Hogwarts: I Am Such a Model Wizard

Chapter 936: Snape’s Memories

Kyle and the Weasley brothers were speaking loudly, naturally drawing the attention of those around them.

“Oh, Kyle…”

Mrs. Weasley rushed over and pulled him into a tight hug, sobbing. “Dear, we’ve been looking for you… but the Great Hall was too crowded.”

“It’s alright, Mrs. Weasley,” Kyle said. “How are all of you?”

“We’re fine, it’s just…” She instinctively glanced at Bill, letting out a trembling sob.

“It’s nothing, just a minor injury,” Bill said, walking over. “Mum tends to make a fuss over these things.”

Kyle noticed that Bill’s right ear was missing—not like Fred’s external injury, but as if the entire ear had shrunk to the size of a grain of rice and all but vanished.

“Is that dark magic?”

“Yeah, a dangerous curse,” Bill nodded. “Actually, I was lucky. Fleur and Kanna brought some potions from France, and among them was an antidote for a wide range of curses. Otherwise, I might’ve lost more than just my ear.”

“By the way…” Bill glanced toward the corridor behind him. “Kanna—did you find her?”

“I did,” Kyle replied. “She’s alright. Snape ambushed her, but she just needs a few more hours of sleep. Or I might go ask Professor Slughorn later if he has an antidote for the Draught of Living Death.”

“That’s a relief.” Bill, quick on the uptake, had already pieced things together.

Snape probably didn’t want Kanna involved in whatever he was doing but couldn’t bring himself to hurt her—so he simply gave her the Draught of Living Death.

“Actually, I think it’s better if you don’t ask Professor Slughorn for the antidote,” Bill said with a sigh.

“For Kanna, having her only family suddenly become the enemy of all her friends… that’s got to be torment.”

Bill tried to put himself in her position—imagining if Mrs. Weasley or Fleur had turned their wands on them during the battle...

No. He shook his head sharply.

He couldn’t even let the thought stay in his mind for more than a second—it was unbearable.

“Especially Snape, that bastard,” Charlie added nearby, his face flushed with anger. “He went and saved Voldemort just when he was about to be destroyed. That damn traitor!”

He hadn’t meant to speak that way about Snape in front of Kyle, but he just couldn’t hold it in.

If he had to name the person he hated most right now, Snape would easily be in the top two—maybe even above the Death Eater who left the scar on his chest. Only Voldemort ranked higher.

And he certainly wasn’t the only one who felt that way. At Hogwarts, practically everyone wanted Snape dead.

Which was why, right now, it was better for Kanna to stay asleep. That way, she wouldn’t have to face the wave of hatred directed at Snape.

“Don’t worry. I know what to do,” Kyle said with a smile, choosing not to continue the topic.

“Want to grab a bite? I saw the House-elves heading back to the kitchen just now.”

During last night’s battle, the House-elves had bravely joined the defense of Hogwarts. And the moment the fighting ended, they’d returned to the kitchens right on schedule to prepare breakfast.

Neither the scars of war nor the joy of victory could diminish their enthusiasm for their work.

It was as if, in their eyes, work was above all else—and right now, that work was making breakfast.

Which wasn’t a bad thing. After a night of intense fighting, most people were famished. Getting a hearty breakfast now felt like a true blessing.

You could see it clearly in Fred and George.

They practically flew down the stairs. If Mrs. Weasley hadn’t been standing nearby, Kyle was sure they would’ve just leapt straight from the second floor.

Even Bill and Fleur had stopped arguing.

By the time they reached the Great Hall, the professors had restored it to its original layout.

The fallen from the battle were placed at the front, where the staff table used to be, facing the four long tables below.

But today, there were no House divisions. Just tables.

Students, professors, and returning alumni who had come to help all sat together.

The House-elves had already brought out trays of steaming buttered toast, but not many were eating.

Maybe they just didn’t have the appetite. For most, it was their first time experiencing war. Even with their stomachs painfully empty, they couldn’t bring themselves to eat.

Eventually, when they couldn’t endure it anymore, they’d force down a few bites of bread under Madam Pomfrey’s firm insistence, washing it down with Invigoration Draught.

Of course, there were exceptions.

Fred and George, for instance.

It was their first time in battle too, but they didn’t seem affected in the slightest—sitting there cheerfully devouring toast, freshly made sandwiches, and boiled potatoes.

When they saw Kyle, they even waved enthusiastically.

“Come have some breakfast…”

“Don’t be shy…”

“There’s plenty more if you want…”

Seeing their enthusiasm, for a brief moment, Kyle felt like he was at The Burrow, not inside Hogwarts Castle.

By contrast, Cedric seemed much more subdued. He sat motionless, blankly and mechanically shoveling potatoes into his mouth, like someone who’d had their soul drained away.

Kyle walked over and sat down between them.

The scene reminded him of a few years ago, when they were all still students, eating breakfast together like this.

