Chapter 11 A Very Snape Adventure Part-3
As Snape continued onward toward the now-visible cottage, a sense of unease settled in deeper with each step. The air grew heavier, saturated with a damp, earthy chill that seeped through his robes, and a creeping fog obscured the path ahead. His head throbbed, no doubt from the mental strain of his encounter with the corrupted elf. Snape's thoughts were consumed with the implications of what he had just faced—a house-elf driven to such madness that it mutated into something grotesque and uncontrollable. He had dismissed the idea of elf corruption as a mere myth, the kind of lore pureblood families spun to cloak their servants in mystery and fear. But this creature… it was more than mere folklore.
The cottage lay just ahead, ringed by an oxbow lake that seemed as stagnant as the air itself, its water dark and opaque, reflecting only brief glimmers of light through the mist. The decrepit walls of the cottage leaned toward the lake, and patches of moss and rot covered the stone. As Snape drew closer, he could feel the faintest tingle of magic weaving through the air, casting a cold, unnatural atmosphere over the place.
He paused to roll his neck, trying to ease the fatigue as he observed the eerie scene before him. The entire setting was steeped in mystery, foreboding, and a strange magic that clung to the air like smoke, and Snape couldn't shake the sensation that he was drawing closer to something both hidden and deeply unsettling.
Snape drew his wand in close, tight circles, whispering incantations as he scanned the air and ground around him. His eyes flicked back to the cottage, its solitary door ominously facing the dark lake. He scowled at the design, muttering a curse under his breath about the architect's lack of foresight—or, perhaps more likely, the deliberate choice to offer no alternative entry. Each glance at the cottage only deepened his suspicions; every feature suggested a trap, an elegant but ruthless arrangement meant to lure in and contain.
As he waved his wand once more, this time probing for any wards, he felt it—a heavy cloaking ward blanketing the lake and shore, twisting over the water in a dense, magical fog that blurred the energy lines into an indistinct mass. The lake was bound tight, concealing something beneath its surface, and he could feel a separate ward affixed to the door, preventing any forced entry. There would be no blasting his way inside; only a direct approach would allow access.
Snape's mouth tightened. He levitated a nearby stone and cast Depulso, watching it arc through the air and drop with a faint splash into the lake. The stone disappeared without resistance, sinking with a ripple into the blackness. So it would be a straightforward walk into the lion's den. The realization settled heavily on him, but with the effort he'd already expended—and the mounting questions clawing at his mind—turning back now seemed as impossible as forcing the door.
For a moment, he hesitated, then summoned his Patronus, the faint blue glow of the doe illuminating the eerie, mist-drenched scene. He quickly conveyed his message to Minerva, instructing her to check on him if an hour passed without his return. The Patronus vanished, leaving him standing at the edge of the lake in silence, the oppressive stillness of the night seeming to thicken around him.
Snape withdrew a small vial of Pepperup Potion from his robes and swallowed it in one swift gulp, feeling the warming surge as it countered the creeping chill and dulled the remnants of his headache. The familiar steam rose briefly from his ears as he shook off the final vestiges of exhaustion, bracing himself for the ordeal that lay ahead. His gaze flickered to the murky lake, glistening ominously under the dim starlight, he can already see in his mind inferi emerging from the lake, he calmed his mind and sighed inwardly, half-wishing for Greengrass's uncanny knack for dispatching Inferi. But sarcasm wouldn't summon her now; he would have to manage alone.
Circling the cottage's edge, he kept a wary eye on the lake, feeling the cold, damp air tighten as he neared the single doorway. Just as his foot touched the threshold, a faint hum of magic pulsed under his boot—a proximity ward. The air snapped as a Collatropus ward fell around the cottage, sealing it, while the lake's own ward dissolved with a silent ripple. The water shifted, becoming murky and thick, and Snape's eyes narrowed as he saw faint, ghostly shapes drifting beneath the surface. Each pale figure floated listlessly, just below the now-transparent water, waiting.
