Rain on March 11th (Part 2)

Professor Snape was in a particularly foul mood today. The already damp dungeons felt even more oppressive with the constant drizzle outside, and the hospital wing was now filled with petrified students. Madam Pomfrey had come to him three times, tearfully pleading for a solution. But without mature mandrakes, there was nothing he could do.

"If only someone could provide a mandrake now, they'd earn Dumbledore's gratitude," Snape thought bitterly. "But no, the short-sighted fools would rather sell their daughters to maintain their pure-blood status."

He wasn't surprised that Joey had been petrified. The girl had been nothing but trouble since her first year—always running around, sticking her nose where it didn't belong, and playing the hero. Perhaps this would teach her a lesson. Gryffindor girls were far too reckless, and her parents clearly hadn't done enough to rein her in.

"Ugh, another toadstool escaped!" Snape growled inwardly as he chased the thirteenth toadstool around his desk. When would he ever finish gathering the ingredients for the restorative potion? He needed to have a word with Professor Sprout about speeding up the mandrakes' growth.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. "Enter," Snape snapped, hoping it wasn't another person asking when the potion would be ready. To his relief, it was Shafiq, one of his more competent Slytherin students.

"Professor, I hope I'm not disturbing you," Shafiq said politely, stepping into the office. His eyes flicked to the chaotic mess of toadstools on Snape's desk.

"If you don't want to disturb me, leave quickly," Snape muttered, still wrestling with a particularly stubborn toadstool.

Shafiq, unfazed by Snape's harsh tone, began helping to corral the toadstools. "I heard you're brewing the restorative potion. When will it be ready? Do you need any help?"

Snape glared at him. "Are you daft? The mandrakes aren't mature yet. How am I supposed to brew the potion without them?"

"My apologies, Professor," Shafiq said smoothly, continuing to help without missing a beat.

Snape watched him for a moment, then sighed. "What do you want, Shafiq? You didn't come here just to ask about the potion."

Shafiq hesitated, wiping his hands meticulously with a handkerchief. "If a powerful wizard offered to restore my family's glory, should I align myself with him?"

Snape's expression darkened. "In Slytherin, it's not uncommon to seek the protection of those stronger than yourself. There's no shame in it."

Shafiq looked up, his eyes searching Snape's face. "Really? No shame at all?"

"But," Snape added sharply, "you must be certain this wizard is worthy of your loyalty. And you must know what you truly want. Once you sacrifice certain things, you can't get them back."

Shafiq's hand twitched toward his wand, his expression conflicted. Snape could see the internal struggle but resisted the urge to use Legilimency. This was a decision Shafiq needed to make on his own.

After a long silence, Snape finally said, "If you have nothing else to say, leave. I don't have time for this."

Shafiq turned to go but paused at the door. "You might find something useful in Myrtle's bathroom. The faucet there... it's worth investigating." With that, he left, forgetting to close the door behind him.

Snape stared after him, then grabbed a handful of Floo powder. "Headmaster's office!" he shouted, stepping into the flames.

———

Meanwhile, Fred and Harry had returned to the hospital wing, nearly colliding with Shafiq on the stairs. Neither noticed the other, too preoccupied with their own concerns.

Flami was still reeling from her earlier encounter with Shafiq. She stood by the window, staring out at the rain, her mind racing. The sound of the boys bursting into the room startled her, and she nearly hit her head on the glass.

"Careful!" George said, rushing to her side. "Your head's worth ten Galleons a month. We can't afford to lose it!"

Flami rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling. "You're insufferable, George."

Fred, meanwhile, sat on the edge of Joey's bed, tucking the blanket around her. His face was a mask of frustration. They'd found no answers in the Forbidden Forest, and the culprit behind the attacks remained a mystery.

"We can't just wait for the mandrakes to mature," Fred muttered.

"We can't let Hogwarts close!" Ron exclaimed, his face red with determination. "We have to do something!"

Harry, who had been staring at Hermione's petrified form, suddenly noticed a small note clutched in her hand. "Pipe..." he murmured, his eyes widening. "I've got it! It's in Myrtle's bathroom!"

Without waiting for an explanation, Harry bolted from the room, Ron hot on his heels. Fred and George exchanged a glance and followed, shouting, "What can we do?"

"Find a professor!" Harry called back. "We're going to need backup!"

Fred and George sprinted to Professor Lockhart's office, the closest professor to Myrtle's bathroom. But when they burst in, they found the man frantically packing his belongings.

"Trying to run away, are we?" Fred said, his voice cold as he and George cornered Lockhart.

"N-no, I don't understand—" Lockhart stammered, raising his hands in surrender.

"You don't need to understand," Fred snapped, kicking Lockhart's pink suitcase across the room. "You're coming with us."

"I'm not going anywhere!" Lockhart screamed. "I can't die here! I have novels to publish!"

"Joey and Hermione were petrified!" Fred shouted, his wand pressing into Lockhart's neck. "They admired you! Don't you care?"

Lockhart's facade crumbled. "I don't remember them! Please, let me go! My books are all lies!"

Fred's anger boiled over. He punched Lockhart square in the face, sending the man sprawling. "You're not just a fraud—you're a coward!"

George pulled Fred back before he could do more damage. "Harry and Ron are waiting. Let's go."

Reluctantly, Fred dragged Lockhart to his feet. "You're coming with us. If nothing else, you can be a human shield."

When they reached Myrtle's bathroom, Harry and Ron were nowhere to be seen. Myrtle, the ghost, sat on a faucet, watching them with a bored expression.

"Where did they go?" Fred demanded.

Myrtle yawned. "Oh, they're already inside."

Fred and George exchanged a confused glance. "Inside where?"

Myrtle pointed to a faucet with a small snake engraved on it. "There."

Fred leaned closer, examining the faucet. "What is this?"

The answer, it seemed, was just out of reach.