Hogwarts' Golden Glory

Snape's black robes swept across the corner of the corridor like bat wings.

Just then, I saw Filch aim his wand at a floating piece of chalk.

That wand was clearly secondhand; the tip still had traces of cheap polishing wax on it.

"Yugadimurleviosa!"

The old administrator's hoarse voice carried an unnatural excitement.

The chalk stub rose two feet crookedly before slamming down on the back of a Ravenclaw student's head with a "thud."

The young wizards watching burst into laughter, and Filch grinned, revealing his uneven, yellow teeth.

Snape's eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline.

He glided forward silently, shadows enveloping the administrator who was lost in his magical dream.

"I suppose," the silky voice lashed out like ice water, "that someone can explain this farce?"

The corridor fell silent instantly.

The students scattered and fled like startled sniffles.

Filch was left frozen in place, his wand clattering to the ground.

"Teach, professor!"

Filch's hunched back arched habitually again, but he quickly forced himself to straighten up. "I'm... uh... maintaining order on campus."

Snape's dark eyes narrowed, his gaze shifting between the wand and Filch's unusually straight back: "Argus Filch, the famous Squib Keeper of Hogwarts, has suddenly acquired magic?"

His gentle voice held a venomous undertone, "What a... deeply moving and inspiring story."

Filch's thin fingers twisted the hem of his clothes, and cold sweat seeped from the back of his neck.

Kane's warning on the parchment echoed in his mind—"If anyone asks..."

"I'm...I'm self-taught!" he stammered. "I found an ancient...ancient magic book..."

"lie."

Snape suddenly moved closer, the Potions Master's nose almost touching Filch's. "You smell of potions, and..."

He suddenly grabbed the other person's wrist. "Residue of moonstone powder. What kind of medicine did you drink?!"

Mrs. Lorris bristled and stood in front of her master, hissing threateningly.

Snape seemed to recall something!

The magical fluctuations emanating from the old Squib before him were strangely familiar—very much like the way the Dark Lord bestowed power upon his servants.

Could it be that the Death Eaters have infiltrated Hogwarts?

"Listen, Argus,"

He lowered his voice, each word laced with chill, "Some gifts... come at a price far beyond your imagination."

He still wanted to try to persuade the administrator, with whom he usually had a fairly good relationship.

Filch's cloudy eyes trembled violently.

He recalled the strange, slightly painful sensation he felt when Kane gave him the medicine and it went down his throat.

But compared to the pain of being rejected by the magical world for sixty-three years, what is this price?

"No need for you to trouble yourself, Professor." He picked up the wand with a forced smile. "I know what I'm doing."

Snape's pupils contracted to the size of pinpoints. This usually servile Squib...

At this moment, his eyes gleamed with a chilling obsession—much like those victims bewitched by dark magic.

He knew that feeling all too well!

"I hope so."

He turned around with a flick of his sleeve, his black robe billowing like dark clouds.

"Otherwise, our next meeting will be in my medical wing... or in a cell in Azkaban."

When Snape's figure disappeared at the end of the stairs, Filch slumped down beside the armor as if his bones had been removed.

Mrs. Lorris anxiously licked his trembling fingers.

"It's okay, baby..."

He stroked his beloved cat, but his eyes gradually became fervent.

"As long as I can continue using magic... any price is worth it..."

On the third floor corner, Snape was hurrying towards the cellar, his mind racing.

The potion recipe on Filch's body was far too sophisticated for the work of an ordinary dark wizard. Unless...

Thinking of this, he immediately changed direction.

The gargoyles on the eighth floor of the castle glowed with a bluish light in the darkness.

Snape's black robe swept across the damp stone steps, drifting like an ominous cloud toward the headmaster's office.

Beneath his sallow complexion, his muscles twitched slightly from tension.

Just three minutes ago.

He witnessed an unbelievable scene in the Hogwarts corridors—Argus Filch, the infamous Squib, was actually using magic with a wand.

Aside from Voldemort, he couldn't imagine anyone else with such an ability.

"Sweet and cloying lemon sorbet."

Snape hissed at the gargoyle, his voice filled with suppressed rage.

The gargoyle did not jump away as usual.

Snape frowned, and as he drew his wand, preparing to force his way through, the stone door suddenly slid open silently.

A sweet, cloying aroma of mead mixed with a strange, refreshing citrus scent wafted towards me.

"Ah, Severus, I was just about to look for you."

Dumbledore's clear voice came from inside: "Come in, Severus. I'm working on something that might interest you."

The oak door opened automatically, and Snape's pupils contracted sharply—the headmaster's desk was piled high with Ministry of Magic files.

The gold-embossed title at the top stung his eyes: "Trial Record of the Case of Sirius Orion Black's Betrayal of the Potters."

"How...touching."

Snape's voice was colder than the walls of the cellar. "Has the headmaster finally decided to relive how his most prized pawn was sacrificed?"

Dumbledore peered over from above his half-moon spectacles, his blue eyes gleaming with a light Snape couldn't decipher: "I'm reviewing the details of the eyewitness testimonies about Peter Pettyru from back then."

"That so-called heroic sacrifice?"

Snape's lips twisted into a mocking smile. "A martyr who was blown to bits, leaving only a finger?"

In his opinion, none of the four people back then were good guys!

He grabbed a document. "Look at this—'Blake laughed and confessed on the spot'—what a vivid memory!"

If it weren't for him, Lily wouldn't have died!

The parchment shrank and turned black in his hands, as if it had been scorched by an invisible flame.

Dumbledore gently waved the Elder Wand, and the charred dossier was restored to its original state.

"Impressions in memory can be altered; they can change because of future events, Severus."

"That forgetting spell can also make people forget that they have altered their memories."

"Snape retorted, his black robes heaving slightly with his rapid breathing."

"Are you particularly keen on bringing up old grievances today? Or have you finally gotten so old that you need to rely on memories to get through the day?"

The portraits of past principals on the office wall seemed to be grumbling in dissatisfaction.

Dumbledore chuckled, his fingers tracing the yellowed edges of an interrogation record: "Interestingly, the Ministry of Magic didn't have a single interrogation record of the other party before delivering the verdict."

"Isn't that what should be done?" Snape sneered.

"This also precisely illustrates that this matter is not as simple as it seems!"

Dumbledore suddenly looked up, his gaze like a sword drawn from its sheath. "What if I told you that there was more to the story of Lily and James's deaths?"