Hogwarts: I am Snape

Chapter 155 Potions Teacher
On the deck shrouded in a thin mist high in the sky, Snape carefully rolled up a piece of parchment and stuffed it into a small cloth bag sewn from thick canvas, which also contained several old wands that he had selected and that were still in good working order.

He tied the bag shut and then whistled softly.

A few seconds later, a beautiful horned owl silently glided down from the top of the mast and landed steadily on his outstretched arm.

It emitted a low "cooing" sound, its yellow-green eyes fixed on its owner, its wings slightly spread, as if it couldn't wait to be able to spread its wings and fly through the clouds again.

After securing the small bag firmly to Nocturna's paws, Snape gently patted its furry head.

“Go ahead,” he said, “be careful not to come into contact with any other owls.”

Nocturna gently nuzzled his fingers with her beak, giving a short, confident reply, before suddenly spreading her broad wings and powerfully pushing off Snape's arm with her legs, soaring without hesitation into the bright but cold sky above the clouds.

It circled halfway in the air, found its direction, and then plunged headlong into the boundless sea of ​​clouds below, its white-brown silhouette rising and falling in the thick clouds.

Snape stood there, watching the direction the owl had gone. In the letter, he told Rika that Hogwarts had fallen into the hands of the Death Eaters, the castle was no longer safe, and that she should not believe the Ministry of Magic's promises, but lead her people deep into the Forbidden Forest, away from human habitation.

Once Noctuna had completely disappeared from sight, he turned around and walked back into the warm cabin.

In a spacious cabin midway through the ship, used as a faculty office, Professor McGonagall sat behind a large oak desk, glasses perched on her nose, her brow furrowed as she read the latest edition of the Daily Prophet. Several other professors were also enjoying their brief free time before class.

Most striking was Grindelwald, seated languidly on a comfortable sofa in the center of the office. He held a steaming bone china teacup in his hand, his gaze thoughtfully fixed on the drifting clouds outside the window. Ms. Rozier sat quietly beside him, a silver teapot before her, ready to refill his cup at any moment.

Pushing open the door, Snape's gaze swept over everyone, finally settling on Madam Rosier. Without pausing, he walked straight to Professor McGonagall, but couldn't help asking:

“Ms. Rozier, since Mr. Green seems to have abandoned his former grand ideals and career, what is the point of your persistent pursuit of him?”

After refilling Grindelwald's teacup, Ms. Rozier turned to look at him.

“If he were to continue pursuing his old ways, Mr. Snape,” she gently placed the teapot back on the tray and answered calmly in a slightly hoarse but still clear and pleasant voice, “you would probably be quite unhappy about it now.”

“That makes sense,” Snape chuckled twice in response. He didn’t press further, but instead laid out the Daily Prophet from the past few days one by one on the table in front of Professor McGonagall.

“Look,” he said, “‘Hogwarts renegade teachers abduct students and escape, Ministry of Magic appeals for change,’ Professor McGonagall, it says we kidnapped ‘innocent students’ including Muggle-born students and some pure-blood and half-blood students, and escaped on a mysterious ship.”

“Professor, your net worth is already 2,500 Galleons. Among them, there are 500 Galleons from Mr. Barty Crouch, the Chief of the Enforcement Division. He said he would never bow down to the rebels because of his son.”

At that moment, Professor McGonagall placed the latest newspaper in front of Snape. The front page headline was about Gellert Grindelwald's escape from Nurmengard, posing an unprecedented challenge to the safety of the wizarding world, and the International Confederation of Wizards issuing its most wanted warrant.

“Severus, are these things really going to be shown to the students? Especially this one.” She pointed to Grindelwald’s arrest warrant.

“Of course not,” Snape replied crisply. He picked up his wand. “I’m not going to just show them all the ‘truth’ as it is.”

He looked at the latest newspaper, the tip of his staff sweeping across Grindelwald's wanted poster, and muttered a complex transfiguration spell.

