novelnext Chapter 475 Late-Night Conversation
Chapter 475 Late-Night Conversation
Chapter 475 Late-Night Conversation
Walking along the road, Lu Ping looked at the quill pen in his hand with great confusion—after all, he couldn't understand why someone who had been dead for a long time would still have saliva in their mouth.
Is this reasonable?
But it was just a thought—after all, Lupin didn't know anything about autopsies, but even so, he still felt a little nauseous looking at the quill pen in front of him.
Frowning, he casually tossed the quill pen into the trash can around the corner of the corridor, but because he wasn't paying attention, it spun and fell to the ground.
Lupin glanced at the quill pen a few times, but ultimately decided against picking it up because he felt nauseous—he quickly walked around the corner and continued thinking about Steinberg.
Steiberg still seemed to have many doubts about Roy—but now it seems his suspicions were quite accurate—after all, Roy was indeed the murderer.
But how exactly did he make that conclusion?
Lupin hadn't seen the report, and now he wasn't too keen to ask Dumbledore about it—after all, it was quite obvious that Headmaster Dumbledore also had some suspicions about Royla.
"I shouldn't reveal my desire to protect Loila," Lupin thought to himself, when he suddenly heard footsteps coming from the end of the corridor.
It was already very late. Would there still be anyone at Hogwarts at this hour, almost midnight?
Lupin paused for a moment, then saw Snape holding a lantern.
Was he on night patrol?
"I wondered who it was—but it's you—Lupin." Snape's voice was as sarcastic as ever, and this somewhat annoying voice made Lupin frown.
"I didn't expect you to be out for a stroll so late, Snape." Lupin raised an eyebrow and casually replied before preparing to leave. He didn't have time to waste talking to Snape here.
"Wait a minute, Lupin." Snape suddenly called out to Lupin, and said slowly, "What are you doing so late?"
"I remember it wasn't your turn to be on night patrol today, was it?"
This guy—
Lupin paused, turning to look at Snape: "I'm a professor too, aren't I?"
"I don't recall the professor having any requirements regarding when to go to sleep."
"Normally, of course not," Snape said slowly, "but not necessarily now."
"After all, one of your friends is a fugitive—and the other might be a murderer." Snape's sarcastic remark made Lupin frown.
It seems that Headmaster Dumbledore and he had discussed that report together.
"That's better than having no friends, isn't it?" Lupin paused and said, "Besides—it's still not certain whether Miss Hamilton is the murderer."
"It would be better for some professors not to make false accusations against others."
"Of course I hope it's a frame-up." Snape sneered. "Believe me—I say that to Merlin every night before I go to sleep."
"Is that all you're stopping me for?" Lupin had little patience to discuss this further with Snape. He was already incredibly busy, and he had no interest in listening to any sarcastic remarks.
"You haven't answered my question yet," Snape said coldly. "What are you doing wandering around here so late?"
"I don't know when you joined the Ministry of Magic, nor do I know when this corridor became your territory," Lupin said, looking into Snape's eyes. "I just came back from investigating."
"An investigation?" Snape wasn't intimidated by Lupin. He merely raised an eyebrow and said casually, "I hope your investigation won't involve potions."
"Potion?" Lupin looked at Snape in surprise.
"Someone stole a cauldron—interesting, isn't it?" Snape said, his face serious and deliberate. "And someone stole the belt of the African tree snake."
"You may not know how much time and how many Galleons I spent to buy so many materials—but they only stayed in my cupboard for two days." Snape said, his words tinged with coldness, his eyes fixed on Lupin, as if trying to read something from his face.
What are you talking about?
"This has nothing to do with me." Lupin paused for a few seconds before slowly saying, "I don't even know what that is."
"Indeed." Snape seemed to have figured something out as well, and gave a cold snort: "Given your Potions class level back then—"
"Let alone compound decoctions, even refining Dictamnus dasycarpus would be difficult for you."
Lupin pursed his lips, not really interested in arguing with Snape, and then shook his head: "I have something to investigate, and it's very important."
"That's true." Snape raised an eyebrow at this thought. "I only lost the medicinal herbs."
"Some people might lose friends."
"To lose a friend, you must first have friends."
After saying that, Lupin quickly left—who knew what Snape was thinking—catching a thief here so late at night?
And the lost item—the African tree snake belt—that's another weird thing—Snape was right, Lupin really didn't know much about potions, the only one he knew about was probably the wolfsbane potion.
That's because he's one of the few users of this medicine.
Of course—that's all in the past.
Lupin's resolve hardened at this thought—that was precisely why he had to protect Roy—she couldn't go to Azkaban for killing someone who deserved to die—
With that thought in mind, he quickly walked towards his office.
Watching Lupin leave, Snape snorted and continued walking forward, lantern in hand.
He wasn't just there to continue searching for the thief; he was also there to patrol the night. As one of the professors with the longest night shifts at Hogwarts, he was used to walking around the school so late at night.
He walked around a few corners, then paused for a few seconds at the dungeon entrance.
Lupin should have been here just now, right?
He glanced at the somewhat deep dungeon and pursed his lips—then, as if remembering something, he looked down at his necklace.
It was a gentle green—looking at that color seemed to lift his spirits.
Then—his gaze fell on something on the ground around the corner.
A quill pen—except it was covered in some strange liquid.
Looking at the liquid—Snape frowned slightly, then bent down and picked up the quill.
He deliberately avoided touching the liquid, instead holding the pen to his face.
He silently took a light sniff—then his face turned grim.
This taste—he was very familiar with it—or rather, he had no choice but to be familiar with it.
He frowned, snorted coldly, picked up the quill pen, and strode away, leaving behind a gust of cold wind that caused several candles in the corridor to go out slightly.
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