As the oak door swung open, Albus Dumbledore sat behind his expansive desk, the last rays of the setting sun illuminating the silver instruments that spun ceaselessly on its surface.
"Severus," he said, looking up with a gentle tone, "I've reached out to some old friends, including those who know Nagini. We're working on a plan together."
"People who know Nagini?" Snape asked, though a suspicion already stirred in his mind. "Who?"
"Nicolas Flamel," Dumbledore replied. "You've likely heard of him."
"Indeed," Snape said, confirming his guess—the owner of the Philosopher's Stone. "Professor, I've come to ask for your help in creating a Portkey, one that will bring me back to Hogwarts."
"What do you intend to do with it?" Dumbledore inquired.
"To return from Malfoy Manor, just in case," Snape said bluntly. He wasn't concerned about secrecy; though the Malfoy family had a long history, none had ever been Headmaster of Hogwarts. "To your knowledge, Professor, is Malfoy Manor currently a Death Eater stronghold?"
"As far as I know, Malfoy Manor is not a Death Eater stronghold at present," Dumbledore said slowly, setting down his quill. "But that doesn't mean it's free of danger. Are you planning to retrieve the 'talking, terrifying thing' Dobby mentioned?"
Snape nodded.
"Do you think it wise to barge into a pure-blood family's estate?" Dumbledore's voice remained calm, but there was a clear note of skepticism.
"I'm confident," Snape said firmly. "I just need a secure way out."
"That violates the regulations of the Portkey Office, you know," Dumbledore sighed. "More importantly, while I'm curious about this object, I believe you are more important than it."
Snape felt an unexpected pang of emotion. "I'm touched, Professor," he said dryly, masking the quiver in his voice. "But since when have we cared about the Ministry's regulations?"
Dumbledore's lips twitched upward briefly before his expression turned serious again. After a moment's thought, he stood and walked to a cabinet.
"It will activate precisely at midnight, bringing you back here," Dumbledore said, retrieving a silver locket from the cabinet. He pointed his wand at it and incanted, "Portus."
When the locket's glow and trembling subsided, he handed it to Snape.
"Wear it close," he emphasized. "Stay safe."
Snape nodded, securing the locket around his neck. But he wasn't done yet.
"Professor," Snape continued, "I recall there are two types of Portkeys. One activates at a specific time, like this one, transporting anyone touching it to its destination. The other activates instantly upon contact. Could you make me one of those as well? It would give me the option to return at will."
"Don't push it, Severus. One illegal Portkey is bad enough," Dumbledore said, his expression caught between irritation and amusement. Still, he turned back to the cabinet. "You're tempting the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot to break the law."
"Don't be so serious," Snape said with a grin. "Crack a smile, and it'll pass. Once you've done it once, the second time's easier, Professor."
"Here," Dumbledore said, enchanting a medal and wrapping it carefully in parchment. "Tear the parchment when you need it."
"Thank you, my dear Professor," Snape said, satisfied, as he pocketed the Portkey.
"Now, how do you plan to infiltrate Malfoy Manor?" Dumbledore asked, settling back behind his desk. "Need any help?"
"I don't think so," Snape replied, pulling a crystal vial filled with a dark liquid from his robes. "I have a way in—Polyjuice Potion."
"Where did you get the ingredients?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.
"Professor Slughorn had a cauldron full," Snape said casually. "Borrowing a bit wasn't a big deal."
"Borrowing?" Dumbledore's tone was laced with doubt.
"The part he didn't notice," Snape admitted. "I doubt he'll mind."
"Very well," Dumbledore shook his head, choosing not to pursue the obvious breach of school rules. "Who are you turning into?"
"Abraxas Malfoy. Who else?" Snape said. "After that night at the Dueling Club, I collected some of his… belongings."
"Bat-Bogey Hex?" Dumbledore chuckled suddenly, his eyes glinting with respect. "Bogeys?"
"Hair!" Snape snapped, indignant. "His fallen hair!"
"Alright, alright," Dumbledore said soothingly. "I suppose you wouldn't go that far."
Snape then pulled out a set of ornate silver-green wizard robes and matching shoes from his bag, glancing at Dumbledore. "If you'd be so kind as to look away, Professor. This is premium content."
"This is my office," Dumbledore said with a wry smile, gesturing to the portraits on the walls. "And they're watching too."
"Then I'll step out," Snape said, gathering his clothes and heading for the door. As he closed it, he added over his shoulder, "I'm not changing in front of old men."
Outside, Snape pinched his nose, took a deep breath, and downed the Polyjuice Potion in one gulp. As the liquid slid down his throat, he nearly gagged—it tasted like overcooked cabbage mixed with an indescribable fishy stench.
The next moment, agony struck. His organs churned as if he'd swallowed live snakes. A searing heat spread from his stomach to his fingertips and toes.
Then came a horrific melting sensation, as if his skin were bubbling like molten wax.
Snape collapsed to the floor, gasping, watching as his hands writhed and reshaped, the skin wrinkling, nails widening, and knuckles bulging like bolts.
The worst was the stinging on his scalp, where he felt hair growing, pale golden strands falling into his eyes.
The pain came swiftly and left just as fast. A minute later, Snape, panting and grimacing, struggled to his feet. He quickly shed his original robes and donned the Malfoy-style attire, adjusting the emerald tiepin at his collar with precision to match his memory of Abraxas.
He touched his face, feeling unfamiliar wrinkles and a beard. When he pushed the door open, he was fully Abraxas Malfoy.
"Dumbledore," Snape said in Abraxas's haughty, oily voice, "I regret to inform you that the Board of Governors has decided to revoke your position as Headmaster."