The photos and text in the newspaper were erased as if by an invisible eraser, replaced by a flashy gossip report: "Breaking News! A love triangle at Mrs. Padve's Tea House, with a Quidditch star caught in the middle?"

He then pointed to several other sensitive reports in the newspapers, turning them into "A Highlight of the 1964 Quidditch World Cup Final," "Cornwall Elves: A Complete Analysis of Their Mischievous Habits Beneath Their Cute Appearances," and a public service advertisement titled "Ministry of Magic Officials Call for Everyone's Responsibility to Protect Rare Magical Plants."

"We can't show them everything, can we?" Snape said casually as he operated the device. "What if someone discovers something they shouldn't be seeing?"

He turned to the inner pages and found that propaganda such as "Abraxas Malfoy becomes the new headmaster of Hogwarts, promising to establish a 'new order'" and "The Ministry of Magic will establish a Wizarding Birth Registration Committee to effectively protect the rights of wizards of all births"—which were clearly whitewashing the situation and paving the way for further persecution—as well as the wanted posters for McGonagall, Professor Flitwick, and several "defected" Aurors, had been preserved intact.

Then Snape pulled out a few blank sheets of parchment, picked up a quill, dipped it in ink, and quickly wrote several paragraphs. He wrote his critical interpretations of the retained, clearly biased reports.

He wanted to tell everyone that the Ministry of Magic and the Daily Prophet had become mouthpieces for the Death Eaters, that the promises of Malfoy and others as pure-blood advocates were not to be trusted, and that the Wizarding Registry was, in fact, a tool for disguised identity verification and persecution.

After he finished writing, he called over a house-elf who was standing respectfully to the side.

“Give these,” he said, handing the neatly arranged newspapers and the slips of paper filled with interpretations to the elf, “to Abbott and Barty. Tell them to find a few familiar and reliable classmates and have them ‘casually’ discuss and interpret the information on the slips of paper while everyone is reading the newspapers, guiding everyone’s thinking.”

The little elf carefully took it, bowed deeply, and said in a high-pitched voice, "Yes, Mr. Snape." Then he ran off quickly with tiny, quick steps.

“Severus, you really are…” Professor McGonagall shook her head, giving Snape a meaningful look. Then, she glanced at the magical clock on the wall and reminded him, “You should go to Potions class. The two classes this morning are for first and second year students respectively.”

Snape nodded, put away his wand, straightened the cuffs of his black robe, and turned to leave the office.

The Potions class was held in a specially modified large room on the upper deck of the ship. In the center of the room were several rows of long tables with brass cauldron racks fixed on them.

To prepare for any potential accidents, the room is well-ventilated, with huge exhaust fans humming on both sides of the classroom; the floor is also paved with sturdy stone bricks to prevent corrosion from spilled chemicals.

When Snape, dressed in a black robe, strode into the classroom, the first-year students, who had been whispering, instantly fell silent.

Students from the four colleges mingled together, their youthful faces a mixture of awe and curiosity towards this renowned senior and new teacher.

Snape walked to the front of the classroom and stood behind the podium, his gaze sweeping gently across the room. Then he spoke, his voice barely a whisper, yet everyone heard every word he uttered. “Potions,” he said, “is a profound and wondrous magical art.”

"I believe that all of you here," he said, his gaze sweeping over the small faces filled with curiosity or nervousness, "that through systematic study and tireless practice, you will all be able to appreciate to some extent the wonderful feeling of white smoke rising from the crucible simmering over a low flame, releasing a delicate fragrance."

“Under my tutelage,” Snape’s voice took on a seductive hue, “you will have the opportunity to truly understand how those fluids that flow into people’s veins can make them feel intoxicated and lose their will.” He leaned forward slightly and continued, “Mastering this wondrous magic can enhance your reputation, create glory, and even prevent death.”

After the brief opening remarks, the students stared wide-eyed, even their breathing became shallow, as if they were captivated by the prospect he had described.

Snape didn't give them much time to reflect.

“Now,” he said, “open your books on magical potions and elixirs, turn to the page on boil treatment potions. The steps in the book are generally reliable for the simple potions you will be working on this school year.”

