As soon as Snape finished speaking, he suddenly fell into the same bewildered state as the young wizard standing before him.
After a brief moment of shock, he angrily kicked the only student out of his dungeon classroom.
It was only after he slammed the heavy oak door shut that he finally snapped back to reality and confronted himself.
What the hell are you saying?! he demanded of himself.
"Ah, ah, very nice! Hey! Severus, that's a brilliant start."
Inside a portrait frame in the dungeon, a plump, dapple-gray pony ambled onto the grass and began lazily grazing.
Snape was well used to the figures in Hogwarts portraits moving around and leaving their frames to visit each other. But absolutely no portrait dared to linger in his dungeon for long.
Except...
Sure enough, a short, stout knight in full armor clanked into the frame, chasing after his pony. Judging by the grass stains on the knees of his metal armor, he had clearly just taken a tumble from the saddle.
"Aha!" the knight shouted at Snape. "Severus, you must be thinking—what kind of scoundrel dares to trespass on my private domain? Perhaps they've come to mock me?
"But Severus, sometimes I think the exact same thing—is that blasted Severus about to laugh at me for falling off my steed? Hah! If so, then draw your sword, you coward Severus!"
The little knight yanked his sword from its scabbard, swinging it wildly as he hopped up and down in a theatrical display of fury.
However, the sword was far too long for him. He swung a bit too hard, lost his balance, and planted face-first into the grass.
"Heh," Snape let out a dark, amused scoff, stepping closer to the painting.
Inside the portrait, the knight grabbed his sword again, using it as a crutch to haul himself up. But the blade had sunk too deeply into the sod. He pulled and tugged with all his might, yet it wouldn't budge.
Finally, he gave up and flopped back onto the grass just as he always did. He pushed up his visor and wiped his sweaty face.
"Severus, even if you toss me into the fire and roast me like a spit of meat; even if you throw me into a pile of trolls to stink to high heaven—I will still say it, Severus.
"The truest words are rarely spoken smoothly. They are bound to be stammering, incoherent—oh, it's so incredibly annoying, but it never dies..."
The knight's feigned anger seemed to evaporate instantly. He clanked back to his feet and bellowed:
"Ah, Severus! We must find our target and die heroically in the charge!"
He gave the sword one last mighty yank—still stuck—and tried to mount the fat little pony again, failing miserably. So, he cried out:
"This is it, Severus! To be stripped of your blade, to abandon escape, to be left at the mercy of others—this is that very moment! But so what?! It is a moment of absolute willingness! The moment inferiority forsakes the darkness for the light! This is it! Onward! Onward!
"You must have a brave heart, Severus! To hell with reason—it is the only way to win all possibilities!" the knight yelled, hot tears actually springing from the corners of his eyes.
Snape fell silent. Without a word, he grabbed the portrait and threw it out.
But he knew it was pointless.
There were always going to be portraits in the dungeon, and the young wizards who came down here would inevitably whisper to this knight about exactly who the new portraits were. And this irritating little pest would always know exactly where to drop in.
Yet, as annoyed as Snape was, he never actually stopped it. Instead, he let the young wizards treat visiting the portrait like a weekly chore.
After all, that way... he would stay around just a little bit longer.
---
Night fell.
The fire was still roaring in the Slytherin common room. It was a long, low-ceilinged underground dungeon with rough stone walls and a stone ceiling. Round, greenish lamps hung from chains, casting an eerie glow.
Beneath the elaborately carved mantelpiece, a fire crackled, illuminating a tall figure sitting motionless in one of the carved wooden chairs.
Snape stared into the flames like a statue, completely still.
Finally, the Hogwarts bell chimed.
He instinctively looked up toward the ceiling, his gaze seemingly piercing through the stone to the towering spires of the castle.
He thought about this night—this fog-drenched night.
Meanwhile, up in the very tower Snape was silently gazing toward, Sean had miraculously gained an extra half day of time.
He arrived at the entrance to the Headmaster's office and waited for the stone gargoyle's question.
"Password?" the gargoyle asked.
"Lemon..." Before Sean could even finish the word, the gargoyle sprang aside, as if merely going through the motions.
"...Drop," Sean finished quietly, stepping into the Headmaster's office.
The sun had completely set, and Dumbledore's office was bathed in the shadows of the night.
The glass case housing Godric Gryffindor's sword emitted a faint, steady gleam.
Behind Sean, the baby bird Fawkes let out weak, soft chirps from his ash-filled nest.
"Mr. Fawkes," Sean said, naturally offering the phoenix some magical herbs.
[You have earned the affection of the magical creature Phoenix (Fawkes) at an Initiate level. Affection +3] [Phoenix Fawkes: Slightly Affectionate (Initiate Level) (13/300)] Mr. Fawkes's affection had already broken through the Initiate tier, and the progress on the phoenix biscuits Sean had been thinking about was steadily increasing.
Feeling in a slightly better mood, Sean scanned the office again. Headmaster Dumbledore was still nowhere to be seen.
Fortunately, Sean had written to the Headmaster in advance, requesting permission to use Gryffindor's sword, and Bai Yi had already returned with Dumbledore's letter of approval.
Sean placed the letter on the desk and extracted Gryffindor's sword. He could see the blade still looking sharp and cold in the evening twilight.
"Goodbye, Mr. Fawkes," Sean said.
The moment he stepped out of the Headmaster's office, Sean placed his hand on the shoulder of his Pukwudgie butler.
"While I don't know why you keep going to that square, esteemed Mr. Green, please hold onto my hand tightly," Will said, bowing before snapping his fingers.
The two vanished on the spot.
Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Inside a house that could not be found by anyone looking for it.
Sirius and a frail, ancient little creature were waiting anxiously.
Every so often, they would glance out the window, straining their ears for the sound of the front door opening.
Of course, they wouldn't hear it.
Because Will transported them directly inside the room. Right now, he and Sean were stepping past a pair of long, moth-eaten curtains—Sean knew there was another door hidden behind them.
Next, they bypassed a large umbrella stand that looked like it had been fashioned from the severed leg of a troll. They headed up the dark staircase, passing a row of shrunken, wrinkled heads mounted on plaques along the wall.
Sean looked closely and realized they were the heads of house-elves.
He recalled the Black family tradition—chopping off the heads of house-elves when they got too old to work.
He frowned, lost in thought about something.
Soon enough, he arrived at the floor where Sirius was waiting.
---