Hogwarts i am snape

The September air still held a warm embrace, and the doors and windows of the Three Broomsticks stood wide open.

Ding-a-ling!

The brass bell above the door chimed, untouched by human hand.

Stepping into the cosy pub, they were immediately enveloped by a scent that was a curious blend of sweetness, spice, and aged wood.

"Well, well, if it isn't our brilliant young talents from Hogwarts!" Madam Rosmerta looked up from behind the bar. Today, she wore a pale blue, low-cut robe, her lightly dyed curls resting casually on her shoulders. "What brings you here, then?"

"Good morning, Madam Rosmerta," Abbot greeted cheerfully, heading towards an empty table.

"My thoughts often wander to your beauty, madam," Snape murmured with a slight nod as he passed the bar. He noticed the dark circles under Madam Rosmerta's eyes and inquired, "You seem a bit weary; did you not rest well last night?"

"A little," Madam Rosmerta yawned, pressing her slender fingers gently against her temples. "Strangely enough, the Shrieking Shack was exceptionally quiet last night. Not a single shriek echoed through the darkness –"

"Quite unusual, isn't it?" a Hogsmeade villager, looking equally tired, chimed in. "My house is nearby, and that ghost's wails are more punctual than a clock. For it to suddenly go quiet, well, it makes one's skin crawl."

"Tell me about it," Madam Rosmerta sighed, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "It's been going on for over six years, and for it to stop all of a sudden, it just feels like something's missing. It's quite unsettling. I tossed and turned until the early hours of the morning before I finally fell asleep."

"Should we go see what happened?" another villager suggested, though his voice clearly lacked conviction.

"Are you trying to shuffle off this mortal coil?" Madam Rosmerta rolled her eyes. "I've no wish to be the next person to vanish in the Shrieking Shack."

While they chattered, Snape and his companions had all taken their seats.

"Speaking of which, it's been ages since you last visited, Severus," Madam Rosmerta said, polishing a crystal goblet with a pristine linen cloth, casting a playful glance his way. "Hasn't it been more than three months? I thought you'd forgotten which way the door to the Three Broomsticks opened."

"Well, it's our first outing of the term, and here we are," Snape replied, settling beside Pandora. "Who wouldn't want a refreshing, ice-cold butterbeer on a hot day?"

"Oh, come now," Madam Rosmerta skillfully filled several tankards of butterbeer. Holding her tray, she glided gracefully from behind the bar. "You were nowhere to be seen all summer. Of everyone at this table, you're the only one who didn't visit. Youngsters should get out and about more."

She leaned forward, placing the tankards one by one before them, a faint scent of perfume mingling with the aroma of alcohol gently wafting to their noses.

"What?" Snape looked at his companions in surprise. "You all came here during the summer?"

Everyone nodded in agreement.

"We've already passed our Apparition test, you know," Pandora said. "You haven't forgotten, have you?"

"Alas," Madam Rosmerta straightened up, holding the tray to her chest, and shook her head, "it's simply that he had the company of a fair lady, so he couldn't spare a thought for me." With that, she turned and walked back to the bar.

"What were you doing all summer, Sev?" Pandora asked, narrowing her eyes. "All that time, and not a single letter."

"You didn't receive his letter?" Barty Jr. looked at Pandora, then turned to Snape. "You wrote me one."

"That was a congratulatory letter for Barty," Snape's mouth twitched involuntarily. "I wrote and sent it to him in advance."

"Over the summer," he began, choosing his words carefully, "ever since – ever since I met Nagini, I've been trying to solve her predicament. I had no time for anything else." He finished, giving Pandora a helpless, troubled expression.

"Has her condition improved recently?" Pandora's expression immediately softened, and genuine concern shone in her eyes. Ever since Snape had told her Nagini's tragic story, she had felt endless sympathy for the little snake.

"It's rather good," Snape replied cautiously. "With Professor Dumbledore's help, the situation has improved quite a bit."

"I truly hope she recovers," Pandora sighed. "I simply cannot imagine someone living alone for half a century under such circumstances –"

"She will," Snape comforted her. "Let's not dwell on unhappy things. Come, let's toast."

There weren't many customers at the moment, so Madam Rosmerta poured herself a small measure of Firewhisky and gracefully walked over to them, leaning against the edge of the neighbouring table and taking a delicate sip of her whisky.

This pose allowed her curves to subtly show through her robe, and several of the boys unconsciously cast more than a few glances. Snape, meanwhile, struggled to keep his eyes fixed on his tankard; he certainly couldn't make the same mistake twice.

"Friends, I heard a new joke this summer," Abbot eagerly began. "It's about a witch, a Healer, and a Mimbulus Mimbletonia."

Madam Rosmerta immediately looked at Abbot, a sparkle of anticipation in her eyes.

