Chapter 293: Old Man, Hurry Up and Drop Some Gold Coins!

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"Harry, I'm telling you—"

After leaving the Chamber of Secrets, it was as if Snape had awakened a second personality. Gloomy? What gloomy nonsense! Snape's mouth hadn't stopped moving since they left, and he wore a constant grin, looking like a bright, sunny young man. Dumbledore couldn't take it and made a hasty retreat with a random excuse, muttering things like, "I must be seeing things today," as he left, a metaphorical question mark hanging over his head for a long time.

But after just an hour of private conversation in that dark room, Snape had completely updated his worldview. Although Slytherin lived over a thousand years ago, some things don't become "obsolete" just because of time. His research, even by today's standards, was far from outdated.

No one knew exactly what Slytherin had taught Snape in that chamber, but it was definitely nothing "normal."

Human nature is hard to change. Snape, who had long accepted that he wasn't a good person, wasn't about to become a cheerful, do-gooder because of a pep talk. The only reason he was this excited was simple—Slytherin, that wicked old bastard, had taught him something truly extraordinary. It made Snape realize just how childish and naive his previous experiments had been.

Harry had no doubt Slytherin was capable of such things. After all, it had been confirmed that he was an Awakened One—and every last one of them had serious psychological issues, borderline lunatics. It might be a rumor that Slytherin was a dark wizard obsessed with black magic, but Harry was sure he'd done legendary things that even dark wizards wouldn't dare to imagine. Due to the influence of the world's great corrective force, the traces of his more outrageous deeds had mostly vanished. The Awakened had divine luck when it came to hiding their identities.

Take the Sword Immortal of the Azure Lotus, for example. His name might still be known, but the stories that survived were mere shadows of what he had truly done. Most telling was that, out of sheer boredom, he wrote over ten thousand poems while drinking—but only about a thousand have survived. Ninety percent of his glorious achievements had been wiped away by an invisible hand. And yet, that remaining ten percent was still enough to earn him eternal fame.

Though Slytherin might not have been as resilient and domineering as the Azure Lotus Immortal, he was a founder of Hogwarts. Underestimating his abilities? That would be suicidal.

Even though only a phantom of him remained in the Chamber, that illusion still carried certain traits of Slytherin himself—an embodiment of the vast, profound knowledge he had left behind for future generations, knowledge so immense one could only look up in awe.

"Leaving Hogwarts was absolutely the right decision!"

After rambling to Harry for ages, Snape finally ended his rant with this line. Having just benefited from the school founder himself, this statement was the equivalent of putting his pants back on and pretending nothing happened. With full-on scumbag energy, Snape didn't see anything wrong with what he'd just said.

"Hogwarts is bound to change."

Snape spoke with conviction. Slytherin wouldn't be coming back to life or stirring things up in the world again, but his influence on Hogwarts was certain. If Snape was right, Dumbledore—who had made his exit earlier—was probably getting a royal chewing-out from Slytherin at that very moment. Although Dumbledore alone wasn't to blame for what Hogwarts had become, the other headmasters were all gone. Since he was the only one left, who else would carry the blame if not him?

"But those changes won't happen overnight. In another place, I can better test the truth of these great theories."

Snape's expression took on a solemn, almost reverent look, as though a towering mountain had appeared before him, waiting for him to scale its heights.

He fell silent for a moment, then suddenly grabbed Harry's hand and barked, "Let's go—now!"

"Go where?" Harry stumbled from being yanked so hard, nearly falling.

"To see my replacement, of course! I need to settle things quickly so I can hand over my duties and leave. If that old man Dumbledore changes his mind, do you think I want to stay here wasting my precious time?"

"Let's pack first." After walking some distance toward the castle gates, Snape suddenly frowned and dragged Harry toward the stairway to the dungeons. "If Dumbledore refuses to let me go, coming back again will be a hassle."

Fully aware that he was now a hot commodity, Snape had no illusions about how low Dumbledore's limits could go—especially after being given strict orders by Salazar Slytherin. That old man was ruthless and shameless; who knows what he might pull? What if he locked Snape up in some little black room?

After carefully assessing their respective combat strengths, Snape was absolutely certain he couldn't beat Dumbledore. Sure, he was great with potions and might be able to win with a surprise attack, but Dumbledore had a trump card—he could press F and summon Grindelwald. Facing a two-on-one? Not even Merlin himself could save him then.

The deadly duo of light and dark—those two combined weren't just one plus one equals two. In today's wizarding world, almost no one could afford to provoke both of them at the same time.

