The September weather remained swelteringly unbearable, and the doors and windows of the Three Broomsticks stood wide open to catch any stray breeze.
Ding-a-ling!
The copper bell above the doorframe chimed crisply, untouched by any hand.
As they stepped into the small pub, a heady mix of sweet, spicy, and aged wooden aromas enveloped them.
"Well, if it isn't Hogwarts' young prodigies!" Madam Rosmerta looked up from behind the counter, clad in a low-cut, pale blue robe, her lightly curled hair cascading carelessly over her shoulders. "What brings you lot to this little corner of the world?"
"Good morning, Madam Rosmerta," Patrick Abbott greeted cheerfully, heading toward an empty table.
"A longing for your beauty, madam," Severus Snape said with a slight nod as he passed the bar. Noticing the heavy dark circles under her eyes, he added, "You look tired. Rough night?"
"A bit," Madam Rosmerta admitted with a yawn, her slender fingers massaging her temples. "Funny thing, though—the Shrieking Shack was eerily quiet last night. Not a single wail."
"Strange, isn't it?" a Hogsmeade villager, looking equally weary, chimed in. "I live nearby, and that ghost's howling is more reliable than an alarm clock. The silence was downright unnerving."
"You're telling me," Madam Rosmerta sighed, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Six years of that racket, and now it stops? Feels like something's missing. I tossed and turned until dawn."
"Should we check it out?" another villager suggested, though his voice lacked conviction.
"Looking to shorten your lifespan?" Madam Rosmerta rolled her eyes. "I'm not keen on being the next to vanish in the Shrieking Shack."
As the conversation buzzed, Severus and his group settled at their table.
"Speaking of absences, it's been ages since you've graced us, Severus," Madam Rosmerta teased, wiping a glass with a pristine linen cloth. "Three months, was it? I thought you'd forgotten which way the Three Broomsticks' door swings."
"First outing of the term, and here we are," Severus replied, sliding into a seat beside Pandora. "Who could resist an ice-cold Butterbeer on a scorcher like this?"
"Oh, please," Madam Rosmerta said, expertly pouring several frothy Butterbeers. She sashayed out from behind the counter with a tray, her movements graceful. "I didn't see you all summer. Everyone at this table's been here except you. Young people should get out more."
She leaned forward to place the drinks on the table, a faint whiff of perfume mingling with the sharp tang of alcohol. "What's that?" Severus asked, surprised, turning to his companions. "You all came here over the summer?"
They nodded in unison.
"We passed our Apparition tests, remember?" Pandora said. "Did you forget?"
"Ugh," Madam Rosmerta straightened, clutching the tray to her chest and shaking her head. "Too busy with a pretty companion to think of me, I bet." With that, she turned back to the bar.
"What were you up to all summer, Sev?" Pandora asked, narrowing her eyes. "Not a single letter in all that time."
"You didn't get his letter?" Barty Jr. glanced at Pandora, then at Severus. "He sent me one."
"That was a congratulatory note for Barty," Severus said, his lips twitching. "I wrote and sent it early."
"Over the summer," he continued, choosing his words carefully, "ever since… meeting Nagini, I've been trying to sort out her situation. Haven't had time for much else." He gave Pandora a helpless look, his expression tinged with worry.
"Any progress with her?" Pandora's face softened, her eyes brimming with genuine concern. Ever since Severus had shared Nagini's tragic backstory, she'd felt nothing but sympathy for the snake.
"It's going alright," Severus replied cautiously. "With Professor Dumbledore's help, things have improved quite a bit."
"I hope she recovers," Pandora sighed. "I can't imagine someone enduring that alone for half a century…"
"She will," Severus reassured her. "Let's not dwell on the heavy stuff. Come on, cheers!"
The pub wasn't crowded, and Madam Rosmerta poured herself a small glass of Firewhisky. She sauntered over, perching on the edge of a nearby table, sipping her drink delicately.
Her posture made the contours of her figure faintly visible beneath her robe, and a few of the boys stole extra glances. Severus forced himself to focus on his Butterbeer, determined not to make a fool of himself again.
