Hogwarts: Harry Potter’s Return from the Witcher World

Friday morning.

Ron poked at his sausage, looking glum. "Today's Potions class. We're taking it with Slytherin, and didn't you say Professor Snape doesn't like you, Harry?"

"I heard from George that he's a really petty guy. He'll pick on anyone he doesn't like, so you'd better be careful."

Harry nodded nonchalantly.

Once they arrived at the classroom and class began, Snape wasted no time showing his feelings, letting his open disdain—and even hatred—toward Harry show from the start.

Snape walked in, his presence adding an extra layer of tension to the already gloomy room.

Without a word of introduction, he tapped the lectern. "Well, well. Look who's graced my classroom."

"Harry Potter."

"The born Gryffindor, the legendary 'Savior' who drew the Sword of Gryffindor at the Sorting Ceremony, the student who's already stirring things up at Hogwarts."

"Hmmph."

"Potter, didn't your father teach you to stand up when a professor calls your name?"

"Oh, my mistake. I forgot—you don't have a father."

The Slytherins let out quiet chuckles.

Gryffindors exchanged worried glances, some shocked to see Snape's open hostility. All the other professors liked Harry—even Quirrell, with his timid nature. But Snape, the Head of Slytherin, was different—harsh and unmistakably biased.

Harry stood up. "Thank you for the reminder. In fact, my mother is also gone, so no one really taught me these things."

The chuckles among the Slytherins grew louder.

Bang!

Snape slammed his hand on the lectern, teeth clenched. "Potter! I'm not here to discuss your family background! Shut your mouth!"

"And the rest of you—is this funny?"

"Or do I need to etch it into your thick troll brains? Or maybe a dose of Forgetfulness Potion, so you can laugh at it all over again?"

The Slytherins fell silent, ducking their heads.

Snape took a deep breath, resuming his harsh tone.

"Other professors claim you're excelling in their classes, Potter."

"But Potions is different. This is a subtle art, not a place for your clever little quips or silly smarts, so keep that mouth of yours shut!"

"Well then, Potter—if I add powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood, what do I get?"

His tone shifted, as if he was probing, even with a trace of…was it hidden curiosity?

"Draught of Living Death, a powerful sleeping potion," Harry replied.

Snape pressed on. "And where would you find a bezoar?"

"In the stomach of a cow, after slaughter and dissection," Harry answered.

Snape sneered, his tone slightly more relaxed without him even realizing it. "No need for extra theatrics."

"You do seem to know a few things, so tell me about wolfsbane…"

He continued his questions, covering almost the entire first-year curriculum. Hermione began nervously tapping her desk, and Ron stared wide-eyed.

While Hermione was one of the few who could answer some of these questions, Harry's responses came effortlessly, barely requiring thought.

"You certainly have a knack for little tidbits," Snape muttered, casting a glance toward the window and tapping his desk. "For adding unnecessary steps in your answers…five points from Gryffindor!"

Hermione jumped to her feet. "Professor, that's not fair!"

"Harry answered all your questions—he could probably pass a first-year final exam already. He did really well; how could you take points from him?"

Snape smirked. "You, Miss…?"

"Granger. Hermione Granger."

Snape's expression shifted. "Typical Gryffindor arrogance. Miss Granger, that's another point from Gryffindor for questioning a professor."

Hermione blinked, confused.

Harry had been excellent yet lost five points, while she'd lost only one for defending him. Was there some deeper animosity between Snape and Harry?

"Now sit down!" Snape waved her off with a dismissive gesture. "Some of you may have a quick wit, but that won't make you a Potions master. Potions require precise timing, magical synergy, and exact proportions. Without hands-on practice, theory means nothing."

Snape waved his wand at the blackboard, and a list of instructions appeared.

"Now, grab your cauldrons, light your fires, and start brewing. I'm not here to spoon-feed you theory."

"In Potions, you learn through trial and refinement—there are no shortcuts for the lazy!"

"I hope none of you oafs blow up your cauldrons on the first day."

Neville visibly trembled.

