Snape, Clear-Headed

On Thursday at the end of February, the temperature has warmed up and it gets dark later than in winter.

After dinner, Hogwarts was lazily, and the people in the Great Hall dispersed one after another, heading to their respective towers and cellars.

Most of Gryffindor's gang were huddled in front of Common Room's fireplace, playing explosive cards noisily.

A few senior students at Ravenclaw Common Room were gathering in front of the fire to review papers, and there was probably another snack party at Hufflepuff.

Slytherin is quieter here, Common Room is mostly empty, but quiet doesn't mean there is nothing to do.

Some people disappear as soon as they finish dinner.

Slytherin students always go to a few inexplicable places.

Snape is one of the people who goes to such a place.

On the east side of the third floor, behind a faded Tapestry wall, there is an abandoned classroom. The door is locked all year round, and I don't know who has the key. The window faces north, and it doesn't let in much light during the day, and it gets darker at night.

The desks and chairs were all pushed to the wall and piled up, leaving an open space in the middle, with a few still usable chairs forming a loose circle.

The floor was relatively clean and could be cleaned with a whirlwind sweep, but there was a thin layer of dust on the window sills that no one bothered to wipe.

The torch was inserted into the iron frame on the wall, and the light was not enough. It could barely illuminate the faces of the people sitting around, and the corners were full of shadows.

Eight or nine people, all Slytherin, middle and high school students.

With hoods covering their faces, they came in one after another, no one spoke, only the sound of the corners of their robes scraping against the doorframe, and the short, sharp sound of the chair legs scraping against the stone slabs were heard.

Snape came in wearing a hood. No one looked at him. He didn't look at anyone either. He walked to his old seat and sat down.

No one competed with him for this chair, and after visiting it a few times, it became his fixed spot.

The hood was still on his head, and the shadow cut his face in half, revealing only the sallow face below.

It's not the first time I've come here. I come here once or twice a week. I'm already familiar with the process. I walk in, take a seat, and wait.

The first two times it felt fresh to him, it felt like he had entered some extraordinary place when he entered this door.

Locked door, faded Tapestry, lowered voice, hooded man.

A group of people gathered mysteriously in the dark, and anyone who spoke would glance at the door first.

In the dim torchlight, all around were figures with similar hoods covering their faces. There was an atmosphere in the air that everyone was holding onto something, and it was hard not to be drawn in.

It's touching, but also a little silly.

This association has a name, which sounds quite serious.

But Snape figured out the details as early as the first few times. They said it was an association. It sounded like that, but in fact they didn't do anything serious.

There is no reading, mantra practice, or research, just gathering together to talk.

Say things outside, at home, and even Slytherin common room words that cannot be said loudly in public.

When it comes to serious business, nothing has been done in this house.

When it comes to important matters, the entire Wizarding World seems to be here, being brought out and talked about in this room.

The more nameless a place is, the more important it is to discuss major issues, criticize the current situation, speak loudly, and express opinions.

No one cares about seats here, everyone is in a circle, anyone can sit anywhere, and no one sits higher than others.

But Snape knew in his heart that where he sat was one thing, how he got there was another.

He has been here many times, but it doesn't help with his studies, Magic, not to mention his Potions skills, and he doesn't have anything serious at all. But there are some things that can't be heard elsewhere, not in textbooks, and not in the Daily Prophet.

Now he can also afford to subscribe to the newspaper Snape. Silver Moon Potions's share receipt was sent to Hogwarts on time. The number in the signature Severus·Sneed's amount column was more than Galleon he had ever seen in his life.

After reading the things in the newspaper and listening to the people in this room, he knew what was hiding under the peace in the newspaper. The situation in the wizarding world outside, the positions of each family, and who in the Ministry of Magic was leaning on which side, these news would not be reported in the newspapers at all. Only here, in these pure-blood conversations, could something real be spelled out.

Of course, you have to judge for yourself.

Under the hood, Snape's eyes slowly swept over several faces.

He had already confirmed that there was an idiot in Pure-bloods.

Some guys are just as good as their last names. If you remove those few letters, they would be worse than Half-bloods.

Some of the things that come out of their mouths are pure lies, so false that they are stupid, coming from their own unused brains, mixed with the real news, and you have to choose for yourself.

The one sitting on his left was talking nonsense that he had heard at home and had been embellished by himself.

He said ten sentences, eight of them were conjectures, and the remaining two were based on taking other people's conjectures as truth.

This kind of person enters a house based on his last name and throws away all his property. He sounds bluffing, but when you think about it, it's all in vain.

Snape snorted in his heart.

He needs the real thing, and he cannot be led astray by the foolish words of idiots.

He can tell which sentence is true news and which sentence is made up by these people to scare him. This is his skill.

There are not many people in this room who can tell clearly. Most of them believe what they hear, and the more evil they are, the more they like to hear it.

He is different, he is awake.

Snape looked away.

But even for these idiots, half a year ago, he couldn't even touch the door of this house.

He would never be a part of such gatherings.

Now he comes in.

This robe is new. Twilfitt and Tattings sent the material and he picked it himself.

Twill serge, worsted wool, feels tight and thick, and has good drape. It is much stronger than the ordinary tweed of the little wizard. It is pure black, the cuffs are narrowed, and the collar has been re-cut.

He changed the collar himself to be narrower, and sewed a seam on the inside, which just caught the silver moon badge and made it slightly above the collarbone.

What he wants is Luo.

Every time you tilt your head, every time you sit up straight, every time you breathe, you can feel the weight of that metal on your collarbone.

It reminds him every moment of who he is now.

He is no longer the Snape he used to be.

The oily head is still oily, but the ankles are no longer exposed in the robe, the cuffs are no longer frayed, and the patches are no longer piled on the knees.

