"You dare say that again?!"
Voldemort flew into a towering rage, and with a flick of his hand, a Killing Curse shot straight at the black-robed man.
But faced with such an attack, the black-robed man still looked utterly calm, almost dismissive.
He didn't even strike back. Instead, he crossed his legs and propped them up on the table, looking every bit the picture of carelessness.
Just as that ominous green light was about to hit him, another, even brighter green beam shot in from the side and slammed into it.
The two emerald lights tangled together. With a series of crackling explosions, green plasma scattered down from the point of impact, burning black scorch marks deep into the tabletop.
As the light faded, the vast conference room fell back into silence, the air now heavy with the thick stench of charred wood.
At the far end of the table, another black-robed figure, hidden in shadow, spoke helplessly, "Stop this meaningless fighting. Otherwise, the only ones who'll benefit will be our enemies."
He turned his gaze toward the careless one. "Number Two, stop provoking him. Honestly, it's childish."
"Hmph!"
The one called Number Two gave a cold, disdainful snort, but in the end, didn't argue further.
Seeing this, the robed figure at the head of the table finally nodded in satisfaction. He turned toward Voldemort and said, "As we agreed earlier, we already gave you the opportunity and the help you needed for the plan. It's only because you failed to seize it that things ended this way. I don't see what you have to complain about."
"Ha?! Help? Number One, if your people hadn't deliberately sabotaged me, if you hadn't dragged me away at the very last moment, I'd already have succeeded!"
Voldemort slammed both hands onto the table, roaring, his burning anger nearly taking physical form, fire seeming to blaze within his eyes.
Number One looked genuinely taken aback. He turned his head toward the darkness on his left and asked, "Number Three, is that true?"
From the shadows, a figure cloaked entirely in darkness slowly appeared. He looked at Number One, then shook his head slowly… before nodding once.
That vague response somehow seemed clear enough to Number One. He nodded back as if he understood, and said, "So that's how it is."
Turning back to Voldemort, he explained, "Number Three means that he didn't interfere too much with your actions. He only made some small moves within the allowable range. Your failure, ultimately, the biggest reason lies with you."
"What a fine, high-sounding excuse!" Voldemort shouted, waving his arms.
"I see right through you! You're nothing but a pack of hypocrites in fine robes! You're even more disgusting than Dumbledore! Working with you is nothing more than asking a tiger for its skin!"
"But you still can't do without our help, can you?" Number One smiled as he spoke softly.
Voldemort fell silent.
Because what Number One said was true. For all their scheming and ill intentions, the resources they commanded were so vast that he simply couldn't ignore them.
And most importantly, they were born to be on the same side.
As if reading Voldemort's thoughts, Number One slowly stood, casually twirling a short dagger in his hand. With a faint smile, he said, "In short, let's continue with the plan as agreed. I believe this time, we will succeed."
With a heavy thunk, he drove the dagger into the tabletop. Then, changing his tone, he added, "Also, competition between us is allowed. If any of you believes you're more suited than me to be the 'vessel', then by all means, try!"
"Meeting dismissed!"
As soon as the words left his lips, Number One's figure twisted and vanished. Numbers Two and Three soon melted back into the shadows as well.
Now the gloomy, cavernous conference room was left with only Voldemort. He stood there, grinning darkly, lost in thoughts unknown.
———
[Hogwarts Infirmary]
Link crept carefully toward the door.
Nearly a week had passed since the night of the Triwizard Tournament.
During that week, headlines everywhere screamed about "Hogwarts Triwizard Tournament Attacked by Dark Wizards."
The result was predictable, after a brief buildup, public outrage exploded.
Now, the entire outside world was in an uproar.
Howlers, red and furious as drops of blood, poured in daily from all over Britain and even across Europe, so many they nearly buried the headmaster's office.
The Ministry of Magic wasn't spared either.
Fudge, both shocked and furious, ordered Hogwarts locked down immediately after grasping the basics of the situation, before rushing off to calm his voters.
That lockdown meant that the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students, who should've gone home once the Tournament ended, were all trapped at Hogwarts.
Amid all this chaos, the quietest place was the infirmary where Link stayed.
Every day, Madam Pomfrey treated him while Emily stuck close by, hardly leaving his side, taking care of him, and happily gossiping about interesting news she picked up from outside.
But Emily's round-the-clock, personal-attendant-style care created problems of its own.
Link's body had already recovered to a fairly stable condition, but Emily still wouldn't let him roam around freely.
That meant he'd lost his freedom, and couldn't move forward with the next stage of his plans.
Luckily, even Emily had limits.
Even with endless supplies of Invigoration Draught, she eventually wore herself out.
On this sunny afternoon, Link finally caught the chance when Emily fell asleep. Quietly, he slipped out.
"Whew!"
Out in the corridor, Link let out a long breath of relief, though his face stayed tense.
He didn't have much time. He had to be back before Emily woke, or she'd cry, and comforting her was a real nightmare.
Picturing that outcome, Link didn't hesitate. He downed a vial of Polyjuice Potion, transformed, and darted off like a shadow toward the Owlery.
After sending two secret letters, one ordering Old Kreacher to hunt down Horcruxes, the other to investigate Muggle–wizard smuggling, Link turned and hurried to the Potions professor's office.
Creak~
The heavy stone door groaned open.
Inside, Snape, seated at his workbench brewing, flinched in shock and instantly raised his wand at Link.
