Albus, You’ve Failed!
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The seven members of the Slytherin Quidditch team stood in perfect formation, each straddling a brand-new Nimbus 2001. The broomsticks gleamed under the sunlight, their silver-plated handles catching the light and flashing with a polished brilliance that was impossible to ignore.
Malfoy lazily ran his fingers along the tail end of his broom, caressing the engraved registration number with deliberate smugness. A glint of ill-intentioned satisfaction danced in his eyes.
"Allow me to introduce myself," he said, drawling with exaggerated pride. "I'm the new Seeker for Slytherin." He paused, then gave a slow, taunting smile. "Would you like to admire the new brooms my father so generously bought for our team?"
Not a single word came from the Gryffindor players. They simply stood there, staring at the seven luxurious broomsticks lined up before them… silent, stunned, and clearly struggling to find a response.
"Not bad, right?" Malfoy's voice oozed false friendliness, his expression twisting into a mocking smirk. "Of course, I'm sure the Gryffindor team could scrape together enough galleons to buy a few new brooms too… After all, your current lineup of Cleansweep Fives is practically a collection of antiques. I bet a museum would pay handsomely to get their hands on them."
A burst of raucous laughter erupted from the Slytherin team, loud and gleeful. On the Gryffindor side, however, several faces flushed deep red with anger and humiliation.
"At least every member of the Gryffindor team earned their spot through talent and hard work," Hermione snapped sharply, her eyes blazing. "Not by flashing around their daddy's galleons to bribe their way in with a bunch of shiny new brooms!"
Malfoy's fake smile faltered at once. His face froze, as if her words had struck a nerve he didn't want exposed. "This isn't your place to speak, you filthy little Mudblood!" he spat.
The moment those words left his mouth, the air seemed to shift… suddenly tense, charged, and on the verge of boiling over.
Fred and George lunged toward Malfoy without hesitation, their fury written plainly across their faces. But before they could reach him, Marcus Flint stepped forward and swiftly blocked their path, planting himself firmly in front of Malfoy like a human shield.
"What did you just say?" Aelia, one of Gryffindor's female Chasers, demanded, her voice trembling with rage. At the same time, Ron yanked his wand from his pocket and pointed it straight at Malfoy, his grip tight, his expression murderous.
"Ron Weasley…"
A cold, cutting voice sliced through the chaos like a bucket of ice water dumped over their heads. Everyone turned sharply, and only then did they realize that Sargeras was already standing behind them.
Not far off, the dark figure of Professor Snape was also striding swiftly toward the scene, his robes billowing as he approached.
"You were about to cast a spell on a fellow student?" Sargeras asked, his expression utterly unreadable, his tone flat and unflinching. "Think carefully, Mr. Weasley. If you're truly confident you can handle the consequences of hexing Lucius Malfoy's son, then I won't stop you."
"But Professor, he insulted Hermione…"
"I heard him," Sargeras interrupted, not raising his voice, yet somehow making himself perfectly clear. He turned to face Malfoy.
"A word I haven't heard in some time…"
His gaze shifted to the rest of the Slytherin players, his voice calm, eerily calm… lacking even the faintest trace of emotion.
"After all these years, it's remarkable," he said quietly. "Your vocabulary is still so pitifully limited, it's practically offensive."
His eyes drifted across the line of Slytherins, resting briefly on each one's neck like a silent warning. Instinctively, all seven of them took a synchronized step back.
"Slytherin, minus fifty points," Sargeras announced calmly, his voice as level and final as a judge's gavel. "And as for you, Malfoy… one month of detention. If you so much as utter another word, I'll make it two."
Draco Malfoy's face went pale, then shifted to an ugly shade of greenish gray. His smirk disappeared completely, replaced by a look of indignation mixed with dread.
"Professor, isn't that a bit…" Marcus Flint, the Slytherin team captain, tried to interject.
"Marcus Flint," Sargeras cut him off sharply before he could get another word out. "If I were you, I'd stand there quietly and keep my mouth shut."
"But…"
"Before you open your mouth again, Marcus," Sargeras said evenly, his gaze cold and unyielding, "I suggest you think very carefully about how many members of the Flint family are still alive."
Marcus Flint paled. His lips parted slightly as if to protest again, but the words never came. He fell silent, the blood visibly draining from his face.
"Sargeras…" Snape's voice arrived before he did, the man himself gliding noiselessly into the circle. "Isn't a whole month of detention a bit excessive?"
"Excessive?" Sargeras didn't even bother to turn around. "Did you hear what Malfoy just said, Professor?"
"I was too far away," Snape replied with a blank expression. "I didn't hear it clearly…"
"Is that so?" Sargeras raised a brow, his voice carrying a faint note of amusement. "Shall I retrieve the memory from his mind and replay his little performance for you? I think you'll find it quite… memorable."
Malfoy flinched hard at that, stumbling back a step, fear flickering across his face for the first time.
Snape shot him a withering glare, his expression colder than ever. "If I'm not mistaken, you've already deducted house points."
"I have," Sargeras agreed without pause. "But the school rules never said losing points means you can't get detention too."
"The length of the punishment is still up for discussion!"
"Professor," Sargeras said, his voice still calm but edged with unmistakable steel, "he used the word Mudblood. Do you not understand the weight of that slur? Or perhaps… does it bring back some pleasant little memory for you?"
For a heartbeat, Snape froze. Then his expression twisted, contorting into something feral, furious.
"How dare you," he hissed, suddenly whipping out his wand with a sharp, violent motion. "How dare you use Legilimency on me!"
