Regulus of Hogwarts: Lord of the Stars

Chapter 411 Snape's Encirclement and His Rescue

Snape always believed that what he had washed away in the past few months was his inferiority complex.

Skills in potions, a new robe, the Silver Moon emblem—entering this room, accepted by the purebloods.

He added one item to himself at a time, and with each addition, he moved further away from the impoverished Snape of the past.

He thought he had moved up and reached a new height.

He didn't think about who had elevated him to this level and then relegated this point to the sidelines.

Because he doesn't think about it, he can tell himself that it's himself, his talent, and his ability.

Blake had merely opened the door a crack for him.

Even without Black, Snape was capable enough to open that door himself sooner or later; Black just made it a few years earlier.

He told himself that, but he knew in his heart that this argument was untenable.

No potions shop would open its doors to a fourteen-year-old wizard; such a thing is not something you can wait for.

In a few years, or even decades, no one will make an exception for a nameless, half-blood wizard.

But Blake did it, perhaps with a single sentence, or perhaps with a subtle hint.

Snape knew this; he had known it all along.

He just usually keeps it under his own rhetoric and doesn't touch it.

If he gets hurt, he'll feel awkward and have to admit that the foundation of everything he's so proud of was laid by someone else.

Tonight, these purebloods who dare to make threats—the Ministry of Magic, bloodlines, traitors—they'll spout anything and everything, but they won't even touch the Black surname.

Their matter-of-fact tone when discussing bloodlines, and their unspoken understanding of automatically falling silent when a certain surname was mentioned, brought to light what Snape had been suppressing all along.

He reached the edge, and it was only because he reached the edge that he saw for the first time just how high the spot where Blake was standing really was.

So high that even among a room full of purebloods who dared to curse others to death, they wouldn't utter his name.

He didn't know what he had traded for it.

What is Blake's last name?

That's innate; everyone else has the surname Black, but no one in Gryffindor avoids it.

Blake's lineage?

He wasn't the only one among the Twenty-Eight Clans; Malfoy and Rozier were mentioned several times tonight.

What is the history of the Black family? What are the Black family's businesses? What is the Black family's politics?

Each of these items was presentable, but none of them could explain the unanimous silence in the room.

What's left?

Snape thought he had found the answer: power.

It was a power unique to Blake himself, a power that made the younger students dare not look him in the eye, made the older students automatically give way, and made the purebloods in this room who cursed everyone else refrain from touching his surname.

He recalled the first day of school, in the Slytherin common room, where the crowd automatically parted to make way.

The purebloods in this room didn't even have a place to sit; they could only stand on the outermost edge, unable to even get close to Blake.

The direct descendants of the Twenty-Eight Sacred Clans were waiting in the sofa area. Blake walked over and sat down, and they seemed to receive a signal before getting up one by one and shaking hands with each other, as if it were their duty.

He was there at the time, watching from afar, and thought he understood: Blake was powerful and could fight, so he had the highest status.

Now, sitting among these people who aren't from the Twenty-Eight Clans but discuss the pure bloodlines of the Twenty-Eight Clans every day, he finally understands what he saw that night.

He wasn't in this circle before, so he couldn't see these levels.

Now that I've gotten closer, it's the first time I've seen just how deep the Slytherin system, the pure-blood system, and the hierarchy system really are.

He came in, on the outermost floor.

But he still sat here, in this fixed chair, in this abandoned classroom, in this circle of seats.

Two years ago, he could never have dreamed of such a scene, because he had no idea that such a place, such people, and such words existed.

Now he knows.

The torch crackled against the wall again.

The conversation had shifted to another topic, and Snape turned his attention back to the dialogue.

The society dispersed, and Wilkes was the first to stand up, pulling his hood back up and raising his chin slightly in the shadows.

It was probably a gesture whose meaning only those inside the room would understand. He made it to the person opposite him, and the other person returned the gesture. Neither of them said a word.

The movements were so quick it looked like they were exchanging intelligence, but it was actually just a farewell.

The others got up one after another. Some pulled their hoods down even lower and walked along the corner of the wall toward the door. When they got to the door, they first glanced into the corridor to make sure no one was there before slipping out.

They were going in different directions; one went upstairs, two went downstairs, and a few went around to the other side of the corridor.

They were a secret society, or at least that's what they thought. So when the party ended, they couldn't all rush out at once; they had to disappear like water droplets seeping into a crack in a rock.

Snape remained seated, watching them leave one by one.

That's stupid.

