The remaining days flew by quickly, accompanied by sunshine and clouds.
Students soon reached the last day of the summer term at school.
Snape only took about ten minutes to pack all his luggage. The longest part was when he had to use his wand to try and erase "This book belongs to the Half-Blood Prince" from the back cover of his Advanced Potion-Making textbook. After his wand had no effect, he finally had to dig out an ink bottle and, frowning, thickly blot out the words with a quill.
But Abott had a ton of things to pack. He had several sets of robes for different occasions alone, and it took him almost an hour just to clear out his wardrobe.
"So many clothes, do you even wear them all?" Snape remarked with admiration, clicking his tongue.
By the time they arrived at the Great Hall for the End-of-Term Feast, it was already packed. The entire hall was decorated in Hufflepuff's yellow and black, and behind the staff table hung a huge banner depicting the Hufflepuff badger. Thanks to their surprisingly excellent performance in the Quidditch Cup, Hufflepuff House had won the House Cup for the first time in five years. As a result, their table was the liveliest, with everyone whispering and cheering in celebration.
A moment later, as the professors took their seats, the din in the hall gradually quieted down.
"Another wonderful year has passed!" Dumbledore stood up, his smiling eyes twinkling behind his half-moon spectacles. "Let's congratulate Hufflepuff!"
He then waved his hand, and a notice appeared in front of each student: "A reminder again: all students under seventeen years old, please do not use magic during the holidays."
"Alright, that's all the important stuff. Let the feast begin!"
Snape's plate and goblet immediately filled with a wide variety of food, drinks, and all sorts of candies, like Licorice Wands, Fizzing Whizbees, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Pear Drops...
The next morning, over a hundred horseless carriages were waiting outside the castle. Every year, they were responsible for transporting students from the first year up, back and forth between Hogwarts Castle and Hogsmeade Station.
Snape, Abott, and two younger students boarded one of the carriages, and soon, the wheels beneath them began to creak. As the Hogwarts Express traveled through mountains, fields, and lakes, the countryside outside the window became increasingly tidy, and Snape's mood grew more and more complex. He even lost interest in his cauldron-shaped cake.
Honestly, he didn't really want to go back. He wasn't sure how to feel about returning to the "home" in his memories, or how to face the "parents" from his past. He even considered finding a random place to stay for two months, until September, until the day he could return to Hogwarts. But an intuition told him that some things needed to be resolved.
The train began to slow with a whistle. When it clanked to a stop at Platform 9¾, he dragged his trunk off the train, just as he remembered. After waving goodbye to Abott, he turned and joined the noisy, crowded stream of people, heading towards the magically concealed brick wall. Sunlight shone on the street. Outside the wall, no one was waiting for him.
A massive chimney loomed in Snape's vision, and the murky black river murmured in his ears. His suitcase clattered over the cobblestones. Snape slowly approached a dilapidated brick house. A dim yellow light peeked from a crack in the curtains of a downstairs room. After a long moment, Snape fumbled in his pocket for a set of keys, using one to unlock the front door.
With a creak, he saw a woman who looked very much like him, only older. She was small, with a sallow face and messy hair. Hearing the sound, the woman stopped her mending and looked up at the door with swollen eyes.
"You're back," she said hollowly.
Snape's lips moved a few times, but he couldn't bring himself to speak.
"Where is he?" Snape asked.
"Out," the woman murmured flatly in response.
"Out?!" A nameless anger surged within Snape.
The woman shook her head somewhat sadly, and her eyes seemed to hold a hint of fear when she looked at him. Her gaze felt like a bucket of cold water poured over Snape's heart. He suddenly felt a bit choked up.
"I'm sorry," Snape said, trying to calm his heaving chest and control his breathing.
"Have you eaten?" the woman asked.
Without waiting for Snape's reply, she placed her needlework and clothes on the wooden table and got up, heading toward the door to the kitchen. A few minutes later, the woman returned, carrying a bowl of boiled potatoes and a small dish of parsnip root sauce on a tray. She placed the tray on the slightly wobbly table and gestured with her eyes for Snape to come and eat.
The room fell silent for a moment, save for the faint sounds of chewing.
"Why is it like this?" he asked softly. "You're a witch."
The woman lowered her head slightly, her hands unconsciously twisting the hem of her clothes. She looked more like a child who had done something wrong.
"I've... I've been here... for over ten years..."
"But you—we—can change, can't we?"
"He doesn't like magic..." The woman's voice was barely audible. "He doesn't really like anything."
"You haven't used magic for so many years. You probably don't want to be a witch anymore?"
"I..." The woman mumbled, but didn't give a complete answer.
Snape looked at her, his anger long replaced by an indescribable emotion. He didn't want to criticize her; he didn't believe these things were primarily her fault. Only dark shadows swayed gently in the dim light.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
A series of urgent knocks broke the silence. Snape abruptly stood up, tipping his chair back, its legs scraping an ear-splitting mark on the worn floorboards. He grasped the doorknob and gently twisted it:
A hooked-nosed man swayed outside the door, reeking of alcohol.
"Ugh... Severus..." The man squinted for a moment, slurring, "What are you doing here..."
Snape snorted a laugh, his shoulders shaking slightly. He thought the scene was so ridiculous it could make a dozen Boggarts hide in a closet and refuse to come out. Hearing his laughter, the man's face instantly darkened. He stretched out two dark, grimy hands and grabbed Snape's throat.
"Put it away!" the man roared like an enraged beast when he saw Snape pull out his wand from his jeans pocket. "Dirty stick! Don't think I don't know, you can't use it!"
Staring into those hostile, angry black eyes, Snape seemed to see a scrawny woman trembling amidst shouts, and a small black-haired boy curled in a corner, crying...