Hogwarts: Bloodline Legend

Chapter 968: Chapter 292: What Is a Professor? A Master of Terror!

Sunlight spilled over the ancient castle of Hogwarts. She stared helplessly at the lesson plan and Magic Potion Materials list Snape had given her. No one could have predicted what would happen today.

It was downright magical.

So absurd it was hard to imagine even in a dream.

Hermione had never imagined.

That she would ever have the honor of becoming a professor at Hogwarts.

And while she was still only in her first year.

Of course.

Definitely not under her original identity.

This was the day she had to substitute for Professor Snape’s Magic Potion Class. She knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but she could only grit her teeth and disguise herself as Snape.

Because she had done something that violated Snape’s "character setting," Hermione had run off at top speed when facing Professor Lockhart; mainly, her usual habit of respecting her teachers had gone into overdrive.

"Crap!"

Hermione bolted extremely fast.

She was thinking that if Lockhart didn’t react in time, then it would be as if she hadn’t shown her little chick feet at all—admittedly a somewhat childish thought, but she really was just a first-year kid.

Eleven years old.

A "little grown‑up" is still, first and foremost, "little." Because of that, Hermione didn’t hear Lockhart’s final murmur and had no idea that that tiny slip had already gotten her completely exposed.

Of course.

The "Lockhart" identity’s underlying language was itself imposture, so Aurora, who was wearing Lockhart’s face in place of her grandfather, was no better.

She wouldn’t expose Hermione either.

Which allowed Hermione to escape disaster.

"Next is first‑year Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff." Not having to teach her own housemates of the same year today was, as far as Hermione was concerned, a blessing in the midst of misfortune.

It was only just after term had started.

Snape’s terrifying reputation had only just begun to show its fangs in those two houses; those Little Wizards were like a flock of chirping sparrows, full of curiosity and unease.

"Quiet!" Hermione shouted in as low a voice as she could manage, but the effect was minimal. She took a deep breath, recalled Snape’s usual manner, and slammed the desk hard.

"Looks like someone is begging to be boiled down into a Magic Potion!"

This line was stolen from Ron’s idea; and it had to be said, it worked brilliantly on first‑year Little Wizards. Everyone was scared out of their wits, and the classroom fell silent in an instant.

"Today we’re going to learn a Magic Potion so simple even a pig could master it." Hermione spoke as she wrote the preparation steps on the blackboard, the scrape of chalk on slate unusually clear in the silent classroom.

The first‑year curriculum was obviously no challenge for this Little Witch. Standing in a field that belonged to her, she suddenly felt confident, explaining each step in detail and with full assurance.

She even stepped down from the platform now and then to correct the students’ mistaken operations.

A Little Witch accidentally spilled powder outside the Crucible; Hermione walked over immediately. "That’s very dangerous. A small mistake like that can cause an explosion. Remember, brewing Magic Potions demands focus and precision."

She actually did look a bit like a proper Professor of Potions at that moment.

Of course.

That was only how it went with first‑years; once the first‑year lesson ended and she had to teach the upper years, Hermione immediately shrank back into timidity again.

"Fifth‑years!"

Hermione Granger had barely rested when another class was about to begin. She took a deep breath. Teaching higher‑year students, a Little Witch was bound to be even more nervous.

This wasn’t first year, nor second year, and not third or fourth either, but fifth year, practically on the verge of graduating. In Hermione’s mind that was basically the terrifying "Dou Zong" Level of power.

Of course.

She didn’t know what a Dou Zong was, but she did know that even the worst students among them possessed more knowledge than she did, so her heart naturally filled once more with uncertainty. After all, fifth year was the preparation year for O.W.L.s (Ordinary Wizard Level exams), so the course content usually focused even more on combining practical Skills with theoretical knowledge.

It was crucial for the students.

Hermione was also afraid she might affect their future.

And of course.

She was even more afraid of being exposed.

"I am Snape, I am Snape, I am Snape."

Hermione understood very well what self‑deception and mental preparation were.

She looked down at the wide, heavy black robes on her body, then touched the face she currently wore, and the greasy black hair—these were the symbols of her identity as Professor Snape.

Snape’s hair condition was even worse than she’d imagined. Still, Hermione also felt that this was proof no one would suspect her; she now had Snape’s appearance down to a perfect copy.

Even the scalp oil seemed replicated one‑to‑one. What could she say? Snape had actually started using the shampoo Ian had given him, but the past few hectic days had made him revert to his original look.

Which was pure suffering for a Little Witch who had always loved cleanliness.

But there was nothing she could do.

She could only force herself to endure the discomfort of feeling grimy and get into character. While there was still some time before class, she hid in the shadows of a corridor corner and started playing to her greatest strength—rote memorization.

The Polyjuice Potion’s effect had given her Snape’s appearance for the moment, but absolutely not his talent with Magic Potions. Before ever drinking that potion, Hermione had already read about it in the library.

Now.

She could be said to be personally experiencing what it was like to become someone else, and a grown‑up at that—honestly, the experience was not as satisfying as Hermione had imagined.