Harry Potter: I became Snape

"Is there anything else?" Severus Snape asked.

"What more do you want?" Pandora glanced at him with a puzzled expression, then leisurely walked over to the long table. She gently removed her bracelet, picked up her wand, and began meticulously carving patterns into its surface.

At that moment, Myrtle Warren finally floated down from the chandelier, zipping over to Snape's side with a cheerful chirp. "There's more!"

But she misjudged her speed. Before Snape could react, she passed right through him.

A chill instantly enveloped Snape, making him shiver slightly. He hurriedly headed for the door. "See… see you later. You're busy."

Over the next week, they attended another Apparition lesson. After several classes, Apparition remained as challenging as ever, though a few more students managed to Splinch themselves.

Snape wasn't faring much better. His greatest achievement came in the third lesson when he watched, wide-eyed, as a lock of his hair flickered into the wooden hoop.

This gave him a stark realization of the dangers of Apparition. Who knew how many more attempts it would take before he ended up with a hairstyle fit for a champion?

Meanwhile, a sense of unease began to spread among the students. Reports of disappearances in The Daily Prophet seemed to be on the rise. Among the missing was a relative of a Hogwarts student named Mark Welfare.

On Friday morning, during Defense Against the Dark Arts, Mark Welfare was called out of class. He was told his father hadn't shown up to work at the Ministry for over a week. After that, no one saw Mark Welfare again.

Word among the students was that Mark hailed from Welfare Village in Hampshire. His father worked in the Ministry's Muggle Liaison Office. Unlike most pure-blood families, the Welfare family had a longstanding and obvious pro-Muggle stance, which earned them no shortage of scorn from other families in the wizarding world—except for a few, like the Weasleys.

On Sunday evening, Snape arrived punctually outside the Headmaster's office.

He barely had time to exchange a few words with the enchanted sweets guardian before the entrance creaked open from within.

Dumbledore stepped out, a long black traveling cloak draped over his arm.

"Come along, Severus. We're off to Lancashire to meet old Mr. Bob Ogden."

"Professor," Snape said, hurrying to keep pace with Dumbledore, "aren't we going to Apparate there?"

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied, his tall figure descending the staircase with measured steps. "Apparition may take us straight to our destination, but it robs us of the journey's sights."

"Mr. Ogden is retired, so there's no rush this time. Let's let the Thestrals carry us across England."

"I trust you can see the Thestrals, can't you?" Dumbledore paused, turning to look at Snape with a gentle smile.

"Of course," Snape replied with a hint of irritation, brushing past him. "You're asking the obvious, aren't you?"

In the twilight filtering through the corridor windows, the two descended the stairs, crossed the Entrance Hall, and stepped out of the castle. The lively chatter and clinking of cutlery from the Great Hall faded behind them.

"Alas, while my classmates feast," Snape said, shaking his head with mock resignation, "here I am, burdened with the weight of saving the world."

"Slytherin earns one hundred points," Dumbledore's calm voice rang out in the night.

"Hm?" Snape let out a dismissive grunt. "You know that doesn't matter to me."

"But don't you want to be Head Boy?" Dumbledore continued walking. "We need some excuse, don't we? If that's not to your liking, how about I give you my wand instead?"

"No, I don't want it," Snape said quickly, waving off the offer. "Someone else's wand is never as good as your own."

What a joke. Who in their right mind would want that Deathstick?

The setting sun sank slowly behind the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, casting its final rays across the grounds. They crossed the field, passed Hagrid's hut, and reached the edge of the forest.

They plunged straight into the trees, venturing deeper into the Forbidden Forest. The path grew overgrown with weeds, the trees denser, and the light as dim as midnight.

The forest was pitch-black, silent save for the faint trickle of running water in the distance.

Suddenly, a rustling in the bushes snapped Snape to attention. He raised his wand to chest height, eyeing the darkness warily.

Dumbledore, however, gently pressed Snape's wand down, shaking his head to signal there was no cause for alarm.

The ground trembled beneath them, and the air filled with the sound of thudding hooves. Several centaurs—human from the chest up, equine below the waist—emerged from the trees, bows slung across their backs.

"Greetings, Dumbledore," said a centaur with a long red tail, his voice tinged with melancholy.

"Greetings, Ronan," Dumbledore replied, stepping forward to shake the centaur's hand. "Have we disturbed you? What's happened?"

"Nothing," Ronan said, gazing skyward, his voice low and sorrowful. "Mars is unusually dim tonight. The future is uncertain, and we follow the signs in the stars."

"Enough talk," another centaur, black-bodied with a dark beard, interrupted, pawing the ground impatiently with his front hoof. He glanced at Dumbledore and slowly lowered it. "We cannot defy the will of the heavens. Dumbledore, why are you here tonight?"

Riddlers, Snape thought, stepping forward. "The wind brushes the treetops without being asked why it blows; the rain falls in the deep forest without being asked why it descends."

The centaurs, hearing this, stomped the earth in agitation, their faces darkening with irritation.

"Very well," Dumbledore said with a satisfied nod and a smile. "If there's nothing else, I'm afraid we can't stay."

The black centaur opened his mouth to speak, but Ronan signaled him to stop, gesturing toward Dumbledore. "Bane, what we seek is not here."

With a final thunder of hooves, the centaurs galloped off, their forms quickly vanishing into the depths of the forest.

"I can't stand riddlers," Snape muttered, his face twisted in disdain.

"That's just how centaurs are, Severus," Dumbledore said cheerfully, his voice echoing through the forest. He raised his wand, and with a soft pop, a slab of raw, blood-dripping meat appeared on the ground.

Moments later, several Thestrals emerged from the trees, drawn by the scent of blood. Their wide, leathery bat-like wings were tucked tightly against their sides, and their white eyes gleamed in the darkness.

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