"Today we will learn an important defensive spell, as well as a practical casting technique. Who knows the advantage of casting silently?" Professor Grubbly-Plank asked.
Snape hesitated before raising his hand, but clearly someone had raised theirs faster.
"Very good, Miss Evans?" Professor Grubbly-Plank inclined her head slightly toward Lily.
"It keeps your opponent from knowing what spell you're about to cast," Lily said. "That gives you a split-second advantage and the element of surprise."
"An absolutely perfect answer," Professor Grubbly-Plank said. "Five points to Gryffindor. In real combat, even the slightest advantage can lead to a completely different outcome. And besides, this is one of the subjects emphasized on the N.E.W.T. exams.
"Next, we will study the Shield Charm. Then, pair up into groups of two. One of you will attempt to curse the other, while the other will try to defend with Protego,without saying a word..."
After the lecture on Protego was finished, Snape and Abbott paired off for practice.
"What were you doing just now?" Abbott asked.
"I went over near the grounds," Snape decided not to tell him the truth. He lifted his left arm. "Got swiped by a Hippogriff. Luckily it didn't hurt me. They seemed rather gentle, really..."
"Pfft-" Abbott tried to hold it in but let out a stifled laugh. "You and Hagrid should have plenty to talk about."
"Quiet, focus." Professor Grubbly-Plank had come over to inspect them.
Snape and Abbott immediately closed their mouths and went back to practicing.
Abbott's face turned red as he raised his wand, glaring intently at Snape.
Bored from waiting for a spell that might never come, Snape couldn't help but think Abbott had just given him a reminder.
It was time to find an opportunity to get in touch with Hagrid. Perhaps later, he might even have to borrow a few roosters from him to deal with the Basilisk.
That afternoon's Potions class was no challenge at all for Snape.
He didn't even need to consult the book, brewing the pale-colored finished potion with ease.
Of course, if the prize had been one more vial of Felix Felicis, he wouldn't have minded demonstrating to Slughorn the four different brewing methods of Draught of Living Death.
"Your potion is also very well-made," Slughorn said regretfully to Lily, "but Severus's is still a touch superior."
Snape took the small vial of golden liquid, held it up to the candlelight and gave it a shake, then slipped it contentedly into an inner pocket of his robes.
The frustrated expressions on the faces of James and Sirius gave him no small amount of satisfaction.
When the bell rang, everyone packed up and headed out of the classroom.
"Wait a moment, Severus."
Just as Snape was about to follow the stream of students out, Slughorn called him back.
While fastening the golden clasp on his dragon-hide briefcase, Slughorn said, "How about dinner with me Saturday evening? A small gathering.
"I've invited Regulus Black, Lily Evans, and a few others, as well as the famous Auror Fabian Prewett. Perhaps you've read about him and his brother Gideon in the Daily Prophet."
Before Snape could reply, Slughorn's eyes fell on Abbott, who was waiting at the doorway. He gave him a slight bow.
"Of course, I very much hope Mr. Abbott will do me the honor of joining us as well. During the summer, I happened to see a photograph of you and your father on his desk.
"I must say, his acquisition of Quality Quidditch Supplies was quite a brilliant deal..."
Slughorn cheerfully pulled out two invitations tied with purple ribbon and handed them to Abbott and Snape, then tucked his briefcase under his arm and walked out of the dungeon classroom.
"He's invited me before," Abbott said, as they climbed the staircase, crossed the Entrance Hall, and went to lunch. "I came up with all sorts of excuses to turn him down."
"That's not the point," Snape said, sitting down at the Slytherin table with a strange expression. "Quality Quidditch Supplies is your family's?"
"Oh, you mean the shop in Diagon Alley,yes."
Abbott spooned some vegetable salad onto his plate.
"My father just acquired it. He's on good terms with Devlin Whitehorn, so now our shop can stock the latest Nimbus brooms as soon as they're released."
"And you never thought to tell me? I actually argued with you about paying for snacks!" Snape heaped a spoonful of meat sauce onto his own plate. "From now on, all the food on the train is your treat!"
"No problem. It's not like I'll ever run out of Galleons." Abbott said lightly. "On the train back, I was going to ask whether that money bag was just your week's allowance."
"Screech-" Snape's fork froze mid-stab, scraping loudly against his plate.
He glared at Abbott. "All this food and you still can't keep your mouth shut?"
After eating his fill, Snape began thinking over what he ought to do next.
To prevent his unusual identity from being discovered, he wanted to make his actions appear consistent, tying everything together step by step to look as reasonable as possible.
Honestly, he didn't fully trust Dumbledore. After all, to achieve his goals, the wise old man had been willing to gamble not only Snape's life but also the life of the Boy Who Lived.
And according to Dumbledore's arrangements in the original story, Snape would inherit the Elder Wand after killing him. Needless to say, that ending spoke for itself.
Snape tossed his utensils aside. "Come on, let's go look around the Trophy Room."
They walked briskly up the stairs, turned a few corners, and reached the fourth floor.
Inside the Trophy Room, crystal display cases glittered in the slanting sunlight. Medals, trophies, shields, and statues gleamed silver and gold in the soft afterglow.
"Look at this," Snape said, pointing at a display case in the corner. Inside was a dusty golden medal. "Here's a Medal for Special Services to the School."
"T.M. Riddle, 1943." Abbott read the inscription. "Why was he awarded this?"
"No idea," Snape shook his head. "Let's look at something else."
They soon found Riddle's name again,on an old, faded Medal for Magical Merit, and in the roll of past Head Boys.
"This guy was amazing," Abbott said enviously. "If only I could be like him."
"Then you'd better work for it," Snape said with mock encouragement. "Not me, though. If I could just become Head Boy next year, I'd be satisfied."
"You're not even a prefect," Abbott said in surprise. "How could you be Head Boy?"
"Is there any rule that says a non-prefect can't be Head Boy?"
Snape headed toward the door of the Trophy Room. "If I win a Medal for Special Services to the School, it wouldn't be too much to ask the Headmaster for the Head Boy position, would it?
"There's nothing else here worth looking at. I'm going to the library to check what happened in 1943. Maybe I'll learn how that medal was earned. Want to come with me?"