Harry Potter: I became Snape

"What a letdown. I thought we'd see something exciting," some younger students muttered, standing on tiptoe outside the circle, their lips pursed in disappointment.

The grassy field was filled with wobbling figures.

At first, the students had been buzzing with anticipation for the legendary art of Apparition. But after watching the sixth-years stand frozen like statues, swaying side to side with faces redder than dragon's blood, their enthusiasm fizzled out. In twos and threes, they started to drift away.

Just then, two students accidentally leaped into the same wooden hoop and were now brawling, jabbing fingers at each other while shouting about who ruined whose attempt.

"It's all your fault! You made me fail!"

"You're the one who jumped into my hoop!"

"Now that's entertaining!" The departing younger students paused, doubling over with laughter.

If the Heads of House hadn't stepped in quickly, the day might have turned into a full-blown brawl of older students picking on the younger ones.

Most of the others were left spinning in place, dizzy and unsteady, stumbling like drunken sailors.

As the lesson neared its end, a serious accident shattered the chaos.

A piercing scream cut through the air. Everyone whipped around in panic, only to see Peter Pettigrew—Wormtail—teetering inside a hoop, his empty sleeve flapping in the breeze. The two hands that should have moved with him were still rooted to the spot.

The Heads of House rushed to his side. With a loud pop and a puff of purple smoke, the crisis was resolved. When the haze cleared, Wormtail was sobbing in spasms. His hands were reattached, but his face was ghostly pale, his eyes wide with terror.

"Splinch," Wilkie Twycross said calmly, brandishing his wand, "is the separation of a body part. It happens when your determination falters. You must keep your focus on the destination—don't panic, stay composed… like this."

Twycross took a few graceful steps forward, arms spread wide, spinning gently as his robes swirled around him.

In a blink, he vanished from beneath their noses, reappearing at the edge of the circle.

His success, however, did little to lift the group's spirits.

"I'm starting to hate him," Patrick Abbott whispered to Severus Snape. "Any teacher who says, 'It's so simple,' needs to rethink their career."

"Yeah," Snape agreed, growing weary of his own futile attempts. "It's like he's saying all you need are hands, but so far, it seems better to have none at all."

Though he hadn't made much progress either, staying whole and in one place was, without question, a better outcome than splinching.

Despite the students' grumbling and frustration, Twycross seemed unfazed.

He leisurely fastened his cloak, his gaze sweeping over the group as he drawled, "See you next Saturday, everyone. Don't forget the three Ds: Destination, Determination, Deliberation."

The constant harping on the three Ds, in the wake of their Apparition failures, only fueled the students' irritation. To them, the Ds might as well stand for "Dumbass," "Dog-breath," and "Dung-head."

Despite a few mishaps, the relatively pleasant weekend passed quickly.

In the following week's Care of Magical Creatures class, Snape's eyes widened in shock at Professor Kettleburn's lesson.

It was a rare indoor theory session for Care of Magical Creatures. Professor Kettleburn was struggling to point at a basilisk illustration on the blackboard with his remaining arm.

"The basilisk, also known as the King of Serpents, is a massive, gleaming green snake that can grow up to fifty feet long," he said.

"Its fangs carry an extraordinarily potent venom, capable of immense destruction. Even the ground it slithers over is left coated in toxic slime.

"But the basilisk's most dangerous and direct attack is its deadly gaze. Those yellow eyes—anyone who meets them directly will die instantly."

Extraordinary venom indeed, Snape thought. Even a basilisk long dead can destroy a Horcrux with its fangs.

Professor Kettleburn pressed on, his voice echoing in the quiet classroom.

"The first recorded basilisk was bred by a Greek dark wizard named Herpo the Foul, a Parselmouth. These creatures have an exceptionally long lifespan—Herpo's basilisk is said to have lived nearly nine hundred years.

"After numerous experiments, Herpo discovered that by incubating a chicken egg under a toad, you could hatch a serpent with extraordinary powers…"

Snape's shock deepened with every word. His mind reeled: Wait, is he teaching us how to hand-craft a basilisk? This is absurd.

"Professor," Snape interrupted, unable to hold back, his voice laced with disbelief. "Are you sure this is something we should be learning?"

"No—" Kettleburn let out a heavy sigh, his face etched with resignation. "I'm not sure, Severus. But it's clearly listed in the Ministry's N.E.W.T. syllabus, even though it hasn't been updated in over two hundred years."

"That was back when Perseus Parkinson was Minister," Kettleburn muttered, grumbling under his breath. "He even tried to pass a law banning wizard-Muggle marriages. What a fool…"

"Please note," Kettleburn said, shaking off his complaints and adopting a stern tone, "while I'm required to teach you about basilisks, creating one is strictly illegal."

"More importantly, though the process is simple, I strongly urge you not to try it.

"Unless you're a Parselmouth, a basilisk won't obey anyone. If you're curious about breeding one, trust me—your basilisk will be far more interested in you than you are in it."

"And," Kettleburn added, pausing for emphasis, "history is littered with Parselmouths who were either swallowed alive by their own basilisks or petrified and then devoured."

Staring at the vivid basilisk drawing on the blackboard, a bizarre image flashed through Snape's mind:

He sat regally on a throne studded with wands, radiating authority.

Before him slithered a horde of blindfolded basilisks, their eyes covered as they writhed. Tom Riddle was bound tightly nearby, his mouth gagged. Under Riddle's horrified gaze, Snape leisurely tossed Horcrux after Horcrux toward the creatures, while Dumbledore directed the basilisks to destroy them one by one…

Thankfully, the bell rang at that moment, snapping him out of his fantasy.

————

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