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"Today, we'll be learning an important defensive spell and a practical casting technique. Can anyone tell me the benefits of a Silent Spell?" Professor Flitwick asked.
Severus Snape hesitated before raising his hand, but someone else was quicker.
"Very well, Miss Evans?" Professor Flitwick nodded slightly toward Lily.
"It prevents your opponent from knowing what spell you're about to cast," Lily said. "That gives you a split-second advantage, catching them off guard."
"An absolutely perfect answer," Professor Flitwick said. "Five points to Gryffindor. In practical situations, even the smallest advantage can lead to drastically different outcomes. Moreover, this is one of the key components tested in the N.E.W.T.s.
"Next, we'll start with the Shield Charm. Then, you'll pair up—one person will attempt to cast a jinx on their partner, while the other defends using the Shield Charm, both silently…"
After the lecture on the Shield Charm, Snape paired up with Patrick Abbott for practice.
"Where'd you wander off to earlier?" Abbott asked.
"Over by the gamekeeper's hut," Snape said, deciding not to tell Abbott the full truth. He lifted his left arm. "Got a bit of a scrape from a Hippogriff, but no real harm done. They seem rather gentle, actually…"
"Pfft—" Abbott stifled a laugh, letting out a snort. "You and Hagrid would probably get along famously."
"Quiet, focus," Professor Flitwick said as he patrolled their side of the room.
Snape and Abbott quickly shut their mouths and resumed practicing.
Abbott's face turned red from holding back laughter as he raised his wand, glaring at Snape with exaggerated intensity.
Bored and waiting for a spell that might never come, Snape's mind wandered. Abbott's comment had reminded him of something.
It was time to make contact with Hagrid. Who knew, he might need to borrow a few roosters from him later to deal with that Basilisk.
Potions class that afternoon was, for Snape, utterly unchallenging.
He didn't even need to glance at the textbook to effortlessly brew a pale, perfect Draught of Peace.
Of course, if the prize included an extra vial of Felix Felicis, he wouldn't mind showing Slughorn the four different methods for brewing the Draught of Living Death.
"Your potion is excellent as always," Slughorn said regretfully to Lily. "But Severus's is just a touch better."
Snape took the small vial of golden liquid, tilting it against the candlelight before slipping it satisfied into the pocket of his robes.
The annoyed expressions on James Potter and Sirius Black's faces brought him a particular kind of joy.
When the bell rang, everyone began packing up and heading out of the classroom.
"Hold on a moment, Severus."
As Snape prepared to join the crowd leaving the dungeon, Slughorn called him back.
Fastening the golden clasp on his dragonhide briefcase, Slughorn said, "How about coming to my place for a casual dinner this Saturday? I'm hosting a little gathering.
"I've invited Regulus Black, Lily Evans, and a few others, including the famous Auror Fabian Prewett. You might have read about him and his brother Gideon in The Daily Prophet."
Before Snape could respond, Slughorn's gaze shifted to Abbott, who was lingering by the door. He gave Abbott a slight bow.
"And of course, I'd be delighted if Mr. Abbott could join us this time. Over the summer, I saw a photo of you with your father on his desk.
"I must say, his acquisition of Quality Quidditch Supplies was quite the savvy move…"
Slughorn enthusiastically pulled out two invitations tied with purple ribbons and handed one to Abbott and one to Snape before striding out of the dungeon with his briefcase.
"He's invited me before," Abbott said as they left the dungeon, climbing the stairs and crossing the entrance hall toward lunch. "I've dodged him with every excuse I could think of."
"That's not the point," Snape said, settling at the Slytherin table with an odd expression. "Quality Quidditch Supplies is your family's?"
"Oh, the shop in Diagon Alley? Yeah, that's right."
Abbott scooped some vegetable salad onto his plate.
"My dad just bought it. He's pretty tight with Devlin Whitehorn, so now we get first dibs on stocking the latest Nimbus brooms."
"And you didn't mention this earlier? I've been fighting you to cover the bill!" Snape said, aggressively spooning a heap of meat sauce onto his plate. "From now on, you're covering the food on the train!"
"No problem," Abbott said casually. "I've got more Galleons than I can spend. That day on the train, I was wondering if that bag of coins was your weekly pocket money."
Scrape—Snape's fork froze, dragging a shrill noise across his plate.
He glared at Abbott, furious. "All this food, and you still can't keep your mouth shut?"
After eating his fill, Snape began pondering his next steps.
To avoid anyone discovering his unique situation, he needed to string his actions together in a way that seemed logical and deliberate.
Truth be told, he didn't entirely trust Dumbledore. To achieve his goals, that cunning old man was willing to gamble with Snape's life—and even the life of the Boy Who Lived.
Moreover, according to the original story, after Snape killed Dumbledore, he would gain mastery of the Elder Wand. His fate, then, was all too clear.
Snape tossed his cutlery down. "Come on, let's check out the Trophy Room."
They climbed the stairs briskly, taking a few turns until they reached the fourth floor.
In the Trophy Room, crystal cabinets gleamed under the slanting sunlight. Medals, trophies, shields, and statues shimmered with silver and gold in the soft glow of the sunset.
"Look at this," Snape said, pointing to a display case in the corner. Inside was a dusty golden medal. "This is a Special Award for Services to the School."
"T.M. Riddle, 1943," Abbott read aloud from the inscription. "What did he get this for?"
"No idea," Snape said, shaking his head. "Let's look at the rest."
They spotted Riddle's name again on a faded Outstanding Moral Character badge and on a list of former Head Boys.
"This guy was something else," Abbott said, impressed. "I wish I could be like him."
"Then you'd better start working hard," Snape teased. "Me, I'd be happy just landing Head Boy next year."
"You're not even a prefect," Abbott said, surprised. "Head Boy? Really?"
"Is there any rule saying a non-prefect can't be Head Boy?"
Snape started toward the Trophy Room door. "If I could snag a Special Award for Services to the School, asking the Headmaster for Head Boy wouldn't be too much, would it?
"There's nothing else here. I'm heading to the library to dig into what happened in 1943—maybe I'll figure out how to earn that medal. You coming?"
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