Abbot's spirits lifted, and he began to narrate vividly: "A witch, a Healer, and a Mimbulus Mimbletonia were having a drink at a rather lovely little pub. The witch, coughing, said to the Healer, 'I've been coughing terribly lately, my friend. Do you have any remedies?'"

"The Healer said, 'I have a solution, but the side effect is that it will make you laugh uncontrollably.' Seeing the witch nod in agreement, he pulled a potion vial from his pocket and handed it to her."

"The witch took it, downing the dark green liquid. 'That tastes rather good. What is it?' She burst into laughter, and the Healer, infected by her mirth, grinned back at her."

"'Why aren't you laughing?' the witch asked the Mimbulus Mimbletonia, still laughing."

"'I can't laugh,' the Mimbulus Mimbletonia said calmly, 'You're drinking the fluid he squeezed from me.'"

When the joke concluded, a brief silence fell over the table, and everyone quietly clutched their tankards.

Unexpectedly, Madam Rosmerta covered her mouth and chuckled.

"Oh, Abbot, that's truly amusing," she even exaggeratedly clutched her stomach. "Thank you, that's a fine joke – by the way, I've recently introduced a dragon's blood vintage. Would you care to try some? It's only five –"

Snape, confused, discreetly observed Madam Rosmerta from the corner of his eye. He distinctly recalled that when Ron told Madam Rosmerta this joke, she hadn't even cracked a smile. Ron had sulked for half an hour over it, and Hermione had mercilessly taunted him.

Why was her reaction so different now? It couldn't possibly be because Abbot was more handsome than Ron – he looked at Abbot's amiable round face and decisively dismissed that notion.

But Abbot was clearly pleased with Madam Rosmerta's reaction. He magnanimously drained his tankard. "Bring me a dragon's blood vintage, madam! I fully trust your taste!"

Madam Rosmerta cheerfully noted the order and turned to fetch the drink.

Just then, a tawny owl swooped in through the open window, depositing a copy of the Daily Prophet precisely in front of a customer.

The man unfolded the newspaper and immediately frowned.

"What's wrong?" his companion asked.

"Oh, more trouble," he sighed, his voice laced with suppressed fear. "Things are restless again; another attack."

"You-Know-Who and his followers," his companion leaned closer to read. "This time in Liverpool, a Muggle village. More than a dozen dead."

Madam Rosmerta silently placed the tankard before Abbot and glanced towards them.

The atmosphere in the pub instantly grew heavy, and the conversation gradually shifted to current events.

Amidst the murmurs, a wizard with a thick beard slammed his hand down on the table. "It's terrible! Protecting ourselves and our families is what matters most. Let's not talk about this."

"The Ministry of Magic will catch them," a firm voice suddenly declared. Snape turned to see a fourth-year Gryffindor with a square jaw and straw-coloured hair – Georg Podmore – standing up. "Justice is more important than self-preservation. I'm going to be an Auror someday and catch those Death Eaters."

"Don't be foolish, child," an older wizard said wearily, shaking his head. "We are pure-blood wizards; just protect yourselves. Besides, what good comes of defying him?"

"What good comes of defying the most evil wizard in the world?" Georg's face flushed with anger, and he raised his voice. "It's to save innocent lives, sir!"

Several of his table companions nodded, agreeing with his point of view.

"Easy for you to say, students," the bearded wizard scoffed. "You won't be saying that once you've witnessed You-Know-Who's power firsthand."

Snape stared at Georg, remembering how he had attended Order of the Phoenix meetings with Georg's father, Sturgis Podmore, during the summer. Sturgis was a brave man; it seemed his son had inherited that trait.

Suddenly, Snape's thoughts were struck by lightning. He widened his eyes and abruptly stood up, his chair scraping loudly across the floor.

"I understand!" he blurted out.

He finally understood why Madam Rosmerta's reaction had been so different: when Ron told her the joke, she had already been under the Imperius Curse, controlled by Death Eaters. Now, she was still the free Madam Rosmerta.

Everyone in the pub turned to look at him.

"What do you understand?" Barty Jr. asked curiously.

"Listen –" Snape said somewhat awkwardly and drily, "I... I understand now why Abbot's joke was funny."

Everyone looked confused. Abbot, however, grinned triumphantly. "See! Even Severus appreciates my sense of humour! Madam Rosmerta, get him one just like mine!"

When the five-Galleon dragon's blood vintage was placed before him, Snape managed a strained smile. At least this unexpected bonus wasn't bad.

As they left the pub, Madam Rosmerta saw them off at the door. "Thank you, Severus," she winked slyly. "You helped me sell another drink. You'd make a perfectly good barkeeper."

Snape hesitated, then lowered his voice. "Did you truly find that joke funny?"

