Harry Potter: I became Snape

"I heard Professor Malfoy is quite impressive," Odin Bleach, a fellow Slytherin, said to Snape and his dormmates. "Abraxas Malfoy—my father says he's got close ties with the Ministry's top brass."

"Is that so?" Severus Snape replied, his tone dry. "I just hope he teaches more than a couple of terms."

"What do you think it'll be like?" Mary whispered to Lily, leaning closer as she overheard the conversation. "I heard the Ministry's pushing a new bill to restrict job opportunities for Muggle-born wizards. They say Malfoy's one of the key supporters."

"You heard what he said at the Opening Feast," Lily replied, her green eyes clouded with worry. "Mary, the Malfoy family isn't exactly known for being open-minded or friendly."

As she spoke, a rhythmic clatter of footsteps echoed from the end of the corridor.

The chatter stopped abruptly.

Professor Malfoy's tall figure emerged from the shadows, his pale blond hair cascading elegantly over his shoulders, the intricate Malfoy crest embroidered subtly on his black robes.

"Now," he said, pausing at the classroom door, his gray-blue eyes sweeping over the students before pushing it open. "Enter."

The students hurried inside, jostling to find their seats.

Malfoy strode to the podium, flicking his wand lightly. The heavy curtains snapped shut, leaving only the flickering glow of candles on their stands to illuminate the room.

"Put your textbooks away," he sneered. "'Encounters with Faceless Fiends'? The author of that drivel is a Muggle-loving, cowardly half-blood. I have something to say, and I expect your full attention."

A rustle of movement followed as several students hastily closed their books and stuffed them into their bags.

"I am delighted to have the opportunity to uphold our finest magical traditions and values," Malfoy said, leaning forward with his hands braced on the podium. "First, you must purge your minds of the falsehoods you've been fed. I hope you'll come to recognize your true enemies—and they are not dark magical creatures."

"Let us begin with a basic history lesson," he continued, waving his wand. White chalk scrawled across the blackboard: The True History of Wizards and Muggles. "I will guide you into the real world, which your dull History of Magic classes so woefully neglect."

"Muggles—" His lips curled into a contemptuous sneer, as if the word itself were filth. "They're like animals—dirty and stupid. For centuries, they've been vicious and cruel to wizards, burning our kind, forcing us to hide in the shadows, denying us the life we deserve."

"That's not true! Everyone makes mistakes. At least two-thirds of the victims in the medieval witch hunts were Muggles!" A Hufflepuff student of Muggle-born descent shot to his feet, face flushed with anger. "My parents are Muggles, and they—"

"Ten points from Hufflepuff. Sit down!" Malfoy snapped, fixing him with an icy stare. "Interrupt me again, and you'll be in detention. Your outburst only proves the inherent baseness of Muggles."

"Beyond these walls," he went on, "a group of great wizards is fighting to establish a glorious new order. As witches and wizards, every one of you should join this noble cause."

Snape found Malfoy's words tiresome—the same tired rhetoric of "pure-blood supremacy" and "Muggles as vermin."

"Even in this very room…" Malfoy's gaze swept over a few visibly uneasy students, "there are some unfortunate souls tainted by Muggle blood. But I believe, if you trace your lineage far enough, you'll find a spark of magic in your veins."

"Though you've strayed from the path for far too long," he said with a crocodile-tear smile, "there is still a chance to unite with pure-blood wizards…"

As Malfoy droned on in his soporific lecture, a voice suddenly cut through from the back of the classroom. "Professor Malfoy, why do you believe pure-bloods are superior to half-bloods or Muggle-borns?"

All heads turned to the source—Odin Bleach, sitting there with an excited glint in his eyes.

Malfoy's face lit up. "Excellent question. Five points to Slytherin." He straightened. "The purer the blood, the stronger the magic. Conversely, wizards who mingle with Muggles wield weak, pitiful magic, scraping for scraps of superiority among Muggles or Squibs."

"To prove this," he declared, his voice growing fervent, "I will teach you truly captivating and righteous magic."

"Dark magic is a justified tool against traitors and Muggles. To protect ourselves and advance our great cause, we must learn and master it." His tone turned zealous. "Today, you will not merely learn to defend against it—you will learn to wield it. Only by understanding it can you truly harness its power."

With a flick of his wand, the chalkboard shifted, revealing three chilling spell names: Imperius Curse, Cruciatus Curse, Killing Curse.

A collective gasp rippled through the classroom.

"Dumbledore would never allow this!" Lily shot to her feet, her green eyes blazing with fury.

Malfoy's smile vanished, replaced by a matching scowl.

"A Gryffindor, I presume? Twenty points from Gryffindor," he said softly, his voice chilling the room. "Forget Dumbledore. This is my classroom now."

Snape's eyes narrowed slightly. He glanced at Lily, giving her a subtle shake of his head.

"Now, back to the lesson," Malfoy said, raising his voice with a snap of his fingers. "Dobby!"

A loud crack split the air, and a scrawny house-elf appeared in the center of the classroom.

Dobby, still clad in a filthy pillowcase, stared around with wide, terrified, tennis-ball-sized eyes.

"You will practice your spells on it," Malfoy said casually, as if discussing the weather. "House-elves have strong magical resistance and won't die easily—perfect for practice."

To Snape's surprise, no chorus of protests erupted. Most students merely glanced at Dobby with indifference.

"What a waste, don't you think?" Patrick Abbott muttered to Snape. "Most families wouldn't squander a house-elf like this."

Snape said nothing. He knew that, in the eyes of most wizards, house-elves weren't equals. Unlike centaurs or goblins, they lacked even a dedicated liaison at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. The only official body, the "Relocation Office," existed solely to reassign masterless elves to new owners.

