Ted and Andromeda were just about to rush over to help when little Nymphadora scrambled to her feet, brushing off the dust from her robe. As if nothing had happened, she dashed toward Gellert Grindelwald.
"Thank you so much, Mr. Grindel!" she said, standing before him and tilting her small face upward. "Thank you for saving us!"
Apparently feeling that words alone weren't enough, Nymphadora seemed eager to show off something more. She took a deep breath, her little face flushing slightly red.
Then, her nose began to transform. It stretched forward like molding clay, the tip protruding and swelling into something resembling a bird's beak. In the next moment, it snapped back, shrinking into a short, round shape with a red tip, looking like a freshly sprouted mushroom.
"Isn't this fun, sir?" Nymphadora asked, looking at Grindelwald expectantly, struggling to control her ever-changing nose.
For the first time, a spark of interest flickered in Grindelwald's eyes as he studied Nymphadora's freely morphing nose with fascination.
"A Metamorphmagus…" he said softly. "Quite remarkable, little one." He then lifted his gaze to Ted and Andromeda, who had hurried over behind her. "Such an extraordinary talent for human transfiguration is truly rare—genuinely rare." He paused, regarding the couple with an authoritative tone that brooked no argument. "Let her study magic with me."
Ted was clearly caught off guard by Grindelwald's words, instinctively glancing at his wife for her opinion. Andromeda's face showed hesitation. Nymphadora was so young, not yet at the age to formally study magic, but this could be a rare opportunity…
As Andromeda wrestled with her thoughts, Severus Snape approached Nymphadora. He reached out and gently patted the head of the little girl, who was still beaming from Grindelwald's praise.
"What are you standing there for?" he said. "Don't just gawk like a silly slug. Go on, call him 'Professor.'"
Nymphadora snapped to attention, turning back with a radiant smile and shouting enthusiastically at Grindelwald, "Professor!"
"Very good," Grindelwald said, seeming pleased with the title and giving a reserved nod.
Under the watchful eyes of those around, Grindelwald slowly drew an object from his dress coat pocket. It was a necklace.
The delicate mithril chain gleamed softly in the lamplight. The pendant, however, was no ordinary design—it was a uniquely cut, multifaceted amethyst gem. Though not large, the gem was deep and understated, shimmering with a mysterious glow, as if it contained a galaxy within.
Ms. Rosier, standing behind him, immediately understood his intent.
She stepped forward, taking the necklace from Grindelwald's palm. Kneeling slightly, she gently draped it over Nymphadora's neck, securing it in place. The purple gem rested against the girl's clothing, its hue complementing her hair beautifully.
With that done, Ms. Rosier stood swiftly and stepped aside. Grindelwald, meanwhile, set down his napkin, rose smoothly from his seat, and strode toward the dining hall's exit. Ms. Rosier gave Nymphadora a final smile before hurrying to follow him.
After Grindelwald left the dining hall, Snape turned to Ted and Andromeda.
"Congratulations," he said.
Ted and Andromeda blinked, looking at him in confusion.
"To have such a teacher is undoubtedly Nymphadora's good fortune," Snape said, glancing down at the girl. "Mr. Grindel possesses a mastery of magic and a perspective far beyond the reach of most."
Ted's face showed gratitude, but it was tinged with confusion and a hint of awe.
"Mr. Snape, we're incredibly grateful," he said hesitantly. "It's just… who exactly is Mr. Grindel? For him to be able to… to…" He faltered for a moment before lowering his voice to say the name, "stand against Voldemort?"
"Mr. Ted," Snape shook his head slightly, "sometimes it's better not to know too much. If you trust me—" His tone shifted, carrying a hint of mystery. "Though I may be a few years younger than you, when it comes to navigating the profound and enigmatic art of magic, I've ventured further than most."
He continued, "Put simply, forget the arcane jargon. You only need to understand this: today's outcome is the best possible result fate could have secured for your family. If you chose to remain entirely uninvolved, you might risk losing even more loved ones in the future."
