The remaining days passed swiftly, accompanied by sunshine and white clouds.
The students soon reached the last day of the winter term at school.
Snape took only about ten minutes to pack all his luggage.
The most time-consuming part was, after half-heartedly tapping with his Wand to no effect, having to dig out an ink bottle and frown as he heavily blotted out the words "This book belongs to the Half-Blood Prince" that he had written on the back cover of Advanced Potion-Making.
But Aber had a huge pile of things to pack. He alone had several sets of formal robes in different colors for different occasions, and clearing out his wardrobe took nearly an hour.
"So many clothes—can you even wear them all?" Snape smacked his lips in admiration.
By the time the two of them reached the Great Hall for the end-of-year feast, it was already full.
The entire hall had been redecorated in Hufflepuff yellow and black, and a huge banner bearing a Hufflepuff badger hung on the wall behind the staff table.
Thanks to their unexpectedly brilliant performance in the Quidditch Cup, Hufflepuff had won the House Cup for the first time in five years.
Their table was therefore the liveliest, everyone whispering among themselves, cheering and celebrating.
A moment later, as the professors took their seats, the noise in the hall gradually died down.
"Another wonderful year has passed!" Dumbledore rose to his feet, his smiling eyes gleaming behind his half-moon spectacles. "Let us congratulate Hufflepuff!"
He waved his hand again, and a notice appeared before every student: "Once again, a reminder that all students under seventeen must not use magic during the holidays.
"Very well, that is all the important business. Let the feast begin!"
A wide variety of food and drinks immediately appeared on the plate and in the goblet before Snape, along with sweets of every flavor, such as Licorice Wands, Fizzing Whizzbees, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Pear Drops...
Early the next morning, more than a hundred horseless carriages stood outside the castle.
Every year, they carried students from second year onward back and forth between Hogwarts Castle and Hogsmeade Station.
Snape and Aber climbed into one carriage with two younger students, and before long, the wheels beneath them began to creak and turn.
As the Hogwarts Express sped past mountains, forests, fields, and lakes, the countryside outside grew tidier and tidier. Snape's feelings became increasingly complicated, and he even lost his appetite for Cauldron Cakes.
To be honest, he did not particularly want to go back. He did not know what state of mind he should bring back to the "home" in his memories, nor how he should face the "parents" in those memories.
He had even considered finding somewhere to stay for two months, remaining there until September, until the day he could return to Hogwarts.
But his instincts told him that some matters had to be settled.
The train began to slow amid the whistle's blare.
When it finally clattered to a stop at Platform 9, he got off, dragging his trunk behind him just as he remembered doing.
After waving goodbye to Aber, he turned and joined the noisy, crowded stream of people, heading toward the enchanted brick wall.
Sunlight shone upon the street. No one was waiting for him beyond the wall.
A huge chimney towered before Snape's eyes, while black, murky river water wailed beside him.
His trunk rattled over the cobblestones.
Snape slowly walked up to a dilapidated brick house. Dim yellow light seeped through a gap in the curtains of a ground-floor window.
After a long moment, Snape fished a ring of keys from his robes and used one to unlock the door.
With a creak, he saw a woman who looked very much like him, only older.
She was slight, with a sallow complexion and tangled hair.
Hearing the sound, the woman stopped her mending and raised her puffy eyes toward the doorway.
"You're back," she said hollowly.
Snape's lips moved a few times, but in the end, he could not bring himself to say it.
"Where is he?" Snape asked.
"He went out," the woman murmured in a flat tone.
"He went out?!" A nameless fury surged within Snape.
The woman shook her head sadly, and there seemed to be a little more fear in the way she looked at him.
Her gaze was like a basin of cold water poured over Snape's heart.
He suddenly felt a little miserable.
"I'm sorry." Snape calmed his heaving chest, trying his best to control his breathing.
"Have you eaten?" the woman asked.
Without waiting for Snape's answer, she set down her needlework and clothing on the wooden table, then rose and headed toward the kitchen door.
A few minutes later, the woman returned carrying a bowl of boiled potatoes and a small dish of parsnip paste on a tray.
She set the tray on the slightly wobbly table and gestured for Snape to come eat.
For a time, the room fell silent, with only the faint sounds of chewing.
"Why did it turn out like this?" he asked softly. "You're a witch."
The woman lowered her head slightly, her hands unconsciously twisting the hem of her clothes.
She looked more like a child who had done something wrong.
"I've already... already been here... for more than ten years..."
"But you—we—can change, can't we?"
"He doesn't like magic..."
The woman's voice was so low it was almost impossible to hear.
"He doesn't like much of anything.
"You haven't used magic all these years. You probably don't want to be a witch anymore, do you?"
"I..."
The woman stammered, but she did not give a complete answer.
Snape looked at her, the anger in his heart long since replaced by an indescribable emotion.
He did not want to blame her for everything. He did not believe these matters had primarily arisen from her mistakes.
Only a pitch-black shadow continued to sway gently beneath the dim yellow light.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
A burst of urgent knocking shattered the silence.
Snape sprang to his feet, knocking his chair backward. Its legs scraped across the worn floor with a piercing screech.
He gripped the doorknob and gently turned it.
A hooked-nosed man stood swaying outside, reeking of alcohol.
"Hah... Severus..." The man squinted at him for a while before slurring, "What are you doing here..."
Snape let out a hissing laugh, his shoulders trembling faintly despite himself.
He found the scene ridiculous enough to make a dozen boggarts hide in a wardrobe and never dare come out.
The man's face darkened instantly at the sound of his laughter.
He thrust out two large, dusky hands and seized Snape by the throat.
"Put it away!"
Seeing Snape pull out his Wand from his jeans pocket, the man roared like an enraged beast.
"Filthy stick! Don't think I don't know—you can't use it!"
Staring into those black eyes full of hostility and rage, Snape seemed to see a frail woman trembling amid the shouting, and a black-haired little boy curled up in a corner, crying...
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