NOVEL WEB Chapter 69: The Gift
"Cheers!" The crisp clink of glasses echoed warmly through the snug interior of the pub.
Their butterbeers met with a soft clatter, a spray of foam dotting the wooden table. Snape and Abbot both tilted back their mugs, drinking deep from the steaming brew. Pandora, more reserved, sipped delicately—her curved lips catching a bit of froth as her eyes sparkled with amusement.
Only Barty gave a half-hearted clink before lowering his glass without drinking. He looked uncomfortable, his hand awkwardly retreating.
"Abbot, I'm sorry—I didn't get you anything," Barty mumbled with clear embarrassment. "I didn't know it was your birthday."
Abbot burst into laughter. "Oh, come off it! What do I need gifts for?"
He nudged Barty with his elbow and then slung an arm companionably around his shoulders. "We've got O.W.L.s just around the corner, and you—being the book-loving lunatic you are—still made time to show up. That's a gift enough for me!
"Back in my day, around your age, I was a miserable wreck. Couldn't focus on anything—school least of all."
"Well… I'll make it up to you later," Barty said shyly.
"No need, seriously." Abbot grinned and made a show of reaching to push Barty's mug toward him. "Now come on, drink up! Don't make me feed you."
"I'll drink it! I'll drink it myself!" Barty blurted, hastily lifting the mug and taking a large gulp—only to choke and cough as the warmth hit the back of his throat.
"I didn't bring a gift either," Pandora chimed in softly, setting her mug down. "Abbot told me not to. I had something lovely planned too…"
"Oh, leave it," Snape chuckled. "He'd probably like to be exempt from all gifts for the rest of time."
"But Barty," he added, turning to the younger boy, "how's your O.W.L. prep coming along?"
"Not great, honestly," Barty admitted, rubbing his hands anxiously. "There's so much to memorise—spells, theory, essays. Every professor keeps reminding us how important they are, piling on more homework… I wish they'd all just stop talking about it."
"Don't stress," Snape said, patting his arm. "Look around this table. If Abbot could pass his O.W.L.s, you're going to breeze through them."
"Oi!" Abbot banged his butterbeer on the table in mock outrage. "I read books too, you know!"
"Sure, books with about four words per page," Snape teased with a grin. Then he turned serious, locking eyes with Barty. "But really—if anyone in your year's capable of passing all twelve subjects, it's you."
"I'm not so sure," Barty muttered, gripping his mug tighter. "Sometimes I doze off in Professor Binns's class…"
"What?!" Abbot gaped at him, a bit of butterbeer splashing from his mug. "Binns, asleep, and sometimes? How do those words even go together?!"
Everyone broke into laughter.
"You'll pass. I guarantee it," Snape said with a smile. "I'll write to you over the summer to congratulate you."
He leaned closer, voice low and conspiratorial. "And if your father drags you along to visit some Ministry officials—say, Cornelius Fudge from the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes—when he starts singing your praises, you could say:
'Yes, I'm proud of my father. I think he'll make an excellent Minister for Magic someday. Will you support him, sir?'"
"Fudge wants to be Minister?" Barty asked, puzzled.
"Probably not yet," Snape said, a glint in his eye. "But there's no harm in planting the seed."
When the butterbeers were finished, Abbot got up and strode to the bar with a spring in his step.
He proudly showed Madam Rosmerta his new gold wristwatch, glittering with embedded jewels, and tapped the counter with his wand in silent request for the stronger stuff—sherry, firewhisky, maybe even a dash of old rum.
With the sharper drinks in hand, their toasts grew louder, their laughter a little looser, hazier.
After a few rounds, Snape's eyes were slightly unfocused, a flush blooming on his pale cheeks.
"Oh, right—Barty," Snape said, squinting at him, "you mentioned your family's got a house-elf, didn't you?"
"Yes…" Barty's voice was soft and slurred. "Her name's Winky. Why?"
"Well," Snape leaned in a little, "I've heard that house-elves sometimes meet and gossip. If Winky happens to know the Black family's elf, could you have her keep an eye out?
"If she hasn't seen it in a while—just a little note to let me know."
"Sure…" Barty murmured, nodding drunkenly. "Dunno if she knows him, but I'll ask her over the holiday…"
Eventually, they staggered to their feet, half-drunken and flushed, and shuffled toward the door.
Snape stumbled a bit as he reached the exit. Something seemed to click in his muddled mind, and he lurched over to the bar, reaching into his robes and pulling out a carefully wrapped box tied with satin ribbon.
"Madam," Snape said with exaggerated solemnity, handing it over, "thank you for the hospitality. This is a gift for you."
"But it's not my birthday," Rosmerta replied, arching a perfectly sculpted brow. "What's inside, Severus?"
Snape blinked at her, swaying slightly. Her smile felt… layered, as if there was a second meaning hidden behind it. But his alcohol-fogged brain couldn't quite unravel it.
"Moonstone face masque," he said. "French-made. I heard Perenelle Flamel swears by it. Soothes nerves, clears anxiety, improves skin texture and glow."
"Well thank you," Rosmerta said with a teasing gleam in her eye, holding the box to her chest. "I'll be sure to use it wisely."
Snape gave a hazy wave and turned away.
Pandora was waiting at the door, smiling up at him, head tilted slightly, her soft blonde hair swaying as she watched him with her wide, blue eyes.
Just then, Abbot pushed the pub door open, and a blade of icy wind sliced through the room.
Snape shivered violently, the cold cutting through his robes and banishing the last remnants of alcohol-induced fog from his mind.