Minerva McGonagall practically flew into the toilet, dressed in a black robe with a pointed hat on her head.
Seeing the trio lying on the floor, she immediately rushed to check their condition. After a quick examination, she sighed in relief. Then she turned a furious gaze on Alan, ready to yell at him, but the moment she saw how pale he was, she froze, and the words stuck in her throat.
"Professor McGonagall, thank God you came! Those three burst in here and attacked Snape!" Myrtle rushed to explain, seeing McGonagall's displeased face.
"She's lying! I saw how the damn Sni... I mean, Mr. Snape attacked James and the others. They only wanted to apologize for yesterday," exclaimed a rather clumsy boy who had peeked into the toilet. "So I ran to get you, to stop this psycho!"
"He's lying!"
"I'll decide for myself who's lying and who's telling the truth!" McGonagall snapped, enunciating each word, and raised her wand to touch each student.
"What is going on here? What caused this flood?" Horace Slughorn peeked into the toilet with a smile. He happened to be passing by on his way to the Headmaster, carrying the OWL results report. But the moment he saw Alan lying there, "on his last breath," papers spilled from his hands. Slughorn rushed to him at once, drew his wand, and pointed it at Alan's forehead. "Professor McGonagall! What is the meaning of this?!" Slughorn barked, glaring at McGonagall. "I understand your dislike for my house, but have you really decided to watch a student suffer instead of helping him first, and only then figuring out what the hell happened?! How am I supposed to take this?! It seems I recommended you for the Head of House position in vain, if you're still following those stupid prejudices! I will report this to Dumbledore immediately and demand that you be removed from your post!" With that, Slughorn lifted Alan's "unconscious" body into his arms and left the toilet, heading for the hospital wing.
Minerva felt sick. In all her years, no one had ever shouted at her like that, and the fact that it came from someone she deeply respected made it even worse.
"Miss Myrtle, tell me what happened here." McGonagall drew a steadying breath and asked tiredly, looking at the pale trio, whose faces were not much less white than Alan's.
"Yes... when Snape and I were talking..."
A slightly frowning woman in a bonnet and a white apron over a red dress entered the room.
"Poppy, how is he?" Slughorn asked her with concern.
"Don't worry, nothing serious. The boy overexerted himself with a higher-level spell and lost control of it."
"That's good. May I visit him?"
"Better not. Let him sleep a bit. He can be discharged by evening."
"Thank you. Then I won't disturb him."
Smiling and thanking the school healer, Slughorn left, heading back to the girls' toilet to retrieve the papers he had dropped earlier.
Poppy Pomfrey watched the Slytherin Head of House go, her gaze slightly thoughtful.
"Overexertion... there was something strange about him..." Poppy frowned, but decided not to dwell on it. The main thing was that Snape recovered. She was, first and foremost, a healer who loved her work and was glad to help people, so she chose not to think about it any further. Returning to her office, she took out a book with a green cover and sank into reading.
At the same time, Alan opened his eyes on the bed.
"It's a shame we were interrupted..." he thought with annoyance, twisting his lips. "But it's still interesting how they found me. I was sure no one was following... maybe some artifact? Quite possible." He nodded to himself. "I doubt those kids will leave me alone so easily, and perhaps that's for the best. Next time I'll have to pick a 'quieter' spot. I don't want to pretend to be sick again. And that toilet... if Myrtle's words are true, and I have no doubt they are, then it's most likely the entrance to the basilisk's lair. That round pillar is a perfect entrance for a snake. Of course, that's only if I'm not mistaken. But if it is the entrance, that's rather sad... it's a bit small. Still... perhaps that's for the best. It'll be much easier to deal with it without attracting attention..." Alan took a deep breath and closed his eyes. His lips curved upward slightly. "After the end-of-fifth-year banquet, I'll start preparing this body. It's too weak, and the refined magical power in the core was only enough for attacks that weak..." For a moment his face twisted again, and a chill crawled down his spine. "It seems I'll never forget old man Amon, that damn psycho obsessed with physical strength... But still, I wouldn't mind meeting him again..."
