i am snape

"Today, we're going to learn an important defensive charm and a practical spell-casting technique. Can anyone tell me the advantage of casting a spell non-verbally?" Professor Grubbly-Plank asked.

Snape hesitated, then raised his hand, but clearly, someone else was quicker.

"Excellent, Miss Evans?" Professor Grubbly-Plank nodded slightly at Lily.

"It keeps your opponent from knowing what spell you're about to cast," Lily said. "It gives you a split-second advantage, creating an element of surprise."

"A perfect answer, indeed," Professor Grubbly-Plank said. "Five points to Gryffindor. In a real duel, even the slightest advantage can lead to an entirely different outcome. And this, of course, is one of the key topics for your N.E.W.T.s. Now, let's begin by learning the Shield Charm. Then, you'll pair up, one of you trying to cast a jinx at your partner, and the other attempting to defend with a Shield Charm, all non-verbally..."

After the lecture on the Shield Charm concluded, Snape and Abott paired up for practice.

"What were you doing earlier?" Abott asked.

"I went near the Forbidden Forest," Snape decided not to tell Abott the truth. He lifted his left arm. "Got a bit of a knock from a Hippogriff, thankfully no serious injury. They actually seemed quite gentle..."

"Pffft—" Abott struggled to suppress a chuckle, letting out a small snort. "You and Hagrid would certainly have a lot to talk about."

"Quiet, focus," Professor Grubbly-Plank said as she patrolled past them.

Snape and Abott quickly clamped their mouths shut and resumed practicing. Abott's face was flushed red, and he held his wand, trying hard to glare at Snape. Idly waiting for a spell that might never come, Snape couldn't help but think that Abott had just given him an idea. It was time to find an opportunity to talk to Hagrid. Perhaps he'd even need to borrow a few roosters from him later to deal with the Basilisk.

The Potions class that afternoon was utterly unchallenging for Snape. He didn't even need to open his textbook to effortlessly brew a pale finished potion. Of course, if the prize had been another bottle of Felix Felicis, he wouldn't have minded showing Slughorn the four ways to brew the Draught of Living Death.

"Your potion is also excellent," Slughorn said to Lily with regret. "It's just that Severus's is, regrettably, slightly superior."

Snape took the small bottle of golden liquid, held it up to the candlelight, and then, satisfied, slipped it into the pocket of his robes.

---

The annoyed expressions on James and Sirius's faces brought him immense pleasure. The bell for the end of class rang, and everyone began gathering their things to leave the classroom.

"Just a moment, Severus."

As Snape was about to leave the classroom with the flow of students, Slughorn called out to him. Slughorn, while fastening the golden clasp of his dragon-hide briefcase, said to Snape, "How would you like to join me for a casual supper this Saturday evening? We're having a small gathering. I've invited Regulus Black, Lily Evans, among others, and the renowned Auror Fabian Prewett. Perhaps you've read about him and his brother Gideon in the *Daily Prophet*."

Before Snape could answer, Slughorn's gaze fell on Abott, who was waiting by the door. He gave Abott a slight bow. "Of course, I would also be absolutely delighted if Mr. Abott could grace us with his presence this time. This summer, I saw a photograph of you with your father on his office desk. I must say, his acquisition of Quality Quidditch Supplies was quite the shrewd business move..."

Slughorn enthusiastically pulled out two invitations tied with purple ribbons and handed them to Abott and Snape, then, clutching his briefcase, he walked out of the dungeon classroom.

"He's invited me before," Abott said as they left the dungeons, ascended the stairs, and crossed the Entrance Hall for lunch. "I've made all sorts of excuses to refuse him."

"That's not the point," Snape said, his expression rather peculiar as he settled down at the Slytherin table. "Quality Quidditch Supplies is your family's?"

"Oh, you mean the shop in Diagon Alley? Yes, that's right." Abott served himself some vegetable salad onto his plate. "My dad just acquired it. He's quite friendly with Devlin Whitehorn, so now the shop gets the latest Nimbus series models first."

"Why didn't you say anything earlier? I actually fought with you to pay the bill!" Snape angrily scooped a large spoonful of Bolognese onto his plate. "From now on, you're covering the food on the train!"

"No problem at all, I've got more Galleons than I can spend anyway," Abott said casually. "On the train back to school, I actually wanted to ask if that bag held a week's worth of your pocket money."

"Screech—" Snape's fork clattered loudly against his plate, making an earsplitting sound. He glared furiously at Abott, "Can't all this food shut you up?"

After they had eaten their fill, Snape began to ponder what he should do next. To avoid his true identity being discovered, he wanted to connect all his actions step by step, making them seem as reasonable as possible. Honestly, he didn't quite trust Dumbledore; after all, to achieve his goals, the wise old man had not hesitated to factor in his own life, and even the life of a hero's orphaned child. Moreover, according to Dumbledore's arrangements in the original story, Snape would gain mastery of the Elder Wand after killing Dumbledore. Naturally, his ultimate fate was self-evident.

Snape tossed his cutlery down. "Come on, let's go browse the Trophy Room."

They walked briskly up the stairs, turning a few corners, and arrived on the fourth floor. In the Trophy Room, crystal display cases gleamed in the afternoon sun. Medals, trophies, shields, and statues shimmered in silver and gold in the soft light of the fading evening.

"Look at this," Snape said, pointing to a display case in a corner that held a thin layer of dust over a golden medal. "Here's a 'Special Services to the School' medal."

"T. M. Riddle, 1943," Abott read the inscription on the medal. "Why did he get this award?"

"I don't know," Snape shook his head. "Let's see what else."

They also saw Riddle's name on an old, faded medal for 'Outstanding Service to the School' and on a list of past Head Boys.

"This bloke was really something," Abott said enviously. "I wish I could be like him."

"Well, you'd better work hard then," Snape said in a teasing tone. "I'm different. I'd be content if I could just be Head Boy next year."

"You're not even a Prefect," Abott said, sounding a bit surprised. "Head Boy? What are you thinking?"

"Is there any rule that explicitly states you can't be Head Boy if you're not a Prefect?" Snape began to walk towards the exit of the Trophy Room. "If I can get a 'Special Services to the School' award, wouldn't it be reasonable to ask the Headmaster for the Head Boy position? There's nothing else of interest here. I'm going to the library to research what happened in 1943. Maybe I can find out how to get this medal. Want to come along?"