Hogwarts i am snape

Students streamed into the Transfiguration classroom. Snape chose a seat in the back by the window, habitually scanning the room. His brow furrowed—four empty seats on the other side of the classroom stood out jarringly—the Marauders' usual spot.

"That's odd," he thought to himself. Usually, James and Sirius and the others would have swaggered in by now, but today, even after Professor McGonagall entered the classroom, their seats remained conspicuously empty.

"Quiet, please," Professor McGonagall tapped her wand on the desk, and the classroom immediately fell silent. Her sharp gaze swept across the room, finally settling on the four vacant seats.

"Does anyone know where Mr. Potter, Mr. Black, Mr. Lupin, and Mr. Pettigrew have gone?" she asked, her brow knitted.

A hush fell over the classroom. The Gryffindor students exchanged glances, but no one spoke up.

"Very well," Professor McGonagall said coldly. "Forty points from Gryffindor. Now, please turn to page one hundred and thirty-seven in your textbooks. Today we will be studying human transfiguration, specifically skeletal transfiguration."

Snape casually opened his Guide to Advanced Transfiguration, his quick-notes quill moving rapidly across the parchment, recording every key point McGonagall explained, though he wasn't really listening to her words.

All four of them skipping the Head of Gryffindor's class? This was highly unusual. They never dared to challenge Professor McGonagall's authority so brazenly. Unless... unless something they absolutely had to deal with had come up. But now wasn't the time to concern himself with their affairs. When the bell rang for the end of class, Snape quickly packed his books, ready to leave. He had already been disqualified from participating in the next Defence Against the Dark Arts class, and besides that, he had no more classes for the entire day. This free time was perfect for leaving school to procure necessary supplies. Aside from Muggle experimental equipment, he had learned from Dumbledore yesterday that the Hogwarts storerooms lacked Occamy eggs and Australian Opaleye dragon blood, so he planned to go to Diagon Alley to acquire those materials.

In the corridor, students hurried to their next classes. Under the envious gazes of his friends, Snape moved against the flow of students, heading towards the Room of Requirement on the eighth floor. He intended to brew an Ageing Potion there, to prepare for his upcoming off-campus shopping trip.

"I need a quiet place to brew potions," Snape thought to himself. They hadn't managed to claim this magical room for themselves this term yet. He walked past the blank stretch of wall three times, and a sleek door appeared. He pushed it open and entered.

A copper cauldron and a set of scales were already prepared in the center of the room. Snape rolled up his sleeves, lit the fire with a flick of his wand, and began to work methodically. An Ageing Potion was child's play for him.

"Moonstone powder... three drops of antacid... a pinch of ginger root..." he murmured, adding each ingredient in sequence. 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 nearly perfect Ageing Potion was complete. Snape carefully poured it into a crystal vial and sealed it with a cork. He checked his pocket watch—eleven-twenty. Enough time to leave the castle before the students were dismissed from their classes.

Leaving the Room of Requirement, Snape hurried through the corridor and arrived at the school gates. The Hogwarts gates were tightly shut, chains wrapped around them. He gently tapped the padlock with his wand, and the chains retracted like snakes, the gates creaking open.

Stepping outside the school grounds, he turned and closed the gates, then tapped the chains with his wand again. With a clang of metal, the chains slithered back into place.

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

"This amount should make me about forty-something," he muttered to himself, uncorking the vial and downing the potion in one gulp. A warm sensation spread from his stomach throughout his body. His bones cracked softly, and his skin began to stretch and change. Snape felt himself grow about an inch taller, his shoulders broadened, and his facial features became more angular. The most noticeable change was his hair—his previously short black hair now cascaded to his shoulders, framing his face like curtains.

He picked up a stone from the ground and temporarily transfigured it into a small mirror. The man in the mirror was about forty, with a stern face and sharp eyes, looking every bit a formidable adult wizard.

"Why am I an old bat again?" Snape shook his head at the mirror, tossing it casually to the ground with a playful jab. "One thousand points from Gryffindor."

