[HP: I became Snape]-Chapter 181: Between the Lines

Dumbledore’s gaze swept over the gathered crowd, settling on the bloodied, cowering werewolf huddled in the corner. His brows furrowed slightly, and with a subtle lift of his hand, every curtain in the ship’s cabin snapped shut with a sharp swish.

A thick mist clouded the large observation window at the front of the captain’s quarters, sealing off the cold moonlight outside.

“James, Sirius,” the headmaster’s voice remained reassuringly calm, “what happened here?”

Before James, his lips trembling, could muster a response, Mundungus Fletcher leapt forward from the edge of the crowd. He shoved his way to Dumbledore, pointing a grimy finger at the towering werewolf with an eager, almost boastful squeak.

“Professor Dumbledore!” he cried, “It was me! I was patrolling the lower decks when I ran into them! This werewolf—it killed one of our prisoners!”

“In the confinement room! The scene was just…” Mundungus paused, casting a puzzled glance at the unusually docile, shivering werewolf. His tone wavered with uncertainty. “It doesn’t look dangerous now, but…” He raised his voice again, “I was incredibly brave, mind you, barely managed to subdue it!”

“Which prisoner?” Dumbledore’s eyes sharpened, his usual warmth replaced by an intense, almost oppressive aura. He turned to Mundungus, pressing, “Are they still alive? What was their name?”

Mundungus shrank under Dumbledore’s presence, nearly ducking behind someone else. “Professor,” he gulped, stammering, “I… I checked. Dead as a doornail… It was… it was Peter Pettigrew.”

“Peter?” The calm on Dumbledore’s face faltered. “Peter Pettigrew? Why was he our prisoner?” His gaze swept over the pale faces of James and Sirius before landing on Professor McGonagall.

McGonagall took a deep breath and stepped forward, her expression heavy with sorrow. “Albus,” she began, “a lot has happened while you were unconscious…”

She recounted the events that had transpired during Dumbledore’s coma: how James, Sirius, and Remus had left the Founders’ Ship, how Peter Pettigrew had betrayed them by joining the Death Eaters, leading to the loss of the Invisibility Cloak and the tragic deaths of James’s parents.

At the mention of the Invisibility Cloak, Snape noticed a sharp glint in Dumbledore’s eyes behind his half-moon glasses. His brows knitted tightly, and a flicker of emotion—more than mere surprise, but a deep, heavy concern—crossed his face.

A murmur of shock, anger, and disbelief rippled through the Order of the Phoenix members in the cabin who were hearing this for the first time. The air buzzed with suppressed whispers.

Dumbledore raised his hand again, silencing the commotion. “Please, everyone, quiet down,” he said, scanning the room. “You’ve all worked hard. I ask that you return to your cabins and rest. Tomorrow at breakfast, I’ll meet everyone in the dining hall to reassure the students and staff.”

“As for what you’ve seen and heard here tonight,” he added, his tone firming, “I ask that you keep it confidential for now. I’ll handle this matter appropriately.” He turned to Moody. “Alastor, please investigate the scene.”

Though questions lingered in their minds, and some, like Professor Flitwick, hesitated, the group trusted Dumbledore’s calm authority. They exchanged hushed words and began filing out of the captain’s quarters. Mundungus, still eager to speak, was nudged along by Moody.

Soon, only Snape, Dumbledore, McGonagall, James, Sirius, and the still-bowed werewolf remained in the room.

“Severus,” Dumbledore’s gaze shifted to Snape, “I’ll come find you later to discuss this matter privately.” Noticing Snape’s reluctance to leave, he raised an eyebrow. “Unless… this has something to do with you?”

“Of course not, my dear professor,” Snape replied, his face twisting with undisguised irritation. He had no intention of letting James or the others spin their version of events to the headmaster. The truth, he decided, should come from him.

“I merely… provided some insignificant ‘assistance’ to certain endeavors.” With deliberate slowness, he drew something from his pocket.

The silvery, liquid-like Invisibility Cloak unfurled in Snape’s hands, revealing a jagged hole pierced by a goblin-forged dagger, its edges charred and blackened.

“Professor,” Snape said, holding the cloak aloft and shaking it to display the damage clearly, “take a look at this.”

“While you, in your reckless actions, caused Mr. Riddle to abandon his original plan of hiding his treasures in that cave and allowed yourself the luxury of a long slumber, I wasn’t wallowing in self-pity or idling about.”

James, catching sight of the damaged Potter family heirloom, gasped and took an instinctive step forward. Sirius subtly tugged at his robe, and James froze. He stared at the hole in the cloak, then fell silent and stepped back.

Unconcerned with James’s reaction, Dumbledore’s eyes remained fixed on the cloak. After a moment, he nodded slowly, his voice warm with genuine praise. “You’ve done exceptionally well, Severus. Beyond expectation.”

He looked up, his gaze encompassing Snape, McGonagall, and the others. “I owe an apology to you, to Minerva, and to every student and staff member at Hogwarts. If not for your loyalty, courage, and remarkable adaptability, my arrogance and unilateral actions might have led to even graver consequences.”

He gave Snape a particular look, then bowed slightly to everyone present.

Straightening, Dumbledore turned to James and the others, his tone gentle. “Children, can you tell me exactly what happened down there tonight?”

“I…” James lifted his head, his eyes red beneath his dark hair. “I…” He glanced at Snape, who returned a near-icy stare. James quickly looked down, his dark bangs falling over his eyes again.

