Chapter 138: Snape's Grudges

Harry trailed after Fred and George Weasley into a vacant adjacent classroom.

"Why aren't you two in Hogsmeade?" asked Harry, his curious eyes twinkling lightly.

Sharing a knowing glance, the Weasley twins flashed their customary roguish grins before they revealed their true intentions.

"We have an early Christmas gift for you, Harry. We planned to head out right after delivering it."

Fred reached into his pocket, producing the well-used Marauder's Map.

They proceeded with a thorough tutorial of the map for Harry. Harry was left agog by the intricate map, showcasing countless routes and the constantly shifting whereabouts of all the castle's inhabitants.

Switching topics, George moved on to briefing Harry on the strict rules surrounding the map's usage.

"Don't ever let any other professor catch a glimpse of this map, only Professor Forester."

Taken aback by their strict admonishment, Harry's brow furrowed in puzzlement.

"Why is it okay for Professor Forester to see the map?"

"Because, last year, Professor Forester already found out about the existence of the Marauder's Map," Fred shrugged off.

George added energetically, "That's right, it was at the very beginning of the school year. We just completed a prank on Filch, hoping he'd walk right into our trap. We were sneaking out of the Gryffindor common room, map in hand, when we spotted Professor Forester at the door, fixing us with a firm gaze."

At the unnerving recollection of Professor Forester, Fred visibly went stiff.

"We were struck to our core and forgot to conceal the map and so he promptly confiscated it. We had no other choice."

"Nonetheless, Professor Forester gave us a lifeline. He promised to return the map if we behaved and didn't break any rules until Christmas."

"I'd say that was perhaps the most disciplined phase George and I ever had in our schooldays," Fred reminisced, "Mum would've fainted from relief. She'd have thought we'd finally turned over a new leaf."

"Even though Professor Forester extended the time period by a few more months, he did eventually return the map to us at the end of the term."

"However, before handing the map back, it seemed like he utilized a some kind of special spell to erase his own name off it."

Harry, intrigued by the many threads of their story, noted the conspicuous absence of Forester from the Marauder's Map.

George clapped Harry affectionately on the shoulder.

"Despite the omission of Professor Forester's name, the map retains its usefulness. But we have no use for it anymore, so we've decided to pass it on to you!"

They entrusted Harry with the Marauder's Map, bid him farewell and set off for Hogsmeade.

Harry clutched the Marauder's Map, his eyes lighting up with an incomparable glee.

Regardless of Professor Forester's numerous admonishments, Harry wasn't one to have his adventurous spirit tamed easily.

He was always envious of his classmates gallivanting around in Hogsmeade on weekends, while he was bound to the confines of the castle.

But now his ticket to freedom was finally in his hands. The Marauder's Map revealed all the secret passages both within the castle and also from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade.

There was an entrance to a secret tunnel behind the hunchbacked witch that would make his escape a breeze. With a thrilling mix of exhilaration and guilt humming in his chest, Harry crept into the clandestine passageway.

Regrettably, his trip to Hogsmeade was far from the exciting adventure he'd envisioned.

While Harry was surreptitiously exiting Hogwarts, Professor Forester was knocking lightly on Professor Snape's office door.

After hearing a morose voice whispering "Enter," Professor Forester, pushed the door open and stepped inside.

Despite the cheerfulness of the approaching Christmas season, Professor Snape was still hard at work. A cauldron bubbled over a warm open fire, emanating a diffusing heat.

Upon observing Forester's presence, Snape's face transformed into one of surprise, a cryptic smirk playing on the corners of his lips.

"Forester. What brings you here?"

Unruffled by Snape's curt attitude, Sherlock pulled a list out of his pocket and placed it on Snape's table.

"I require these materials. Of course I don't intend to borrow them, I'll pay a fair price for them."

Snape quickly skimmed over the list on his desk.

Sherlock hadn't made any effort to conceal his intentions and with Snape's keen observations, he immediately realized the exact potion Sherlock was concocting.

