Andrew sincerely wished that his roommate could uncover the secrets hidden within the complexities of magical history—preferably becoming an expert while still in school, so he could offer insight into ancient magical eras or suspicious historical wizards whenever Andrew got curious and asked for help.
It was just unfortunate that job prospects in this field were naturally more limited than others. The Hogwarts Board of Governors clearly had no plans to replace Professor Binns, let alone hire a second History of Magic professor.
For some reason—perhaps due to Harry Potter—this year's student cohort had the privilege of being taught by some of the best professors across almost every subject. In that sense, the entire year group was riding Harry Potter's coattails.
The History of Magic was the lone exception, a course with exactly one immovable professor.
While spinning up nonsense to keep Hughes distracted, the two eventually reached the library, ending their pleasant conversation. Each borrowed a book: Hughes took out a magical history reference, and Andrew grabbed a companion text for a book he hadn't fully understood.
After finding a table together, they silently dove into their own work.
+++
The next morning, Andrew rubbed his eyes and got out of bed. Thanks to the reference book he reviewed the previous night, he had finally grasped the concept behind maintaining a transfigured object's structural integrity even when it's divisible.
But understanding the concept was as far as he got. Putting it into practice would take substantial training. Despite working on it until bedtime, he had not succeeded once.
He'd wanted to try again that morning—but that was out of the question. First period was Potions.
According to upperclassmen in the common room, if you didn't want to spend the next five years enduring constant psychological torment, then you'd better not act dumb in Potions class.
And if you thought your life lacked excitement, you could always try provoking the Head of Slytherin.
One undeniable fact about this professor's blatant favoritism: under his watch, Slytherin had won the House Cup six years in a row.
"But I think I read somewhere that Professor Snape actually has a decent reputation," Andrew had casually remarked during a late-night common room discussion—only to trigger a storm of laughter.
"HAHAHAHA…"
"That's the best joke I've heard all week!"
"Put that on the front page of The Daily Prophet! Absolute comedy gold!"
"That's a rival to Dumbledore's opening feast jokes! (Wait—you missed it? Oh, too bad…)"
Thanks to the sincere "guidance" from upperclassmen, Andrew came to understand Professor Snape's legendary reputation: he could deduct points from any other house whenever he pleased, just like he would award them to his own house for the most trivial of reasons.
And that wasn't all. He had a knack for verbal takedowns, targeting the worst-performing student each class as an example to scare the rest.
That said, in terms of skill, Professor Snape was top-tier. He actually taught real content—unlike the sometimes flaky Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons or the textbook-readings of History of Magic. Potions class was worth taking seriously.
"At least we're luckier than Gryffindor. As long as we don't act like idiots, he won't go out of his way to target us. Gryffindor, though—every year he picks one poor soul to torment…"
Yikes.
Andrew's image of Snape was completely shattered. But he wasn't the type to ignore advice—especially not in situations like this.
So he and his roommates headed to the dungeon classroom well ahead of time.
Good move. They found seats near the back. Not that it helped much—the professor was as ruthless as expected. On day one, he took attendance…
Clearly, this reputation was universally known. Not a single student dared to skip.
Didn't help much, though—a Hufflepuff got docked a point for showing up with a wrinkled robe.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. I find it hard to believe someone who can't properly dress themselves could ever be precise enough for this craft."
"My classroom has no tolerance for fools. While I don't expect every one of you to appreciate the allure of potion-making, I do hope the number of idiots remains low—though that hope is rarely fulfilled."
Then he suddenly turned to a student trying to open their book:
"Ravenclaw, minus one point. It is not yet time to pick up your quill!"
The room's temperature seemed to drop several degrees.
"You will never truly understand the strange, seductive power of the liquids that flow through human veins…"
'That… doesn't sound legal…'
Andrew snapped out of his wandering thoughts just in time—no points lost, thankfully.
Snape seemed to be saving his wrath for Gryffindor, as usual. Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs weren't singled out, but during the class's first potion exercise, he found some reason to criticize everyone—sometimes deducting a point here and there. Small on their own, but they added up fast.
Andrew didn't escape, either. Though he followed lab rules diligently, his technique for crushing dried serpent fangs earned him a harsh critique:
"I asked for powdered fang, not shattered bone from some idiot's hammer swing. Ravenclaw, minus one."
Harsh, but enlightening. As Andrew reprocessed the snake fang, he noticed something—potions weren't just chemistry. The materials themselves were magical.
The correctly crushed fang powder shimmered faintly. The earlier batch he had smashed? Dull. No matter how he re-ground it, the glow never returned—the difference in technique had made it an entirely different material.
Ridiculous.
Andrew grumbled internally, but stuck to the instructions. Still, he couldn't get the potion quite right. His second batch sat too long during validation and lost its effect.
More mockery—but at least no points were taken.
Probably because too many already had been. Andrew now fully understood why this professor could single-handedly win the House Cup. He really deducted points.
'If Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff have it this bad… Gryffindor must be…' Andrew recalled hearing that Snape would keep ramping up pressure until someone broke. Yikes.
As he left the dungeon and breathed fresh air, Andrew finally understood why the man had such a reputation.
T/N: For up to 20 chapters ahead on all my translations, become a p@tron at [email protected]/LordHipposApostle