape was truly a tangled mess.
Harry was undeniably aggrieved, having no idea why he had drawn Snape’s ire.
As for Snape…
who knew how painful it was for him to see the eyes of the woman he loved most set into the face of the man he hated most?
It was a complex, painful knot that no outsider had any business meddling in.
Soon, everyone realized that Snape had only let Harry off the hook temporarily.
Throughout the entire lecture, he kept pacing around Harry’s desk, firing off questions at him from time to time.
This made life miserable for anyone sitting near Harry.
Not only did they not dare let their minds wander, but several unfortunate souls were dragged into the crossfire.
This became even more apparent during the practical portion at the end of class.
Snape practically kept his feet glued to Harry’s workstation, nitpicking every single action he or those next to him made.
“Longbottom, what on earth is inside that thick skull of yours?
Flour and water?
Does it turn to paste every time you move your head?”
“I have heard of your reputation, Finnigan.
You can create an explosion out of any mishap.
But in my classroom, if you dare show even a shred of carelessness, I will make you understand the true meaning of punishment!”
Occasionally, he would stop by Vaughn’s side to watch silently, offering not a single biting remark.
This wasn’t just because of his bias toward Slytherin—though that was certainly true—but because Vaughn’s technique was absolutely flawless.
Even so, Hermione, who was partnered with him, couldn’t help but notice that his method of prepping ingredients differed from the textbook.
The practical assignment was brewing a cure for boils, a very basic potion.
Vaughn had made it long ago, but he didn’t treat it carelessly just because it was simple.
Instead, as he brewed with intense focus, he explained to Hermione:
“…Potion-making doesn’t have strict chemical controls.
It’s different from Muggle chemistry.
Chemistry relies on precise, calculated measurements of materials.
But potion-making…
rather than stewing liquid ingredients, it’s more like we’re cooking a pot of mysticism, brewing a spell!”
“You’ve noticed it, right?
The recipes in the textbook are very vague about the exact measurements.
There are no grams or milliliters; it’s usually just a few drops, a few leaves, or even entire organisms.
Yet, in areas a Muggle would find trivial—like stirring—potions demand an exact number of rotations!”
“Hermione, you can look at this entire process as a ritual—a ritual that summons the arcane and constructs a spell.”