Snape Cornered and a Timely Rescue

Snape always believed that what he had washed away in the past few months was his inferiority complex.

Skills in Potions, a new robe, the Silver Moon emblem—entering this room, accepted by the Pure-bloods.

He added one item to his clothes, one by one, and with each addition, he moved further away from the impoverished Snape of the past.

He thought he had climbed higher and reached a new height.

He didn't think about who had elevated him to this level, and instead relegated this point to the background.

Because he doesn't think about it, he can tell himself that it's himself, his talent, and his ability.

Black had merely opened the door a crack for him.

Even without Black, Snape, with his Snape, would have been able to open that door himself sooner or later; Black just made it a few years earlier. That's what he told himself, but he knew in his heart that this argument didn't hold water.

No Potions shop would open its doors to a fourteen-year-old wizard; such a thing is not something you can wait for.

In a few years, or even decades, no one will make an exception for a nameless, half- Half-bloods wizard.

But Black did it, perhaps with a single sentence, or perhaps with a subtle hint.

Snape knew this; he had known it all along.

He just usually keeps it under his own rhetoric and doesn't touch it.

If he were to be offended, he would feel awkward and would have to admit that the very foundation upon which all that he was so proud of was laid by someone else.

Tonight, these Pure-bloods who dared to speak so harshly— the Ministry of Magic, bloodlines, traitors—they dared to spout anything and everything, but they didn't even touch the Black surname. The matter-of-fact tone they used when talking about bloodlines, and the tacit understanding that they would automatically fall silent when a certain surname was mentioned, brought to light what Snape had been suppressing all along.

He reached the edge, and it was only because he reached the edge that he saw for the first time just how high the spot where Black was standing actually was.

So high up is that even among a room full of Pure-bloods who dare to curse others to die, they don't even utter his name.

He didn't know what he had traded for it.

What is Black's last name?

That's innate; everyone else has the surname Black, and no one in Gryffindor would shy away from it.

Black's lineage?

He wasn't the only one among the Sacred Twenty-Eight; Malfoy and Roxier were mentioned several times tonight.

The history of the Black? The Black family's industries? The Black family's politics?

Each of these items was presentable enough, but none of them could explain the unspoken silence that filled the room.

What's left?

Snape thought he had found the answer: power.

It was a power unique to Black himself, a power that made the younger students dare not look him in the eye, made the older students automatically give way, and made the Pure-bloods in this room who cursed everyone else refrain from touching his surname.

He recalled the first day of school, in the Slytherin common room, where the crowd automatically parted to make way.

The Pure-bloods in this room didn't even have a place to sit; they could only stand on the outermost edge, unable to even get close to Black. The direct descendants of the Sacred Twenty-Eight waited in the sofa area. Only after Black walked over and sat down did they seem to receive a signal and stand up one by one, shaking hands with each of them, as if it were their duty.

He was there too, watching from afar, and thought he understood: Black was powerful and a good fighter, so he had the highest status.

Now, sitting among these people who aren't from the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but who discuss the Pure-bloods of the Sacred Twenty-Eight every day, he understands what he saw that night. He wasn't in this circle before and couldn't see these levels.

Now that he'd gotten closer, it was the first time he'd truly grasped just how deep the Slytherin system, the Pure-bloods system, and the hierarchy system really went. He was inside, on the outermost level.

But he still sat here, in this fixed chair, in this Abandoned Classroom, in this circle of seats.

Two years ago, he could never have dreamed of such a scene, because he had no idea that such a place, such people, or such words existed. Now he knows.

The torch crackled against the wall again.

The conversation had shifted to another topic, and Snape drew his attention back to the dialogue.

The society dispersed, Wilkes was the first to stand up, pulling his hood back up and raising his chin slightly in the shadows.

It was probably a gesture whose meaning only those inside the room would understand. He made it to the person opposite him, and the other person returned it. Neither of them spoke. The movements were so quick, it looked like they were exchanging information, but it was actually just saying goodbye.

The others got up one after another. Some pulled their hoods down even lower, walked along the corner of the wall towards the door, and glanced into the Corridor to make sure no one was there before slipping out.

They weren't going in the same direction either; one went upstairs, two went downstairs, and a few went around to the other side of the Corridor.

They were a secret society, or at least that's what they thought. So when the party ended, they couldn't all rush out at once; they had to disappear like water droplets seeping into a crack in a rock.

Snape remained seated, watching them leave one by one.

That's stupid.

