Harry Potter: I became Snape

"But," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with a sly glint, "I do have some good news to share with you."

"Have you found a lead on the other Horcruxes?" Snape leaned forward slightly, asking with cautious alertness.

Could the headmaster have already discovered the ring's existence? If so, Snape would need to keep a close eye on Dumbledore.

"No, it's a different piece of good news," Dumbledore said, waving his hand lightly, his tone leisurely. "The position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for next year has finally been filled."

"That barely qualifies as good news," Snape remarked, raising an eyebrow. "With the post changing hands every year, it's a wonder you still find people willing to take it on."

"Indeed, I've had to call in favors from many old friends over the years," Dumbledore sighed, pulling a letter from the pile of parchment on his desk. "For their safety, I always ensure they resign—willingly or otherwise—before the school year ends."

"So, Professor Grubbly-Plank will be leaving Hogwarts in a few months," Dumbledore added with a helpless shrug, gesturing for Snape to open the letter. "She doesn't even want to stay until your exams are over."

Snape picked up the letter and unfolded the parchment, revealing it to be from Abraxas Malfoy, addressed to Dumbledore.

Abraxas was Lucius Malfoy's father, grandfather to the yet-to-be-born Draco.

In the letter, the elder Malfoy expressed strong condemnation of Dumbledore's educational policies and the recently held dueling club competitions.

Mr. Malfoy wrote:

"No one could possibly believe that allowing pure-blood wizards to compete on the same stage as Muggle-born wizards is an act of justice or fairness.

"If any Muggle-born wizard, through underhanded tactics or a sneak attack, manages to defeat a pure-blood wizard by sheer luck, it would bring disgrace and shame to the entire wizarding world.

"Let me be clear: from the very root of the matter, I believe they should not even be permitted within the walls of this school.

"I, Abraxas Malfoy, have submitted an application to the Board of Governors to take up the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for the next school year…"

Snape finished reading, a strange, secretive expression flickering across his face. "What, someone's volunteering to walk into a death trap?"

"Exactly my thought," Dumbledore said, a meaningful smile spreading across his face. "I suspect he believes his family's status as Voldemort's most loyal Death Eaters will protect him. Mr. Malfoy might naively think Tom's curse will spare his servant."

"I agreed to his request without hesitation," Dumbledore continued. "He didn't need to pressure me through the Board."

"That's good news indeed, Professor," Snape nodded in approval. "The fewer of these old relics, the better. They should've been swept away by the times long ago."

"Your view is a bit extreme, Severus," Dumbledore cautioned.

"And what else is there to do?" Snape gave a faint smile. "Someone always has to pay the price—why not them?"

"By the way, Professor," Snape said suddenly, as if recalling something, "I have a suggestion. Perhaps you could investigate the previous generation of the Gaunt family. As usual, I'd like to join you on the trip."

He was determined to keep the upper hand. Living in constant fear wasn't sustainable.

"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said warmly, his eyes full of approval. "I've already made some progress. Years ago, a Ministry official named Bob Ogden encountered members of the Gaunt family while on duty.

"If you're still interested, let's pay Mr. Ogden a visit next weekend."

Snape quietly rejoiced. Good thing he'd spoken up—Dumbledore's efficiency was as formidable as his reputation.

The next day was the trip to Hogsmeade.

Sunlight finally pierced through the thick clouds, spilling onto the path leading to Hogsmeade. But the temperature remained low, with biting winds still whistling through the air.

Little Barty joined Snape's group directly. Now, he neither could nor needed to attend the Walpurgis gatherings anymore.

This time, Snape had sent an owl ahead to Madam Rosmerta at the Three Broomsticks, reserving a large table.

As they pushed open the wooden door of the Three Broomsticks, a warm, sweet wave of butterbeer-scented air greeted them. They hurried inside, escaping the chilly wind.

Barely two minutes after they sat down, Madam Rosmerta sauntered over from the bar, hips swaying.

She carried several bottles of butterbeer and a bottle of wine, her shiny black high heels clicking crisply against the floor.

Today, Madam Rosmerta had tied a sky-blue, lace-trimmed scarf around her head, which made her skin appear even fairer.

"Thank you, Madam," Snape said, his gaze following her. "You didn't have to bring these over—we were just about to come get them."

"Happy birthday, Abbott," Madam Rosmerta said with a squinting smile. "Severus asked me to reserve a table for you all, saying it was for your birthday."

"Oh, come on!" Snape exclaimed, a hint of mock frustration in his voice. "Madam, we were planning to surprise him!"

"Bringing the drinks over myself isn't surprise enough?" Madam Rosmerta shot Snape a playful, reproachful glance, chuckling. "This bottle of wine is a little extra for you, Abbott. I hope you like it."

"This is beyond surprising!" Abbott's face flushed slightly, beaming as he looked at the wine on the table. "I love it—thank you, Madam!"

"Wait a second," Snape said, suddenly recalling the bottles of wine he'd taken from the Hogwarts kitchens, brewed by house-elves using foot-trodden grapes. "Madam, is this wine made by elves?"

"No, I brewed it myself," Madam Rosmerta replied, giving Snape a puzzled look. "Why ask such an odd question? Does it matter who made it?"

"How did you brew it?" Snape asked instinctively.

"With magic, of course," Madam Rosmerta said, already picking up her tray to head back to the bar. "I really don't know what's going through your head, Severus."

"Oh, alright," Snape said, feeling an inexplicable twinge of disappointment.

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