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The night wind swept through the Forbidden Forest, causing the trees' colossal shadows to dance and their branches and leaves to rustle nervously together. Above them, the sky was a blanket of dark, oppressive clouds.
Beneath that unsettling sky, Snape didn't walk; he stormed. He clamped his hand like a vice around Hermione's wrist, his black robes billowing behind him like angry waves as he cut a silent, swift path through the undergrowth. Hermione was practically dragged along, her shorter legs hopelessly trying to keep pace with his long strides, nearly lifted off her feet.
He never once thought to slow down.
He couldn't.
Snape was consumed by a cold, sharp anxiety. Despite his many years of experience, he was certain that what they had just heard was not a dragon's roar. Many potion masters, including himself, were experts in magical creatures, as a significant proportion of potion ingredients came directly from them. He was therefore deeply familiar with dragons, both dead and alive.
Yet the roar that had just ripped through the forest could not have been produced by any species he knew. It was a roar that carried a raw power capable of shaking the very soul!
Dragons simply didn't possess that ability.
Their cries were terrifying enough to send lesser creatures, and even some wizards, fleeing, but they could never rattle the mind of a wizard as formidable as Snape.
As most people knew, the world's dragon population wasn't vast. The 'Common Welsh Green', barely twenty feet long, had an almost melodious roar, which was a far cry from a sound capable of seizing one's heart with terror. The 'Hebridean Black', which was larger and known for its fiery temper, black scales, violet eyes, and sharp ridge down its spine, had an ordinary cry.
Other breeds, such as the 'Australian Opaleye', 'Romanian Longhorn', 'Swedish Short-Snout', 'Peruvian Vipertooth', 'Chinese Fireball', and 'Fluffy-Backed Ridge Dragon', were simply louder, nothing more; they didn't cause fear like this.
The only dragons whose roars carried a trace of magical power were the Hungarian Horntail and the Ukrainian Ironbelly. Their shrieks could certainly render most creatures helpless. Research confirmed a flicker of magic in those cries, but for wizards trained in the arts, the effect was minimal and easily dismissed after hearing it once or twice.
Snape understood dragons.
Even if he were working on the most delicate potion, he was sure that his hands wouldn't tremble and his focus wouldn't waver if a 'Ukrainian Ironbelly' roared in his ear.
But when that 'terrifying roar' echoed out just now, Snape felt his own magic freeze. His thoughts had gone still. The sheer force of that sound was immense.
"What… was that?"
A wave of profound unease rose in Snape's gut. Despite having been at Hogwarts for decades, the secrets buried in the Forbidden Forest still eluded him. He was certain that a creature this fearsome had to be a remnant from some ancient age long past. Only in those distant, almost mythical eras when wizards and magical creatures were far more powerful could such a terrifying being have existed. Snape knew this because he had once acquired a legendary wizard's mysterious, worn notebook in his youth.
"By now, conditions shouldn't allow a creature like that to survive," Snape muttered to himself, reviewing the journal's contents. He wondered if the notes were mistaken or if some unknown event had fatally disturbed the world's balance.
It was hard to imagine any species surviving for thousands of years, or even longer. Could a 'living egg', somehow still viable after all this time, have hatched under extraordinary circumstances? His mind raced as he applied the full breadth of his scholarly knowledge.
As for Hermione, she could only tremble in sheer, unadulterated terror. The Miss Know-it-all, with her still-limited knowledge base, couldn't even begin to form a coherent thought. Everything had long since soared past the boundaries of her understanding.
"Professor!" Hermione gasped, stumbling to keep up. "Was that really a dragon's roar? I've read about dragons; they're powerful, but they shouldn't be 'that' powerful, should they? Even from so far away, I felt an uncontrollable fear…" Cold sweat beaded on her forehead as she spoke. Just the memory of the sound made her heart slam against her ribs. This was definitely not the magical adventure she had dreamed of.
"A dragon's roar usually has a much lower frequency, and it shouldn't produce that kind of crushing pressure," Snape replied evenly. "As for this sound… truthfully, I don't know. It might come from a species that has never been recorded." Snape admitted his confusion without hesitation.
"There are still unrecorded magical species?" Hermione's eyes went wide with shock. Her small legs were moving as fast as they could, barely managing to keep up with Snape's huge, purposeful steps.
"Muggles discover new species all the time, what makes you think the wizarding world is any different?" Snape sneered, his voice as icy as ever.
"You're right." The logic suddenly dawned on Hermione. "I didn't expect you, Professor Snape, to know so much about the Muggle world," she admitted with a touch of surprise in her tone. That was truly something she'd never imagined.
Slytherin House was notorious for its pure-blood supremacy. The students there looked down on Muggles; speaking politely to one was considered extraordinary tolerance, let alone studying their history or society.
As Head of Slytherin, Snape had always seemed to Hermione the epitome of a lofty pure-blood traditionalist, even if he never openly insulted Muggle-borns. Everyone knew he was the most formidable support the pure-blood faction had.
"Heh." Snape let out a cold, disdainful chuckle at her observation. "What's wrong? Does Miss Granger's prejudice lead her to believe that wizards should know nothing about the Muggle world?"
His words instantly struck Hermione dumb.
"I didn't mean it like that…" She stammered, scrambling to explain herself.
However, in that very instant—
'"ROAR!"'
Another, even more terrifying dragon's roar tore through the air. This time, it was tinged with pure 'rage'.
The ground, thick with rotting leaves, suddenly trembled. From the damp soil, a foul-smelling, viscous liquid began to seep. Though the source was still distant, the roar thundered across the Forbidden Forest like a bolt of lightning splitting the heavens, shaking the very earth beneath them.
Its oppressive force was like an invisible mountain pressing down on their hearts, heavy, suffocating. The soundwaves seemed to burst outward, threatening to shatter the soul itself, sending uncontrollable chills racing down their spines and causing their legs to tremble violently.
That, at least, was exactly how Hermione felt.
"Hhh!"
Her face went paper-white. All strength drained from her legs. Her eyes became unfocused, blank. The sheer spiritual pressure contained in that roar was crushing her from the inside out.
"Damn it!"
Snape wasn't overwhelmed to the same extent, but even he felt his soul shudder with the impact. When he finally steadied himself, an intense wave of worry surged in his chest, a sudden, deep concern for 'Ian's' fate.
If the roar alone was so terrifying, just how powerful must such a creature be? The thought sent an immediate, cold spike of dread through Snape.
"He may have already encountered that thing!"
It was the only rational conclusion.
(To Be Continued…)