The Boggart situation remained unresolved for the time being, but discussions about Snape in women's clothing continued to pop up like Peeves in the castle, surfacing in every corner. This only intensified Snape's hostility.
As fellow professors, Lupin could withstand Snape's death glare. But the other "culprit"—Neville—wasn't so fortunate.
The weekend, two weeks into term...
"Professor, Snape will definitely poison my food someday—and it'll be one without an antidote..." Neville blurted out, his face pale, his eyes brimming with tears that he blinked back just in time. During dinner, Snape's gaze had been fixed on him the entire time. When he turned around, Snape had stared right back at him, not even blinking, his lips curling into a sinister smile. This wasn't the first time. Snape had been treating him this way for a while now. Neville couldn't even sleep properly! For the first time, he felt there was a punishment in this world more agonizing than direct punishment! It had completely destroyed the little confidence he'd painstakingly built up through his talents.
"..." Tver looked at Neville helplessly. In situations like this, even he didn't dare cross Snape.
"Don't worry, Professor Snape wouldn't dare harm you. At worst, he'll use you for potion testing or pile on extra homework. He wouldn't actually poison you." Yet the more Tver spoke, the paler Neville's face became, his head drooping lower.
"Alright, if you're truly afraid, then face Professor Snape bravely. Shout at him and demand to know why he treats you this way."
Neville's eyes lit up, and he jerked his head up.
"Will that make Snape leave me alone?!"
"Pretty much," Tver nodded firmly. "It'll get him to punish you directly. After that, he probably won't single you out so much."
"...I'll try my best." Neville sighed, his expression complex. Both for the professor's sake, and for Snape's...
"Come on, let's go post the list together."
"The list?" Neville asked, confused. He was here for a private lesson!
"The Defence Against the Dark Arts club roster," Tver reminded him, standing up and carrying a scroll of the draft list around the desk. "We might even run into Professor Snape. I'll speak to him personally about you."
Neville froze, only realizing the professor had already stepped out the door. He hurried after him.
"Professor, are you going to help me?"
Tver didn't speak; he merely shrugged with a smile.
After two years of private lessons, Neville knew this meant the professor preferred not to explain. But that didn't mean his earlier words were false! A smile finally spread across his face. Feeling uplifted, he believed he could even face a Dementor with greater ease.
"Professor, am I on the list to join the club?"
"Not yet. Or rather, I haven't considered any lower-year students. Those on this list are at least fifth-years."
"Your skill level isn't quite there yet."
The club was primarily intended for outstanding fifth-years and above. As they neared graduation, they had mastered most of the textbook material. Of course, even that only laid the groundwork for the club's curriculum. So naturally, students below fifth-year wouldn't stand a chance—they might not even understand the advanced terminology.
At first, Tver had considered recruiting exceptionally talented underclassmen, but she realized their foundations weren't solid enough. Exposing them to advanced material now would only be counterproductive, so she abandoned the idea.
Neville felt a pang of disappointment. But since it was for upperclassmen, wouldn't he be eligible in a few years when he advanced? Besides, the professor hadn't abandoned the idea of private lessons. In fact, he was receiving even better treatment than the club students! With that thought, his disappointment vanished instantly.
"Wait here for me. If Professor Snape appears, tell him to wait until I return. If not, I'll take you to his office."
With that, Tver left Neville at the Great Hall entrance and headed toward the entrance hall. Neville felt a bit uneasy. He desperately wanted to follow the professor to post the list, but he opened his mouth and closed it again without speaking. He couldn't let the professor think he couldn't handle even this small task, could he?
Come on, Neville, you can do this! He silently encouraged himself.
"Neville?"
The sudden voice made him flinch violently, his recently restored color fading back to pallor.
"I'm sorry, it's my fault!"
"What are you talking about? What's your fault?" Hermione asked, puzzled.
Neville looked closely and recognized Harry and the others, finally letting out a sigh of relief.
"N-nothing."
"Then what are you doing here? Didn't you say you were going to Professor Fawley for a private lesson?" Ron asked, a hint of envy in his voice.
"The professor went to post the club roster. He told me to wait for him here," Neville said, gesturing toward the entrance hall.
But Harry and the others were more concerned about the roster.
"Are we on the list?" Harry asked urgently.
Hermione and Ron looked at Neville with equal anticipation.
All three had signed up, personally approaching the professor first thing.
Neville didn't keep them in suspense, immediately revealing the professor's final restriction: only upperclassmen could join.
Harry and the others pouted in disappointment.
But that disappointment was quickly drowned out by a cold voice.
"What are the four of you doing here? Plotting more mischief?"
Snape had appeared behind them unnoticed, his cold face tilted slightly upward, his gaze fixed on them through narrowed eyes.
Neville truly froze with fear, his neck shrinking back as he fell silent.
But Harry stepped forward.
"No! We were just discussing the Defence Against the Dark Arts club!"
"Hmph. You lot? Unless Fawley is blind, there's no chance you'll be accepted."
Struck at the heart of their concerns, Harry and the others hung their heads in disappointment.
Snape took two cold steps forward, positioning himself directly before Neville.
"Especially you, Neville Longbottom. Your talent is so poor even Fawley couldn't teach you. If I were you, I'd find a corner to stay in and stop wasting everyone's time."
"Quite the opposite," said a voice. "I think Neville is quite outstanding. And that goes for the three of you as well."
Tver placed a hand on Neville's shoulder, smiling at Harry and the others.
"If I may be so bold, with talent like Longbottom's—the sort that could stab himself to death with a wand—a wooden stick would serve him better than a wand."
Snape clearly regarded Neville as his battleground and launched an attack on Tver.
"You have that kind of ability?" Tver looked down at Neville in surprise. "You must teach me sometime."
Neville instantly broke into a smile, tears streaming down his face.
"I... I... I'll try my best!"
"Indeed, in a way, Longbottom has nothing left but effort—the kind he talks about, anyway." Snape shot a resentful glance at Tver, clearly mocking his sharp tongue.
This time, however, Tver nodded earnestly.
"I think being able to speak up is enough. After all, many lack even the courage to open their mouths."
"What people need isn't necessarily exceptional talent, but the courage to take responsibility."
"What do you think, Professor Snape?"
This time, his words carried no trace of sarcasm. He looked at Snape with genuine sincerity.
So sincere that Snape was momentarily lost in thought.
"Hmph!"
After a long pause, he gave a light snort, turned, and strode away.
What he didn't know was that the instant he turned his back, Tver's sincerity deepened into something profound.
...
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