"Hey, mates, I heard a new joke over the summer," Patrick Abbott piped up eagerly. "It's about a witch, a Healer, and a Muggle treasure."
Madam Rosmerta's eyes lit up with anticipation.
Patrick launched into the tale with gusto. "So, a witch, a Healer, and a Muggle treasure are drinking in a posh little pub. The witch, coughing her lungs out, says to the Healer, 'I've got this awful cough, mate. Got anything for it?'
"The Healer says, 'I've got something, but it'll make you laugh uncontrollably.' The witch nods, and he pulls out a vial and hands it over.
"She downs the emerald-green liquid and goes, 'Tastes pretty good. What is it?' She starts laughing like mad, and the Healer, caught up in her giggles, grins back.
"'Why aren't you laughing?' the witch asks the Muggle treasure, still chuckling.
"'I can't laugh,' the Muggle treasure says calmly. 'You just drank juice squeezed from me.'"
The table fell silent, everyone clutching their drinks.
To everyone's surprise, Madam Rosmerta burst into laughter, covering her mouth.
"Oh, Patrick, that's brilliant," she said, clutching her stomach dramatically. "Thanks for the laugh… By the way, I've got a new Dragon's Blood Brew. Want to try it? Only five…"
Severus watched her curiously, his mind racing. He distinctly remembered Ron Weasley telling her the same joke, and she hadn't so much as twitched a lip. Ron had sulked for half an hour, mercilessly teased by Hermione. Why was her reaction so different now? Surely it wasn't because Patrick was better-looking than Ron—glancing at Patrick's friendly, round face, Severus dismissed the thought.
Patrick, clearly delighted by her response, downed his drink. "Bring me a Dragon's Blood Brew, madam. I trust your taste!"
Madam Rosmerta noted the order with a smile and headed to fetch it.
Just then, a grey owl swooped through the open window, dropping a copy of The Daily Prophet precisely in front of a patron.
The man unfolded it and immediately frowned.
"What's wrong?" his companion asked.
"Another attack," he sighed, his voice heavy with suppressed fear. "Troubled times. More trouble."
"Lord Voldemort and his followers," his companion said, leaning over to read. "This time in Liverpool, a Muggle village. Over a dozen dead."
Madam Rosmerta set Patrick's drink down quietly, glancing toward the pair.
The pub's atmosphere grew heavy, conversations shifting to the state of the world.
Amid the murmurs, a wizard with a thick beard slammed his fist on the table. "It's terrifying. Protecting ourselves and our families is what matters. Let's not talk about this."
"The Ministry will catch them," a firm voice cut through. Severus turned to see a square-jawed, straw-haired Gryffindor fourth-year—George Podmore—standing up. "Justice matters more than self-preservation. I'm going to be an Auror and take down those Death Eaters."
"Don't be foolish, lad," an older wizard said wearily, shaking his head. "We're pure-bloods. Keep your head down. What's the point of defying him?"
"What's the point of fighting the most evil wizard alive?" George's face flushed with anger, his voice rising. "To save innocent lives, sir!"
His tablemates nodded in support.
"Easy to say, students," the bearded wizard scoffed. "Wait till you see You-Know-Who's power up close."
Severus stared at George, recalling the summer when he'd joined George's father, Sturgis Podmore, at an Order of the Phoenix meeting. Sturgis was brave, and it seemed his son had inherited that fire.
Suddenly, a realization hit Severus like a bolt of lightning. He shot to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.
"I've got it!" he blurted out.
He finally understood why Madam Rosmerta's reactions were so different: when Ron had told the joke, she was under the Imperius Curse, controlled by Death Eaters. Now, she was free.
Every head in the pub turned to him.
"Got what?" Barty Jr. asked, curious.
"Er…" Severus faltered, embarrassed. "I… figured out why Patrick's joke was funny."
The group exchanged puzzled looks, but Patrick grinned proudly. "See? Even Severus appreciates my humor! Madam Rosmerta, get him a Dragon's Blood Brew like mine!"
When the five-Galleon drink was placed before him, Severus managed a strained smile. At least it was a decent perk.
