Severus Snape descended the spiral staircase from Dumbledore's office, his feet moving on autopilot. His entire being was a maelstrom of barely contained emotions: the crushing grief for Lily, the lingering terror of the Dark Lord's return, and the terrible, binding vow he had just made.
He had committed to protecting the son of the man he despised, all because of the green eyes that haunted him. He needed air; he needed silence; he needed to reconstruct the icy wall that shielded his soul.
He reached the eighth floor corridor, a long, empty stretch of stone where silence usually reigned supreme. He was halfway down the corridor when he heard the rhythmic, determined stride of someone approaching from the lower floors.
Snape glanced up, his eyes unfocused, still seeing Lily's smiling face behind his lids. He saw a figure emerge onto the seventh floor staircase landing: a student in Slytherin robes—the house he now, ironically, had to return to teach. The boy was young, strikingly handsome, with long, wavy black hair that seemed to ripple with a life of its own.
A silver monocle was fixed over his right eye, and his delicate, almost feminine features were contrasted by sharp, severe eyebrows. His black eyes were wide, staring right at him with an intensity that pulled Snape from his fugue state.
What kind of audacious display is this? Snape thought, recognizing the sharp, familiar magical signature of the boy. Ah, the precocious Mr. Anduin. The one with the strange, complex runic projects. The one Dumbledore seems so fond of.
The boy, Anduin, was also momentarily stunned. He had been so focused on getting to Dumbledore that the encounter blindsided him. But the face... the familiar, pale, hooked nose and black, greasy hair matched the figure in the old photo albums Sirius had shown him—the one he always referred to as "Snivellus."
But now, Snape wasn't a school-age annoyance; he was a full-grown wizard, a known acquaintance of the Dark Lord, and, in Anduin's mind, a confirmed Death Eater. Seeing him ascending from Dumbledore's private office, at the very moment the news of the betrayal and deaths was still raw, the Wizard's Hand magic that had been bubbling beneath Anduin's skin finally broke free.
Before Snape could utter a single word of sardonic greeting or inquiry, Anduin reacted, his movement not a conscious thought but an instinctual, blinding flash of magical defense and aggressive offense. His staff was out and aimed, and a silent, powerful, invisible force was launched.
"Halt!" Anduin roared, his voice thick with the residual rage of the morning.
Snape, though momentarily baffled by the sheer audacity of a student launching an attack, was an instinctual duelist honed by years in the trenches of the war. His wand was in his hand in the blink of an eye, drawing upon a deep well of vicious, calculated magical power.
The first blow was Anduin's newly Transcendent magic: a swift, invisible surge of telekinetic force designed to shatter bone and collapse lungs—the raw Wizard's Hand in its kinetic manifestation.
Snape flicked his wrist, and a shield of pure, dense, silver energy erupted from his wand tip—the Ironclad Charm, a defensive counterspell of legendary density. The invisible force struck the shield with the impact of a charging rhinoceros. The resulting KRA-KOOM explosion echoed down the stone corridors, splintering the air and rocking the floor.
But Anduin's attacks were relentless, fueled by his righteous anger and enhanced by his breakthrough. Barriers, Petrificus Totalus, Expelliarmus, Stupefy—spells of increasing complexity and speed—followed one after the other, not as focused dueling curses, but as a furious barrage, a magical machine-gun fire designed to overwhelm.
Snape was enraged. Attacked by an insolent student who dared to ambush him? He spat out a series of vicious counter-curses, dark spells he hadn't used since the war: hexes designed to twist limbs and boil blood. He repeatedly hammered the Ironclad Charm to protect himself, while sending brutal dark curses slicing back toward the boy.
Anduin, surprisingly, was agile. His recent, rigorous physical training with Charles paid off immediately. He dodged the hard-to-avoid, slicing curses with quick, acrobatic footwork. The more difficult, high-impact spells were met with the Wizard's Hand, which now manifested not just as kinetic force, but as magical manipulation of ambient magic.
As Snape launched a particularly nasty curse—a high-speed, violet bolt—Anduin didn't block it conventionally. Instead, he snapped his staff forward, and a massive, shimmering, crystalline shield of compressed, visible air appeared.
The shield didn't just absorb the curse; it subtly twisted the magical trajectory. The violet bolt hit the shield and ricocheted with a SHINK! that sent it screaming back toward the wall, where it detonated in a shower of sparks and pulverized stone.
The duel escalated instantly into a chaos of destruction. Spells that missed their marks slammed into the ancient stone walls and floor, tearing chunks from the architecture and sending shards of rock flying.
Snape hadn't fought this intensely, or defensively, in years. His initial fury gave way to a grudging, tactical assessment: This brat is not only fast, he is instinctively manipulating the magic itself. His defenses are not static—they are fluid. Snape consciously increased the raw power behind his spells, trying to brute-force his way through Anduin's shields, aiming to overwhelm the boy's concentration.
But the young wizard was exhibiting truly remarkable control. Anduin constantly waved his staff, subtly levitating broken stone fragments and dust from the floor, weaving them into a rushing vortex of air and debris—a swirling, magical storm that screened his movements and subtly diverted the trajectory of Snape's curses.
Several of Snape's powerful spells curved harmlessly around the periphery of the magical storm, circling the young wizard before the storm hurled them back as a crude, counter-attacking projectile.
Sensing a moment of opportunity—a microsecond where Snape lowered his wand to breathe a complex Latin incantation—Anduin seized the initiative. He focused his rage, pouring every ounce of the morning's anger and the latent power of the Wizard's Hand into a single, devastating kinetic strike.
