Medal

"Today we will learn an important defensive spell, as well as a practical casting technique. Can anyone tell me the advantages of nonverbal spells?" Professor Grubbly-Plank asked.

Snape hesitantly raised his hand, but someone had clearly raised hers faster.

"Very good, Miss Evans?" Professor Grubbly-Plank gave Lily a slight nod.

"It prevents your opponent from guessing what magic you're about to cast," Lily said. "That gives you a momentary advantage and catches them by surprise."

"An excellent answer," Professor Grubbly-Plank said. "Five points to Gryffindor. In actual combat, even the slightest advantage can lead to entirely different outcomes. Besides, this is one of the key areas tested on the N.E.W.T.s.

"Next, we'll learn the Shield Charm. Then you will pair up, with one trying to cast jinxes at the other while the other uses the Shield Charm to defend. Neither of you is to make a sound..."

After the lesson on the Shield Charm ended, Snape paired up with Aber for practice.

"What did you go off to do just now?" Aber asked.

"I went over to the grounds," Snape decided not to tell Aber the truth. He raised his left arm. "A Hippogriff took a swipe at me, but fortunately I wasn't hurt. They looked rather gentle to me..."

"Pfft—" Aber fought back a snort of laughter. "You and Hagrid must have plenty to talk about."

"Quiet. Focus." Professor Grubbly-Plank had come over on her rounds.

Snape and Aber promptly shut their mouths and resumed practicing.

Aber's face had turned red from holding it in. He held up his Wand and tried his hardest to glare at Snape.

While boredly waiting for a spell that might never come, Snape could not help thinking that Aber had reminded him of something.

It was time to find an opportunity to get in touch with Hagrid. He might need to borrow a few roosters from him later to deal with the Basilisk.

For Snape, the afternoon Potions class was utterly unchallenging.

He did not even need to consult the textbook to easily brew a pale finished potion.

Of course, if the prize had included another bottle of Felix Felicis, he would not have minded showing Slughorn the four ways of brewing Draught of Living Death.

"Your potion was excellent as well," Slughorn told Lily regretfully, "but Severus's was still slightly better."

Snape took the small bottle of golden potion, held it up to the candlelight and gave it a shake, then tucked it into the inner pocket of his robes with satisfaction.

The angry expressions on James, Sirius, and the others' faces put him in an excellent mood.

When the bell rang, everyone packed up and headed out of the classroom.

"Wait a moment, Severus."

As Snape prepared to leave with the crowd, Slughorn called after him.

As Slughorn fastened the golden clasp of his Fire Dragon-hide briefcase, he said to Snape, "How about coming to my place for a simple dinner on Saturday evening? We're having a small gathering.

"I've invited Regulus Black, Lily Evans, and others, as well as the famous Auror Fabian Prewett. You may have seen reports in the Daily Prophet about him and his brother Gideon."

Before Snape could reply, Slughorn's gaze fell upon Aber, who was waiting by the door. He gave Aber a slight bow.

"Of course, I very much hope Mr. Aber will honor us with his presence this time as well. During the summer holidays, I saw a photograph of you and your father on his office desk.

"I must say, his acquisition of the Quality Quidditch Supplies was truly an excellent deal..."

Slughorn warmly produced two invitations tied with purple ribbons, handed one each to Aber and Snape, then tucked his briefcase under his arm and left the dungeon classroom.

"He's invited me before," Aber said as they left the dungeon classroom, climbed the stairs, and crossed the Entrance Hall for lunch. "I came up with all sorts of excuses to turn him down."

"That's not the point." Snape sat down beside the Slytherin table, his expression somewhat strange. "The Quality Quidditch Supplies belongs to your family?"

"Oh, you mean the shop in Diagon Alley. Yes."

Aber served himself some vegetable salad.

"My father only acquired it recently. He's on good terms with Devlin Whitehorn, so the shop can put the latest Nimbus series models on its shelves as soon as they come out."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner? I actually fought you over paying the bill!" Snape viciously ladled himself a huge spoonful of meat sauce. "You're covering the food on the train from now on!"

"No problem. I can't spend all my Galleons anyway," Aber said casually. "On the train back to school that day, I wanted to ask whether that bag contained your allowance for the week."

"Screech—" Snape's fork abruptly stopped, scraping across the plate with a piercing sound.

He glared furiously at Aber. "With all this food, can't you keep your mouth shut?"

After eating and drinking his fill, Snape began considering what he should do next.

To prevent anyone from discovering his unusual identity, he wanted to link all his actions together step by step, making them appear as reasonable as possible.

To be honest, he did not trust Dumbledore very much. To achieve his goals, that wise old man had not hesitated to scheme against his life, and even the life of the orphaned son of a hero.

Moreover, according to Dumbledore's arrangements in the original story, Snape would gain mastery of the Elder Wand after killing Dumbledore. His fate after that went without saying.

Snape tossed down his cutlery. "Come on, keep me company while I take a look around the Trophy Room."

They walked briskly up the stairs, turned several corners, and arrived on the fourth floor.

In the Trophy Room, crystal glass cases gleamed beneath the slanting sunlight. Medals, cups, shields, and statues shimmered silver and gold in the gentle glow of the sunset.

"Look at this," Snape said, pointing to a display case in the corner. Inside lay a dusty golden medal. "There's a Medal for Special Award for Services to the School here."

"T. M. Riddle, 1943." Aber read the words on the medal. "Why did he receive this award?"

"I don't know." Snape shook his head. "Let's look at something else."

They found Riddle's name again on an old, faded Medal for Exceptional Character and on a list of past Male Student Council Presidents.

"This guy was amazing," Aber said enviously. "I wish I could be like him."

"Then you'd better work hard," Snape said teasingly. "As for me, I'd be satisfied if they made me Student Council President next year."

"You aren't even a prefect," Aber said, surprise in his voice. "Why are you thinking about being Student Council President?"

"Is there any rule that explicitly says you can't be Student Council President if you aren't a prefect?"

Snape headed for the Trophy Room door. "If I can earn a Special Award for Services to the School, it wouldn't be too much to ask the headmaster to make me Student Council President, would it?

"There's nothing else here. I'm going to the Library to look up what happened in 1943. Maybe I'll find out how to earn this medal. Want to come?"