Chapter 137: Shocking Snape for a Whole Year {2}

Harry noticed Professor Snape’s lapse in composure, and it reminded him of the memory he had seen in the Pensieve. “This is how it is, Professor,” he said. “I seem to… well, I don’t know why I suddenly wanted to do it. Maybe something was guiding me, some kind of force.” Professor Snape took a deep breath. Guiding? What else could it be? Who else could be guiding him?! It was the inheritance of blood, the curse of love! Potter! It was your mother’s guidance! Unbeknownst to him, the anger in Snape’s eyes—originally sparked by Harry’s perceived “arrogance”—began to subside. Snape, Dumbledore’s undercover agent, had long since defected to Dumbledore’s side. Naturally, he was aware of the existence of this love curse. For a fleeting moment, Snape even managed to overlook Harry’s face, which was the spitting image of a certain departed soul. He decided it was time to have a proper talk with Dumbledore—about Harry’s unusual, yet somehow entirely reasonable, behavior. “Outstanding potion-making skills…” Snape turned his head, breaking all precedent by using the word “Outstanding” to describe a student outside of Slytherin. “…Ten points to Gryffindor.” The Gryffindor students exchanged looks as if they’d just seen a ghost. But Professor Snape paid them no mind. For once, the Potions class was astonishingly quiet—until Crabbe and Goyle botched the order of their potion ingredients. As the two of them clumsily added drops of Horklump juice—one drip from you, one drip from me—the potion suddenly boiled over. Rolling bubbles surged upward with startling force, hissing and crackling, threatening to spill out entirely. “Idiots!” Snape roared, waving his wand to make the cauldron in front of them vanish. “Five points deducted from Slytherin!” Crabbe and Goyle shrank back, not daring to utter a word. The Gryffindors shot gleeful, schadenfreude-laden glances at Crabbe and Goyle before returning to their own potions. Thankfully, Neville and Seamus’s batch had already been completed by Harry. Gryffindor’s weakest link had been patched up by him—and until the end of class, not a single mistake came from the Gryffindor side. Know-It-All Granger still wore a look of disbelief as class ended. She hovered around Harry, peppering him with questions, trying to figure out how he’d managed to brew the potion so quickly. “Maybe it’s in the blood,” Harry said with a shrug. After class, Professor Snape headed straight to Dumbledore’s office. He intended to have a serious talk with Dumbledore. When he arrived, he caught sight of a goblin stepping out of Dumbledore’s office, a smug, satisfied expression on its face. Snape didn’t care—goblins and their business were none of his concern. “Severus?” Dumbledore said leisurely, munching on a cockroach cluster. “How did you know I just acquired forty percent of Honeydukes’ shares?” “Honeydukes’ shares?!” Snape frowned at Dumbledore. “I really don’t want to have to remind you again, Headmaster—you’ll develop a resistance to the Tooth-Protecting Potion sooner or later—” “With Honeydukes’ shares, I can afford a whole new set of teeth,” Dumbledore replied with a chuckle. Snape suddenly felt utterly exhausted. “Fine, it’s your business,” Snape said dismissively, waving a hand as he sat down across from Dumbledore’s desk. Dumbledore gestured for a house-elf to pour Snape a glass of lemonade and set it in front of him. “I’m not interested in lemon-flavored syrup, Headmaster,” Snape drawled. “Oh, it’s sugar-free,” Dumbledore said with a grin. “I know my tastes don’t always suit others, so I don’t force them on anyone—” Only then did Snape pick up the glass and take a sip. It was sour, not a hint of sweetness—just the way his mood felt at times. “So, forty percent of Honeydukes,” Dumbledore continued cheerfully. “Gringotts was remarkably generous—they traded forty percent of Honeydukes’ shares for some alchemical material I had no use for.” “And you just went along with it?” Snape asked, raising an eyebrow. “It was hard to say no,” Dumbledore said with a shrug. “Besides, the original owner of the material didn’t object.” Snape nodded, then gave Dumbledore a suspicious look. “Even the rarest alchemical material couldn’t possibly match the value of Honeydukes’ shares, could it?” He’d already been successfully sidetracked by Dumbledore, forgetting entirely about discussing Harry. “Who cares?” Dumbledore said with a laugh. “Whatever they do with that stuff has nothing to do with me—surely they wouldn’t use it to make something dangerous, right?” With that, Dumbledore set down his lemonade and asked, “So, Severus, aside from inquiring about Honeydukes, what brings you here?” “Let me be clear: I have no interest in your shares,” Snape said, his face deadpan. “But today in Potions class, I noticed something unusual.” “Is it those ‘ignorant