He was accepted by Pure-bloods, sat in this room, and joined an association that not even Pure-bloods could enter.

This is what he has always dreamed of.

Snape stared at the torch for a while.

But he knew why he came in.

It's not a badge. The badge is just a brand, not a new robe.

A decent robe can only make him look less shabby in front of this group of people, but no one in this room takes a second look at his robe.

In their eyes, wearing a good robe is a matter of course, just like breathing, it is not worth paying attention to.

Snape The new robe that they thought was decent, the new robe that they finally felt like a human being, was taken for granted and invisible to them. What really opened the door was on the back of the badge.

The door opened again.

The person who came in was not short, and his robes were more elegant than most people in the room.

When he entered, he did not wrap his hood and lower his head and walk in like the previous ones. Instead, he stood at the door, closed the door behind him, and then swept around the people in the room.

Slowly, his eyes paused on each face, as if he had arrived and everything was complete.

Then he walked to his chair, sat down, and took off his hood.

Wilkes, seventh grade, Wilkes's family is not in Sacred Twenty-Eight, but it is ranked.

His father had been the deputy director of Department of Magical Law Enforcement for more than ten years. Many officials in the ministry were related to his family and were very powerful. With a slight smile on his lips, he asked in a tone of voice, "Are you all here?"

Someone immediately picked up. "I'm waiting for you, Wilkes."

Wilkes raised his chin towards this person. "Let's get started."

Snape also took off his hood, slid his fingers from the edge of the hood, and placed them on his knees. His entire sallow face was revealed from the shadows. He sat back and looked at the speaker.

The light from the torch cast a dark shadow under his cheekbones, making his eye sockets deeper and making his whole person a bit gloomier than usual.

This person is a fifth grader, his surname is Jugson, he has one arm on the back of the chair, his voice is slow, his sentences are oddly broken, and he has a deliberately imitated Oxford accent. Each word is drawn out for a long time, and the final sound is raised and lowered, just like the tone used by the old-school congressman Wizengamot when he spoke.

But his family has nothing to do with Oxford for three generations. As for the seat of Wizengamot, his family really wants it.

"There are already people in Auror Office, and two more came in last month," he shrugged, and continued before letting go of his shoulders, "Of course, the seats were filled after they became vacant."

Jugson looked at the faces on the opposite side and pulled up the corners of his mouth.

"Ministry of Magic's group, I mean, the group who are still sitting on top, are still having a meeting there. They have been meeting for a whole month, and the topic is "Does Auror Office's staffing need to be re-examined?"

He deliberately read out the long topic in a very precise manner, with an Oxford accent, which made it sound like that.

After reading it, he snorted, "By the time the review is completed, the positions on the list have already been changed. When Dark Lord is free, what should be cleared will be cleared and what should be changed."

There was light in his eyes when he said this, with a sense of superiority, and his eyes slowly turned on the faces around him, as if he was telling everyone with his eyes that our family had already chosen a side.

"It should have been changed long ago."

The one who echoed was a fourth grader named Gibbon, who spoke quickly and had a serious look on his face.

"Do you know what the director of Department of Magical Transportation did? Something went wrong at Floo Network last month, and half of the fireplace at London couldn't be connected. What he did was"

Gibbon stopped talking and started to enjoy himself. "Issuing an announcement asking everyone not to use the fireplace."

"Don't use the fireplace yet." Wilkes repeated slowly.

"Don't use the fireplace yet," Gibbon smiled even more enthusiastically, "This is what Mudblood's promoted people can come up with."

There were a few brief laughs all around, it was ridiculous, but not surprising at all.

Some shook their heads, and some tapped their fingers on the armrests of chairs.

Snape then twitched the corner of his mouth.

This is true.

He had seen a small strip in the corner of the Daily Prophet. It was an understatement with three lines. When it came out of Gibbon's mouth, it became a joke. "Department of International Magical Cooperation's group of people are too soft." A sixth grader sitting next to Wilkes spoke, his voice louder than the previous ones. Shen, his words were short. "From top to bottom, no one can take charge. France has always been coaxed and coaxed. When the adults decide, they will be the first to move." "Then tell me," Wilkes turned his head to look at him, with a slightly provocative tone. "Department of International Magical Cooperation has finished moving, who will be moved next?"

"Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Auror Office are under their control. There are already people inside. If you go up one level, even the director will be ours. By then, Auror and Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office will all be decorations!"

"Department of Magical Law Enforcement is moving, what do you say Wizengamot?" Another voice interrupted, a fifth grader, Peregrine.

Another person took the call and said seriously, "Wizengamot Don't move. It's not just whoever sits on it counts. It depends on your bloodline, your age, and how many people recognize you. Don't be in a hurry."

Peregrine asked again, "What about Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?"

Snape The boy next to him muttered, "Who cares about that poor place?"

"My father said there is a lot of oil and water there, and the export quota of Unicorn Hair alone is one."

"Your father runs a materials shop. Of course he said there is a lot of oil and water."

The laughter was louder than before.

Jugson waved his hand and took the conversation back. "The real good position is elsewhere. When the adults are free, sooner or later the seats on the list will have to be replaced. Those who should be cleared will be cleared, and those who should be replaced will be replaced."

"Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Wilkes replied slowly, "My family has long been eyeing the position of director."

"You are being watched, but other people are not being watched?" Some people were dissatisfied.

"Start, stare," Wilkes raised his eyelids. "It depends on whose words you will take seriously."

As soon as these words came out, the room became quiet.

Snape heard it.

These people were talking about Ministry of Magic's position, who wanted which company, and who had already occupied a foothold there. They talked lively.

A group of young wizards who have not yet graduated are sharing a piece of meat that they have not yet received for their family.

Serious.