15.Samhain Part 2

31st of October, Thursday

The castle’s hallways were forebodingly dim, and the air seemed heavy. The old warlock stretched his senses to the limit, but it was for nought – it was not magic. At least none he could feel, despite honing this ability to the limit for many decades. Yet, all that could be attributed to the day – Samhain’s Eve was special. The drowsy ambience had most of the portraits already asleep. With a snap of his fingers, all the torches immediately came alive, burning with searing intensity, and some of the portraits woke up, blinking groggily.

Dumbledore had immediately seen the truth in Mr Rowle’s words – one of the perks of being very skilled in matters of the mind. Yet magical creatures of this magnitude could not enter Hogwarts, at least not alone.

It seemed that his bait had finally borne fruit. Yet, as much as he could tell – nobody had entered the obstacle course… yet. It could have been Voldemort or some of his agents, but Dumbledore had no way of knowing – even the best of wizards were not immune to the prospect of an endless source of gold or the fleeting idea of eternal life. Many a fool could not even comprehend the costs of such things, or worse, would not even care.

In hindsight, it might not have been the best idea to send the students to their dormitories, but most skilled fifth-years and above could probably handle a troll on their own with a good chance to defeat it if they kept a cool head on their shoulders, let alone in a big group, so the danger was almost irrelevant.

“Headmaster!” The breathless shout made Dumbledore whip his head towards one of the paintings, only to see Walter, the drunk ascetic, gasping for breath inside a previously empty canvas, much to the displeasure of the nearby portraits. The gaunt man had not been for physical exertions in his time, and his painting reflected that fact, an unfortunate side effect of the method of their creations. “The Hufflepuffs-” the words put the headmaster on alert as a heavy, coughing wheeze choked the ascetic, “they’re under attack!”

“Fawkes!”

His cry summoned the fiery bird in a flash of fire, and it immediately landed on his shoulder, claws sinking into the fabric of his robes. There was no need to speak anymore, as the phoenix was not only intelligent but could feel his urgency and flashed him again.

After so many years, Albus could recognise any corner of the castle, and he immediately knew he was in the hallway, just in front of Hufflepuff’s common room, when a choking stench hit him like a hippogryph. It took him only half a second to take full stock of the surroundings, and the sight made his blood boil.

Second-year students were panicking, trying to rush inside the Hufflepuff dormitories, yet crammed the passage for any older students who could have come outside to help. The first and some of the second years were standing on the other side of not one but two mountain trolls, enormous wooden clubs in hand. A battered boy was already crumpled on one of the walls, broken chips of wood everywhere. A few braver ones were flinging jinxes and hexes at the hide of the enormous greyish beasts but did nothing – any magic failed to penetrate the thick spell-resistant hide and only served to infuriate them.

The easiest way to deal with such beasts was Transfiguration and wits.

This took him barely a second to notice, yet the trolls were already swinging their clubs at a group of cowering first-years. Before he could think about it, spells were leaving his wand. The enormous bludgeons landed but bent comically, bouncing off harmlessly, not doing any damage to the targets as if they were made of foam.

The two trolls halted, staring dumbly at their clubs, wondering what was wrong with them, but Dumbledore was already casting again. Thick, wooden ropes grew out of the walls and floor to restrain the enormous intruders, but one of the trolls lumped around in confusion and got struck by all the restraints.

At the corner of his eye, the headmaster saw the struck-down student groan in pain as blood began to leak from his mouth, and for the barest moment, he lost his ironclad control mid-cast.

The death stick pulled on his leaking fury and bubbling magic, and the flying firework that was supposed to grab the second troll’s attention wooshed sinisterly, tearing through the air instead, making Dumbledore grit his teeth and try to control the-

Splat!

Everything was covered by dull, grey-green ichor and sludge that mixed bone and flesh, including the nearby students who were completely petrified. He had contained a blast that could have levelled the hallway and all the students within at the last second, leaving none harmed, only… drenched. Well, not none – only the flat, horny feet remained sizzling from the legs of the two trolls. The elder wand was indeed a creation of Death – it could mete out destruction and woe with laughable ease in the hands of a powerful warlock such as himself, even against magically resistant beasts.

