Snorting, the student glanced for a moment toward the staff table, where a frowning McGonagall watched him.
"Damn snake... Just wait till later. I'll beat the stupidity out of you."
He had no choice but to grit his teeth, sit back down, and glare at Alan with displeasure.
With each second, more students entered the hall.
Soon a bell rang, followed by Albus Dumbledore's voice:
"Please take your seats."
The still-chattering students fell silent under the old wizard's gaze.
As soon as everyone was seated, he continued with his kind smile:
"Another year has come to an end. On behalf of the headmaster, I congratulate you and wish you never to give up and always achieve your goals!
Well, I won't keep you in suspense and announce this year's winners.
The scores are as follows: fourth place... Gryffindor — two hundred and seventy-five..."
The hall immediately filled with applause.
Students from the named house only lowered their heads in shame.
The four Marauders looked especially crushed: it was their fault.
They dared not raise their eyes to their housemates.
James burned Alan — who smiled at him — with a hateful glare.
"Third place..." The headmaster continued. "Hufflepuff — three hundred and ten points."
The hall filled with applause again.
Unlike Gryffindor, they did not look crushed: third place was nothing new.
"Second place... Ravenclaw, with three hundred and thirty points.
And finally, first place and this year's champions — Slytherin!
This year they earned three hundred and eighty points. Congratulations!"
The old wizard nodded with the same smile.
The Slytherin table erupted in applause and joyful shouts.
From the other houses, only a few clapped.
Over the Gryffindor table hung deathly silence.
"And the House Cup this year goes to Slytherin."
The emblems hanging behind the staff table and along the walls flashed green.
The "snake" house students jumped from their seats, joyfully tossing their hats into the air.
Alan did not just sit: he joined the "celebration."
After that, everyone calmed down and, chatting happily, began the feast.
"They feed you pretty well here..." Biting off a piece of chicken leg, the mage narrowed his eyes contentedly.
"Though it can't compare to dragon meat, it's still very good." He nodded, washing it down with juice.
"But I wouldn't mind some wine..."
Half an hour before curfew, all the food vanished from the tables.
The headmaster stood and, surveying the students, said:
"Well, today's celebration is over. Don't forget to pack your things: the train leaves tomorrow at eleven."
Though some students were unhappy the food had disappeared so suddenly, they still rose from the tables and headed for the exit.
Alan said goodbye to Myrtle — now surrounded by Ravenclaws — and left the hall.
He returned to his room without hindrance and quickly began packing his few belongings...
The next day, Snape stood on the platform with a small battered suitcase on his back.
He examined the red train with mild curiosity.
"In small things, this world has advanced far. But simple teleportation is still better... Eh... Stupid rules. Only in sixth year can I get permission to use Apparition. Though I master teleportation magic — far safer than this — I don't want to attract the attention of the local 'law enforcers.' Easier to endure two months. Then, at the start of sixth year, submit the application and use it freely without worry..."
Approaching a man in a red uniform with a round cap, the young man handed over his suitcase and boarded the train.
Quickly reaching his house's carriage, he took an empty seat and pulled out the book on the Patronus.
"Is this seat free?"
"Of course. Sit. I thought you'd leave Hogwarts by Apparition." The person sitting opposite was none other than John Macmillan, the now former Slytherin prefect.
"Decided to ride one last time. After all, it's my last visit to this place." He replied with a nostalgic smile, sitting opposite by the window to glance at the castle one final time.
"These seven years passed quickly..."
"You sound like an old man."
"Hm?" Looking at Snape with mild surprise, the young man shook his head.
"You've changed..."
"Under certain circumstances, people change a lot. By the way, what do you plan to do?" Raising his eyes from the book, Alan asked — though he already knew the answer.
He had gathered plenty of information about the Macmillan family.
What appealed to him was their neutrality and the artifact shop run by his father.
"Follow in my father's footsteps, of course. But I understand you're not asking just like that. And you've been gathering information...?"
"I wasn't trying to hide it." Waving lazily, he beckoned one of the black needles to himself with a finger.
"I want to sell a certain artifact."
"An artifact?" As soon as the needle landed in Macmillan's hand, he realized it was under transfiguration.
He tucked it into his jacket pocket, infusing it with his own magic.
"I'll show it to my father."
"I'm sure he won't be disappointed. And if the price suits me, I'm ready to sell a few more. But I'll warn you upfront: if he tries to disassemble it, he'll lose his hands. That's not a threat: it's a fact. I added a small 'security system' to the artifact."
