The six friends made their way down the winding staircase towards the Great Hall for breakfast. The tantalizing scent of bacon and eggs wafted through the air, making their stomachs grumble in anticipation. The castle seemed to be playing its usual tricks on them, as the stairs changed direction multiple times, causing them to sprint down the hallways in an attempt to catch the right stairs only to barely miss them. They had to content themselves with grabbing a quick piece of toast as they were running late for their first potion class in the dungeon. And Atlas knew he wouldn’t want to be late for Snape´s classes.

As they arrived at the dungeon, Atlas's mind began to race. He knew that Snape was not only an expert in potion-making but also an expert at asking tricky questions. He briefly thought about warning Harry, but he dismissed the idea, realizing that it would only raise suspicion because he wouldn´t be able to explain how he knew that Snape would ask Harry those specific questions. Instead, he decided to keep quiet and hope for the best.

The dungeon was dimly lit, and the tables were arranged in pairs, with cauldrons and ingredients neatly laid out. Snape was already there, glaring at the students as they filed in, taking their seats. Atlas couldn't help but feel a twinge of fear at the sight of Snape's greasy hair and hooked nose.

Snape stood at the front of the classroom, his eyes scanning the students in a way that made them feel uneasy. "There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class," he began, his voice dripping with disdain. "As such, I don't expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making."

Snape turned to Harry, who had been hoping to blend in with the background. "Mr. Potter," Snape sneered, "what would I get if I added a powder root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Hermione's hand shot up eagerly, but Snape ignored her. When he couldn´t answer he turned his boring stare to Atlas. Mr. Graf, what would I get if I added a powder root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Atlas felt a wave of panic wash over him as Snape's sharp gaze landed on him. He couldn't understand why the professor had singled him out when Harry was the intended target. It was clear that Snape was trying to make a point and humiliate Harry, but why drag Atlas into it? What had he done wrong for Snape to target him too. His heart raced as he struggled to recall the answer to the question, his mind clouded with anxiety and fear. If he hadn’t thought about these exact questions right before this class, he wouldn’t be able to answer them and he knew that Snape was not the type of teacher who would tolerate mistakes or ignorance, and he didn’t want to find out what happened if he got the answer wrong.

Atlas felt his heart race as all eyes in the classroom turned to him. He knew the answer, but he also knew that Snape was not a forgiving teacher. " Asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death" he replied, hoping he sounded convincing.

Snape didn't show any sign of approval, but instead turned to Harry for the next question. "Where do you look if you had to find a bezoar?" he asked, his eyes locked onto Harry's.

Harry hesitated for a moment, clearly unsure of the answer. Snape quickly turned back to Atlas. "A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat and it will save you from most poisons," Atlas said, trying to keep his voice steady, still thinking what this charade was for.

Snape's lips curled into a sneer as he asked the third question. "And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?" he asked, once again directing his question to Harry.

Harry shook his head, admitting defeat. Snape turned back to Atlas, his black eyes boring into him. "As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are the same plant, so there is no difference between them,” Atlas said confidently, relieved that the questioning was over.

The relive didn’t last long as Snape added one more question, asking what potion one should take to reverse the effects of the Draught of Living Death. Atlas froze, unsure of the answer, while Snape still glared at Harry, clearly enjoying his discomfort. It didn’t help him either when Snape turned to him without repeating the question, with an expression that demanded an answer. But then, just as Snape´s Face was forming a grimace and he was about to reprimand Atlas, the answer came to him - the Wiggenweld Potion. He blurred out, relieved to have avoided Snape's wrath.

Harry could see the look of triumph on Atlas' face as he realized he had gotten it right, but he also noticed the small, evil smirk on Snape's face as he turned back to Harry and belittled the notion of fame and blaming him for not preparing for the lesson when obviously the questions weren’t that hard.

Professor Snape stood at the front of the classroom, his black robes billowing behind him as he flipped the chalkboard to reveal the day's lesson. "Today, we will be brewing the cure for boils," he announced in his usual menacing tone. The students scrambled to gather the necessary ingredients, not wanting to get on Snapes bad side.

"Pay close attention to the instructions," Snape warned as he began to list off the steps. "Add six snake fangs and a single horned slug to the mortar and crush them into a fine paste using the pestle." The class watched in silence as Snape expertly crushed the fangs and the slug, his hands moving with a fluid grace.

"Next, add four measures of the crushed fangs to your cauldron and heat the mixture to 250°C for ten seconds." The room grew warmer as the students worked to heat their potions to the correct temperature.

"Leave to brew for exactly 17 minutes," Snape continued. "Add three more horned slugs to your cauldron, and take the cauldron off the fire before adding the next ingredient." The class followed his instructions carefully, not daring to make a mistake.

"Finally, add two porcupine quills to your cauldron and stir five times, clockwise."

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

As Snape was instructing the class to add the porcupine quills, a sudden explosion startled everyone. The loud bang echoed through the dungeon, and students quickly turned their heads to see what had happened. To their horror, they saw Neville Longbottom standing among the wreckage of his ruined cauldron, covered in a green and slimy substance.

Snape's expression was cold and unforgiving as he walked over to Neville. With a swift flick of his wand, he cleaned the boy off and took five points from Gryffendor and gave him detention with a sharp remark about not following instructions.