The stench in the air grew a hundred times worse, and many heaved to free their stomachs from the contents of the feast.

Fawkes let out an undignified squawk at his plumage being ruined. Dumbledore sighed inwardly and carefully steeled his mind, swiping the now excited elder wand again, vanishing all the troll blood, including most of the smell. Yet a hint of foulness lingered in the air – the troll’s blood was sticky and unpleasant, and many Hufflepuffs would spend plenty of time scrubbing themselves clean under the showers.

Ignoring the spell-shocked students, Dumbledore dashed to the fallen boy by the wall, and to his immense relief – he could see the chest still rise and fall slowly, albeit weakly.

With a nod from him, the phoenix trilled and swooped for the boy before disappearing in a flash of flame – Poppy would quickly fix the young Diggory up.

The Hogwarts Headmaster straightened up at his full height and looked at his students, gazing at him with undeserved awe.

“What happened here?”

It took some corralling and patience to piece together the story provided by the now excited, almost buzzing first years – the prefects had been at the front, leading the Hufflepuffs inside the common room, leaving the youngest students at the back. A severe oversight that he would have to address with Pomona. The pair of trolls had ambushed them from the corner, and Cedric Diggory, who had volunteered to be at the back, had heroically tried to grab the trolls’ attention away, only to get smacked away by a club.

His solemn gaze caused most of the Hufflepuff prefects who had come outside to wilt, yet the headmaster couldn’t blame them for following his orders. Dumbledore’s childhood follies had come to haunt him once more. Decisions made in haste were oft flawed, something that even the onset of time had not cured.

With a sigh, the headmaster sent the students inside the safety of the common room and continued prowling through the hallways, wand ready.

The young Mr Rowle had seen only one troll in the dungeons, but Dumbledore was certain the seventh-year prefect had not lied. That only meant one thing – possibly more beasts were intruding in the sacred halls of the castle.

All Hallow’s Eve seemed like the perfect moment to breach Hogwarts – the veil between the living and the dead was the thinnest, and, to those few who could sense it, magic itself was roiling in an obscure manner, clouding the senses of most. All the ghosts were at the annual Deathday Party, and most of the portraits were slumbering after sunset. Of course, they seemed even more lethargic tonight for some reason…

A heavy set of tumbling steps had him on alert again, but a small sigh of relief escaped Dumbledore as a hurried Hagrid appeared from the nearby corner.

Yet a second look made his blood run cold as a limp Filch was clutched by the gentle half-giant, who looked somewhat battered. Behind him, Mrs Norris trailed, mewling pitifully.

“Dumbledore!” The relieved cry of the gamekeeper did not feel very assuaging. It was the first time he had seen Hagrid so distressed and angry; his usual tangled beard and hair were even messier, full of dirt and… blood. “Found the troll near the second floor’s bathrooms, but it got ter Filch firs’. Gotta get him ter the hospital wing.”

The headmaster had already approached the caretaker, but every next step raised the trepidation within – Filch might have been old and sickly, but his chest never looked like a bludger had collapsed it, let alone the crimson that soaked his worn-out attire.

A simple diagnostic spell only confirmed what Dumbledore knew, and all he could do was exhale in sorrow, “I’m afraid it’s too late for Argus.”

“But-” Big, ugly tears began to stream from the half-giant face as his voice choked, no doubt blaming himself.

Steeling himself, Dumbledore patted the quivering arm of his gentle friend. “There’s nothing you could have done, Rubeus. What of the troll?”

“I knocked ‘im out.” Ah, that explained the bloody knuckles.

With a sigh and a few more calming words of encouragement, he sent the very distraught Hagrid to the hospital wing regardless. Filch’s body had to be cleaned, and the Keeper of Keys could use a calming draught to soothe his nerves.

