[HP: I became Snape]-Chapter 180: Beyond the Plan

Both were clad in formal robes, as if they had been awaiting Snape’s return.

Sirius Black’s face bore a struggle, his lips pressed tightly together, his gaze flickering between Snape and James. James, however, was entirely different. He bypassed any hesitation, his eyes blazing as they fixed on Snape.

Before Sirius could muster his words, James took half a step forward.

“Severus,” his voice rasped, “we saw the light in your room and knew you were back. So we came.”

“You said before…” he continued, “that you’d find a way to give us a chance to ‘talk’ with Wormtail alone. I think… it’s time.”

Snape’s eyes swept over the two, his expression betraying no surprise. He merely asked in a flat tone, “So eager? Can’t wait a few more days?”

“The sooner, the better,” James ground out through clenched teeth. “I can’t stand another minute! The thought of him still on this ship, breathing the same air as us, unpunished—it makes me sick!”

Snape regarded him calmly for a few seconds before giving a slight nod, lowering his voice. “The night after tomorrow, after lights out, at midnight sharp. You can go to the lower deck detention room. I’ll ensure… there’s a five-minute gap during the house-elf shift change. That should suffice.”

“However,” he paused, his tone shifting, “have you thought about how to ‘wrap things up’ after your ‘talk’?”

James visibly faltered. He had clearly only considered the “talk” itself, not what would come after.

He shook his head, his voice low and hollow. “I don’t care. I don’t care about anything anymore…”

But then he abruptly turned to Sirius beside him and said, “Sirius, when the time comes, I’ll go alone. You don’t need to come.”

“What?!” Sirius reacted as if stung, his voice rising sharply, his disheveled black hair practically standing on end. “Prongs, what the hell do you mean?! That traitor—he killed—! We swore we’d do this together! It’s our revenge! I’m going, and you’re not shaking me off!” He grabbed James’s arm, his emotions surging.

James didn’t argue with Sirius. Instead, he looked at his best friend with an unnervingly calm gaze, one laced with unyielding resolve, and shook his head silently.

Then, breaking free of Sirius’s grip, he turned back to Snape and, with great difficulty, mumbled two words: “Thank… you…”

Snape watched the scene expressionlessly, saying nothing more. He gave a slight nod, stepped back, and turned to re-enter his cabin, closing the door behind him.

Two days later, deep in the night.

A rapid yet soft knock jolted Snape from a light sleep. He glanced at the full moon outside the window, swiftly rose, donned his black robes, and opened the cabin door.

“Sorry to disturb you, Mr. Snape!” The house-elf Mipple stood there, wide-eyed, anxiously wringing its fingers. “Professor McGonagall sent Mipple to fetch you—please go to the captain’s cabin at once!”

“Understood,” Snape replied in a low voice. “Thank you, Mipple.” He tied his robes and strode purposefully toward the captain’s cabin.

Mipple bowed deeply to Snape’s retreating figure, lingering before scurrying off to other cabins.

The dim corridor echoed with only Snape’s footsteps.

A midnight summons—Snape had his suspicions. Most likely, James and Sirius had made their move against Wormtail. Professor McGonagall’s call to gather everyone now was probably to discuss how to handle this “private justice” incident and the two involved. It was a bit troublesome, but not entirely unexpected.

He reached the captain’s cabin and pushed the door open.

The room was brightly lit. Professor McGonagall stood at its center, slightly turned, speaking in a low voice to someone.

Snape’s gaze immediately shot past her shoulder, drawn irresistibly to the figure beside her.

An elderly man with white hair, clad in a purple robe adorned with stars, his long silver beard cascading over his chest.

Behind half-moon spectacles, a pair of brilliant blue eyes sparkled with wisdom. Though they carried the fatigue of someone recently recovered from illness, his spirit seemed remarkably vibrant.

It was Albus Dumbledore! He was awake!

“Professor!” Snape’s voice carried a note of surprise, mingled with a relief he hadn’t even realized he felt. He stepped forward, looking Dumbledore up and down. “You… when did you wake?”

“It’s been a trying time for you, Severus,” Dumbledore said, turning to him with a warm smile. “I woke not long ago, and I’m feeling much better.

“Minerva suggested I rest a bit longer, but I thought it better for everyone to see me sooner rather than later. So I insisted she summon you all—my apologies for interrupting your rest.” The headmaster’s voice was still somewhat weak but clear and steady.

“Professor, I thought it would take at least a few more weeks for the potion’s effects to restore your consciousness. I didn’t expect…” Snape trailed off, as if suddenly remembering something. “Ah, yes!” He reached into his robe pocket, pulled out the Elder Wand, and offered it to Dumbledore. “Your wand.”

Dumbledore’s gaze fell on the distinctive, knotted shaft of the Elder Wand, but he didn’t reach for it. Instead, he looked up, his smile deepening, and slowly shook his head.

“Severus,” he said, “I believe you’re mistaken. This precious, ancient Elder Wand is not the one I lost.”

“What?” Snape froze, the wand still extended, his brow furrowing slightly. “Professor, this is your wand. I merely… borrowed it while you were unconscious.”

“No, no, no.” Dumbledore continued to smile, his eyes deadly serious with a childlike stubbornness. “I’m an honest man, Severus. My wand isn’t this valuable or powerful. It’s just an ordinary casting tool. Give me another one.”

Snape, clutching the Elder Wand, met Dumbledore’s piercing blue eyes and understood the old headmaster’s meaning.

A flicker of reluctance crossed his face. He held Dumbledore’s gentle gaze for a few seconds before conceding defeat.