He executed a powerful, smooth movement with his right fist. In response, the giant, transparent, ethereal Hand of Magic coalesced directly in front of him, hurtling forward with the crushing momentum of a steam train.
The immediate, visceral pressure of the attack slammed into Snape's magical senses. His instincts screamed lethal threat. Forgetting his complex hex, he channeled every available drop of magic into a desperate, immediate, defensive spell. He thrust his wand down, releasing a sharp, brilliant, crescent-shaped blast of cutting force.
The crescent spell slammed into the charging ethereal fist. It managed to slice the massive magical projection into two shimmering halves, but the immense energy of the collision triggered a violent magical explosion—a concussive shockwave that blasted down the corridor.
The force was too much. Both Snape and Anduin were knocked violently backward, slamming onto the hard stone floor.
Snape felt every bone protest the sudden, painful impact, but his combat training prioritized survival. He tried to scramble back to his feet, groaning from the impact. But the young wizard was faster.
Anduin, younger and more limber, absorbed the shock. He landed on his back, rolled instantly onto his stomach, and then, using a leap and maneuver Snape had never witnessed—a movement based on pure physical conditioning and magical instinct—he launched himself into the air. Before he even landed, his staff was aimed, and a powerful, non-verbal Stunning Spell shot from its tip.
Snape, halfway to standing, had no time to recover his wand arm. He cursed his luck, cursing the boy, cursing the entire, wretched morning. He was about to be ignominiously defeated—knocked cold—by a mere student.
But just as the Stunning Spell was about to hit him, an ancient, impossibly fast figure materialized out of thin air, stepping directly in front of the prone Snape. A gentle, golden energy flowed from the figure's outstretched hand, intercepting and harmlessly dissipating Anduin's attack.
Albus Dumbledore, drawn from his office by the repeated, violent explosions, stood between the two combatants.
"Anduin, what precisely do you think you are doing?" Dumbledore's voice was calm, yet resonated with an authority that instantly froze the magic in the air.
Anduin, panting heavily, his heart hammering against his ribs, lowered his staff slightly, but kept it trained on the figure behind Dumbledore. He had come looking for the Headmaster, but in the heat of his rage and the conviction of his beliefs, he had found a target first.
"Headmaster, I came here to find you, but I saw this man descending from your office," Anduin shouted, his voice hoarse. He pointed his staff directly at Snape, his black eyes still burning with fury. "I know who this man is! He is a Death Eater!"
Snape, finally able to fully regain his feet, dusted off his robes with a cold, slow gesture. His face was a mask of furious contempt, his black eyes promising a dark, painful retribution.
Dumbledore smiled, a hint of genuine amusement flickering in his tired eyes as he took in the utterly destroyed state of the corridor. "My dear boy, I believe there has been a significant misunderstanding between the two of you."
"Misunderstanding?" Anduin retorted, not yielding an inch. "Headmaster, the Daily Prophet just confirmed that a Death Eater betrayed the Potters, leading to their deaths. I recognized this man from old pictures. I refuse to stand by while a servant of the Dark Lord wanders the halls freely!"
"Rest assured, Anduin," Dumbledore said gently, his voice low but firm. "Severus is not what you believe him to be. He is absolutely one of us, and I can vouch for him entirely." He added quickly, seeing Anduin's unwavering gaze, "Furthermore, he is soon to be one of your Professors."
Professor? Anduin's head snapped back slightly, the title sounding bizarre and utterly wrong when applied to the man who had just tried to hex him into oblivion. Still, his trust in Dumbledore was absolute, and with a visible effort of will, he slowly lowered his staff. He shot one final, long look of skeptical distrust at Snape. "If you say so, Headmaster. But I am still confused."
Dumbledore turned to Snape, his tone becoming apologetic. "My apologies, Severus. It seems your return to the school has been rather… eventful. A great deal of stress and tragic news has circulated in the last forty-eight hours, and it seems Mr. Anduin here is also rather sensitive to the pressures of the external world."
"Sensitive?" Snape drawled, his voice a low, dangerous growl. He shot a look of pure loathing at Anduin. "The welcome I have received at this school, Albus, suggests that either the students are utterly feral, or your security protocols are dangerously lax. Perhaps I should reconsider your offer to teach here."
"That is precisely what makes Hogwarts so captivating, Severus," Dumbledore chirped, his eyes twinkling. "You are never entirely without surprise, and I have every confidence you will learn to love it again. Anduin, this is indeed a misunderstanding. Professor Snape is under my absolute trust."
Anduin frowned, accepting the reality but not the man. "Yes, Headmaster. I apologize for my carelessness."
"Careless?" Snape echoed, his lip curling in contempt. His eyes narrowed, burning into Anduin's. "I will remember you, Mr. Anduin. Remember that your reckless power nearly cost you more than just a passing grade."
With a final, contemptuous sneer, Snape turned, his black robes billowing dramatically, and swept away down the corridor, leaving a palpable chill in his wake.
Dumbledore watched him go, then turned his gaze to the scene of destruction.
"You do not seem to be having a very peaceful start to your weekend, Anduin," Dumbledore observed, gesturing broadly at the corridor, which was scattered with stone dust, scorched walls, and deep fissures in the marble floor.
"I am truly sorry, Headmaster. My emotions… I let them overwhelm my control," Anduin confessed, ashamed of the display.
Dumbledore nodded, his expression softening slightly. He understood the sudden, volatile spike in Anduin's magical signature, recognizing it as the eruption of deep-seated trauma and betrayal.
"It is understandable, my boy. Losing Lily and James… and the news of Sirius... it has shaken many. But self-control, particularly when dealing with the raw force of a magically-gifted mind, is the most crucial lesson you can learn."