Harry Potter: I became Snape

The students filed into the Transfiguration classroom.

Severus Snape chose a seat in the back row by the window, his usual spot. He scanned the room out of habit, his brows furrowing immediately—on the other side of the classroom, four empty seats stood out starkly. Those were the seats the Marauders typically claimed.

"Strange..." he thought to himself.

Normally, by this time, James, Sirius, and the others would have swaggered in, but today, even as Professor McGonagall entered the classroom, their seats remained conspicuously empty.

"Quiet," Professor McGonagall said, tapping her wand lightly on the lectern. The room fell silent at once.

Her sharp gaze swept across the class, finally settling on the four vacant seats.

"Does anyone know where Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, Mr. Lupin, and Mr. Pettigrew are?" she asked, her brows knitting together.

The classroom was silent. The Gryffindor students exchanged glances, but no one spoke.

"Very well," Professor McGonagall said coldly. "Gryffindor will lose forty points. Now, please turn your textbooks to page one hundred thirty-seven. Today, we will be studying skeletal transformation in human Transfiguration..."

Snape opened his Advanced Transfiguration Guide absentmindedly, his quill scratching across parchment to jot down every key point of McGonagall's lecture, though he wasn't really listening.

All four of them missing the Gryffindor Head's class? That was highly unusual. They wouldn't dare challenge McGonagall's authority lightly. Unless... unless they were dealing with something unavoidable. But now wasn't the time to worry about them.

When the bell rang, Snape quickly packed his books and prepared to leave.

He had already been barred from attending the next Defense Against the Dark Arts class, and he had no other lessons for the rest of the day.

This free period was the perfect opportunity to leave Hogwarts and procure the supplies he needed. Besides Muggle laboratory equipment, he had learned from Dumbledore yesterday that Hogwarts' storeroom lacked both Occamy eggs and Billywig blood, so he planned to visit Diagon Alley to acquire those materials.

In the corridor, students hurried to their next classes. Amid the envious glances of his friends, Snape moved against the flow of the crowd, heading toward the Room of Requirement on the eighth floor. He planned to brew a batch of Ageing Potion there to prepare for his off-campus errand.

"I need a quiet place to brew a potion," Snape thought to himself.

This term, they hadn't yet claimed this magical room for themselves.

He paced three times in front of the blank stretch of wall, and a smooth door appeared. He pushed it open and stepped inside.

In the center of the room stood a copper cauldron and a set of scales, ready for use. Snape rolled up his sleeves, flicked his wand to light the fire, and began working methodically.

An Ageing Potion was child's play for him.

"Moonstone powder... three drops of leech juice... a pinch of ginger root..." he muttered under his breath, adding each ingredient in precise order.

The liquid in the cauldron gradually turned a pale purple as he stirred, emitting a faint minty aroma.

In less than half an hour, a near-perfect Ageing Potion was complete. Snape carefully poured it into a crystal vial and sealed it with a cork. He glanced at his pocket watch—eleven twenty. Plenty of time to leave the castle before the students' classes ended.

Leaving the Room of Requirement, Snape strode quickly through the corridors to the school's front gates.

Hogwarts' gates were firmly shut, bound with iron chains.

He tapped the lock with his wand, and the chains slithered back like a snake. The gates creaked open.

Stepping outside, he closed the gates behind him and tapped the chains again with his wand. With a metallic clatter, they snaked back into place.

Snape didn't leave immediately. Instead, he pulled the Ageing Potion from his pocket.

"This should make me look about forty," he murmured to himself, uncorking the vial and downing the potion in one gulp.

A warm sensation spread from his stomach to the rest of his body. His bones gave a faint crackling sound, and his skin began to stretch and shift.

Snape felt himself grow about an inch taller, his shoulders broadening slightly. His facial features sharpened, becoming more angular. Most noticeably, his hair—already cut short—grew back to shoulder length, falling like curtains on either side of his face.

He picked up a stone from the ground and, with a Transfiguration spell, turned it into a small mirror.

