Ancient Magician (Severus x Reader)

Chapter 5: Class?

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 𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 5: 𝐶𝑙𝑎𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠

"𝐼𝑓 𝐼 𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑎 𝑐𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑛𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑤𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑢𝑝"

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We rushed through the castle corridors, our footsteps echoing down the stone walls. Harry, Ron, and I were definitely late for Transfiguration. Again.

As we burst into the classroom, slightly out of breath, my eyes landed on a tabby cat perched on one of the desks. Hermione, already seated and looking thoroughly unimpressed, rolled her eyes.

"Phew," Ron muttered, "Can you imagine McGonagall's face if we were late?"

Before he could finish that thought, the cat leapt gracefully off the desk and transformed in a blink into Professor McGonagall. I barely had time to process the magic before her sharp gaze locked onto us.

"That was bloody brilliant," Ron whispered, clearly impressed.

"Thank you for that assessment, Mr. Weasley," McGonagall said dryly. "Perhaps if I transfigured you and Mr. Potter into pocket watches, one of you might actually be on time."

I stood there with them, feeling the heat rise to my face as she scolded us.

"We got lost," Harry offered quickly.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Then perhaps a map? I trust you don't need one to find your seats."

We slid into our chairs. She wasted no time launching into the fundamentals of Transfiguration. I pulled out my wand and followed along, trying to focus, but Ron kept muttering under his breath, clearly struggling. Hermione, sitting nearby, whispered something to him with a smirk. He rolled his eyes at her, and I couldn't help myself.

"Oh, Ron, you can't be serious," I whispered teasingly.

He glanced at me and shot back, "What? How bout you show me then."

"Ms. Grimblehawk," McGonagall snapped, "talking in my class is prohibited. You've just earned two hours' detention with Professor Snape."

I groaned. Loudly.

At the end of class, McGonagall assigned an essay. Naturally, the three of us groaned in unison while Hermione eagerly set to work, quill already scribbling away. As we left the classroom, McGonagall reminded us of the upcoming Quidditch match and encouraged everyone to support their house teams.

Later, in the dungeons, Snape's classroom was already heavy with steam and the stench of ingredients bubbling in cauldrons. The door slammed open, and Snape swept in like a thundercloud.

"There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class," he began coldly. "I don't expect many of you will appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making..."

His eyes briefly landed on me. I smiled politely, a little unsure.

"...However, for those select few," he continued, glancing back at Harry, "who possess the predisposition..."

Harry had his head down, jotting notes. Snape, of course, interpreted this as insolence.

"Mr. Potter," he said, slowly pacing over, "what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Hermione's hand shot up. Harry blinked. "I don't know, sir."

Snape didn't stop. "Where would you look to find me a bezoar?"