Hogwarts’ White Lord

"Ivan Ambrosius."

Hearing Snape call his name, Ivan nodded slightly toward him, his demeanor composed, neither humble nor arrogant.

"Another kid who thinks he's a celebrity," Snape muttered, but didn't dwell on it.

He continued calling names, and then looked up at the entire class.

His eyes were dark and empty, giving off the eerie feeling of two endless tunnels. "You are here to learn the precise science and exact art of potion-making," Snape's voice was barely louder than a whisper, yet every word carried through the room with a chilling clarity.

His presence alone commanded order in the classroom.

"Since there is no foolish wand-waving here, many of you will doubt this is real magic."

"I do not expect you to truly appreciate the subtle beauty of a cauldron with its shimmering fumes or the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind and ensnaring the senses…"

"I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even put a stopper in death—but only if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

When Snape finished his brief speech, the classroom fell into an awkward silence.

Harry and Ronald exchanged confused looks, eyebrows raised.

Hermione Granger, on the other hand, had shifted to the edge of her seat, practically leaning forward, eager to show that she was anything but an "idiot."

Only Ivan remained calm, quietly waiting for Snape's usual outburst. He knew the Potions Master's temper all too well.

With Harry in front of him to attract Snape's ire, Ivan simply sat back and enjoyed the show in silence.

Snape didn't have a general disdain for celebrities; his resentment was reserved exclusively for Harry Potter.

"Potter!"

As Ivan predicted, Snape barked impatiently, "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

What root powder to what infusion?

Harry glanced helplessly at Ronald, who was just as lost as he was.

Hermione, sitting next to Ivan, instinctively started to raise her hand, but then she remembered Ivan's earlier warning.

'Ivan?'

She looked to him, but Ivan shook his head slightly in response.

Resisting the urge to answer and earn extra points, Hermione begrudgingly remained silent and turned her attention to Harry, waiting for his reply.

"I don't know, sir."

Harry admitted, clueless. He could feel the intense dislike radiating from Snape, and he didn't care for this cold, dark professor whose hair looked as though it hadn't seen a wash in ages.

"Tsk tsk."

Snape sneered, his lip curling in disdain. "Fame clearly isn't everything."

"Let's try again."

Snape: "Potter, if I ask you to find me a bezoar, where would you find it?"

Harry was silent once again; he didn't even have the slightest idea what a bezoar was.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, sitting not far away, were laughing so hard that they were practically shaking with glee.

Especially Malfoy—if he hadn't been worried about Snape's reaction, he would have laughed out loud in Harry's face.

"..I don't know, sir."

"I don't think you've cracked open a single book before coming to school, have you, Potter?"

Harry forced himself to meet Snape's cold, piercing gaze.

When he was with the Dursleys, he had gone through all his books. But how could Snape expect him to memorize every single detail of "One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi"?

Was that even humanly possible?

Hermione: Yes, I can!

"Potter, then tell me the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"..I ..don't know."

The blatant targeting made Harry's blood boil. He glared at Snape, seething, while Snape, in turn, gazed into Harry's emerald-green eyes with something resembling nostalgia hidden behind the coldness.

Just looking at that infuriating face, which resembled that man, made Snape's anger boil over.

"How could this be happening?" Hermione, unable to bear it any longer, whispered to Ivan, "Does he have some grudge against Potter?"

Harry Potter, the savior of the wizarding world, was revered by so many witches and wizards. It was hard to imagine anyone treating him with such disdain.

But Snape's attitude was downright baffling to Hermione.

"Is he jealous of Harry? Could that be it?—"

"You answer it!" Snape snapped, having overheard Hermione's whisper.

His gaze, sharp as a snake's, locked onto her, and he asked her to answer the questions he had thrown at Harry earlier.

"Pffft!"

Ivan, trying but failing to contain himself, let out a laugh.

For a moment, the whole class fell silent. Even Snape paused, frowning at Ivan.

"Sorry, Professor," Ivan said after a quick cough. "I just remembered something amusing."

Ivan hadn't expected Snape to direct his ire at Hermione.

"Professor!" Hermione, seeing where this was heading and fearing Snape might turn his wrath on Ivan, quickly answered, "Mixing an infusion of wormwood with powdered root of asphodel creates a sleeping potion so powerful it's known as the Draught of Living Death. "

"The Bezor also referred to as Coprolite is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and is known for its strong detoxifying properties."

"As for Monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant, also known as aconite."

Hermione's answers were flawless, straight out of the potion textbooks.

Snape, however, seemed unimpressed.

He didn't know much about Hermione's background but had heard from other professors about an extraordinary young wizard this year (Ivan), rumored to be a descendant of the legendary Merlin.

'Heh…'

Inwardly, Snape scoffed. To him, it was nothing more than a tedious myth.

Frustrated by not regaining the upper hand, Snape asked Hermione several more challenging questions.

The little witch answered them smoothly, barely missing a beat before giving perfect responses.

"It seems," Snape said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "that compared to certain others, the young witch who can memorize entire books stands out." He added, "At least in rote memorization, the miss know-it-all is a shining example for certain people."

Hermione, who had been hoping Snape might award her points for her excellent answers, now felt more deflated than pleased.

Unfortunately, the little witch was not good at contradicting the professor.

"Sit down!"

Snape asked Hermione to sit down with dissatisfaction, and he glanced at Ivan who seemed to be watching a show.

He didn't like Ivan's eyes.

However, for some reason, Snape was reluctant to provoke this strange little wizard.

He couldn't explain this feeling.

It was like a poisonous snake smelling the scent of a beast and knew that the other party was very difficult to mess with.

It was not worth confronting it when there was no benefit...

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