"Don't bother hiding! We know you're in there! There are several wands pointed straight at you, so don't think we're afraid to use them!"
The shout pierced through the dark night, followed by the heavy, chaotic sound of footsteps closing in from all directions.
Inside the tent, Dumbledore remained perfectly composed, seated and motionless, with no sign of standing up.
Seeing this, Snape moved quickly, he snatched up his small bag, rummaged through it with deft fingers, and pulled out several small green spheres glowing faintly in the dark.
Without a second thought, he hurled them out of the tent with a powerful swing of his arm.
"What the hell is that?!" came a panicked shout from outside.
Even Dumbledore, whose expression was usually calm and unreadable, raised his eyebrows slightly at the commotion.
Snape muttered a spell under his breath, casting Protego on himself. A transparent magical shield enveloped him instantly.
Then he lifted the tent flap and strode out into the chaos.
"Help! Get it away from me!"
Outside was a scene of complete pandemonium. Four or five dark figures were writhing on the ground, screaming in pain as flashes of spellfire illuminated the night.
The plants Snape had thrown had already unfurled their broad leaves and were bounding about wildly, shrieking and snapping. The long, spiked edges of their leaves opened and closed ceaselessly.
Careful to avoid the blood-soaked ground, Snape raised his wand and took aim at several of the remaining enemies still struggling to fight back.
"Expelliarmus! Expelliarmus!" he shouted, and two brilliant streaks of light shot from his wandtip toward his foes.
"No, !" cried one of them, but before they could react, their wands flew from their hands. In an instant, the crazed plants pounced, pinning them to the ground as screams of agony filled the air.
Snape caught the disarmed wands effortlessly as they flew toward him. Without even glancing down, he tossed them to the ground and ground his boot down hard. With a series of crack sounds, the finely crafted wands snapped clean in two.
"Professor," Snape called over his shoulder, "you can come out now."
Dumbledore stepped slowly out of the tent. When he saw the chaotic scene before him, he froze in stunned silence for several long moments.
At last, he raised a hand and pointed toward the blood-soaked plants, his face full of confusion. "Severus... what are those?"
"Biting Cabbages," Snape said matter-of-factly.
"You call those Biting Cabbages?" Dumbledore's beard actually trembled with indignation. "Then what do you call the real Biting Cabbages?"
"Er, uh, Professor," Snape muttered, lowering his head sheepishly and glancing up at Dumbledore, "they're an improved variant. If you prefer, you could call them... Little Cabbage Dogs."
"Little dogs?" Dumbledore repeated suspiciously. "And where, pray tell, did you find such mad dogs?"
"Professor, perhaps we should deal with these attackers first!" Snape hurriedly changed the subject, feigning concern. "If we don't treat them soon, they'll bleed out!"
Dumbledore's beard bristled with suppressed irritation, but he raised his wand nonetheless.
With a sweeping motion, the rampaging cabbages were hurled backward by an unseen force, bouncing away across the grass.
Chains of light materialized from thin air, binding the wounded assailants tightly together so that none could move.
Under the effect of Dumbledore's powerful healing magic, the attackers' gruesome wounds began to close, flesh knitting together visibly before their eyes.
"My wand!" bellowed one of them, a troll-sized man whose face was caked in blood. "Where's my wand?"
"Where are their wands, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, turning toward him.
"Oh, right here," Snape said evenly, pointing down at the pile of splintered wood on the ground.
Dumbledore took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I see Hogwarts never taught you proper manners in combat."
Snape drew a small glass vial from his robes, dabbed some of its colorless contents on himself, and walked over to the cabbages.
He stroked their leafy heads gently. The cabbages let out soft, purring sounds and retracted their leaves, curling up peacefully.
Dumbledore watched him thoughtfully, then turned back to the captives. With a casual flick of his wand, a blinding white light filled the air.
The eyes of the bound men went glassy and vacant; their furrowed brows relaxed as dazed, indifferent expressions spread across their faces.
A second series of bright red flashes followed, and a strong gust swept across the grass. The men immediately collapsed into deep, childlike sleep.
"Incredible work, Professor!" Snape clapped enthusiastically after putting away his cabbages. "Nothing like seeing you in action!"
"Next time, I'll let you handle it alone," Dumbledore said dryly. "If I'd come out any later, there'd be more fragments of your soul lying around than Tom's."
"Oh, come now, it was fewer than six," Snape said, scratching his head. "I kept control, Professor, the cabbages did the fighting."
Dumbledore ignored him. He lifted his wand and began walking a wide circle around them, chanting under his breath.
The air shimmered faintly, as though waves of heat were rising from the ground.
"There. No one will disturb us now. Let's go inside, Severus."
The two returned to the warmth of the tent. Fortunately, the battle had been brief; aside from a few trampled flowers by the entrance, the interior remained peaceful and undisturbed.
The night passed without dreams.
When dawn came, the sun rose over the churning sea, painting the sky in shades of blue and violet.
Amid the steady crash of waves, Snape heard faint footsteps outside the tent, soft and muffled, as if coming through thick hide.
He turned to glance at the Scrying Mirror on the table. It was still. So, not an enemy.
"Professor, someone's here?" he called, waking Dumbledore.
"Oh, that will be Alastor," Dumbledore said as he rose, dispelling the protective charms surrounding the tent.
A tall figure leaning on a staff appeared before them.
"Brought me some extra work, did you?" Moody growled gruffly as he approached the tent.
"Good morning, Alastor," Dumbledore greeted. "Pack up the tent, Severus. We'll be leaving shortly."
"Not so fast," Moody said, stepping inside and grabbing a cream cake from the table. "Let me eat something first."
When he'd finished breakfast, Snape packed the tent back into his small bag.
Dumbledore had already drawn the black sailboat close to shore.
They boarded one after another, and under the influence of magic, the boat began to cut steadily through the waves, heading deep into the sea.