Decisively, the headmaster strode towards where the altercation had taken place; the knocked-out troll had to be removed from the castle’s premises – after extracting any measure of useful information. It was a boy’s bathroom, and it looked like a hurricane had passed through; the stalls had all been smashed to splinters. Mirrors were either cracked or broken, glass littering the floor. Water splashed from the smashed pipes and sinks, and with an absentminded wave of his wand, the flow was immediately halted as the broken piping sealed itself shut.

The felled troll lay on the ground amidst all that – and what was left of his tiny head was nigh unrecognisable. What had once been a head was a gory, grey mush of bone, blood, and flesh after Hagrid’s pummelling; the troll had been knocked out for one final time.

It seemed that even the gentle half-giant had a line to be crossed, and even a troll nearly two feet taller than him couldn’t resist his fury. Another death…

Many would not consider slaying a troll a murder – it legally wasn’t one, either. Dumbledore could hardly blame Hagrid when two trolls had perished by his wand just a few minutes prior. Nevertheless, he had seen too many senseless deaths in his long life, and it always saddened him.

Yet now, with the demise of the school’s caretaker, the bubbling anger was threatening to erupt once more. Most of it was his own, but Dumbledore could feel the Death Stick pulsing hungrily, magnifying his churning emotions and urging him to action once more. It took him a handful of deep breaths and nearly a minute to centre his mind and turn himself into a steadfast rock, unaffected by the roaring storm within.

Three trolls… were not an accident. Not with this timing.

What if there were more?

Dumbledore ignored the feeling of exhaustion and almost ran out of the trashed bathroom.

Two hallways and one spiralling staircase later, he was faced with a giddy Flitwick.

“I’ve found the troll, Albus,” his squeaky voice was deathly serious, and so was his usually jovial face. “Two of them, in fact.”

All he could do was exhale slowly. Five trolls, in his castle, under his nose, endangering his students. Such an attack on Hogwarts was unheard of in the last three centuries!

“I assume they have been dealt with?”

“Oh, but yes,” Flitwick’s eyes brightened like a muggle light bulb. “Magnificent, extraordinary performance by my students!”

It took him a few minutes to get the whole story from the excited Charms master. And by Merlin, it was a riveting tale of valour and friendship by the most unlikely children.

Harry Potter missing the celebration was not odd – few would be in the mood to make merry the night when their parents perished. Despite everything, Dumbledore had kept an eye on the boy since he came to school – from a distance, of course.

Reclusive but with staggering potential and a relentless work ethic to unearth it. A genius usage of four first and second-year spells had slain two trolls with nary an effort. It would have reminded Albus of Tom Riddle if not for the kindness underneath. Yet that meant little – drive, ability, charisma, and kindness could lead one awry – Gellert had been proof of such.

Often, Dumbledore had found himself on his choices and their consequences – both the foreseen and unforeseen ones. Yet one was rarely faced with a simple answer between good and evil; it was all shades of grey, hardly recognisable from one another.

But the fact that a muggle-born girl and the daughter of Bellatrix and Rudolphus Lestrange, of all people, had bravely decided to immediately search for the boy spoke volumes about the camaraderie that he had nurtured.

Oh, he did not doubt that the powerful Black Heiress would grow into a dangerous witch, whether wand or words and a connection to the last Potter, the Boy Who Lived, would only grant her more power – direct or not. Yet any such worries were assuaged by the presence of young Miss Taylor – a kind yet curious muggle-born girl.

Dumbledore was tempted, oh so dearly tempted, to try and steer all of them in a proper direction. All that power, all that potential…

Yet he was far from infallible – even his wisdom could push others down a dark path. It was best to wait and see and only provide guidance when requested or in a moment of dire need. After a century, he well knew that certain things would always happen one way or another, whether Albus wanted them or not.

With a shake of his head, the headmaster focused on his current conundrum.

This was too big, and with one of his staff members dead, Dumbledore had no choice but to involve the DMLE, no matter how much he loathed ministry meddling in school matters.

The elder wand jabbed at the air, “Expecto Patronum!”

