On the second floor of the White Tower, Snape saw a huge nerve sac soaking in a pool. Dumbledore was wearing purple pajamas, barefoot, holding a thick book and muttering to himself while circling the pool. The scene looked no different from some pagan ritual.
"Albus, have you lost your mind?"
"Severus! You're just in time. I need your help." Dumbledore walked over at a brisk pace and rushed straight up to Snape, then rattled off a long list of potion names like a machine gun, from the antidotal bezoar to the memory-erasing Forgetfulness Potion. What he especially needed was a large quantity of the Draught of Living Death. This potion had an extremely powerful sleep-inducing effect and could temporarily put the Celestial brain into dormancy, functioning as a sedative that could effectively suppress any riot among the Celestial cells. It was therefore extremely important.
"First, tell me what that thing in the pool is!"
"This." Dumbledore, looking half-mad, stuffed Practical Guide for Casters into Snape's hands. "Look. This is the future of the wizarding world."
Snape saw the title on the page, Detailed Explanation of Celestial-Level Intelligent Biological Central Brain Engineering, and the contents made him dizzy.
"Forgive me for saying so, but this looks more like you are making a brain stew. And I also fail to see the purpose of doing so."
Dumbledore took out the Elder Wand and wrote in the Guide: I want to resurrect the dead. What should I do?
A large amount of text immediately appeared in the Guide, explaining one hundred methods for resurrecting the dead in detail.
Snape's eyes suddenly widened. His bony fingers clamped onto Dumbledore's shoulders as he asked loudly, "This book! Can I borrow it?"
"There's no need to borrow it. As long as you join us, everyone gets one." Dumbledore and Grindelwald both smiled.
...
A few days later, in a seventh-year Potions class, the students were brewing the Draught of Living Death. Dozens of cauldrons bubbled away, and pale blue smoke with a pungent smell gathered into clouds above the classroom.
The old bat, Snape, drifted between the worktables. He looked like a dried bat that had been processed and tucked away in an apothecary cabinet, utterly lifeless. His greasy face also resembled a bone coated in white wax, while his deep black eyes gave off a dull, exhausted, foolish gleam.
His cold, low voice floated up from deep in his windpipe, also blurred and indistinct, as though it had mixed into the steam rising from the potion cauldrons.
"Add powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood... Do not let the fire grow too strong... Crush the sopophorous bean with the side of a silver dagger, do not slice it. That makes it easier to extract the juice... Once you see the potion in the cauldron turn a pale lilac, you must begin stirring. Seven times counterclockwise, then once clockwise. Repeat, repeat, and repeat again..."
Snape was like a cassette tape caught in a loop, only muttering the same thing over and over again, with nothing more to follow.
"Professor... Professor? Are you all right?" Percy could not help asking.
Hearing this, the old bat pressed his lips together and floated over like a ghost, staring coldly at Percy. "Is there a problem, Mr. Weasley?"
Percy made an "uh" sound, then asked carefully, "You look very tired, Professor. Do you need to rest for a while?"
"When you lot can finally take proper care of your cauldrons, then I will be able to rest. Now stop standing here chirping at me. Instead of worrying about me, worry more about your own potions." He suddenly roared at a Ravenclaw girl, his sluggish eyes flashing with cold light. "Wrong! You added the valerian root too early. The potion has not fully changed color yet!"
The girl was so frightened that she apologized repeatedly. However, after being drilled by Snape for seven years, the upper-year students had long since developed thick skin. She immediately emptied the potion from her cauldron and prepared to start over.
"Before class ends, each of you will hand in one bottle of the Draught of Living Death. Those who fail to produce a qualified sample should not bother taking the exam, lest they embarrass themselves in the examination room." Snape returned to the lectern and sat down lightly. The instant he touched the soft cushion, the sharp light in his eyes went out. His body leaned back without him noticing, resting against the back of the chair.
Amid the soft clinks of long spoons against cauldrons, the students' muttering and quiet horseplay, and the strange yet fragrant smell steaming from the potions, the drowsy classroom finally made Snape collapse completely. His head tilted to the side, his greasy long hair slipped into his mouth, and he slept sweetly, his breathing so faint that it could not even move a strand of hair.
When class ended, the students placed their bottled Draughts of Living Death on the display table, then could not resist coming closer to watch Snape sleep.
"He looks like a baby," a female student whispered. "I really want to take a picture of this."
"I've never seen a baby with hair that greasy."
"So the old bat does sleep."
"I brought a camera."
"Snap the picture, man. The old bat looks like he's about to wake up."