After adjusting the size of his clothes with a Transfiguration spell, he disappeared with a soft pop, reappearing moments later at the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron.

The old pub still smelled of a mix of ale and tobacco; a few wizards sat in corners, conversing in low tones. Snape didn't linger, walking straight through the pub to the brick wall in the back courtyard.

"Three up... two across..."

He tapped the bricks with his wand, and the wall immediately parted, revealing the passage to Diagon Alley. Sunlight streamed onto the cobblestone street, and shop signs swayed gently in the breeze. Just then, Snape's stomach rumbled—he'd completely forgotten to eat lunch.

He looked up and saw a few brightly colored parasols propped outside a nearby cafe, with tables set underneath them.

"One steak and kidney pie and a cup of tea," he told the server.

While waiting for his food, his gaze involuntarily drifted to the counter of Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour next door. Mr. Fortescue was making ice cream for a child, expertly mixing various ingredients.

His food arrived quickly. Snape ate slowly, then rose and headed towards the ice cream parlor.

"One chocolate, raspberry, and chopped nut ice cream," he told Mr. Fortescue.

"Coming right up!" Mr. Fortescue responded enthusiastically, beginning to prepare the ice cream. He looked to be in his fifties, with a smile on his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Snape watched him for a moment, finding the amiable shop owner oddly familiar. "I believe I've seen a portrait in the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts that looks very much like you," he ventured.

"Ah, have you?" Mr. Fortescue paused, then smiled even more broadly. "Then you must have seen the portrait of my great-great-great-grandfather, Dexter Fortescue; he was once Headmaster of Hogwarts."

"Was he an old wizard with a hearing trumpet?" Snape recalled, picturing the snoring portrait on the Headmaster's office wall.

"Exactly!" Mr. Fortescue said with delight. "Just like the portrait at my home, he occasionally comes for a visit." He handed the prepared ice cream to Snape. "This one's on me."

Snape took the ice cream, suddenly remembering that in the distant future, this kind ice cream shop owner would be abducted and murdered by Voldemort, seemingly to glean information about the Deathly Hallows, particularly the Elder Wand.

"Thank you," he murmured, pulling out a few silver Sickles and placing them on the counter. "But there's no need."

Mr. Fortescue insisted on not taking the money, and after a brief back and forth, Snape eventually gave up.

As he ate his ice cream, wondering if any descendants of the eldest of the three brothers still existed, he headed towards Slug & Jiggers Apothecary.

A bundle of herbs hung on the shop door. Pushing it open, he was assaulted by a mixed scent of rotten eggs, stale cabbage, and various peculiar ingredients. Barrels of sticky substances lined the floor, and shelves along the walls held jars of herbs, roots, and colored powders. Bundles of feathers, fangs, and claws hung from the ceiling, along with a unicorn horn priced at twenty-one Galleons.

"Can I help you?" a tall, thin shop assistant approached him.

"I need Occamy eggs and Australian Opaleye dragon blood," Snape stated directly.

"Currently out of stock, sir," the assistant said apologetically. "Occamy eggs, Australian Opaleye dragon blood—" he lowered his voice, "Are you making Wolfsbane Potion? The demand has been very high recently; we ran out last week."

"How long will it take to get more?" Snape asked.

"At least three months," the assistant said, then hesitated, scrutinizing Snape's long hair and feigned gloomy expression. "However... if you need it urgently..." he leaned closer. "You could try Borgin and Burkes; they sometimes have... 'special' stock."

Snape narrowed his eyes, looking at the assistant for a moment. "Thank you for the suggestion," he said coldly, turning to leave the apothecary.

The sunlight in Diagon Alley was still bright, but as he turned into the narrow alley next to the tall, white Gringotts, the light immediately dimmed. This winding path led to Knockturn Alley—the darkest corner of the wizarding world in London.