Andromeda leaned against her husband, her gaze shifting from the direction Grindelwald had departed.
"This is already more than enough, Mr. Snape. Thank you," she said before Ted could respond. "This is the second time you've saved us."
Snape gave a slight nod, accepting her gratitude.
"You're welcome," he said, then turned to Ted. "Ted, once you're settled, find Alastor Moody. He'll assign you some tasks within your capabilities. The ship needs hands, especially experienced adult wizards like yourself."
"Understood," Ted replied with a solemn nod.
The next day at noon, after finishing his substitute teaching for Potions, Snape returned to his cabin deep within the ship.
The wooden cabin was tidy and well-lit. He closed the door, shutting out the sounds of the corridor, and pulled a letter from Narcissa Malfoy from the inner pocket of his robe.
With the faint sound of the wind outside, he walked to the small table by the window, his fingers brushing over the wax seal on the envelope.
With a gentle tug, he broke the seal and unfolded the letter.
The contents were brief, written in Narcissa's familiar, slightly anxious cursive.
She had provided only a time, a place, and a request: "A matter of utmost importance that must be discussed in person."
Snape's gaze lingered on the paper and the address for a few seconds: The Lamb and Banner Pub, 33 Rose Street, London, England.
As far as he knew, it was a Muggle pub. Narcissa's choice of location was clearly meant to avoid the prying eyes of the wizarding world.
He made up his mind. A visit should be safe enough.
While he couldn't entirely rule out the possibility of a trap from Narcissa, the Malfoys had lost Tom Riddle's diary. As long as he made it clear he wasn't the only one who knew that secret, Narcissa's rationality would likely keep her from doing anything rash.
With a light tap of his wand, a blue flame flared up, consuming the letter in an instant.
Afterward, Snape left the cabin. After eating, he walked along the corridor toward the deck.
The afternoon sunlight, filtered through a protective shield, cast a warm glow across the wooden planks.
Hagrid, his towering frame leaning against the ship's railing, was enjoying the breeze, his massive silhouette casting a long shadow in the sunlight.
His hound, Fang, was bounding excitedly across the deck, chasing imaginary prey. Higher up, on a pile of ropes, Mrs. Norris lay curled up, lazily napping, her tail tip occasionally flicking with contentment.
The peaceful scene brought a rare sense of ease to Snape's heart. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a dried fish, and moved to the windward side, waving it gently.
The rich, fishy scent immediately carried on the breeze.
Fang skidded to a halt, his massive nose twitching furiously as he turned toward the source of the smell.
Spotting the dried fish in Snape's hand, drool began to drip uncontrollably, splattering onto the deck.
The hound's wet brown eyes brimmed with longing as he let out a soft whine, circling Snape's feet cautiously yet eagerly.
The scent wafted upward as well.
Mrs. Norris's nostrils twitched slightly, her small ears flicking. Slowly, she opened her yellow eyes, letting out an annoyed "meow" before stretching languidly on the ropes, her sharp claws scratching at the fibers.
When she saw the food in Snape's hand, she leapt down gracefully and sauntered over with elegant feline steps.
Noticing Fang's intense stare at "her" fish, the little cat arched her back, letting out a low, menacing growl.
"Woof…" Fang, intimidated by the fierce little creature, whimpered and backed away a couple of steps, though his eyes remained fixed on the fish, drool flowing even more freely.
Snape tossed the dried fish lightly to Mrs. Norris.
The cat leapt nimbly, catching it in her mouth. Her pink tongue flicked out, delicately curling around the treat as she began to savor it.
Fang's tail drooped, and he let out a louder, more plaintive whimper, staring longingly but not daring to approach the food-guarding Mrs. Norris.
"Alright, Fang," Snape said, pulling out another dried fish and holding it near the hound's mouth. "Didn't I tell you I'm trying to help you make a friend?"
Fang instantly forgot his grievances, gleefully swallowing the treat. His tail wagged like a propeller, and he even bounced in place a few times with excitement.
"Sit!" Snape commanded.
