Potions Master's office.
Glass jars of every size lined the shelves along the walls, each one filled with ingredients suspended in liquid.
Some looked almost normal—dried herbs, neatly sealed animal bones. Others made your skin crawl on instinct: eyeballs from unknown creatures slowly rotating in their preservative, thick sludge of indeterminate color that you really didn't want to examine too closely…
Snape had lit only a single candle on his desk, just enough to illuminate the area directly in front of him.
The rest of the office remained in deep shadow. Most of the wall shelves were hidden in darkness, with only the faint outlines of the jars and occasional glints of reflected light visible.
Snape liked it that way.
Bright light felt harsh to him. This half-lit, gloomy atmosphere helped his thoughts stay sharp.
Most of the older professors turned in early, but Snape was nowhere near ready for bed.
He was in his prime, full of energy, and these days he was genuinely busy—handling both Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts meant his lesson-planning load had more than doubled.
Especially now, with O.W.L.s for the fifth-years and N.E.W.T.s for the seventh-years looming at the end of the term.
The students were under heavy pressure, which meant the professors were too.
Snape picked up the vial of Wakefulness Potion on his desk, pulled out the stopper, and downed it in one gulp.
The moment the liquid hit his throat, a cool wave spread down to his stomach. The built-up fatigue vanished as if an invisible hand had brushed it away, and his mind snapped back to full alertness.
It was one of Lucien's inventions—called "Ox and Horse Potion," an absurdly crude name.
The first time Snape had heard it, he could hardly believe Lucien would pick something so vulgar.
Still, the effect was excellent. The recipe was simple, and you could brew a huge batch with very little material.
Snape sometimes fantasized about forcing a barrel of the stuff down the throats of every student who dared doze off in his class.
Too bad Hogwarts rules wouldn't allow it.
A little while later, Snape set down his quill and reviewed the finished lesson plan.
The theoretical framework for Defense Against the Dark Arts was solid, the spell breakdowns progressed logically from easy to advanced, and the practical counter-curse applications were clearly marked with key points…
A tiny, almost imperceptible smile flickered at the corner of his mouth before disappearing.
Snape leaned back in his chair.
He was convinced he was meant to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts.
That position should have been his all along.
His knowledge of the Dark Arts, his mastery of defensive spells, his grasp of real combat techniques—none of the rotating crop of instructors could touch him.
Was he supposed to be less qualified than a spineless coward who'd been possessed by a broken soul fragment? Or some flashy fraud who only knew how to deceive?
Snape didn't mind at all that Dumbledore still hadn't found a new Defense professor. In fact, he was quietly pleased.
If the position stayed open into next year, maybe Dumbledore would finally give it to him permanently.
As for the Potions position… plenty of people could fill it.
Slughorn might have retired, but the old man would probably come crawling back the second Dumbledore asked.
Besides, that post didn't carry any curse.
Defense Against the Dark Arts, on the other hand, was notoriously hard to staff.
Who would take on such a dangerous job for the salary they offered?
With no real competition, Snape had already started imagining himself officially stepping into the role.
"Hm?"
His gaze suddenly snapped toward the door.
In the dimness, something was seeping through the crack beneath it.
First came tiny specks of silver light, like someone had scattered a handful of crushed silver in the dark.
Then thin strands of silvery-white mist slipped silently through the gap and began drifting slowly across the room in the candlelight.
Snape's eyebrows twitched. He knew this mist.
"The Patronus Charm."
Or, more accurately, an incomplete, unshaped Patronus.
The spell was notoriously difficult. Only a handful of wizards could ever summon a fully formed, corporeal guardian.
Most people could only produce this formless silvery mist.
Either they had never managed anything more, or they had once succeeded but lost control the moment real danger appeared.
After all, it was an advanced spell that demanded total mental focus.
Even producing a bit of mist from the wand tip required the caster to concentrate completely on their happiest memory.
Snape's first thought was that some student was practicing the Patronus Charm in a nearby room.
But at this hour? Down in the dungeons?
Should he praise the kid for being so dedicated…
or just dock points?
He wasn't worried the student had been forced to use the spell in an emergency.
What, had a Dementor somehow slipped into Hogwarts?
Hah. Even if Dumbledore were going senile, he'd never allow something like that.
Letting dark creatures into the school…
The troll incident from earlier didn't count.
Snape stood up, eyes narrowing as he watched the silvery mist continue to spread.
The density of the mist… that wasn't something a beginner could produce. Whoever cast it had serious magical power.
And the fact that it had drifted all the way into his office…
Even if it had come from the nearest empty classroom, the range was far too large.
Snape drew his wand, ready to investigate.