Hogwarts: From Little Wizard to White Lord

Professor Snape possessed the same intimidating presence as Professor McGonagall. A single look from him was enough to silence an entire room of young witches and wizards.

But the two were completely different in style.

McGonagall's strictness came from fairness. Her seriousness was born from discipline and equal treatment for all.

Snape, on the other hand...

When he stood in the shadows, fingers lightly gripping a roll of parchment, and called out a name in his slow, deliberate voice, the effect was chilling. The name "Harry Potter" escaped his lips as if it had been forced through clenched teeth.

It made everyone in the room think of snakes.

Snape observed the wary faces of the students from behind his desk, not bothering to soften his expression. His black eyes, flat and cold, remained fixed on Harry.

"Yes, yes... the Boy-Who-Lived. The savior of the wizarding world. Quite the celebrity."

The sarcasm in his tone was impossible to miss.

Harry sat frozen. His mind raced with confusion, and a faint sense of injustice swelled in his chest.

Then came the next name.

"Oh, Peter Weasley. The Potions prodigy. Another shining star."

Peter calmly stood from his seat and offered a brief, polite nod.

"Thank you for the compliment, Professor."

Harry couldn't help but envy Peter's composure. It wasn't easy to stay calm under Snape's gaze. Not everyone could ignore the venom of a snake so casually.

Snape let out a soft snort, and to Harry's relief, finally turned his eyes away. He quickly finished reading the rest of the list, then began pacing through the room like a shadow slipping between cracks in stone.

"...Perhaps many of you believe that potions are not real magic," he began, voice soft and cold. "I do not expect the thick skulls in this room to immediately grasp the elegance of the subject. But the truth is, with the right mixture, and patient brewing over low heat, one can create wonders... elixirs that inspire ecstasy, confusion... even death."

His words moved slowly, weaving through the quiet dungeon like fog. They seemed to echo from every direction, drawing the students in like a whisper.

Then, suddenly, that voice was right beside Harry's ear.

"Harry Potter. Our celebrity. Tell me—what would I get if I added powdered narcissus root to a wormwood infusion?"

Harry jolted in his seat.

What?

He turned to Ron, hoping for a clue, but Ron looked just as blank.

Harry had read through the Potions book, of course, but it wasn't realistic to memorize every detail before learning them in class.

Well, maybe for someone like Hermione.

She already had her hand raised high in the air, stretching as if she were trying to touch the ceiling.

Peter was beside her, trying to nudge her hand back down with an amused look, while Malfoy and his two cronies snickered from a few seats behind them.

"I don't know, Professor," Harry said at last, voice dry.

Professor Snape's long face seemed to droop even lower as he sneered,"I don't know... Hmph. It appears fame doesn't equate to knowledge, Mr. Potter. Very well, let's try again—"

Harry's head was spinning with embarrassment, and without thinking, the words came tumbling out of his mouth.

"Professor, why don't you ask Hermione? She definitely knows the answer. Or ask Peter. He's been brewing potions since he was eight. He's even improved some of the standard formulas. Ron showed me a newspaper with his published paper. Honestly, I think he knows more than most students here."

He finished in a rush, the pressure inside him suddenly releasing like a bursting cauldron.

For days, Ron had gone on about how skilled Peter was in Potions. At some point, Harry had started to believe it too. In fact, in that moment, he even wondered if Peter might be more talented than Snape himself.

His words hung in the air like a spark over spilled powder.

The dungeon fell completely silent.

Snape's face froze.

Somewhere near the back, someone laughed—Malfoy, followed by the snorting of his two goons.

That laugh lasted only a second. Both Peter and Snape turned their heads sharply, each fixing their gaze on Malfoy with identical expressions of cold disapproval.

Malfoy immediately shut his mouth.

Snape turned back toward Peter. His voice was calm, but the tension in the air said otherwise.

"It seems Mr. Peter Weasley holds quite the reputation among his classmates."