Fang immediately obeyed, sitting neatly with his hind legs together and front paws planted on the deck, though his tail still swept back and forth. His eyes remained fixed on Snape, clearly hoping for more.
Snape produced another dried fish but didn't hand it over right away. Instead, he held it just above Fang's head. The hound stretched his neck, his tail wagging so fast it blurred.
"This is Fang," Snape said to Mrs. Norris. "He may look fierce, but he's really just a big, cowardly oaf." He patted Fang's fluffy head. "And this is Mrs. Norris. Your master, Hagrid, hopes you two can become friends."
Mrs. Norris eyed the massive dog, several times her size, who was cowering over a mere fish. She glanced at his lolling tongue, dripping with drool, then back at Snape.
Ultimately, her desire for the fish and her trust in Snape overcame her wariness. She cautiously approached Fang, her large eyes locked on his every move.
Fang, seeing the cat draw near, quivered with excitement, barely restraining himself from bouncing again.
"Sit. Don't move!" Snape pressed down on Fang's big head. The hound whimpered, struggling to maintain his seated position, his tail tip wagging furiously.
Mrs. Norris finally reached him. With a light leap, she landed on Fang's furry head, adjusting her position to perch comfortably. One paw reached out, snatching the dried fish from Snape's fingers.
Perched atop Fang's head, she contentedly munched on her prize, then began nonchalantly grooming her whiskers and cheeks, cleaning off the fish crumbs.
Fang froze for several seconds, remembering the "don't move" command, though a low rumble sounded in his throat.
Unable to hold back any longer, he ignored the order and stood, bounding across the deck with the cat still on his head.
"Meow!" Mrs. Norris yowled, her sharp claws springing out and gripping Fang's fur to avoid being thrown off.
Her small form bobbed up and down as Fang galloped along.
Noticing the commotion, Hagrid turned around, his gaze softening as he watched the two animals.
"Severus," he said, walking over to Snape with slightly misty eyes. "You've done it. It's incredible." His voice trembled with emotion. "They're friends now. What a touching bond…" He sniffled loudly, rubbing his nose.
Fang, still bounding joyfully, finally stopped in front of Hagrid, panting heavily.
Mrs. Norris, slightly rattled, released her grip and leapt down. Without so much as a glance at Fang, she sauntered back to her napping spot on the ropes.
Fang's head bore a few faint scratch marks, but his thick hide didn't mind. He continued wagging his tail happily.
A few days later, Snape sought out Professor McGonagall, informing her about the Horcrux and the diary and entrusting her with spreading the information further.
Afterward, he said goodbye to Fang and Mrs. Norris, who had grown quite chummy on the deck, and left the Founders' Ship.
In a secluded corner of London, Snape carefully disguised himself.
Using human transfiguration, he added some flesh to his cheeks and jaw, transforming into an unremarkable, slightly stocky middle-aged man.
Dressed in a cheap Muggle coat, he arrived at 33 Rose Street, where the Lamb and Banner Pub stood before him.
It was a classic Tudor building, its black-and-white timbered walls leaning slightly, the protruding half-timbered facade nearly touching at the upper levels.
At the entrance hung a colorful sign depicting a plump, endearing lamb, advertising their "signature spirit—Captain's Remains" and boasting in bold letters, "London's Oldest Pub, Est. 1623."
As the wooden door closed behind him, the bustle of the street—traffic and voices—faded away. After a brief moment of silence, the pub's distinctive blend of smells, mingled with soft, old-fashioned jazz, washed over Snape's senses.
The lighting was dim, candle flames flickering, the air warm and heavy.
Snape's eyes quickly scanned the pub.
At a small two-person table half-hidden in the shadow of an oak beam, he spotted his target: a beautiful blonde woman sitting alone, sipping amber liquid from a clear glass.
————
Supporting me on Pa-treon to gain early access to advanced chapters and enjoy expedited updates. Your support is greatly appreciated.
pat-reon .c-om/Dragonhair
(Just remove the hyphen - and space, to access Pa-treon normally.)