NOVEL WEB Chapter 67: A Lost Patron
"They want us to join now…"
Snape whispered the words, fingers tightening slightly around the crumpled scrap of parchment. It hit him immediately—what those words meant. Voldemort had grown impatient. He was no longer waiting for age or graduation; he was pulling everyone he could into the ranks of the Death Eaters—Barty, Regulus, even some of the older Slytherin students who'd once worn their House badges with pride and now carried darker marks under their sleeves.
Snape turned toward the stairs but caught sight of Barty stepping out after him. He quickly pulled the boy aside into a shadowed corridor.
"Don't join them," Snape said, voice low and urgent. "Even with your father's influence, being a Death Eater won't give you power over him. Unless he's willing to protect you—but we both know he won't."
Barty gave a bitter shake of the head.
"Then we stick to the original plan," Snape continued. "Get into the Ministry. Let his name carry you high. Drop his name enough times—my father is Bartemius Crouch, the proud Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement—and let him watch his own reputation collapse under the weight of your shadow."
With that, Snape slipped into the hallway and started up the stairs, deciding at once to go to Dumbledore's office.
As he walked, thoughts tumbled through his head. It was already 1977—this was the year Regulus would proudly take the Dark Mark. Within another year, he'd offer Kreacher to Voldemort's service and vanish beneath the tides of a doomed rebellion.
Snape was so lost in thought he nearly passed by the stone gargoyle guarding the Headmaster's entrance. It growled his name several times before he snapped out of his daze and turned back.
"Thanks. Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans," he said, not in the mood to trade banter.
"I'm not called Bertie Bott's," the gargoyle said with a grumble, hopping aside.
"Appreciate it, oh Sentinel of Sweets," Snape muttered, slipping through the opening.
The door closed softly behind him as he stepped into the Headmaster's office.
Dumbledore sat behind his desk, tranquil as ever, lifting his gaze with calm curiosity.
"What is it, Severus?" he asked. "You seem in a hurry. Sit down."
"I won't take long," Snape replied, remaining standing. "There's something urgent I need to show you."
He handed the parchment over. Dumbledore unfolded it, eyes narrowing behind his half-moon spectacles.
"'They want us to join now'... Who is 'they', and who is 'us'?"
"Barty gave it to me. I've managed to bring him over to our side recently. He's still going to the Walpurgis meetings. Voldemort is calling them to join officially."
"Every person must make their own choices, Severus." Dumbledore's fingers steepled together, graceful and light.
"You're right," Snape said, slowly taking a seat across from him, his voice steady now. "But they're still your students. And frankly, I only care about two of them in particular. But since you're the Headmaster, the burden of choice should rest with you."
He mimicked Dumbledore's posture, fingertips meeting.
"You're Headmaster of Hogwarts, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and a First Class Order of Merlin recipient. If anyone can act, it's you."
Dumbledore stood, crossing the room to stroke Fawkes gently.
"Thank you for telling me this," he said. "Do you think Barty will go through with joining the Death Eaters?"
"Absolutely not," Snape said, watching as Dumbledore retrieved several files and letters from a cabinet. "I wouldn't let my people risk their lives as spies—not even if it came with greater rewards."
Dumbledore gave a soft nod, setting a pile of parchment on the desk.
"Voldemort's ideology is dangerously seductive. He promises a world where wizards don't hide, where they rule openly over Muggles and their descendants. For now, his targets remain mostly Muggles and Muggle-born or half-blood witches and wizards. But within the wizarding world, he still has many supporters."
Snape's eyes drifted to the parchment.
"These are the latest rulings from the Board of Governors," Dumbledore explained. "They've ruled that Hogwarts staff must not interfere with students' rights to associate freely.
"And these," he added, gesturing toward several sealed letters, "are from the Malfoy, Carrow, Rosier, and Black families. They're unanimous in their demand that I make no major changes to the school's educational or disciplinary policies."
"So officially, we can't do anything," Snape said.
"Precisely," Dumbledore said, a shadow in his voice. "If I push too hard, many pure-blood families will withdraw their children from Hogwarts. They'll turn to private tutors, and nothing will change."
"I understand, Professor," Snape said, leaning back in his chair. "You make the decision. Let them walk the path they've chosen."
He paused, then added slyly, "Though I recall you've been nominated for Minister of Magic more than once. Ever considered taking the post?"
Dumbledore chuckled and shook his head. "I used to think I didn't want the constraints of Ministry office. Now, even if I wished to, no one can fill this post in my place."
"Professor McGonagall?" Snape offered.
A wry smile crossed Dumbledore's face. "I once told you, Tom Riddle sought the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Ever since, the position has been cursed—we haven't had a single professor last more than a year.
"Few know this, but the curse lingers even on the Headmaster's office. I suspect Tom cursed the title itself. I doubt anyone but me could hold this seat for more than a year without consequence."
Snape blinked. That wasn't the answer he'd expected.
He'd hoped to lure Dumbledore away into Ministry service. That way, he'd have an unshakable patron at the highest level of magical government.
That hope was dashed.
And thinking on it… if Voldemort had cursed one chair, why wouldn't he curse the throne? The two Headmasters after Dumbledore—Umbridge and Snape himself—hadn't lasted a full year.
That curse had never truly lifted.