The weather in September was still sweltering, and the doors and windows of the Three Broomsticks were all wide open.
Ding-ling!
The copper bell on the doorframe rang crisply, though no one had touched it.
As they stepped into the small pub, they were instantly surrounded by a scent mixed with sweetness, spice, and the mellow, woody aroma of age.
"Well, well, if it isn't our young geniuses from Hogwarts," Madam Rosmerta looked up from behind the bar. Today she was wearing a pale blue, low-cut robe, and her lightly dyed curls rested casually on her shoulders. "What wind has blown you lot into my corner of the world?"
"Good morning, Madam Rosmerta," Abbott greeted cheerfully, heading toward an empty table.
"My fond remembrance of your beauty, madam," said Snape with a slight nod as he passed the bar. He noticed the dark circles under her eyes and asked, "You look a little tired. Didn't sleep well last night?"
"A little," Madam Rosmerta yawned, pressing her slender fingers lightly to her temple. "Strangely enough, the Shrieking Shack was eerily quiet last night, there wasn't a single scream all through the night-"
"Truly odd, isn't it?" said a Hogsmeade villager nearby, looking equally exhausted as he joined in, "My house is just around there. That ghost's scream is more punctual than any alarm clock. When it suddenly stopped, it was even creepier."
"Tell me about it." Madam Rosmerta sighed and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "It's been going on for more than six years. For it to suddenly stop, it feels like something's missing. I kept tossing and turning until dawn before I finally fell asleep."
"Should we go and check what happened?" another villager suggested, though his voice clearly lacked conviction.
"Do you have a death wish?" Madam Rosmerta rolled her eyes. "I don't plan on becoming the next person to vanish inside the Shrieking Shack."
While they chatted idly, Snape and his group had already taken their seats.
"Speaking of which, you haven't been here in a long time, Severus." Madam Rosmerta began wiping a glass with a white linen cloth, casting him a teasing glance. "More than three months, wasn't it? I thought you'd forgotten which way the door to the Three Broomsticks opened."
"Well, it's our first outing of the term," Snape replied, sitting beside Pandora. "Who wouldn't want to enjoy a cool, refreshing glass of Butterbeer on a hot day?"
"Oh, please." Madam Rosmerta deftly filled several mugs of Butterbeer. Carrying the tray gracefully, she swayed out from behind the counter. "You were nowhere to be seen during the summer holidays. Out of everyone here, you're the only one who didn't show up. Young people should get out more."
As she leaned forward to place the mugs before them one by one, the faint scent of her perfume mixed naturally with the aroma of alcohol and brushed gently past their noses.
"What?" Snape looked at his companions in surprise. "You all came here over the summer?"
They all nodded in agreement.
"We've passed our Apparition Exams," Pandora said. "You didn't forget that, did you?"
"Ah," Madam Rosmerta straightened up, holding the tray against her chest with a small shake of her head. "It's only because he had fairer company that he forgot about me." With that, she turned back to the bar.
"What were you doing all summer, Severus?" Pandora narrowed her eyes. "All that time, and not a single letter."
"You didn't get his letter?" Little Barty looked at Pandora, then turned to Snape. "You wrote me one."
"That was a congratulatory note for Barty," Snape's mouth twitched slightly. "I wrote it ahead of time and mailed it before summer began."
"Over the holidays," he said carefully, "ever since... ever since I met Nagini, I've been trying to solve her problem. I had no time for anything else." He ended with a rueful smile toward Pandora.
"Has her condition improved lately?" Pandora's expression softened immediately, her eyes filled with genuine concern. Ever since Snape had told her about Nagini's tragic past, she had harbored endless sympathy for the little snake.
"Quite a bit," Snape answered cautiously. "With Professor Dumbledore's help, the situation has improved significantly."
"I do hope she recovers." Pandora sighed. "I can't imagine spending half a century alone under such circumstances..."
"She will," Snape comforted her. "Let's not dwell on sad things. Come on, let's drink to that."
There weren't many customers at this hour. Madam Rosmerta poured herself a small glass of Firewhisky, then walked gracefully over to them, leaning against the edge of the neighboring table and taking a delicate sip.
The position made her curves faintly visible under the robe, drawing a few unconscious glances from the boys. Snape, however, forced himself to stare at his mug, now was certainly not the time to make the same mistake twice.
"My friends, I heard a new joke over the summer," Abbott announced eagerly. "It's a joke about a witch, a Healer, and a Mibumibao."
Madam Rosmerta immediately looked at Abbott, her eyes glimmering with anticipation.