The students gasped and scattered in every direction, startled by the sudden flare of fury. But Sargeras didn't so much as blink. He stood there with the same unreadable calm, and even took a moment to casually adjust the cuff of his sleeve, like none of this was worth breaking his composure over.
"Are you really going to make a move, Professor?"
Sargeras watched Snape with a faint, unreadable smile, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and warning. He didn't spare so much as a glance at the wand pointed directly at him, as if it didn't exist at all.
"Then I suggest you think this through…" he said softly, his voice barely louder than a whisper, as if murmuring something meant only for Snape's ears. "Think very… very carefully before you act."
And in that moment, the look in his eyes said everything he didn't: Go ahead. Try it.
Snape's face twisted with fury, his features contorted in rage. The knuckles gripping his wand turned bone white, his hand trembling uncontrollably with the strain of holding himself back.
"Petrificus Totalus!"
A sharp beam of spelllight burst from the tip of his wand, searing through the air in a flash of blinding white.
But just as the spell was about to hit its mark, a streak of gray lightning fell from the sky, swift and silent, intercepting the curse mid-flight with uncanny precision.
Snape's pupils constricted in shock.
That gray blur… it was Sargeras's raven.
The bird plummeted toward him through the spell's fading light, completely unharmed, as though it hadn't been struck at all. It flew straight at him, relentless and unshaken.
The astonishment on Snape's face vanished in an instant, replaced by a dark, murderous glare.
"Sectumsempra!"
But the raven surged forward again, diving straight into the path of the Laceration Curse. The razor-sharp spell cut through its wings like streaks of moonlight across shadow, but it left behind only faint marks—no blood, no break.
In the blink of an eye, the raven was right in front of him.
"Impedi—"
SLASH—!
Its talons raked across his face in a single, brutal swipe, carving three bloody gashes down his cheek before he could finish the incantation.
Snape staggered back, eyes wild, wand raised again. A flicker of red light surged at the tip, dangerous and pulsing with barely restrained violence.
"Get off me!"
But the raven was faster.
It dived again, this time with perfect accuracy, snatching Snape's wand cleanly from his hand in one swift motion. Then it soared upward, wings cutting through the air with ease, circling once before landing lightly on Sargeras's shoulder, the stolen wand still clutched in its beak.
Just then, a burst of flame exploded into the air.
Brilliant light flashed as Fawkes broke through the sky, his wings slicing through the wind. A moment later, Dumbledore emerged slowly from the fire, his form materializing like a memory summoned from a dream.
"You're always late to the scene, Dumbledore," Sargeras said, his back still turned to the old headmaster. His voice was cool, edged with quiet mockery. "Just like you were back then…"
"Sargeras, you shouldn't—"
"Shouldn't what?" Sargeras cut him off, his tone calm but razor-sharp. "Shouldn't keep putting up with your arrogance and blind stupidity?"
As he spoke, he reached up and gently took the wand from the raven's beak. His long, slender fingers slid over the wood with care, as though he were touching something rare and precious, something fragile yet full of weight.
Dumbledore fell silent. Around them, the students began to retreat, stepping back in fearful silence and opening up a wide space between the two men.
"You really thought I used Legilimency on him?" Sargeras asked, glancing toward Snape, then slowly shaking his head in disappointment. "Honestly… how disappointing."
He turned around at last, each motion smooth and unhurried, his voice so calm it was almost chilling.
"When Malfoy screamed that word — Mudblood — you didn't come."
"When Snape raised his wand and cast a curse at me, you still didn't come."
"But the moment Noctis snatched this wand from him…"
A cold smile curved at his lips, mocking and sharp.
"—that's when you arrived."
SNAP—!
A clean, crisp crack echoed across the Quidditch pitch, loud and jarring in the stillness.
The wand in his hand had broken clean in two.
Snape's face went white as parchment. His mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. Even Dumbledore's bright blue eyes — usually so full of patience and warmth — had darkened, turning sharp and piercing like twin blades of ice.
"Sargeras… do you have any idea what you've just done?" the old man asked, his voice low, heavy with a weight that carried far more than just the moment.
"I know exactly what I've done, Headmaster," Sargeras answered, locking eyes with him without a hint of hesitation. "I did what I should have done years ago."
With a casual gesture, he flicked the broken wand, letting the tiny mithril inlays along its handle fall into the open beak of the raven still perched on his shoulder. The bird took them in without hesitation.
Then, with a faint flutter of wings, it took to the sky once more.
"If I had snapped your wands back then, maybe Hogwarts wouldn't have become so fond of favoritism… maybe there would've been less shielding and less silence," he said, his boots crunching over the gravel, each step landing like a drumbeat on everyone's chest. "Still… while I can't undo the stupidity of the past, at the very least…"
A sharp glint flickered through his storm-grey eyes.
"…I can put an end to the injustice happening right now."
Dumbledore's expression was hard to read — part conflicted, part resigned, and perhaps even a little ashamed.
"Honestly, Dumbledore," Sargeras said, his voice cool but laced with bitter disappointment, "as headmaster, you've failed… spectacularly."
He shook his head slowly, the cold in his eyes never melting, a long-forgotten hurt tightening across his brow.
"You never gave the boy I once was the justice he deserved… and now, you won't even offer the man I've become the respect he's due."
As he spoke, the broken wand crumbled into fine dust in his palm, dissolving like ashes and drifting away on the wind.
"One word, Albus," he said softly, his eyes never leaving the headmaster's face. "An apology."
Then his tone darkened, quiet but ominous, and every word rang with an unspoken threat.
"Or next time… it won't be just one wand that breaks."
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[Chapter End's]
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