A group of people talked all night about something big that none of them were capable of doing, but before leaving, they acted as if they had done something earth-shattering.

ridiculous.

He put on a hood himself.

He was the last to leave, standing at the door for a moment.

The torches burned quietly in the corridor, their light spreading across the stone walls.

He would go around to the west, which was his usual route; he always walked this way after the event.

It's a bit of a detour; going from the third floor to the cellar, the fastest way is to go straight down the main staircase, but he never goes that way.

Take a detour, make a few turns, go through a corridor that is not usually used, and then go down the secondary staircase on the west side.

He knew this road well, so he walked for a few more minutes, avoiding other people.

He knew it was unnecessary. What was happening in this room, whether taboo or proper, was not something anyone would investigate. It was just a drama these people had created for themselves.

sense of ceremony.

The society itself doesn't have anything particularly ceremonial, but he's now part of this group.

He pulled his hood down further and walked toward the west corridor.

By nine o'clock, there were hardly any people left in the castle.

The lower down the corridor, the cooler it got. The stone steps were worn smooth by the soles of shoes. The torches were spaced further apart, with several meters of darkness between the two beams of light. The sound of footsteps bounced back from the stone walls of the cellar, making them louder than usual.

Snape descended the first flight of stairs and turned into that familiar empty corridor.

The stone wall was damp, and every few steps along the wall was a niche containing an old suit of armor, well-preserved and without much rust.

Snape took off his hood, revealing his sallow face in the shadows. He walked slowly, deep in thought.

There was more than one Slytherin society; he knew of three or four, some in empty classrooms on the second floor, and others in dormitories.

This place is considered average. The surnames Wilkes, Jagson, Gibbon, and Clam are respectable, but not quite top-tier.

He can go up further; he's already climbed all the way from Spider's End Alley. Why can't he go up one more level?

Is his ability any less than that of those idiots who only know how to flaunt their wealth?

In potions, he's miles ahead of them; in terms of intelligence, he's clearer-headed. The only thing he lacks is his surname.

But does having a surname really shut down all avenues?

Snape didn't let the thought linger.

He's only in third grade, yet he already has a badge and got into this room first, which is already a huge improvement over before.

This was something he hadn't even dared to dream of two years ago, lying in that cold, dilapidated house.

He did it, though not entirely on his own.

Snape's lips twitched down slightly.

He acknowledged this, but as he acknowledged it, a shadow moved slightly from the shadow of the niche in front of him.

Snape stopped in his tracks.

"Yo."

A strange noise came from directly in front of him, and a person emerged from the shadows of the niche, blocking the middle of the corridor.

With messy black hair, glasses perched on his nose, and a wand already in his hand, its tip lazily tapping the ground.

James Porter.

Snape's eyes narrowed.

"Snotty-nosed brat," James Potter laughed arrogantly, looking him up and down. "This robe is nice. Where did you steal it from?"

Snape didn't reply, his gaze sweeping past James and up behind him.

Sirius Black leaned against the stone wall, his hands in his robe pockets, barely raising his head. He glanced at Snape once before looking away, staring elsewhere.

Snape quickly analyzed the situation in his mind.

Two people, one holding a cane waiting to fight, the other standing against the wall, indifferent.

He couldn't beat them both if they attacked together, but Black of Gryffindor didn't seem like he was going to fight.

Then there's going to be a fight.

Snape raised his hand, and the wand slid from his sleeve into his palm, the tip pointing directly at James.

"Potter," Snape said, his face contemptuously, "wasn't anyone taught you that hiding in a corner at night is something only a person does?"

"I've taught you," James laughed even harder. "I specialize in dealing with people like you."

Snape glanced at Sirius again.

The guy was still leaning against the wall, his eyes half-closed, looking at the torches at the other end of the corridor, as if he were asleep.

But Snape didn't completely take his attention away from him.

This guy has always been rude and always resorts to sneak attacks when fighting, from behind, from the groin, he'll use any trick in the book.

Just because we're not moving now doesn't mean we won't move in the future.

Snape kept his eyes on James while glancing out of the corner of his eye at the corridor behind him.

If the two of them attack at once, he won't be able to hold out. He needs to plan his escape route first.

"Why aren't you saying anything?" James raised the tip of his cane slightly. "Didn't your new friends teach you this?"

Snape raised an eyebrow and said slowly, "My friends have taught me enough to deal with you."

"Trying to scare me?" James scoffed.

"No need," Snape said with a cold smirk. "You lot are only able to keep this up for the next couple of years."