Abbott perked up and began telling the joke animatedly:
"A witch, a Healer, and a Mibumibao are drinking in a cozy little pub. The witch keeps coughing and says to the Healer, 'I've been coughing badly lately, my friend, do you have a remedy?'
"The Healer replies, 'I do, but the side effect is that it might make you laugh uncontrollably.' Seeing the witch nod in agreement, he pulls out a vial from his pocket and hands it to her.
"The witch takes it and downs the dark green liquid in one gulp. 'Tastes pretty good,' she says, laughing loudly. The Healer, infected by her laughter, grins at her.
"'Why aren't you laughing?' the witch asks the Mibumibao with a smile.
"'I can't,' the Mibumibao says calmly. 'What you drank was juice squeezed from my body.'"
When the joke ended, the table fell into brief silence. Everyone sat quietly holding their mugs.
Unexpectedly, Madam Rosmerta covered her mouth and laughed.
"Oh, Abbott, that's hilarious," she even held her stomach dramatically. "Thank you, that was a good one... By the way, I've just started serving a new Dragon Blood Reserve, would you like to try it? Only five-"
Snape glanced sidelong at her, puzzled. He clearly remembered that when Ron had told the exact same joke to Madam Rosmerta, she hadn't even cracked a smile. Ron had sulked for half an hour and been mercilessly mocked by Hermione for it.
So why was her reaction so different now? It couldn't be because Abbott was better-looking than Ron, he looked at Abbott's round, amiable face and firmly dismissed the thought.
Abbott, however, was clearly pleased with the reaction. He downed his Butterbeer in one gulp and declared, "I'll have a glass of the Dragon Blood Reserve, madam! I fully trust your taste!"
Madam Rosmerta happily noted down the order and turned to fetch the drink.
At that moment, a tawny owl swooped through the open window, dropping a copy of the Daily Prophet precisely onto a customer's table.
The man opened the paper and immediately frowned.
"What's wrong?" his companion asked.
"Ugh, another incident," the man sighed, his voice heavy with suppressed fear. "Things are getting worse. Another attack."
"The Dark Lord and his followers," his companion leaned in, "this time it's in Liverpool, a Muggle village. More than a dozen dead."
Madam Rosmerta silently placed the drink before Abbott and looked toward them.
The atmosphere in the bar instantly grew heavy, and the conversation shifted toward current events.
Amid the murmuring, a burly wizard with a thick beard slammed his hand on the table. "Terrible. The most important thing is to protect ourselves and our families. Let's not talk about this."
"The Ministry of Magic will catch them," a firm voice suddenly said. Snape turned to see a square-jawed, straw-haired fourth-year Gryffindor, George Podmore, standing up. "Justice is more important than self-preservation. I'll become an Auror one day, and I'll bring those Death Eaters to justice."
"Don't be foolish, boy," said an older wizard, shaking his head wearily. "We're pure-blood wizards. We just need to protect ourselves. Besides, what good does defying him do?"
"What good?" George's face flushed with anger as he raised his voice. "To save innocent lives, sir!"
Several of his classmates nodded, voicing agreement.
"Easier said than done, students," the bearded wizard sneered. "Wait until you've seen the Dark Lord's power with your own eyes, then you'll change your tune."
Snape stared at George, recalling how, during the summer, he'd joined the boy's father, Sturgis Podmore, in a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. Sturgis was a brave man, and it seemed his son had inherited that same spirit.
Suddenly, a jolt of realization struck Snape like lightning. His eyes widened as he shot to his feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor.
"I've got it!" he exclaimed.
He finally understood why Madam Rosmerta had behaved so differently: when Ron had told her the joke, she had already been placed under the Imperius Curse, controlled by the Death Eaters. Right now, she was still the free Madam Rosmerta.
Everyone in the pub turned to look at him.
"What did you get?" asked Little Barty curiously.
"Uh..." Snape froze for a second, then awkwardly said, "I... finally got why Abbott's joke was funny."
Everyone looked puzzled. Abbott, however, grinned proudly. "See? Even Severus appreciates my humor! Madam Rosmerta, bring him one just like mine!"
When the glass of Dragon Blood Reserve, worth five Galleons, was placed before him, Snape forced a strained smile. At least he'd earned one small reward out of this.
As they left the pub, Madam Rosmerta stood by the door to see them off. "Thank you, Severus," she said with a mischievous wink. "You just helped me sell another drink. You'd make quite the capable bartender."
Snape hesitated, then lowered his voice. "Did you really think that joke was funny?"