An uneasy prickle crawled up his spine; somewhere, a signal had been sent, triggering the barriers around him. He was being watched, and his time was already ticking down. His mind clicked through his options, and he drew a slow breath, steadying himself. His training had provided him the tools to manage this, and his resolve hardened as he steadied his wand, preparing for whatever lay beyond.
Snape cast Protego Corona Ignis, summoning a fierce, crackling ring of fire that circled tightly around him, its embers snapping like the jaws of unseen beasts. The fire hissed, casting a halo of hot, shifting light in the cold, dark night as he moved steadily back toward the gate, wand raised, his mind darting through strategies. Just then, the black surface of the lake shattered with a sickening, wet sound, and a pale, decayed hand clawed its way into the air, dripping with dark water. Following it came a bloated figure—an Inferius, its flesh rotten and mottled black, moving with a hollow, lifeless groan.
Snape's wand flashed, and with a sharp flick, he sent a searing crescent of fire slicing through the creature's torso. The cut not only cleaved through its torso but ignited its rotting flesh, flames licking hungrily over the undead form and spreading to another Inferius just emerging from the lake. It let out a gurgling hiss, and the flames spread, devouring its gangrenous limbs, the stench of burning decay filling the air. Still, more pallid shapes surfaced in the water, and Snape's brow furrowed. He had to be swift and brutal.
Pivoting, he directed his wand at the Collatropus ward circling the cottage, firing a series of Bombarda spells at a single point in the barrier, his strikes precise and methodical, a trick he'd learned from Minerva in years past. Each blast forced ripples of resistance through the invisible shield, and the air shimmered with crackling, residual energy. But the ward held firm, though he felt it weakening.
A guttural growl from the lake snapped him back, and he whirled to face a gathering of Inferi. They shambled forward, their movements jerky, their eyes hollow as dark pits, mouths opening and closing with obscene, silent screams. They moved in eerie unison, trudging through the water, limbs twisted and gnarled, half-submerged torsos dragging more slime from the lake as they approached. Snape narrowed his eyes, muttering Sectum Incendia. Another crescent of fire blasted from his wand, this one sweeping wider, its flames taking on a deadly razor-sharp edge.
The crescent struck the nearest Inferi, slicing it open and setting it ablaze. It shrieked as the fire ate through it, writhing as it collapsed back into the water, the flames smothering it with a hissing sizzle. Yet, as that one fell, others took its place, clambering up the embankment with wet, staggering movements, their pale, bloated hands reaching out with eerie purpose. Snape gritted his teeth, sending another blazing arc toward the creatures, but even as his magic tore through them, he could feel the energy drain.
Shifting his approach, he placed one hand to the ground, channeling heat through the soil and creating a fiery boundary line, a thin sheet of flames that rose at the edge of the lake to halt the oncoming Inferi, momentarily holding them back. But the tide of death was relentless; the Inferi's hands and torsos stretched hungrily through the flames, blackened but undeterred, and soon they would break past. Snape's mind raced, calculating his moves as he prepared another volley.
He might have been outnumbered, but he was far from outmatched. Holding his own ground, he fired another Sectum Incendia, each burst of fire keeping the Inferi at bay, each step bringing him closer to breaking the cursed shield on the cottage.
Snape's gaze locked onto the monstrosity rising from the lake—a hulking flesh golem, towering eleven feet high, stitched together from disparate body parts, its muscles and sinews pulsing with unnatural life. A hollow roar ripped from its stitched maw, shaking the trees around them. Snape's grip on his wand tightened as he cast a quick glance over his shoulder, evaluating his options. No easy way out. The anti-apparition ward had sealed his exit as neatly as a well-laid trap. He gritted his teeth. "Perfect," he muttered bitterly to himself, "exactly what I needed—trapped with the world's worst necromancy project."