Seamus gripped his cauldron handle, oblivious to the tension he radiated.

Having practiced brewing similar potions over the summer, Harry worked with ease. Snape loomed over him a few times, clearly looking for any excuse to criticize, but Harry's precise actions gave him no opening. With a disgruntled grunt, Snape moved on.

While Harry focused intently on his potion, Neville, nervous and sweating, was about to drop a handful of porcupine quills into his boiling cauldron.

Harry quickly caught his arm. "Stop. Move the cauldron off the flame first, or it'll explode."

Neville jerked back, barely able to mumble his thanks. "Oh, thank you."

"Potter!" Snape's voice lashed out suddenly, causing Neville to jump and spill some of his mixture, though fortunately not onto himself.

"Can't you leave your classmates alone? Trying to earn yourself some loyal followers, are you?"

Snape sneered, his eyes narrowing as he scolded Neville. "Pathetic! What use is a head that can't even steady your hands?"

Neville's face turned red, eyes glistening with tears.

Snape's sneer grew as he turned back to Harry. "Potter, maybe you could have reminded him to keep his hands steady too. Thanks to you, another two points from Gryffindor!"

Neville looked too disheartened to care. How was it that Harry got points taken for his own clumsiness?

Ron and Hermione sat frozen in shock.

Harry's expression didn't change as he continued brewing.

After an hour, class concluded, and Snape began his critiques.

True to his word, Potions was a delicate art, and even with instructions on the board, less than half the students had managed a successful result.

Harry, along with Hermione and Malfoy, achieved the best results, though Snape neither praised them nor offered even a hint of encouragement—it was clear that he only had eyes for Harry.

Snape inspected Harry's potion, holding it to the light, sniffing it carefully, taking more time with it than with any other student's potion combined.

"You show some talent for Potions," Snape muttered, his voice softening as he gazed at the brew, almost lost in thought.

Ron and Hermione exchanged bewildered glances.

Had Snape's relentless critiques finally cracked? Was this really the same Professor Snape?

But then Snape's gaze hardened, his eyes falling on Harry with an intense scrutiny, searching as if hoping to see something else—something absent, hidden in another's features.

Those amber, cat-like eyes…

Snape's face grew cold as he set the potion down heavily. "But do you think this is good enough?"

"Use that troll-brained head of yours and think, Potter!"

"Why add the porcupine quills only after moving the cauldron from the flame? Think carefully. Why not wait for the water to cool a little before adding the quills?"

"And the stewed slugs—what part of its compound effect did I ask about in the first place?"

"Don't you see? You had the potential for excellence, but with these sloppy mistakes, you're barely average!"

"Two more points from Gryffindor, Potter!"

The class breathed a collective sigh. That momentary softness had been an illusion; this was the Snape they knew.

Snape shifted his gaze, moving on to critique the next student.

"Don't worry, Harry; you did really well," Hermione whispered.

Harry looked puzzled. "Why would I be worried?"

"You made the best potion in the class, and he's just nitpicking," Hermione replied.

But Harry shook his head. "No, Professor Snape is right. I did make mistakes."

Hermione opened her mouth to respond but found herself speechless.

Ron, trying to console him, gave Harry a pat. "Er… well, anyway…"

Snape turned around suddenly, glaring at Harry. "Potter, do you find it amusing to discuss your professor behind his back? Arrogant. Another five points from Gryffindor!"

Hermione gasped, guilt flashing in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Harry—it's my fault for talking to you."

By the end of class, Gryffindor had lost a whopping fourteen points.

Harry shrugged. "I've earned around fifteen points in my other classes this week; it balances out."

"Besides," he added, "you only lost one point but gained ten in other classes. You're still ahead by nine points."

As class ended, Ron packed his bag and turned to Hermione. "Hey, we're going to Hagrid's later—you know, the big guy who led us to the castle from the station. Want to come?"

Grateful to Hermione for speaking up for him, Harry added, "If you'd like, it'll be fun."

"You two go on ahead. I need to talk to Professor Snape," Harry said, packing his things and setting his bag on the desk before heading toward Snape's desk.