Chin tilted upward, he strode dramatically to Dumbledore's desk, looming over the seated Headmaster. He picked up a piece of parchment from the desk, tapped it with his wand, and transformed it into a mirror.
In the reflection, Abraxas Malfoy's lips curled into a smug, superior smile.
"Get up, Dumbledore," Snape continued, still in character. "This seat belongs to me now."
"Your performance is nearly flawless," Dumbledore said calmly, eyeing him. "I'm half-tempted to point my wand at your head. Stop wasting time and go—return quickly."
"Anxiety is hardly befitting a noble pure-blood wizard," Snape drawled in Abraxas's aristocratic tone. "By the way, Professor, the school gates… still the same?"
"As before," Dumbledore replied, his voice grave. He stood and approached Snape. "Remember, Severus, do not harm anyone in the Malfoy family." He paused, his gaze sharpening. "Their influence in pure-blood circles is significant, with ties to many families. If you hurt them—"
"I'm not the Dark Lord," Snape huffed. "Don't make it sound like I enjoy killing."
Bidding the Headmaster farewell, Snape—now in the guise of Abraxas Malfoy—pulled up his hood and strode confidently from the office toward the school's entrance.
The squeezing sensation of Apparition faded, and Snape found himself on a quiet country lane.
Years ago, he had visited this place for Lucius's birthday celebration. The experience hadn't been pleasant; as a half-blood wizard invited for his talent, he'd felt out of place among Lucius's other friends.
In the distance, the wrought-iron gates and the silhouette of Malfoy Manor stood stark against the twilight. The estate's grandeur was breathtaking—towering spires, meticulously trimmed gardens, and an air of opulent excess.
The Malfoys never hid their wealth, much like peacocks never concealed their plumes.
But Snape didn't approach immediately. As the residence of an ancient wizarding family, the manor was surely laced with protective enchantments, particularly intruder charms—spells that detected strangers and triggered alarms, not unlike Muggle security systems.
In the original story, Slughorn had used such charms around his Muggle residence and detected Dumbledore and Harry's visit.
In theory, Polyjuice Potion mimicked a person inside and out, so it should fool these defenses. But theory didn't always align with reality.
"Barty Crouch Jr. fooled Dumbledore with this stuff," Snape muttered to himself, deciding to take the gamble. "It should be fine."
He straightened, adopting Abraxas's arrogant posture, and slowed his steps to a deliberate pace. Approaching the iron gates, he gave them a light tap.
To his relief, no alarms sounded.
The wrought iron shifted, its abstract filigree twisting into a menacing face.
"State your purpose," the gate intoned in a resonant, metallic voice.
"It's me," Snape replied in Abraxas's voice. "Open the gate."
"Ah, Father, you've returned," the metal face said, its tone instantly deferential.
The title brought an unexpected thrill, Snape couldn't help but think.
The gates swung open silently, revealing a long driveway. Snape's relief was tempered by vigilance—this was only the first hurdle. The real test lay ahead.
He proceeded along the gravel path, flanked by neatly trimmed hedges. Overhead, white peacocks glided gracefully, ghostly in the twilight.
Before he reached the main building, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy emerged, hurrying down the wide stone steps to meet him.
"Father," Lucius called, surprised. "We didn't expect you today."
Narcissa curtsied elegantly, then took Snape's arm. "Why are you alone? Where's Dobby?"
"Don't mention him," Snape snapped, mimicking Abraxas's disdain. "We'll talk inside."
The living room's opulence was dizzying. Crystal chandeliers gleamed from the ceiling, and deep purple walls displayed portraits of Malfoy ancestors.
At the far end stood a long table and a grand marble fireplace, above which hung a gilded mirror with intricate scrollwork. In it, Snape saw Abraxas's haughty face staring back.
"To the study," Snape commanded, cutting off Lucius's attempt to guide him to a fireside chair. He recalled Dobby's information—the Malfoys always retreated to their study for private discussions.
The study was equally lavish, with ebony bookshelves lined with gilt-edged tomes and green velvet curtains pooling on the floor.
Snape took the main seat, and Lucius and Narcissa exchanged a puzzled glance but sat obediently across from him.
Narcissa waved her wand, summoning a tea set. "Would you like some tea, Father?"
"Dobby's gone," Snape said, waving off the offer. He didn't dare drink anything here—not out of fear of poison, but because he didn't know Abraxas's tea-drinking habits. A single misstep could betray him.
"What do you mean?" Lucius's eyes widened in shock, nearly dropping his teacup. "Dobby's dead?" Narcissa clasped his hand.
"No," Snape said, feigning outrage. "Dobby was freed by a half-blood mongrel named Severus Snape. Worse, that wretched elf refused to renew a contract with the Malfoy family!"
"What?" Lucius's face twisted with anger. "I thought Dobby took pride in serving the Malfoys. It's an honor any house-elf would covet!"
Narcissa gave the "father and son" a sharp look but remained silent. Snape noticed her fingers tapping lightly on her teacup, as if lost in thought.
"Father," Lucius said suddenly, "that mongrel Snape had the audacity to write to me yesterday, asking to meet."
Snape felt a flicker of irritation. I can call myself that, but who are you to throw it around, Lucius? Still, for the sake of the man calling him "Father," he kept his composure. "What did he want?" he asked, feigning curiosity.
"He claimed in his letter that you were in mortal danger at Hogwarts and asked me to meet him at the Three Broomsticks. Utterly absurd," Lucius said, fuming. "I'd heard he refused to join us, despite all the care Cissy and I showed him at school. Who would've thought he'd turn out to be such an ungrateful wretch?"
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