The man in the reflection looked to be in his mid-forties, with a stern face and piercing eyes—a formidable adult wizard.

"Why do I look like an old bat again?" Snape muttered, shaking his head at the mirror. He tossed it aside and quipped, "Gryffindor loses a thousand points."

After adjusting his robes with a quick Transfiguration spell, he Disapparated with a soft pop, reappearing at the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron.

The old pub still reeked of alcohol and tobacco, with a few wizards huddled in the corners, speaking in low voices.

Snape didn't linger. He crossed the pub and reached the brick wall in the back courtyard.

"Three up... two across..." He tapped the bricks with his wand, and the wall parted, revealing the passage to Diagon Alley.

Sunlight spilled onto the cobblestone street, shop signs swaying gently in the breeze.

At that moment, Snape's stomach growled—he realized he hadn't eaten lunch.

Looking up, he spotted a café not far away, its colorful umbrellas shading a few outdoor tables.

"One steak and kidney pie and a cup of tea," he said to the waiter as he approached.

While waiting for his food, his gaze drifted to the counter of Florean Fortescue's Ice-Cream Parlour next door. Fortescue was skillfully preparing ice cream for a child, mixing various toppings with practiced ease.

His meal arrived soon after. Snape ate slowly, savoring each bite, then headed to the ice-cream parlor.

"One chocolate, raspberry, and crushed nut ice cream," he said to Fortescue.

"Coming right up!" Fortescue replied cheerfully, beginning to prepare the order. He looked to be in his fifties, his face creased with a warm smile, his eyes crinkling.

Snape studied him for a moment, finding the man vaguely familiar.

"I believe I've seen a portrait in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts that looks remarkably like you," Snape said, testing the waters.

"Oh, really?" Fortescue paused briefly, then grinned even wider. "You must have seen my great-great-grandfather, Dexter Fortescue. He was a Hogwarts Headmaster."

"The one with the ear trumpet?" Snape asked, recalling the snoring portrait on the Headmaster's office wall.

"That's him!" Fortescue said, delighted. "The same as the portrait at home. He still pops by for a visit now and then." He handed Snape the ice cream. "This one's on the house."

Snape took the ice cream, suddenly remembering that, in the distant future, this kind ice-cream shop owner would be kidnapped and killed by Lord Voldemort, likely for information about the Deathly Hallows, particularly the Elder Wand.

"Thank you," Snape said quietly, pulling out a few silver Sickles and placing them on the counter. "But no need."

Fortescue refused to take the coins, and after some back-and-forth, Snape relented.

As he ate his ice cream, Snape pondered whether the eldest of the three brothers from the Deathly Hallows tale still had living descendants. He headed toward Slug & Jiggers Apothecary.

A bundle of herbs hung above the shop's door. Pushing it open, Snape was hit by a pungent mix of rotten eggs, spoiled cabbage, and various strange potion ingredients.

The floor was cluttered with barrels of slimy substances, while shelves along the walls held jars of herbs, roots, and colorful powders. Bundles of feathers, fangs, and claws dangled from the ceiling, alongside a unicorn horn priced at twenty-one Galleons.

"Can I help you?" a tall, lanky shop assistant asked, approaching.

"I need Occamy eggs and Billywig blood," Snape said bluntly.

"We're out of stock, sir," the assistant said apologetically. "Occamy eggs, Billywig blood..." He lowered his voice. "Are you brewing Wolfsbane Potion? Demand's been high lately. We ran out last week."

"How long's the wait?" Snape asked.

"At least three months," the assistant replied, then hesitated, eyeing Snape's long hair and deliberately grim expression. "But... if you're in a hurry..." He leaned closer. "You might try Borgin and Burkes. They sometimes have... special sources."

Snape narrowed his eyes, studying the assistant for a moment.

"Thank you for the suggestion," he said coolly, turning to leave the shop.

Diagon Alley's sunlight was still bright, but as he turned down the narrow alley beside the towering white marble of Gringotts, the light dimmed. The twisting path led to Knockturn Alley—London's darkest corner of the wizarding world.