The shop windows on either side of Knockturn Alley displayed unsettling items: shrunken heads, bottles containing suspicious liquids, and strange creatures screaming inside cages. Several shabbily dressed wizards crouched in corners, eyeing every passerby with wary gazes. When Snape's chilling glare swept over them, they immediately shrank back into the shadows.

The sign for Borgin and Burkes was faded, and its display windows were similarly filled with macabre exhibits. Snape pushed open the door and strode into the shop, a bell jingling.

The interior was even gloomier than it appeared from outside. Display cases were filled with skeletons and ancient bottles, grotesque masks hung on the walls, and various frightening metal contraptions dangled from the ceiling. Glass jars on the counter held several human fingers preserved in liquid.

Snape wouldn't be foolish enough to touch these things carelessly. He glanced at the displayed items, then walked through the shop towards the counter, ringing the brass bell on top.

The bell echoed through the empty shop once more, and a moment later, a short, stooped man with greasy hair emerged from the back room.

"Welcome, sir," Mr. Borgin said in an unctuous tone, simultaneously slicking back his hair. "You haven't visited our shop before, have you? What may I call you?"

"Neville Longbottom," Snape said without thinking, blurting out the first name that popped into his head.

Mr. Borgin's gaze lingered on Snape's black hair for a second, clearly realizing the name was false. A knowing smile played on his lips. "Of course, Mr. Longbottom. How may I assist you?"

"The assistant at Slug & Jiggers said you have Occamy eggs and Australian Opaleye dragon blood here," Snape said. "Is that true?"

"We do have some Australian Opaleye blood in stock," Mr. Borgin's smile widened. "But Occamy eggs—alas, temporarily out of stock. Do you need dragon blood as well?"

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

"Ten Galleons, fifteen Sickles per ounce," Mr. Borgin rubbed his hands together with some glee, his eyes rolling up as he calculated for a moment. "That comes to one hundred and thirty Galleons, ten Sickles in total. However—" he waved a hand dismissively, feigning generosity, "I'll make it one hundred and thirty Galleons flat for you."

"Is the bottle made of Galleons, or is the cork made of Galleons?" Snape sneered. "I recall the market price being no more than five Galleons an ounce."

"Look, aside from my shop, where else in Britain can you buy Australian Opaleye dragon blood these days?" Mr. Borgin said, sounding a bit aggrieved. "These are all farm-raised at a New Zealand dragon breeding ground. If you think it's expensive, I think it's expensive too; the import price is already very high."

"Alright," Snape stared at him for two seconds. "Let me see it."

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

Snape looked at the bottles skeptically, picked one up, and held it to the light, examining the viscous liquid within. He was about to open it, but Mr. Borgin quickly stopped him. "Cannot be opened before purchase, sir."

"How can I know the quality without inspecting it?" Snape retorted. "Is your dragon blood guaranteed to be of good quality?"

"My shop is right here," Mr. Borgin said, patting his chest. "Would I sell you inferior goods?"

Snape snorted, then unhurriedly pulled out his money pouch and counted out one hundred and thirty gold Galleons, placing them on the counter. Mr. Borgin's eyes noticeably lit up at the sight of the gold.

"Do you require anything else, Mr. Longbottom?" he asked, sweeping the Galleons into a drawer. Snape's gaze swept over the shop, landing on a shriveled human hand in a glass display case.

"Ah! The Hand of Glory!" Mr. Borgin immediately caught his eye. "Insert a candle, and only the holder can see the light! A thief's and robber's best friend! You have excellent taste, Mr. Longbottom."

"Do I look like a thief or a robber, Mr. Borgin?" Snape said coldly.

Mr. Borgin's smile froze on his face, and he quickly waved his hands in denial: "N-no, of course not, Mr. Longbottom, I didn't mean that at all—"

"Alright," Snape interrupted him. "Do you sell wands here?"

He suddenly remembered that after giving the extra wand to Lyra, he only had one wand left. If he needed to cast some harmless spells, it would be better not to use his own wand.

"That..." Mr. Borgin's expression became wary, and he spoke with some hesitation.

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