Harry Potter: Beyond Good and Evil in the Wizarding World-Chapter 11 - 10. History.

By evening, an hour before the banquet, he finally finished.

"’Hidden in the mouth of the snake.’ Hm." Severus exhaled and closed the book. "Nothing is clear."

He sat with it.

On the surface, the legacy was inside a snake’s mouth. But "snake" could mean something else entirely. Slytherins were called snakes. It might be a statue, a painting, anything that depicted one, or Salazar himself. The man had been a narcissist, by all accounts. The entrance was most likely tied to his image. The only real problem was Parseltongue. He had never studied it. If it was required to enter, he would need to find someone who knew it and learn it from them. It was not some rare inborn gift, after all. It could be learned.

His hand moved toward his wand by reflex. He stopped it, used telekinesis instead, and calmly walked the books back to their shelves.

Still turning the problem over, he left the library.

The moment he stepped out, Lily put her book back and followed.

She turned a corner and walked straight into someone, and went down hard.

"Why are you following me?" Severus’s voice was flat, edged with irritation.

"I am not following you!" She scrambled upright, wand out, pointing it at his chest. "And the Headmaster may believe you, but I know you are not Sev. What have you done with him?"

"I ate him. Then I used a potion to take his appearance."

He pushed her wand tip aside and smiled at her, a slow and rather unpleasant smile that made her step back.

"What exactly are you going to do about it? You ended our friendship yourself. So leave me alone and stop following me, or I will go to the Headmaster."

He turned and walked toward the Great Hall and did not look back.

Lily stood very still, watching him go, her wand still raised and her hands visibly shaking.

"I will prove you are not Sev."

"Hey, Lily, what are you doing here?"

Four boys came around the corner. One of them trailed a metre behind the rest, looking thoroughly miserable.

"James."

The moment she saw him, the fear from the encounter with Severus dissolved almost entirely.

"I was just thinking." She smiled.

Then she looked past them, puzzled. Lupin was dragging his feet at the back, head down, dejected.

"Did something happen?"

The other three went rigid. Their faces drained. As one, their hands moved reflexively toward their backsides.

The Great Hall was where all meals were served, along with the great celebrations of the school year: the beginning of term and the end of it. Four long tables filled the space, crowded with excited students chatting over one another. The staff table stood at the far end. Behind it hung an enormous green banner bearing the Slytherin emblem, and smaller banners ran along the walls.

Severus walked in and headed straight for the Slytherin table.

"Not bad," he thought, taking in the dishes that were practically overflowing the tables. The festive energy in the room was infectious. He felt it pulling at him before he had consciously decided to let it.

I think tonight I can actually let myself relax.

As he approached his seat he noticed the ghosts drifting overhead in large numbers, and smiled to himself. Then, from the corner of his eye, he caught a familiar figure standing alone in the corner of the hall, away from everything.

He tilted his head and changed course.

Myrtle, the ghost of a fourteen-year-old girl, was sitting apart from everyone, watching the chattering students from a distance. Longing was written plainly across her face, and underneath it, quiet envy.

"Myrtle. Why are you sitting all the way over here?"

She looked up at the sound of a familiar voice, mildly startled. Few people ever spoke to her. Among the students she had a dreadful reputation, and she had very little in common with the older ghosts. Many of them were centuries old.

"Severus. I am glad you are all right. But you should go."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Is something wrong? Or are you upset I did not come and visit after Madam Pomfrey discharged me?" He said it with a smile and tried to pat her head. His hand passed straight through, and he looked briefly embarrassed. "Forgot."

"No, it is not that. It is just. you are from Slytherin, and they do not like Muggle-borns. If you talk to me, they will start something."

"Ah. Forget it. I have no friends there, so there is nothing to lose. And I do not particularly care what they think. Mind if I stand here with you until the banquet starts?"

She looked flustered by such blunt honesty.

"Wonderful." Without waiting for a reply, Severus leaned against the wall and glanced toward the staff table.

"You have been here a long time. I imagine you have accumulated a few interesting stories."

"Stories?"