Head Auror Amelia Bones did not appreciate the urgent call through the badge so late at night, especially after her already long shift that included plenty of overtime. But the mention of the attack upon Hogwarts chased away most of her drowsiness. Concern for Susan churned within her, but thankfully, there were no student casualties – only plenty of scared children and a wounded Cedric Diggory, who would recover by the end of the week. Amos would surely be spitting fire for this, but there’s little the man could do but lean on DMLE’s investigation.

The Gringotts heist had blown over despite the lack of culprits found, but even Fawley had grudgingly let it go. DMLE had enough on its plate, even without the so-called Wiltshire Warlock running around.

“So,” Felix Fawley, the DMLE’s director, looked incredibly tired, streaks of grey peppering his well-combed dark hair. He rarely arrived at an active scene, but his presence wasn’t surprising – Hogwarts was too important. “Seven trolls somehow entered the school during the Samhain feast. One bashed to death by Mr Hagrid, two disintegrated by Headmaster Dumbledore.”

Even Amelia couldn’t help but be amazed at the feat – completely destroying a troll with their incredibly spell-resistant hide, leaving nothing but his feet intact, was an impossible feat for a lone wizard. Yet Dumbledore managed to do it with laughable ease with chantless magic without demolishing the surroundings. The control, power, and speed required for such a thing was mind-boggling. Some of the Aurors were outright gaping at the legendary warlock before them, and even the teachers were eyeing their headmaster with awe.

Susan had been even more impressed by the short talk Amelia managed to have with her niece while questioning her classmates.

Even Felix Fawley had paused in disbelief before gathering himself together and shaking his head. “Another two felled by a trio of Ravenclaws, one slain by Elise Travers and Roger Rosier, the sixth-year Slytherin Prefects, and one strangled to death by Professor Quirrell with conjured ropes.”

That would be the official version, of course. Harry Potter being capable of slaying two trolls on his lonesome as a first year was an incredible tale, but not something that would be officially known to the public – the law that Dumbledore had strongarmed through the Wizengamot over nine years ago still held in effect. Essentially, it forbade or sealed any mention in records, including newspapers and magazines, about the Vanquisher of the Dark Lord until he reached the age of thirteen. It was a heavy measure but necessary to prevent a boy from getting overwhelmed by the ridiculous amount of unwanted attention garnered by the fame he had earned as nought by a babe in the cradle. Still, even regardless of Potter’s new feats, she could imagine the shitstorm that would happen once the events of tonight got out, as they are wont to be.

“Indeed,” Dumbledore confirmed, eyes cold like ice. The previous time Amelia had seen the magical titan so stern had been during the last war… “It’s impossible for magical beasts above a certain level to force their way into Hogwarts without assistance.”

The protections of Hogwarts were legendary, but nobody knew what they were capable of. It was a jealously guarded secret passed down from headmaster to headmaster. The mere fact that Dumbledore was willing to share this information despite his famous penchant for keeping things close to his chest spoke volumes about how furious he was, despite his impassive demeanour.

“So someone must have let them in. And such someone must be a member of the staff… or the student body?” Fawley’s usually eloquent politeness was replaced with direct, sharp words. The subtlety about fishing for information from someone powerful was completely forgotten… or maybe he was too tired to care. Amelia just remembered his nephew was a first-year Hufflepuff – one Fabian Fawley, who had almost been smashed by the troll, just like her Susan.

“Yes,” Dumbledore nodded his head stiffly. “It’s olde magic, woven within the very foundation of the school.”

And Amelia could bet that was all they could get from the headmaster – but it was enough.

“No trolls are alive, so getting anything out of them is out of the question,” grumbled Fawley. Yet even if they were, Amelia knew they would get little – trolls were not known for their intelligence or memory. Eating human flesh, the foremost troll delicacy, was enough to lure the more vicious groups towards Hogwarts.

“Someone must have let them through,” Amelia said aloud what most of them were thinking. “But who?”

“Now that is the question,” mumbled Scrimgeour, the senior Auror Captain.

The head of DMLE looked at the headmaster expectantly. “Dumbledore, can you tell us who was absent from the feast?”