Taking advantage of this brief window while Dumbledore was still recovering from Slytherin's "education," Snape rushed back to his office to pack. He'd spent over a decade at Hogwarts and knew his office better than his house in Spinner's End. The luxurious potions lab wasn't his property, and many of the things in it couldn't simply be bought with Galleons. But as a potions master, he had ways to get himself an even newer and better setup after leaving.

However, sentimental by nature, Snape still took with him a set of his most frequently used cauldrons and crystal vials. The equivalent value in Galleons was left stacked like a small mountain on the desk.

The laboratory was emptied, the storage room packed and organized, and the belongings in the bedroom were carefully checked one by one. The item Snape valued most, however, was a wardrobe. It wasn't that the clothes inside were expensive or rare—but that it contained a few robes Lily had gifted him for his birthday. When opened, the inside of the wardrobe door was covered with dozens of photographs of Lily.

"What's wrong, Godfather? You've been spacing out for a while."

"No, it's nothing." Snape calmly shut the wardrobe door. With a wave of his hand, the entire wardrobe floated neatly into his luggage trunk. Unlike Newt's zoo-sized suitcase, Snape's black trunk resembled a mysterious magic box from a film—one you could never tell whether it held stacks of crisp green cash or vials of the T-virus.

"I have a feeling Dumbledore will be here soon. We need to leave—now. We absolutely cannot let him catch us. Based on my experience, he's probably being scolded into a daze by Slytherin right about now, his head spinning."

Like a gust of wind, the two men burst through the castle gates. Harry was practically being dragged along by Snape. His cold expression had returned, his black robes billowing in the wind. Snape gave Hogwarts Castle—his home for more than a decade—one final look, then crossed the lawn and passed through the enchanted gates of Hogwarts.

Hogsmeade lay just one mile beyond the main entrance, but they didn't need to go that far. Once they stepped beyond the bounds of Hogwarts' magical protections—

"We're leaving, Harry."

With a shimmer, their figures vanished from the gravel path leading to Hogsmeade.

———

Horace Slughorn was quite an interesting character. Before 1981, he had served at Hogwarts as Head of Slytherin House and Potions Master. Like Snape, he was a potions expert and also had a close student-teacher relationship with him. Yet the two of them had lived their lives as completely different creatures.

Snape was rigid and meticulous. Aside from his consistent decade-long bias against Gryffindor, his personality was the perfect mold of a potion scholar. In this precise field, carelessness was unacceptable, and carefree indulgence had to be kept in check.

Slughorn, however, was another story entirely.

As someone nearly Dumbledore's age, his later years were full of indulgent pleasures.

Born into the prestigious House of Slughorn, one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, he'd enjoyed a life of luxury since childhood. As an only child, his parents doted on him excessively.

He loved to enjoy life—especially its material pleasures. Though born into nobility, he was surprisingly thrifty in certain areas. No, as he put it, he simply enjoyed experiencing a variety of colorful, unique lifestyles.

Despite owning a lavish mansion, he preferred crashing at the estates of wealthy Muggle tycoons. He didn't bother to ask if the owners were willing—after all, as a wizard, he had many ways to ensure the hosts happily packed their bags for an extended vacation elsewhere.

Generally speaking, such behavior would be considered unacceptable. But Slughorn had another defining trait—he was obsessed with networking and mingling with celebrities. He was also incredibly skilled at spotting "shining gold" in people, those with hidden potential. During his decades at Hogwarts, he founded the "Slug Club," building connections far and wide. His former students and associates spanned the entire European wizarding world.

Minor infractions? No, no, no—how could that be? Our benevolent Mr. Slughorn merely recognized that some wealthy families focused too much on their careers and neglected precious time with loved ones. He just used a few small methods to help these families enjoy a heartwarming vacation together.

Since retiring from Hogwarts, he had spent ten carefree years living in luxury—mansions, maids, fine wines, gourmet meals, and, of course, his favorite candied pineapple. The plump old man's easygoing lifestyle hardly made him seem like a master of the strict discipline of potion-making, one who had achieved the title of Potions Master.

Wouldn't such a laid-back lifestyle make him prone to careless mistakes while brewing potions?

The answer was no.

Horace Slughorn never made mistakes. His specialty was blessing potions—one of the most intricate and advanced fields in potion-making, ten times more exacting than combat elixirs. Even more than Snape's previous obsessions with curse and poison brews, blessing potions demanded absolute precision in ingredient ratios and perfect control over timing and heat.

"Finally, add a drop of pure unicorn blood—"

Knock, knock, knock—

Horace, who had been humming a tune as he added the final ingredient to the cauldron, suddenly heard a series of rapid knocks at the door. Despite the sudden interruption, his hand remained steady. Even though the knocking was sharp and unexpected, throwing him off guard, his hand was as steady as steel, not a single tremor.

Once the unicorn blood perfectly blended with the potion in the cauldron, he carefully stowed away the priceless crystal vial and took three steady steps back.