The Inferi continued to stagger toward him, each one more grotesque than the last, their pallid flesh hanging loosely from brittle bones, mouths twisted in hideous grins as they reached for him, grasping with cold, bloodless fingers. He raised his wand with a fierce mutter of Sectum Incendia, sending a scorching arc of fire slicing through them. Inferi bodies crumpled and blackened, but more took their place, each one as unrelenting as the next. One closed in with unnatural speed, and he barely dodged its jagged teeth, twisting on his foot—only to feel a sickening crunch as his ankle rolled painfully. His face contorted in pain, though he refused to stop moving.
"Well done, Severus. Sprained ankle in the middle of an undead horde," he grumbled under his breath, limping backward while keeping his wand leveled.
The next wave of Inferi emerged from the lake, wet, hollow eyes staring, flesh rotting and sloughing off in chunks as they advanced. He cast Incendio, sending them ablaze, yet still they shuffled forward. His energy was waning. Sweat dripped from his brow, stinging the light burns on his forearms. His left hand throbbed in agony where one of the corpses had managed to claw him. The wound burned, spreading a sickly, numbing ache up his forearm. He scowled at it. "Consider this your last foray with your Potter obsession," he muttered dryly, lifting his wand again.
As another wave closed in, he summoned his strength and cast, "Incendio Obscurus!" Shadows wreathed in blackened flame shot forth, lashing out like serpents, burning the closest Inferi with a cold, creeping fire. But instead of dissipating, the flames leaped from one corpse to the next, growing with each new target, spreading in a dark chain that multiplied with each contact. Inferi writhed in agony as the shadowy fire snaked from one to another, their bodies collapsing into ash under its relentless grip.
Another biting roar pulled his attention back to the lake, where the golem trudged forward through the shallow water, its mismatched hands reaching forward with deadly intent. Snape hesitated, his ankle throbbing, his wand heavy in his hand. "Nothing to be done but give you a proper warm welcome too," he muttered, casting another Incendio Obscurus at the golem. The shadowy flames caught hold, trailing up its massive frame as they spread across the stitched flesh.
The creature staggered, but the flames barely seemed to slow it. It lunged, and Snape only barely dodged, pain lancing up his ankle as he stumbled, catching himself with a gasp. He could feel the fiery cloak of his protective spells fading, his reserves thinning by the second.
Pushing through the pain, he flicked his wand in a series of rapid movements, sending the shadows spinning into a looping ring around him. The Inferi closest to him shrank back, but he could see more emerging from the depths of the lake, their hollow, blank eyes locked on him. He sent another wave of Incendio Obscurus toward them, watching as they crumbled into smoldering heaps, but he knew he was running out of time.
The golem staggered closer again, its hulking body now marked by blackened patches of burnt flesh. Snape shifted his weight, limping, and braced himself for the next round, mind racing through his dwindling list of options. His muscles screamed with exhaustion, each movement sending jolts of pain through his injured limbs, yet he forced himself to stand tall.
Snape staggered back, his reserves nearly spent, the shadowy flames around him wavering. Then, with a deafening crack, the anti-apparition ward snapped like a brittle twig, and with a second crack, Minerva McGonagall appeared by his side. Her sharp eyes took in the scene in an instant: the staggering line of Inferi, the towering flesh golem, and Snape's bloodied, exhausted form. She shook her head, an exasperated but deeply concerned look crossing her face. As Minerva appeared there was another subtle crack in the distance. Both Minerva and Snape strained their hearing but nothing else could be heard over the growls of inferi. The mysterious observer has clearly fled with the arrival of Minerva McGonagall.
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"What have you gotten yourself into this time, Severus?" she muttered, a hint of a smirk slipping through her concern.
Snape returned her look with a sardonic sneer, his dry voice a mere rasp. "Thought I'd take a leisurely midnight stroll among the dead professor. I'd invite you, but I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."
Minerva sighed, but without missing a beat, she flicked her wand, her magic surging forward in waves of commanding, focused energy. "Then let's finish your…'stroll' properly," she replied, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed the oncoming horrors.
In a single fluid motion, she pointed her wand and transfigured a nearby boulder into a massive, glistening shield made of obsidian-black iron, fiery hot along the edges. With a casual flick, she sent it hurtling forward, cutting through the Inferi like a blazing scythe. The shield sliced cleanly through several of the stumbling corpses, leaving trails of blackened dust and scorched ground in its wake.
