From Hogwarts to Sturhaven

Chapter 173 Snape Seeks Help

October arrived in the blink of an eye, and the damp chill seeped into every corner of the castle. Hogwarts teachers and students silently added layers of clothing for themselves.

Even so, it couldn't stop the sudden outbreak of the flu. Madam Pomfrey, the head nurse of the school hospital, was overwhelmed and had to ask Professor Snape of Potions for help, hoping that he could provide a batch of energizers as a cure for the cold.

Professor Snape was always the busiest person in the house. In class, he had to clean up the messes made by his clumsy students, and outside of class, he often had to deal with conflicts and riots between the two houses (even without being named, everyone knew which two houses they were). He also had to put Harry Potter in solitary confinement from time to time, not to mention that he also had his own research.

Snape recently had a paper to submit to the Society of Extraordinary Apothecaries, concerning the improvement of the wolfsbane potion. Not long ago, Damocles Belby published a paper on the wolfsbane potion in the Society's journal, *Extraordinary Potions*. As a potions master, Snape immediately saw that there was room for improvement; the raw materials for the current wolfsbane potion were too expensive, and impoverished werewolves simply couldn't afford it.

If this problem can be solved, the Ministry of Magic will surely be willing to offer a Merlin Medal, and as a Slytherin who pursues honor, Snape has every reason to do so.

"You've really given me a lot of trouble finding you, Mr. Doom." Ivy was taken aback when he saw his headmaster sitting in the Swallowtail Dog Kennel, using his mage's hand to clean the hairy crabs off the puppies.

Ivy had already received Dumbledore's permission this semester to skip all classes and decide her own study plan. Apart from the career guidance session next semester, she shouldn't have had any interaction with Snape.

“What can I do for you, Professor Snape?” Ivy closed her book and asked politely, but did not get up from her chair, nor did she stop her mage hand that was playing with the swallowtail puppies in the air.

“Simply put, I need your ‘hands’,” Snape said expressionlessly, glancing at the mage hand that was plucking a hairy crab from a swallowtail dog.

“Oh, I see. They’re all there. Please help yourself.” Ivy shrugged, indicating that Snape could take them as he pleased.

“Since last Christmas, Lucius has been writing to me constantly, lavishing praise on you, Mr. Doom. ‘He said he could lead Slytherin to another glorious era,’” Snape said, his face remaining expressionless even as he murmured praises for Ivy. “If you remember, I am the Head of Slytherin…”

“I have to deal with OWLs, Professor,” Ivy interrupted Snape’s flattery, holding up the book in her hand, a copy of *The Most Poisonous Magic* borrowed from the forbidden section. “Scholarly duties are demanding!”

Ivy was surprised to see Snape's lips curl up slightly: "Busy researching dark magic? I can teach you a trick or two, Mr. Doom."

He took out his wand, pointed it at the foxtail grass in the open space, and whispered, "Divine Sharpness Without Shadow."

Without any sound or light effects, the foxtail grass suddenly broke into two sections.

Ivy narrowed his eyes. He knew this was Snape's specialty: a silent, dark magic cutting spell that could only be healed with a specific counter-spell. It was an excellent dark magic spell, and Snape, who invented it, was still studying at Hogwarts at the time.

“Prepare a potion for Head Nurse Madam Pomfrey. The ingredients are in the Potions classroom; I'll allow you to use it there after dinner.” Snape scrutinized Ivy's expression with a probing look. “I'll tell you about its counterspell after everything is over.”

After saying this, Snape left in a hurry without waiting for Ivy's reply.

He glided across the castle corridors like a bat with outstretched wings, uttered the password "noble rot wine" in front of the gargoyle, and then barged straight into the principal's office on the eighth floor.

“Severus?” Dumbledore had just poured a bottle of memories, like a thin mist, into the Pensieve when he saw Snape with a solemn expression. “Whatever you have to say, please sit down.”

Snape moved aside from the chair he had moved to sit on: “I think you need to know that Ivy Doom is researching the Dark Arts. And this isn’t the first time I’ve found out about it; I don’t know who gave him the forbidden books section sticker.”

