"Is there more?" Snape asked.
"What else do you want?" Pandora looked at him in puzzlement, then slowly walked over to the long table. She carefully took off the bracelet, picked up her wand, and began delicately carving at the runes along its surface.
At that moment, Moaning Myrtle finally floated down from the lamp. She darted happily toward Snape, exclaiming, "There's more!"
But she misjudged her speed, and before Snape could react, she passed straight through his body.
A chill shot through him instantly, wrapping him in icy air. Snape shuddered uncontrollably, then quickly moved toward the door. "G–goodbye, you two carry on."
During the following week, they attended another Apparition lesson. But even after several classes, Apparition remained as difficult as ever, with only a few students managing to splinch themselves in new and creative ways.
Snape wasn't doing much better. His greatest achievement came during the third lesson, he watched as a lock of his hair successfully flashed into the wooden hoop.
That alone gave him a keen understanding of the dangers of Apparition. Who could say, after a few more tries, whether he might end up with the hairstyle of a "powerful wizard"?
Meanwhile, a sense of unease had begun spreading among the students. Reports of disappearances in The Daily Prophet seemed to be increasing. One of the missing people was even a relative of a Hogwarts student named Mark Foley.
On Friday morning, Mark Foley was called out of Defense Against the Dark Arts class and informed that his father hadn't shown up for work at the Ministry in over a week. After that day, no one saw Mark Foley again.
Rumor had it that Mark was from the village of Foley in Hampshire, and that his father worked in the Ministry's Office of Muggle Liaison. Unlike most pure-blood families, the Foleys had a long-standing and openly pro-Muggle attitude. That had earned them no small amount of scorn in the wizarding world, though the Weasleys and a few other families were notable exceptions.
On Sunday evening, Snape arrived punctually outside the Headmaster's office.
He had barely exchanged a few words with the sweet-scented guardian at the door before the stone gap swung open from within.
Dumbledore stepped out, a long black traveling cloak draped over his arm.
"Come along, Severus," he said. "We're going to Lancashire to visit Mr. Bob Ogden."
"Professor," Snape said quickly, following close behind him, "aren't we Apparating there?"
"Yes," Dumbledore said as he descended the staircase, his tall figure casting long shadows. "Apparition would take us straight to our destination, but it would also rob us of the scenery along the way.
"Mr. Ogden is retired now, and we're in no particular hurry. Let the Thestrals carry us across England."
"You can see Thestrals, can't you?" Dumbledore stopped and turned back to look at Snape, his tone mild.
"Of course," Snape said irritably, brushing past him. "You already know that."
Bathed in the dim light filtering through the corridor windows, the two of them descended the stairs, crossed the Entrance Hall, and stepped outside the castle. The cheerful chatter and clinking of cutlery in the Great Hall faded behind them.
"Ah, the students are all enjoying their dinner," Snape said, shaking his head with mock resignation. "And here I am, burdened with duty, traveling to save the world."
"Slytherin, one hundred points," Dumbledore said calmly, his voice drifting through the night.
"Hm?" Snape grunted. "You know that sort of thing doesn't matter to me."
"But don't you want to be Head Boy?" Dumbledore went on, still walking ahead. "You'll need a reason for it. If you're unsatisfied, I could always give you my wand instead."
"No, I don't want it," Snape said at once, shaking his head emphatically. "No wand works better than one's own."
What a joke, no sane person would so casually accept the infamous Deathstick.
The setting sun sank slowly through the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, casting the last slivers of light across the grass. They crossed the grounds, passed Hagrid's hut, and came to the forest's edge.
They stepped directly into the trees, venturing deeper and deeper into the Forbidden Forest. The further they went, the thicker the undergrowth became, and the darker the light grew, like midnight in the middle of evening.
The forest was pitch-black. Apart from the faint sound of trickling water somewhere nearby, everything was silent.
Suddenly, the underbrush rustled. The sharp sound of shifting branches made Snape tense up. He raised his wand defensively, eyes fixed ahead.
Dumbledore, however, reached out and gently lowered Snape's wand, shaking his head to signal that there was no need to worry.
The ground began to tremble faintly, and from the darkness came the drumming of hooves. Several centaurs, human from the waist up, horse below, emerged from the forest, bows slung across their backs as they galloped into view.
"Good evening, Dumbledore." said one centaur in a low, melancholy voice. His tail was long and red.
"Good evening, Ronan," Dumbledore greeted him, stepping forward to shake his hand. "Have we disturbed you? Has something happened?"
"No," Ronan said, lifting his gaze to the heavens. His voice was deep and sorrowful. "Mars is unusually murky tonight. The future is clouded with uncertainty. We have come following the signs in the sky."
"Enough riddles," said another centaur with black hair and a dark hide. He pawed the earth impatiently with a front hoof, though after a glance at Dumbledore, he set it back down. "We cannot defy the will of the heavens. Dumbledore, why have you come here tonight?"
Riddles, is it? Snape couldn't help taking a step forward. "When wind brushes the treetops, we need not ask why it blows; when rain falls in the forest, we need not ask why it drops."
The centaurs snorted irritably, pawing at the soil, their faces clouded with frustration.
"All right," Dumbledore said with a satisfied nod and a faint smile. "If there's nothing else, I'm afraid we must take our leave."
The black centaur looked as though he wanted to speak again, but Ronan lifted a hand toward him in warning, glancing at Dumbledore. "Bane, what we seek is not here."
The centaurs gave a whistling call and galloped off, their forms soon disappearing into the depths of the forest.
"I despise riddlers," Snape muttered with disgust.
"That is the nature of their kind, Severus," Dumbledore said cheerfully. With a light crack, he flicked his wand, and a slab of raw meat, still oozing blood, fell onto the forest floor. "From them, we rarely get a straightforward answer."
Before long, several Thestrals emerged from the trees, following the scent of blood. Their broad, leathery, bat-like wings were folded tight against their sides, and their white, sightless eyes gleamed faintly in the dark.