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October arrived almost unnoticed. A damp chill hung over the grounds, seeping slowly into the castle through the cracks in doors and windows.
A cold swept through the staff and students, keeping Madam Pomfrey, the school matron, frantically busy.
Her Pepperup Potion worked wonders, but those who drank it spent the next few hours with smoke billowing from their ears like chimneys.
During one experiment, Pandora accidentally crushed the horn of a Longhorn Water Serpent, and a raincloud materialized above her head, following her wherever she went.
"I didn't think it'd turn out like this…" she muttered, bewildered, her hair dripping wet as she spoke to a stunned Snape nearby.
The professors were equally baffled by the strange cloud, unable to explain its cause.
The cloud hovered over Pandora for several days before dissipating as silently as it had appeared.
After two days of being trailed by Filch, who carried a bucket and mop while muttering under his breath and glaring at her with his bulging, furious goldfish eyes, Pandora finally succumbed to a cold.
Snape forced her to drink some Pepperup Potion. As a result, steam poured from beneath her vibrant blonde hair, making her head look like it was on fire.
Bullet-sized raindrops battered the castle windows, unrelenting for days. The lake swelled under the deluge, and the flowerbeds turned to mud.
Hagrid's pumpkins, however, thrived in the rain, growing wildly until they were as large as garden sheds.
By mid-October, the weather cleared, and sunlight once again bathed Hogwarts.
A notice in the common room announced the first Hogsmeade weekend of the term, set for that very weekend.
Snape had assumed that after the Inferi uprising, they wouldn't be allowed to visit Hogsmeade. Learning they could still go lifted his spirits.
After all, after a long rainy season, escaping the castle for a few hours of fresh air was bound to brighten anyone's mood.
Besides, a few days earlier, after an owl had drenched him with rainwater, Snape received an invitation from Madam Rosmerta. The letter promised her finest mead was waiting for him.
"Who's the letter from?" Patrick Abbott asked curiously.
"Nothing," Snape replied, recognizing the handwriting. He quickly folded the letter and stuffed it into his pocket.
He had to admit, the lure of mead was too strong to resist.
On the morning of the Hogsmeade trip, a fierce wind howled outside, rattling the windows. The warmth of the previous day was gone.
"Pandora," Snape said as he sat down for breakfast, "are you coming to Hogsmeade later?"
"Of course!" Pandora's eyes lit up with enthusiasm. "I'm craving a hot butterbeer."
"Er… I could go for a drink too," Snape said slowly, nodding.
The walk to Hogsmeade was uncomfortable for Snape.
For one, despite wrapping his scarf tightly around the lower half of his face, the exposed parts stung painfully in the wind as he hunched forward, eventually going numb.
For another, Pandora's presence made him uneasy. He kept reassuring himself that he only wanted to enjoy a few glasses of rare mead—after all, the stuff wasn't cheap.
At a fork in the village path, Abbott suddenly spread his arms, blocking Snape's way.
"Hold on," he said with a mischievous grin. "You're not inviting me for a drink? Aren't we true friends?"
"I never said that," Snape shot back, rolling his eyes.
"Always so harsh," Abbott said, still grinning. "I bet you're not really here for the drinks, are you?"
"You—what—what are you talking about?" Snape's face flushed slightly.
"Your little schemes don't fool me."
"Schemes? Fine, come in with us then."
Snape grabbed Abbott, trying to drag him toward The Three Broomsticks. As if he didn't know Abbott's game.
"No… I've got plans…" Abbott squirmed, his grin faltering.
"Too far, mate. I'm inviting you, and you're bailing? What woman's got you wrapped around her finger now?"
"Please, let me go. I was wrong."
"Then tell me what's so urgent."
"Pud… Puddifoot's Tea Shop…"
"Oh, that's a fine spot, but it's a bit far. You might not make it in time."
"Please…" Abbott gave Snape a pitiful look.
They shoved each other for a while before Snape finally let go.
"Fine, go."
Snape turned to see Pandora standing at the pub's entrance, watching them with an affectionate smile.
"Stop staring, it's freezing out here," Snape grumbled. "Young witches in the United Kingdom these days, always thinking strange things… clearly not enough homework…"
With that, he pushed open the door, and he and Pandora hurried into the pub.
The Three Broomsticks was packed, noisy, and warm, with a thick haze of smoke hanging in the air.
The charming Madam Rosmerta, a vibrant red scarf draped over her shoulders, was tending to a rowdy group of wizards at the bar.
Near the fireplace by the right window, a small empty table waited.
As they wove through the crowd, a stench of stale tobacco and strong liquor hit Snape. He spotted a scruffy, unshaven man with tangled, ginger-blonde hair, wearing a tattered coat—a sleazy-looking short fellow.
Mundungus?
The unreliable crook who'd fled the battlefield, causing Moody's death, and looted 12 Grimmauld Place?
Snape frowned, clutching his pocket tightly, and pulled Pandora through the crowd to the back of the pub.
"What do you want to drink?" Pandora asked. "I can grab the drinks."
"No, I'll get them," Snape said. "I know you want a butterbeer."
As he stood, he saw Madam Rosmerta approaching with a tray, nodding at him with a warm smile.
On the tray sat an elegant bottle, two glasses, and a frothy mug of hot butterbeer.
That bottle had to be Madam Rosmerta's oak-matured mead, Snape thought.
A pair of glittering emerald-green high heels wove through the crowd, heading their way.
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