Harry glanced back and saw a heavy wooden door, steeped in age, slowly swinging shut.
It was obvious he had returned to the exact spot from before he crossed over. That was different from how his jumps into the Marvel world seemed random; this one felt fixed.
But he couldn't be sure yet. There were too few cases to draw any real conclusions—he'd need several more traversals before any pattern showed itself.
Why had he appeared in the cave where Tony was kidnapped when he crossed into the multiverse world?
Why, when returning to the wizarding world, did his position not change at all?
Or was it just these two times that were fixed, and later he might appear somewhere completely different?
He put those questions aside for now and sat down in the middle rows of the Potions classroom with Miss Otter and Ron.
The Potions classroom was poorly lit. A few ancient chandeliers flickered with dim yellow light, throwing mottled shadows across the walls and giving the whole space a heavy, mysterious air.
Around the room, stern-faced portraits of potions masters hung on the stone walls, alongside specimens of strange potion ingredients bottled and preserved.
In the center, rows of scarred wooden desks were laid out, each one equipped with cauldrons, mortars and pestles, and other tools.
The teacher's table at the front was thick and greasy with age, and behind it squatted a massive stone cauldron covered in runes. The blackboard was crammed with formulas, and in a corner fireplace a pale blue flame burned quietly, casting a secretive glow.
Good. Classic Hogwarts style.
Sitting on his stool, Harry ran through his Hogwarts schedule in his head.
For the other first-years, nothing at all had happened. But for him, several months had gone by. If he didn't deliberately recall things, some details might slip away.
First of all, classes. Today was Friday. No lessons in the afternoon; Hagrid had sent a letter asking him to come by.
Then the weekend. He planned to develop more borrowers, with Filch—the prickly Squib with the twisted personality—as his first target.
After that, he needed to shine in Flying class, try to get onto the Quidditch team early, and build up more fame and reputation to pave the way for changing the world later.
That was probably all… Wait—no, he needed to add "researching even more powerful magic" to the list.
Suddenly Harry remembered the experiment he'd done. He lifted his arm; both rune marks were still there.
Good. That proved that as long as something was inside his body, even an external object could cross worlds with him.
Next was the magic AI, Hedwig. The magical artificial intelligence named after his snowy owl Hedwig had crossed over as well—its computational power had dropped a lot because the controllable magic here was weaker, but it was still running.
That was no big deal. As long as it could come along, it was a huge help.
The calculations he'd set up before were still executing normally in the wizarding world.
"Harry? Harry?" While he was lost in thought, Ron's voice suddenly broke in. "What's wrong? Are you feeling sick or something?"
"Mm? Oh. No, I'm fine, just spacing out."
Ron's freckled face scrunched up in worry.
"Harry, Fred and George told me Professor Snape really favors Slytherin. He's always got this nasty look on his face, like someone stole his wife. I dunno how he's gonna take it out on us this lesson."
Even Hermione crinkled her little nose and sighed. "At the Sorting Ceremony I noticed Professor Snape glaring at you the whole time, like he wanted to swallow you whole.
He's probably upset that the savior of the wizarding world didn't end up in Slytherin and landed in Gryffindor instead. You need to be careful, Harry."
Harry smiled and tried to reassure them. "Don't worry. I'll probably draw all of Professor Snape's attention. Chances are he won't have time to pick on you two."
"Why?" Miss Otter asked immediately, the questioner in her unable to resist.
Harry explained, "I heard from Hagrid that Professor Snape had some… disagreements with my parents back in the day. It's an old grudge between adults.
But don't worry. As long as I'm careful and don't make mistakes, there's nothing Snape can actually do to me."
Bang!
The classroom door slammed open, and a giant bat swept in, its "wings" billowing as it walked. By the time it reached the podium and spun around sharply, it was, of course, just Professor Snape and his robe.
Like Professor Flitwick, the first thing Snape did when class began was call the roll.
And just like before, when he reached Harry's name, he paused, glaring down at him and locking onto those emerald-green eyes.
"Oh yes… Harry Potter. Our new—famous celebrity."
The Slytherin first-years all clapped hands over their mouths and snickered. Slytherin and Gryffindor had always been at odds; they'd never pass up a chance to laugh at that bunch of troublemakers, even if the target was the savior.
No one noticed, though, that Draco Malfoy, the most notable Slytherin first-year, wasn't laughing at all. When his two idiot cronies started to, he actually smacked them on the back of the head, forcing them to choke it down.
Clearly, poor little Malfoy was traumatized. Every time he closed his eyes, he probably relived the moment he'd almost lost his head.
Once he finished the roll, Snape lifted his gaze to the class. His eyes, like Hagrid's, were pitch-black.
But unlike Hagrid's, they held no warmth—only coldness and emptiness, like two dark whirlpools.
Under that stare, every student fell silent, until you could hear the faint crackle of burning candlewax in the quiet.
Snape spoke, his voice barely louder than a whisper, yet with a touch of magic that carried it clearly to every ear.
"You are here to learn potion-making—an exact science and a meticulous craft.
Some of you will find it hard to believe that any of this counts as magic, simply because there is no silly wand-waving involved.
I don't expect you to truly appreciate the beauty of a cauldron simmering over a low flame, sending up pale vapors and subtle scents.
Nor do I think you will really grasp the wonder of a liquid sliding into someone's veins, stirring their emotions, clouding their judgment…
I can teach you how to bolster reputations, brew glory… even bottle what looks like death itself—
…provided that you are not the usual crowd of dunderheads I have to deal with."
Like Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape had the kind of presence that could make a classroom fall into perfect order with almost no effort.
After that short opening speech, the room was utterly silent.
Ron and Hermione both straightened up, leaning forward over their desks, doing their best to prove they were not idiots.
Harry, however, remained perfectly calm. If he'd been twelve again, Snape's words might have rattled him. But things were different now.
Before every battle with demons, both sides would trade insults, talk each other to death. Over time Harry had realized that all he really needed to do was charge in and chop the demon's head off. No extra chatter required.
So he was actually curious to see how Snape planned to target him—and how he would make his first move.
Sure enough, in the very next instant Snape glared at him fiercely. From up on the platform he did have a certain imposing air.
At least, that was how Harry saw it. Poor Miss Otter and Ron were already trembling.
Both of them thought Snape was glaring at them with murderous intent.
"Potter!" Snape suddenly raised his voice. "If I add powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood, what will I get?"
//Check out my P@tre0n for 20 extra chapters on all my fanfics //[email protected]/Razeil0810