Hogwarts: I am Snape

Chapter 145 News from the Outside World

A few days of high-altitude flight is enough to make even the most fearful soul accustomed to life in the clouds.

The Founder's Ship is like a floating paradise.

The morning sunlight streamed through the portholes into the dining room on the first floor of the ship; looking out the window, all that could be seen was a sea of ​​clouds like wisps of cotton and an endless blue sky; occasionally, birds would fly by, causing many students to look up frequently.

The entire ship was enchanted with a seamless stretching spell, and the dining room was just as spacious as it could accommodate all the teachers and students, filled with the crisp clinking of cutlery and the excited whispers of the students.

Snape sat at a small wooden table, slowly slicing a piece of cured ham. His gaze fell on his plate: cured ham, smoked salmon, sardines in oil, pickled turnips, a small dish of freshly mixed vegetable salad, and a peach glistening with water droplets—the only things on the plate that were clearly fresh.

He frowned almost imperceptibly. Looking up, he saw house-elves coming and going through the side door of the restaurant, carrying plates or steaming bowls of soup, darting between the tables.

Food no longer appears directly on the table like it does at Hogwarts, and the elves are no longer phantoms that appear instantly, but rather they actually walk and carry food on their own two feet.

Just then, a little elf carrying a basket of fresh fruit walked by quickly, head down. Snape put down his knife and fork and called softly, "Wait a moment."

The little elf suddenly stopped in its tracks, almost bumping into the chair next to it.

He looked up, and when he saw that it was Snape, his wrinkled face lit up with surprise. His big, bulbous eyes widened, and his pointed ears trembled with excitement.

“Mr. Snape! Respected Mr. Snape!” The house-elf’s voice was sharp and full of emotion. She excitedly raised her hands, causing the red apples in the fruit basket to tremble. “Would Mr. Snape like some apples?”

Snape paused, looking closely at the little elf in front of him wearing a tattered tea towel apron.

“Mipper?” He tried to remember. A few seconds later, he remembered. It was Mipper, the little house-elf who knew Dobby. She had prepared all sorts of delicious food and homemade wine for him. Of course, Professor Dumbledore had drunk all that wine later.

“Yes, Mipper,” Snape nodded and said, “I just wanted to ask why you’re not using the old way of delivering meals anymore? It would be much more convenient and faster, like in the castle. You’re working so hard as to run around like this.”

"No, Mr. Snape!" The elf wiped away his tears of emotion and said in a thick nasal voice, "Professor McGonagall told Mippe that elves cannot Apparate on this noble ship."

“The magic has changed. Miper tried, using all her strength to teleport herself from here to the kitchen doorway. But she failed! Thump!” She made an exaggerated falling motion.

"I see." Snape understood. It seemed that after realizing the house-elf's special abilities, Professor McGonagall and the others had made targeted adjustments to the ship's defenses.

“I understand. Thank you for your hard work, Mipper,” Snape said gently, softening his tone. “It will only trouble you to put in more effort. Thank you for preparing the food for us.”

Upon hearing this, the little elf burst into tears, her body trembling violently, and the fruit basket in her hands teetering on the verge of falling.

“Mr. Snape…” she sobbed, tears streaming down her face like broken pearls, barely able to breathe.

The crying attracted the attention of other house-elves nearby. Three or four house-elves quickly gathered around, gently patting Mipo's shoulder or back, trying to comfort her.

One of the elves, with a wrinkled nose and wearing a slightly newer pillowcase, looked at Snape with eyes full of boundless admiration.

“Mr. Snape,” he shrieked, “please forgive Mipper’s outburst. We…we thank you on Dobby’s behalf!”

“We all know,” another elf interjected, “that it was Mr. Snape who insisted on taking Dobby along. Dobby has been petrified for so long, but you didn’t abandon the useless elf. No wizard has ever treated an elf like that!” He choked up as he spoke.

Snape suddenly understood. No wonder Mippe was so excited to see him. No wonder the elves looked at him with unprecedented reverence and affection.

“Alright,” he said, “there’s nothing special about it. Miper needs to rest; she’s too emotional. Take her downstairs and get her some hot tea.”

The fairies immediately obeyed, crowding around Miper, who was crying so hard she was almost fainting, and carrying her away from the restaurant with a mix of pushing and supporting.

