A Certain Magical Hogwarts

The interrogation room was empty, save for Snape and two burly men.

Snape wore nothing but a translucent black robe that clung to his body, leaving nothing to the imagination. The robe highlighted his lithe figure, particularly his long, shapely legs, which gave the unsettling impression that he would look striking in women's attire.

Derricks, a hulking Auror with short, stiff gray hair and a perpetually stern expression, stood uncomfortably close to Snape. The distance between their faces was less than five centimeters.

Derricks swallowed audibly as his throat twitched, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously. He stared into Snape's eyes, as if trying to peer into the depths of his mind.

But all he found was a blank slate.

Wait… no, something was there.

What was that?

It looked like… himself.

And he was… hugging someone?

Kingsley?

What in Merlin's name? Sure, Derricks had occasionally entertained such thoughts, but he'd never acted on them. Had he? Was there some drunken escapade he'd forgotten?

No! Impossible!

Realizing he'd been tricked, Derricks broke out in a cold sweat. Snape had not only used Legilimency to pry into his thoughts but had also fabricated a false memory for him to see.

Snape's mastery of magic was terrifying.

Meanwhile, Kingsley Shacklebolt remained oblivious to the silent battle of wits. He watched Snape with mild amusement, waiting for Derricks to tire so he could take his turn.

For Kingsley, this was just a formality to ensure Snape wasn't unduly harassed. After all, Snape was Dumbledore's man, his body and soul, entirely loyal to the headmaster.

This whole ordeal stemmed from the scandal surrounding Quirrell's death. 

A professor had died, Gringotts had been implicated, and the Ministry had no choice but to dispatch a legion of Aurors to Hogwarts.

…

Derricks, frustrated by Snape's unflappable demeanor, switched tactics.

"How long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?" he asked.

"Eleven years," Snape replied, his tone laced with impatience.

This was information the Ministry already knew; Snape had been interrogated in Azkaban before and was well-versed in their questioning methods.

"You originally applied to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, didn't you?" Derricks continued, avoiding eye contact to prevent another Legilimency attack.

"Yes."

"But you didn't get the position?"

Snape sneered. "Clearly."

"And you've repeatedly applied for the role since then, haven't you?"

"Yes," Snape answered, his brow furrowing in irritation.

"Do you know why Professor Dumbledore keeps rejecting your applications?"

"He's probably afraid I'll die," Snape said flatly.

"You might not know this, but most professors at this school are mediocre at best. I, on the other hand, am exceptional.

"If something happened to me, who would bail Dumbledore out of trouble? After all, Dumbledore is a complete idiot."

"You've got some nerve, huh?" Derricks muttered, annoyed.

He pressed on. "So, can I assume you were jealous of Professor Quirrell for landing the position you coveted, and that you poisoned him out of spite?"

"Potions can be mishandled, but words should not be," Snape countered sharply.

"It was Professor Dumbledore who instructed me to brew the poison. I was merely following orders."

"And you didn't think to ask why he needed it?"

Snape's voice dripped with sarcasm. "He's the headmaster. If I don't comply, my position as Potions Master might be filled by someone else tomorrow.

"Will the Ministry find me a new job?"

"Why would Dumbledore ask you to brew poison? Did he suspect Quirrell was a dark wizard all along?"

"I don't know. Perhaps you should ask him. He likely knew more than any of you Aurors," Snape hummed.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Derricks growled.

Snape shrugged. "Your Ministry is always a step behind. You didn't even realize a dark wizard was hiding at Hogwarts.

"Maybe you should improve your skills instead of wasting time interrogating me.

"If you were more competent, Quirrell would've been caught ages ago."

Derricks clenched his fists, tempted to punch Snape, but he restrained himself. Striking someone on Dumbledore's turf was career suicide.

He'd heard about Dolores Umbridge, who'd been humiliated by William Stark and subsequently ousted from the Auror Office. 

The incident had become a Ministry-wide joke.

Derricks had no intention of becoming the next punchline.

…

After Snape left, William was ushered into the room.

This time, there were no burly Aurors—only an elderly witch who looked to be in her sixties.

Her short, gray hair framed her sharp features, and her dark eyes gleamed with what could only be described as mischef.

Despite her age, she wore a bright pink dress that was clearly designed for someone decades younger.

The contrast was striking. Her attire gave the impression of a woman trying to act coquettish, but the result was unsettling.

It reminded William of Dolores Umbridge.

The witch, noticing his gaze, pouted and giggled. "What's the matter? Don't you think my outfit is cute?"

"No, old-...Auntie," William replied with a sheepish smile. "You look great in anything."

The witch's expression soured. "Auntie? Watch your words, kiddo. I'm only eighteen!"

William feigned a sincere expression. "Oh, I see! Your daughter must be eighteen, right? What's her name? Maybe I know her—she might be one of my senior students."

"Get lost!" The witch snapped, her temper flaring like a firework. She reached for her wand, but paused, a sly smile creeping onto her face.

Instead, she pulled a small, transparent bottle from her pocket.

"Listen, kid," she said, grinning wickedly. "This is Veritaserum. Be a good boy and tell me the truth of the matter. Otherwise, I'll be sure to find out everything, including whether you wet the bed as a child!"

William sniffed the air and smirked. "It smells faint, with a hint of lemon.

"Isn't this Veritaserum expired? Tonks… Auntie?"

Nymphadora Tonks' face flushed with rage. 

With a shout, she hurled the bottle at him.

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