little trolls’ causing you new trouble again?” Dumbledore asked, raising an eyebrow. “I should remind you, Severus, I’m a Gryffindor too—badmouthing Gryffindors in front of a Gryffindor headmaster isn’t exactly wise.” “Oh, really?” Snape said, the corner of his mouth twitching. “No wonder your brain’s been stuffed with syrup too…” S~eaʀᴄh the NôvelFire.nёt website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. He quickly cleared his throat and continued, “What I mean to say is… Potter.” “Harry? What’s wrong with Harry?” Dumbledore asked, his brow furrowing. Anything concerning Harry demanded his full attention. After all, Harry was the prophesied nemesis of Voldemort. Whether the Dark Lord could be defeated once and for all, restoring peace to the wizarding world, rested on Harry’s shoulders. As everyone knew, Professor Trelawney’s predictions were usually nonsense—except when she mumbled them in a trance. Those were the decrees of fate. “I assume you still remember her…” Snape began, his throat tightening as he struggled to say the name. “Lily?” Dumbledore offered gently, sparing him the effort. “Yes,” Snape nodded. “You must recall that brilliant witch—her extraordinary talent in Potions.” “I do,” Dumbledore said, his tone wistful. “Horace told me about it. Hard to imagine someone brewing most potions in under a minute, isn’t it? Oh, I remember her saying it was a trick she learned from Professor Percival Rackham.” “Yes, I heard her mention that too,” Snape said softly. His voice always grew tender when it came to Lily. If the Gryffindors ever saw this gentle side of Snape, they’d probably be shocked enough to eat the Fat Lady’s portrait whole. “Ancient magic, right?” Dumbledore said with a smile. “Ah… such mysterious power. Those without the gift could search their whole lives and never glimpse it. Yet Lily could—not only sense it but harness it in her Potions work…” “What if I told you her child might have that gift too?” Snape asked. “I mean, the talent for ancient magic?” “Oh, Severus,” Dumbledore chuckled. “If ancient magic could be passed down through blood, then that Death Eater, Rookwood, would be one of its heirs too.” “Rookwood?” Snape asked, tilting his head. “Augustus Rookwood,” Dumbledore clarified. “Voldemort’s spy in the Ministry, the one in the Department of Mysteries. His ancestor, Charles Rookwood, was one of the keepers of ancient magic.” “I see,” Snape said, nodding as the name clicked into place. That summer, a joyful Lily had told him about her adventures in the Map Chamber. He’d kept it a secret ever since. The fact that Lily was a bearer of ancient magic—he’d never breathed a word of it to anyone, not even to the Dark Lord he’d once served so loyally. “But her child could be like her,” Snape said again. “I watched him brew two cauldrons of Weed-Killer Potion at once—and finish them in a minute. Do you know what that means, Dumbledore?” Because Harry resembled Lily so much, Snape now hesitated to call him “Potter” in front of Dumbledore, opting instead for “her child.” “What did you say?” Dumbledore asked, looking up. “I said he brewed two cauldrons of Weed-Killer Potion in one minute!” Snape enunciated slowly, each word deliberate. “That’s impossible!” Dumbledore said, shaking his head. “I’ve never heard of a mother and son both inheriting ancient magic—besides, that gift only awakens at fifteen. Before then, they’re no different from anyone else!” “But it’s the truth, Dumbledore,” Snape said, lowering his gaze. “Whether you accept it or not, he’s one of the heirs of ancient magic…” “But how could he—” Dumbledore reached instinctively for his candy jar, only for Snape to snatch it away and clutch it to his chest. Dumbledore’s hand closed on empty air. He rubbed his fingers together awkwardly, lost in thought. “Could it be… because of that love curse?” he said, looking at Snape. “Ancient magic has always been a mystery, Severus. I don’t fully understand its inheritance… but if that love curse could deflect the Killing Curse, then… could Lily have passed her gift to Harry through it?” “It’s not impossible. That was my guess just now,” Snape said, unscrewing the candy jar’s lid and placing it under Fawkes’s perch. Fawkes shifted, and with a forceful squat, a dollop of phoenix dung plopped into the jar with a squelch. “That’s too far, Severus,” Dumbledore said mournfully, watching as the phoenix droppings melted through the jar. “For a major shareholder of Honeydukes, it’s hardly a loss, is it?” Snape replied, his tone almost cheerful, as if delighted by Dumbledore’s misfortune. “I think we should confirm our suspicions,” Dumbledore said, returning to the matter at hand. “If Harry truly is an heir of ancient magic, we’ll need to rethink many of our plans.” --- Support me & read more advance & fast update chapter on my patreon: pat reon .com/windkaze