Friday's Potions class was something Leon had been looking forward to.
Well, maybe not looking forward to—more like bracing himself for.
No, that's not quite right either.
He was sort of excited, but not that excited.
He knew something was bound to happen, but he hoped it wouldn't turn into a disaster.
If Snape's feelings toward Harry were a complicated mess—hatred mixed with pain, regret tinged with nostalgia, loathing but forced to protect, a full buffet of emotions—his feelings toward Leon were pure, unfiltered hate, cranked up to twelve.
And why? Because Leon had the misfortune of looking almost exactly like Sirius Black.
To Snape, Sirius was the unforgivable villain responsible for the death of his one true love.
Snape wasn't the type to play nice and spare the kid just because he was a kid.
Early Friday morning, Leon's trio arrived at the Potions classroom ahead of schedule.
The classroom, tucked away in the damp, gloomy dungeons, had the vibe of an illegal organ-harvesting operation.
Glass jars lined one wall from floor to ceiling, filled with murky green, yellow, and brown liquids, preserving all sorts of bizarre specimens.
Ginny went off to sit with her friends, leaving Leon to partner with Colin, hoping he wouldn't get caught in the crossfire.
As expected, the moment class was supposed to start, Snape swooped in like a giant bat, his greasy center-parted hair looking untouched by the shampoo Lockhart had doused him with two days earlier.
His hooked nose could've been lifted straight from a fairy-tale witch, and his dark eyes radiated cold disdain.
His voice, barely above a whisper, was flat and dripping with boredom, as if teaching idiots was a colossal waste of his time.
Snape quickly took roll for the Gryffindor and Slytherin first-years, then launched into his speech:
"Potions is a precise and exacting discipline. It demands delicate skill and a vivid imagination.
"Many of you think there's no real magic here because it doesn't involve waving a wand like fools.
"If that's you, get out. My class has no room for idiots…"
At this, Leon distinctly caught Snape's glance in his direction.
No, not his imagination—because Snape's next words were aimed squarely at him, eyes locked on Leon.
"…I don't expect you lot to grasp the true wonder of potion-making, to appreciate the gentle simmer of a cauldron, the white steam rising, the subtle fragrance wafting through the air.
"Unless you're a potions prodigy, you'll never understand the mesmerizing power of magical plants, animals, even human blood—that intoxicating, soul-stirring force.
"That is magic. Great, powerful, unmatched magic.
"And I, your Potions Master, Severus Snape, can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, and even stopper death…"
But then, Snape faltered.
Because while delivering his grand opening speech, he was maliciously probing Leon's mind, trying to uncover whether this kid—who looked so much like him but wasn't a Black—knew anything.
What he found was a vivid scene Leon had conjured: The Suffering of Snivellus.
A grotesque, slimy slug crawled slowly across the grass.
Suddenly, a dog's paw swatted it, flipping it onto its grimy belly.
The slug wriggled pathetically, finally righting itself, only to be flipped again by another paw.
The cycle repeated endlessly.
Snape froze.
He couldn't tell if Leon had done it on purpose or if it was an accident.
Back in his school days, Harry's dad and Leon's dad had bullied him relentlessly, earning him the nickname Snivellus.
But in the wizarding world, some ancient families equipped their kids with rare magical artifacts to shield their minds.
Snape couldn't be sure if this dog-and-slug show was the artifact's defense mechanism or if Leon knew something and was deliberately taunting him.
Get mad? That felt petty.
The kid didn't know Snape was poking around in his head, so stumbling on something revolting was Snape's own fault.
But not getting mad? That felt like bottling up a cauldron of frustration.
Luckily, the entire class was too intimidated by Snape's presence to notice his pause, assuming it was intentional.
Everyone sat as quiet as quails.
"Green!" Snape snapped, launching a surprise attack. "What are the twelve uses of dragon's blood?"
Leon shot him a deliberately lazy, oh-so-Black-family-arrogant glance before answering calmly:
"Dragon's blood can reduce swelling and pain, be used in potion-making, treat warts, serve as a spot remover…"
Leon rattled off every single use without missing a beat, nailing Snape's slightly out-of-syllabus question.
The chapter on dragon's blood wasn't even covered until later in the term.
But for Leon? Child's play.
He had the full memory of Voldemort, the ultimate scholar, with every book he'd ever read etched crystal-clear in his mind.
Snape's expression didn't change, but his tone dripped with sarcasm.
"Well, well. Looks like Gryffindor's got itself another book-eating know-it-all."
A few Slytherin boys snickered.
Leon didn't flinch. The jab was so weak it didn't even register—missed by a mile.
His grandma's insults were harsher than that.
With an air of earnest sincerity, like a model student genuinely puzzled, Leon asked:
"Professor Snape, you call students who don't know anything idiots, but then you mock those who know everything as know-it-alls. So, what kind of student do you like?"
Before Snape could respond, Leon's face lit up as if he'd just had a revelation.
"Oh, I get it! You like students like Malfoy—mediocre brains but loaded with gold, limited skills but swimming in Galleons, totally average but filthy rich…"
Leon slammed his hand on the desk.
"Why didn't you just say so!"
He flashed a new ring on his right hand, flicking the massive sapphire embedded in it.
With a clatter, a flood of gold coins spilled out, covering the desk.
"Sir, is this enough? Can it buy me some special treatment in class? If it's not, I'll write home for more."
…
Silence.
The students were silent, terrified that a fight might break out and they'd end up with blood on their robes.
The image of Snape pummeling Lockhart was still fresh in their minds.
No one dared bet he wouldn't hit a student.
Snape's silence? Probably from anger, but not that angry.
He knew about Leon humiliating Draco Malfoy with Galleons.
Draco had written home to complain, and Lucius had written to Snape, asking about Leon.
At the time, Snape was annoyed.
One child of an old acquaintance was bad enough—now there was another wild card.
So irritated, he hadn't washed his hair for two days.
His reply to Lucius was curt, telling him to have his wife ask her family for details.
He hadn't expected this kid to pull the same stunt on him.
Snape walked to Leon's desk, picked up a coin, and examined it closely.
Leon didn't sweat.
He'd anticipated Snape might know about leprechaun gold, so he'd used the real stuff.
Check all you want—he wasn't worried.
Snape nodded. "Hmm, real coins. Since it's a gift for your teacher, I'll graciously accept."
With that, he started to sweep the pile of coins toward himself.
Leon panicked.
He had money, sure, but he was also a cheapskate!
In a flash, he apparated to Snape's side, grabbing his arm mid-swipe.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold up, mate, I messed up, alright? I'm sorry! Leave the coins alone!"