Different houses meant sitting at different tables, but sometimes Fred and George would come over to Hufflepuff, and sometimes Kyle and Cedric would head to Gryffindor.

Kyle took a large bite of his sandwich and casually handed one to Cedric.

“Give that potato a break—it’s practically been flattened.”

“Oh, Kyle?” Cedric was startled. He looked up and realized he was surrounded. “Fred, George… when did you get here?”

“Before breakfast,” Fred said with a mouthful of mashed potatoes, his words muffled. “If you’d just looked up…”

“…you wouldn’t have asked such a dumb question,” George finished for him.

“Sorry, I…” Cedric opened his mouth, but for a moment didn’t know what to say.

“No need to explain—just eat,” Kyle said, taking another bite of his sandwich. As he glanced down at the food on the table, his mind drifted back to the question he’d pondered back at the Screaming Ice Cream Shop.

Sandwiches, boiled potatoes, toast… He remembered that his very first breakfast at Hogwarts, seven years ago, had looked exactly like this.

And now, somehow, it still did. Even the sandwiches hadn’t changed much—still fried egg and bacon.

Actually, no—today, the House-elves must’ve been in a bit of a rush. The eggs and bacon were slightly overcooked, with a faint burnt edge.

Thinking about how he’d still be eating this kind of breakfast now that he was a professor, Kyle suddenly felt like he’d been too quick to thank Neville.

What used to feel like a passive choice now didn’t seem so bad after all.

“So, what’s next?” George asked casually, just like he might’ve back in their school days.

“No plans at all,” Kyle replied.

“I just want to find a place to rest,” Cedric muttered, rubbing his pale face.

The battle was over, and the exhaustion had overwhelmed any lingering joy. His arms felt heavier and heavier, and even the sandwich in his hand was becoming hard to hold.

After an entire night of fighting, just being able to sit here felt like an accomplishment.

Even George had asked the question out of habit more than anything else. He might seem upbeat now, but he was clearly running on empty too.

If it weren’t for that, with Fred and George’s usual personalities, they’d have already set off a few crates of fireworks around Hogwarts to celebrate this hard-won victory.

“Oh, Ron, darling!”

At that moment, Mrs. Weasley suddenly shrieked and rushed toward the Great Hall doors, wrapping her arms tightly around Ron as he walked in.

“I’ve been so worried about you—thank goodness you’re alright!”

Ron looked a little embarrassed at first, but it still felt good. Just as he reached out to hug Mrs. Weasley back, though, he felt himself suddenly go weightless.

Mrs. Weasley had tossed him aside and thrown her arms around Harry, who was just behind him.

“And you, Harry, dear… I’m so glad you’re alive.”

Ron shrugged and lowered his arms again.

Well, he should’ve expected that. Still, at least she’d hugged him first.

Until she saw them, Mrs. Weasley’s heart had been in her throat. Now, at last, she could breathe again.

And Harry’s arrival brought fresh energy to the Great Hall.

Kyle and Harry—one had defeated the current Voldemort, and the other had once killed the former one. The two saviors were both here now.

It was a moment that filled everyone with renewed hope.

“Even if You-Know-Who comes back, we won’t be afraid!” someone blurted out.

But the moment the words left his mouth, the warm, lively atmosphere in the Great Hall suddenly chilled, quieting in an instant…

It was then that everyone finally acknowledged what they had been trying not to think about.

Voldemort hadn’t been killed—he had only been driven away. He could return at any time, could show up anywhere.

In a heartbeat, the mood in the Hall shifted.

Those who had been shouting Voldemort’s name fell silent, reverting once more to “You-Know-Who.”

And at the same time, another name began to crop up more and more.

“Damn Snape…”

“If it hadn’t been for that traitor, we could’ve killed You-Know-Who this time…”

“Shameful backstabber…”

Just like Charlie, most people loathed Snape—the man who had saved Voldemort’s life.

Everyone except Harry.

By all rights, he should have hated Snape more than anyone. But that was before he saw the memory.

Now Harry knew what Snape had really done—and that none of it had been to help Voldemort. It had all been to help them.

More precisely, to help him.

If Voldemort had died back then, Harry would’ve become the last remaining Horcrux. And no one could say what would’ve happened after that.

Every time he thought about it, Harry’s feelings twisted into a complicated knot.

It was hard for him to keep hating Snape, but there was no way he could persuade the furious crowd. And whenever he tried to speak, Hermione would place a hand on his shoulder and gently shake her head.

“It’s no use. No matter what you say right now, no one will believe you.”

Not far off, Kyle noticed the conflicted look on Harry’s face and raised an eyebrow.

He suddenly recalled the moment right after Voldemort had been driven away—he had run into Harry in the corridor, and at the time, he’d said a bunch of cryptic things to Neville.

And Harry must have already known he was one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes—when he heard Dumbledore’s words in the Shrieking Shack, he’d looked a bit confused, but not at all surprised.

