In the days that followed, an unusual excitement permeated the castle.
In the corridors, students gathered in small clusters, whispering about the most explosive rumor in the school—Professor Albus Dumbledore had developed an extraordinary interest in the girls' bathroom on the second floor.
Those in the know spared no effort in spreading this mind-shattering "secret" far and wide.
"I'm telling you, it's absolutely true!" a young witch said in a hushed voice, her eyes gleaming with excitement. She was surrounded by five or six students from different houses, each craning their necks, eager not to miss a single detail. "I saw it with my own eyes—yesterday at three-ten in the afternoon, he walked straight in and stayed for at least twenty minutes!"
"No way, there must be some mistake," someone protested.
"Then go see for yourself!" the girl declared confidently. "Every afternoon around three, he's there. I'd bet all my Chocolate Frog cards on it!"
As a result, the corridor outside what used to be Moaning Myrtle's "sorrowful haunt" became the liveliest spot in Hogwarts.
Egged on by the gossip, students even skipped classes to stake out the second-floor corridor. Some pretended to discuss homework, others acted lost, and a few even hid behind suits of armor with binoculars.
When that unmistakable silver-white beard appeared at the end of the corridor, the entire hallway fell silent, punctuated only by the collective gasps of astonishment.
Professor Dumbledore, with his usual gentle smile, strode lightly toward the bathroom door marked with an "Out of Order" sign.
"What are you all doing here?" he asked, turning to the students with a puzzled look. "Isn't it time for classes?"
The students scattered in an instant.
They had finally confirmed that Professor Dumbledore did, indeed, appear at a fixed time, enter the girls' bathroom, and vanish inside for a full half-hour.
Even stranger, when the headmaster was inside, no amount of Unlocking Charms could budge the door.
The students were forced to accept the fact—their silver-bearded, highly respected headmaster was, indeed, sneaking into the girls' bathroom.
The news spread like wildfire. When Severus Snape heard the rumor from some club members, he couldn't help but feel a grudging admiration for the headmaster's dedication and persistence. To investigate a supposed Horcrux in the Chamber of Secrets, he was willing to sacrifice his own reputation.
Still, Snape had no intention of clearing Dumbledore's name. After all, compared to the headmaster's inconsequential reputation, keeping the secret was far more important.
Besides, if someone insisted on spreading rumors that Professor Dumbledore was mentally unhinged, letting the gossip spiral out of control, Snape could always write a book himself—Albus Dumbledore: His Life and Lies.
He was certain that once such a book was published, no one would dare associate the headmaster's bathroom visits with anything as sordid as "bare arms" or the like.
However, Dumbledore's persistence also served as a reminder to Snape. If the headmaster was working this hard, Snape had no excuse to slack off.
The two "bombs" tucked in his robes were hardly a comforting bedtime companion. Tom Riddle's diary was one thing, but the golden locket he'd recently acquired was utterly useless to him, though no less dangerous.
So, while Moaning Myrtle was off wandering, Snape slipped into the Room of Requirement, the perfect place for "handling dangerous Dark artifacts."
This time, the Room appeared as a circular, windowless stone chamber. As soon as he stepped inside, the entrance vanished, and the walls melded seamlessly together.
The stone walls were etched with ancient runes, glowing faintly blue.
In the center stood a heavy oak table, surrounded by glass cabinets containing various protective items—dragonhide gloves, curse-resistant cloaks, and even a device resembling Spectrespecs. In one corner, a stone basin continuously bubbled with clear liquid, which Snape suspected was some kind of purifying potion.
Snape pulled the lead box from his robes and placed it on the table.
He donned the dragonhide gloves and tapped the lid with his wand.
The lead box opened with a soft click, revealing the golden locket inside.
Under the protection of the lead box, the locket looked harmless, like an ordinary jewelry box. Its surface was engraved with intricate serpentine patterns, and emerald-encrusted snake eyes gleamed in the light.
Snape cautiously lifted it out and placed it at the center of the table.
"Open," he commanded, instinctively holding Tom Riddle's diary in front of him as a shield, his eyes fixed on the locket's emerald snake eyes.
The locket's lid slid open silently, and to his surprise, no curses or Dark magic were triggered.
The contents were finally revealed—a heavy, oversized ring, seemingly made of gold, roughly crafted as if forged by hand. Embedded in it was a weighty black stone, its interior swirling with what looked like dark currents.
Most striking was the intricate Peverell crest etched into the black stone—the famous Deathly Hallows symbol, a triangle enclosing a circle and a vertical line, glinting faintly in the dim light.
Snape drew a goblin-forged dagger, infused with basilisk venom, from the inner pocket of his robes. He approached the ring cautiously and thrust the dagger forward.
Just as the tip was about to touch the stone, the black gem erupted in blinding light. A strange swirl of colors bloomed before his eyes, like spilled paint spreading through water.
The world began to spin…
When his vision cleared, he found himself standing on the streets of Godric's Hollow, a place steeped in magical history as the birthplace of the great wizard Godric Gryffindor and the site where Bowman Wright crafted the first Golden Snitch.
Above him stretched a deep blue sky, the first stars beginning to twinkle.
It was night, and the air was bitterly cold.
Screams echoed in the distance.
Though he had never been here in person, a terrible instinct told him exactly where he was and what moment this was.
Fear gripped him, urging him to flee, but his body moved toward the source of the screams as if pulled by invisible strings, like a puppet in a nightmare.
Each step felt like walking on cotton, the world around him warped with the surreal quality of a dream.
Turning a corner, he saw a half-destroyed house, its front door blasted off, curtains fluttering in the night breeze.
On the second floor, he saw her.
