fynovel Chapter 247 Lupin and Snape
Chapter 247 Lupin and Snape
Chapter 247 Lupin and Snape (5.1K) (1/2)
After breakfast, Lupin rose and changed into his signature, slightly worn but clean and crisp wizard's robe. In the mirror, he appeared as a refined but somewhat weary scholar, a professor preparing for a new day of teaching. He carefully placed his wand into his inner pocket.
As he picked up his prepared lesson plan—which detailed key points for guiding various Boggart forms—and glanced around the morning-lit and tranquil office, a faint, expectant smile even appeared on his lips.
He enjoys teaching, loves seeing the thirst for knowledge in his students' eyes, and cherishes this stable life.
Lupin took a deep breath and pushed open the heavy wooden door.
Then he saw Lynch.
Lupin was taken aback, then quickly greeted, "Good morning, Professor Lynch."
Lynch was on his way back to his office when he saw Lupin come out of the room. He greeted him politely, "Good morning, Professor Lupin."
"Getting ready to go to class?" Lin Qi asked casually, his gaze sweeping over the lesson plan tucked under Lu Ping's arm.
"Yes, it's the first practical lesson of the third year, about Boggarts." Lupin smiled, his tone relaxed. "Hopefully they won't be startled by the 'surprise' I prepared. And you? Coming from the Great Hall?"
"I had breakfast a little late this morning," Lynch replied succinctly, then countered, "What about you? I didn't see you in the auditorium for breakfast."
Lupin's smile froze almost imperceptibly for a moment.
"Ah, yes," he explained hastily, with a hint of barely perceptible embarrassment, "I'm used to having a simple breakfast in my office, it's quieter, and it's easier to prepare lessons." He subconsciously used his free hand to gently straighten the already neat front of his robe.
Lin Qi nodded, seemingly accepting his reasonable explanation, without delving into it further.
"I see." His tone was flat, revealing little emotion. "Well then, I won't keep you from class any longer."
"Okay, goodbye, Professor Lynch," Lupin replied almost immediately, his tone light and relieved.
"goodbye."
The two nodded slightly again, then brushed past each other. One headed towards the bustling, vibrant classroom, while the other walked down the quieter path at the other end of the corridor, leading to his office.
After taking a few steps, Lin Qi slowed his pace imperceptibly and eventually stopped.
He didn't turn around completely, but just turned his head to the side, his deep gaze going over the shoulder and landing precisely on the receding figure, dressed in tattered clothes but with a straight back.
Remus Lupin —
A thoughtful look flashed in Lin Qi's eyes.
During that brief conversation, Lu Ping was gentle and polite, befitting the demeanor of a newly appointed faculty member.
But Lin Qi still caught that fleeting hesitation, and beneath that gentle demeanor, a barely concealed wariness, like that of a frightened bird. It wasn't directed at him, but rather more like an instinctive reaction—the result of living in the shadows for so long, to any unexpected contact.
Lynch's thoughts sank into fragments of past memories, and the figure of Remus Lupin gradually became clear. He was always quiet, habitually agreeing with his friends' suggestions, and together with Peter Pettigrew, he formed the backdrop of that lively scene in the noisy and flamboyant "Raiders" group.
However, beneath this gentle, even somewhat timid, exterior, his silence was less a matter of mediocrity and more a result of the wisdom and deliberate restraint cultivated through hardship. Undoubtedly, stripped of that self-protective facade, Remus Lupin was an exceptionally talented wizard.
But now, he wears such an old robe, chooses to have breakfast alone in the office, and reveals a subtle embarrassment when faced with casual greetings from colleagues.
These details, pieced together, outline an image that always seems to be separated from its surroundings by a thin veil.
He seemed to be trying hard to play the role of "professor," and he did it very well, but something deep-rooted inadvertently leaked out from the edge of the perfect mask.
Dumbledore hired him.
This principal never makes baseless accusations. There must be something he values in Lu Ping, perhaps knowledge, perhaps something else entirely.
Lin Qi's gaze narrowed slightly.
Lupin was a member of the Potters' inner circle and an old friend of Sirius and James.
How much does he know about that past? What are his true thoughts about Sirius's escape?
Why did he suddenly return to Hogwarts at this time?
Lynch realized that he had overlooked this potential key figure who knew about the past.
He withdrew his gaze, stopped lingering, and turned to continue walking toward his office, his steps steady and unwavering, as if that brief moment of staring had never happened.
In my heart, however, the file about Remus Lupin was quietly opened, and a symbol indicating that it needed to be "monitored" was marked next to it.
The stone walls of Hogwarts Castle, as if with the start of the new school year, have once again absorbed the hustle and bustle of young life.
Third year is a small watershed moment for young wizards—they are finally allowed to travel to Hogsmeade on certain weekends, and their studies begin to delve into the more dangerous and fascinating realm of magic.
All of this was ignited by a new professor during the first week of school.
Remus Lupin's Defense Against the Dark Arts class was like a refreshing and powerful breeze, blowing away the gloom and jokes that had shrouded the position for years.
