Professor Snape possessed the same ability as Professor McGonagall: a single glance was enough to silence an entire room of young wizards.
But their styles were completely different.
Professor McGonagall’s authority came from her sternness and dignity, born of her fairness and impartiality toward everyone.
Snape, however…
When he stood half-hidden in the shadows, casually pinching a piece of parchment between his fingers and slowly pronouncing the name “Harry Potter,” the drawn-out tone and the way the words seemed squeezed through clenched teeth…
It made people think of a venomous snake.
Snape took in every trace of fear on the students’ faces, but he had no intention of concealing himself.
His lifeless black eyes remained fixed on Harry.
“Yes, yes.
The Boy Who Lived.
The savior of the wizarding world.
A celebrity.” Anyone could hear the thick sarcasm dripping from every word.
Harry’s face stiffened.
He felt confused and vaguely wronged.
Then he heard Snape call Vaughn’s name.
“Oh, Vaughn Weasley.
The famous Potions prodigy.
Another celebrity.” Vaughn stood and gave a polite bow.
“Thank you for the compliment, Professor.” Harry suddenly envied his calm composure.
Not everyone had the courage to ignore a venomous snake while it was hissing poison at them.
Snape snorted.
To Harry’s relief, Snape finally stopped staring at him.
After finishing roll call, he drifted through the classroom like a ghost.
“Many of you may not believe Potions to be true magic.
I do not expect the foolish substance packed inside your thick skulls to immediately grasp the beauty of this discipline.
To understand how a potion simmered over a gentle flame can enchant the senses and cloud the mind…” His measured voice echoed through the silent dungeon.
Sometimes near, sometimes distant.
Then, without warning, it sounded right beside Harry’s ear.
“Harry—Potter!
Our famous celebrity.
Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?” What?
Harry glanced at Ron.
Ron looked just as bewildered.
Harry had certainly skimmed through some Potions books, but who memorized every piece of information in a textbook before it was taught?
Well…
Except Hermione.
Her hand shot so high it looked ready to leave orbit.
Meanwhile, Vaughn was trying to push her arm back down.
Behind them, Malfoy and his two cronies covered their mouths, snickering.
“I don’t know, Professor,” Harry admitted stiffly.
Snape’s long face hovered over him like a storm cloud.
“Don’t know…
hmph.
It appears fame is not everything, Mr.
Potter.
Very well, let us try again…” Humiliated, Harry felt his head buzzing.
A sudden impulse seized him.
“Professor, why don’t you ask Hermione?
She definitely knows.
Or ask Vaughn.
He’s been brewing potions since he was eight years old.
He’s improved multiple formulas.
Ron showed me newspaper articles that published his research.
I think his level is even higher!” The moment he finished speaking, Harry felt immensely satisfied.
For days, Ron had been endlessly bragging about Vaughn’s accomplishments in Potions.
Harry had started to suspect that Snape might not actually be better than Vaughn.
The dungeon classroom fell into absolute silence.
Everyone could see that Snape’s face had frozen.
“Pfft—” Someone laughed.
It was Malfoy and his two lackeys.
The suicidal sound immediately attracted the attention of both Vaughn and Snape.
Two equally cold gazes landed on them.
Malfoy instantly shut his mouth.
Snape then turned toward Vaughn.
His expression remained unreadable.
“It seems, Mr.
Vaughn Weasley, that you hold considerable prestige among your classmates.” Vaughn returned to his usual smiling demeanor.
“They are merely insignificant achievements, Professor.” “In truth, one of my primary reasons for coming to Hogwarts was to study Potions under you.
I should also thank you.
When certain members of the Exceptional Potioneers Association criticized my theories, it was your published paper that spoke in my defense.” The Gryffindors and Slytherins were convinced they had hallucinated from the suffocating tension moments earlier.
For an instant, they thought they had seen Professor Snape smile.
Whatever the case, the atmosphere in the room noticeably relaxed.
Snape asked no further questions.
But before beginning the lesson, he still took one final shot at Harry.
“Mr.
Potter, such elementary questions do not require me to consult Vaughn Weasley.
Do you know why?
His fame was earned through his own efforts.
And you…” He muttered.
“Two points from Gryffindor.” Harry felt as though his face were on fire.
Even Vaughn couldn’t help sighing inwardly.
The relationship between Harry and Snape was truly an impossible tangle.
Harry’s grievance was understandable.
He had no idea why Snape seemed to despise him.
As for Snape…
Who knew how much pain he felt seeing the eyes of the woman he loved most on the face of the man he hated most?
Such a complicated knot was not something outsiders could untangle.
And soon everyone discovered that Snape had merely given Harry a temporary reprieve.
Throughout the lecture, he continuously circled Harry’s desk, stopping every few minutes to ask questions.
The people sitting nearby suffered the most.
Not only could they not let their attention wander, but several unfortunate students got caught in the crossfire.
This became even more apparent during the practical portion of the lesson.
Snape looked as though he wanted to glue himself to Harry’s desk.
Every movement Harry made—and every movement made by those around him—provided fresh material for criticism.
“Longbottom, what exactly is inside that thick skull of yours?
Flour and water?
Every time you think, it sloshes into porridge.” “I’ve heard of your reputation, Finnegan.
You can apparently turn any accident into an explosion.
But if you show even the slightest carelessness in my Potions classroom, I will teach you the meaning of punishment.” Occasionally, he would stop beside Vaughn’s workstation and silently observe.
Not a single cutting remark escaped his lips.
This wasn’t because he favored Slytherin.
Though that was certainly true.
The real reason was simple: Vaughn wasn’t making any mistakes.
The only issue was that Hermione, his partner, noticed that many of his ingredient preparation methods differed from those described in the textbook.
Today’s practical assignment was a Cure for Boils.
A very basic potion.
Vaughn had brewed it years ago.
But he didn’t slack off simply because it was elementary.
Instead, he worked with complete focus while explaining things to Hermione.
“Potions don’t involve strict control of medicinal properties.
They’re different from Muggle chemistry.
Chemistry emphasizes precise measurements and exact quantities.” “As for Potions, rather than brewing medicine, we’re really cooking a pot of mysticism.
We’re brewing a spell.” “You’ve noticed it too, haven’t you?
The textbook’s ingredient quantities are incredibly vague.
There are no exact grams or milliliters.
Usually it’s a few drops, a few leaves, or an entire ingredient.” “But for things Muggles would consider trivial—like stirring—Potions demands precise counts.” “Hermione, you can think of the entire process as a ritual.” “A ritual that calls upon mystery.” “A ritual that constructs a spell.”