“But please remember,” he said, his tone shifting to emphasize, “when you move on to higher grades and encounter more advanced and complex potions, every word and every step in the books may not be correct. You must learn to look at them critically, to think and practice with your own minds, rather than blindly following them.”

Then, without any unnecessary words, he went straight to explaining the key steps and material processing points of the boil treatment solution, his voice clear and his instructions precise.

“Let’s begin.” Snape divided the students into pairs and instructed them on how to mix and prepare the boil treatment solution.

A slightly chaotic clattering of equipment immediately filled the classroom. Snape, trailing his long black robes, moved silently through the aisles between the desks, observing the students weighing dried nettles, crushing snake fangs, and stirring crucibles.

When students made mistakes, he didn't criticize anyone, but instead provided timely corrections and guidance. For example, he would stop in front of a student's crucible and use his wand to precisely adjust the flame temperature, or point out deviations in the stirring direction.

Of course, when a little girl picked up a porcupine quill and tried to throw it directly into the boiling cauldron, Snape couldn't help but raise his voice.

"Stop!" he shouted quickly, rushing forward and using his wand to stop the porcupine quills from falling.

“This is an extremely dangerous act,” he said. “While potion-making has many wonderful benefits, we cannot ignore the potential dangers.” He then asked, “Does anyone wonder what would happen if you threw porcupine quills into a boiling cauldron?”

The students gazed curiously at the porcupine quills floating in the air.

“Looks like you’re quite interested,” Snape said, gesturing with his left hand for the students to step back. “Everyone, move back, preferably standing on your chairs.”

Then, in full view of everyone, he threw the porcupine quills into the boiling medicinal water.

A pungent, acidic green fumes immediately billowed out of the crucible.

With a hissing sound that made your teeth ache, the sturdy brass crucible was instantly corroded and twisted, and the scalding hot liquid inside splashed out, landing on the stone brick floor with a sizzling sound, instantly corroding several small pits in the ground, and even burning the wooden legs of a nearby table.

The students stood on the stools, gasping in fear.

Snape remained unfazed, and with a flick of his wand, said, "Disappear!"

A flash of light, and the corrosive liquid splashed on the ground and table legs vanished without a trace, leaving only a crooked crucible-shaped piece of metal as a warning.

"See that?" He turned around, his gaze sweeping over the pale faces on the stools, and said seriously, "A small crucible, and the wrong timing of adding materials, can bring such danger."

"And this is just one of the most basic potions. The consequences of failing to make a potion in higher grades can be a hundred times more serious."

“Limb dissolution, internal organ decay, permanent magical damage, even death.” He slowed his speech, making sure every word truly resonated with his students. “Potions Mastery is not child’s play. Caution is the first and most important lesson you will learn when you step into my classroom.”

The students looked at him, their tension replaced by a deep sense of awareness, but the student who had made the mistake was still trembling.

“Well, Miss Polk,” Snape said, “there’s no need to worry or blame yourself. On the other hand, we should thank you for providing such a valuable opportunity for everyone to learn such a valuable lesson right from the start.”

“Take a look at this, everyone.” He reached into his robe pocket and pulled out a Galleon. He tapped the coin lightly with his wand, and several small, shimmering words appeared on the coin's surface: “Outstanding Student of Potions Class.”

“Now that there are no more house points, the two students who perform best in my class each week will receive this ‘Badge of Merit.’” Snape showed everyone the gleaming badge. “As for this one, I’ve decided to give it to Miss Polk ahead of time.”

"Here, take this." He walked closer to the stool and handed the specially made "badge of excellence" to the flattered girl.

Polk excitedly took the coin and clutched it tightly in his palm...

When the two long potions classes finally came to an end, Snape watched the students carefully clean their cauldrons, pack up their materials, and leave the classroom, and let out a soft breath.

“Teaching is no easy task,” he thought. “However, seeing the genuine interest and awe in the students’ eyes for potions, being a good teacher is always more fulfilling than being a stern and harsh one.”

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(End of this chapter)