"This is horrific," Mary whispered to Lily. "The enslavement of house-elves is already unjust—now they're to be tortured?"

Nearby, James and Sirius overheard her.

"They like it," Sirius said reflexively, earning nods from a few pure-blood students. "My family has this wretched elf, Kreacher. He practically revels in being ordered around, always working and whining it's not enough. His life's ambition is to have his head chopped off and mounted on the wall like his mother's…"

"How can you say that?" Lily rounded on him, her voice sharp with indignation. "No sentient being should be treated this way!"

"Well said, my dear, providing us with ample evidence," Malfoy interjected, nodding approvingly at Sirius. "What's your name?"

Sirius shot Malfoy a disdainful look and didn't answer.

"He's Sirius Black," Peter piped up quietly.

Sirius glared at Peter but said nothing.

"Ah, the Black family," Malfoy said, unfazed by Sirius's arrogance. "An ancient and noble lineage." He turned to Dobby. "It seems some non-pure-blood wizards still cling to misconceptions. So, Dobby, are you willing to serve as our practice subject? Any objections?"

The elf trembled, his large eyes brimming with tears. "Dobby… Dobby is willing, Master! Dobby has no objections."

He turned away briefly, a tear rolling down his pointed nose. He quickly wiped it away with his pillowcase before facing forward again.

"Professor Malfoy," Snape said suddenly, his voice laced with calculated curiosity, "if our goal is to combat Muggles, will practicing on a house-elf show us the true effects?"

In that moment, he understood why Dobby's devotion to Harry was so profound. In the days before Voldemort's fall, the plight of house-elves was utterly wretched.

"And," he added, pausing for effect, "with the Board's approval, under your leadership, we have a Duelling Club meeting tonight for practical training. Perhaps that would be a better venue for such demonstrations?"

"Indeed!" Malfoy's eyes gleamed. "I've already proposed to Dumbledore that I oversee the Duelling Club." He looked at Snape. "Your name?"

"Severus Snape."

"Snape…" Malfoy frowned, thinking. "Your mother's family?"

"Prince."

A flicker of recognition crossed Malfoy's face, followed by a smile. "The Prince family—a storied pure-blood line."

"Though…" His gaze lingered on Snape, the unspoken implication clear.

Malfoy didn't make the students cast spells on Dobby, but he continued his "lesson," demonstrating minor hexes on the elf instead. Dobby's stifled cries punctuated the air.

When the bell rang, the class exhaled in relief. At Malfoy's command, the battered elf Disapparated with a crack.

Snape stared at Malfoy's retreating figure, a cold glint in his eyes.

As night fell, the long tables vanished, and the Great Hall transformed into the Duelling Club's arena.

First-years crowded the front, their eyes sparkling with excitement. Older students gathered in small groups, whispering about the day's lesson.

When Malfoy swept in, clad in a silver-trimmed robe, all eyes followed him.

He stepped onto the central platform, waving his wand. A burst of silver sparks exploded in the air.

"Silence!" he called. "As the new Duelling Club instructor, I'm honored to see such a turnout."

"Per tradition," he said, scanning the crowd, "I'll begin with a demonstration. I need an opponent. Who was last year's duelling champion?"

All eyes turned to Snape. The crowd parted instinctively, leaving him exposed.

"Ah, you." Malfoy's smile was smug. "This proves yet again the importance of wizarding blood. Severus's maternal line hails from the venerable Prince family, known for producing Potions masters."

"I'm the Half-Blood Prince, sir," Snape said calmly, his voice carrying to every corner of the hall.

Malfoy's smile faltered for a split second but quickly recovered. "Yes, half-blood—with half noble blood."

"No need to worry about your champion," he told the crowd, his tone dripping with condescension. "I'll return him unscathed. Severus, you may use any spell you wish."

Snape stepped onto the platform, his lips curling into a faint, toothy smirk. "I look forward to your instruction, sir."

They turned, back-to-back, pacing five steps before spinning and bowing.

"Three—two—one—" Malfoy counted.

"Bat-Bogey Hex!" Snape's spell shot out like lightning.

A silver flash struck Malfoy's face. A swarm of bats erupted from his nostrils, flapping wildly over his horrified expression.

Snape marveled at the spell's potency—he'd read about the Bat-Bogey Hex in The Standard Book of Spells, but its power in his hands felt as if his wand were an extension of his arm.

Malfoy flailed his wand, trying to dispel the bats.

Snape gave him no chance. "Expelliarmus!"

A red bolt flashed, and Malfoy was blasted backward, his wand spinning out of his hand.

He slammed into the wall and crumpled to the floor.

The Great Hall fell silent.

Snape stepped off the platform, watching Malfoy struggle. He waited until the man's face turned beet-red before murmuring, "Finite Incantatem."

The bats scrambled back into Malfoy's nostrils.

"Professor Malfoy," Snape said, his voice ringing clearly in the hushed hall, "judging by the number of bats, you might want to clean out those noble nostrils of yours."

"I'm a professor! How dare you—" Malfoy scrambled to his feet, face ashen with rage. "I'll have you expelled! I'm going to the Headmaster!"

"You told me to use any spell, Professor," Snape said, spreading his hands innocently. "I assumed a senior, noble pure-blood like yourself could handle at least two."

"It seems I trusted certain people's claims too readily," he said, turning to the stunned crowd, "and overestimated certain abilities."

Malfoy's lips trembled. With a furious sweep of his robes, he stormed out.

Watching his humiliated retreat, Snape thought to himself that, with his wand feeling so natural in his hand, perhaps he wouldn't wait until morning to pay old Professor Malfoy a visit—and offer a proper "apology."

————

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