She lay amidst the rubble, her red hair fanned out like flames, her green eyes staring blankly upward.
A small infant wailed beside her, a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
Snape's throat tightened, but no sound escaped.
As he drew closer, her head suddenly turned toward him, her eyes locking onto his. Her lips moved: "Save me, Severus…"
A wave of anguish washed over him, his heart pounding, but a rational voice in his mind cut through: This isn't right. The time is wrong, the place is wrong… and everything should have already changed…
The scene shifted abruptly, like ripples across a disturbed pond.
When the world stabilized, he stood in the Great Hall of Hogwarts, surrounded by bodies.
Lavender Brown, torn apart by a werewolf, her body still twitching faintly; Colin Creevey's stiff, youthful face, his gray hair dusted with debris.
Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks, pale and motionless, looking serene as if sleeping under the enchanted starry ceiling, their hands almost touching but forever apart.
George Weasley, missing an ear, knelt beside Fred, while Mrs. Weasley trembled over her son's chest, Mr. Weasley stroking her hair, tears streaming down his face.
Albus Dumbledore's twisted limbs lay in a pool of blood, his half-moon spectacles askew, his blue eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.
All the dead turned their heads toward him.
"Too many have died, Severus," they whispered in unison. "You failed to keep your promise. You've witnessed the deaths of so many…"
Snape stared at the scene, a sudden sense of absurdity washing over him.
"What does this have to do with me? I didn't cause this," he thought, glaring at the illusion. "What's next? Are you going to show me a ring and tell me that wearing it will fix everything?"
As if in response, a golden ring appeared in the air, glowing with an enticing light.
"Fine," Snape said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Anything else, Tom? Is this the extent of your imagination?"
The illusion began to crumble, shattering like a broken mirror.
Snape felt the world spin again. When he opened his eyes, he was back in the Room of Requirement.
The goblin dagger was still clutched in his hand, the ring lying quietly in its box.
"That's it?" Snape said softly, a hint of disdain in his voice. "You might be able to glimpse some of my desires and fears, but what you don't realize is that none of this has happened yet." He tightened his grip on the dagger. "And I exist to make sure it never does."
Without hesitation, he plunged the dagger into the ring.
The black stone let out a piercing scream, cracks spreading like a spiderweb across the gold band. A plume of black smoke poured from the fissures, twisting into a pained face before dissipating.
Snape exhaled, a strange sense of relief washing over him. He tossed the ruined ring, along with the Resurrection Stone, into a plain leather pouch and stuffed it carelessly into his robes.
He had no one to resurrect.
"Two Horcruxes down," he muttered to himself. "Three left… maybe four in time…"
As he left the Room of Requirement, autumn sunlight streamed through the high windows, bathing the corridor in warmth. The weather outside was unusually clear.
On his way to the fifth floor, Snape suddenly felt the urge to visit the library and read a medieval knight-and-witch romance to pass the precious school hours.
To his surprise, Madam Pince, usually so strict, was absent from her post. This was unusual—the stern librarian typically watched over everyone like a hawk.
The library was eerily quiet, with only a few students scattered about, reading.
Snape raised an eyebrow and slipped silently between the shelves. As he passed the literature section, a faint whisper caught his attention.
He softened his steps and followed the sound.
In a corner between the shelves, he spotted Madam Pince and Filch.
Carefully positioning himself behind a row of books, he peered through the gaps and saw Pince hand the caretaker a small bag.
Filch, grinning broadly, pulled an object from the bag and tossed it to the floor. As he straightened, he slung the bag over his arm.
"What are they doing?" Snape wondered, straining to see the contents of the bag, but the angle was too poor.
Just then, something brushed against his leg.
Looking down, he saw Filch's beloved cat, Mrs. Norris.
She was clumsily chasing a ball of yarn, hopping about.
"Oh, you're a good girl," Snape said without thinking, crouching to gently stroke her head and wipe the gunk from her eyes.
He expertly scratched her chin and patted her back.
Mrs. Norris, clearly delighted, stretched out and purred contentedly.
Snape was about to pull out some dried fish he always carried when a chill ran through him.
Looking up, he met Filch's pale face.
The caretaker stood at the end of the aisle, lips trembling, eyes wide.
"Er, Mr. Filch…" Snape stood awkwardly.
"You…" Filch pointed at him, then at Mrs. Norris. "You…"
"Please, it's not what you think—" Snape began to explain.
Filch lunged forward, scooping up Mrs. Norris and holding her up by her armpits, staring into her eyes in disbelief.
Mrs. Norris blinked her big round eyes and let out a soft, sweet "meow."
"Oh, my darling," Filch said, hesitating before pulling her into his arms. He turned to Snape, his expression darkening. "The trophy room needs dusting," he growled. "Tonight. Not a speck of dust!"
"Yes, sir," Snape replied obediently, pulling out the dried fish and handing it over. "Mrs. Norris loves these. They'll make her coat even shinier."
Filch glared, snatching the bag and muttering about "today's students" and "not even sparing my cat" as he stormed off.
Snape shrugged, pulled a fantastical magical version of Tristan and Iseult from the shelf, and settled by a window.
Outside, the autumn sky was clear and cloudless.
The sunlight warmed the pages, and for a moment, Snape set aside Horcruxes and wars, losing himself in the fictional tale.
A moment later, Madam Pince emerged from the aisle, patrolling her domain with an even sterner expression than usual.
————
Supporting me on Patreon to gain early access to advanced chapters and enjoy expedited updates. Your support is greatly appreciated.
pat-reon .com/Dragonhair
(Just remove the hyphen - and space, to access Patreon normally.)