Dumbledore slowly left the Pensieve and picked up his half-moon spectacles from the desk: "I gave them to him. I trust Ivy knows what she's doing."

"Oh? You believe a Hogwarts transfer student who claims to be from over a hundred years ago, yet no such person has ever been found?" Snape retorted. "Did he give you some kind of love potion?"

“Of course not, Severus,” Dumbledore smiled. “Ivy is the most talented wizard I have ever seen…”

“I must remind you, Dumbledore,” Snape interrupted him, “the last person you spoke of like that was Voldemort.”

“Ivy and Voldemort are different,” Dumbledore said, taking out a bottle of gleaming Sauternes, which he and Ivy had both received in large quantities when they left Nicolas Lemenza. “He knows exactly what he’s doing.”

"..." Snape paused for a moment, then continued, "It seems there's something between you that I'm not aware of. Perhaps you should know that Lucius Malfoy and he have been in a rather close relationship."

“You mean the magical creature breeding and raising facility?” Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. “When did you discover that Ivy was raising dragons in the castle?”

"He's still keeping dragons in the castle?" Snape raised his voice, almost roaring, which was unusual for the Potions professor who usually spoke in arias.

“Oh…so you haven’t noticed that yet…I also gave permission to keep dragons, and perhaps the Ministry of Magic’s permit will be delivered by an owl soon,” Dumbledore said cheerfully. “Then you’ll be able to use fresh dragon blood.”

“Ivy is a gifted wizard, perhaps too gifted,” Dumbledore sighed. “In some ways, he is better than me, better than Voldemort. But rest assured, we are of one mind in destroying Voldemort.”

……

Snape was not happy with his conversation with Dumbledore. When he saw Harry walking into the castle covered in mud, he didn't do anything drastic. He simply deducted five points from Harry's score and told him to go to Filch to collect his reward.

Chapter 174 Attack

Harry stood in the corridor, covered in mud, filled with resentment and frustration.

The weather in October was far from ideal; due to continuous heavy rain and low temperatures, many people in the castle caught colds.

In preparation for the upcoming Quidditch season, Wood required all Gryffindor players to drink a stimulant obtained from Madam Pomfrey before training on rainy days.

So, braving the sudden downpour and gale after lunch, Harry flew around the pitch for half a day, his ears steaming (Wood's point was valid; the proud and complacent Slytherins didn't choose to train in the rain, or rather, nobody wanted to play ball on a broomstick in a downpour), but he didn't even catch a glimpse of the Golden Snitch.

The training equipment was disoriented by the rain and strong winds and got stuck in a gap on the side of the stands.

Only after Wood used the Summoning Charm to bring the Golden Snitch back did they finally announce that they could return to the castle for dinner.

Harry, trudging through the mud, returned to the castle and bumped into Nick, the nearly headless ghost of Gryffindor. This ghost, whose head and body were only connected by a thin layer of skin, was annoyed at being rejected by the Headless Hunters and was giving Harry a long tirade.

In the short time that was wasted, Potions Professor Snape appeared clearly in front of Harry.

"Look at you, the famous Potter who loves to give out autographed photos, can't even handle a little bit of mud. I thought you were a wizard." Professor Snape's lips curled down, revealing his less-than-pleasant mood.

“Sir…” Harry swallowed nervously, waiting for his crime to be pronounced.

"Gryffindor -5 points deducted."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief.

But Professor Snape clearly didn't finish his sentence: "I have other things to do, so I don't have time to put you in solitary confinement. Go to the castle keeper; he will decide what you should do to atone for your sins."

Professor Snape left like a bat spreading its wings, leaving Harry full of frustration and resentment.

The Potions professor's footsteps quickly disappeared into the corridor, leaving Harry alone except for the ghost.

"Why don't I leave quickly? I've already lost points anyway."

Just as Harry decided to add a few more muddy footprints to the corridor, Filch, the castle caretaker with a red nose and heavy breathing, appeared.

Judging from the frequent cold patients he's seen lately, it's not hard to see that Filch is also sick. But as the castle's caretaker, Filch could easily get a stimulant from Madam Pomfrey, so why didn't he?