"Of course not," Madam Rosmerta answered naturally, waving goodbye to the remaining patrons. "Giving the proper response to a customer's joke is a basic skill for any pub owner." Her expression suddenly turned serious. "Don't tell me you honestly thought that joke was good? Oh, heavens-"
"No, not at all," Snape winked at her. "But I hope that next time I tell it to you, you'll at least laugh."
Madam Rosmerta winked back. "No problem. I promise I'll laugh, even if I have to fake it."
It was around noon. According to Little Barty's schedule, Saturday evenings were reserved for club gatherings across all year levels.
"I'm going to buy a few things," Snape told his companions, "to prepare for tonight's event."
"Fantastic, you're finally doing more!" Little Barty's eyes lit up. "That's how a club president should act! Need my help?"
"No," Snape shook his head. "I already have a plan."
In front of them, he drew his wand, gave it a wave, and vanished from the streets of Hogsmeade.
After the familiar sensation of compression, Snape appeared in a quiet alley in London. Muggles hurried past, none noticing the black-robed boy who had just materialized out of thin air.
"Enlighten the mind..." he murmured to himself as he headed toward the famous Foyles Bookstore.
The shop windows were filled with new books. Snape pushed the door open and, under the clerk's guidance, grabbed a shopping cart and began sweeping through the shelves, Two Treatises of Government, The Social Contract, The Struggle for Law... He nearly emptied the entire section on political philosophy and enlightenment.
Next, he turned to history, science, literature, fitness, and comics. By the time several carts were full, the clerk's look of curiosity had turned into pure delight.
"I'll take all of these," Snape said. "No need to wrap them."
When the clerk stared, dumbfounded, as Snape carried a stack of books so high it blocked his view and then stuffed them all into a small pouch, he had to cast a Confundus Charm to make the man's eyes glaze over as he continued scanning the items.
"Next, strengthen the body..." An hour later, Snape had not only bought dumbbells, barbells, and several sets of training equipment, but also raided a nearby supermarket's snack aisle, potato chips, spicy strips, chocolate, all sorts of bizarre carbonated drinks... even a few boxes of instant noodles.
When everything was tucked safely into his pouch, Snape patted the bulging pocket with satisfaction. These Muggle goods would open the eyes of the One Heart Society members, especially those of pure-blood descent, many of whom still believed Muggles survived on inferior food and lived as idle savages.
When Snape returned to Hogwarts, Little Barty and Abbott were setting up for the evening's event.
With a flick of his wand, several tables and chairs assembled themselves into bookshelves, and the books from his pouch flew up neatly to arrange themselves. The gym equipment he placed on the other side of the room.
"These Muggle books," Snape explained to the two, "you can read them whenever you have time, and we'll discuss them afterward." He walked toward the equipment, striking a mock-flexing pose. "As for these, they'll help us improve our wand movement speed. Or," he added with a cold smirk, "teach us how to break another wizard's nose with a single punch."
"Can this stuff really make you stronger?" Abbott asked curiously, touching the butterfly machine. "Without any potions?"
"More than that." Snape summoned a fitness magazine with Accio, flipped to a certain page, and showed it to them. "It also makes you look more manly..."
As members began arriving, Snape laid out the Muggle snacks on the tables.
The Muggle-born wizards immediately recognized them with excitement and eagerly began explaining to their classmates.
"Wait, this... this is edible?" a second-year Slytherin poked at a bag of chips.
"Oh, not directly," said a Muggle-born Gryffindor, tearing open the plastic wrapping with practiced ease. "You open it first, here, try it. Cheese and onion flavor."
Soon, the room was filled with the crisp crunch-crunch of chewing and a chorus of delighted exclamations.
"This is amazing! How could anything taste this good..."
Standing at the front, Snape surveyed the mixed faces of students from different Houses. Clearing his throat, he waited for the room to quiet down, only the faint rustling of packaging remained.
"So, how is it? Muggle stuff isn't bad, right?" he said kindly, gesturing toward the shelves. "There lies centuries of accumulated Muggle knowledge. Don't look down on them. Like these foods, Muggles can produce massive quantities of goods in a short time. They have no magic, yet their productivity far surpasses ours.
"It may not seem as miraculous as magic, but the amount of material Muggles create in a single day, no number of wizards waving their wands could ever hope to match it."
"And," his gaze swept casually over a few students wearing clearly ill-fitting robes, "if you're willing to read and write reflections on those books, the club will even offer rewards, like a new robe and textbooks for a whole year."
"Any book?" a pure-blood student held up a Green Lantern comic.
"Anything on those shelves," Snape nodded. "Knowledge recognizes no hierarchy."