Old man Amon, or more precisely Amon Ihiros, was an Archmage. Most called him a fool because instead of strengthening his magic, he developed his body to an incredible level, so much that even the greatest warriors feared crossing swords with him. Strange or not, even Great Archmages did not dare quarrel with him, because he was their nemesis.
For Alan, Amon had been a teacher. He raised him, restored his limbs, and taught him everything he knew. Alan never understood why the old man had taken him as a student, but he was grateful, and he deeply regretted not seeing him one last time before his death. Only near the end of his life did Alan realize that grumpy old Amon had become something more than just a "teacher."
"Perhaps he has already become a Great Archmage... It's a shame we can't meet again someday..." Alan shuddered as he remembered the hellish training he had endured. "Or maybe it's for the best..."
The Headmaster's office, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, one of the strongest wizards of his time.
At the same time, in a round office with countless windows and portraits of unknown individuals, whom Alan would have recognized as the school's past Headmasters if he were here, surrounded by tables holding silver and gold instruments, and with books lining the walls, three people stood.
One of them was an elderly man with long silver hair and beard. Light fatigue showed clearly on his face, but his blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles sparkled with life, reflecting the wisdom of his years. He was dressed simply, in a long frock coat, a purple robe, and plain buckled boots.
Opposite him stood the two Heads of House: Slughorn, and Minerva McGonagall, who still did not dare lift her eyes to meet Dumbledore's gaze.
"I cannot remove Minerva from the position of Gryffindor Head of House. Yes, she made a mistake, but none of us is perfect. And I'm sure she will not make such mistakes again. Am I right?"
"Headmaster, I..." McGonagall pressed her lips together and nodded firmly. "...agree with my colleague's decision. I truly acted with prejudice toward Mr. Snape, who was innocent and merely a victim. I was blind, and I could not understand the situation, trusting my students without question. I recognize my error. First and foremost, as Head of House, I must be an example for our teachers and students, treating everyone equally. In this situation, I showed myself as incompetent..."
"Enough. I still cannot do that." Dumbledore shook his head with a tired smile. He was glad she admitted her mistake; it made resolving this much easier. He looked at Slughorn. "The Head of House post is a great responsibility, and it's simply impossible to choose a new one immediately. I understand your anger, but I cannot do that. How about giving Minerva a second chance? I'm sure she won't repeat this."
"I see." Slughorn had expected something like that. Who knew better than him how warmly Dumbledore treated his lions? Dumbledore had studied in Gryffindor and always looked on it with affection. "Then I demand strict punishment for those four, and I will not accept excuses like, 'They're just children.' You know yourself this isn't their first 'prank,' and it's hard to call what they do mere 'pranks.' Or should I remind you how they slipped Miss Jordi an unknown potion, and she lay in the hospital wing for almost a month with a high fever? 'Children'... 'pranks.' Enough of that. If you don't take measures, I'll resign tomorrow." With those words, Slughorn headed for the exit.
"Slughorn, wait. Let's..."
"I've said everything. If their punishment doesn't satisfy me, I'll resign tomorrow, and you'll have to find a new Head of House and a new Potions professor!"
When the door slammed shut, Dumbledore sighed deeply and sank into his chair.
"Headmaster..."
"It's nothing... perhaps he is right."
"You're just too kind..." McGonagall tried to comfort him. She knew how hard this time was for him. Not to mention the rise of dark wizards and the attacks on Muggle-borns*, which Albus felt responsible for. And the school's troubles did not give him a moment's rest.
Dumbledore only shook his head for a few seconds, eyes closed.
"I deduct fifty points from Gryffindor. I also suspend James Potter, Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin from classes for three months, starting with the new school year. And after they serve that punishment, for the next three months they will have detention with Filch every evening. I'll speak with Walburga (Head of the Black family) and Fleamont (Head of the Potter family) later."
"Yes..."