When Snape woke, he drew in a deep breath, giving the impression of a machine reactivating. He opened his eyes, and his gaze returned to its cold, sharp, profound color.
The students all fled one by one, pretending that nothing had happened.
"What are you all gathered here for?"
"Professor, class is over. Our potions are finished too."
Snape rose and inspected the potions. His harsh expression relaxed slightly when he saw that every sample passed. "At last, you were all clever for once. What I mean is, at last no one was stupid. Go back. Mr. Skyl, you stay behind."
The students slipped out through the front door. The terrified boy who had taken the secret picture looked at the photo in his hand. Just as a smug smile appeared on his face, Snape inside the classroom waved his wand. The photo carrying his dark history immediately burst into flames, nearly burning the student's fingers. The boy stood there tongue-tied for a moment, then could only leave in frustration.
Only Skyl and Snape remained in the classroom. The gloomy professor slowly stood before the transfer student. Their gazes met, as though invisible blades were clashing in midair.
But very soon, Snape placed a hand over his chest and bowed to Skyl. In a soft voice, he said, "Mentor of the High Tower, guide of our truth, this humble apprentice pays his respects."
Other students greeted professors when they saw them, but when it came to Skyl, things were reversed. Still, they each had their own way of addressing the other. One called the other Professor, while the other called him Mentor. The scene had a rather comical air to it.
"Professor Snape, I do not recall any Covenant rule requiring apprentices to bow to disciples. Nor have you and I established a master-apprentice contract. There is no need for ceremony."
"No matter what, I must thank The Tower of Tomes. I have seen hope." Ripples passed over Snape's face.
Skyl did not attempt Legilimency. Snape was a master of Occlumency, and probing his thoughts would be rather troublesome. However, there was only one person in the world who could make Snape so unwavering. With that little expression on his face, even Harry would be able to guess it. Snape was missing his mother.
"You want to resurrect Ms. Lily Potter? That may not necessarily be the best plan. Ms. Potter has been dead for too long. Pulling her back into the world of the living may not be a good thing. If you want to make up for your regrets, you could try crossing into the past of a parallel world. A resurrected Ms. Potter would still be Mr. James Potter's wife and Harry's mother. If you want to recover the feelings of your childhood sweetheart, rebirth would be a very good path."
"It is not important. You know many things, but you do not understand this kind of... feeling." Snape spoke as if talking to himself. "Whose wife she is, whose mother she is, none of that matters. I... I already hurt her. Everything was my own fault. As long as she can live again, I do not care what the future looks like."
Skyl also fell silent. He truly did not understand, and so he had no way to refute him.
Snape coughed and changed the subject. "I would like to ask you to substitute for a few of my classes. I will have to trouble you with the fifth-year students and below. I have truly been too busy lately."
"Didn't you already come up with a way to reduce your workload?" Skyl smiled teasingly at the old bat. "Making students share your work is quite a good idea. The Draught of Living Death was already taught last year. Shouldn't you feel ashamed for squeezing labor out of your students like this?"
The old bat did not blush or even flinch. He argued confidently, "This is helping you review the textbook. Furthermore, I provided a better brewing technique than the one in the textbook. That is pharmaceutical experience money could not buy."
"All right, I suppose you have a point. I can do it for you, but you will also have to offer reasonable compensation."
"Ten gold Galleons per class."
Skyl reached out and touched the lectern, turning it into pure gold. He revealed the calm smile of a nouveau riche man. Snape looked as though his teeth hurt. Then he said, "How about one bottle of Felix Felicis?"
"If I wish to make life beautiful, the world itself will sing for me." Skyl remained unmoved.
"Then... state your terms."
Skyl held up three fingers. Under Snape's trembling gaze, he slowly lowered one of them.
"Then you will agree to two things. First, I hope you will wash your hair every day." The old bat frowned. "Second, you must award points to Gryffindor. Twenty points per class is a good deal."
As the Head of Slytherin, the stingy Snape had never awarded points to students from any other house.
"...I agree." A moment later, Snape gritted his teeth and accepted Skyl's demands.
Over the next few days, in the four house hourglasses at the entrance to the Great Hall, Gryffindor's nearly dried-up point gems surged like a flood. The students were also astonished to discover that Snape seemed to have used salon-grade shampoo. His hair was so dry and bouncy that it practically moved with a springy bounce when he walked.
Professor McGonagall's curiosity scratched at her heart like tiny claws. As deputy headmistress, she knew absolutely nothing about the series of strange incidents happening one after another inside the school. She hinted to Dumbledore several times, asking whether there was anything that required her help, but the headmaster merely smiled tiredly and said, "Too soon. It is still too soon..."
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