"However," said Dumbledore, a mischievous glint flashing in his eyes, "I do have some good news I can share with you."
"You've found another lead on one of the Horcruxes?" Snape leaned forward slightly, his voice edged with wariness.
Could it be that the Headmaster had already discovered the ring's existence? If so, Snape would have to keep a very close watch on him.
"No, not that sort of good news," Dumbledore said, waving his hand lightly, his tone slow and almost leisurely. "It's about the Defense Against the Dark Arts position for the next school year. We finally have a candidate."
"That can barely be considered good news," Snape raised an eyebrow. "After so many years of teachers changing every term, I'm surprised you can still find anyone willing to take the job."
"Yes, I've troubled quite a few old friends over the years," Dumbledore sighed, pulling a letter from the pile of parchments on his desk. "For their safety, I've always made sure they resign, voluntarily or otherwise, before the year's end.
"So, Professor Graplan will be leaving Hogwarts in a few months," Dumbledore said with a helpless shrug, then gestured for Snape to open the letter. "She doesn't even want to stay until exams are over."
Snape picked up the letter, unfolded the parchment, and saw that it was written by Abraxas Malfoy.
Abraxas was Lucius Malfoy's father, the grandfather of Draco, who had not yet been born.
In the letter, old Mr. Malfoy expressed strong condemnation toward Dumbledore's educational policies and the recently held Dueling Club competitions.
Mr. Malfoy wrote:
"No one believes that allowing pure-blood wizards to stand on the same stage as Muggle-borns in competition is in any way aligned with fairness or justice.
"If any Muggle-born were to, through base trickery or a cowardly sneak attack, by some mischance defeat a pure-blood wizard, it would bring nothing but shame and disgrace upon the entire wizarding world.
"It must be emphasized that, at the root, I believe such people should never have been allowed in this school in the first place.
"I, Abraxas Malfoy, have formally submitted an application to the Board of Governors to assume the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor for the coming academic year..."
When Snape finished reading, a strange and slightly twisted expression appeared on his face. "Why are there always people lining up to get themselves killed?"
"Exactly my thought," Dumbledore said, a faintly meaningful smile curving his lips. "I suspect he fancies himself one of Voldemort's most loyal Death Eaters. Perhaps Mr. Malfoy naively believes that Tom's curse will spare his servants.
"I accepted his request without a moment's hesitation. There was no need for him to pressure me through the Board."
"That really is good news, Professor," Snape nodded in agreement. "The fewer of those old relics around, the better. They should've been swept away by the times long ago."
"You're still far too extreme in your thinking, Severus," Dumbledore remarked.
"What else would you have me think?" Snape said with a faint, humorless smile. "Someone always has to pay the price, so why shouldn't it be them?"
"By the way, Professor," Snape said suddenly, as though he had just remembered something, "I have a suggestion. Perhaps you could start your investigation with the previous generation of the Gaunt family. Of course," he added, "as always, I'd like to accompany you."
He had decided it was time to take initiative. Living in constant fear was no way to survive.
"Thank you, Severus," Dumbledore said gently, his eyes filled with quiet appreciation. "I've already found a few leads. Many years ago, a Ministry official named Bob Ogden encountered members of the Gaunt family during an assignment.
"Since you're interested, let us pay Mr. Ogden a visit next weekend."
Snape felt secretly relieved, thank Merlin he had brought it up. Dumbledore's quick action truly lived up to his reputation.
The next day was the trip to Hogsmeade.
At long last, the sun broke through the heavy clouds, spilling light across the road leading to the village. But the temperature was still low, and the wind remained sharp and biting.
Young Barty had joined Snape's group directly. Now, he could not, and did not need to, attend the Walpurgis gatherings anymore.
This time, Snape had sent an owl in advance to Madam Rosmerta of the Three Broomsticks, reserving a large table.
As soon as they pushed open the wooden door of the Three Broomsticks, a wave of warm air mixed with the sweet, buttery scent of butterbeer enveloped them. They quickly escaped the cold wind and stepped into the tavern.
They had barely sat down for two minutes before Madam Rosmerta came swaying over from behind the bar.
She carried several bottles of butterbeer and one bottle of red wine, her shiny black high heels clicking crisply on the wooden floor.
Today, Madam Rosmerta wore a sky-blue, lace-edged headscarf that made her fair skin look even paler and softer by contrast.
"Thank you, Madam," Snape said, his gaze following her movements. "You didn't have to bring it over, we were just about to fetch it ourselves."
"Happy birthday, Abbott," Madam Rosmerta said with a playful squint and a smile. "Severus told me to keep a table for you all, he said you were throwing him a birthday celebration."
"Oh, dear!" Snape exclaimed, sounding half-amused and half-reproachful. "Madam, we were hoping to surprise him!"
"My bringing the drinks personally doesn't count as a surprise?" Madam Rosmerta shot Snape a mock glare, her tone teasing. "This bottle of wine is a special gift for you, Abbott. I hope you'll like it."
"That's really a surprise!" Abbott said, blushing slightly, looking delightedly at the bottle of wine on the table. "I love it, thank you so much, Madam!"
"Wait a moment," Snape suddenly remembered the bottles he had once taken from the Hogwarts kitchens, the ones brewed by house-elves who stomped the grapes with their feet. "Madam, was this wine brewed by house-elves?"
"No, I made it myself," Madam Rosmerta said, glancing at Snape with a puzzled expression. "Why such a strange question? What difference does it make who brewed it?"
"How did you make it?" Snape asked instinctively.
"With magic, of course," Madam Rosmerta said, picking up her tray and turning back toward the bar. "I really don't know what goes on in your head sometimes, Severus."
"Oh, all right," Snape said, though for some reason, he felt a faint, inexplicable sense of disappointment.