The storm clouds cleared, and the rain ceased.
In the Black Lake, the merpeople cautiously poked their heads out of the water, and the giant squid raised a tentacle above the surface.
"Would you like me to reattach your hand?" Dumbledore flicked his wand, levitating Snape's severed hand. The stump was cleanly cut, and the hand still looked fresh, with blood trickling from the wound.
Snape shook his head without a word.
He staggered to his feet, snatched the severed hand from the air, and clutched it to his chest. But after taking only a few steps, he stumbled and fell to the ground again, struggling to push himself up with his remaining hand.
Dumbledore moved to help him.
"No, Albus!" Snape gritted his teeth. His voice was filled with venom.
Dumbledore froze, lowering his wand.
The distance from the lakeshore to the Hogwarts castle was only a few hundred meters — a walk that would normally take minutes.
But Snape, limping and covered in mud and blood, took over ten minutes to reach the castle gates, staggering every step of the way.
The students he passed couldn't bring themselves to meet his gaze.
The Slytherins, in particular, gawked in disbelief.
Their usually composed and dignified head of house — save for his greasy hair and perpetually sour expression — now looked utterly defeated, filthy, and covered in grime.
And worst of all…
His left arm was gone.
"Professor… Potter… did this to you?" one of the older Slytherins asked through clenched teeth.
"It was my own mistake," Snape said coldly, his voice devoid of emotion.
The Slytherins froze.
That was impossible.
They'd sooner believe Gryffindor would suddenly become as wise and reserved as Ravenclaw than believe that Severus Snape — their precise, methodical Potions Master — could accidentally cut off his own arm.
"Professor—" another Slytherin began.
Snape interrupted him harshly.
"Have I been too lenient with you? Have your brains regressed into troll dung? Did someone stuff ten pounds of owl droppings into your heads?"
His voice turned icy, dripping with disdain.
"Go back to your dorms. Now. Don't stand around gawking like a bunch of baboons."
The Slytherins parted to make way for him, watching as Snape leaned against the castle walls, limping toward the dungeons.
As soon as he was out of sight, a roar of celebration erupted from the Gryffindor table.
"Your head of house lost to Potter!" the Gryffindors jeered gleefully.
"The snake lost a hand!"
"What a great day!"
One of the Slytherin students snapped, drawing his wand.
"Langlock!"
The spell hit Fred, sealing his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He opened his mouth to yell but couldn't make a sound.
The Gryffindors immediately retaliated.
The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws hurriedly pulled back to their tables, unwilling to get caught in the middle.
The fighting intensified.
Tables were overturned, the oak doors were blasted to pieces, and flames began to spread from inside the castle to the grounds outside.
Dumbledore, who had just been heading back to speak with Harry, rushed to the scene alongside Professor McGonagall.
Dumbledore raised his wand, casting a powerful shield charm that halted every spell in the air.
Professor McGonagall was furious, her face like stone.
"What do you think you're doing!?" she bellowed.
"Fighting, brawling! Are you trying to tear the castle down?"
"Gryffindor and Slytherin, each lose 100 points! And when you return from your holidays, every one of you will serve a month of detention — with Filch!"
The students didn't care about the punishment.
Even without their wands, they continued glaring at each other with bared teeth, as if ready to pounce with fists and fangs.
"It was the Gryffindors! They insulted our head of house first!" a Slytherin shouted angrily.
McGonagall's expression darkened.
"Gryffindor, another 50 points deducted!"
"It was the Slytherins who attacked first!" George protested, prying Fred's mouth open. "Fred still can't talk!"
"Slytherin, another 50 points!" McGonagall growled.
"Professor," a Slytherin student called out again, trembling with rage. "Will Potter be expelled? He attacked Professor Snape — he even… cut off…"
"I believe your head of house has already explained what happened," Dumbledore interrupted gently.
