Only by evening, an hour before the banquet was set to begin, did he finally finish the decipherment.
"Hidden in the mouth of the serpent" — hm… nothing clear about that. — the mage concluded grimly, exhaling and closing the book. What could it mean? On the surface, the legacy should be inside a serpent's mouth. But thinking logically, "serpent" could mean something else entirely — after all, all Slytherins are called serpents. It could also be a statue or a painting, or something else bearing the image of a snake or of Salazar himself. He was a rather self-absorbed sort, and the entrance is most likely his likeness — though the question of Parseltongue remains. I never learned it, and what if it's required to gain entry? I'll need to find someone who knows that language and learn it myself. It's no rare gift, at any rate. — He reflexively reached toward his wand, stopped himself with some effort, waved his palm instead, and used telekinesis to return the books to their shelves. Then, still turning Salazar's words over in his mind, he left the library.
Noticing the Archmage had left, the girl quickly returned her book and slipped out of the library after him — but turning the corner, she walked straight into someone and fell to the floor.
"Why are you following me?" — Snape's voice came, indifferent with an edge of irritation.
"I'm not following you! And whatever the Headmaster believes, you are not Sev! What have you done with him?!" — she jumped to her feet, drew her wand, and jabbed it at Grid's chest.
"I ate him, then used a potion to take on his appearance," — the mage replied with a ghastly grin, drawing it away from the wand tip. Lily flinched at the sight of it. "And what exactly are you going to do? You severed all ties between yourselves — so leave me alone and stop following me. Otherwise I'll report you to the Headmaster." — And without another glance at her, he turned and headed toward the Great Hall.
The girl tightened her grip on her wand and stared after Grid's retreating back with quiet resolve — though the trembling of her hands was impossible to miss.
I will prove you're not Sev.
"Hey, Lily — what are you doing out here?"
Four boys approached. One of them lagged a metre behind the others and looked distinctly miserable.
"James…" — the moment she saw him, the fear she had felt during her encounter with "Severus" vanished instantly. "I was just lost in thought," — she replied with a smile, then looked with puzzlement at the dejected Lupin trailing behind. "Has something happened?"
Seeing where Lily's gaze had landed, all three boys flinched simultaneously. The colour drained from their faces, and as if of one mind, their hands crept instinctively toward their backsides.
The Great Hall was the gathering place for all meals and celebrations — among them the start and end of each school year.
Four long tables filled the hall, behind which the excited, cheerfully chattering students of Hogwarts were seated. At the far end stood the staff table, and behind it hung an enormous green banner bearing the Slytherin crest, with smaller ones lining the walls.
Stepping into the vast hall, Grid headed straight for the leftmost table — the one belonging to his house.
Not bad at all. — the young man thought with a smile, taking in the enormous spread of food that threatened to buckle the tables beneath it. The festive mood drifting through the air was almost infectious. I think today I can actually afford to relax a little. — As he drew closer to the table, he watched with a smile the great number of ghosts drifting above it. Hm? — From the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a familiar ghost in the corner. What is she doing over there? — He tilted his head slightly and made his way toward her.
The ghost of a fourteen-year-old girl sat alone in the corner, watching from a distance as the students chattered amongst themselves, a faint sadness and a touch of envy in her expression.
"Myrtle, why are you standing here alone?" — At the familiar voice, she looked at the young man with mild surprise. Few ever spoke to her — her reputation among the students was not the best, and with the ghosts she had little in common, most of them being centuries old.
"Severus… I'm glad you're all right. But you'd better go."
Seeing the sadness on the girl's face, he raised an eyebrow in puzzlement.
"Is something wrong? Or are you cross with me for not coming to visit after I was discharged?" — Grid asked with a smile, reaching out to touch the top of her head — only for his hand to pass straight through her. He looked mildly embarrassed. "Forgot."
"No, it's not that. It's just… you're from Slytherin. They don't like Muggle-borns there, and if you keep talking to me, they'll start to—"
"Ah, so that's what this is about. Forget it. I have no friends there and nothing to lose, and I couldn't care less what they think. Do you mind if I stand here with you until the banquet starts?"
"…" — the ghost was visibly taken aback by such candour.
"Excellent," — without waiting for an answer, he leaned against the wall and looked ahead, toward the staff table. "By the way — you've been here a long time. I'm sure you must know a great many interesting stories."
"Stories…?"