A group of people spent the whole night talking about something big that none of them were capable of doing, but before leaving, they acted like they'd accomplished something earth-shattering. Ridiculous.

He put on a hood himself.

He was the last to leave, and stood at the door for a moment.

The torches burned quietly in the Corridor, their light spreading across the stone walls.

He would go around to the west; that was his usual route, he always walked that way after the event.

It's a bit of a roundabout way; going from the third floor to the cellar, the fastest route is down the Main Staircase, but he never goes that way.

Take a detour, make a few turns, go through a Corridor that's usually deserted, and then go down the secondary staircase on the west side.

He knew this road well, so he walked for a few more minutes, avoiding other people.

He knew it was unnecessary; whatever was happening in this house, whether taboo or proper, no one would bother to investigate.

This whole charade is purely a drama these people created for themselves.

A sense of ritual.

The society itself didn't have anything particularly ritualistic, but he was now part of the group.

He pulled his hood down further and walked towards the west Corridor.

By nine o'clock, there were hardly any people left in the Castle.

The lower down the Corridor, the cooler it got. The stone steps were worn smooth by the soles of shoes. The torches were spaced further apart, leaving several meters of darkness between the two beams of light. The sound of footsteps bounced back from the stone walls of the cellar, making them louder than usual.

Snape descended the first flight of stairs and turned into that familiar empty Corridor.

The stone wall was damp, and every few steps along the wall was a Niche containing an old suit of armor, well-preserved and with little rust.

Snape took off his hood, revealing his sallow face in the shadows. He walked slowly, deep in thought.

There was more than one Slytherin society; he knew of three or four, some in empty classrooms on the second floor, others meeting in dormitories. This one was considered average; Wilkes, Jugson, Gibbon, Krum —these were respectable names, but not quite top-tier.

He can go any higher; he's already climbed all the way from Spinner's End. Why can't he go up one more level?

Is he really less capable than those idiots who only know how to flaunt their wealth?

In Potions, he's miles ahead of them; in terms of intelligence, he's more clear-headed. The only thing he lacks is his surname.

But can a single surname truly shut down all possibilities?

Snape didn't let the thought linger.

He's only in third grade, yet he already has a badge and got into this room first; he's already much better than before.

This was something he hadn't even dared to dream of two years ago, lying in that cold, dilapidated home.

He did it, though not entirely by himself.

Snape's lips twitched downwards.

He acknowledges this point, but acknowledging it is one thing...

A shadow moved slightly from the shadow of the Niche in front.

Snape stopped in his tracks.

"Oh."

A strange noise came from directly in front of him, and a person emerged from the shadows of the Niche, blocking the middle of the Corridor.

His black hair was messy, glasses perched on his nose, and he held a wand in his hand, the tip of which lazily tapping the ground.

James Potter.

Snape's eyes narrowed.

"Snivellus," James Potter laughed arrogantly, looking him up and down. "This robe is nice. Where did you steal it from?"

Snape didn't reply, his gaze sweeping past James and up behind him.

Sirius Black against the stone wall, his hands in his robe pockets, barely raising his head. He glanced at Snape once before looking away, his eyes fixed on something else.

Snape quickly analyzed the situation in his mind.

Two people, one holding a cane waiting to fight, the other standing against the wall, indifferent.

He couldn't beat them both if they attacked together, but Gryffindor's Black didn't seem like he was going to fight.

Then there's something to fight.

Snape raised his hand, and the wand slid from his sleeve into his palm, the tip pointing directly at James.

"Potter," Snape said with disgust and contempt, "Wasn't anyone teaching you that hiding in a corner at night is something only the likes of you do?" "Yes, they did," James laughed even harder, "They're specifically for people like you."

Snape glanced at Sirius again.

The guy was still leaning against the wall, his eyes half-closed, staring at the torches at the other end of the Corridor, as if he were asleep.

But Snape couldn't completely take his attention away from him.

This guy has always been rude and always resorts to sneak attacks when fighting, from behind, from the groin, he'll use any move he can think of.

Just because we're not moving now doesn't mean we won't move in the future.

Snape kept his eyes on James while glancing out of the corner of his eye at the Corridor behind him.

If the two of them attack together, he won't be able to hold out; he needs to plan his escape route first.

"Why aren't you saying anything?" James raised the tip of his cane slightly. "Didn't your new friends teach you this?"

Snape raised an eyebrow and said slowly, "My friends have taught me enough to deal with you."

"Trying to scare me?" James scoffed.

"No need," Snape said with a cold smirk. "You lot are only capable of acting like this for the next couple of years."