“Tonight, I wanted to…” he began, his voice strained, “to avenge my parents, to get back at that despicable traitor. I slipped down to the confinement room during the house-elves’ shift change…” He paused, his breathing quickening. “But I didn’t expect… Sirius and Remus, they followed me down there.” His body swayed slightly, brushing against Sirius, who stood silently with his head bowed.

Dumbledore let out a heavy sigh through his nose. “And then?” he prompted.

“And then,” James’s voice grew faint, almost inaudible, “when I opened the cell door and aimed my wand at… at the traitor… Sirius and Remus tackled me from behind. We fought; they tried to stop me…”

“But there was a narrow window in the cell,” he continued, his voice breaking with a sob. “The moonlight hit Remus, and he… he transformed into a werewolf… He lunged at Peter, bit him… Peter’s screams drew Mundungus to the scene…”

After hearing James’s account, Dumbledore turned calmly to the werewolf in the corner, who let out a low, mournful whimper at the sound of his name.

“Severus,” Dumbledore asked, “I trust you’ve been supplying Remus with sufficient Wolfsbane Potion on schedule?”

“Of course, Professor,” Snape replied evenly, his tone devoid of emotion. James and Sirius, however, lifted their heads slightly, their lips tightening.

“But,” Snape continued, his tone shifting, “according to Mr. Damocles’s groundbreaking paper in Practical Potioneer, the effects of Wolfsbane Potion are not entirely reliable. There are individual variations and a slight chance of failure, are there not, Professor?” He met Dumbledore’s gaze. “I believe this is a matter of probability.”

“Perhaps, at the precise moment the moonlight pierced the cabin’s narrow window and struck Remus, the potion’s active ingredients were at an unstable low, leading to this regrettable, unintended loss of control.”

At Snape’s words, James and Sirius exhaled almost simultaneously, their clenched fists relaxing.

“Hmm,” Snape tilted his head, as if pondering an intriguing academic question. “This could be an interesting angle. Perhaps I should collect more data and publish a paper in Practical Potioneer exploring such extreme cases—”

“Enough, Severus, I understand,” Dumbledore interrupted, his eyes signaling that he’d caught the subtext. “I’ll investigate this matter thoroughly and handle it according to the law—”

“Pardon me, Professor, but I don’t understand,” Snape cut in, his tone sharp. “Which law are you referring to?”

“The one enforced by the Ministry of Magic and Wizengamot, now firmly under Voldemort’s control, used to persecute the innocent and hunt us down?”

“If that’s the case, why don’t we turn this ship around, sail everyone straight to the Ministry, and turn ourselves in? Perhaps they’ll grant us a ‘fair’ trial and a cozy encounter with the Dementors for our voluntary surrender?”

Dumbledore faltered, waving a hand with a mix of exasperation and understanding. “Alright, Severus,” he said. “I understand the situation.”

Snape nodded gravely, his tone growing somber. “Indeed, Professor, I’m glad you do. While you were unconscious, things were dire.”

“We’ve been like stray dogs, drifting in the sky, struggling to survive.”

“At one point, Death Eaters even tracked us to the Founders’ Ship, and we fought fiercely. Many of our companions were captured and sent to Azkaban, their fates uncertain.”

Dumbledore sighed deeply, his face etched with guilt and sorrow. “You’ve all…” he murmured, “endured so much. It’s my…”

“It’s alright, Professor. We don’t blame you,” Snape said, slowing his words. “During this time, for the safety of the students and the Order members who risked their lives, we had to resort to unconventional, even morally gray measures.”

“But the results speak for themselves,” he said, straightening. “I’m honored to report that, despite the dangers, every person we brought from Hogwarts is safe and sound. Well, except for Peter Pettigrew.”

“To return to the point, in these extraordinary times, we’ve had to take extraordinary measures to survive and strive for victory. I trust you’ll understand, won’t you?”

“After all, without your guidance, facing an unprecedentedly powerful dark wizard like Voldemort, the pressure on everyone has been immense. Everything we’ve done has been to protect as many innocent lives as possible.”

Dumbledore fell silent, his gaze sweeping over James and Sirius’s bowed heads, Remus’s disheveled werewolf form, and the shadows in McGonagall’s eyes.

“I understand your meaning,” he said finally, nodding slowly. “In these life-or-death moments, we can’t afford to cling blindly to distorted laws and rules.”

“Desperate times call for flexibility. Rest assured, I may be an old man, but I’m not so rigid as to lose sight of right and wrong. I understand the difficult choices you’ve made.”

Relief flickered in Snape’s chest, though his expression remained solemn. His greatest fear had not yet come to pass.

“Very well,” Dumbledore said, sounding weary. He turned to McGonagall. “Minerva, please arrange for these three to be settled. Prepare some Calming Draughts and ensure they rest.”

“Remus,” he added gently, addressing the werewolf, “we’ll arrange a private room for you. Even with the Wolfsbane Potion, please stay in your room during the full moon, for everyone’s safety.”

Remus’s massive wolf head dipped, a submissive whimper escaping as he nodded vigorously.

As McGonagall gestured for James, Sirius, and Remus to follow her out of the captain’s quarters, a steady, approaching footfall echoed from the corridor outside.

The cabin door clicked open, and a voice tinged with impatience rang out: “Why didn’t I see Dumbledore in the hospital wing? Where have you moved him—”