With a grudging huff, Snape withdrew his hand, tucking the Elder Wand back into his robes. He rummaged in his bag, pulling out another wand—plain, unremarkable, a spare with no distinguishing features.

“Here, take your ironwood wand!” he said, almost petulantly, tossing it forcefully toward Dumbledore.

Dumbledore caught the flying wand with a cheerful chuckle, weighing it in his hand as if confirming its fit. He nodded with satisfaction, his tone bright. “Ah, yes. This is my plain old wand. Thank you for keeping it safe, Severus.”

Snape let out a disgruntled snort through his nose, turning away from the headmaster, who grinned like a sly old fox.

At that moment, the cabin door was pushed open again, and others who had received the summons began to arrive.

Each person who entered let out a gasp upon seeing Dumbledore standing under the lamplight.

“Dumbledore!”

“Albus! Merlin’s beard, you’re awake!”

“Headmaster!”

Hagrid’s massive frame squeezed through the door. Upon seeing Dumbledore, he let out a booming wail, his huge hands covering his face as tears and snot poured forth. He hurriedly pulled out a grimy handkerchief, blowing his nose loudly. Moody’s magical eye spun wildly, wary yet relieved. Emmeline Vance’s eyes shimmered with tears…

Every face glowed with incredulous joy and exhilaration, their voices low as they shared the news with those nearby. The atmosphere in the cabin instantly grew warm and hopeful.

Dumbledore smiled, greeting each person by name, as if he had merely woken from a long nap.

Once most had arrived, McGonagall scanned the room, counting heads, her brow gradually furrowing. “Where’s Mundungus? Why isn’t he here yet?”

Snape followed her gaze over the crowd, noting another absence. With a probing tone, he added, “Mr. Green seems to be missing as well?”

McGonagall’s expression froze. She looked flustered, her eyes darting as she stammered, “Er… well… I didn’t have the elf notify him…”

Dumbledore, who had been listening curiously, raised an eyebrow at the mention of “Mr. Green.”

“Mr. Green? Oh, pardon, who is he?” the headmaster asked, looking at McGonagall. “Why wasn’t he called?”

Emmeline, standing nearby, immediately piped up, her voice brimming with admiration. “Professor Dumbledore! He’s an absolutely incredible wizard! Thanks to him, we were able to—”

“Emmeline!” McGonagall cut her off sharply, her face growing even more uncomfortable. She turned to Dumbledore, her tone hurried. “Albus, it’s… it’s a long story, very complicated… I’ll explain it to you later, all right?”

Dumbledore studied McGonagall’s slightly embarrassed expression, then glanced at Snape’s impassive face with a hint of curiosity. He didn’t press further, merely nodding thoughtfully. “Of course, Minerva. We have plenty of time.”

He cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention back to him.

“Well, then, we won’t wait for Mundungus,” he said, his gaze sweeping over each familiar face, his voice carrying a soothing strength. “I’m delighted to see you all here.

“In such trying times, to see so many of you still standing together, fighting side by side—it moves me deeply. I offer you my heartfelt thanks.”

His words prompted another loud sob from Hagrid.

Dumbledore shook his head with a smile and continued, “I’m also glad to be awake. For that, I must especially thank Severus for his masterful potion-making. Without him, I’m not sure these old bones would be standing here again. Oh, and of course, Horace, back at Hogwarts Castle, protecting the students who remained…”

As the headmaster spoke, the cabin door was knocked upon once more, then shoved open roughly.

Panting, disheveled, and reeking of tobacco and alcohol, Mundungus burst in.

One hand pressed to his heaving chest, the other pointing behind him, he shouted urgently, “M-Minerva! I caught him—I went through hell to—”

His voice cut off abruptly as he saw the white-haired old man smiling at the center of the crowd.

“Dumbledore!” Mundungus’s eyes bulged, his jaw practically hitting his chest as he let out a high-pitched yelp.

But Dumbledore’s gaze, along with everyone else’s in the cabin, bypassed Mundungus, locking onto the trembling figures slowly entering from the shadows outside.

James and Sirius were deathly pale, their faces dazed, even streaked with dried tears.

Upon seeing Dumbledore, their expressions lit up with joy, but it quickly gave way to a complex mix of guilt and loss.

Yet what shocked everyone more was the figure following them.

A towering form, nearly brushing the cabin ceiling, had to stoop deeply to squeeze through the door.

Covered in coarse, thick gray-brown fur, with a protruding snout and slightly bared fangs, its amber eyes glinted in the lamplight.

A werewolf, transformed.

More startling still were the half-dried, dark red bloodstains smeared across its furry wolf face and matted into the thick fur on its chest.

In eerie contrast to its fearsome appearance and the blood, however, was its demeanor.

From the moment it entered, the massive werewolf kept its head bowed meekly, almost cowering, avoiding all eye contact.

It stood close to the wall, its huge hands clasped nervously, struggling to suppress the faint, stifled whimpers escaping its throat—utterly submissive, even humble.

The sudden, jarring sight plunged the captain’s cabin into silence.

In the next instant, the witches and wizards reacted instinctively.

Swish!

A chorus of wands being drawn.

They aimed at the intruder.

But when they saw the werewolf made no move to attack, standing there meekly—fearfully, even—while James and Sirius (despite their own poor state) stood protectively in front of it, those with raised wands hesitated, caught between lowering them and keeping them raised.

Low, shocked murmurs rippled through the crowd.

“Merlin’s beard…”

“A werewolf? How’s there a werewolf on the ship?!”

“Is that blood on its face?”

“Potter and Black brought it? What happened…?”

Dumbledore raised a hand to quell the commotion.

All eyes fixed on James, Sirius, and the blood-stained werewolf, awaiting an explanation.