The towering flesh golem gave another echoing roar, but Minerva merely raised her brow. "I do hope you weren't saving that for me, Severus," she quipped dryly, before summoning a series of black-iron spikes, blazing hot and razor-sharp, which hovered briefly before launching themselves straight into the golem's chest. The creature let out a tortured howl, stumbling backward as the spikes burrowed deep, their heat searing through the mismatched flesh and sinew, filling the air with the stench of burning meat.
Snape, still holding the fading ring of shadow-fire, watched in sardonic awe as Minerva stepped forward, utterly unfazed. She transfigured the earth around them into long, clawed hands of iron, each finger tipped with molten fire, which then clawed through the remaining Inferi, tearing them apart with an elegance only she could manage.
As a fresh wave of Inferi rose from the lake, Minerva's face grew hard. She muttered an incantation, and from the ground emerged a pack of fiery wolves, forged from obsidian and flickering with orange and red flames that burned white-hot at the core. They bounded forward with snarling ferocity, sinking their jaws into the undead with a fevered glee. The Inferi stood no chance; one by one, they were torn to shreds, their bodies disintegrating as they were consumed by the wolves' fire.
The golem, still standing, staggered toward them once more, but Minerva gave it nothing more than a disapproving glare. With a wave of her wand, she transfigured the air around it into a cage of fiery black iron, the bars blazing with heat as they constricted around the monstrous figure. The golem thrashed wildly, clawing at the bars, but they only tightened, squeezing until the creature's grotesque form began to collapse in on itself. The cage contracted further, and with a final, hideous squelching sound, the golem was crushed within, leaving nothing but ashes and embers.
Minerva turned back to Snape, dusting her hands off with an almost casual grace as she surveyed the now-quiet battlefield. "It's been some time since you've had proper supervision, Severus," she remarked, a wry smile playing on her lips.
Minerva transfigured a fallen branch into a sturdy black cane, guiding it smoothly toward Snape. He caught it with a grumble that faded into a reluctant nod of gratitude. She smirked, watching him steady himself before saying, "So, what exactly are we doing here? Other than making new undead friends, that is."
Snape gave her a sidelong glance, stifling the urge to roll his eyes at her poor attempt at humor. Instead, he began recounting the events: the corrupted house-elf, the Inferi, the cursed lake, the strange wards. Minerva listened with pursed lips, her gaze sharp. When he finished, she shook her head, giving him a disapproving look. "You should have called me the moment you encountered that deranged elf, Severus. You're not alone in this."
Caught off guard, Snape averted his gaze, muttering something noncommittal. But Minerva didn't press further. Instead, she exhaled and turned toward the cottage door. "Well, let's see what's inside," she said, stepping forward and blasting the door open. The wards had faded, leaving only charred remnants of the interior.
Inside, everything was blackened and scorched beyond recognition. The floorboards had crumbled to ash, swirling gently with every shift of air. Even the walls were cloaked in soot, dark streaks trailing down as if the fire had crawled through every crack and crevice. Wooden furniture was reduced to brittle piles, the fine lines of their grain barely visible under layers of gray ash. The air smelled thickly of burned parchment and singed wood, as if someone had deliberately torched every shred of evidence while Snape fought for his life outside.
Minerva waved her wand, summoning a gust that swept the ash into swirling clouds, exposing what lay beneath. After a moment, she narrowed her eyes and gestured for Snape to join her. There, amid the devastation, lay a dark black journal, somehow untouched by the flames. She carefully levitated it, inspecting it with an expert eye.
"We'll read this," she said authoritatively, "only once I've confirmed it's not cursed." She shot Snape a firm look, one that dared him to argue. He simply nodded, exhaling with the fatigue of the night settling over him. "Let's go back," he muttered, voice resigned. "This has been a long day."
