It was the first time Snape was preparing to travel so far from the castle.
That evening, after returning to his room, he began frantically stuffing anything he thought might be useful into the small enchanted bag Pandora had given him for Christmas.
After discreetly borrowing some of Pandora's unfinished experimental ingredients from the Room of Requirement—and leaving behind a scribbled note—Snape decided to make a quick trip to the kitchens to grab something to eat for the journey.
He walked down the corridors, descending the marble staircase to the Entrance Hall on the ground floor.
To the left, just beneath the stairs, was a door that led toward the Hufflepuff common room.
Snape pushed it open, stepping into a wide, well-lit corridor lit by low-hanging torches.
Unlike the dim, damp passageways of the Slytherin dungeons, this corridor felt bright and welcoming. Cheerful paintings of sumptuous feasts adorned the walls, and even the torch brackets were carved into the shape of badgers.
At the end of the hall stood several large barrels stacked in a corner—Hufflepuff's entrance, if the legends were true. But Snape had no intention of trying to enter. He'd heard the stories—one wrong knock on the wrong barrel and you'd get doused in vinegar.
According to Hogwarts: A History, it had been nearly a thousand years since a non-Hufflepuff had stepped inside.
"Here we are," Snape muttered, stopping before a painting of a grand silver bowl overflowing with fruit.
He reached out a finger and gently tickled the green pear depicted in the painting.
It wiggled, let out a soft giggle, and transformed into a shiny green door handle.
Snape grasped the handle and pulled.
He entered a vast, high-ceilinged chamber that rivaled the Great Hall in size. Along the walls were gleaming copper cauldrons and basins, stacked neatly. At the far end, a massive brick fireplace crackled with lively flames.
The moment Snape stepped inside, the bustling noise died instantly.
House-elves froze mid-motion, wide eyes staring—some were stirring thick stews, others kneading dough, all now completely still.
Before Snape could speak, one of the small creatures dropped an enormous iron pot with a clang and scurried toward him.
"Good evening, sir!" piped a high-pitched, squeaky voice. A house-elf draped in a tea towel emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest bowed deeply, nearly touching the floor. "Is there anything Mip can do for you, sir?"
Snape flinched at the elf's enthusiastic welcome, taking a small step back before answering.
"Er… I was hoping for something to eat. Something that keeps well."
"Yes, sir!" squealed Mip, her bat-like ears flapping. "We can prepare anything for you, sir, anything at all! Please, sir, sit! Mip will fetch food right away!"
She tugged gently at the hem of his robes, guiding him to one of the four long wooden tables—identical to those in the Great Hall above.
Snape sat, quietly observing. He surmised that the elves must prepare meals here before transporting them upstairs through their peculiar brand of magic.
All the elves wore identical uniforms, and each beamed at him as they curtsied and bowed in turn.
"Would you like some tea, sir?" shrieked another, straining to be heard over the background clatter.
"Uh—sure, why not," Snape replied.
At once, six house-elves rushed over from behind, bearing a large silver tray with a steaming teapot, an empty cup, a jug of milk, and a platter of biscuits.
"Thank you," Snape said, standing to offer a slight bow.
The effect was dramatic. The elves gasped, their eyes welling with tears.
"Oh, sir, you don't have to thank us!" they cried, clasping their hands to their faces as they bowed again and again before retreating.
Snape sat down, picked up a nearby book to pass the time while waiting.
It was a slightly yellowed copy of The House-Elf Cookbook, filled with creative recipes contributed by Hogwarts staff and students, some even attributed to Helga Hufflepuff herself.
A few minutes later, Mip returned with a small entourage of elves, all carrying large wooden crates.
"Sir, there are cream cakes, meat pies, dried beef, roast suckling pig, pork chops, lamb cutlets, and sausages! Mip has enchanted them—they'll keep for a very long time, sir!"
"Thank you very much," Snape said, slipping several crates into the bottomless enchanted bag.
When the elves saw how easily the bag swallowed the large boxes, Mip suddenly let out a squeal.
Snape startled again—Mip had dashed over to a baking station and returned hugging several wine bottles.
"Sir! These are wines I brewed myself! Would you like some?"
"Er, thank you, Mip. I couldn't possibly—"
But even as he spoke, he was already taking the bottles and slipping them into the bag.
The elves bowed again, curtsied, and escorted him to the door, wishing him goodnight and inviting him to return anytime.
Just as Snape reached for the handle, a thought struck him. The image of a particular house-elf rose in his mind.
"Do any of you know Dobby?" he asked. "He's also a house-elf."
"Dobby!" Mip squeaked, eyes wide and gleaming. "Sir, you know Dobby?"
"I think so," Snape said hesitantly. Though Dobby surely wouldn't recognize him anymore.
"Mip knows Dobby too, sir!" the elf chirped. "Mip used to work for the Flint family. I saw Dobby often back then!"
"But Mip hasn't seen Dobby in such a long time." Her ears drooped. "Mip broke a vase belonging to Mr. Flint... Mip was dismissed. Mip is a bad elf! A bad, bad elf!"
Before she could throw herself headfirst onto the table, Snape lunged and caught her.
"I forbid you from hurting yourself!" he snapped. "As a student of Hogwarts, you must obey me. Sit down, Mip!"
Mip sniffled and obeyed, curling up on a stool with tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Thank you, sir," she sobbed. "No wizard has ever told Mip to sit—except Professor Dumbledore..."
"Take care of yourself, Mip," Snape said gently, patting her tiny shoulder. "My name is Severus Snape. If you need anything, come find me. I must go now—but if I get the chance, I'll bring Dobby to visit. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, sir," Mip whispered, her voice thick with emotion