Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 409 Snape's Sober Mind

On a Thursday at the end of February, the temperature had already warmed up, and it got dark later than in winter.

Hogwarts was languid after dinner, and the people in the Great Hall gradually dispersed, heading towards their respective towers and cellars.

Most of the Gryffindors were huddled around the fireplace in the common room, noisily playing poker.

In the Ravenclaw common room, a few upperclassmen were gathered around the fireplace working on their papers, while Hufflepuff was probably having another snack party.

It was quieter in Slytherin; the common room was mostly empty, but quiet didn't mean there was nothing to do.

Some people disappear right after dinner.

Slytherin students always seem to have a few inexplicable destinations.

Snape was one of those people who went to such places.

Behind a faded tapestry hanging on the wall on the east side of the third floor, there is an abandoned classroom. The door is locked all year round, and no one knows who has the key.

The window faces north, so it doesn't get much light during the day, and it gets even darker at night.

The desks and chairs were all pushed against the wall and stacked up, leaving an open space in the middle where a few usable chairs were loosely arranged in a circle.

The floor was fairly clean; a quick sweep would have been enough. The windowsill, however, had a thin layer of dust on it, but no one bothered to wipe it.

The torches were stuck in the iron frame on the wall, but the light was not enough to illuminate the faces of the people sitting around, with shadows around the edges.

There were eight or nine people, all Slytherins, in the middle or upper grades.

Hoods covered their faces as they entered one after another. No one spoke; the only sounds were the rustling of robes brushing against the doorframe and the short, sharp scrapes of chair legs against the stone slabs.

Snape came in wearing a hood, not looking at anyone, and he didn't look at anyone either, and went to sit down in his usual spot.

No one fought him for that chair, and after he came a few times, it became his regular spot.

The hood was still on his head, and the shadow cut his face in two, revealing only the lower half of his sallow face.

This isn't my first time here; I come once or twice a week. I'm very familiar with the process: enter, sit down, and wait.

The first two times he found it novel, entering this door felt like entering some extraordinary place.

A locked door, a faded tapestry, a hushed voice, a hooded man.

A group of people huddled together in the shadows, glancing towards the door before speaking.

In the dim torchlight, surrounded by figures with hoods covering their faces, there was an atmosphere of everyone holding their breath, making it hard not to be drawn in.

It's cool, but also a bit silly.

This association has a name, which sounds quite respectable.

But Snape had already figured out the truth from the very first few times. It was called a society, which sounded legitimate, but they didn't actually do anything worthwhile.

There was no reading, no chanting, no discussion; they just gathered together to talk.

Speaking outside, speaking at home, speaking in public or even in the Slytherin common room.

When it comes to serious matters, nothing has ever been done in this house.

When it comes to important matters, it seems the entire magical world is here, and everything is being brought up and discussed in this room.

The more obscure the topic, the more important it is to discuss important matters, criticize the current situation, engage in lively discussions, and express opinions.

Nobody cares about the seats here. Everyone sits in a circle, and anyone can sit anywhere. Nobody sits in a higher position than anyone else.

But Snape knew in his heart that where he sat was one thing, how he got in was another.

He's been here many times, offering no help with his studies, no help with magic, and certainly no help with potion-making skills—not a single decent thing.

But some things you can't hear anywhere else, they're not in textbooks, and they're not in the Daily Prophet.

Now he was Snape who could afford to subscribe to newspapers, and the profit-sharing statements from Silvermoon Apothecary were sent to Hogwarts on time, signed by Severus Snape.

The amount listed was more than he had ever seen in his entire life.

He had read the newspaper articles and listened to the people in the house talk about them, so he knew what was hidden beneath the peaceful scenes depicted in the newspapers.

The newspapers never report on the situation in the magical world outside, the positions of various households, or which side the Ministry of Magic is leaning towards.

Only here, in these pure-blooded conversations, can something real be pieced together.

Of course, you have to judge for yourself.

Beneath his hood, Snape's gaze slowly swept across several faces.

He had already confirmed that there were idiots among the purebloods.

Some guys are only good because of their surnames; if you remove those letters, they're not even as good as mixed-race people.

Some of what they utter is pure falsehood, so false it's foolish, coming from their own little-used brains, mixed with true information, and you have to pick it out yourself.

The guy sitting to his left was spouting nonsense that he'd heard from home and then embellished.

He said that eight out of ten sentences were conjecture, and the remaining two were taking other people's conjecture as fact.

This kind of person, relying on their surname to enter the house, reveals their wealth, which sounds impressive, but upon closer inspection, it's all empty.

Snape snorted inwardly.

He needs real information and cannot be misled by the nonsense of idiots.

He can tell which information is true and which is fabricated by these people to scare them; that takes skill.

Few people in this room can distinguish right from wrong; most just believe whatever they hear, and the more outlandish the claim, the more they love to hear it.

He's different; he's awake.

Snape looked away.

Even these idiots, just six months ago, couldn't even find the door to this room.

He was never part of these gatherings.

He's in now.

This robe is new; the fabric was sent by Tuofan Clothing Store, and he chose it himself.

Twill serge, fine wool fabric, dense and thick to the touch, with good drape, much better than the usual coarse wool of Little Wizard, pure black, with narrowed cuffs and a re-cut collar.

He altered the collar himself, making it narrower, and sewn a line on the inside to perfectly hold the silver moon badge in place, preventing it from digging into his collarbone.

What he wanted was a hard, uncomfortable feeling.

Every time I tilt my head, sit up straight, or take a breath, I can feel the metallic weight in my collarbone.

It constantly reminds him who he is now.

He is no longer the Snape he used to be.

The slicked-back hair was still there, but the robe no longer exposed the ankles, the cuffs no longer frayed, and the knees no longer had patches.