Minerva's expression softened as she glanced over at him, catching the weight of exhaustion in his eyes. She gave him a steadying nod, and, with a final sweep around the ruined cottage, they apparated back to Hogwarts together, the chill of the night finally melting away in the castle's warm glow.
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Minerva's office was dimly lit, casting shadows across the heavy wooden desk where the journal lay. Snape approached, his gaze drifting over the worn cover, fingers brushing lightly along its edge as Minerva recounted her findings. "I found nothing overtly dark about it, and the castle's magic didn't react. It seems harmless—mundane, even," she remarked, observing Snape as he nodded thoughtfully, still replaying yesterday's events in his mind.
"And the magic residue on it?" he asked, his voice quiet but searching.
"There was a fading layer of protective wards," Minerva replied. "Elf magic, no doubt. The elf must have tried to shield this, even in the end." She met his gaze, her expression grave. Snape's thoughts turned back to the corrupted house-elf, his instincts whispering that there was more to this than just remnants of protection.
With a sigh, he reached forward, Minerva offering an encouraging nod. He carefully opened the journal, its pages mostly blurred and distorted, as though someone had tried to erase whatever had once been written there. Only two pages remained legible, their words stark against the damaged parchment. Snape's eyes narrowed as he read the first entry.
The handwriting was jagged, unsteady, like a mind unraveling as it wrote:
James and Lily should not have followed me. I did not want to do this. While I would have killed Black any day of the week… doing this to the Potters brings some kind of hurt to my cold heart. But no one can come between me and my goals—not even my so-called friends. Well, no one will ever know anyways.
The words ended abruptly, trailing off with an ink blot that had soaked deeply into the parchment. Snape's jaw tightened as he read, his mind racing with implications he barely wanted to acknowledge. He turned to the second visible page. This one, in sharp contrast, was covered with a single word: RAT
It was written over and over, in various sizes, scrawled hastily across the page as if in desperation or urgency. The fragmented scrawling had a chaotic energy to it, every letter emphasized in a maddening repetition.
Snape looked up at Minerva, his face unreadable. "You know what this is about?" he asked quietly, the weight of the question settling over them both as they exchanged a glance filled with foreboding.
Minerva's gaze lingered on the entries, her expression tightening in concentration. She leaned closer, scrutinizing the familiar but elusive handwriting on the first page. "The handwriting looks familiar… but I can't place it," she murmured, brows knitting. Snape gave a faint nod, silently agreeing, his own mind probing memories for clues. Minerva turned to the second page, and her face softened as she examined the scattered "RAT" scrawls.
After a long moment, she cleared her throat, choosing her words carefully. "These markings—they look like Lily's. And James's too. Their handwriting… it's unmistakable." Her tone was gentle, as if anticipating the reaction her words might spark.
Snape closed his eyes, steadying his breath, willing the whirl of emotions into submission. When he finally looked at Minerva, his expression was pensive. "The truth behind the Potters' deaths," he said slowly, "seems to be emerging with each clue we find. Their innocence—" he broke off, gathering his thoughts, "it's becoming more apparent, and yet, we're left with even more questions."
Minerva nodded thoughtfully, acknowledging the mystery that seemed to deepen with every answer. "Do you think we should bring Harry into this?" she asked, a hint of caution and concern in her voice. Snape's eyebrows shot up, momentarily startled. Shaking his head, he responded, "Not yet. He's just beginning his journey into the magical world; there's no reason to burden him with uncertainties. Let's wait until we have more substantial evidence."
As Minerva nodded, Snape reached into his robes and produced two small phials, setting them on her desk. "These," he said, "are Lily's and James's hairs. With all the chaos of yesterday, I forgot to hand them over. If you can… arrange a temporary name change, something… discreet."
Minerva smirked, her eyes glinting with a touch of mischief. "I have my ways. One to two months at most. Before the boy boards the Hogwarts Express, it will be done. Also leave the journal with me, I'll see what I can get out of it with a longer period of analysis" Snape inclined his head approvingly and rose, still leaning on the cane Minerva had conjured for him.
