It was the first day Severus Snape stepped into the classroom as a professor. The heavy wooden door slammed shut behind him with a thunderous bang, silencing the idle chatter in an instant. He walked down the center aisle like a shadow cutting through the light, his robes billowing around him, each step deliberate

Reaching the front of the classroom, he turned slowly to face the students. His expression was unmistakable — pure disdain. His black eyes swept across the room like cold knives, narrowing at the slightest movement. His features were sharp, angular, and severe. Pale skin that seemed untouched by sunlight, and black hair that fell across his face, framing it like dark curtains.

He spoke, his voice low and cutting, every word soaked in venom:

—I am Severus Tobias Snape. Your new Potions Master. I don’t expect excellence — frankly, I don’t expect anything at all. You look like a room full of dunderheads.

He took a slow, purposeful step forward, eyes fixed on a nervous Hufflepuff in the front row, who immediately looked down at their desk.

—Slytherin was already crumbling when I left this place… and clearly, it’s only gotten worse.

He hissed the last part, barely above a whisper, yet somehow more terrifying than if he had shouted.

The room remained frozen. No one dared to speak. No one dared to breathe.

And just like that, the message was clear: this would not be the class for foolish wand-waving or casual chatter. This was war. And Snape had just declared it.