Chapter 83: A Gift and a Warning
Severus Snape's office was a piece of the Slytherin dungeons brought to life. The heavy door bore serpentine motifs, and inside, the predominant tones were dark green and black. The walls were lined with shelves holding large glass jars where strange, pallid specimens floated in murky potions. Compared to other professors' spaces, it was oppressively dark. No cheerful fire blazed in the grate; only a few candles guttered in sconces, casting long, dancing shadows that made the floating things seem to writhe.
It was Elian's first time here. His eyes swept over the jars, trying to identify the contents—a twisted root that looked like a petrified hand, a cluster of luminous spores, something that might have been a preserved brain of a strange creature. He found he couldn't name a single one, a testament to the depth of Snape's obscure and private studies.
"Potter," Snape's voice cut through the gloom, silky and cold. He stood behind his desk, a tall, bat-like silhouette. "The holiday commences tomorrow. The Headmaster believes you require… consolidation… in Occlumency before you depart."
His tone made it clear this was a duty, not a choice. Harry's jaw tightened, but he gave a short nod. Every interaction with Snape was a tangled knot of resentment and necessity. He saw the man as a bully and a likely traitor, yet he was shackled to him by Dumbledore's decree and the terrifying vulnerability of his own mind.
"I understand, Professor," Harry muttered, his voice flat. He moved to a hard-backed chair and sat, bracing himself.
Elian remained near the door, observing. Snape's dark eyes, which had been fixed on Harry with familiar disdain, now shifted to him. The Potions Master moved from behind his desk with a fluid, silent step, approaching the threshold where Elian stood.
"Throne," Snape said, his voice dropping so only Elian could properly hear. "The Headmaster asked that I give you this. He suggested it might prove… useful." From within the folds of his robes, Snape's long-fingered hand emerged, holding a delicate golden chain.
Elian looked down. Suspended from the chain was a pendant of intricate design: three interconnected, hollow circles, and nestled within the central ring, a tiny, glittering hourglass filled with what looked like diamond dust.
A Time-Turner.
Recognition was instant. This was one of the most restricted and dangerous magical artifacts in the wizarding world. He'd only ever heard of them, and knew Hermione had used one in their third year—a tightly regulated Ministry-issued device for attending extra classes. But this one looked different. It was older, more ornate, bearing the subtle scars of time and use. This was not a loan from the Ministry's stockpile. This was Dumbledore's own.
Why? The question screamed in Elian's mind. Dumbledore giving him a tool to manipulate time, even in small increments, on the eve of a holiday where he was supposed to lay low? It made no tactical sense, unless…
He took the necklace, the metal cool against his skin. It felt heavier than it looked, humming with a deep, temporal magic that vibrated against his senses, distinct from the structured energy of the Vishanti or the chaotic flow of wand magic.
Snape watched him, his face an unreadable mask in the flickering candlelight. "The Headmaster believed you might have need of it," he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. He made no attempt to hide the exchange from Harry, who was watching with open curiosity from his chair.
Harry's eyes widened slightly. He knew a Time-Turner when he saw one. Confusion knitted his brow. Why would Dumbledore give Elian a Time-Turner now?
Elian's thoughts raced. A direct gift from Dumbledore was one thing. But why deliver it through Snape, in this shadowy office, on the last night? There were a dozen easier, less conspicuous ways.
"Was this all, Professor?" Elian asked, his voice carefully neutral. He held up the Time-Turner. "Just to give me this?"
Snape's obsidian eyes seemed to bore into him. For a fraction of a second, Elian felt the faintest pressure against his mental shields again—not an attack, but a probe, checking for comprehension. Then Snape's gaze flickered, almost imperceptibly, towards a specific jar on a high shelf before returning to Elian's face.
It was a jar that seemed empty at first glance, holding only a swirl of dark, smoke-like vapour.
"Yes," Snape said, his voice resuming its normal, carrying tone, meant for Harry's ears as well. "The Headmaster merely wished you to have it. He also mentioned," he added, turning his head slightly towards Harry before looking back at Elian, "that if you were interested, you might find value in understanding the principles of Occlumency. The discipline of the mind is a form of defence no shield can replicate."
The message was layered. The Time-Turner was the official gift. The glance at the jar—was that a signal? The smoke… could it represent a warning of something nebulous, a hidden threat? And the mention of Occlumency, directed at him… Dumbledore knew he had his own mental disciplines. Was this a suggestion to be extra vigilant, to guard his thoughts because time itself might be used against him, or because someone would be trying to read his intentions?
"Thank you, Professor," Elian said, slipping the chain over his head and tucking the pendant inside his robes. It rested against his chest, a cold, ticking secret. "I'll consider the Headmaster's advice."
Snape gave a curt nod, his business apparently concluded. He turned back to Harry, his expression hardening once more into its familiar sneer. "Now, Potter. Clear your mind. Let us see if a month of instruction has left any impression at all. Legilimens!"
As Harry gasped, his hands flying to his temples, Elian took it as his cue to leave. He gave a final nod to Snape's back and slipped out of the office, the heavy door closing behind him with a soft thud.
Alone in the dim dungeon corridor, Elian pressed his hand against his chest, feeling the outline of the Time-Turner. It wasn't just a tool. It was a message, a test, and a warning, all in one. Dumbledore was giving him time. But for what? And what was the hidden message Snape had tried to convey with that glance?
The holiday, he realized, was not going to be a rest. It was going to be a puzzle, with his life as the stakes.
(End of Chapter)
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