"Billywig stings, Stewed Mandrake, Fluxweed… you're preparing to brew a Melancholy Potion, aren't you?"

Sherlock held his tongue, neither confirming nor denying Snape's accusation.

"So, do you have these items on hand?"

With a condescending sneer, Snape assessed Forester, his eyes as vacuous and indifferent as ever, his lank strands of hair looking greasy, as though they hadn't seen a comb in weeks.

"Well, aren't we desperate, Forester? Resorting to asking me for help. I want fifty Galleons for these supplies, we are colleagues after all, doesn't that sound fair?"

Sherlock shot Snape a disdainful glance.

"You're quite the profiteer."

"Well, do you need these ingredients or not?"

Sherlock retrieved a small money pouch from his pocket, dropping it onto the table.

"There are thirty Galleons in here, I will pay you the remaining amount next time."

These materials didn't really demand such high pricing, but a few of them were difficult to secure in the wizarding world. Not due to any scarcity, but because they were out of season. As a veteran potions master, Snape was likely one of the only witches or wizards who would have a year-round supply of these ingredients. Sherlock was grudgingly willing to pay an exorbitant price, so long as Snape didn't push the limit.

Snape duly supplied Sherlock with three sets of Melancholy Potion ingredients from his extensive stash of potion components.

As Sherlock collected his materials and prepared to leave, Snape suddenly stopped him in his tracks.

"Aren't you the least bit curious about the potion I'm currently brewing?"

This leading question was quite uncharacteristic of the typically reserved Snape.

Sherlock paused for a moment, then turned back, scrutinizing the simmering potion in the cauldron. After careful deliberation, Forester figured out Snape's hidden game.

Suppressing a smug grin, Sherlock seated himself on an armchair in Snape's office.

"Well, I must apologize, as I am not deeply invested in all things potion-related like you, but I might have a hunch."

Sherlock played along, affecting interest as he gazed at the bubbling cauldron.

"If I'm not horribly mistaken, is that not Wolfsbane Potion?"

An element of expectation tinged Snape's voice.

"That's right; this potion is indeed quite unique, especially its effects."

"It is indeed," Sherlock nodded in agreement. "Though it doesn't serve as a definitive cure for a werewolf, it is sufficient enough for them to consider it nothing short of a miracle."

Snape unloaded his eagerness without any semblance of secrecy.

"Quite right, it is indeed a miracle for werewolves. Why then do you suppose I am brewing this potion when there are seemingly only normal people residing in the castle?"

Sherlock offered a shrug.

"How am I to know?"

Any flicker of expectation in Snape's eyes froze instantly. His reply was bitter and cold.

"Can't you figure it out?"

If it weren't for him being a professor, Sherlock would've mocked Snape for losing his cool.

However, this was Snape's office and he was not about to incite a quarrel. If he went ahead and made such a statement, the headlines of the Daily Prophet might come out as - A Tragedy of Magical Education: The truth behind a brawl between Hogwarts Professors.

"I'm pressed for time every day and don't have the luxury of guessing games. Why don't you just unveil your reason for brewing Wolfsbane, Snape?"

Snape shot Sherlock a cold glare. He was no fool and had obviously caught onto Sherlock's game.

"You've known all along?"

Seeing that Snape was onto him, Sherlock didn't see any point in keeping up a pretense.

"Well, your blatant hints did lead me towards the correct answer. You started teaching about werewolves out of the blue when you were substituting mine and Lupin's classes."

Snape continued to fix Sherlock with a steely gaze.

"If you were aware all along, why didn't you reveal his true identity? Do you not consider a werewolf's presence in Hogwarts a danger for your dear students?"

Sherlock scoffed in retaliation.

"You were privy to this revelation much before I was, right? But instead of exposing him yourself, you dropped subtle hints to push me to blow the whistle on him?