His first practical lesson—dealing with the Boggarts—quickly became a legendary topic of conversation in the castle.
"Hilarious! Hilarious!"
Neville Longbottom's trembling but resolute voice echoed through the old school supply room. Before him, the once intimidating figure of Professor Snape was suddenly dressed in his grandmother's signature green dress with a handbag, a bright feather tucked into her hat. The classroom erupted in suppressed laughter; even Neville himself gasped in astonishment, his face then radiating an unprecedented glow of relief and pride.
Professor Lu Ping stood to the side, his eyes gentle and encouraging.
He didn't preach from a high place, nor did he use pretentious threats; instead, he offered clear guidance, practical skills, and a gentle, reassuring encouragement.
He made his students confront their fears firsthand and then turned them into jokes.
"What really matters," he said calmly but clearly at the end of the lesson, "is that the Boggart thrives in dark, enclosed spaces, and it relies on our fears. Unity, laughter, and a clear mind are its most feared weapons. Remember this feeling; it is more fundamental and more important than any complex incantation."
The news spread like wildfire across the FiloNet.
Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff students also experienced this effective and rewarding course.
"He's the best Defense Against the Dark Arts professor I've ever met!" Harry said sincerely to Ron and Hermione in the common room. He felt he had truly learned something in Lupin's class, rather than just memorizing dry theory.
Ron, mimicking Boggart Snape in women's clothing, laughed until he was breathless: "That's right! And he really seems to know what he's doing!"
Hermione, clutching her thick book, *Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Defense*, looked on with admiration: "His teaching methods are logically clear, combining theory and practice perfectly, and he places great emphasis on safety regulations. He is truly one of the most talented professors in recent years."
Praise flowed like a warm stream, quietly gathering around Lupin. He was still wearing that old robe and still looked somewhat tired, but as he walked down the corridor, he was greeted by the students' heartfelt, sparkling greetings and admiring gazes.
He began to truly integrate into Hogwarts. This stable life, where he felt needed and recognized, was like a glimmer of light illuminating the depths of his long-standing gloom.
However, not everyone was happy to see this glimmer of light.
In that cold, damp Potions classroom in the Hogwarts crypts, filled with the strange smells of preserved foods, Severus—
Snape was in a worse mood than usual.
His black robe billowed and tumbled, as if carrying a permanent cloud of imprints behind him.
He patrolled the crucibles, and any incorrect operation would be met with his merciless, venomous criticism.
"Potter," Snape's voice wasn't loud, but it instantly silenced the entire classroom, as if the temperature had dropped several degrees, "tell me, in your obviously ill-considered process, why did you immediately stir it seven times counterclockwise after adding the foxglove root powder, instead of what you did—five times clockwise?"
Harry's heart sank.
Again!
Snape's deliberate harassment.
The textbook only said "stir thoroughly," without specifying the direction or number of stirring cycles. After adding the ingredients, he stirred according to the most basic operating procedure—which was perfectly logical.
The so-called "key points" that Snape is emphasizing now are clearly rules that were just added on the spot!
But Harry didn't try to argue that such behavior hadn't been an option for him since the previous school year.
He simply raised his head, meeting Snape's unfathomable black eyes without flinching, and said clearly and firmly, "I made a mistake. I'm sorry, Professor Snape."
Those green eyes stared straight at him without flinching—just like she had looked at him before.
Snape's breathing paused almost imperceptibly.
Damn it!
It's happening again!
This has been the case since last year!
He could guess who taught him that way even with his heels!
Did you think you could deal with me like this?!
Snape whirled around: "Longbottom! If your brain wasn't donated by a troll, you should know that this potion requires three drops of toad blood, not that you rudely poured in a spoonful! Ten points deducted from Gryffindor!"
Despite losing points to Gryffindor, Snape felt even more frustrated.
He couldn't stand it.
Unable to tolerate the foolish discussions in the corridors about how amazing Professor Lupin was, unable to tolerate the glaring worship on Potter's little group's faces when mentioning Lupin, and even more unable to tolerate that werewolf in tattered robes, pretending to be gentle and harmless, actually becoming the savior of Hogwarts' Defense Against the Dark Arts class.
"Boggart—" Snape whispered in his distinctive, smooth voice in the empty office, his dark eyes flashing with cold mockery and something deeper, "using cheap tricks to win people over. True defense against the dark magic requires strength, discipline, and a deep understanding of the nature of darkness, not—circus antics."
He abruptly pulled open a private locker, inside which were several bottles of viscous potions, cooling and shimmering with a complex silvery-blue sheen—
Wolfsbane medicine.
Every month, he had to expend precious materials and extremely meticulous effort to brew this potion to maintain sanity for the person he utterly loathed. This forced "responsibility," like a cold chain, constantly reminded him of that unbearable past and Dumbledore's "trust" that he considered almost foolish.
The thought that Lupin needed Lupin's potions to maintain his human form sent a wave of disgust mixed with a twisted sense of satisfaction through Snape. He pressed his lips together, determined to tear away Lupin's facade.
