Harry Potter : The White Wizard of Hogwarts

"Ivan Ambrosius."

Hearing Severus Snape call his name, Ivan nodded slightly in acknowledgment, his demeanor a carefully balanced mix of confidence and neutrality—neither humble nor arrogant. "Another celebrity," he thought to himself, recognizing the weight that came with being recognized by such a notorious figure in the wizarding world.

Snape, however, didn't engage in idle conversation. He had a reputation for his curt mannerisms and sharp tongue, and today was no different. After calling the names, he raised his gaze to survey the entire class. His dark eyes held an unsettling depth; they were like two inky tunnels that seemed to draw in the light around them. "You are here to learn the precise science and strict craftsmanship of potion preparation," he declared, his voice low and resonant, yet infused with an authority that commanded immediate attention.

Although his tone was almost a whisper, it sliced through the air with a clarity that ensured every student hung on his every word. Snape's presence was formidable; he stood as if he could single-handedly maintain order in the classroom simply by sheer will. "Since there is no silly waving of wands here," he continued, "many of you may not believe that this is magic."

The atmosphere in the room shifted as Snape spoke. The tension was palpable, and Ivan could feel the anticipation radiating from his classmates. "I don't expect you to truly appreciate the beauty of the simmering crucible, with its wisps of white smoke and rich fragrance," Snape continued, his voice growing more intense. "You won't truly understand the magical power of the liquid flowing into people's veins, a power that can ignite excitement and confusion in equal measure..."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in the air like a thick mist. "I can teach you how to improve your reputation, brew glory, and even prevent death—but there is one non-negotiable condition: you must not be the kind of idiots I often encounter."

Once Snape finished his short opening remarks, the classroom descended into an almost reverent silence, the kind that followed a thunderous storm.

Harry Potter and Ron Weasley exchanged incredulous glances, their eyebrows raised in a mixture of shock and amusement. Hermione Granger, who had always been eager to prove herself, leaned forward in her seat, her eyes sparkling with a mix of anxiety and determination, as if she was ready to demonstrate her intellect. Meanwhile, Ivan remained composed, biding his time, fully aware that Snape's ire would inevitably find its target elsewhere.

He had studied Snape's character well over the years; the Potions Master had a penchant for singling out those who drew attention. With Harry in the front row to attract Snape's ire, Ivan merely had to sit back and watch the show unfold.

Snape, it seemed, harbored no particular hatred for celebrities; rather, his disdain was reserved for Harry Potter.

"Potter!" Snape snapped, impatience threading through his voice as if it were a tangible force. "What will I get if I add narcissus root powder to wormwood infusion?"

Harry's mind blanked. What was narcissus root powder? What did wormwood infusion even mean? He shot a bewildered glance at Ron, who wore a similarly stunned expression, unable to decipher Snape's question.

Hermione, sitting next to Ivan, felt a familiar urge to raise her hand and answer, but then she remembered Ivan's warning: sometimes it was better to stay in the background.

"Ivan?" she whispered, turning to him, her expression pleading.

Ivan shook his head slightly, a subtle but firm gesture indicating she should refrain from answering. Resisting the impulse to demonstrate her knowledge and gain extra points, Hermione turned her attention back to Harry, waiting for him to respond.

"I don't know, sir," Harry admitted, his voice barely above a murmur. He felt the weight of Snape's malice hanging in the air like an impending storm. The dark professor, with his greasy hair and drab robes, loomed over them like a specter from their nightmares, and Harry couldn't shake the feeling of hostility radiating from him.

"Tsk, tsk." Snape curled his lip in contempt, his expression one of utter disdain. "It seems that fame does not equate to knowledge."

"Let's try again," Snape said, his tone cutting through the tension. "Potter, if I asked you to find me a stone, where would you look?"

Harry remained silent, overwhelmed by the question. A stone? Where would he even begin?

Nearby, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle erupted into laughter, their voices echoing in the otherwise quiet room. Malfoy was practically shaking with mirth, and Harry felt the heat of embarrassment rising in his cheeks. He glanced at Ron, who looked equally uncomfortable, but they were powerless to stop the torrent of ridicule.

"I don't know, sir," Harry finally said, resignation creeping into his voice.

"I don't think you've ever read a book before coming to Hogwarts, have you, Potter?" Snape sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Harry's frustration bubbled to the surface. He had read countless books at the Dursleys'—but could Snape expect him to memorize the contents of "One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi"? Was that even a reasonable expectation for any student?

Hermione, however, was ready with an answer.

"Potter, tell me the difference between Aconitum naviculatum and Aconitum chamaejasme," Snape pressed, his cold gaze locked onto Harry, as if daring him to respond.

"I don't know." The blatant targeting made Harry furious. He stared back at Snape, who met his emerald green eyes with an intensity that seemed to pierce through him.

This unrelenting scrutiny only fueled Harry's anger further. Just looking at Harry's face—a mirror image of someone Snape despised—infuriated him.

"How could this happen?" Hermione whispered urgently to Ivan, her confusion evident. "Does he have a grudge against Harry?"

Harry Potter was a hero in the wizarding world, someone who commanded respect and admiration from countless witches and wizards. Yet Snape's overt hostility puzzled Hermione. Was he jealous of Harry's fame? The idea seemed preposterous, yet it lingered in her mind.

"You answer it!" Snape barked, his attention shifting to Hermione, his eyes narrowing with a predatory gleam.

"Puff!" Ivan couldn't stifle his laughter at the sudden tension in the room. The unexpected outburst sent ripples of shock throughout the classroom, causing even Snape to frown in irritation.

"Sorry, Professor." Ivan coughed lightly, trying to contain his amusement. "I just thought of something funny."

He hadn't anticipated Snape's sudden shift towards Hermione; he had only meant to enjoy the spectacle.

"Professor!" Hermione interjected quickly, fearing that Snape would turn his ire towards Ivan. "Narcissus root powder and wormwood can be combined to create a highly effective sleeping potion, known as the draught of living death."

She pressed on, her confidence building. "Coprolite is a type of stone found in the stomach of a goat, renowned for its potent detoxifying properties."

"As for Aconitum naviculatum and Aconitum wolfsbane, they are the same plant, commonly referred to as Wumai."

Hermione's answers were not just accurate; they were nearly textbook in their precision, showcasing her extensive preparation.

Yet Snape's expression shifted from disdain to annoyance. Although he was aware of Hermione's impressive intellect, having heard rumors from other professors about Ivan—a remarkable young wizard purportedly descended from Merlin himself—he felt that today's lesson had not gone as planned.

In the context of the general public's perception, especially in China, Merlin's legacy was often dismissed as mere myth.

Snape, having failed to regain control of the class, turned back to Hermione, demanding more answers, while she continued to respond fluidly, her confidence soaring.

"It seems that compared to some, the witch who can memorize an entire book proves far superior," Snape remarked dryly, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "At least in terms of rote memorization, there is something to be learned for certain individuals."

This comment stung, and Hermione felt a mix of pride and frustration. She had hoped for acknowledgment, yet Snape's words were anything but flattering. Unfortunately, the young witch was not adept at contradicting a professor, especially one as formidable as Snape.

"Sit down!" Snape commanded dismissively, his eyes sweeping back to Ivan, who seemed to revel in the chaos of the moment.

Ivan's amused expression irked Snape. Despite his irritation, Snape felt an inexplicable hesitation to provoke this peculiar boy. It was akin to a venomous snake recognizing a powerful beast nearby—one that was far too risky to confront without a solid reason.

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