Aside from Dumbledore, the only other person who would have known that was Snape.

Could Snape have given Harry his memories…?

Kyle paused for a moment. But how could that be? Why would Snape give Harry his memories while he was still alive?

But...

Kyle looked at Harry again. Right now, he wasn’t joining the others in cursing Snape—not even Ron, who usually had the worst temper, was saying a word.

That was far from normal.

Kyle’s eyes lit up, and he suddenly stood.

He realized that if he wanted to help Kanna, there might be no need to track down Snape. There was a much easier solution.

“Where are you going?” Fred asked, puzzled.

“To the headmaster’s office,” Kyle replied.

“Oh. Alright then,” Fred said, immediately losing interest. He’d thought Kyle was about to pull off something grand.

Kyle didn’t respond. He quickly left the Great Hall and made his way up to the eighth floor of the castle.

There was no way Harry had taken the memories with him. If his hunch was right, Snape’s memories should still be in the headmaster’s office.

He easily found the stone gargoyle.

After everything that had happened last night, the statue was miraculously intact—hadn’t moved an inch. Lucky.

“I don’t know the password,” Kyle said, “but I have something important I need to do inside.”

It was worth a try. If it didn’t work, he’d just have to grit his teeth and ask Fawkes to take him in.

Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

“Go ahead. No password today.” The gargoyle, seemingly understanding his intentions, stepped aside and revealed the passage.

“Thanks.”

Kyle stepped forward, climbed the spiral staircase, and pushed open the oak door to the headmaster’s office.

Creak…

It was like stepping into a raucous pub. The moment he opened the door, a wall of deafening noise hit him.

The portraits of the former headmasters were celebrating the victory with boisterous cheers.

Kyle spotted a bearded wizard banging on a drum... beside him stood a rarely seen medieval wizard—clearly a past headmaster—waving his wig in the air with excitement.

Dilys Derwent had completely cast aside her usual elegance, laughing and crying at the same time.

And as for Armando Dippet and Phineas—well, they were draped over each otherʼs shoulders like old drinking buddies, bounding from one frame to another, singing and dancing.

“Headmasters…” Kyle cleared his throat and called out loudly, “Voldemort has only been driven off. He’ll be back sooner or later. Isn’t it a bit too early to celebrate?”

The room fell abruptly silent. Everyone turned to look at Kyle—the one who had ruined the mood.

“I do hope someone invents a wand that works in portraits,” Armando Dippet muttered. “So I can shut you up before you even speak.”

“Sorry,” Kyle said with a smile, “but I’m just stating the truth. If you really want something to celebrate, we need to find Voldemort and finish him off.”

As he spoke, his gaze drifted—perhaps intentionally—toward the portrait behind the chair.

It was Dumbledore’s. But the old headmaster seemed determined to ignore him, turning his head away. A moment later, he disappeared from the frame entirely, off to who knows where.

Fair enough.

Kyle shrugged. He hadn’t expected to get much from the portrait anyway.

So be it.

He made his way to the desk.

He had spotted it as soon as he entered—the old, weathered Pensieve sitting right on top, clearly used recently.

Kyle approached.

Sure enough, wisps of memory glowed faintly blue within the basin. As he drew near, the strands began to spin, forming a swirling vortex inside the Pensieve.

His hand paused as he reached for the bottle. His gaze lingered on the surface of the memories, hesitant.

Snape’s memories… Just one look wouldn’t hurt, right?

He told himself it was only to verify they were real.

Kyle didn’t take long to convince himself. He leaned forward and dipped his head into the Pensieve.

He fell headfirst into sunlight, and before his feet could touch the warm ground, his perspective flipped—his entire world turned upside down.

Bang!

A moment later, Kyle stumbled back a few steps, wrenching himself out of the Pensieve and returning to the headmaster’s office at Hogwarts.

No need to double-check—these were definitely Snape’s memories. Most likely the part Harry hadn’t finished watching. And judging by what little he saw, it was the worst of it.

Good thing he’d pulled out in time, Kyle thought.

The moment he sensed something wrong, he’d covered the runes around the basin and forced himself out of the memory.

Otherwise, he might’ve just relived a Levicorpus experience… or something even more humiliating.

When the image flipped, he’d seen several familiar faces—one of them was Sirius Black.

Back then, Sirius had looked so much younger—brash, spirited, and arrogant.

If Kyle remembered right, Snape had fully fallen out with the Marauders after they used Levicorpus to hang him upside down… and then pulled down his pants.

The Marauders. Levicorpus. That made two out of three conditions already met—and Kyle had no desire to confirm the third.

Even if it was just a memory.

He glanced at the Pensieve again and couldn’t help but sneer. Honestly, Sirius really had been asking for a beating back in school. It was a miracle Snape had tolerated them all the way to graduation.

If it had been him… well, he might’ve just killed them.

Kyle narrowed his eyes, pulled out his wand, and carefully lifted the memory from the Pensieve, storing it in a glass vial.