Harry Potter: I became Snape

The thestral's long, black tail swished back and forth, its hooves lightly pawing the ground as it lowered its head, greedily tearing into raw meat.

"Let them eat their fill first," Dumbledore said gently. "It's going to be quite a long journey this time."

"Must we use these troublesome, terrifying creatures?" Severus Snape muttered under his breath, arms crossed and leaning against a nearby tree trunk.

"Thestrals, as Twycross should have told you," Dumbledore said, "require wizards to have a clear understanding of their Apparition destination, picturing it vividly in their minds. It's always best to travel to places they've been before."

"I know, Professor," Snape replied. "It's just that this method is rather inefficient. Wouldn't the Floo Network work just as well?"

Dumbledore merely gave him a knowing smile, offering no answer to the question.

They waited patiently until only polished bones remained on the ground. Dumbledore gave a soft whistle, and two thestrals slowly approached.

Snape took a deep breath, reaching out to grasp the mane of the thestral nearing him. With considerable effort, he clambered onto its sleek, satin-like back, positioning his legs behind its wings.

The thestral stood still, cooperating docilely, only exhaling puffs of white vapor from its nostrils.

"Ready?" Dumbledore asked. When Snape nodded, he addressed the thestrals, "Lancashire, the south bank of the Ribble Valley."

The thestrals stood motionless for a moment before their wings suddenly unfurled, slicing through the air with a sharp, piercing sound.

Then, with a sudden crouch, they launched upward, soaring straight into the dusky purple starlit sky.

Snape felt the scenery blur past him at dizzying speed. He had to press his body tightly against the thestral to avoid slipping off and becoming fodder for the Forbidden Forest.

Twigs snapped lightly against his body as they broke through the treetops, soaring into the star-strewn night sky.

"Professor," Snape shouted, squinting against the icy airflow and turning his head to look around, "can't we choose another way to travel?"

His voice was torn apart by the wind, fragmented and scattered. Dumbledore didn't respond, his thestral swiftly overtaking Snape's, his silvery beard fluttering elegantly in the air as they raced toward the heavens.

This was hardly a pleasant mode of travel. Snape couldn't help but wonder if he had inadvertently offended the headmaster at some point—why else would he be subjected to this? But he, always refined and amiable, would never commit such an ungentlemanly act of disrespecting his elders.

The thestrals sped over forests, villages, and mountains, the whistling cold air sending shivers through Snape's body, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. Unable to spare a hand to cast a warming charm with his wand, he could only grit his teeth and endure in silence.

As dusk deepened, they flew over patches of twinkling lights, bridges, and winding roads.

Finally, in the faint light of dawn, the thestrals spread their wings and glided into Morecambe Bay. The endless sea shimmered with a hazy orange-red hue, the thestrals' black wings gilded with a warm glow in the morning light.

"Almost there!" Snape vaguely heard Dumbledore's voice call out from somewhere behind him.

As the sky brightened, they landed on the lush, green pastures along the river valley.

Snape slid off the thestral's back in an ungainly heap.

"Professor, how did you know Bob Ogden had dealings with the Gaunt family?" he asked, pulling out his wand to cast a warming charm on himself.

"Where there is contact, there are traces," Dumbledore said calmly. "As it happens, I was speaking with Tiberius Ogden recently when I visited the Wizengamot for a report. While discussing the stubborn factions of the wizarding world and their inevitable decline, Tiberius mentioned in passing that his cousin, Bob Ogden, had once visited the Gaunt family on official business. That family's glory has long since faded into history."

Dumbledore led Snape along a narrow path by the river. Before long, a grove of trees appeared ahead.

After a few dozen steps, an old house emerged, tucked away in a small copse by the roadside, its walls covered in mottled vines.

In the garden in front of the house, a short, stout, bald old man was carefully trimming flower branches with a pair of gardening shears.

Hearing footsteps, he straightened up and looked their way.

Bob Ogden wore a pair of exceptionally thick glasses, his eyes reduced to two tiny points behind the lenses.

"Ah, Albus, it's you," he said, his face full of surprise. "I thought Muggles wouldn't be able to get this close. What brings you here? And who's this?"

"Hello, Bob," Dumbledore said warmly. "This is Severus Snape, one of my finest students. Won't you invite us in to sit for a bit? There's something I'd like to ask you about."

"Of course, you're most welcome," Ogden replied, setting the shears aside and using his wand to clean the dirt from his hands. "When you get old, you start fussing over flowers and plants. Come on, let's go inside."

Ogden used magic to direct a teapot to brew them a few cups of hot tea and brought out a plate of small pastries.

"I'm not sure if you recall the days when you worked for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Dumbledore said, taking a sip from his teacup.

"Most of it, I think," Ogden said, giving Dumbledore a puzzled look. "Is there something you want to know about?"

"The Gaunt family," Dumbledore said. "Tiberius mentioned you once visited their home on official business. Could you tell me what happened back then?"

"The Gaunt family… let me think…" Ogden tilted his head back slightly, squinting as he pondered for a long moment. "That was years ago, near Little Hangleton… I remember, apart from the girl, Mipple, who was somewhat decent, the rest of the family was a bit… off."

"Who was in their household?" Dumbledore asked, picking up a lemon pudding, his tone casual.

"Old Marvolo, and his two children, Mipple and Morfin," Ogden said, taking a large gulp of tea before frowning. "Albus, you're a busy man—the greatest wizard of our time. Why are you asking about this?"

Ogden tapped his knuckles lightly on the table, lost in thought.

A few seconds later, he muttered under his breath, "Parseltongue… Parseltongue…"

Suddenly, Ogden's eyes widened, his body trembling slightly as he looked at Dumbledore with fear and unease in his voice. "No… get out! I don't know anything!"

Dumbledore waved his wand, and the terror on Ogden's face slowly faded, replaced by a blank, confused expression, his small eyes dull and vacant.

"Well, it's always like this," Dumbledore said, swallowing the lemon pudding with a sigh. "I often wish people weren't quite so clever."

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