"Of course not," Madam Rosmerta replied naturally, waving goodbye to other patrons simultaneously. "Giving appropriate responses to a customer's jokes is a basic quality for a pub owner." Her expression suddenly grew serious. "Did you really think that joke was good? Heavens..."

"No, not at all," Snape winked back at her. "But I hope next time I tell you that joke, you'll laugh."

Madam Rosmerta winked in return. "No problem, I'll definitely laugh, even if it's feigned."

---

It was precisely midday. According to Barty Jr.'s arrangements, Saturday evening was the day for the society's collective activities across all years.

"I need to procure some things," Snape told his companions, "to prepare for tonight's activities."

"Brilliant, you're finally willing to do more!" Barty Jr.'s eyes lit up. "Now that's what a society leader should do! Need any help?"

"No," Snape shook his head. "I already have a plan."

Before them, he drew his wand, gave a wave, and vanished from the streets of Hogsmeade Village.

After the familiar squeezing sensation, Snape appeared in a secluded alley in London. Muggles hurried past, none noticing the black-robed youth who had suddenly materialized.

"Cultivate their minds," he muttered to himself, heading towards London's famous Foyles bookstore.

The bookstore's display windows were filled with new books. Snape pushed open the door, and guided by a shop assistant, he began to sweep through with a shopping cart, emptying almost the entire political philosophy section of Enlightenment literature, including Two Treatises of Government, The Social Contract, and The Struggle for Law.

Then, he turned to the history, popular science, literature, fitness, and comic book sections. When several trolleys were piled high, the shop assistant's gaze had changed from curiosity to delight.

"I'll take all of these," he said. "No need to wrap them."

When the shop assistant watched, dumbfounded, as he hugged a stack of books that almost obscured his vision and then stuffed them all into a small money pouch, he had to cast a Confundus Charm to make the assistant, with glazed eyes, continue scanning the items.

"Next, to brutalize their bodies," Snape declared. An hour later, Snape had not only purchased dumbbells, barbells, and several other sets of stationary exercise equipment but had also raided the nearby supermarket's snack aisle – crisps, spicy strips, chocolates, various strange carbonated drinks, and even several cases of instant noodles.

When everything was crammed into his money pouch, Snape patted his bulging pockets with satisfaction. These Muggle items would truly open the eyes of the members of the One Heart Society – especially those of pure-blood origin, many of whom still firmly believed Muggles were barbaric, unproductive people who ate inferior food.

Back at Hogwarts, Barty Jr. and Abbot were setting up the venue for the evening.

Snape waved his wand, and several tables and chairs automatically transformed into bookshelves, while the books from his pouch neatly flew onto them and arranged themselves. The fitness equipment he placed in another section of the room.

"These Muggle books," Snape explained to the two, "you can read them whenever you have time, and then we can discuss them." He walked towards the equipment, flexing his muscles. "As for these, they'll help us improve our wand-waving speed, or," he gave a cold smile, "punch other wizards clean on the nose."

"Can these things really make one stronger?" Abbot asked curiously, touching a butterfly machine. "Without potions?"

"Not only that," a fitness magazine flew towards them, and Snape flipped to a page, showing it to them, "it can also make you more manly –"

As members gradually arrived, Snape brought out the Muggle food and piled it on the table.

The Muggle-born wizards immediately recognized the snacks with delight and began enthusiastically introducing them to their classmates.

"Can – can this really be eaten?" a second-year Slytherin asked, poking a bag of crisps.

"Oh, you can't eat it directly; it's called plastic packaging, you need to open it," a Muggle-born Gryffindor skilfully tore open the package. "Try it, this is cheese and onion flavour."

Soon, the room was filled with the crunch-crunch of chewing and exclamations of surprise.

"It's so delicious, how can something this wonderful exist in the world?" Snape stood at the front, looking at the faces from different houses. He cleared his throat, and the room quieted, save for the rustling of packaging.

"Well? Muggle things aren't bad, are they?" he said kindly, pointing to the bookshelves. "There's also the knowledge Muggles have accumulated over thousands of years. Don't look down on them. Like these foods, Muggles can produce enormous quantities of goods in a short time. They don't have magic, but their productivity still far surpasses ours."

"It may not seem as wondrous as magic, but the amount of goods Muggles produce in a single day, well, the entire wizarding world could wave their wands till they snap, and they still couldn't create as much."

"And," his gaze inadvertently swept over several students wearing robes that were clearly ill-fitting, "if you're willing to read them and write down your thoughts, the society will even offer rewards, such as a whole year's supply of new robes and textbooks."

"Any book?" a young pure-blood wizard held up a Green Lantern comic.

"Any book on the shelves," Snape nodded. "Knowledge knows no status."

---