Though Macmillan's smile faltered, he still nodded.
"And here: my address in the Muggle world. I'll be there for a while..."
"I thought you were just a brilliant potion-maker. Turns out you're an artificer too..." But seeing his companion's frown, the young man smiled guiltily.
"Fine, I'm quiet..."
After arriving in the town of Cokeworth — where Severus had lived before — Alan felt mixed emotions.
On one hand, though he possessed the real Snape's memories, he felt surprise at the sight of the buildings, cars rushing back and forth, and people's clothing.
On the other: the town evoked a depressive feeling.
Dark, monotonous houses; gloomy clouds covering the sky; horribly polluted air that made him nauseous from the nearby textile factory, whose chimneys belched acrid smoke that had rendered the nearest forests and rivers uninhabitable.
And the indifferent — or outright gloomy — faces of people almost completely ruined his good mood.
It all worked no worse than Dementors: dark creatures that sucked out any positive emotions.
"Now I at least understand why he fell in love with Lily... Always cheerful, pretty, and very talkative: in this gray town, she was like a breath of fresh air..."
Approaching the house, the mage felt the gaze of that very girl on his back: after all, they were almost neighbors.
"I'll need to sell this little house quickly and move somewhere with cleaner air..."
After a few blocks, the mage reached Spinner's End: an unremarkable street where Severus's house stood.
"What a palace..." Examining the simple two-story brick house with a tiled roof, the mage increasingly wanted to leave this "wonderful" town.
As soon as he opened the door, a disgusting musty smell hit his nose.
"Mm..." Snapping his fingers, he created a barrier around his head to filter the air and closed the door behind him.
"W-who's... h-here?!" A furious hoarse voice sounded from one of the rooms.
From around the corner appeared a person(?)... bloated face, bags under the eyes, rough earthy-toned skin, emaciation, dirty clothes torn in places, and a disgusting smell...
"You..."
"I'm surprised they haven't thrown you in prison yet."
"Heh-heh-heh... So you dare... ~hic!... talk to your father like that, you damn monster..." Grinning, he swayed toward Alan.
"Time to show who's boss here..."
"Really? Like you did with your wife?"
"Don't call that creature my wife!" The man roared furiously, swinging at Snape.
"A simple human wants to hit a wizard... If I tell my classmates, no one will believe it." Waving lazily, the drunk's body slammed into the wall with a thud.
"Sleep for now. I'll wake you later." Using the perception-enhancing spell again, the young man headed toward the basement: where Severus's mother had kept all her books and magical items — and taught her son with them.
The basement itself had nothing special to distinguish it from others. Just junk — that said it all.
In the corner stood two shelves. One held ordinary books and rather worn magical ones: each decades old.
But Alan cared little for them. Another item caught his attention: a small box emanating barely perceptible magical power.
"This was easier than I thought..." Lifting it, the young man thought with a smile.
Opening it, he took out a simple-looking mirror... or more precisely: a cursed mirror.
"The Curse of Discord. In such a weak state, it's almost harmless and unnoticeable. But with prolonged exposure, even wizards can't resist — let alone Muggles. And if it didn't affect Severus, it was given two or three years before he entered Hogwarts... All that's left is to find the sender of this 'gift.' The simplest way is a ritual to find everyone who ever touched the mirror or box. But for that, I need materials. And to get materials: Galleons..." Sighing tiredly, the mage looked toward a dark cloth.
"Hm?" Pulling it aside, he raised an eyebrow in surprise.
Looking at him was a woman about twenty-five with long dark hair, clean pale skin typical of aristocrats, a strict yet soft gaze, and a slightly elongated face that did nothing to spoil her beauty.
"Apparently, she expected this might happen someday and wanted to create a living portrait. But she was a bit late..." Snape thought with a sad smile, feeling the magical power emanating from the portrait.
"A witch who died from beatings: it's almost funny... Something's not right here. I won't believe she could blindly fall in love with a simple Muggle and endure beatings. Fine if she were ordinary — but a witch, and an aristocrat? It would have been no trouble to stun him or erase his memory and settle elsewhere, doing the same to another house's owners... Nonsense. A love potion was definitely used: only that could bind someone so strongly. All that's left is to find who did it and turn their life into hell. Then I'll owe Severus nothing more."
Covering the portrait with the cloth again, he looked at the collar on the shelf and grinned bloodthirstily...