As the class continued to work on their potions, a tense atmosphere hung in the air. Snape's tone was sharp and his instructions were delivered with even more emphasis than before. Atlas could feel the tension building in the room, and his nerves were on edge. The description in the books didn’t even come close to describe the atmosphere in Snape´s classroom.

Snape eventually paused in his instructions and turned to address the class. "This," he said, gesturing to the wreckage of Neville's cauldron, "is what happens when you don't follow instructions. Porcupine quills are not to be added until after you have completed the brewing process. If you add them too early, the reaction can be severe and dangerous. The green slime is an acid that can melt steel as fast as water solves sugar. To Longbottom’s luck its almost harmless to organic matters"

As the class drew to a close, Snape walked around the room with a scrutinizing eye, examining each student's potion. The students nervously watched as he checked the color, consistency, and odor of each cauldron. If a potion failed, he made a note on his clipboard and moved on to the next. When he reached Harry's cauldron, he sneered at the the almost acceptable green liquid before him and muttered something about "Potter's lack of skill."

Once Snape had finished inspecting all of the potions, he addressed the class, "As usual, a disappointing display. However, some of you have managed to brew an acceptable potion. I will now comment on those that were failures and point out the mistakes that were made. You will all need to write eleven inches about the process of brewing the Boil Cure and what mistakes to avoid."

The students groaned in unison, knowing that this would mean they would spent more time doing this homework than they spent in class.

As the students scrambled to gather their things and leave the dungeon, Snape's voice cut through the noise. "Mr. Graf, you will stay behind," he said in his usual menacing tone. Atlas felt a lump form in his throat as he watched his classmates file out of the classroom, leaving him alone with Snape.

As the last student shuffled out of the classroom, Snape's piercing gaze fixed on Atlas. Without a word, he reached into his bag and produced a crumpled letter, shoving it into Atlas' hands. "Read it," he ordered, his voice hard and unyielding.

Dear Severus,

I hope this letter finds you well. It has been many years since we graduated from Hogwarts, and I regret that we have not had the chance to catch up since then. When you left school, I had high hopes that you would become a rising star in the field of potion-making, but I understand that circumstances may have prevented that from happening. I was pleased to hear, however, that you have found success as the Potions teacher at Hogwarts. I have no doubt that your talent and passion for the subject make you an excellent instructor, and I am sure that your students are lucky to learn from you.

As you may know, I have been married for a few years and have a son who will be attending Hogwarts this year. He is a bright young boy, and I believe he has a great potential for potion-making. The first time he exhibited accidental magic was when he used it to steal a potion book from me - the same one you gifted me as a joke, "Easy Potions Even a Troll Could Brew." While I hope he does not receive any more gifts like that from you, I do hope that you could take him under your wing and help him develop his skills. He is very enthusiastic about potion-making, but I worry that he may lose that passion in a school full of wand-waving.

I would greatly appreciate it if you could inspire and challenge my son to become an excellent potion-maker like yourself. Thank you for your time and consideration.

Sincerely,

Amelia Graf ♥

P.S.

The Letter was cut off there.

As Atlas read the letter, his hands trembled and his heart raced faster and faster. He felt like he was being suffocated by every word his mother had written. It was as if she had painted a target on his back and handed him over to Snape as a sacrifice. As he reached the end of the letter, his eyes fell upon the ripped portion, and a sudden sense of unease crept over him.

He looked up at Snape with a mixture of fear and confusion in his eyes. The man was grinning, his eyes glinting with a twisted sense of amusement. Atlas felt sick to his stomach.

"What... what is this?" Atlas stammered, his voice barely above a whimper.

Snape's grin only widened. "It appears your mother has taken quite the liking to me," he said, his voice dripping with malice. "I am honored by her request to challenge you, Mr. Graf. I do hope you are up to the task."

Atlas felt a cold sweat break out across his forehead. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. How could his mother be so clueless about the kind of person Snape was? He wanted to scream at her, to tell her that she had made a terrible mistake.

But he knew it was too late. Snape had him now, and there was no escaping his clutches. All Atlas could do was nod mutely and pray that he could survive the challenges to come.

The one silver lining for Atlas in this situation was that he finally understood why Snape had been targeting him. It had nothing to do with him or the hero, but rather because of his mother's letter and her request for Snape to take him under his bat like wing.

Snape spoke with a twisted pleasure in his voice, "You can go, we don't want you to be late to your first class in Defence Against the Dark Arts, do we?"

As Atlas left the classroom, he felt Snape's piercing eyes on his back. It was as if Snape was relishing in Atlas' discomfort and misery.

Atlas tried to shake off the feeling of defeat and disappointment as he made his way to his next class in Defence Against the Dark Arts. His friends had already left without him, so he was forced to navigate the castle alone. As he made his way down the stairs, they seemed to have a mind of their own again, twisting and turning in directions that he didn't expect. By the time he arrived at Professor Quirrell’s class, he was already five minutes late.

Atlas hoped that he wouldn't be turned into a pocket watch like Professor McGonagall would threaten in her class. Quirrell was known to be a timid and insecure person, lacking a backbone until it was revealed that he was a carrier for Voldemort. Despite this, Atlas couldn't shake off the feeling that his day was only going to get worse from here.