Sirius Black is looking over from the other side of the wall.

Snape didn't look at him, but he noticed.

"Jump around?" James didn't understand the other meaning; he just thought the words were irritating. "Snotty-nosed brat, have you taken the wrong medicine today? How dare you talk to me like that?"

"Wait until someone comes knocking on your door," Snape stared at James, his eyes filled with malice and satisfaction, "and you'll know who can still cause trouble and who can't."

Sirius straightened up a little at the base of the wall.

James didn't fully understand what Snape was saying.

He felt that the snotty spirit was cursing him indirectly, and even targeting his family.

James's face fell, and his smile vanished.

Sirius understood, pulled his hand out of his pocket, and left the stone wall, his shoulder against the wall now in his hand.

His half-closed eyes opened and fell on Snape's face.

He understood what Snape was saying: knocking on the door, those guys, these past two years.

Death Eaters, Voldemort, and all those things that have already begun outside but haven't yet made the front page of the Daily Prophet.

These things have been on Sirius's mind lately, ever since he came back from the funeral.

He never expected that it would come out of the snotty mouth so lightly and proudly, as if it were something worth showing off.

Sirius's expression turned dangerous.

"Potter," Snape said, still staring at James, "you'd better think about which side you're on."

"Say that again, you fucking idiot!" James was really angry now.

"What," Snape's staff remained unmoved, "can't you understand human language?"

"I'm going to tear that mouth of yours apart today!"

James raised his wand.

"Disarm you!"

James reacted quickly, a red light shooting out from the tip of his staff, heading straight for Snape.

Snape had anticipated this move. He turned to the side, pressed his wand diagonally downwards, and a barrier appeared in front of him.

The red light shone on it, causing it to explode and scatter sparks that illuminated the damp stone wall.

Snape swung a spell backhand, and a thin, sharp, dark purple light shot from the tip of his staff toward James's ankle.

This spell is somewhat sinister; it lands low, is dark in color, and targets the feet.

James took a step to the side and the purple light grazed his shoe and struck the stone wall, scorching a small patch of plaster and emitting a burnt smell.

"Dark magic?" James landed, grinning. "You're something else, you snotty-nosed brat."

Before he finished speaking, he swung his wand and unleashed three spells in quick succession.

Snape took two steps back, dodging the first barrier, then sidestepping the second. He couldn't dodge the third one in time and was hit on the arm. Half of his sleeve instantly frosted over and became stiff with cold.

He groaned softly, but didn't make a sound.

The torchlight flickered between the two men, red, purple, and white, as incantations echoed back and forth, and the shadows on the wall twisted in response.

Snape retreated while fighting back.

A tripping spell was mixed in with two feints, and a sticky foot spell was splashed onto the stone slab beneath Jaime's feet.

He didn't try to outrun James, knowing he couldn't. Instead, he used tricky spells to make James uncomfortable and force him to make mistakes.

But James didn't make any mistakes, and that's the trouble.

James is reckless, but his quick reflexes are innate.

If you trip him up, he'll take a step to avoid it; if you stick to his foot, he'll slide sideways and brush past you, getting a little bit on the sole of his shoe, then immediately shake it off.

His body moved faster than his brain; all of Snape's schemes aimed at forcing him to make mistakes were thwarted by his strong physique.

Snape's breathing became heavy, and it became difficult to lift his frozen arm.

James figured it out.

"Out of ideas?" James chuckled, pressing closer and casting increasingly dense spells, shoving Snape down the corridor. "Is this all your new friends taught you?"

Snape was forced to retreat repeatedly, finding it increasingly difficult to block.

He tried to back up the stone steps behind him, but James blocked the angle, not giving him that opening.

On the other side of the wall, Sirius stood up straight, wand in hand, but hadn't raised it yet.

He looked at Snape, his gaze not on the fight, but as if he were thinking about something else.

Snape's back slammed into the wall, leaving him with no way out.

James's staff tip was firmly pointed at his face.

"Now," James said, panting, a smug smile on his face, "say it again, and who can still jump around?"

Snape stared at the tip of the wand, his chest heaving. The wand was still in his hand, but he couldn't lift it.

James's cane tip was already pressed against his face; if he moved, he would be hit.

Just then, someone shouted, "Stop!"

A voice came from the other end of the corridor, from the direction of the Potions Professor's office, with heavy and hurried footsteps.

Snape's eye twitched, and he looked past James toward the direction the sound was coming from.

At the end of the torchlight, a figure strode over.

The red hair stood out starkly in the dim light.