Chapter 271: A Strange Case from Years Ago
"My child doesn't need your concern. Let's talk about you. So, have you picked out a nice little apothecary yet? For old colleagues' sake, I might even pull a few strings for you."
Vili Selwyn stood in front of Severus Snape, looking down his nose at the younger Potions Master. His dry, lined face twisted into a mocking smile.
"Former colleagues, is it?" Snape's voice was cool. He channelled all the irritation Evans had left behind straight into this new target, and the words came easily. "If we're talking about rank, I outranked you by quite a margin, Lord Selwyn."
Selwyn's expression froze. A moment later, something seemed to occur to him, and his smile went thin and vicious.
"I doubt your rank counts for much now. I heard that night's target had a great deal to do with you."
"He didn't seem all that concerned with your opinion, did he?"
For a split second, Snape's lip curled, a retort already forming.
It never left his mouth.
The words withered as he remembered the stormy night, the ruined house, the scene that had greeted him when he'd burst inside. A flicker of sorrow crossed his eyes, and he turned his head away.
Seeing Snape struck speechless, Selwyn's withered face lit with smug satisfaction.
There were Potions Masters everywhere. The only reason this half-blood had strutted about at all was because their old master had favoured him.
Now the Dark Lord was gone. What was a mongrel like Snape going to use to compete with a noble pure-blood house like Selwyn?
As he gloated, a sound cracked the air beside him.
"Boom!"
The instant he heard it, Selwyn dropped like he'd been hexed, flinging himself flat on the floor with his hands over his head, eyes screwed shut, body trembling.
He lay there, braced for the coming shockwave.
A few seconds passed. Nothing happened. No violent shaking, no collapsing walls.
Confused, he lifted his head and looked around. Ministry officials all over the hall were staring at him with odd expressions—as though they hadn't heard anything at all.
His reason slowly resurfaced. He replayed the sound in his mind.
The echo was similar, but the volume had been off. Quieter than the one carved into his memory—none of that skull-rattling thunder.
And this was the Ministry of Magic. However arrogant that man was, he wouldn't dare tear the place down.
The terror ebbed away. Humiliation took its place as Selwyn realised he'd been tricked. Face darkening, he swung round, ready to find the joker who'd dared play games with him.
He turned—and found himself staring at a young face wearing a cold, amused smile.
He froze. Sweat burst across his forehead, washing the anger away in an instant.
"E–Evans Kahn?"
Damn it. Weren't they saying this man was off in Egypt, no word for days?
If he'd known Kahn was back, no number of borrowed courage would have dragged him here to run his mouth.
Evans took two easy steps forward and clapped him on the shoulder, greeting him like an old friend.
"Lord Selwyn, isn't it? Been well? House all fixed up?"
"If you like, I could take a look. Make sure the repairs are up to standard. No hidden structural problems this time."
"After all, it would be a shame if it collapsed again for no reason. Don't you think?"
Selwyn swallowed. "N–no need."
Cold sweat trickled from his brow. His mind blurred, slipping back to that afternoon years ago.
It had been a beautiful, sunny day. He'd been sitting on his own sofa, savouring the fresh coffee his house-elf had brought back from Colombia and quietly considering how best to deal with the wretch who'd left his son afraid of so much as looking at water.
The Selwyn name had only just been cleared, but that student was an orphan. Aside from some vague contacts with the French Ministry, he had nothing special behind him.
Selwyn had a hundred ways to make sure a boy like that never worked in the wizarding world again.
Before he could put any of those plans into motion, the nightmare arrived.
A deafening roar shattered the air. Explosions and thunderous impacts rolled one after another.
Furniture and paintings were ground to dust, the family manor shaken to rubble. Throughout it all, he never saw a single attacker. It was as if it had all been an accident—a catastrophic coincidence.
He was certain that if the one who did it had harboured even the slightest intent to kill, neither he nor his family would have escaped. They would all have died in that ancestral house.
He'd investigated in secret for years and never found the faintest trace of magic linking the incident to any wizard.
Evans watched him tremble like a leaf, and a flicker of boredom crossed his eyes.
Honestly. If you're going to posture like a villain, at least stick with it. Folding at the first scare? Pathetic.
He glanced at his dear Head of House. Snape wore a look of pure contempt, not the slightest sign of bruised pride. That being the case, Evans lost the mood to keep pressing Selwyn and waved a hand dismissively.
"Get out."
"R–right away!"
Selwyn squeaked like a eunuch granted a royal pardon. He spun and bolted for the doors.
In his frantic dash, his belt slipped loose. His trousers slid all the way to his ankles. Even then, he didn't stop to hitch them up, simply charged out of the hall, dragging them along the floor.
Snape couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him. Whatever annoyance Selwyn's earlier sneers had provoked evaporated completely.
He turned to Evans, opened his mouth, and found something shoved between his teeth.
Sweet, cloying chocolate flooded his tongue. A second later, a frog's hind leg kicked his throat so hard he nearly gagged it back up.
At the same time, a thoroughly punchable voice piped up at his ear.
"Think nothing of it. No need to thank me. What are the best students for?"
Evans's sinful hand was already reaching for another Chocolate Frog, angling it toward Snape's mouth.
"How is it? Tastes good, doesn't it? Ministry stock really is a cut above. Puts the ones on the school train to shame."
Snape caught the approaching hand with all his strength, ground the struggling frog to paste between his teeth, and forced it down. Then, through gritted teeth, he spat out just four words.
"You get out too."