"I almost had a heart attack." With his legs giving out, Horace collapsed into the soft armchair, his round belly trembling as if the wave of motion could spread throughout his whole body. The ripple made his pudgy chin wobble with it.

Breathing heavily, Horace looked toward the door with a puzzled expression. The shock from earlier seemed strangely familiar, like a memory he couldn't quite place.

"Who could it be?"

He muttered to himself, and just as he was about to grab a candied jackfruit to calm his nerves, the face of a certain boy—one he would never forget—suddenly flashed in his mind.

"Merlin's beard!"

With a cry of despair, Horace slapped his face, remembering that painful chapter of his past.

"Professor, after ten years, your door's protective spells haven't changed one bit?"

"That's unsafe." A calm yet somewhat cold voice interrupted the luxury of the mansion, and Snape, having sniffed out his teacher's location, brusquely pushed open the door.

The older and younger figures, teacher and student, locked eyes. The joy of reunion was nowhere to be found. Instead, there was trembling hands and quivering lips.

"You ungrateful wretch! Why is it you again? What are you doing here?"

"Still trying to secretly add ingredients to my potion, are you?"

"Here I was, brewing a perfectly fine Felix Felicis, and you turned it into a disaster! How did I end up with such a rebellious student?"

"I'm telling you now—no way! Absolutely not!"

Horace's chubby body blocked the glowing cauldron, his face set with a determination that screamed he'd rather die with his potions than let them be ruined. The defiance was clear as day.

But Snape, with his usual deadpan expression, didn't budge. He simply took one step forward.

Horace stepped back a little.

Snape took another step forward.

Horace's retreat caused the cauldron's flames to lick at his backside. He yelped, "Ow!" and tumbled backward with a heavy thud, landing in a heap on the floor.

"Sometimes I really wonder..." Snape fixed his icy gaze on his clueless teacher. "Did you pour out the ruined potion just to keep up your perfect record?"

"Don't be ridiculous! Severus Snape, don't you dare say that!"

Horace, leaping up from the floor, his flesh trembling with fury, glared at him. "I have lived my life with the utmost integrity. When have I ever done something like that? Am I the kind of person who craves vanity and seeks fame? I'm not that shallow!"

"You are."

Snape nodded without hesitation. "When I received my Master's certification, you were practically desperate to attach my certificate and my name to your robes so you could show them off everywhere."

"..."

Horace fell silent for five seconds before firmly waving his chubby hand.

"Impossible. Absolutely impossible. I have no memory of that at all."

"Because at that time, I threatened you that if you didn't erase that memory, I'd add ingredients to your Felix Felicis."

"You added something?"

"Mm, I did."

Horace's mouth twitched. "If you added something, how could I have erased that memory?"

"I told you if you didn't erase it, I'd make you drink that freshly made 'disaster potion'."

"..." Horace's face turned red from holding back his anger. He grit his teeth and muttered, "You wretch... How did I end up with such a wretch as a student?"

"I seem to remember it was you who took my hand and made me follow you to learn," Snape said coolly, giving a slight nod as if it were a given. "I still remember you telling me, 'Severus, you'll definitely become a world-shocking potion master.' As you wished, after graduating from Hogwarts, I made a name for myself. You have a good eye, don't you think?"

Horace muttered, "I'd rather gouge out my own eyes."

Choosing to give up entirely, Horace flopped his round, soft body back into the armchair, staring blankly at Snape. "So, what brings you to bother this old man?"

Upon hearing that, Snape's lips curled into a slight smirk. The moment Horace felt a chill running down his spine, he trembled slightly. The reason Horace never messed up a potion wasn't just because he had steady hands or a calm heart—he had a natural sixth sense, an extraordinary intuition for when things were about to go wrong or right. This was likely the reason he and Felix Felicis were such a perfect match, even in the magical world where it was considered almost mystical.

"I've come to introduce someone to you."

Snape gestured behind him, and a sturdy young man walked into the room, slightly bowing his head.

"This is my godson. Lily's son…"

"Harry Potter?!" Before Snape could finish, Horace, who had been lounging lazily in the chair, immediately stood up, a broad smile on his face, and took a few steps forward.

Horace had a knack for, and enjoyed, building relationships with people who had great potential or fame—and Harry had both.

"I'm so glad to see you here! Hahaha!"

Laughter filled the room as Horace opened his arms and warmly embraced Harry. "Come, come! It's been so long since I've seen you, Harry! Snape, why didn't you tell me earlier?"

Having expected this reaction, Snape let out a faint, almost imperceptible smile, as if silently saying, "Old man, why don't you hurry up and start throwing gold coins?"

(End of chapter)