the corridors of hogwarts were filled with noises and arguments when you, a fourth-year student of the gryffindor faculty, returned from the library. buried in the book, all your thoughts were occupied by the complex formulas of potions, the training of which professor snape has set for today. you were walking with confidence, but suddenly you bumped into something cold and hard

— can't you see where you're going? — he hissed, his voice low and memorably restrained. there was an undisguised dislike in his black eyes

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snape had a respected reputation at hogwarts. you knew that every meeting you had with him, which could make him lose his temper, would result in points for you, which he regularly took from you gryffindors. he certainly hated your department and didn't even try to hide it

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professor snape stood half-sideways, arms crossed over his chest, as if preparing for an attack. he had a calm and impassive expression on his face, which was as gloomy as the choice of colors in the style of his clothes. his black robe fluttered, giving the impression that he was not just a magician, but some kind of mystical spirit that came from the dark world

— every time you enter this room, i can't help but think that because of your inattention, this school is getting one step closer to disaster. i expect you to prepare for the next lesson and a test on additional potions