The shop windows along Knockturn Alley displayed unsettling items: shrunken heads, bottles of dubious liquids, and caged creatures that screeched oddly.

A few ragged wizards crouched in corners, their wary eyes tracking every passerby. When Snape's cold gaze swept over them, they shrank back into the shadows.

The sign above Borgin and Burkes was faded, its windows filled with eerie displays.

Snape pushed open the door, striding inside as the bell jangled.

The shop was even more sinister inside. Cabinets held skulls and ancient bottles, walls were adorned with grotesque masks, and the ceiling bore an array of menacing metal instruments. A glass jar on the counter contained several human fingers.

Snape wasn't foolish enough to touch anything. He scanned the items, then approached the counter and rang the brass bell.

The chime echoed through the empty shop. Moments later, a short, hunched man with slick hair emerged from the back room.

"Welcome, sir," Mr. Borgin said in an oily tone, smoothing his hair back. "First time in our shop, I presume? May I have your name?"

"Neville Longbottom," Snape said without hesitation, the first name that came to mind.

Borgin's eyes lingered on Snape's dark hair for a second, clearly aware the name was false.

A knowing smile tugged at his lips. "Of course, Mr. Longbottom. How may I assist you?"

"The assistant at Slug & Jiggers said you might have Occamy eggs and Billywig blood," Snape said. "Is that true?"

"I do have some Billywig blood in stock," Borgin said, his smile widening. "But Occamy eggs, I'm afraid, are out of stock. Would you like some dragon's blood?"

"Yes," Snape nodded. "How much per ounce? I need twelve ounces."

"Ten Galleons and fifteen Sickles per ounce," Borgin said, rubbing his hands together eagerly, his eyes rolling upward as he calculated. "That's one hundred thirty Galleons and ten Sickles total. But..." He waved a hand magnanimously. "I'll make it one hundred thirty Galleons even."

"Is the bottle made of Galleons, or is the cork?" Snape sneered. "I recall the market price is five Galleons an ounce."

"Where else in Britain can you find Billywig blood these days?" Borgin said, feigning offense. "These are from a New Zealand dragon farm, bred specifically. You think it's expensive? I'm the one paying high import costs."

"Fine," Snape said, staring at him for two seconds. "Let me see it."

Borgin bent down and retrieved four crystal vials from under the counter, placing them carefully on the surface. The deep red liquid inside glimmered faintly in the dim light.

Snape eyed the vials suspiciously, picking one up and holding it to the light to inspect the viscous contents.

As he moved to open it, Borgin quickly intervened. "No opening before purchase, sir."

"How do I know the quality without checking?" Snape countered. "Can you guarantee this dragon's blood is up to standard?"

"My shop's right here," Borgin said, patting his chest. "Would I sell you subpar goods?"

Snape gave a derisive humph, slowly pulling out his money pouch and counting out one hundred thirty gold Galleons onto the counter.

Borgin's eyes lit up at the sight of the coins.

"Anything else, Mr. Longbottom?" he asked, sweeping the Galleons into a drawer.

Snape's gaze drifted across the shop, landing on a withered hand in a glass case.

"Ah! The Hand of Glory!" Borgin said, catching his look. "Insert a candle, and only the holder can see the light! Perfect for thieves and rogues! Excellent taste, Mr. Longbottom."

"Do I look like a thief or a rogue, Mr. Borgin?" Snape said icily.

Borgin's smile froze, and he quickly waved his hands. "Of course not, Mr. Longbottom, I meant no such thing—"

"Enough," Snape cut him off. "Do you sell wands here?"

It had just occurred to him that, after giving his spare wand to Lyka, he was left with only one. For casting harmless spells, it would be better not to use his own.

"Well..." Borgin's expression turned cautious, his voice hesitant.

————

Supporting me on Patreon to gain early access to advanced chapters and enjoy expedited updates. Your support is greatly appreciated.

pat-reon .com/Dragonhair

(Just remove the hyphen - and space, to access Patreon normally.)