NOVEL WEB Chapter 71: Mars Grows Dim
"Is there more?" Snape asked.
"What more do you want?" Pandora glanced at him with a puzzled look, then slowly walked over to the long table. She slipped off the bracelet, raised her wand, and began delicately etching the runes with great care.
Just then, Moaning Myrtle finally floated down from the lampshade above and zipped toward Snape with a burst of enthusiasm. "There is more!"
But she misjudged her speed, and before Snape could react, she passed straight through his chest.
A wave of cold engulfed him instantly. He shivered and hurried toward the exit, muttering, "L-later then… you two carry on."
The following week brought another Apparition lesson. Yet despite repeated sessions, most students were still struggling. A few had managed to Splinch themselves again.
Snape hadn't fared much better. His greatest accomplishment so far was watching a small tuft of his hair vanish—only to reappear alone within the wooden ring. It was enough to teach him how dangerously unpredictable Apparition could be. At this rate, he mused grimly, a few more tries and he'd end up with an entirely different hairstyle.
Tension was mounting among the students. Rumors of more disappearances were swirling, fed by the headlines in The Daily Prophet. One of the missing individuals was a relative of a Hogwarts student named Mark Fawley.
On Friday morning, during Defense Against the Dark Arts, Mark was called out of class. He was informed that his father hadn't shown up at the Ministry for over a week. Mark never returned.
From whispered conversations, it was said that Mark hailed from the village of Fawley in Hampshire. His father had worked in the Muggle Liaison Office. Unlike most pure-blood families, the Fawleys were known for their strong pro-Muggle stance, earning them no small amount of disdain from traditionalist circles—Weasleys aside.
On Sunday evening, Snape arrived at the entrance to the Headmaster's office right on time.
He barely had time to exchange a few words with the sweets-loving gargoyle when the hidden passageway slid open from within.
Dumbledore emerged, draping a long, black travel cloak over one arm.
"Come, Severus," he said, "we're off to Lancashire to visit Mr. Bob Ogden."
"Professor," Snape caught up quickly behind him, "we're not Apparating?"
"No," Dumbledore replied as they descended the staircase, "Apparition would take us straight there, yes. But we'd miss the journey. And besides, Mr. Ogden is retired. There's no urgency."
He glanced back with a gentle expression. "You can see Thestrals, can't you?"
Snape huffed. "Of course. You know that."
They descended through corridors stained with twilight. The hum of conversation and the clatter of cutlery from the Great Hall faded behind them as they exited the castle.
"While our classmates dine," Snape said with exaggerated resignation, "here I am, burdened with destiny, off to save the world."
"Slytherin, one hundred points," Dumbledore said evenly, his voice slipping easily through the dark.
Snape grunted. "You know that doesn't matter to me."
"Didn't you want to be Head Boy?" Dumbledore continued strolling forward. "You'll need some official pretext. Or would you rather I hand you my wand instead?"
"No, I don't want it," Snape said quickly. "No wand works like your own."
He wasn't joking. Only a fool would want that wand. No one sensible touched the Elder Wand.
The sun had all but disappeared behind the Forbidden Forest, casting its last rays across the grass. They passed Hagrid's hut and reached the forest's edge.
They stepped beneath the trees, pressing deeper into the darkness. The deeper they went, the thicker the foliage became. Weeds swallowed the path. The air darkened to near-midnight.
Except for the faint gurgle of water, all was still.
Then a rustle. The underbrush shook. Branches trembled. Snape raised his wand in an instant, eyes sharp.
But Dumbledore gently lowered Snape's wand, shaking his head.
The ground trembled slightly as hooves thudded in the distance. Several centaurs emerged from the shadows, hooves pounding, bows slung across their backs.
"Good evening, Dumbledore," said Ronan, his long red tail swishing solemnly.
"Good evening, Ronan," Dumbledore stepped forward, offering a hand. "I hope we're not interrupting anything?"
"No," Ronan answered, gazing up at the sky with mournful eyes. "Mars is very dim tonight. Ominous changes are afoot. We followed the stars."
"Enough riddles," growled another centaur—black of coat, bearded, and visibly irritable. He raised a hoof but, catching Dumbledore's eye, slowly lowered it. "We must not defy the will of the heavens. Dumbledore, why have you come tonight?"
Snape stepped forward, unable to resist. "The wind brushes the treetops—it needs no reason. The rain falls in the forest—it does not explain why."
The centaurs stamped the ground in frustration, clearly annoyed.
"Very well," Dumbledore said with a satisfied nod. "Then, if that is all, forgive us—we won't impose further."
The black centaur looked ready to protest again, but Ronan stopped him with a gesture. "Bane, what we seek is not here."
The centaurs galloped away, soon swallowed by the trees.
"I hate riddles," Snape muttered sourly.
"They're part of the centaur's nature, Severus," Dumbledore replied cheerfully. He raised his wand, and with a soft crack, a slab of raw meat dropped to the forest floor, blood seeping into the mud. "They've never been fond of straight answers."
Before long, the scent of blood drew them—Thestrals, with their leathery bat-like wings tucked close and their pale, shining eyes reflecting the moonlight, emerged silently from the forest.