62. Change in the Old Guard.

Ryan stared at the 'Acceptable' grade scrawled across his pristine, fourteen-inch Potions essay on Wound Stitching Balm. His eye twitched.

This was flawless work. Every ingredient ratio, every brewing instruction, even the historical references—perfect. He had even included extra citations from obscure texts Snape would have appreciated if he weren't such a biased, miserable bastard.

He glanced over at Terry Boot's essay—shorter, missing key insights—and yet, the Ravenclaw had an 'Exceeds Expectations.'

Ryan exhaled sharply, drumming his fingers on the desk. He resisted the urge to set the parchment on fire and instead neatly rolled it up. Rising from his seat, he walked out of the common room, making his way back to his private quarters.

Once inside, he locked the door and leaned against the wall, letting out a long breath. This wasn't just about a grade. It was the principle of the matter. Snape was a petty, bitter man who took out his personal grievances on students. This was the last straw.

"Serenity," he called, his voice calm.

Immediately, his little assassin wife materialized from the shadows, her amethyst eyes focused on him. "Yes, Master?"

Ryan held up the parchment. "I believe it's time for Snape to enter permanent retirement."

Serenity's lips curled into a slow, anticipatory smile.

"Make it look like he accidentally poisoned himself—something befitting a Potions Master," Ryan continued. "And while you're at it, raid his books, journals, and cabinets for anything worth keeping."

Serenity nodded, eyes gleaming with cold determination. "Understood."

With that, she vanished, her Presence Concealment rendering her completely undetectable.

Ryan leaned back, satisfied.

Some people considered Snape a hero. That was a load of crap. The greasy dungeon bat had once carried information to a madman who delighted in murdering children. He hadn't cared about the prophecy until he realized Lily Potter was a potential target. The only reason he switched sides was because of his selfish obsession—not some grand moral revelation.

His regret had never been about the innocent lives lost, only that the woman he fixated on was among them. And even after her death, he had spent years tormenting children out of spite.

No more.

Snape's reign of terror in the dungeons was coming to an end tonight.

~~~

Severus Snape scowled as he stirred the cauldron in his private lab. The dim candlelight flickered, casting shadows over the shelves stacked with rare ingredients and ancient tomes. He had stayed up late working on an advanced healing elixir—something beyond even the comprehension of St. Mungo's best minds.

A bit ironic seeing as it was due to him failing so many students over the years that Saint. Mungo hadn't received any noteworthy potion masters in over a decade.

A drop of sweat trickled down his temple as he carefully measured the next reagent. The fumes were potent, nearly overwhelming, but he was confident in his skill.

And yet… something felt off.

His fingers trembled. His vision blurred. His breath hitched.

Panic set in as he staggered backward, gripping the edge of the worktable. A slow-burning sensation coiled in his chest, spreading rapidly. He tried to counteract the reaction, but his mind grew sluggish.

A realization dawned on him, horrifying and absolute.

Poison.

His knees buckled. His last thoughts were not of regret, not of the lives he had tormented—but of confusion. How? He had been so careful—

Darkness swallowed him whole and the last thing he saw was a pair of violet eyes.

~~~

The next morning, the castle buzzed with hushed whispers and rumors.

"Did you hear?" a Hufflepuff muttered in the Great Hall. "Professor Snape...he—he had an accident."

"An accident?" a Ravenclaw scoffed. "He's a Potions Master! He wouldn't just mix the wrong ingredients."

"But he did," the Hufflepuff insisted. "Apparently, he was brewing something last night, and—boom! The fumes were toxic. Poisoned himself."

Ryan sipped his celebratory butterbeer, listening with a neutral expression.

Dumbledore was clearly unsettled, but with no evidence of foul play, there was nothing he could do. Snape's own arrogance had provided the perfect alibi—everyone knew he worked late into the night with dangerous concoctions.

It was almost poetic.

Serenity had done her job flawlessly.

At the other tables, the reactions were mixed but mostly indifferent. A few Slytherins seemed uncertain about how to feel, but the majority of students looked... relieved. Some even pleased.

"Finally," a Gryffindor muttered. "No more unfair detentions."

"Couldn't have happened to a better person," a Ravenclaw girl whispered under her breath, smirking.

"Honestly, I'm just glad we won't have to deal with his nonsense anymore," a Hufflepuff added. "I was tired of getting yelled at for breathing too loudly near a cauldron."

Ryan smiled faintly.

---

Later that afternoon, Ryan sat in History of Magic, feigning interest as Professor Binns droned on about goblin rebellions in his monotone, ghostly voice.

It was time to clean house.

Ryan exhaled softly. Another relic of the past needed to go.

The Deathly Hallows tattoo on his chest flickered briefly, responding to his will. Without moving from his seat, he flicked his fingers.

Professor Binns stuttered mid-sentence. His ghostly form flickered, his transparent features twisting in confusion.

"What—?"

A silent force pulled at him, unraveling the centuries-old tether keeping him bound to Hogwarts. For the first time in his afterlife, awareness flashed across his face—before he was gone. Exorcised to the beyond in an instant.

The students looked around in confusion. Whispers filled the classroom.

"Where did he go?"

"Did—did Binns just vanish?"

*Snore* "Huh Is class over?"

Ryan merely turned the page in his textbook, indifferent.

With Binns gone, maybe History of Magic grades would finally improve. Perhaps a competent historian would take his place.

One more problem solved.

---

Later that evening, Ryan and his companions gathered in his trunk, sorting through the loot Serenity had retrieved from Snape's personal stores.

A collection of rare potion ingredients, some so difficult to acquire they were nearly extinct, lined the table. There were handwritten journals filled with experimental notes, detailing techniques even the most accomplished Potions Masters would envy. High-quality cauldrons, precision tools, and even a heavily warded trunk that likely contained more secrets rested in their haul.

Rachel picked up a vial, examining the shimmering golden liquid inside. "Felix Felicis," she noted. "Liquid luck."

Yue smirked as she uncorked another bottle. "Polyjuice. And judging by the color, freshly brewed."

Serenity placed a small case on the table, flipping it open to reveal carefully stored vials of Veritaserum. "This alone would be enough to ruin a lot of people if used correctly."

Ryan leaned back in his chair, pleased. "Not a bad haul. Snape had quite the collection."

Serenity preened under his praise, her satisfaction evident. She had done her duty flawlessly, and she knew it.

Ryan's gaze darkened slightly as he studied her. "You deserve a reward."

Her breath hitched as he approached, his fingers tracing along her jaw before tilting her chin up. The rest of the night was hers.

Screams of pleasure and skin slapping were blocked out by the silencing wards around the room.

When morning arrived, Serenity lay sprawled across the bed, face down, utterly spent. A blissful expression adorned her face, her thighs trembling as a creamy trail slid down between them.

A well-earned reward, indeed.