Hogwarts: I am Snape

Chapter 86 The Mustard-Colored Wand Assassin

"How many wands have you broken this time, Severus?" Dumbledore asked as Snape and Lily dragged their weary bodies back to 421 Vauxhall Road.

"Not many, not many," Snape replied shyly. "There weren't many Death Eaters this time."

As he spoke, he pulled four broken wand pieces from his pocket and casually tossed them into the fireplace. The flames immediately leaped several inches higher, crackling and popping.

Dumbledore waved his wand gently, and two steaming cups of black tea appeared on the table, accompanied by a plate of lemon sorbet.

“Have some tea to warm yourselves up,” he said gently, gesturing for the two to sit down, but then his voice turned serious. “However, Severus, I must remind you—the Death Eaters are related to most families in the wizarding world, whether close or distant.”

Snape raised an eyebrow but didn't respond immediately. He picked up his teacup, took a small sip, then frowned and put it down. It was too sweet; he even saw a piece of sugar that hadn't completely melted at the bottom of the cup.

Lily held the teacup in both hands, seemingly just to draw a little warmth from it.

“In the early years, when Voldemort was still using the guise of ‘pure-blood honor,’” Dumbledore sighed, “many wizards were happy to see it happen and turned a blind eye to his ideas.”

"The Malfoys, the Lestranges, the Notts… even some neutral families secretly funded his activities. It wasn't until they began torturing Muggles and using the Cruciatus Curse on opponents that the wizarding world's attitude changed. But even so—"

“Even so, blood is thicker than water,” Snape continued. “Those who condemn the Death Eaters now may very well be toasting them at the Christmas dinner table.”

Dumbledore nodded slightly: "Although Barty Crouch of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is pushing for the Emergency Act in hopes of taking some tougher measures against Voldemort's supporters."

“But if you want to work for the Ministry of Magic in the future,” he said sharply to Snape, “I suggest you exercise restraint. Breaking a few wands now is no big deal, but if it causes irreversible damage, it will affect your future.”

"Then why is Mr. Crouch pushing for such a policy?" Snape noticed that Dumbledore addressed Tom by his first name, which meant that their location was safe.

“He has no other choice,” Dumbledore’s voice deepened. “Crouch’s rise through the ranks in the ministry is based on his tough stance and attitude. Now there are new attacks happening every day.”

"If he doesn't take decisive action and lets the chaos continue, it might not be long before he and Minister Mincan are accused of being weak and incompetent, and like the previous Minister of Magic, Eugenia Jenkins, they will be dismissed for mishandling the situation."

“Mr. Crouch is drinking poison to quench his thirst,” Snape nodded thoughtfully. “After the war, no one will like a minister whose hands are stained with the blood of his own relatives.”

“Although,” he paused, a sarcastic smile playing on his lips, “Mr. Crouch dedicated his entire life to becoming Minister for Magic. Once it’s all over, he’ll be unlikely to become Minister.”

Dumbledore glanced at Snape with surprise, a hint of admiration flashing in his blue eyes: "A very insightful analysis, Severus. Crouch is indeed chasing an illusion that can never be grasped. He just doesn't want to believe it. So, I hope you'll exercise some restraint."

“Don’t worry, Professor,” Snape waved his hand and said, “Let’s wait until Mr. Crouch’s new policy is officially released. I’m not that stupid; someone taller has to hold the fort…”

Lily sat in the armchair next to Snape, quietly watching Snape and Dumbledore talk. Her tea had gone cold, but she seemed oblivious.

Her emerald green eyes were filled with a complex expression. This eloquent and sharp-tongued Snape was completely different from the gloomy and taciturn boy she remembered.

It seemed like she was seeing this man she'd known for years for the first time. The Snape she remembered would never have been so composed in front of the Headmaster, acting as if they were complete equals. "Professor, I have a question for you," Snape said, sitting up straight. "Our encounter with the Death Eaters tonight, could it be considered a successful defense against Voldemort?"

"Why not?" Dumbledore blinked. "You successfully repelled and captured the Death Eaters, so I consider that certainly as resistance against him."

“Hmm… alright then,” Snape’s expression turned strange as he rubbed his temples. “Then I’ll have to attend a few more Order of the Phoenix events.”

He didn't want to become someone who "fought Voldemort three times."

Only then did Snape seem to suddenly remember that there was a third person in the room, and he turned to Lily beside him: "Lily, do you want to come with us?"

"No..." Lily's knuckles were white as she gripped the teacup, her voice barely audible, "I need to... handle my parents' funeral arrangements..."

Her voice choked for a moment, and she quickly lowered her head, her red hair falling down to cover her face.

“Please accept my condolences,” Snape said. “If there is anything I can do to help, please don’t hesitate to ask.”

Lily lowered her head and nodded slightly.

Over the next few days, Snape bought a plastic mask of Jerry the Mouse from a Muggle children's store and wore it to five Order of the Phoenix events.

Unfortunately, they failed to capture any more Death Eaters in the subsequent operations; fortunately, he successfully broke more than a dozen wands.

Warnings began circulating among Death Eaters about the "turmeric wand killer"—a masked madman who would steal their wands with a disarming charm or summoning charm and then break them.

In the final battle, Snape encountered a new problem: the Death Eaters began binding their wands to their wrists with dragon tendon threads.

When he habitually uttered "Expelliarmus," he only saw the other person stagger slightly, but the wand remained firmly attached to his hand.

"Damn it," Snape muttered, quickly dodging a red light as his wand traced a sharp arc in his hand. "Shatter into pieces!"

However, the difficulty of accurately hitting the thin line with a spell was too great, which almost left him in a "blank" situation with no results from his staff.

After more than ten attempts, he finally succeeded in cutting a thin thread.

As the black walnut wand swept through the air, Snape seemed to hear a heartbroken wail from afar—"My wand!"

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(End of this chapter)