Sirius is looking over from the other side of the wall.

Snape didn't look at him, but he noticed.

"Bungee?" James didn't understand the other meaning, only finding the words irritating. "You Snivellus, have you taken the wrong medicine today, daring to talk to me like that?" Snape stared at James, his eyes sinister and tinged with pleasure, "The day someone comes knocking on your door, you'll know who can still be a bungee, and who can't."

Sirius straightened up a little at the base of the wall.

James didn't fully understand what Snape was saying.

He felt that the Snivellus was cursing him indirectly, and even targeting his family.

James's face fell, and his smile vanished.

Sirius understood. He pulled his hand out of his pocket, moved away from the stone wall from his shoulder, and held his wand in his hand. He opened his half-closed eyes and looked at Snape's face.

He understood what Snape was saying, knocking on the door, those guys, for the past two years.

Death Eaters, Voldemort, and all those things that have already begun outside but haven't yet made the front page of the Daily Prophet.

These things have been on Sirius's mind lately, ever since he came back from the funeral.

He hadn't expected it to come out of the Snivellus's mouth so lightly and smugly, as if it were something to boast about. Sirius's expression turned dangerous.

"Potter," Snape, still staring at James, "You'd better think about which side you're on."

"Say that again, you fucking idiot?" James was really angry now.

"What?" Snape's cane remained motionless. "Can't you understand human language?"

"I'm going to tear that mouth of yours apart today!"

James raised his wand.

"Expelliarmus!"

James reacted quickly; a red light shot out from the tip of his staff, heading straight for Snape.

Snape had anticipated this move; he turned to the side, pressed his wand diagonally downwards, and a barrier appeared in front of him.

The red light shone on it, causing it to explode and scatter Mars that illuminated the damp stone wall.

Snape swung a spell backhand, a thin, sharp, dark purple streak of light from the tip of his staff skimming the ground toward James's ankle. The spell was sinister, low in trajectory, dark in color, and aimed at the foot.

James took a step to the side, the purple light grazing his shoe and striking the stone wall, scorching a small patch of plaster and emitting a burnt smell. "Dark Arts?" James landed, grinning. "Snivellus, you're something else."

Before he finished speaking, he swung his wand, unleashing three spells in quick succession.

Snape took two steps back, dodging the first barrier, then sidestepping the second. He couldn't avoid the third one in time and was struck on the arm. Half of his sleeve instantly Bai Shuang over and became stiff with cold.

He groaned softly, but didn't make a sound.

The torchlight flickered between the two men, red, purple, and white, as incantations echoed back and forth, and the shadows on the wall twisted in response.

Snape retreated while fighting back.

A Trip Jinx was mixed in with two feints, while a sticky foot spell was splashed onto the stone slab beneath James's feet.

He didn't try to outrun James, knowing he couldn't win. Instead, he used tricky spells to make James uncomfortable and force him to make mistakes.

But James didn't make any mistakes, and that's the problem.

James is reckless, but his quick reflexes are innate.

He tripped over the Trip Jinx and stepped aside; he slid sideways and brushed past the sticky curse, getting a little bit on his shoe sole before immediately shaking it off.

His body moved faster than his brain; all of Snape's schemes aimed at forcing him to make mistakes were thwarted by his strong physique.

Snape's breathing became heavy, and it became difficult to lift his frozen arm.

James figured it out.

"Out of ideas?" James chuckled, closing in on Snape with increasingly dense incantations, shoving Snape down the Corridor. "Is this all your new friends taught you?"

Snape was forced to retreat repeatedly, finding it increasingly difficult to block.

He tried to back up the stone steps behind him, but James blocked the angle, preventing him from doing so.

On the other side of the wall, Sirius stood up straight, wand in hand, but hadn't raised it yet.

He looked at Snape, his gaze not on the fight, but as if he were thinking about something else.

Snape's back slammed into the wall; he had nowhere to go.

James's staff tip was firmly pointed at his face.

"Now," James gasped, grinning smugly, "Say it to me again, and who can still jump?"

Snape stared at the tip of the wand, his chest heaving. The wand was still in his hand, but he couldn't lift it.

James's cane tip was already pressed against his face; if he moved, he would be hit.

Just then

"Stop!"

A voice came from the other end of the Corridor, from the direction of the Potions Professor's office, with heavy and hurried footsteps.

Snape's eye twitched, and he looked past James toward the direction the sound was coming from.

At the end of the torchlight, a figure strode quickly towards them.

The red hair stood out starkly in the dim light.