After saying that, Snape suddenly fell into the same state as the young wizard before him.
After a brief moment of stunned silence, he angrily threw the only student in the dungeon classroom out.
Only after slamming the oak door shut behind him could he bring himself to face himself.
What are you saying?!
he demanded.
"Ah—ah, quite good, hey! Severus, that's a very fine start."
Inside one of the picture frames in the dungeon, a plump little gray-spotted pony slowly trotted out onto the grass and began grazing absentmindedly.
Snape had long since grown used to the people in Hogwarts portraits moving around, leaving their own frames, and paying visits to one another.
But there were hardly any portraits bold enough to linger in his dungeon for long.
Except...
Sure enough, a short, pudgy knight in armor came clanking into view after his little horse.
Judging by the grass stains on the knees of his metal armor, he had clearly fallen off it just moments ago.
"Aha!"
he shouted at Snape.
"Severus, you must be thinking—what scoundrel dares trespass into my private domain?
Perhaps he's come to laugh at me?
But Severus, I sometimes think the same—
Blast that Severus, is he going to laugh at me for falling down?
Ha! If so, then draw your sword, cowardly Severus!"
The little knight yanked his sword from its scabbard and began flailing it wildly, hopping up and down in a show of outrage.
But the sword was far too long for him. With one overenthusiastic swing, he lost his balance and pitched face-first into the grass.
"Heh—"
Snape let out an irritated laugh and stepped closer to the portrait.
Inside it, the knight grabbed his sword again and used it to haul himself upright. But the blade had sunk too deeply into the turf, and no matter how hard he tugged and pulled, he could not wrench it free.
In the end, he collapsed back onto the grass yet again, just as he always did, pushed up his visor, and wiped the sweat from his face.
"Severus, even if you throw me into the fire and roast me into a skewer of meat; even if you toss me into a pile of trolls until I reek to high heaven—
I still have to say it, Severus.
The real words can never be spoken properly—they're bound to come out stammering and incoherent—
Oh, they're dreadful, but they refuse to die..."
The knight's feigned fury suddenly vanished. He clanked to his feet and cried out:
"Severus, we must find our target, and then die bravely in the charge!"
He gave the sword another mighty yank, still failed to pull it free, then tried to climb back onto the plump little horse and failed at that as well. So he shouted:
"That's exactly it, Severus—stripped of your blade, giving up escape, leaving yourself at another's mercy—this is precisely such a moment—
But what of it! It is a willing moment, a moment when inferiority abandons the dark and turns toward the light! Exactly so! Forward! Forward!
One must have a brave heart, Severus! Cast reason aside, and win every possibility!"
the knight bellowed, tears actually welling in the corners of his eyes.
Snape fell silent, and in silence, he threw the knight's portrait out.
But he knew it was useless.
There would always be portraits in the dungeon, and the little wizards who came down here would always secretly tell the knight portrait who the new arrival was.
And that annoying thing would come visiting with perfect precision.
Even so, though Snape found it irritating, he never stopped them.
On the contrary, he let the younger students treat learning to recognize the portrait as a once-a-week task.
Because that way, he would stay a little longer.
...
Night fell.
The fire was still burning in the Slytherin common room.
It was a long, low underground chamber, its walls and ceiling built of rough stone. Round greenish lamps hung from the ceiling on chains.
Beneath an elaborately carved mantelpiece in the cellar, a fire crackled brightly, casting its glow over a tall figure seated in one of the carved chairs nearby.
Snape sat there like a statue, staring into the flames without moving.
At last, the bells of Hogwarts rang out.
Unconsciously, he lifted his gaze toward the ceiling—toward the soaring towers of Hogwarts high above.
He was thinking about this night, this night when the mist would rise.
And in the tower he watched in silence, Sean had strangely gained half a day more time.
He arrived at the entrance to the headmaster's office and waited for the stone gargoyle's question.
"Password?" asked the gargoyle.
"Lemon—"
Before Sean could finish, the gargoyle jumped aside, as if merely completing a formal step.
"—sherbet," Sean finished softly, then quietly stepped into the headmaster's office.
The sun had fully set, and Dumbledore's office was steeped in night.
The glass case containing Godric Gryffindor's sword gave off a steady glow.
Behind Sean, the baby Fawkes was making faint chirping sounds in his ash-covered nest.
"Mr. Fawkes."
Sean naturally fed the phoenix some herbs.
[You have gained the affection of the magical creature Phoenix (Fawkes) at beginner level. Affection +3]
[Phoenix Fawkes: Slightly Affectionate (Beginner) (13/300)]
Mr. Fawkes's affection had already passed the beginner threshold, and the progress of the phoenix biscuits Sean had in mind was also steadily increasing.
A little more cheerful, Sean glanced around the office again. Headmaster Dumbledore was still not there.
Fortunately, Sean had written ahead to request permission to use Gryffindor's sword, and Bai Yi had brought back Dumbledore's letter of approval.
So Sean placed the letter on the desk and drew Gryffindor's sword. Even in the fading evening light, he could see how keen the blade remained.
"Goodbye, Mr. Fawkes,"
Sean said.
The moment he stepped out of the headmaster's office, he was already holding onto the shoulder of the Pukwudgie butler.
"Though I do not know what it is you always go to that square for, esteemed Mr. Green, please hold on to my hand."
Will bent forward and snapped his fingers.
The two of them vanished on the spot.
At Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, inside a hidden room that could not be discovered,
Sirius and a skinny, shriveled old creature were waiting anxiously.
From time to time, they glanced out the window, then listened carefully for the sound of the door opening.
Of course, they heard nothing.
Because Will came straight into the room, and at this very moment he and Sean were passing through two long curtains riddled with moth holes—Sean knew there was another door hidden behind them.
Then they skirted around an umbrella stand that looked as though it had been made from a troll's severed leg and climbed the dark staircase, beside which a row of shrunken heads hung from the wall panels.
Looking closely, Sean realized they were all house-elf heads.
He remembered the Black family motto—or rather, their practice: when a house-elf grew too old to work, they cut off its head.
He frowned, lost in thought about something.
Very soon, he reached the floor where Sirius was waiting.
~~~
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