The next day, Argus arrived at the classroom expecting a crowd, but the reality still left him speechless. The room wasn't just full—it was bursting at the seams, with students standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Slytherins, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and even a contingent from Gryffindor had shown up, including top students like Hermione, Cho Chang, Neville—who'd been sorted into Hufflepuff and couldn't stop beaming about it—Seamus Finnigan, the explosion-prone prodigy, Ginny Weasley, the twins Fred and George, and Cedric Diggory.
The others made sense, but Cedric baffled Argus. Why would someone who'd already conjured a full Patronus on the Quidditch pitch need remedial lessons? Under Argus's quizzical stare, Cedric just offered a shy, good-natured smile and said nothing.
The Weasley twins sidled up, grinning wickedly. "Hold your horses—there's more," Fred said.
"Percy and the rest ran out of space, so they're crammed into the next classroom," George added. "Who'd skip Professor Grindelwald's class? Heh."
More? Argus scanned the packed space, doing quick mental math. With Percy and company spilling over, the turnout was quadruple what he'd anticipated. Standing room was a squeeze; waving a wand would be impossible. For a wild moment, he considered channeling Harry from the books and herding everyone to the Room of Requirement.
"Hermione, Diggory, Fred, George—you lot keep things from turning into chaos," he instructed. "I'll sort out the Great Hall."
After the Hogsmeade fiasco and the Quidditch pitch brawl, he'd noticed Hermione growing into a natural at wrangling crowds. Order wouldn't be an issue.
Argus set off for Snape's office, only to cross paths with Professor Filius Flitwick en route. He dipped his head in a polite nod. "Morning, Professor."
"Good morning, Mr. Grindelwald!" Flitwick beamed, his usual warmth undimmed. "Shouldn't you be teaching the Patronus Charm about now?"
Argus chuckled wryly. "Too many signed up—the classroom's overflowed. I'm off to request the Great Hall from Professor Snape."
A thought struck him. "Professor, isn't today the Charms Club session? What brings you out here?"
Flitwick waved a hand, amused. "Everyone's flocked to your Patronus lessons instead! Severus isn't in his office—I just checked. For the Great Hall, I'd go straight to Headmaster Dumbledore."
"Thanks for the tip." Argus inclined his head gratefully.
"No trouble—go on, don't keep the students waiting!" Flitwick called, waving him off with a kindly smile.
Of the four Heads of House, Flitwick was by far the most approachable. McGonagall was a disciplinarian, Sprout too reserved for banter, and Snape... well, even his own Slytherins gave him a wide berth.
As Argus hurried on, Flitwick added over his shoulder, "The Headmaster's password is 'Sherbet Lemon.'"
Up in the office, Dumbledore greeted him without a flicker of surprise. "Lemon Drop, Argus?"
"Snape's been buried in potions lately—no time for Tooth-Strengthening Solution," the Headmaster explained, popping one into his mouth. "So, these keep my teeth in check."
The shift was subtle but telling: Dumbledore now used his first name, a far cry from the formal "Mr. Grindelwald" of their earlier chats. Argus had once suggested the familiarity, but it still felt like progress.
"No, thank you, Headmaster. I'm here to request the Great Hall. My lessons drew a bigger crowd than expected."
Dumbledore nodded. "For that club you started? Quite the turnout—I heard."
"It's not a club, exactly. Just a way to equip the younger Slytherins against Dementors," Argus said evenly.
"There's a hall in the west tower—try that first."
"Yes, Headmaster."
The conversation wrapped neatly, and Argus departed. Moments later, Snape materialized from the shadows.
"You can rest easy this time," Snape sneered.
Dumbledore gazed after Argus, his eyes distant, as if peering through the young wizard to someone else entirely. "Severus, he's not like that man. He understands love. He knows how to protect."
"So you're fine handing the students from all four Houses over to him without a second thought?"
Dumbledore fell silent, lost in contemplation, his gaze fixed on the floor.
Snape's smirk sharpened. "Severus."
The Headmaster's voice cut through. "If you have the time, keep a closer watch on the boy. He's so like his father. Even with the advanced Patronus Charm, we can't assume..."
"Assume what?" Snape shot back, his words laced with venom. "That he'll safeguard our precious savior? Play silly broomstick games with him?"
Only around Voldemort did Snape ever hold his tongue. Here, he lashed out freely.
"Please, Severus," Dumbledore urged softly. "Harry's path has veered so far from our plans—we can't risk more variables."
Snape scoffed inwardly. When the boy—Yag—first arrived, you'd set me to spy on him. Years of surveillance, and nothing. Now he summons a corporeal Patronus, and still the distrust? Must he babysit Potter every step?
He loathed the boy. Save for those eyes, he was James Potter reborn—stirring up memories of old torments.
Dumbledore knew it well but had no alternatives; no other professor would take on the task.
"I promise, Severus—this is the last time."
"He's the prophesied savior. The only one to survive Avada Kedavra."
"And Lily's... only son."
The words struck like a hex, invoking the prophecy, the Killing Curse, the leak that doomed Lily. Pain twisted in Snape's chest, stealing his breath. Long moments passed before he steadied.
His eyes met Dumbledore's, cold and unyielding. "The last time."
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