Faced with Dumbledore's subtle hints, Snape felt as though even breathing had become difficult.
It was like someone who had just surfaced for air, only to have their head shoved back underwater.
Fate. Prophecy.
An overwhelming wave of guilt surged through him.
How had Lily—Harry's mother—died?
Because he had passed along the prophecy he'd overheard… to the Dark Lord.
At the time, there had been two possible families the prophecy could have referred to—
One was Harry's, the other was Neville's.
Voldemort's choice needed no explanation.
Snape's heart twisted in pain. It was his fault that Lily had died.
The two driving forces that kept him alive were these:
First, to utterly destroy the Dark Lord—avenge Lily, and cleanse himself of his sins.
Second, to protect those eyes.
If he could achieve those two goals, he would gladly die without regret.
And Dumbledore understood this perfectly. That was why, even though Snape was far from a good man in the conventional sense—and had done many terrible things—he still gave Snape his full trust.
In the face of greater interests, right and wrong, light and dark, good and evil… none of that mattered.
"Lawrence—are your nighttime wanderings now completely out in the open?"
Snape, walking out of the Headmaster's office with a haunted expression, suddenly spotted Wayne coming down from the Gryffindor Tower stairs. His gloom vanished instantly.
"Professor, it's not even curfew yet," Wayne reminded him.
"Talking back to a professor—five points from Hufflepuff."
Docking points from Wayne gave Snape a certain satisfaction, though the only pity was that the boy didn't care about House points at all.
Or rather… Hufflepuff as a whole didn't care much about points.
That cut his satisfaction by at least half.
Wayne didn't reply, only gave Snape a mocking look, his eyes drifting to the shredded fabric of Snape's trouser leg, still speckled with blood.
"Did you get chased by a dog?"
"Tsk. The mighty Head of Slytherin, unable to handle even a three-headed dog. Want me to teach you a few defensive spells?"
Snape's smile froze. He scrutinized Wayne. "You've been to the fourth-floor corridor?"
"You shouldn't make accusations without proof."
Wayne spread his hands innocently. "I'm a law-abiding student. How could I possibly break the Headmaster's ban?"
Snape walked on ahead, pretending not to hear Wayne's nonsense—though he had his own thoughts now.
It was probably Wayne who had thrashed the three-headed dog so badly last time.
What a little monster.
Looking at Wayne, Snape felt as if he were watching the rise of… a Dark Lord.
From Slytherin came Dark Lords.
From Gryffindor came White Lords.
And from Hufflepuff?
They didn't speak again for the rest of the walk. When they reached the fork on the first floor, Wayne headed toward the Great Hall and his dormitory, while Snape turned toward his office.
"Ahem."
Snape couldn't hold it in any longer—he gave two deliberate coughs, and held up two fingers. The meaning was obvious.
Wayne blinked in realization. "Ah, sorry, Professor. I almost forgot."
He rummaged in his dragonhide pouch for quite a while before pulling out two… pinky-sized glass vials.
Inside was Acromantula venom.
"Professor, this is what I promised you earlier."
Snape's expression screamed: Are you kidding me?
The two bottles combined didn't even make up an ounce.
Wayne, looking innocent as ever, shoved the tiny vials into Snape's hand.
"Just admit it's two bottles, Professor."
"But what I meant—"
He had been expecting the large bottle Wayne had shown him last time!
"Oh, come on—it's two bottles, isn't it? Don't be so fussy. Bye, Professor!"
Wayne fired off his parting shot and bolted.
Snape froze for a moment, then felt a surge of anger.
"Lawrence, you—!"
There are no secrets at Hogwarts.
Especially when one of the people involved is a big mouth.
Ron had five dazzling older brothers, and one little sister adored by the whole family.
As the sixth child in the middle, he often got little attention.
At school, his grades were slightly above average. His close friend was the celebrated Harry Potter, and there was also Hermione—the clever little witch who frequently stole the spotlight.
Ron himself had become something of a background character.
So when he came across a chance to make himself known, there was no way he was letting it slip by.
He did keep some decency, though—more or less told things as they happened, except for one major omission: he left out the part where he'd been sulking alone in the bathroom.
Which is why, by the next morning…
The entire school knew.
Gryffindor wasn't the source of gossip.
They were just very efficient distributors.
The Weasley twins were even waiting at the Great Hall doors. The moment Wayne stepped inside, they set off a magical burst of petals and shouted:
"Here comes the hero who defeated the troll!"
Thunderous applause erupted from the Gryffindor table.
A young wizard defeating a troll single-handedly and saving the school?
That was exactly the kind of story the little lions loved most.
Wayne's face flushed red—absolutely mortifying.
Everyone in the hall was staring at him, professors at the High Table included.
He shot a fierce glare at Ron, who was sitting beside Harry, before turning to the twins and saying:
"How about this—beat Ron up for me, and I'll give you a bottle of Elixir of Increased Intellect."
"What are you talking about?" George said indignantly. "Ron's our brother! Our real brother!"
"Two bottles," Wayne offered quickly.
"Deal," Fred replied just as fast. "How bad do you want him?"
"Up to you—just don't kill him."
"You got it!"
Wayne escaped the twins, but was immediately surrounded by the little badgers of Hufflepuff.
They had no idea what exactly had happened yesterday—only that Wayne had returned late—and were full of questions.
"Water Prison Spell?" Cedric thought for a moment. "I've heard of it—it's a very advanced spell, needs a high level of both Transfiguration and Charms skill."
"Oh, once you can manage triple transfiguration, you'll be able to use it easily," Wayne said casually. "You are the top of third year—it should be no problem for you."
Cedric's face turned pale.
Was that even human speech? Triple transfiguration?
He was only just barely managing "living to living" transformations. He was still far from even double transfiguration.
Although Halloween was an important holiday, outside of Ireland it wasn't a school break.
So classes went on as usual.
What surprised Wayne was that Quirrell actually showed up—"light wounds don't keep him off the battlefield," it seemed. Even though his head had nearly been stomped flat last night, here he was in class, only with a different turban.
Wayne wondered if Voldemort was still… alive.
Instead of their usual classroom, the young wizards were brought to a larger one on the third floor.
"Today… today is for free practice, F-F-Freezing Charm."
After stammering out the instructions, Quirrell sat down in the corner, closing his eyes to rest.
So today it was Nervous Quirrell, not Genius Quirrell.
But being allowed to cast spells freely made the students happier.
"Professor Quirrell—you're still alive, then?"
Wayne approached and asked with mock concern.
Quirrell opened his eyes and forced a faint smile. "N-Nothing serious."
"How's your phoenix doing—has its conjunctivitis healed?"
"Not yet," Wayne said with a regretful shake of the head, then smoothly changed the subject: "But I have collected a fair bit of Fawkes' tears. Need some?"
"Of course," Quirrell said, gritting his teeth inwardly, but not refusing.
Even the smallest gain was still a gain. After this stretch of intense teaching, Voldemort was barely hanging on.
"What will you trade for them?" Wayne dangled a small vial in front of his eyes.
Quirrell hesitated—
At that moment, Voldemort awoke and took control of his body.
"How about… Fiendfyre?"
~~----------------------
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