The old wizard closed his eyes, doubtlessly trying to delve into his recent memories without a pensive – something only possible for an experienced and powerful Occlumens.

The minutes ticked by, and a dozen Aurors and the Deputy Headmistress waited in silence.

“Five were absent,” Dumbledore opened his eyes. “Miss Melony Burke, a second-year Slytherin, was in the hospital wing due to a prank gone awry, along with Madame Pomfrey, who was tending to the girl. Mister Potter, Mr Rowle, who alerted us of the attack, and Severus Snape were the other three.”

Amelia couldn’t hold her suspicion. “Why was the Potions Professor not at the feast?”

“Ah, the man prefers drinking on his lonesome during All Hallow’s Eve – Severus has hardly bothered attending more than a handful of the Samhain feasts.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Fawley rumbled out. “Every single one should be brought for questioning. Bones, Dawlish – “

“I am afraid I must object,” Dumbledore’s response was immediate, yet his steely words halted everyone. “Tonight has been tiring for Mr Potter. Perhaps at a later date.”

The unsaid ‘he is off-limits’ was heard by everyone. Yet, with Potter’s guardians being muggles, he was under the legal protection of the headmaster in school matters, and Dumbledore had just forbidden them from following that particular lead. Perhaps at a later date was the old warlock’s euphemism for ‘Potter can be investigated only if the other leads turn out to be dead-ends’. A subtle yet powerful show of force.

And Potter had just saved the life of the Black heiress – it seemed that the lone orphan did not lack for political heavyweights in his corner, fame or not. House Black might have been dangerous and cutthroat – but their word was worth more than goblin-wrought silver.

And they always paid their debts.

“Fine.” Fawley gritted his teeth, probably reaching the same conclusion. “Scrimgeour, take your squad and cover the three in the hospital wing.” Roland Rowle had been brought to the school matron after fainting in the Great Hall. “Bones, take Dawlish, Robards, and Shacklebolt, and find me the Potions Professor while I have the rest of the staff questioned.”

Amelia couldn’t hold the feral smile that came to her; if Snape had done anything wrong, she would take great delight in digging it out.

Typically, as Headmaster, Dumbledore wouldn’t be privy to an ongoing investigation, but being the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot also had its perks. Not to mention that his staff and students were being investigated in his own school.

One of the tables in the Great Hall was laden heavy with food again – and a few of the tired Aurors were hungrily inhaling copious amounts of food – it seemed that DMLE had been hard-pressed these days.

“Madam Pomfrey and the girl had been in the hospital wing all evening,” Dawlish reported as soon as he rushed in. “Whoever cursed the poor girl hit her with not one, but two nasty hexes that even I couldn’t recognise.”

Dumbledore had a niggling suspicion about who was responsible – the tensions between Slytherin and Gryffindor were always high, and even more so now with the approaching Quidditch match in little over a week. The woeful fight between Juno Lestrange and Neville Longbottom only exacerbated them further.

“Rowle remembers nothing but looking for his wand he lost earlier that day. And then just wandering in the dungeons,” Scrimgeour, who had stiffly walked just after his colleague, reported grimly. “The boy has been obliviated, and possibly more.”

“And his wand?”

“In the bottom of his school bag – all the spells cast from his Transfiguration and Charms lessons…”

Mind magic left an obvious trace upon the minds it touched, yet it was practically impossible to pinpoint what exactly had been done. Using such magic without a permit and specific circumstances was highly regulated and illegal.

“I don’t like this,” Fawley exhaled tiredly. Neither did Dumbledore – someone had assaulted the mind of one of his students for what could only be nefarious purposes, not to mention the enormous, glaring issue of seven trolls attacking his school. Besides, he knew of Roland Rowle – the boy’s main ambition was to enter Puddlemere United as a beater and make his name known far and wide as a Quidditch Player. Sure, he was haughty, but no more than any other Slytherin, and had no reason to let a doxie, let alone seven bloody trolls, in his school.

The mere thought still incensed Dumbledore, as his mind furiously churned different scenarios where he could have done things differently for a better outcome.

