"How many wands did you snap this time, Severus?" Dumbledore asked as Snape and Lily, looking utterly spent, returned to 421 Vauxhall Road.
"Not many, not many," Snape replied, "There weren't many Death Eaters this time."
He pulled four broken wand pieces from his pocket and casually tossed them into the fireplace. The flames instantly leaped up by several inches, crackling loudly.
Dumbledore flicked his wand, and two steaming cups of tea appeared on the table, accompanied by a plate of lemon sorbet. "Have some tea to warm yourselves," he said gently, gesturing for them to sit down. But then his voice turned serious, "However, Severus, I must remind you—the Death Eaters are related, whether closely or distantly, to most families in the wizarding world."
Snape raised an eyebrow, not immediately responding. He picked up his teacup, took a small sip, and then grimaced, setting it down. It was too sweet; he even saw an undissolved lump of sugar at the bottom.
Lily, on the other hand, held her teacup with both hands, seemingly just to absorb its warmth.
"In the initial years, when Voldemort was still hiding behind the pretense of 'pure-blood glory'," Dumbledore sighed, "many wizards were quite pleased and turned a blind eye to his claims.
"The Malfoys, the Lestranges, the Notts, and even some neutral families secretly funded his activities. It wasn't until they started torturing Muggles and using the Cruciatus Curse on their opponents that the wizarding world's attitude began to shift. But even then—"
"Even then, blood is thicker than water, after all," Snape interjected. "Those who now condemn the Death Eaters will likely be clinking glasses with them at the Christmas dinner table."
Dumbledore nodded slightly. "Although Barty Crouch of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is pushing for the Emergency Powers Act, hoping to take some more stringent measures against Voldemort's supporters."
"But if you wish to serve in the Ministry of Magic in the future," he looked sharply at Snape, continuing, "I advise restraint. Snapping a few wands now is harmless, but if it causes irreversible casualties, it will affect your future."
"Then why is Mr. Crouch pushing for such a policy?" Snape noted that Dumbledore had called Tom by his first name, which meant the security of their location was not a concern.
"He has no other choice," Dumbledore's voice deepened. "Crouch's rapid rise in the Ministry was due to his firm stance and attitude. There are new attacks every day now.
"If he doesn't take some decisive action and allows the chaos to continue, perhaps it won't be long before he and Minister Minchum are accused of weakness and incompetence, and dismissed, just like the previous Minister for Magic, Eugenia Jenkins, for mishandling things."
"Mr. Crouch is just putting out fires with gasoline, isn't he?" Snape nodded thoughtfully. "When the war ends, no one will like a Minister with the blood of their own relatives on his hands."
"Though," he paused, a sarcastic smile playing on his lips, "Mr. Crouch has dedicated his entire life to becoming the Minister for Magic. When all this is over, he won't be able to become Minister after all."
Dumbledore looked at Snape with surprise, a flicker of appreciation in his blue eyes. "A very shrewd analysis, Severus. Crouch is indeed chasing a phantom he will never grasp. He just doesn't want to believe it. So,
I hope you'll exercise some restraint."
"Don't worry, Professor," Snape waved a hand. "At least not until Mr. Crouch's new policy officially comes out. I'm not that foolish; there always needs to be someone taller to bear the brunt of it—"
Lily sat in the armchair beside Snape, quietly watching him and Dumbledore converse. The tea in her cup had grown cold, but she didn't seem to notice.
Her emerald green eyes were filled with complex emotions. This eloquent, sharp-witted Snape was a stark contrast to the sullen, taciturn boy she remembered.
It was as if she was seeing this person she had known for years for the very first time. The Snape in her memories would never have been so unreserved in front of the Headmaster, as if they were complete equals.
"Professor, I have a question I'd like to ask you," Snape straightened up. "Our encounter with the Death Eaters tonight, wouldn't that count as successfully resisting Voldemort once?"
"Why wouldn't it?" Dumbledore blinked. "You successfully repelled and captured Death Eaters; I certainly believe that counts as resisting him."
"Hmm—well, alright then," Snape's expression turned odd, and he rubbed his temples. "Then I'll have to participate in a few more Order of the Phoenix activities later on."
He certainly didn't want to be known as the one who had "resisted Voldemort three times."
It was only then that Snape seemed to suddenly remember there was a third person in the room and turned to Lily beside him. "Lily, do you want to come along?"
"No—" Lily's knuckles were white as she clutched her teacup, her voice barely a whisper. "I need to take care of my mum and dad's funeral arrangements."
Her voice choked, and she quickly lowered her head, her red hair falling to conceal her face.
"My condolences," Snape said. "If there's anything I can do to help, don't hesitate to ask."
Lily nodded slightly, her head still bowed.
Over the next few days, Snape specifically bought a plastic Jerry the Mouse mask from a Muggle children's store,
and wore it to five Order of the Phoenix activities.
Unfortunately, in the subsequent operations, they weren't able to capture any more Death Eaters; fortunately, he successfully snapped a dozen more wands.
Warnings about the "Turmeric Wand Killer" began to circulate among the Death Eaters—a masked madman who specialized in disarming or summoning their wands and then breaking them.
In the final battle, Snape encountered a new problem: the Death Eaters had started tying their wands to their wrists with fine dragon heartstring.
When he habitually murmured "Expelliarmus," he only saw the opponent briefly buckle, but the wand remained firmly attached to their hand.
"Blast it," Snape muttered, quickly ducking a red flash, his wand carving a sharp arc. "Diffindo!"
But trying to accurately hit the thin string with a spell was incredibly difficult, almost leaving him in the dire situation of having "no wand to collect."
After a dozen attempts, he finally managed to sever one of the strings.
As the black walnut wand sailed through the air, Snape felt as though he heard a heartbroken wail from afar—"My wand!"
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