As he turned to leave, Minerva's smirk widened ever so slightly. "By the way, Severus," she called after him, "when are you planning to return the Potter grounds portkey to Seraphina?"
Snape paused, his face going entirely blank as he processed the question. After a beat, he replied with deliberate coolness, "Not today, at least." Then, with a dramatic sweep of his cloak, he strode out, his exit marked by the soft amused smile on Minerva's face as the door closed behind him.
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Dinner had just wrapped up, and the Dursleys were lingering at the table, still chatting about their day. Harry and Vernon had already gone over the finer points of Harry's drone project earlier in the week, so now they were mostly enjoying the lively conversation between Petunia and Dudley.
"So, Mum, Coach put me through the wringer today," Dudley was saying, stretching his arms and rolling his shoulders. "I'm telling you, I thought my legs were going to give out after the squats."
Petunia's brow furrowed, her fingers drumming lightly on the table. "Are you sure this boxing is safe, Dudley? I mean, you're always coming home with some new ache or bruise."
Dudley grinned and shrugged. "Part of the game, Mum. Besides, you should see the other guy!" He winked, and Petunia sighed, shaking her head but smiling all the same.
Vernon, leaning back in his chair, shot a glance at Harry. "Bet you two aren't bruised up like that after your D sessions, eh? Though I suppose coming up with that Mordenkainen name was a bit of a workout."
Harry chuckled, nudging Dudley with his elbow. "Definitely. We had to pick the most ridiculous wizard name we could find."
Dudley grinned. "And there's no better name for the job than Mordenkainen. Right, Harry?"
Harry nodded with a smirk. "Of course. Can't go to a magic school with just 'Harry Dursley'—that's way too normal."
Petunia, however, looked a bit uneasy, and Harry noticed her fingers tapping a bit more anxiously now. She gave Vernon a sidelong glance, her lips pursed.
"I just don't know about this… magic world, you know what happened to Lily" she murmured sadly, sighing. "The idea of Harry learning spells and… and handling things we don't understand. It's a bit unsettling, isn't it?"
Vernon placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Now, Petunia, we don't understand everything, but that doesn't mean we can't trust it. Besides, it's something we are already reading about and I think it'll be good for Harry to learn about his world." Petunia sighed softly but gave her accent with a soft nod.
Just then, a soft tap on the window caught their attention. All four heads turned, and there, perched on the windowsill, was a large, tawny barn owl with a letter tied to its leg.
Dudley, ever curious, quickly got up and opened the window. The owl hooted softly as it held out its leg, and Vernon, with an air of both fascination and caution, untied the letter carefully before handing it over to Petunia.
Petunia cleared her throat, examining the letter for a moment, then unfolded it. Her eyes moved over the words, her expression a mixture of caution and surprise.
"It's from Deputy-Headmistress McGonagall," she announced, and all eyes turned to her.
She read aloud, "'Dear Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, I am writing to inform you that arrangements have been made to change Harry's name from Harry James Potter to Harry Mordenkainen Dursley. Though I don't know from where you got Mordenkainen…'" Petunia trailed off, glancing over the top of the letter at Harry with a twinkle of amusement in her eyes.
Dudley burst out laughing and held out his fist for a fist bump, which Harry returned with a grin. "Mordenkainen!" Dudley chuckled.
Petunia smiled, giving them a moment before clearing her throat and continuing, "'The name change should be completed before Harry boards the Hogwarts Express on the 1st of September. Once finalized, a formal Hogwarts letter will be issued reflecting this new name.'"
She lowered the letter, folding it thoughtfully. The room fell quiet for a moment as everyone took in the significance of the message.
"Well," Vernon finally said, with a proud look in his eyes. "Looks like our Harry Mordenkainen Dursley has an adventure of his own waiting."
Harry nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. He glanced around the table at his family, taking in the supportive, amused smiles of his aunt, uncle, and cousin, and he felt a rush of gratitude. Hogwarts was going to be an adventure, but he knew he'd always have a home here, with his family.
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