As they left the pub, Madam Rosmerta saw them off at the door. "Thanks, Severus," she said with a sly wink. "You helped me sell another drink. You'd make a fine barkeep."
Severus hesitated, then lowered his voice. "Did you really think that joke was funny?"
"Of course not," she replied casually, waving to other patrons. "Reacting to a customer's joke is just good business." Her expression turned serious. "Wait, you didn't actually think it was funny, did you?"
"Not at all," Severus said, winking back. "But next time I tell it, I expect a laugh."
"Deal," she said with a playful wink. "Even if I have to fake it."
It was noon, and per Barty Jr.'s schedule, Saturday evening was for the club's all-year gatherings.
"I've got to pick up some supplies," Severus told his friends. "For tonight's event."
"Brilliant, you're finally stepping up," Barty Jr. said, his eyes gleaming. "That's what a club president does! Need a hand?"
"No, thanks," Severus said, shaking his head. "I've got it covered."
He drew his wand, gave it a flick, and vanished from Hogsmeade's streets.
After the familiar squeeze of Apparition, Severus appeared in a quiet London alley. Muggle passersby hurried along, oblivious to the black-robed teenager.
"Refine the mind…" he muttered, heading toward the famous Foyles bookstore.
The shop's windows brimmed with new releases. Severus pushed through the door and, guided by a clerk, began loading a cart with books: Two Treatises of Government, The Social Contract, On Liberty… He nearly cleared out the political philosophy section.
Then he moved to history, science, literature, fitness, and comics. By the time his carts were overflowing, the clerk's expression had shifted from curiosity to astonishment.
"I'll take them all," Severus said. "No need to bag them."
As the stunned clerk watched him stuff a towering stack of books into a small wallet, Severus cast a quick Confundus Charm to glaze over her confusion as she scanned the rest.
"Next, strengthen the body…" An hour later, Severus had bought dumbbells, barbells, and other gym equipment, plus raided a nearby supermarket's snack aisle—crisps, spicy sticks, chocolate, bizarre sodas, and even instant noodles.
Patting his bulging wallet, Severus grinned. These Muggle goods would blow the minds of the One Heart Club, especially the pure-bloods who still thought Muggles were barbarians eating subpar food and toiling aimlessly.
Back at Hogwarts, Barty Jr. and Patrick were setting up the evening's venue.
With a wave of his wand, Severus arranged tables and chairs into bookshelves, the books flying neatly into place. The gym equipment was set up on the other side.
"These Muggle books," he told them, "check them out when you've got time. We can discuss them later." He gestured to the equipment, flexing playfully. "And these? They'll boost your wand speed—or let you break another wizard's nose with one punch."
"Can this stuff really make you stronger?" Patrick asked, poking at a butterfly machine. "Without potions?"
"Not only that," Severus said, tossing a fitness magazine their way and flipping to a page. "It'll make you manlier, too…"
As members trickled in, Severus laid out the Muggle snacks on a table.
Muggle-born witches and wizards lit up, eagerly explaining the treats to their peers.
"Can you… eat this?" a second-year Slytherin asked, prodding a bag of crisps.
"Not like that—it's in plastic," a Muggle-born Gryffindor said, tearing it open. "Try it. Cheese and onion flavor."
Soon, the room was filled with crunching and delighted exclamations.
"This is amazing! How does the world have stuff this good?"
Severus stood at the front, watching faces from every house. He cleared his throat, and the room quieted, save for the rustle of snack bags.
"So, what do you think? Muggle stuff's not bad, right?" he said warmly, pointing to the bookshelves. "Over there's knowledge Muggles have built up over centuries. Don't underestimate them. Like these snacks, they can produce massive amounts in no time. No magic, but their productivity outstrips us.
"It might not look as flashy as magic, but Muggles make more in a day than all the wizards in the world could with wands snapping."
"And," he added, glancing at students in ill-fitting robes, "if you read and write about these books, the club will reward you—like new robes and textbooks for a year."
"Any book?" a pure-blood wizardling asked, holding up a Green Lantern comic.
"Anything on those shelves," Severus nodded. "Knowledge doesn't discriminate."
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