Peter smiled lightly, the same pleasant smile he always wore.

"Just a few modest accomplishments, Professor."

"In fact," Peter added casually, "the main reason I came to Hogwarts was to study potions under your instruction. I also wanted to thank you personally. When a few members of the Extraordinary Pharmacists' Association criticized my ideas, you published a paper that defended my work. That meant a lot to me."

The entire room went still again.

Students from both Gryffindor and Slytherin blinked in disbelief. For a moment, they thought the silence might have made them hallucinate—because it looked like Professor Snape had just smiled.

Only slightly. But a smile nonetheless.

Whatever it was, the atmosphere in the dungeon lightened, if only a little.

Snape didn't respond with more questions. Instead, he returned to his lectern and began his lesson. But just before launching into the content, he couldn't resist adding one last jab.

"Mr. Potter, I don't ask Mr. Peter Weasley such elementary questions. Do you know why?" He paused, voice as smooth as acid. "Because he earned his reputation through effort and talent. You, on the other hand—tsk, tsk. Two points from Gryffindor."

Harry felt the sting instantly. His cheeks burned with frustration and shame.

At his table, Peter quietly sighed.

The tangled emotions between Snape and Harry were more complicated than most people could understand.

Harry, for his part, had no idea what he had done to earn Snape's dislike. And as for Snape... perhaps the pain came from seeing the eyes of the person he had loved most reflected in the face of the boy he resented most.

It wasn't something anyone else could resolve.

Still, it became quickly clear that Snape hadn't truly let Harry off the hook.

Throughout the rest of the lecture, he circled Harry's table like a hunting beast, occasionally dropping sharp questions at random moments.

This made things even harder for those sitting near Harry. They couldn't relax for a second, and a few unfortunate students ended up getting snapped at for small mistakes.

The pressure only increased when it came time for the practical portion of class.

It was as if Snape had decided to glue himself to Harry's workstation. He hovered nearby constantly, finding fault with everything Harry did—and everything the students around him did, too.

"Longbottom," Snape barked, "what's inside that thick skull of yours? Flour and water? Your brain turns to paste the moment you move your head!"

He turned to the next target without missing a beat.

"I've heard of you, Finnigan. You're known for making anything explode—whether it's intentional or not. But in this class, if you dare to be careless, I'll show you exactly what punishment means."

Meanwhile, he passed by Peter's table now and then, pausing in silence to observe.

He never said a single critical word.

It wasn't only because Peter was in Slytherin—though that helped—but rather because there was nothing to criticize.

Everything Peter did was precise, measured, and elegant. Even Hermione, his brewing partner, noticed that his handling of the herbs differed slightly from what was written in the textbook.

That day's assignment was a basic healing potion for treating scabies—a standard first-year brew.

Peter had made it before, but he didn't treat it carelessly just because it was simple. On the contrary, he focused carefully on the task while explaining his process to Hermione beside him.

"...Potions don't rely on rigid chemical properties the way Muggle chemistry does," he said softly, adjusting the flame beneath their cauldron. "In chemistry, you need precise measurements—grams, milliliters, fixed ratios. But potions are more... intuitive."

He glanced at her as he ground a dried root in a slow, spiraling motion.

"It's more accurate to say that we're crafting a spell in liquid form, not just making medicine. Have you noticed how vague the ingredient lists are in our books? They don't mention grams or ounces. It's always 'a pinch,' 'a sprig,' or 'a handful.' Sometimes it even says things like 'one full leaf' or 'five drops.'"

Hermione nodded, captivated.

"But when it comes to stirring, or the direction of the spoon, or timing the turns, the instructions become very precise. That's because the physical motions and rhythm are part of the ritual. Think of brewing a potion not as a science experiment... but as performing a magical ceremony."

Hermione stared down into their cauldron, suddenly seeing it in a completely new way.

Want to read ahead, share your fandom thoughts, or just fuel my translation caffeine habit? Join me on Patreon here! : patreon.com/Keep_ItUp