Hogwarts i am snape

Madam Cole, spry as a House-elf, rose from her seat. Her legs were surprisingly steady, a stark contrast to someone who had just downed half a bottle of gin. She led Snape and the two Dumbledores out of her office and up the stone staircase, bellowing orders to her helpers and scolding the children they passed.

The orphans, all clad in matching clean, grey tunics, appeared well-cared for, yet their faces lacked the vivacity one would expect from children their age.

"While it's not bad here," Snape remarked with a shrug, "it's hardly what I'd call good."

"Indeed, Severus," Dumbledore agreed, nodding. "The atmosphere here is rather bleak and oppressive."

"If you're going to take Tom to Hogwarts regardless, why not simply let him grow up at the school?" Snape couldn't help but ask the question that had been brewing in his mind.

"No one has ever done that before; Hogwarts has its rules," Dumbledore replied with a sigh. "Young witches and wizards are only brought to the school when they reach the appropriate age."

"Right, orphans always seem to grow up surrounded by misfortune, don't they?" Snape mumbled under his breath, his mind inadvertently drifting to the cupboard under the stairs at number four Privet Drive.

Madam Cole led them around a corner on the third-floor landing and stopped at the first door along a long corridor. She knocked twice before pushing the door open and walking in. Snape and the two Dumbledores followed her into the room, and Madam Cole closed the door behind them.

Inside the empty room, a handsome, dark-haired boy sat on a grey blanket, his long legs stretched out in front of him, engrossed in a book.

"He's quite striking," Snape whispered, "but also rather fierce."

Just then, Tom's eyes were wide, glaring intensely at the younger Dumbledore, his gaze filled with wariness and suspicion. "I don't believe you. She wants someone to come and examine me, doesn't she? Tell me the truth!"

Then, to prove the existence of magic to Tom, and perhaps as a display of power, the younger Dumbledore unhurriedly drew his wand from the inside pocket of his suit jacket. He pointed it casually at the shabby wardrobe in the corner and gave it a nonchalant flick. Tom's wardrobe immediately burst into flames...

Under the younger Dumbledore's command, Tom was forced to open the wardrobe door. He emptied the contents of a cardboard box onto his bed: a yo-yo, a silver thimble, and a tarnished harmonica.

"At Hogwarts, we not only teach you how to use magic, but also how to control it... The Ministry of Magic punishes lawbreakers more severely... Once you enter our world, you must abide by our laws..."

"I don't need you... I'm used to doing things myself..."

"The Leaky Cauldron... ask for Tom, the landlord... he has the same name as you..."

"I can talk to snakes..."

"Goodbye, Tom. We'll see you at Hogwarts..."

A few seconds later, Snape and Dumbledore were once again floating effortlessly in the darkness, before landing steadily back in the real office.

"Professor, it's quite something that Voldemort disliked the name 'Tom' so much," Snape said to Dumbledore, sitting down at the Headmaster's desk, a peculiar expression on his face. "It's a miracle the landlord of the Leaky Cauldron, also named Tom, has survived this long."

"Your connections are quite detailed," Dumbledore said, his mouth twitching slightly, "but that's not the point tonight. We should be focusing on what useful information we can glean from this memory."

"Oh, right, a change of subject then," Snape adjusted his seating slightly. "So, you educated Tom by setting his wardrobe on fire?"

"I'm sorry, Severus," Dumbledore sighed heavily. "I was too young back then, and perhaps I put too much faith in power."

"When did you stop believing in power so much?" Snape pressed on. "After 1945? I recall my Chocolate Frog card stating that you defeated the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945. Without power, I'm sure that would have been impossible."

Dumbledore was silent for a long time, staring directly at Snape.

Seeing that the Headmaster didn't answer, Snape continued to speak to himself, "Professor, if Tom had parents from a young age, or was raised by another loving wizarding family, do you think he would still have turned out the way he did?"

"I don't know," Dumbledore sighed again. "No one can know the outcome of a 'what if'."

"Actually, I still have some questions, or rather, dissatisfaction," Snape continued, a slight frown on his face. "The wizarding world's approach to young witches and wizards is far too simplistic and blunt. Children with magical abilities might accidentally or intentionally use their magic, which on one hand could harm others. On the other hand, it could also lead to the young wizard or witch themselves being directly harmed, or indirectly provoking retaliation from Muggles. It's been this way for hundreds of years, and it still is. Isn't there a better way?"

Dumbledore's long beard trembled uncontrollably. He took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself. Just then, behind Snape, Fawkes the phoenix let out a soft, melodious trill, then flapped his wings and landed on Dumbledore's shoulder, rubbing his head against Dumbledore's.

Snape suddenly noticed that Dumbledore's bright blue eyes seemed a bit dim at that moment.

"Severus," Dumbledore finally spoke, "are you trying to help me fight Voldemort, or help him fight me?"

"What kind of talk is that?" Snape, realizing the impropriety of his words, quickly feigned ignorance, widening his eyes. "I don't understand what you're saying. Of course, I'm wholeheartedly with you in fighting Voldemort!"

Dumbledore didn't press the matter. "I imagine you've realized the importance of this memory?"

"Yes, Professor," Snape straightened up and replied. "Young Tom was quite fond of collecting trophies. That box contained items he had taken from others through various means. Perhaps we can assume he would use the same method to collect suitable objects for Horcrux containers?"

"I agree. However, judging by the diadem, I don't believe Tom would choose ordinary trophies," Dumbledore said. "He had his own standards; he would certainly carefully select the vessels for his soul fragments."

"It's a pity I couldn't directly access Mr. Burke's memories," Dumbledore said, raising his wand and touching the tip to his temple, drawing out a long silver thread. "But his scattered words hold equally important value."

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