Link didn't care. With a casual flick of his wand, he shut the door again, then strolled over like it was his own home.
He opened Snape's cabinet, mixed himself a glass of citrus-strawberry juice, drained it, and said to the scowling Snape, "You really are heartless! So many days and not even one visit! Professor Snape!"
He deliberately drew out the last two words.
Snape's face twitched. That was his mannerism, thrown back at him.
But he didn't take it as an insult. Between them, it was more like a dark little joke.
Normally, Snape would've strung Link up and whipped him for such cheek. But this time… he didn't.
Because that mocking greeting had oddly lightened his own shame and awkwardness.
For a moment, he even wondered if Link had done it deliberately, just to ease the sting.
But that thought didn't last.
Link frowned and pressed, "After all that's happened, you really have nothing to say to me?"
'Say what?'
'What was there left to say?'
Snape clenched his fists so tight his teeth ground audibly together.
The shame and embarrassment he'd just managed to push down blazed up again, burning his chest.
Link must still be furious about his weakness that night, his failure to act.
Snape longed to argue, but the truth was the truth.
"…I'm sorry."
His head lowered, his voice barely louder than a mosquito's buzz.
Link's eyes went wide.
Never had he imagined that proud Snape would apologize to him.
He slammed a fist down on the desk. "Sorry? That's all you've got to say?"
"Then what more do you want me to say?" Snape snapped, his temper flaring, knocking aside the boiling cauldron.
"I don't have time for circles. More than apologies, I want to talk about the future!" Link spread his hands, face expressionless.
"That man-who-must-not-be-named is back. And from what happened that night, it seems he doesn't want to kill you, but to bring you back into his service."
"So tell me, are you really going to crawl back as a Death Eater?"
"Or betray him completely, run to Dumbledore, and beg for his protection?"
"Or maybe pretend to return, while secretly joining Dumbledore as a spy despised by both sides?"
With each option Link named, Snape's face grew paler.
By the time he said spy, sweat was dripping down Snape's forehead.
Seeing this, Link softened his tone, "Give it up, Professor Snape. All three paths are dead ends. Whether it's that man-who-must-not-be-named or Dumbledore, both see you as nothing more than a tool, useful, yes, but disposable at any moment. Work with them, and you're as good as dead."
Snape gave a bitter laugh. "And what do you suggest then? Run away right now? Or join you? Become your underling?"
"Exactly! Come to me!" Link dropped his Occlumency shields and said with heartfelt sincerity, "Because at least I don't want you to die. I'm the only one who truly hopes you live."
Snape froze.
The anger and shame burning inside him slowly faded, replaced with a bittersweet warmth.
He shook his head with a rueful smile. "You don't understand."
"Ah! You're right, I don't understand the mindset of a world-class simp!" Link raised a brow, smirked, then glanced at the tall clock in the corner.
"Alright, I don't have much time. We'll stop here. I never intended to convince you today anyway, I just wanted you to realize, besides that man-who-must-not-be-named and Dumbledore, you can choose me. And I… will never hurt you."
With that, Link left the office without another word, hurrying back toward the infirmary.
His mood was heavy.
Snape held a very important place in his heart.
After everything they'd been through, Link couldn't bear to watch him end up like in the original story, a tragic 'hero.'
But today made it clear, Snape was far more stubborn than he'd imagined. Words alone would never change his mind.
Which, of course, made sense. If Snape were someone who could be persuaded easily, he'd never have ended up the way he did in that story.
Fortunately, there was still time.
Link was determined to keep working with Dumbledore while building up his own strength.
If he and the Flamel family grew powerful enough, then maybe, just maybe, he could force a change in Snape's fate.
As for Snape's own wishes? By then, they wouldn't matter.
To twist a famous saying from his past life, "Saving you has nothing to do with you."
Still, to stop Snape from despairing enough to do something extreme, Harry's side of things also needed handling.
Deep in thought, Link finally returned to the infirmary.
Just as he reached to push the door open, it swung inward, nearly slamming into him.
"Harry?"
Link blinked at the bewildered figure in front of him.
"Eh? Link? Is that you?"
Harry, still staring at Link's transformed appearance, asked hesitantly.
"Yes, it's me." Link dropped the disguise and, peering carefully past him into the room, said, "I just couldn't hold it anymore, so I went for a little walk. Emily's still asleep, right?"
Harry instantly understood, nodded with a conspiratorial smile, and lowered his voice, "Still asleep. I was actually here to find you. When I saw you weren't inside, I was just about to leave."
Relieved, Link exhaled, only to notice Harry's brow quickly furrow again.
Because, with both of them recovering, Harry was one of the few besides Emily allowed to visit Link.
But neither Link nor Emily was ever particularly glad to see him.
Why? Because Harry was too hot-headed, his mind consumed with nothing but fighting Voldemort.
And since Link was both a comrade who'd "faced death together" and absurdly strong, Harry naturally viewed him as the perfect ally, and nagged him daily to join his cause.
Sure enough, after a brief pause, Harry spoke again, "Link, my scar's been hurting these past two days. We really can't just sit here and wait any longer!"
═❀═❀═❀═❀═❀═❀═
patreon.com/AmbitiousTranslator
🥳Joining Patreon keeps me motivated and eager to work diligently, so please consider joining.🥰 You can access upto 20 advance chapter through Patreon.