He was accepted by the purebloods, sat in this room, and joined a society that even purebloods cannot just join.

This is what he has always dreamed of.

Snape stared at the torch for a while.

However, he knew exactly why he was in there.

It's not a badge; a badge is just a sign, and it's certainly not a new robe.

A decent robe only made him look less shabby in front of these people, but no one in the room gave his robe a second glance.

In their eyes, wearing a fine robe is a matter of course, as natural as breathing, and not worth noting.

What Snape considered respectable, the new robe that made him feel like a real person, was naturally invisible to them.

The real key to opening this door lies on the back of the badge.

The door opened again.

The person who came in was not short, and his robes were more elaborate than those of most people in the room.

Unlike the others who had walked in with their heads down and hoods up, he stood at the doorway, closed it behind him, and then glanced around at the people inside.

He walked slowly, his gaze lingering on each face for a moment, as if the gathering wasn't complete until he arrived.

Then he walked to his chair, sat down, and took off his hood.

Wilkes, seventh grader. The Wilkes family isn't one of the Twenty-Eight Holy Clans, but they're still considered prominent.

His father served as the deputy director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for over a decade, and many officials in the department had connections with his family, making him quite influential.

With a slight smile, he asked in a affected tone, "Is everyone here?"

Someone immediately chimed in: "We've been waiting for you, Wilkes."

Wilkes nodded his chin at the man: "Let's begin."

Snape took off his hood, his fingers sliding down the edge of the hood and resting on his knees, revealing his sallow face from the shadows.

He sat back a little, his gaze falling on the person who had spoken.

The torchlight cast a dark shadow beneath his hunched back, making his eye sockets appear even deeper and his whole demeanor even more somber than usual.

The boy was a fifth grader named Jagson. He had one arm draped over the back of his chair, spoke slowly, with odd pauses, and had a deliberately imitated Oxford accent.

Each word was drawn out, with the final syllable rising and then falling, like the tone used by an old-fashioned senator speaking in Wisconsin.

However, his family has no connection with Oxford for three generations, but they do want a seat at Wisconsin-Gordon.

"The Auror office is already full, and two more went in last month," he shrugged, but before he could relax, he continued, "Of course, they were filled in after the positions became vacant."

Jagson glanced at the faces opposite him, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Those people at the Ministry of Magic, I mean, the ones still sitting up there, they're still having meetings. They've been meeting for a whole month, and the topic is whether the staffing of the Auror's Office needs to be reviewed."

He deliberately pronounced the lengthy topic in a halting, deliberate way, and with that Oxford accent, it actually sounded quite convincing.

After reading it aloud, he scoffed, "Once the review is over, the positions on the list will have been changed long ago. Once that official has time, he'll clear out those who need to be cleared out and replace those who need to be replaced."

His eyes gleamed with a sense of superiority as he spoke, his gaze slowly sweeping over the faces around him, as if telling everyone with his eyes that his family had already chosen a side.

"It should have been changed a long time ago."

The one who echoed him was a fourth-grader named Yoshimoto, who spoke quickly and had a serious expression.

"Do you know what the director of the Magical Transport Department did? Last month, the Floo Network malfunctioned, and half of London's fireplaces were out of service. His solution was—"

Gibbon paused, then chuckled to himself: "—Issue a notice telling everyone not to use the fireplace yet."

"Don't use the fireplace yet," Wilkes repeated slowly.

"Don't use the fireplace yet," Gibbon laughed even harder. "This is the kind of trick that Mudbloods can come up with."

A few short laughs rippled through the crowd; it was absurd, but not at all surprising.

Some people shook their heads, while others tapped the armrests of their chairs with their fingers.

Snape then gave a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth.

This is true.

He had seen a small note in a corner of the Daily Prophet, three lines of text, understated, but when Gibbon said it, it became a joke.

"Those people in the International Affairs Department are too soft," a sixth-grader sitting next to Wilkes said, his voice deeper and shorter than the others.

"No one from top to bottom is capable of handling things. They always appease and coax France, but once the higher-ups make their decision, they're the first to be targeted."

"Then tell me," Wilkes turned to look at him, his tone slightly provocative, "after you've finished with the International Affairs Department, who's next?"

"The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, the Auror's office is under their jurisdiction, and there are already people inside. Go up one level, and even the director is one of us."

By then, all those Aurors and those offices prohibiting the misuse of magic will be nothing but decorations!

"The Enforcement Division has made a move. What did Wissengamo say?" another voice chimed in, a fifth-grader named Perigreen.

Another person chimed in, speaking in a serious tone: "Wesengamo won't move. It's not just about who sits there; it's about bloodline, seniority, and how many people below recognize you. You can't rush it."

Perry Green then asked, "What about the Department of Fantastic Beasts Control?"

The boy next to Snape muttered, "Who wants that lousy place?"

"My father said there's a lot of money to be made over there, just the export quota for unicorn hair alone..."

"Your father runs a materials shop, of course he'd say there's a lot of profit to be made."

The laughter was louder than before.

Jagson waved his hand and took over the conversation: "The really good positions are elsewhere. Once the adults have some free time, those positions on that list will be changed sooner or later. Those that need to be cleared out will be cleared out, and those that need to be replaced will be replaced."

"The Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Wilkes replied slowly, "My family has been eyeing the position of Director for a long time."

"You keep an eye on things at your house, but other people don't?" someone protested.

"Keep an eye on me," Wilkes said, lifting his eyelids slightly, "but it depends on whose words the adults will take seriously."

After these words were spoken, the room fell silent.

Snape understood.

These people were talking about positions in the Ministry of Magic, who wanted which department, and who had already secured a place there—they were making quite a scene.

A group of young wizards who haven't graduated yet are dividing up a piece of meat that their families haven't even gotten their hands on yet.

Seriously.

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