Harry Potter: I became Snape

"Cheers!" The crisp clink of glasses echoed through the cozy warmth of the small tavern.

The group's goblets met lightly in the air, frothy butterbeer splashing out, speckling the wooden table with tiny droplets.

Severus Snape and Patrick Abbott tilted their heads back, taking hearty gulps of the steaming butterbeer. Pandora sipped delicately, her eyes crinkling into crescents, a trace of foam clinging to her lips.

But Barty Crouch Jr., seated beside them, only gave a perfunctory tap of his goblet before withdrawing his hand awkwardly, not bringing the drink to his lips.

"Abbott, I'm sorry I didn't get you a gift," Barty said, his face flushed with unease. "I didn't know it was your birthday today."

Patrick let out a hearty laugh. "Oh, come on, no need for formalities between us! I'm not exactly wanting for anything."

He nudged Barty with his elbow, then slung an arm warmly around his shoulders. "We've got O.W.L.s coming up soon, and for a study fiend like you to take time out to be here—that's more than enough!"

"Back when I was in your shoes, I was a complete wreck," Patrick continued. "No energy for anything, not even studying."

"I'll make it up to you with a gift later," Barty said shyly.

"No need, no need!" Patrick waved it off, playfully reaching as if to force Barty's goblet to his mouth. "Come on, drink! Don't make me pour it down your throat!"

"I'll do it, I'll do it!" Barty squirmed free, hastily raising his goblet and taking a big gulp, only to choke and cough.

"I didn't get Abbott a gift either," Pandora said softly, setting her goblet down gently. "He specifically told us not to get him anything. I was going to prepare something nice for him, though."

"Haha, forget it," Snape chuckled. "He's probably trying to veto all future gifts too."

"But, Barty, how's your O.W.L. prep going?" Snape turned to Barty, his tone shifting to one of curiosity.

"Ugh, I'm not nearly ready," Barty said, rubbing his hands together anxiously, his expression dazed. "There's so much to memorize—books, spells, everything."

"All the professors keep hammering on about how important the O.W.L.s are, and the homework's piling up. I wish they'd just stop talking about it…" he trailed off.

"Relax, Barty," Snape said, giving his arm a reassuring pat. "Look at the people at this table. If Abbott can pass his O.W.L.s, you've got nothing to worry about."

"Hey!" Patrick protested, banging his butterbeer mug on the table. "I read plenty, you know!"

"Yeah, books with more pictures than words," Snape snorted, then turned back to Barty with a serious look. "I'm telling you, Barty, if anyone in your year is going to ace all twelve O.W.L.s, it's you."

"I'm not so sure," Barty mumbled, gripping his goblet tightly, his voice lacking confidence. "I've fallen asleep in Professor Binns' class a few times."

"What?" Patrick's eyes widened in disbelief, spilling a bit of his butterbeer. "Professor Binns, falling asleep, and a few times—how do those words even go together?"

The table erupted in laughter.

"You'll pass, I guarantee it," Snape said with a grin. "This summer, I'll write to congratulate you on sailing through."

"And if your dad takes you to visit Ministry officials over the holidays," Snape leaned closer to Barty, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "say, someone like Cornelius Fudge, Head of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, when he compliments you, you could say—"

"'Yes, I'm very proud of my father. I think he'd make an excellent Minister for Magic. Would you support him, sir?'"

"Does Fudge want to be Minister?" Barty asked, puzzled.

"Not yet, probably," Snape said with a sly smile. "But it doesn't hurt to plant the seed."

When the butterbeer ran dry, Patrick stood up, his steps light as he sauntered to the bar to order more drinks.

He proudly showed off the gleaming gold watch on his wrist, studded with tiny diamonds, to Madam Rosmerta. With a discreet tap of his wand on the counter, he signaled for drinks only adult wizards could order—sherry, rum, and the like.

The group raised their stronger drinks, their laughter tinged with the haze of alcohol.

After a few rounds, Snape's eyes were slightly glazed, a faint flush creeping across his cheeks.

"Oh, right… Barty, didn't you mention you have a house-elf at home?" Snape asked, squinting slightly.

"Yeah," Barty replied, his own gaze foggy with drink. "Her name's Winky. Why?"

"Here's the thing," Snape said, leaning forward slightly. "I've heard house-elves sometimes meet up with each other. If Winky knows the Black family's elf, could you ask her to keep an eye on their elf's movements?"

"Like, if Winky hasn't seen the Black family's elf in a while, could you write to me about it?"

"Sure…" Barty mumbled, his head bobbing uncontrollably. "I don't know if Winky knows their elf, but I'll ask her when I'm home for the holidays…"

They drank a bit more, then staggered to their feet, ready to head back to the castle.

At the door, Snape's steps were unsteady. Under the influence of the alcohol, he suddenly paused as if remembering something. With a goofy grin, he fumbled in his robes and pulled out an elegant gift box tied with a satin ribbon.

"Madam," Snape said solemnly, handing the box to Rosmerta, "thank you for your hospitality. This is a gift for you."

"It's not my birthday," Madam Rosmerta said, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she smiled. "What's inside, Severus?"

Snape blinked at her hazily, sensing something playful in her smile but too muddled to parse it.

"Moondust face mask, made in France," he said. "I heard Perenelle Flamel, Nicholas Flamel's wife, swears by it. It soothes anxiety and irritation, and it's supposed to improve skin elasticity and glow."

"Thank you, I'll make good use of it," Rosmerta said, taking the gift and holding it to her chest with an exaggerated flourish. Her eyes glinted mischievously as she shot Snape a knowing look.

"Right, see you later—" Snape waved, stumbling as he turned.

Pandora stood before him, her pale blue eyes curved into a warm smile, her head tilted as she gazed at him, golden hair swaying gently.

Just then, Patrick pushed open the pub door, and a biting gust of cold wind swept through the gap.

Snape shivered, the chill snapping him out of his drunken haze in an instant.

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