i am snape

Snape pulled a broken lantern from his bag and casually tossed it into a visible spot. This way, if anyone wondered why he was there, he'd have a perfectly good excuse. He then walked among the light beams cast by the high windows, searching for a troll display. The diadem, he thought, should be somewhere near it.

He looked around, seeing only piles of assorted rubbish. Snape couldn't help but wonder if Tom Riddle's mind had been completely addled by his fragmented soul. Otherwise, why would he ever think only *he* could get into this place?

Finally, he found the troll display. Beyond it, further down the aisle, he passed an old Vanishing Cabinet.

"Wait." Snape stopped and turned to look at the cabinet again.

After a moment's thought, he pulled out his wand, aiming carefully.

"Diffindo!"

With a sharp crack, like a bullet tearing through the air, the quietly standing wooden cabinet instantly ripped apart, sending splinters and fragments flying everywhere. Snape bent down, scooped a few broken pieces of wood into his bag, and clapped his hands with satisfaction. "That Vanishing Cabinet won't be much use now, will it?"

Not far from the cabinet's remains, a large, bubbling cabinet caught his eye. It had to be somewhere nearby. Snape used his wand to cut off a section of his robe sleeve, then, using the sleeve, he grabbed a rusty longsword from the top of a junk pile. He used the sword to sift through the various piles, picking out anything that could be worn on a head.

At last, among the heap of old headwear, Snape spotted a dark, tarnished diadem. Tiny letters were engraved along its base: "Wit beyond measure is man's greatest treasure."

The moment he read those words, a powerful urge surged through Snape – he wanted to put on Ravenclaw's diadem. He felt a clear sense that it would grant him supreme wisdom and endless glory. Snape's legs began to tremble, as if pulled by an invisible force, and he involuntarily knelt before the diadem. He slowly reached out his hand.

The instant his fingertips touched the diadem, a jolt, like an electric current, coursed through him. His mind raced, his thoughts clearer than they had ever been. On one side was a desperate craving for wisdom and power; on the other, cold reason fought back with all its might.

Just as the diadem was about to touch his head, Snape abruptly shut his eyes and, with every ounce of strength, flung it aside. "Damn it, how could this happen!" he gasped, panting. "Harry and the others didn't run into any danger when they got this thing..."

"Unless they only touched the diadem after the Fiendfyre destroyed it."

Snape tried to recall the original story. "That must be it. Things felt wrong the moment I read that inscription... In that case, I need to avoid that."

He removed the sleeve wrapped around the longsword and flicked his wand: "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The sleeve rose from the ground, floated slowly down, and covered the ancient, faded diadem. Just as he was about to pick up the diadem through the fabric, he realized this was also a great risk. "Hmm... Before the diadem was scorched by the Fiendfyre, Harry didn't seem to touch it either, and it wasn't just about reading the inscription."

He used his wand to move the sleeve aside again, aimed, and tried several spells on the diadem, but it remained motionless. Covering the diadem once more, Snape couldn't help but fret, unsure what to do.

After pondering for a while, he realized that for now, he could only hide it. Under Snape's direction, various items of junk spun into the air, piling one by one atop the diadem. Before long, the third junk pile to the left of the Vanishing Cabinet's remains looked no different from the other piles around it.

Snape pressed his ear to the door, listened for a moment to the sounds outside, then slung his bag over his shoulder and quietly slipped out, turning to watch as the door transformed back into a stone wall behind him.

"Oh, drat!"

He barely had time to glance at the worn watch on his wrist before he dashed towards the stairs. "No, I'm going to be late for the first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson..."

Snape skidded to a halt outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. He tapped gently on the door, interrupting Professor Grubbly-Plank's voice.

"Come in."

He cautiously pulled open the door and stepped inside. "Sorry I'm late, Professor. I—"

A chorus of hisses erupted from a corner of the classroom, with James Potter's grin shining particularly bright. Professor Grubbly-Plank shot a stern glare in their direction.

"Name, House," she said stiffly, turning to Snape.

"Severus Snape, Slytherin."

"This lesson began five minutes ago, Snape. I do not expect you to be late again. Now, find an empty seat."

Snape removed his bag from his back, held it in his hand, and, trying to be as quiet as possible, slipped into the seat beside Abbott.

"What happened to you?" Abbott asked, looking at Snape's missing sleeve.

"Shhh—" Snape pointed at Professor Grubbly-Plank, who was using magic to unroll some pictures. "Later."

"As I was saying," Professor Grubbly-Plank announced, "you are about to leave this school, and the world outside Hogwarts is far more dangerous." She pointed her wand at the pictures, which showed tortured people, grotesque wounds, and twisted, mutated limbs. "Among the Dark Arts, the three Unforgivable Curses are the most evil."

She tapped her wand heavily on several of the illustrations. "Using any one of these spells on a human being is enough to earn you a lifetime in Azkaban. This witch, writhing and screaming in agony, has been hit with the Cruciatus Curse. It causes extreme pain. This wizard, leaning calmly against the wall, was hit with the Killing Curse. Although he has not a single mark on him, he is utterly, completely dead."

"As for the Imperius Curse," Professor Grubbly-Plank walked down from the dais and paced around the classroom, "you would hardly notice a thing about someone under its influence from their appearance. But you would act entirely according to the caster's will. The caster could make you point your wand at your own head, or even kill your own family with your own hands..."

She walked to the other side of the classroom and then back towards the dais. "You must fully understand what you might face in the future. I hope you will give this subject the importance it deserves, and not just focus on passing the examination."

The classroom was utterly silent; everyone seemed to be holding their breath.

"Alright, there's no need to be overly tense," Professor Grubbly-Plank said, standing before the students at the dais. "In the lessons to come, I will do my best to help you improve your ability to defend against the Dark Arts."