"Welcome, our new students!" Dumbledore rose from his seat, arms spread wide in a gesture of warmth. His eyes twinkled beneath a brilliant smile.
"And welcome back, our old friends! Now—tuck in!"
With a soft whoosh, platters filled themselves with steaming roasts, golden potatoes, buttery corn, and fragrant puddings. The House tables groaned beneath the sudden arrival of feast-worthy magic.
Laughter and chatter echoed across the hall. The Slytherin table buzzed with its usual undertone of restrained superiority, silver goblets catching the light as they clinked in toast or clattered against heavy plates.
When the first course vanished, dessert replaced it instantly—fruit tarts, chocolate gateaux, and glowing orange puddings appeared like conjured dreams.
"Severus," Abbo mumbled, his mouth full of treacle tart, "I don't see Avery. He skipped the feast?"
Down the table, Mulciber, Regulus, and Barty Crouch Jr. sat close together, whispering quietly with guarded expressions.
Snape had a sinking suspicion about Avery's absence—an absence he likely had something to do with.
Feigning ignorance, he replied vaguely, "I'm not sure. Bit odd though."
At last, the plates and goblets cleaned themselves, gleaming like polished brass.
Dumbledore rose again. The hum of conversation faded at once.
"Just a moment of your attention, please," he said, smiling serenely. "An old man must say a few tiresome things."
A few chuckles rippled through the hall.
"I must remind you that the Forbidden Forest is, as always, off-limits to all students. And only third-years and above are permitted to visit Hogsmeade on weekends.
"More importantly, I am pleased to welcome Professor Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank to our staff this year. She will be teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts."
Grubbly-Plank?
Snape's head turned sharply toward the staff table.
An elderly witch with a strict chin and immaculately trimmed grey hair stood up beside Dumbledore. She nodded once, curt and professional.
Snape remembered her from the books—she had once substituted for Hagrid in Care of Magical Creatures. Now she was teaching Defence?
Was she Dumbledore's backup for... emergencies?
"And," Dumbledore continued, his expression dimming, "I suspect many of you are aware that a war is being fought beyond these walls.
"Voldemort and his followers continue their cruel work, striking fear into the wizarding world."
A wave of uneasy breaths swept through the Great Hall.
Dumbledore paused.
"The times are dangerous," he said, voice quiet but resolute. "You must take your safety seriously. Be vigilant. Report anything suspicious to a member of staff.
"Now—off you go. Rest well, and prepare yourselves for tomorrow."
Chairs scraped, benches groaned. Students poured out of the Hall in clusters, yawning and whispering as they made their way to the dormitories.
Back in the familiar underwater dorms of Slytherin House, Avery's bed stood conspicuously empty. No trunk, no robes, no books. Just dust and the few textbooks he'd left behind last term.
Snape lay awake, wondering if Avery had dropped out entirely. Had he already joined the Death Eaters? And if so—what ripples would that send into the future?
The next morning, breakfast passed under a canopy of soft blue sky projected above the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. Wisps of white cloud drifted lazily.
Today was Course Selection Day.
After finishing their meal, sixth-years remained at their tables, waiting to finalize timetables.
"Let me see what you picked," Abbo said, snatching Snape's form. "I need to make sure we line up. Being the lone Slytherin freak in class? Not exactly a dream come true."
He scribbled a few changes onto his own parchment and handed it back, grinning. "Thank Merlin you're here."
"Piss off," Snape muttered, flicking a piece of toast crust at him.
Sixth-year timetables were more complicated than before. Heads of House needed to personally verify every student's O.W.L. scores to determine eligibility for N.E.W.T.-level classes.
Before long, Professor Slughorn waddled over from the staff table, his great belly leading the way.
"Hmm… Excellent in Potions," he muttered, peering over his spectacles at Snape's parchment. "Yes, yes, you may continue in my N.E.W.T. class.
"Let's see… also Outstandings in Herbology, Transfiguration, Charms, and Defence Against the Dark Arts. E in Care of Magical Creatures—still respectable."
He peered over his glasses. "What are you aiming for, young man? Auror? Healer, perhaps?"
"I haven't decided, sir. But I believe these subjects—especially Potions—are a refined, elegant science. Worthy of pursuit."
Slughorn gave him a look of faint surprise, stroking his silver walrus moustache thoughtfully.
"Well said. Quite well said. Very good. Next—" he handed the form back and waddled on.
Minutes later, Abbo had his schedule sorted as well. In addition to Snape's core six subjects, he had added Muggle Studies.
"We've got a free period now," Abbo said, scanning his timetable. "First class isn't till ten. I'm heading back to the common room. You coming?"
"You go ahead. I want to have a quick walk alone. I'll see you in class."
Snape's thoughts were already elsewhere. All summer, he'd been obsessing over something—today, he'd finally act on it.
He ascended to the eighth floor, quiet and determined, moving past torchlit corridors and creaking suits of armour until he reached a large tapestry depicting Barnabas the Barmy's doomed attempt to teach ballet to trolls.
As Snape approached, the trolls froze mid-pummel, eyeing him suspiciously.
He checked both ends of the hallway—empty.
Then he walked from a stained window at one end of the corridor to a tall vase at the other, three times.
"I need a place to hide something… I need a place to hide something…"
On the third pass, a door melted out of the smooth stone wall.
Snape hesitated only a moment before gripping the bronze handle and slipping inside.
The Room of Requirement sealed behind him. The sounds of the castle vanished like breath into snow.
It was cavernous—like a cathedral built of forgotten things.
Piled high were generations of hidden relics from Hogwarts students. Towers of broken furniture. Dead or near-dead magical objects. Dust-caked bottles containing long-congealed potions.
There were cracked cauldrons, splintered wands, rusted blades, and thousands upon thousands of discarded books, robes, and trinkets.
Snape stepped further in, awe and ambition gleaming in his eyes.