"Yes. Like this one a ghost told me once. One evening, a Gryffindor student had detention late with Filch. Running back through the dark corridors toward his common room, he realised he had missed dinner, and his stomach was making itself heard. He slowed down and dug through his pockets, but the only thing he found was a lemon drop, which he hated. He was cursing himself quietly when his stomach went again. He stared at the sweet. Just as he was about to give in and eat it, footsteps echoed in the corridor."

At that point, Severus let his voice drop, pulling a darker quality into it.

Nearby Ravenclaws went very quiet. Even Myrtle was leaning in.

"The boy flinched and called out: ’Who is there?!’ Silence. Then the footsteps again, closer this time. ’Who is it?!’ Nothing. Just silence and those approaching steps, louder with every second. He backed away. He tried to run, tripped over something, and went down. He curled up on the floor, eyes squeezed shut, and the steps kept coming. And then." Severus paused. "They stopped. Right beside his ear."

More students had drifted over. Hufflepuffs too. Everyone was waiting.

"He heard rustling. Then a smacking sound. Then satisfied muttering: ’Mmm. Lemon.’ He recognised the voice immediately. He opened his eyes." Another pause, properly held this time. "Headmaster Dumbledore."

Eyes went wide across the gathered crowd. The older students smiled, recognising the shape of the story. But Severus was not finished.

"The boy stammered: ’H-Headmaster?’ He could not believe what he was seeing. A wrapper fell onto his face. The Headmaster looked down at him. Squinted at him for a long, deeply uncomfortable second. Then said, very quietly: ’You cannot prove anything.’ He lifted his gaze, turned, and walked back into the darkness. The boy was found unconscious in the corridor the following morning. Whether it was the real Headmaster or an elaborate prank on a first-year, no one ever knew. But remember: if you stay out past curfew and wander the dark corridors of Hogwarts at night, always carry a lemon drop. Because. you might run into. the ’Headmaster’?"

On that last, questioning note, several first- and second-years shuddered and immediately began patting their pockets. The older students were barely holding themselves together.

"That is the story."

"I-Is it true?" A shaggy twelve-year-old was staring at Severus with enormous eyes.

"Of course not. I made it up just now," Severus said pleasantly.

He let a beat pass, then lowered his voice.

"But you had better carry a lemon drop all the same."

The students dissolved into laughter. The twelve-year-old went red.

Ahem. Ahem.

"Quite an entertaining story, Mr. Snape." The laughter cut off immediately.

"Did you enjoy it, Headmaster?" Severus turned.

Dumbledore stood there, working his beard thoughtfully between his fingers, smiling in the way he smiled when something genuinely pleased him. McGonagall, just behind him, was frowning.

"Of course. But why choose me as the main character?"

"That day I noticed a dish of lemon drops on your desk. You are the only professor with a sweet tooth, so it seemed natural." Severus sounded slightly sheepish. "I hope I did not offend you."

"Of course not." Dumbledore reached into his sleeve and produced a wrapped sweet with a lemon printed on it.

Under the stares of the assembled students, he put it in his mouth.

He lowered his glasses. He squinted at the now-paling crowd. He turned and walked calmly toward the staff table, smacking contentedly.

McGonagall closed her eyes for a moment, sighed deeply, and followed.

What a cheerful old man. Severus watched the pale first-years with quiet amusement, then turned back to Myrtle, who was brick-red from all the attention.

"Will you not tell us something too? I am sure you have no shortage of material."

"Well." She gathered herself. "I will try."

"Wonderful." He extended a palm toward the Gryffindor table, used telekinesis to pull a chair across, and sat down.

"Oi! Get your own house’s chair!" A sixth-year was already on his feet, several others rising with him.

"Do you know where we are?" Severus asked mildly, that insolent edge sitting lightly in his voice.

The sixth-year stopped. Glanced at the staff table. McGonagall was looking at him as though she was considering whether arson was technically against the rules.

"Go ahead and take it back. I do not mind taking another fifty points from Gryffindor."

"Damn you. You had better not wander the corridors alone."

"Is that a threat? Out loud, in front of witnesses?" Severus’s tone remained pleasant. "You do not seem particularly concerned about your house. I would also remind you that powerful wizards, such as our Headmaster, tend to have considerably better hearing than the rest of us. Sit down."

He turned back to Myrtle without waiting to see if the boy obeyed.

"Begin."

//===================//