“The boy could have still done it,” Scrimgeour barked out. “And obliviated himself afterwards.”

“That’s practically impossible. Even if Mr Rowle somehow could, why would he?” Dumbledore offered. Obliviation was dangerous, infinitely more so when used on yourself. “And how would he know where to find seven trolls, let alone lure them to the castle?”

“Indeed, it’s not a feat a seventh-year could do easily, getting in touch with the trolls, establishing communication…” Fawley grunted in agreement. “He lacks the power or the skill… unless he had accomplices. What about this third corridor fiasco I heard about, Dumbledore?”

The expected question finally arrived. The Philosopher’s Stone had a nearly irresistible allure, and if the details of its supposed presence had gotten out, only Merlin would know what sort of desperate folk or dark wizards it would attract. But to his knowledge, only those few who still had an eye on the Flamels could know its whereabouts – and his mentor and his wife were elusive, especially after the attack in late spring. It was far from the first try on their lives – immortality or unlimited gold were alluring prospects for too many, let alone packed in a single item.

With an inward sigh, the old warlock finally admitted something he tried hard to deflect for the last few hours.

Denying the truth had always been folly, but Dumbledore was not incapable of admitting his mistakes.

And planting a trap, a bait, in Hogwarts had turned out to be a heavy mistake. Of course, neither of the prepared defences had been breached tonight – Dumbledore had checked himself. The stone was still in his office, in a small drawer hidden under a fidelius, with Nicolas as secretkeeper. And his mentor was hiding in one of his secret haunts that only he and his wife knew about.

It was hard to take precautions for an overbearing method like letting seven trolls into the school – even he had not expected such a daring move.

And it had cost him his caretaker.

“An experiment of mine,” he admitted after weighing his options. Telling his true purpose or suspicion of Voldemort would be simply met with distrust – or outright greed. The stone was tempting enough, but the news of the Dark Lord’s continued existence would be devastating, and once spoken out loud before so many, both would spread like wildfire, let alone the damage such a claim would do without proof.

Just like in his life, Tom Riddle was mistrustful even in undeath – even of his own followers, or maybe especially of them now that he was weak. But if some managed to find their way into his service again, he would not hesitate to use them one way or another.

“Do you care to elaborate?” Felix Fawley stared at him with an open challenge.

“It’s but a game for my more resourceful students,” Albus twisted the truth without batting an eye – after all, Voldemort was one of his more resourceful students. “I’d be happy to lead you through it should you desire.” If the head of DMLE was curious, the headmaster was amenable to letting him investigate; it was not like there was anything to be found there.

But only him.

Even the challenges were designed in ways that required quick wits and plenty of daring. The choice of mundane skills and knowledge that Voldemort disdained, if not outright dismissed, was deliberate on Dumbledore’s part.

Even so, nobody had gotten hurt from his challenge gauntlet – the tied Cerberus was fearsome, but it served as an excellent deterrent even for the more curious troublemakers. After all, none had even attempted to bypass it. Even if they did, the beast was an intelligent and trained guard dog – it would not kill those who had yet to reach maturity.

It was a shady thing – setting a gauntlet like this, but the power the headmaster enjoyed in Hogwarts was nigh absolute, and he had given a warning to everyone, so little blame could ever fall on him, especially when nobody had gotten wounded by it.

“Maybe later,” Fawley grunted dismissively. A cunning politician, doubtlessly, he knew any investigations in Hogwarts were done with the headmaster’s allowance but kept his options open without stepping on too many toes.

The door of the Great Hall was opened again.

Dumbledore never expected to see Severus in chains again – the man was still clearly inebriated, judging by the pair of Aurors having to drag him to the room. While he left the matter unsaid earlier because of the concerns of privacy – it was clear to the headmaster that Snape still grieved the passing of his flame.

“Ms Bones,” his words came out flat as his eyes settled on Severus, who looked even more miserable than usual but did not bother to resist. “May I inquire why you have my Potions Master in irons?”

“Illegal possession of an unregistered second wand,” Amelia’s words were just as cold, but he could catch the joy underneath. “You wouldn’t even guess the magic cast with it.”