The brief commotion in the restaurant subsided. The scene that had just unfolded was witnessed by the surrounding students, who looked at Snape with respect, whispering among themselves that their club president actually commanded such respect from house-elves. Even Lily stopped talking to Pandora, looking at Snape with a thoughtful glint in her clear green eyes.

However, a disdainful sneer came from the other end of the restaurant.

“This is quite an eye-opener, folks,” James said to his friends, stabbing the cured meat on his plate with his fork. “A wizard can actually move those filthy servants like this? Saying ‘thank you’ makes them cry their eyes out? Tsk tsk, they really know how to act.”

Sirius shook his head slightly at him, Wormtail looked around nervously, and Lupin frowned slightly, as if he wanted to say something.

Snape's gaze swept over them, completely ignoring James's words.

"What time is it?" he thought, picking up a red apple left by Miper and taking a bite, the aroma filling the air.

However, not all creatures in this restaurant are indifferent.

An old, thin, bald house-elf stopped in its tracks. The elf had two large, bat-like ears with tufts of white fur protruding from their earlobes.

He shuffled toward the table where James and his friends were sitting.

Without offering any greetings or even glancing at the four young wizards, the elf stretched out his withered, large-knuckled hand, his movements seemingly slow yet incredibly swift.

He grabbed James's plate, which still had more than half a piece of cured ham left, picked up Sirius Black's half-finished pumpkin juice glass, snatched Peter's half-eaten chicken leg, and pulled Lupin's butter dish...

"Hey! What are you doing?!" James exclaimed in surprise, nearly knocking his fork off.

"Stop! We're still eating!" Sirius glared angrily at the strangely behaving sprite.

The older elf seemed to pretend not to hear, staring at them with its watery, grayish eyes, and continued what it was doing, deliberately piling the plates together to make a jarring clattering sound.

"The students of Hogwarts can eat whatever they like," he said in a humble yet somewhat cloying tone. "Great, noble students... the elves must serve them well and create a pleasant dining environment for them..."

Before the elf could turn around, he croaked in a hoarse, bullfrog-like voice, “But the students can’t expel Griffith from the school… No, because Griffith is a Hogwarts elf. Oh yes, only the headmaster can do that.”

“Well, those self-important pure-blood wizards don’t have that kind of authority. They…” Griffith sniffed the air hard, “...smell like sewers and criminals. Oh, my poor Griffith, having to share a room with them…”

James's face instantly turned from rage to a deep shade of liver. He slammed his hand on the table and stood up abruptly: "You despicable—"

"Calm down, James!" Lupin, who was standing nearby, reacted quickly and grabbed James's arm. Sirius Black also reached out and pulled James down.

Almost simultaneously, Snape drew his wand from his robes. He kept a watchful eye on the raiders, lest they harm Griffith.

Glick seemed to only then notice the commotion in front of him and the "self-important little wizards" he had been talking about. "Achoo—!"

A thunderous sneeze. The elf's spittle landed squarely on the tall stack of plates in his hand, filled with the plunderers' leftovers.

"Oh! No!" Grech exclaimed, no longer muttering to himself, but making a very obvious but suspicious look of surprise.

He was flustered and almost threw the pile of plates away, but he managed to "bravely" keep them steady in the end.

“Glitch didn’t see you just now,” he asked sincerely, his gray eyes scanning the angry James blankly. “Young, noble wizards, do you still want to eat this?” He carefully held the plate up in front of them.

James glared angrily at the sprite, then waved his hand dismissively: "Take it away!"

Glicie slowly turned around, hunched over, and dragged his feet as he slowly, step by step, moved toward the small door at the end of the restaurant that led to the kitchen.

“Oh, what a disgrace,” he said in a soft but clear voice that everyone could hear, “poor old Gretch, what can he do?”

The restaurant was completely silent.

Then, one of the students couldn't help but burst out laughing, which triggered a small chorus of suppressed giggles and coughs. James and Sirius's faces turned as black as the bottom of a pot, their eyes practically spitting fire, yet they had nowhere to vent their anger.

Snape put away his wand. Looking in the direction Griffith had disappeared, the corner of his mouth twitched upwards in an extremely subtle, uncontrollable manner.

The afternoon weather changed quietly. The originally fluffy and white clouds had somehow settled into a boundless, rolling, thick blanket of gray-black and steel-blue clouds below.

Occasionally, a pale flash of lightning would silently tear through the deep darkness, briefly illuminating the swirling vortex within the clouds. A few seconds later, the deep, rolling thunder would rumble into the ears of everyone on deck.

