Time quickly arrived at Friday morning. The underground classroom at Hogwarts was filled with a cold, damp atmosphere.
This was the Potion Class classroom, where glass jars lining the walls held various macabre animal specimens, casting distorted shadows under the dim candlelight.
For most students—especially those from Gryffindor—this was practically a nightmare.
But for Tamara Riddle, the air here was surprisingly refreshing.
Compared to the smell of dirt in the Greenhouses and the cold wind on the Astronomy Tower, this scent—a mix of herbs, preservatives, and a faint hint of sulfur—made her feel a long-lost sense of familiarity.
This was one of the fields she used to excel in.
And it was the territory of her most loyal servant—Severus Snape.
"It brings back memories."
Tamara sat in the first row, her slender fingers gently tracing the cold rim of the cauldron on the desk.
She sighed inwardly.
In the memories of her previous life, Snape was the Death Eater who never betrayed her until the very end.
He lurked beside Dumbledore, enduring humiliation and heavy burdens, providing her with countless crucial pieces of intelligence.
Although she ultimately had to kill him over the ownership of the elder wand... "That doesn't diminish my appreciation for your talent, Severus."
Tamara looked at the empty podium, a playful smile curling her lips: "Since I have returned, you should also rejoin the ranks. This time, I will grant you a higher status."
Bang!
The classroom door was violently pushed open.
A man in black robes, with greasy hair and a pale complexion, strode in.
His robes billowed behind him, like a giant black bat.
Severus Snape.
He didn't need to shout; his inherent gloomy aura alone instantly silenced the entire classroom.
He picked up the roll book and began calling names.
Even just reading names, his voice was deeply resonant, like a venomous snake sliding across velvet.
"Harry Potter."
Snape paused when he read that name.
"Oh, yes," he said softly. "Harry Potter, our new... famous figure."
Draco Malfoy and his cronies snickered behind their hands. Snape didn't even look at them, but clearly condoned the mockery.
Tamara watched with cool detachment.
It seemed Snape also hated Potter. Good. This showed that his stance remained firm.
Immediately after.
"Tamara Riddle."
When Snape read out this name, there was an extremely subtle pause in his voice, yet it was clearly audible to Tamara.
He raised his head, and his deep black eyes, visible through his drooping, greasy black hair, fixed intensely on Tamara.
That look was complex.
There was scrutiny, distaste, and a hint of deep-seated apprehension hidden beneath.
Tamara did not avoid his gaze.
Instead, she elegantly lifted her chin and gave her former subordinate a standard, approving smile befitting the Dark Lord.
"Present, Professor."
Her voice was steady and composed, even carrying a subtle, almost imperceptible intimacy.
Snape's pupils constricted abruptly.
As if burned, he quickly averted his gaze, looked back at the roll call, and unconsciously increased his speaking speed.
After finishing the roll call, Snape began his opening speech.
"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of Potion-making."
His voice was barely louder than a whisper, yet everyone heard him clearly.
"As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic."
"I don't expect you to truly grasp the subtle beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, or the delicate power that flows through human veins, bewitching the mind and ensnaring the senses..."
"I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even put a stopper on death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."
The whole class was silent.
Hermione Granger was already perched on the edge of her seat, eager to prove she wasn't a dunderhead.
Tamara, meanwhile, leaned back in her chair, a hint of nostalgia in her eyes.
This was Snape.