The Slytherin student clenched his teeth. "But there's no way Professor Snape would mess up a spell so badly that he cut off his own arm…"
"Why not try trusting your head of house?" Dumbledore asked, his tone serene.
"Given the relationship between Professor Snape and Mr. Potter, I doubt he has any reason to cover for Potter."
The Slytherins fell silent, mulling over Dumbledore's words.
Indeed…
Considering how Snape and Potter spoke to each other — with every sentence laced with scorn, as if they were carving pieces off each other with every word — it seemed impossible that Snape would ever protect Harry.
Dumbledore flicked his wand, restoring the castle doors and tables to their original state.
"It was a minor mistake on Severus's part," he said softly. "Now, return to your common rooms and rest."
With that, he turned and left.
McGonagall remained behind, her expression stern as she kept a watchful eye on the students, ensuring they wouldn't resume their fight the moment the professors left.
Back under the rain shelter, Dumbledore approached Harry.
"Harry, I wanted to—"
"Professor, can't you let him rest for a while?" Hermione cut in, looking up from where she sat.
Ron sat nearby, holding Crookshanks, the Sorting Hat, and Harry's tattered armor in his lap.
Hermione conjured another bench, sitting at one end while Harry lay down with his head resting on her lap. His breathing was steady, his face peaceful, as though he had drifted into sleep.
Dumbledore nodded, conjuring a chair for himself and sitting down. Occasionally, he muttered to himself or shared stories that made him chuckle — but no one else laughed. Hermione remained expressionless, absorbed in her book, Crookshanks yawned lazily, and Hedwig cooed in mild irritation. Only Ron offered the occasional awkward chuckle.
Hours passed.
When Harry finally stirred and sat up, the sky was painted with the soft hues of sunset, melting into the Forbidden Forest.
"Feeling better?" Dumbledore asked.
Harry nodded. "You've been waiting here all this time?"
The deep grooves in the ground beneath Dumbledore's chair, along with the scuff marks from the chair's legs, told Harry that the old wizard had been there for hours.
"I was worried about you," Dumbledore said gently.
"You should be more worried about Professor Snape," Harry replied, shaking his head.
"He won't reattach his hand."
"He's a Potions Master," Dumbledore said, glancing toward the castle. "He can take care of his injuries."
Harry snorted.
"I'm not that hurt." He pulled out the Sorting Hat and rummaged through it, pulling out an old troll-leather tunic to replace his ruined armor.
"And you don't need to give me any comforting speeches."
Dumbledore smiled, glancing at Hermione, who was stretching her legs after sitting for so long.
"No, I suppose you don't need me to comfort you."
The Sorting Hat began humming a tune, only for Crookshanks to swat at it with a paw.
When Harry returned to the castle, the Gryffindor table erupted in cheers.
The Slytherins glared at him with icy contempt, their stares as sharp as knives.
At the staff table, Snape's seat was empty.
Professor McGonagall kept her wand at the ready, prepared for any further outbursts.
The tension lasted until the end of term.
In Lupin's office, Sirius rubbed his hands together, his eyes gleaming with excitement.
"You really cut off Snivellus's hand?"
Harry nodded.
"Brilliant!" Sirius beamed. "Let's see how he competes with me for potion ingredients now—"
"You still wouldn't beat him," Harry interrupted, his expression blank.
Sirius blinked.
"What? But you—"
"You think the two of us could beat Harry now?" Lupin cut in, equally deadpan.
Sirius faltered.
"Well… maybe?"
"No," Lupin sighed. "We'd last ten minutes at most."
"Really?" Sirius pouted.
"You're telling me I can't even beat Snivellus with one hand?"
Harry nodded.
Sirius gritted his teeth.
"Right. That's it. I'm asking Professor Flitwick for extra lessons. This summer, I'm training with you."
Lupin chuckled quietly, shaking his head.
He had his doubts.
----------
Powerstones?
For 20 advance chapters: patreon.com/michaeltranslates