Although the wind was mostly blocked by the magical shield, the strong airflow still caused the mast to creak slightly.

The students were drawn to the rare sight of a wide-ranging thunderstorm seen from above and flocked to the edge of the deck.

They crowded around the railing, their faces showing excitement and a little nervousness, pointing and discussing the black ocean below that seemed to be brewing destructive power.

Just then, a figure riding a flying broom suddenly tore through the clouds below, soaring into the sky and heading straight for them.

The protective shield's flexible aura rippled slightly, and the figure nimbly passed through the shield, landing steadily on the deck.

The students gasped in surprise. Professor McGonagall was soaked to the bone, her black wizard robes clinging to her body, raindrops dripping from the strands of hair that clung to her forehead.

Her hair was disheveled, but she didn't care. She simply waved her wand across herself and the broom, and the water droplets instantly evaporated, restoring her to some semblance of dignity.

Professor McGonagall's eyes were sharp, and her expression was unusually cold. The occasional weariness and gentleness she had shown in the past few days were completely replaced by a cold and gloomy aura.

Without even glancing at the crowd, she strode straight through the students who parted automatically at her arrival, pushed open the wooden door leading to the cabin, and went inside.

Only when the door slammed shut behind her did the students on the deck seem to breathe a sigh of relief, and the suppressed conversation resumed, but was clearly shrouded in an uneasy atmosphere.

Without hesitation, Snape followed immediately into the brightly lit corridor inside the ship's cabin. Thanks to Professor Dumbledore's letter, he now even had the power to participate in the highest decisions made on the ship.

He saw Professor McGonagall walk steadily toward the stairs leading to the upper deck, knocking on the door of Professor Flitwick's office on the side of the corridor.

The door opened immediately, revealing Professor Flitwick's small face, which was also filled with worry.

Professor McGonagall simply nodded to him, and he immediately followed her with his short legs.

The three walked silently through the corridor and up the spiral staircase.

Finally, Professor McGonagall stopped in front of the wooden door on the top floor, tapped it with her wand, and the door opened.

This is the captain's cabin, and also the place with the most expansive view on the entire Founder's Ship. Outside the huge, semi-circular portholes, there is an endless expanse of clouds and sky.

Professor McGonagall slammed the door shut and cast heavy silencing and protective spells on it with her wand.

She walked to a mahogany desk in the center of the room, said nothing, and simply reached her slightly steaming fingers into the inner pocket of her robe, pulling out the Daily Prophet, neatly folded but with its edges slightly curled from being soaked by the rain.

Professor Flitwick tiptoed to see the date on the newspaper; it was from a few days ago, the day after they left.

Snape's gaze fell on the eerie photograph that occupied most of the page—in the increasingly dark sky, an enormous skull floated in the center of the Black Lake, slowly rising.

A large python, its head constantly rising and its tongue flicking, emerged from the skull's mouth. As they gazed at the photograph, the skull rose higher and higher, emitting a dazzling light within a cloud of green smoke, standing out against the dark night sky like a new constellation.

"The Dark Mark!" Professor Flitwick shrieked, slamming his little fist on the table. "Hogwarts...Hogwarts Castle...has fallen..."

“Yes, Professor. The Death Eaters have taken over the castle,” Snape said to Professor Flitwick. “This was something we could have foreseen. Fortunately,” he paused, “we have managed to remove those who might have been harmed by them.”

Professor McGonagall remained silent, but her chest heaved violently. Only when Snape mentioned the departed teachers and students did her tense expression ease slightly, and she said in a dry voice, "I hope Horace and Pomona can take good care of the remaining children."

Professor Flitwick immediately clenched his fist: "Yes, Pomona and Horace are old partners. They've been in Slytherin and Hufflepuff for so many years, they're very experienced, there won't be any problems!"

Snape fell silent, his gaze returning to the newspapers Professor McGonagall had placed on the table. He reached out and flipped through the next few more recent issues.

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　　Some friends have expressed their hope that I can update more often, but I really don't have much time or energy to update right now. To be honest, I'm not very motivated either TAT (my daily writing fee isn't even as much as my full attendance bonus).

　　If we can get 1,000 monthly votes, maybe we can update one or two more chapters?

　　Although it's impossible to fill up this month, if I can next month, I'll write more over the weekend.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)