"Yes. Like this one a ghost once told me: 'One evening a Gryffindor student, running late after detention with Filch, was rushing through the pitch darkness toward his common room. Having forgotten to eat dinner, his stomach let out a loud growl. He slowed his pace slightly and began rummaging through his pockets for something to eat — but all he found was a lemon-flavoured sweet, which he absolutely could not stand. And while he was cursing himself for it, his stomach growled again. He looked at the sweet once more, and just as the boy was about to put it in his mouth, footsteps echoed through the corridor…'" — at this point Grid's voice dropped lower, taking on a distinctly ominous tone. The eavesdropping Ravenclaw students swallowed hard, as did Myrtle herself. "'Who's there?!' the boy cried out in panic — but the only answer was the approaching footsteps. 'Who is it?!' he cried again — but again only silence, and the footsteps growing louder with every second. The Gryffindor began backing away. He tried to run, but caught his foot on something and fell, and curled himself into a ball with his eyes screwed shut as the footsteps drew ever closer — and then, at one moment… they stopped, right beside his ear.'" — Several Hufflepuff students had joined the listeners by now, every one of them waiting breathlessly for what came next. "'The boy heard a strange rustling, then a crunching sound, and a satisfied murmur: "Mmm… lemon." The student recognised the voice at once and, opening his eyes wide, saw—'" — a dramatic pause — "'Headmaster Dumbledore.'" — The students stared in wide-eyed astonishment, and some of the older ones merely smiled — but Grid was not finished. His grin only widened. "'D-Headmaster?' the boy stammered in disbelief — and then a sweet wrapper drifted down onto his face. The Headmaster looked at him, narrowed his eyes — which sent fresh fear coursing through the student — and said very quietly: 'You won't be able to prove a thing.' Then, raising his gaze from the Gryffindor, he walked off into the darkness. The boy was found the following morning, lying unconscious in the corridor. Whether it had truly been the Headmaster, or simply someone's prank on a first-year, no one ever found out. But what you must remember is this: if you ever decide to stay out past curfew and wander the dark corridors of Hogwarts, always carry a lemon-flavoured sweet in your pocket. Because… what if you're unlucky enough to run into… the Headmaster?'" — At that last word, delivered as a question, the first- and second-years flinched and immediately began patting their pockets, while the older students bit back laughter. "Such is the story."
"W-was that actually true?" — a tousle-haired boy of about twelve stuttered.
"Of course not. I made it up just now," — he replied with a smile, then lowered his voice and added with a perfectly straight face: "But you'd better carry the sweet anyway."
The students erupted in laughter, making the boy go red with embarrassment.
Ahem! Ahem! "You told a rather entertaining story, Mr. Snape," — the laughter died at once.
"Did you enjoy it, Headmaster?" — he turned with a smile to the elderly man, who stroked his long beard and nodded with equal warmth — while Minerva, standing just behind him, wore a look of distinct disapproval.
"Very much so. Though why did you choose me?"
"Well… I noticed a dish of lemon drops on your desk that day, and you're the only teacher among the staff with a taste for sweets — so I chose you as my protagonist," — the mage explained with an air of mild "embarrassment." "I hope I haven't offended you?"
"Not in the least." — Rummaging in his sleeve, Dumbledore produced a sweet with a lemon printed on the wrapper, and to the stunned silence of every student present, popped it into his mouth. Then, nudging his spectacles down his nose, he narrowed his eyes at the pale-faced audience — and walked serenely toward the staff table, smacking his lips with quiet satisfaction.
Minerva, walking behind him, could only sigh deeply and shake her head.
What a cheerful old man. — the mage thought with a smile, glancing at the pale first-years before turning to the flustered Myrtle, who was clearly unsettled by the entire situation. "Well then — will you tell us something? I'm sure you have plenty of stories of your own."
"Well…" — the sheer number of eyes suddenly turned on her made the girl hesitate, but she composed herself fairly quickly. "I'll try."
"Excellent." — He turned his palm toward the Gryffindor table, drew a chair to himself, and sat down at it unhurriedly.
"Hey! Go get a chair from your own house's table!" — a sixth-year student cried out in displeasure, rising to his feet and making for Grid with clear intent to reclaim the chair. Several other Gryffindors started to follow.
"Have you forgotten where we are?" — Seeing the insolent smile on the Slytherin's face, the boy stopped dead and looked toward the staff table, where a stern-faced Head of House was burning a hole through him with her gaze. "Go ahead then — take it by force. I don't mind collecting another five points from Gryffindor."
"Fine! But you'd better not walk the corridors alone after this."
"Is that a threat? And an open one, at that? It seems you don't care much for your house — or have you forgotten that wizards, and especially those as powerful as our Headmaster, have far sharper hearing than you might think? Sit down." — And, paying him no further attention, the mage looked back at the flustered Myrtle and gave a nod. "Begin."