“You look like a dog that’s rolled in the mud!” Filch pointed at Harry’s mud-covered robes and Quidditch uniform. “I’m going to punish you!”

What could be more tragic than being caught before you can even escape?

Harry felt he was deducted two points because of a "mistake".

“Actually, Professor Snape has already deducted points from my score… He told me to talk to you to decide on further punishment…” Harry quickly said.

"Okay, okay!" Filch's smile was unsightly, revealing a bunch of yellow and rotten teeth. "Come with me!"

So Harry had no choice but to leave another trail of muddy footprints on the floor and follow Filch down the stairs.

Being able to decide on Harry's punishment didn't make him any happier, because there were always students leaving stains in the castle, and Filch was determined to teach Harry a lesson.

Filch's office was a dark, dirty room without windows, with only a lone oil lamp burning.

There was a smell of fried fish in the air, probably because he was cooking for his mangy old cat here.

The walls were lined with wooden filing cabinets, and the labels revealed that they contained detailed information about every student Filch had punished.

There was a separate cabinet with a sign in bold letters: "Confiscation of items, highly dangerous."

Harry quietly moved a little further away. It probably contained prank merchandise confiscated from the students, and who knows, maybe even some dung bombs that were about to expire.

Filch grabbed a quill from the tin can on his desk, then found a piece of parchment in the drawer, muttering in a thick nasal voice, "Slugs...frog brains...rat intestines...and stinky mud! I've had enough!"

He spread the parchment out on the table and dipped the quill into the ink bottle.

"Name: Harry Potter, Crimes:"

"It's just a little bit of mud!" Harry defended himself.

“That’s true for you, but for me, it was a precious hour!” A snotty drop of snot dribbled from Filch’s nose, trembling disgustingly with his angry voice. “Crime—defilement of the castle, punishment recommended—”

"How about you clean the chamber pot?" Filch turned to Harry. "The school hospital is really overflowing lately! Clean it with your hands, no spells allowed..."

Harry could practically smell the urine in the chamber pot. Filch was clearly pleased with the expression on Harry's face, eyeing him with ill intent as he wiped his disgusting snot with his sleeve.

However, just before Filch's quill pen fell, a loud crash came from the office ceiling, "Bang!" The oil lamp swayed violently, and the figures in the room shook.

"You little devil!" Filch roared, dropping his quill and charging out. "I'm going to catch you!"

Peeves, the mischievous spirit of Hogwarts Castle, is a nightmare for both teachers and students. He will wake you up in the middle of the night, spit your half-chewed gum at you, lure teachers to catch you when you're out at night, and even interfere with your way to the classroom.

But Harry felt that Peeves's antics were just in time; Filch's attention was undoubtedly temporarily diverted from him, and perhaps when Filch returned, Harry would receive a lighter punishment.

So Harry found a chair and sat down at the desk, looking at the items on it.

Besides his incomplete "crime" form, there was a purple envelope on the table with words printed in silver ink: "Introduction to Quick Spellcasting Magic Correspondence Course".

Harry had heard of correspondence courses in the Muggle world. Basically, it involved receiving textbooks by mail, studying on your own, and then taking an exam. Passing the exam would earn you a correspondence diploma. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia often said those things were scams; they took your money and then did nothing. Only people who couldn't learn anything real in school would bother with a correspondence degree.

He never imagined that something similar existed in the magical world.

Harry opened the purple envelope, pulled out a sheet of parchment, and quickly began to peruse it.

It's full of overused advertising slogans, not much different from Muggle ads.

Perhaps Filch's magic is just as bad as the wizards in the ads... given that ads are usually embellished, it might even be worse—which is why he needs an "Introduction to Magic" correspondence course.

Harry folded the letter, put it back in the envelope, and sat down in his chair with a sigh.

Even without Ivy, Slytherin's Quidditch team is still a super team with seven Nimbus 2001s. Harry really doesn't know how Gryffindor is going to deal with seven Nimbus 2001s.

Something wet licked the back of his hand.

Harry turned his head and saw the big black dog he had seen outside Professor McGonagall's office before, the ominous dog that George and Fred had mentioned.

The big black dog, like Harry, seemed to have just entered the castle from the torrential rain.