"You haven't taken Polyjuice Potion to become... some other old wizard, have you?" Snape questioned sharply, reaching for his wand, suspecting that a follower of Grindelwald might be attempting to infiltrate Hogwarts in search of answers regarding a fallen comrade.
After all—
Dumbledore, who preferred to work through others, was uncharacteristically insistent on involving himself directly in everything today. It was difficult not to question if this truly was Dumbledore. Could no one have obtained a strand of his hair? Grindelwald's followers were hardly amateurs.
Snape drew his wand, prepared to cast a stunning spell.
"Boom!"
Dumbledore's wand slipped fluidly from his sleeve. With an effortless motion, he traced an elegant arc through the air. Before Snape could strike, he was flung back by an invisible force, slamming hard against the wall.
"Smack!"
The concealed potion vials he had tucked away shattered on impact, their contents spilling onto the floor. An eerie green smoke hissed from the mixture, curling through the air with a sinister whisper.
"Severus, you are being excessively paranoid," Dumbledore said, lowering his wand with an air of mild exasperation as Snape slumped down from the wall.
"The school harbors a spy, and there has been a murder. Why should I not be cautious?" Snape retorted, disheveled as he picked up his wand.
He exhaled slowly.
The sheer power behind Dumbledore's magic was undeniable. No one could so perfectly mimic such raw force.
"I will handle this matter," Dumbledore said, turning his gaze to Marcus Flint, who remained bound to a chair. "I need to remove this boy from the premises for the time being. If you feign an ambush and claim to have failed the task I assigned you, I may be able to use him to draw out the traitor within our school."
That was not the sort of strategy Hogwarts' venerable headmaster should be proposing.
"He is a student, an underage wizard. You intend to use him as bait?" Snape demanded, his expression sharp with incredulity.
It was as if he were seeing Dumbledore for the first time. The man before him was not the legendary beacon of light Snape had come to know over the years. Compared to this ruthless schemer, Snape suddenly felt as guileless as a unicorn.
"This is the most efficient way to uncover the truth, Severus. But I assure you that I will not allow Mr. Flint to come to harm— no one will be able to touch him under my watch."
Dumbledore's tone was calm.
"If the Board of Governors learns of this, they will demand your resignation. If you lose the position of Headmaster, how do you intend to execute your plan to bring him down?" Snape argued, not yet willing to throw Marcus Flint to the wolves. Dumbledore's approach was reckless— even for him.
"Aside from you, no one will know." Dumbledore's expression darkened for the briefest moment before he fixed Snape with a steady gaze, his voice lowering.
"Hogwarts is no longer safe; we need to resolve the hidden dangers quickly. Mr. Flint will not be sacrificed; he may just suffer a little."
"This... is worth it."
Dumbledore seemed to be convincing Snape or perhaps convincing himself. He didn't wait for Snape's response and moved to take the Stupefied and bound Marcus Flint away.
"What's wrong with you?" Snape tried to stop him.
Dumbledore sighed, his expression heavy with unspoken burdens.
"I'm solving a problem."
He closed his eyes, looking utterly exhausted.
"I suggest you take young Grindelwald directly and extract her memories. Ronnie Ehrlich is not an ordinary wizard; he wouldn't recklessly consume any potion or food given to him by just anyone."
"At the Start-of-Term Feast, he even ate only what he brought himself." Snape made no secret of his suspicions regarding Aurora Grindelwald.
It wasn't a personal bias.
It was the most rational and logical conclusion.
"If Ronnie Ehrlich is going to trust anyone's food, it would be that which came from young Grindelwald. No acolyte would refuse the care of their heir."
Snape fixed his gaze on Dumbledore.
"I don't believe Miss Grindelwald is responsible. If she wanted an acolyte dead, she wouldn't need to resort to such indirect means." Dumbledore shook his head without hesitation.
"She has no interest in leading them; I can sense her resistance towards them." Snape, as the Head of Slytherin House, had observed Aurora closely and had formed his own conclusions.
"Once we clarify the situation, the truth will become evident." Dumbledore didn't argue but instead cast a Levitation Charm, pulling Marcus Flint and his chair towards himself.
"You are instinctively rejecting the most likely suspect. I know it's because of your... old friend." Snape was one of the few at Hogwarts who dared to speak to Dumbledore so candidly.
"Severus, you still don't understand me well enough." Dumbledore pulled out a Portkey, gripping Marcus Flint, who floated beside him in midair, still bound to the chair.
"I only ask you this: if it turns out that young Grindelwald was the one who poisoned Ronnie Ehrlich and took his wand— what will you do?"
Snape clenched his jaw, unable to stop Dumbledore.
"In that case..."
Dumbledore's cold gaze sent an unsettling chill down Snape's spine.
"You will see me more clearly."
His words made Snape's breath hitch. This was no longer about the headmaster fulfilling his duty to protect students; Snape wasn't sure what had caused Dumbledore to feel so unfamiliar.
'Grindelwald?'
'Dumbledore hadn't left the school recently… had he?'
"I should remind you, Severus, that if Marcus Flint's mind hadn't been tampered with, he wouldn't have accused Mr. Prince of murder."
"Consider this carefully: when we went to find Professor Ronnie Ehrlich's body and discovered that he was killed with Sectumsempra, who do you think will be blamed for it?"
Dumbledore left those words hanging with deep meaning.
He activated the Portkey and both he and Marcus Flint vanished from the dungeon.
In the now-empty room, Snape remained, frowning, his expression dark, his gaze unreadable.
...
In the first-year classroom…
Ian was dozing off.
History of Magic was widely considered the dullest subject at Hogwarts.
At first, he had doubted it, but then Professor Binns, with his monotonous, droning voice, had managed to turn even the most thrilling accounts of goblin rebellions into a soporific drone.
Even the most diligent Ravenclaws struggled to resist the creeping fog of boredom, while a significant portion of the Gryffindors had already slumped over their desks, fast asleep.
Those who managed to jot down names and dates were rare; Ian now fully understood what Dumbledore meant by a test of endurance.
He was only eleven.
And yet, he already felt like he was wasting his youth.
Even the sparrows outside had stopped chirping, as if they too had succumbed to the oppressive tedium.
"Professor, I heard from some older students that you accidentally left your body behind when trying to rise from your chair by the fire in the staff lounge?"
Ian raised his hand during a pause in the lecture, hoping to shake things up. The story was, without a doubt, the strangest way to become a ghost that he had ever heard.
"That's correct; I was quite old at the time." Professor Binns confirmed the tale without a trace of hesitation, entirely unbothered by recounting his own death.
…
(End of this chapter)
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