Snape looked sloshed and… utterly disinterested in the events happening around him. Dumbledore wondered how well his Occlumency worked after so much drinking.

“Don’t keep us waiting, Bones,” Fawley barked impatiently.

The wand was oddly familiar, but then again, Albus had seen plenty of wands during his long life. He could go over his memories in search of this particular one, but it would be far easier to call Ollivander.

“See for yourself,” Amelia handed the wand to the head of DMLE.

“Priori Incantantem.” The shapes from the wand’s tip had Dumbledore feeling faint already – he could recognise the Imperius Curse, an Obliviation charm, and a Confundus. “What of his main wand?”

“Nothing nefarious,” Shaklebolt grunted.

“Well, this is a clear-cut case-“

“Can we prove that it was him?” Gawain Robards interrupted. “For all we know, it could have been planted-“

Dumbledore’s mind whirled furiously while the Aurors began to argue – while he knew Snape had stepped on the wrong side of the law before, this particular deed had been beyond the Potion Master. Or so he thought…

Inebriation had a way of bringing out the worst in even the finest of men – his usually kind father, Percival, had been quite drunk the night he had gone after the three muggle boys that had tormented Ariana. Whether he would have done it while sober was a question Dumbledore had tried not to dwell upon too often.

“-So, Snape, whose wand is this?” Fawley’s question halted his musings as everyone stopped arguing and was looking at Snape.

“Lily.” The hoarse words were merely a whisper, but everyone heard them. Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose in exhaustion – he recognised that wand now. The enormous backlash that had turned most of the Potter Cottage into a ruin had broken James Potter’s wand. He had assumed that Lily Potter’s wand had met the same fate…

“Lily?” Amelia echoed, confused, but Snape hiccuped as he glared at everyone.

Dumbledore finally realised what was happening. This elaborate set-up was to frame Severus into something he did not commit. But why?

Then it clicked. The insidious methods were familiar enough – this had Voldemort’s hands all over it. Was the Dark Lord testing Snape’s worth as a spy in Dumbledore’s eyes?

If Dumbledore stood his ground and backed Snape during the investigation, he would lose some influence and goodwill in the process – and it would oust Severus as someone in his pocket. Any future association Dumbledore could forge with Harry Potter would sour. If he stood back and did nothing, Severus’ loyalty to the Dark Lord would be confirmed, and he could end up in Azkaban – reliant on Voldemort’s grace for his freedom.

Such a stint would make Dumbledore lose even more influence and goodwill since he had vehemently defended Severus after the Dark Lord was vanquished. Such were the terrible dangers of dipping into the quagmire that was power and politics…

Placing people into such a lose-lose situation had been a favourite manoeuvre of Voldemort.

Worse, there was always the possibility the presence of James’ son had finally shaken the reins of all the loathing, hatred, and resentment Snape harboured, and his mind had broken.

“Lily Potter’s wand,” Dumbledore said with a sigh.

“Take him into the DMLE cells,” Fawley spoke slowly while looking at the headmaster with challenge.

It was his school, and he had enough pull with the new minister to strongarm these accusations, too. But no matter what he did, Dumbledore would lose.

What Voldemort probably didn’t know was the obscure life-debt Snape had for the Potters, along with the promised Vow that had made Dumbledore agree to take him in. Azkaban or not, Snape had no choice but to work against Voldemort.

The headmaster sighed and closed his eyes as Severus was dragged outside the castle. Perhaps some time in a cell would give the Potions Master time to reflect on his past misdeeds as they were plentiful – his less-than-stellar work as a teacher had not been the atonement Dumbledore had intended. While not delving into them, Albus knew they were not insignificant and were one of the main reasons he had agreed to Snape’s help only after a stringent vow. After all, a saint would not make it into Voldemort’s inner circle. The headmaster might have loathed violence and death, but that did not mean he was a soft fool.

Still, Severus had little to fear if he had done nothing wrong this time – Dumbledore would ensure he received a just and honest defence in the Wizengamot.