Harry Potter: From Young Wizard to White Devil

Professor Snape, like Professor McGonagall, possessed the uncanny ability to silence a room of young wizards with just a single glance.

But their styles couldn't be more different. Professor McGonagall exuded a stern dignity, born from her fairness and impartiality toward all students.

Snape, however...

When he lingered in the shadows, fingers lightly gripping the parchment as he coldly read out the name 'Harry Potter,' his voice seemed to squeeze out each syllable like venom from between clenched teeth.

He reminded everyone of a coiled serpent, ready to strike.

Snape saw the fear in the eyes of the young students before him, but made no effort to soften his demeanor. His lifeless black eyes remained fixed on Harry:

"Yes, yes—the boy who survived the Dark Lord. The savior of the wizarding world. A real celebrity." The sarcasm was impossible to miss.

Harry stiffened. He didn't know why, but he felt wronged.

And then Snape called another name.

"Oh, Vaughn Weasley—the celebrated potion prodigy. Another rising star."

Vaughn rose and nodded politely. "Thank you for the compliment, Professor."

Harry envied his calm composure. It wasn't easy to look unfazed when staring down a venomous snake.

Snape snorted but moved on, swiftly finishing the roll call before drifting among the desks like a wraith:

"...Perhaps many of you don't believe that potions are a form of magic. I don't expect your thick skulls to grasp the elegance of this subject. But under slow heat, the right brew can stir excitement, induce confusion..."

His slow, echoing voice filled the cold, silent basement.

Sometimes it came from a distance—then suddenly, it was in Harry's ear, making him jump:

"Harry—Potter! Oh, famous one, tell me: if I add powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood, what do I get?"

What?! Harry glanced at Ron, whose expression was just as blank.

Sure, Harry had skimmed the potion textbook, but who could memorize every potion before learning them in class?

Except, of course, Hermione—her hand was already high in the air.

Vaughn tried to gently push her back down, while behind them, Malfoy and his two goons were quietly laughing.

"I don't know, Professor," Harry admitted stiffly.

Snape's long face seemed to droop even lower as he sneered, "You don't know... Tch. Fame clearly isn't everything, Mr. Potter. Very well, let's try again—"

Burning with humiliation, Harry blurted out, "Professor, why not ask Hermione? She definitely knows! Or Vaughn? He's been brewing potions since he was eight. He's improved formulas! Ron showed me the paper where his work got published. Honestly, I think he's better than you!"

The words came out in a rush. Harry felt a strange satisfaction after saying them.

Ron had indeed been praising Vaughn's potion skills nonstop lately. Maybe Snape wasn't even as good as Vaughn!

The entire room froze.

Snape's expression stiffened.

Pfft—

Malfoy and his sidekicks couldn't help but snicker.

Vaughn and Snape turned to them with identically cold stares.

Malfoy immediately fell silent.

Snape returned his attention to Vaughn, expression unreadable: "It seems Mr. Vaughn Weasley holds quite a place in his classmates' hearts."

Vaughn smiled lightly. "Just a few unremarkable accomplishments, Professor."

Then he added smoothly, "Actually, my main reason for coming to Hogwarts was to learn potions from you. I must also thank you—when members of the Extraordinary Apothecary Association criticized my theories, you were the one who defended my ideas in your paper."

The Gryffindor and Slytherin students nearly doubted their own eyes.

Snape... almost smiled?

The oppressive atmosphere visibly lifted.

Snape didn't ask any more questions, though he couldn't resist one final jab before starting the lecture:

"Mr. Potter, I wouldn't bother asking Mr. Vaughn Weasley such a basic question. Do you know why? Because his fame was earned through hard work. As for you—tsk tsk. Two points from Gryffindor."

Harry felt his cheeks burning.

Vaughn sighed silently. The emotional knot between Harry and Snape was a mess.

Harry clearly didn't know what he'd done to offend the man.

But as for Snape... imagine seeing the eyes of the one you loved most reflected on the face of the one you hated most.

There was no way to untangle something that complicated.

Which is why everyone quickly realized that... Snape wasn't done with Harry.

Throughout the lecture, he lingered by Harry's desk, tossing questions at random moments.

This made it miserable for anyone sitting nearby—they couldn't afford a second's distraction. Several were caught in the crossfire.

It got worse during the hands-on brewing session at the end.

Snape practically stationed himself beside Harry, nitpicking every movement from him and his tablemates.

"Longbottom, what's in that skull of yours? Flour and water? It turns to mush the moment you move!"

"I've heard of you, Finnigan. A walking explosion. If you blow anything up here, I'll teach you what real punishment means!"

Meanwhile, he occasionally drifted to Vaughn's station and watched in silence.

Not because of Slytherin favoritism—though that was a factor—but because there was nothing to criticize in Vaughn's work.

Hermione, his partner, did point out that Vaughn's ingredient prep methods differed from the textbook.

The task was to brew a basic Scouring Potion for skin ailments.

Vaughn had made it many times before. Still, he didn't slack off—he focused carefully and explained to Hermione as they worked:

"...Potions aren't about precision the way Muggle chemistry is. Chemistry demands exact amounts, but potion-making is more like cooking up a spell—a kind of mystical ritual."

"You've noticed, right? The recipes rarely mention grams or milliliters. It's always a few drops, a handful, a piece. But where Muggles don't care—like stirring—we have strict requirements."

"Think of it like this, Hermione: you're not just brewing medicine. You're casting a spell through the ritual of the brew itself."

--

--

P@treon/Arvinstorm