It seemed as though Snape was gritting his teeth. However, his stoic expression left it up to one's own imagination just how much rage he was suppressing.

"I gave Dumbledore my word that I'd safeguard his secret and not disclose it to anyone."

"Well, you've already broken that promise then. Even if it was just a hint, it was a hint nonetheless. Now, I too know the secret."

Out of the blue, Sherlock surveyed Snape with curiosity.

"Is there a personal element to your animosity towards Lupin? He seems like a decent bloke. Why would you loathe him so much that you'd want his true identity revealed just so he gets thrown out of Hogwarts? Could it be because you envy the title of Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor? However, that theory falls flat as he's merely an assistant professor. If anything, you should be harboring a grudge against me."

In the dimly lit office, the boiling potion spurted and fizzled over the flame. Snape stood beneath the low hanging light, his hands clenched into tight fists.

"A decent bloke? Is that your evaluation of him?"

He refrained from throwing Sherlock out in a fury or coldly ordering him to leave.

"Do you even know what he nearly did to me all those years ago? In his werewolf form, his friends lured me to him and locked me in a room with the beast! If not for one of them losing their nerve at the last moment, fearing expulsion as a result of my mauling, I wouldn't have been here today as Severus Snape!"

The clear disdain seeping through his words, devoid of any aggrieved outburst, but icy and calm left Sherlock dumbstruck.

Getting so close to murdering him, even though it wasn't a conscious decision when he was a werewolf, was not adequate grounds to overlook such a deed.

"Sherlock, do you have it in you to be so forgiving?"

Sherlock was left speechless.

At first, his sole intention was to diffuse the tension brewing between Snape and Lupin, but that seemed impossible now.

Their past disputes ran much deeper than Lupin had led on, and their relationship being as convoluted as it was, Sherlock no longer had the desire to engage in a pointless debate about who was in the wrong. He wordlessly collected his potion ingredients and took his leave.

As he was heading to his office, lost in deep thought, his gaze landed on an oddly familiar figure waiting by his office door.

Garbed in a long black cloak that covered the figure from top to bottom, the face obscured by a deep hood. What was visible of the lower half of the face was noticeably pale.

Surprised at the sight of Hilke, Sherlock exclaimed,

"I thought you were bluffing and wouldn't return after all. You didn't think to abandon me entirely, did you?"

In response to Sherlock's sarcastic remark, Hilke deadpanned,

"I managed to find some somewhat useful information, albeit nothing too useful."

Sherlock unlocked his office door and they both entered.

Casually taking a seat in his chair, he retrieved the pendant box that was tucked away under his robes.

"So, have you figured out what it is?"

Hilke began to narrate softly about the information she had gathered from her recent excursion.

"I was called to meet with an old goblin who had lived through the Goblin Rebellion. According to him, during the grimmest period of the war, the goblins had feared their imminent defeat."

"They had convened a discussion and employed some of the finest goblin craftsmen to develop a transmutation artifact. They hoped that this artifact could overturn the tide of the war, even after their defeat, and hid it in their deepest secret hideout underground."

"For whatever reason, the goblins weren't successful in unleashing the artifacts' power upon their defeat. This goblin I talked to wasn't a part of the upper ranks of goblins, but he had heard whispers surrounding the existence of such an item."

"The goblins had believed this artifact to represent the peak of millennium-old alchemical techniques, but they hadn't been able to identify the usage or function of the artifact. All the knowledgeable goblins had passed away."

Never in a million years would Sherlock have foreseen the significance of this humble-looking pendant box, once considered the epitome of peak alchemical techniques.

After Hilke finished recounting the historical significance of the pendant box, Sherlock pondered aloud.

"If this is indeed an alchemical artifact manifested by goblins to reverse their defeat, how would Fiddlesticks come to know about this? What could be its intentions with the item?"

Hilke shook her head, offering no answer.

"I can't be certain. However, this formed a substantial part of the Ministry's on-going investigation."