Medal

"Today we will learn an important defensive charm, as well as a practical casting technique. Does anyone know what the advantage of a non-verbal spell is?" Professor Gradelan asked.

Snape hesitated and raised his hand, but clearly someone else was faster.

"Very good, Miss Evans?" Professor Gradelan gave Lily a slight nod.

"It prevents your opponent from guessing what spell you're about to cast," Lily said. "That gives you a momentary advantage, achieving a surprise effect."

"A perfect answer," Professor Gradelan said. "Ten points to Gryffindor. In actual combat, the slightest edge can lead to a completely different outcome. Moreover, this is one of the key assessment areas in the N.E.W.T.s.

"Next, we'll first learn the Shield Charm. Then, you'll pair up—one tries to cast a jinx on the other, while the other attempts to defend with the Shield Charm, both without speaking..."

After the Shield Charm lecture ended, Snape and Aber paired up for practice.

"Where did you go just now?" Aber asked.

"I went over by the grounds," Snape said, deciding not to tell Aber the truth. He lifted his left arm. "Got nicked by a Hippogriff, but no harm done. They seemed pretty gentle to me..."

"Pfft—" Aber stifled a snort of laughter. "You and Hagrid probably have a lot to talk about."

"Quiet, focus." Professor Gradelan patrolled over to their side.

Snape and Aber quickly shut their mouths and resumed practice.

Aber's face was flushed red as he raised his wand, straining his eyes at Snape.

Bored, waiting for a spell that might never come, Snape couldn't help thinking that Aber had given him an idea.

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

The afternoon Potions class was, for Snape, utterly unchallenging.

He didn't even need to flip through the book, easily brewing a pale finished potion.

Of course, if the prize could include another bottle of Felix Felicis, he wouldn't mind showing Slughorn the four different ways to brew the Draught of Living Death.

"Your potion is also very excellent," Slughorn said regretfully to Lily. "But Severus's is still a notch above."

Snape took the small bottle of golden liquid, swirled it in front of the candlelight, and then contentedly tucked it into the pocket inside his robes.

The annoyed expressions on James and Sirius's faces lifted his spirits considerably.

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

"Wait a moment, Severus."

Just as Snape was about to leave with the crowd, Slughorn called him back.

Slughorn, fastening the gold clasp on his dragon-hide briefcase, said to Snape, "How about coming to my place for a casual dinner on Saturday evening? We're having a small party.

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

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

"Of course, I also very much hope Mr. Aber can grace us with his presence this time. Over the summer, I saw a photo of you with your father on his office desk.

"I must say, his acquisition of the Quidditch Boutique was quite a shrewd deal..."

Slughorn warmly pulled out two invitations tied with purple ribbons, handed one each to Aber and Snape, then tucked his bag under his arm and walked out of the dungeon classroom.

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

"That's not the point," Snape said, sitting down at the Slytherin table with a strange expression. "The Quidditch Boutique is your family's?"

"Oh, you mean the shop in Diagon Alley? Yeah."

Aber scooped some vegetable salad onto his plate.

"My father just acquired it. He's on good terms with Devlin Whitehorn, so now the store gets the latest Nimbus series models first."

"Why didn't you say so earlier? And here I was fighting you to pay the bill!" Snape angrily ladled a large spoonful of meat sauce onto his own plate. "You're covering the train snacks from now on!"

"No problem, it's not like I can spend all my Galleons anyway," Aber said lightly. "Back on the train that day, I was wondering if that pouch was your whole week's allowance."

"Squeak—" Snape's fork suddenly scraped across his plate with a harsh noise.

He glared furiously at Aber. "With all this food, can't you just shut up?"

After eating his fill, Snape began to think about what he should do next.

To avoid exposing his special identity, he wanted to link all his actions step by step, making them appear as reasonable as possible.

To be honest, he didn't fully trust Dumbledore. After all, to achieve his goals, this wise old man had no qualms about calculating the lives of others, even the orphaned hero.

Moreover, according to the original story's arrangement, after Snape killed Dumbledore, he would gain ownership of the Elder Wand. His fate from there was self-evident.

Snape tossed down his utensils. "Come on, take me to the Trophy Room."

They walked briskly along the stairs, turned a few corners, and arrived at the fourth floor.

In the Trophy Room, crystal glass cabinets glittered in the slanting sunlight. Medals, cups, shields, and statues shone with silver and gold in the soft evening glow.

"Look at this," Snape said, pointing to a display case in the corner. Inside sat a gold medal covered in fine dust. "Here's a 'Special Award for Services to the School' medal."

"T.M. Riddle, 1943," Aber read the inscription. "Why did he get that award?"

"No idea," Snape shook his head. "Let's look at something else."

They also saw Riddle's name on a faded, tarnished Medal for Exceptional Character and on a roster of past Male Student Council Presidents.

"That bloke's really something," Aber said enviously. "If only I could be like him."

"Then you'll have to work hard," Snape said in a teasing tone. "Not like me—if I can become Student Council President next year, I'll be satisfied."

"You're not even a prefect," Aber said, surprise in his voice. "What makes you think you can be Student Council President?"

"Is there any rule that explicitly says a non-prefect can't be Student Council President?"

Snape moved toward the door of the Trophy Room. "If I can earn the 'Special Award for Services to the School,' then asking the Headmaster for the Student Council President position wouldn't be too much, would it?

"There's nothing else here. I'm going to the Library to look into what happened in 1943—maybe I'll find out how to get that medal. Want to come?"