He needed an opportunity to let everyone see clearly what kind of "thing" their beloved Professor Lupin really was.
After a full day of classes and dinner, Harry said goodbye to Ron and Hermione in the foyer.
"Are you sure you don't want us to come with you?" Hermione asked anxiously, gazing at the outline of the Forbidden Forest outside the window.
"No need, Uncle Lynch said that road is safe." Harry patted his robe pocket to make sure his wand was within reach. "I'm just going to get my broom, I'll be right back."
Ron shrugged. "Well, I'm definitely not going near the Forbidden Forest after dark. Be careful, Harry."
Harry nodded, turned, and walked out of the castle gates. A cool evening breeze swept across the area, and he pulled his robes tighter around himself as he headed towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest.
The closer one gets to the Forbidden Forest, the dimmer the light becomes, and the rustling of unknown creatures can be heard in the distance. Just at the edge of the Forbidden Forest's dark edge, which seems to devour all light, an impossibly white stone path stretches straight ahead and disappears into the depths of the dense forest.
The stone path contrasts sharply with the surrounding chaotic natural environment: the surface is paved with smooth white stones, perfectly fitted together, with sharp, straight edges on both sides, as if drawn with a ruler. The gnarled trees along the path tacitly give way as they approach the stone path, and even the spreading moss and shrubs dare not cross the boundary.
Harry took a deep breath and stepped onto the stone path.
The moment I stepped onto the white stone path, the oppressive atmosphere of the forbidden forest vanished instantly. The feeling of being spied on from the shadows, the faint whispers—all were shut out. The stone path felt like two separate worlds: one side was a dark forest fraught with danger, the other a completely safe passageway.
He walked briskly along the stone path, his footsteps sounding exceptionally clear in the silence.
Sunlight filtered through the gaps in the foliage, casting dappled shadows on the pristine white pavement. Occasionally, one could glimpse malevolent eyes lurking in the darkness beside the path, but no creature dared approach this magically protected route.
After walking for about ten minutes, a white stone house appeared at the end of the stone path.
Harry was surprised to find that the stone bricks used to build the stone house were very similar in height to the stone bricks paving the path beneath his feet.
Before he could even ponder whether there was any connection, the door to the stone house opened silently.
Lin Qi stood at the door, his gray suit vest standing out against the white stone wall.
He wore a gentle smile, as if he had anticipated Harry's arrival.
Good afternoon, Harry. You've come at the perfect time.
"Good afternoon, Uncle Lynch." Harry quickened his pace to the door.
"Come in, your broom is ready." Lin Qi stepped aside to make way.
Harry stepped into the stone house and was instantly captivated by the sight inside.
The interior of the house is much more spacious than it appears from the outside, with smooth white stone walls that have been polished to a warm finish.
A row of bookshelves against the wall was filled with all sorts of ancient and mysterious-looking books and scrolls. Harry recognized some of the symbols on the spines, which seemed to be familiar from the restricted section of the Hogwarts Library.
"Sit down." Lynch pointed to a cushioned chair next to the fireplace, gesturing for him to sit down.
There were some snacks on the small square table in front of the fireplace, which had been brought out in advance to treat Harry.
Harry sat down in the chair and couldn't help but look around again—this was Uncle Lynch's residence...
Just then, his gaze was drawn to something on the wall above the fireplace—a bird's beak mask, broken in half. The left half of the mask was almost completely shattered and gone, leaving only the menacing metal beak stubbornly attached to the remaining right half. A charred and twisted mark was deeply imprinted above the metal beak, and the thick glass lens on the right side was covered with spiderweb-like cracks. The mask hung silently in the shadows above the fireplace, exuding an indescribable sense of heaviness.
Harry stared at the shattered mask, and a thought suddenly flashed through his mind.
"That's..." Harry couldn't help but ask softly, a hint of uncertainty in his voice, "Is it the 'Gallows' mask?"
A sudden silence fell over the room. Lynch paused slightly as he picked up his teacup. He turned his head, a look of surprise clearly showing for the first time, and his usually calm black eyes sharply fixed on Harry.
"How do you know that name?" His voice remained steady, but Harry could sense a subtle undercurrent of emotion within it.
Harry felt a pang of unease. He put down his teacup, his fingers unconsciously tracing the warm rim. "I...I guessed," he swallowed, explaining, "Back in my first year, in the Forbidden Forest...I heard Professor Quirrell, no, Voldemort...he called you that. The Hangman."
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He paused, an earlier memory surfacing: "Actually, before that, just before my first term at Hogwarts began, on the Hogwarts Express, when Ron and I were unpacking Chocolate Frog cards, I drew one—"
Yes, it's the Wizard battle card "The Hangman".
Harry's gaze involuntarily drifted back to the shattered mask, his voice lowering slightly: "Ron told me some stories about—about the legend of that title. He said it was about a very mysterious, elusive, and powerful wizard from long ago who was a nemesis of Voldemort—so when I heard that Voldemort was also called by that name—I couldn't help but connect the two."
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